#i'm long winded

[shallowseeker]

SHAL YOU NO LIKE ROBBIE?!

TBH, I don't care as much about the writers. (I know--eternal shame. I'm not even a real fan--kill me now etc.) I just...don't remember things. I always have to remind myself who's doing what. I don't know how half of you keep it all straight AND remember episode titles??? And no, nooooo I like Robbie just fine. Love him, even. He’s in my top choices!!!!

I just consider him something of a specialist, maybe? I'm going off vibes, remember. I feel like Robbie is a long-winded, loveable teddy bear. His writing reminds me of comic books, which could be why it feels so fraught and verbose at times, like it's crammed into a speech bubble...? Idk.

I think a lot of his characters are also a bit...it's hard to put my finger on it, exactly. Wholesome? They're so Loveable (TM) and Dorky (TM). I find it stifling sometimes to stomach all the "pluckiness" at once. It even took me awhile to warm up to his characters in The Winchesters. (Don't hit me! Maybe I just have a bad personality.)

I think you'd want him on your team for sure. He did Goodbye Stranger and other wonderful things like Metatron's speech in Don't Call Me Shurley (which was also belabored at times but greatly helped by Curtis Armstrong)! It's a type of energy I find leaning "too meta," and "too mechanistic" at times. The best example I can think of is There's No Place Like Home. I like it in pieces, but as a whole, it seems a little too self-aware sometimes. But not in a fun Ghostfacers way? It's hard to describe.

I...can't imagine Robbie creating an Alastair or a Uriel, or even a Meg...but maybe I'm forgetting something.

////

Maybe it's Ben Edlund's intellectual(TM) vibe that makes his Sam and Cas more to my liking? Idk. I feel like, since Sam's the only one still alive, getting Sam right would be key to the whole thing hanging together in a sequel. Anyway, I feel like his work in Reading is Fundamental is legitimately Ecclesiastical because he can be more wry/philosophical/satirical. I'm biased--I like philosophy!

He can do entire standalone narrations which are just as “long” but it doesn’t feel so…templated, somehow? It usually just hits better for me, personally. Sometimes he lurches into being too poetic for my liking, too, especially in season 8. But overall, I dig. Meredith can infuse his stuff with some much-needed warmth. It all makes sense in my head!

I think he's at his best when he's being sarcastic and when the action is so fast-paced he doesn't have much time to get stuck doing word-acrobatics. His good guys are conflicted, and his bad guys are really oily. He lets the characters be mean and surly. He can be as deeply fucked up as Sera Gamble when he wants to be (Repo Man????)

////

I can find something I like in most of the writers, even Bucklemming. They have some great devil's advocate lines and political stuff in their scripts, once you comb past the racism, fetishism, and weird pacing.

////

I'm not above keeping Sera Gamble in a cage and letting her out to contribute random, unhinged things. Something is deeply, deeply wrong with her, and that translates well to a good dose of fucky-uppy-ness and incredible pain, which I think Robbie can tend to sleep on a little bit. (Dream a Little Dream of Me, Houses of the Holy?? SO GOOD.)

////

Others? Bobo does some great stuff, but sometimes I find his back-and-forth dialogue to be a little off? I even think something felt off with Cas's speech in Despair as much as I applaud the effort. Steve Yockey does an excellent Rowena.

Also, I'd let Amanda Tapping direct everything. Just because.

////

Mostly, I think they should just hire @angelsdean 🤷  and @jewishtrentcrimm -- I followed them during their live tweeting reactions of The Winchesters and mostly longed for their ideas over what was happening on screen.

////

Most importantly, it’d need a shortform writer in the wings whose job it is to take all the long-winded ppl's excellent monstrosities and chop it to bits and couch it in the right voice with the right amount of prickly subterfuge and defensiveness. A vicious, short-form editor who values brevity and would kill me inside...

Also, we’d need an official meta wrangler, because the meta can start to eat itself and really devolve if you're not careful (I think this is Robbie's Achilles' Heel in some of his stuff; it walks the line reeeeeally close for me in "There's No Place Like Home," for example, but I've come around to "Fan Fiction.")

////

I am...quite happy to be corrected. Knowing who does what well is NOT my specialty.

[choconoru]

Hello LoZ fandom specifically Linked Universe *Drops this and runs*

[wardingshout]

started playing ooc but couldn't stop thinking about la so here's ww :) it makes sense 👍

[tatakaeeren]

Umemiya Hajime | Wind Breaker Ep. 10 “Dialogue"

[flickering-nightfall]

Some bugs for fun!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 5

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Hand feeding, praise, kink negotiations, discussion of power exchange dynamics, kissing (FINALLY)

When you reach for the cardboard box on the edge of the table, he catches both of your wrists in one hand. You only resist a little bit. His other hand flicks the box open and he picks up a thick fry.

“Open,” he rumbles, pressing it to your lips. When you open your mouth, you watch his pupils dilate. He purrs as you take a bite. “Good girl.”

The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You would let him feed you limp celery with that tone. You lean forward again, jaw dropping open.

“Should talk now,” Simon rumbles, thumb dragging over your lip as he feeds you the rest of the fry. The contact electrifies you down to your toes. You must make some kind of noise as you swallow because he smiles. “Didn’t consider I might feed you myself.”

“Okay,” you breathe, leaning into the hand cupping your cheek.

“Finished your stretches?”

The temperature in your body drops significantly. You lean away from him. “I…uh. I… didn’t.”

Simon hums a low note, hand finding your chin again without making you look into his eyes. “Hurtin’ somewhere?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I just… I was in my work clothes. And I didn’t want to do… that in front of Gaz and Soap.”

“Fair,” Simon says, drawing you forward to brush his lips over your forehead. You feel your face get hot all the way up to where they brush against you as he speaks. “You want to do them now, or later?”

The tension you barely noticed creeping into your shoulders melts away. Of course. Simon is just Simon now, not Ghost. If you aren’t comfortable doing something, he’s not going to get mad, just give you other options. He’s kept you safe, and he’ll make sure you continue to feel safe under his instruction. Even though everything is different, it’s all the same.

Tears prickle your eyes, so you squeeze them shut as you lean further into him. Suddenly, one of his arms is around your back, the one on your leg lifting you into his lap. If there’s even a grunt of effort, you don’t hear it over the way your breath gets caught in your throat. Your hands come up, automatically, to brace against his chest and one bicep before you’re folded into him like that’s the only place you ever needed to be.

And then his lips find yours.

God, how many times had you thought about kissing him? The fantasy is so muted compared to the real thing. His lips are thin and a little dry, surrounded by the barest scratch of stubble. He doesn’t coax your mouth open, just presses his lips against yours like he could do this all night. The tip of his tongue flicks out for a quick touch to your top lip, startling a sound out of you. He does it again, opening his mouth to moan into yours when you squeeze his arm in response.

When your own tongue comes out to touch the scar you’ve always admired at the corner of his mouth, he growls. “Fuck, Bambi.”

“Simon.” You barely recognize your own voice.

The hand on your thigh goes tight. It startles a gasp from you that he drinks down with a groan of is own.

He surprises you by pulling back enough to speak between kisses. “Beautiful, you know that? Thought I was hallucinating.” He tips you back a bit, taking all of your weight to scan your face. He grins as he says, “Was thinkin’ so hard abou’ you, and ‘ere you are.”

“You were thinking about me?”

“’Course, I was,” he says, leaning back into the couch. You end up resting your head against his shoulder. He sighs and kisses the top of your hair. “Missed our check in this week, ‘n you’d this big trip you were all nervous for. Didn’t get to see you off. Was lookin’ forward to gettin’ the tour of your hotel room, gettin’ y’r travel stories. ‘n then I got the call today, n’ I was cancelin’ on you again. Just about broke my ‘eart.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say. You’d always kind of assumed he was indulging you, letting you ramble about your day until he could get to the good stuff, as your ex used to say. “I knew you were kind of… on call. I didn’t realize that you were saving hostages, but I knew you were busy.”

He twists a bit to look into your eyes. “Don’t like bein’ too busy to see you.”

“You just like seeing my ass,” you joke, burying your face into his neck to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“’S a good arse,” he chuckles, shaking the meat of your thigh in his grip. “Was definitely lookin’ forward to a bit o’ skin. But if you were too tired, I jus’ wanted to ‘ear your voice, coax you through some of your stretches before bed. Speaking of…”

You roll your eyes at the significant look he gives you. The way he never forgets a command makes so much more sense now that you know what he does for a living. Your heart flutters to see the familiar way his scarred lips quirk at your sass, paired with the unfamiliar way he tweaks the skin of your hip with the gentlest pinch.

“I’ll do them later,” you concede. “I already did all my floor stretches, and I’m hungry now.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your ass. “Should prob’ly eat before it gets cold.”

He pops open the second takeaway container to reveal your meal, a dish you had picked basically at random from the menu Gaz had showed you on his phone. It’s a lot less hand-feedable than Simon’s wrap and fries, so he lets you feed yourself, but he refuses to let you sit on the couch, even halfway. Just holds you in place while he eats one-handed, trading fries for bites of chicken adana and tipping water into your mouth every few minutes.

You’re ravenous until you’re suddenly not, halfway through your food. Simon doesn’t comment, just finishes the other half of your food while you rest against him, exhausted. Simon’s hand is still on your hip, his thumb tracing back and forth in an idle, steady pattern.

When he finishes eating, he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

“Nervous,” you say automatically. This, at least, is familiar. “’M tired, and I don’t know what you’re gonna expect of me.”

He taps three fingers on your hip, twice. “Trust me?”

“You saved my life today,” you point out.

“Tha’s work,” he dismisses. “Not workin’ now. You trust me?”

You think about it, because he always wants you to think about it before you answer. You fall back on your rules, the promises between the two of you.

“I trust you to be honest with me,” you answer, the mantra coming easy. “I trust that it’s okay to tell you if I’m not okay with something. I trust that you won’t yell at me. I trust that you’re not going to hurt or harm me on purpose to correct my behavior.”

“Very good,” he rumbles, pulling you close to press his lips against your forehead again. “I trust you to be ‘onest with me, too. Trust you’ll accept a no, when I give it. Trust that you’re not g’nna yell. An’ I trust you not to punish me if you’re upset.”

“Wow,” you say. “I never expected to hear you say that in person.”

“Never thought I’d ever ‘old you,” he replies. “An’ I’ve never folded a whats-it-called… a romper, before, neither. Interestin’ day o’ firsts.”

“It’s a jumpsuit if it’s long,” you mumble, mortified all over again that he’d had all of your stuff in his hands.

“’S impractical. Soft, though. Bet it’s real pretty on you.”

A swell of embarrassment swoops through your belly. It’s automatic to bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“None o’ tha’, now.” Simon grasps both of your wrists in one large hand again and brings them down to your chest.    He makes you look at his face with a finger under your chin. “Won’t promise I’ll never make fun, but I won’t say I think you’ll look good if I’m no’ bein’ ‘onest. Promised, yeah?”

“Trust you to be honest,” you whisper, tipping your face back into his shoulder. “Acknowledged.”

“Good girl. Three deep breaths.”

You push all of the air from your lungs, the way your therapist taught you. When you inhale, you feel his chest rise with yours. He matches you when you hold, then release the breath in a steady stream. Where the back of your hand touches his chest, you can feel his heartbeat, solid and steady as he takes the next breath with you. By the third inhale, you let your spine relax as you feel him do the same.

“Know we never planned on meeting,” he eventually rumbles. He tips you back to look down at you, then ducks down for a quick kiss. “But I’m gonna be selfish and say I’m glad you’re ‘ere. If you don’t want nothin’ else, tonight, gettin’ to ‘old you is still everythin’ I ever could’ve wanted. Honest. Acknowledge.”

“This is good. We don’t have to do anything else, and it’ll still be good,” you whisper. “Acknowledged.” You lick your lips, prop yourself up to look into his eyes, then away. “What if… What if I want to do more?”

“One step at a time,” Simon chuckles.    “Stretches first. Then we’ll see about tha’ reward I promised you, yeah?”

He brings his mouth to yours again. Your hands are freed so that he can cup your jaw so tenderly that it threatens to melt your heart, even as it electrifies you down to your toes. When you moan into his lips, he echoes you, then pulls a way to press his lips to your cheek.

“Up, Bambi. Let’s get you to the bed.”

[finncakes]

mothafuckin' tanks bitch!!!! 💥👊💥

redraw of photo under the cut

[libr-0-cubicularist]

So how y'all coping with chapter 59?

I am incredibly normal about This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja (lies)

[teamcapwasrightandishouldsayit]

happy four based based on what tuesday everybody, now here's enough for the rest of the week and then some

[actualfkingvoid]

full image under the cut

[cowardlycowboys]

I wasn't raised catholic but I practice their beliefs (burdened by guilt)

[evergreen-endo]

CHAUFFEUR | Y. ENDO + C. TAKIISHI

cw: 18+ mdni, f! reader, fluff to smut very quickly, car sex(?), reader gets fingered lol. uhh that's it i think. wc: 1.5k. a/n: this is p tame compared to my other works on here ✮ツ hope u enjoy anyway.

“Thank fuck,” you breathe, luggage in hand as you finally make it past baggage claim. It’s been a long few weeks on your business trip without Takiishi and Endo. While you enjoyed the peace and quiet at first, it quickly became lonely without them. They’re always there to help you relax after a long shift, or to listen to you complain about your boss, though it tends to turn into them threatening to talk to him for you. 

You wait on a bench outside the airport for Endo to pick you up, jittering with excitement. You’re sure he has plenty of stories to fill you in on– he’ll take any opportunity to talk about Takiishi– as well as pent up energy to take out on you. The thought makes you cross your legs and smile to yourself in anticipation.

The all too familiar low, rumbling purr of Endo’s car alerts you that he’s nearby, and you scurry to your feet. The polished black sheen of it rolls around the corner, definitely over the airport parking lot speed limit, and pulls up right in front of you, the brakes nearly screeching to a halt. You swear the driver’s side door opens before the car even comes to a full stop, and Endo's tall, tattooed frame prances towards you, muscled arms outstretched, with a bellowing, “Babyyyy!”

He’s just as excited as you are, and butterflies swarm in your tummy at the thought. As he closes the distance, you lunge towards him and get swallowed up in his warmth, face pressed against his pecs that bulge under his tank top. His voice is muffled against your hair when he murmurs, “I missed you baby, welcome home!” 

You giggle, “Not exactly home yet, Yamato. Countin’ on you to get me there.”

He presses a kiss onto the top of your head with an obnoxious muah, and mutters, “Got you, baby. Lemme get these bags off your hands.” As he turns to load your bags in the trunk, you startle a bit at the presence behind him you hadn’t previously noticed– Takiishi.

He stares, waiting for you to approach him. Staring back in shock, because a bustling airport isn't exactly his scene, you amble towards him, “O-oh. Chika. You came!” He blinks, and nods, fingers twitching at his sides, perhaps in anticipation. You fumble a bit in your steps toward him, and your eyes flit around his face in search of…well, anything, really.

The sound of the trunk slamming shut barely registers as you and Takiishi stare at each other, as well as Endo’s sing-songy tone, “Of course he came! I told you he missed you!” 

The comment has you beaming and craning your neck up at the man in front of you, hinting that you want a kiss without being too forward for his liking. But Takiishi, full of surprises as he is, pulls you to him by the back of your neck, making you yelp. The second your lips connect, his tongue is sliding against yours and nearly breaching your throat. He drinks you in like he’s trying to consume you, sucking and biting your lips until drool drips down your chin. Even then, he’s dipping down with his tongue to clean you up before he gets you messy all over again. His hands circle your waist and run down your hips, squeezing as gently as is possible for him. Ringed fingers dip under the hem of your shirt so he can smooth over the skin of your belly, making you squeak from the sudden cold. You’re brought back to reality when the airport’s sliding doors open beside you, and a group emerges, murmuring amongst themselves and letting out awkward coughs. 

Your eyes shoot open and you separate with a loud pop, a string of spit still connecting the two of you as you nervously laugh in their direction, averting your eyes while his burn into you, still. A deep giggle reminds you that Endo's waiting, arms crossed and bulging over his chest as he leans against his car. His mouth is stretched into a smitten grin as he gazes at the two of you, completely infatuated, before he chirps, “Ya ready now?”

Endo opens the backseat door for you, like a gentleman, before a harsh grip on his wrist prevents him from closing it. Takiishi slides in beside you, grabbing the inside handle to slam it shut, almost crushing Endo’s fingertips in the process. Endo sighs to himself with a dreamy smile as he walks around to the driver’s side door. Lovebirds, he thinks.

The second Takiishi sits beside you, his hands are on you. Innocent at first— as innocent as he can be. He rubs and squeezes at your thighs as you rest your head on his shoulder and throw quick, tired responses to Endo as he blabbers on enthusiastically, oblivious to the scene behind him. 

“Did you touch yourself while you were away?” Takiishi whispers right into your ear, calloused palm trailing up your thigh. 

You nod your head no, and he tsks. “I don’t believe you.”

His fingertips dip under your skirt as he recalls the times you missed their calls in the past two weeks, claiming to be “too busy” to answer, even though you promised to call back later. He didn’t take kindly to your lack of availability. It was to the point Endo was nearly praying you’d pick up on the first ring, just so he wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around Takiishi until you graced them with a call back. 

He pulls your panties to the side, swiping a finger through your folds and breathing out deep through his nose at the feeling of your slick. Other than the kiss at the airport, he can’t think of any other reason you’d be dripping like this. So now, as he’s gathering your slick on the pads of his fingers to circle your clit, he wonders if maybe you truly went two weeks without touching yourself to the thought of them. Most importantly, him. The thought has him bristling, a searing heat behind his eyes and a tight pull in his chest. He kisses his teeth, unfamiliar with the feeling that’s been brewing in his gut since you left. So what if you were too busy to miss him? Your pussy clearly wasn’t.

In one movement, he’s down to the knuckle of his index. Your eyes flit to Endo in the rear view mirror, his own twinkling as he beams, rattling off plans he’s made now that you’re back. You’re half listening, nodding so Endo feels acknowledged and Chika feels encouraged— not that it would stop either of them from doing what they want.

You’re thankful for the way Endo never shuts up, or there would be nothing to cover the squelch as Takiishi slides a second finger in, curling them upwards and moving at just the pace you like. His rough fingers drag against your walls in a way yours never could, stretching you and reaching spots you long for when he’s not around. He scissors them, prompting you to spread your thighs further apart to give him more access. Pushing deeper into you, he feels around for the spot he knows will have you falling apart in no time. A gentle reminder that you have no business ignoring him again.

Endo's voice is merely an echo to you, but you're alert enough to register and muster out mumbled affirmations. It doesn't sit well with the man who's knuckle deep in you, waiting on you to give him what you owe him. Once he brings the heel of his palm down to grind against your clit, you’re fucked. There’s no way to hide the blissed out expression you wear or the desperate cant of your hips to match his tempo. 

Endo, still babbling on, checks the rear view mirror, nearly pouting at your lack of response, only to see the whites of your eyes and Chika latched onto your neck. Suddenly he’s quiet, and turning the music down too, so he can hear how sloppy you are as Takiishi pumps his fingers inside you. He’s not paying enough attention to the road to notice a pothole that directs Chika’s fingers straight into your sweet spot, forcing a loud, strangled moan out of you.

“Chika,” you whine, rolling your head back onto the headrest and grabbing at his thighs. 

“Hm. So now you wanna talk to me?” He angles his fingers to press up against that spot, over and over again.

“Can….hah! Ah..Chi—fuck!” 

“Use your words.”

“Chika….Chika can I cum? Please?”

He responds by pushing his fingers deeper as Endo takes a hand off the wheel to palm his aching cock. 

An obscene, drawn out moan of Takiishi’s name is followed by a sob, and you’re squirting all over his fingers and Endo’s leather seats. He removes them to lean forward and drag his hand along Endo’s cheek before dipping into his mouth. Endo moans as his eyes roll back into his head, swerving around on the road in the process. “Watch it.” Takiishi corrects. Endo nods rapidly, eyes lidded. Chika leans back and drags his gaze down your body, adjusting your skirt and patting your hair down. “Is that enough proof?” 

You’re still reeling from your orgasm, head fuzzy, “Pr–huh? Proof of what?”

“...That I missed you.”

[kikker-oma]

Just when I thought I was starting to get burnt out from 3 straight months of continuous drawing I GET A SECOND WIND😈😈😈

muahahahaha this fandom has such a chokehold on me, its unreal

[sycamorality]

i just think rain world is a beautiful game and i like doing it justice [as much as i can, anyway] when i write about it.

just consider how big the world is and how small you are as a slugcat. this world is not yours and yet it is. you've ended up here due to an incident during harsh rain. you're lost and you don't know what you're doing other than looking for home - and yet nothing is home. at least not in the same way as it was before. as the slugcat learns about this decaying world created by a now long-gone civilisation, one you can only learn about if you've seen the two biomechanical demigod constructs - and seen the city on top of one of them. the city you see as stargazer plays, just stinging you with a feeling of how alone and insignificant and small you are. the city in the distance looks so small, and yet it still looks and feels so much bigger than you and anything you've ever seen. and then you step out to the left, and then you see how vast the world is. there's so much more to it that you'll never see - so many more iterators standing there, in the far beyond, as the clouds slowly float by. if you pay attention you can see small green flashes underneath them behind the clouds. who are they? you don't know, and you never will, and you'll never know what's near them either, if there's more slugcats there, or even if there's creatures or even regions you'll see as familiar. the world is so vast and you are only so small in the grand scheme of.... everything.

and yet being there, in those moments, showing just how little you matter, and seeing them, are the only ways you'll ever be able to learn about that long-gone civilisation. you learn pebbles calls them the benefactors. he speaks of an older civilisation too, that he calls the ancients, that built temples beneath the ground and "danced their silly rituals". you will never know more about them, but you can learn small bits and pieces of what was once the benefactors. you even see the karma murals, as you go out of pebbles access shaft, showing just how important it was to the benefactors. you can find small little round shiny objects, that you can learn moon calls "memory construct pearls", through a single small line she'll say when you bring her nothing but a simple diamond sphere that's as useless as the carbon it's printed from. if you bring her pearls from the sunbaked lands with flora reaching beyond the clouds, you can learn once more about the other iterators. there's a conversation log between five pebbles, and seven red suns, someone we can assume he knows and is friends with. you learn he's angry. you learn he doesn't want to be a bug in a maze. you also learn nothing truly dies. there's another, that's just a small part of a larger conversation in a closed group called SliverOfOcean. you don't have the full context to this, but EP mentions someone called sliver of straw, and a triple affirmative. it sounds important, with how they're speaking about sliver, but you can't tell why. and then a third, giving you a little more context to the SliverOfOcean group - this time between five pebbles, chasing wind, big sis moon and no significant harassment. chasing wind mentions the pseudonym "Erratic Pulse" - if anything, it's more than clear this is the EP mentioning the triple affirmative and sliver of straw. you see how NSH jokes about gnawing through bedrock with their overseers, and you can see how moon worries about this. you learn there's something called sliverists, and someone that wants to "cross themself out". and then there's two more, one where moon says pebbles drastically increased his water intake - the iterators are behind the rains, it seems - and that he and moon share groundwater. it's dangerous for her. she has seniority privileges - further context other than forced communications is not anything you get. and she has no memory of writing this... and the last is her pleading for five pebbles to stop. he says she ruined everything. you don't get more context.

and then you're left wondering.... what was any of that about? you find a yellow pearl in the decaying body of moon, hidden in a little crevice, and you bring it to her for her to read. it's about sliver of straw. she's legendary among the iterators. a big problem, the triple affirmative... you're finally given context to the SliverOfOcean broadcast. "affirmative that a solution has been found, affirmative that the solution is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable"... whatever that may mean? sliver of straw is dead. it's extremely hard to kill an iterator. you learn more about how iterators split into factions regarding sliver of straw - and how moon thinks she should just be allowed to rest.

so you go searching for more pearls. none of them ever mention sliver of straw again, or the triple affirmative. but you learn about void fluid, the void sea, and how moon's creators' ancestors learned to use it to create energy, and that void fluid drills started a big technological leap. if you go down there, you don't return. then you find whats supposedly a small plate, which is a little text of spiritual guidance. there's a name tied to it. four cabinets, eleven hatchets... what an odd name. it's from before the void fluid revolution... does this relate to the big technological leap mentioned before, you wonder? regardless, it's how to starve yourself on herbal tea and gravel but disguised as a poem. you learn there were horror stories of leaving echoes behind when you jumped in a vat of void fluid, and how some would still starve and drink the bitter tea instead of taking the risk. you remember you saw one of these colored memory construct pearls on top of pebbles when you went there and saw the city in the background. it's still as breathtaking as it was the first time; you feel just as insignificant as you really are when you stand there. you bring the pearl to moon and you learn that five pebbles is "Gift of Charity from Us to The World (unable to reach Enlightenment by itself - being composed mostly of Rock, Gas, dull witted Bugs and Microbes - and towards which We thus have Obligations)".... whatever any of that means. enlightenment? odd. the slugcat doesn't really understand this, and neither do you, as the player.

... you saw a golden pearl on your way here when you got lost, you think. you go looking for it and bring it to moon, too, but not before getting bitten by a few lizards and hauled off by a few vultures, only just managing to kill the last vulture by pure luck as it tries to stop you in your tracks. it's illegal information, sent over pearl to avoid being overheard on broadcast... huh. it's something about circumventing the self-destruction taboo that iterators have, and how there's more, but the slugcat isn't told, and neither are you, but they're written into every cell of their organic parts. as she explains.... this feels like it relates to the breeding program mentioned a certain EP individual doing. hm.

you remember, a few times while being chased by leviathans and salamanders and nearly drowned by leeches, you've seen two pearls in shoreline and you go looking for them, bringing them to moon. the pink one has the genome for a purposed organism. you learn moon is one - but only a small fraction of one. you learn most of her is in the walls.... she is the walls? was it the same for pebbles? was that why he berated you for crashing through his memory conflux? most organisms barely even looked like creatures. she mentions primal fauna. what does she mean by that? you can guess she means creatures that weren't purposed. she mentions its highly likely you're a descendant of a purposed organism. then there's the purple pearl. you learn how water is vital to an iterator, otherwise slag will build up and they will painfully die. you learn that iterators haven't ever really seen a river, so the analogy of an iterator drinking a river is completely lost on them. water supply was important when placing iterators, until a great equalizer, the fact they breathe as much water out as they breathe in, where they could be placed almost freely. apparently building pebbles so close to moon was believed risky.... both of you can see that it was a good decision in hindsight, despite how little the slugcat, and you, know. hm. you remember a bright blue pearl somewhere in industrial complex and you go looking for it and bring it back to moon, but not after dying to lizards a few times. something about bone masks, and how they were used to abate the self, and then later used for self expression. something about radiating the material with holiness. this record of a mask factory is from Side House, on pebbles grounds. is that what industrial complex once was? the slugcat, and thus, you, the player too, will never really get an answer to this. but you can wonder. many old industrial-religious were reused and incorperated in iterator projects, so, it is possible...

...

just how much more is there, to this world...? this is nothing but a tiny piece of what is out there. and yet you feel like you've learned so much you'll never quite understand. and that's because the slugcat won't ever understand it, either, it's as clueless as you, the player, are. you're on the same line as it. you can guess and wonder as much as you want to, but you'll never learn about everything there once was. and that's the point. you'll never learn about everything and you can't because it's gone. you're not the main character to learn every little lore detail about this wonderous, new world, you're a slugcat doing it's best to survive in this unfamiliar ecosystem.

and i think that's rain world's beauty.

[plutorine]

pov: you just finished The Brothers Karamazov

[genericpuff]

What is the “Wayback Machine” that you mentioned bey ??

The Wayback Machine is an archiving crawler tool designed and hosted by The Internet Archive to document sites throughout their lifetime. It's not 100% reliable as how often a site gets crawled typically comes down to how frequently it updates and / or how much it's visited (and it doesn't store images / videos as well as just general text), but it's often what I use for my own research and investigating when I need to access information that may no longer be available on live sites (like old blogs, galleries, news articles, etc.) It's definitely my go-to when I need to go on my rabbithole dives, for better and for worse LOL