#without context ESPECIALLY

[worstloki]

i get why it's done but it's always hilarious for Loki to be the younger brother but then have him represented as decades older than Thor in physical appearance. like ouch bro, evilness aged you quick D:

[theminecraftbee]

Grian had taken her aside quietly. He'd awkwardly talked around the idea of her remembering now; apparently, he didn't know if her victory counted. She'd rubbed the back of her head and hadn't quite realized what he was talking about and said something about the games and, ah. Apparently she does remember now. Apparently the victory counts. Apparently this means he needs to say sorry.

Cleo considers not accepting the apology. Grian would get the wrong idea then. If she said: you don't need to apologize for shit, or maybe, there's nothing to apologize for, he'd take that as: you are exactly as bad as you're convinced you are. Honestly, Cleo's not sure whether that means Grian would decide he'd done nothing wrong or everything, but that's besides the point.

She'd never not remembered, is the point.

Frankly, Cleo hadn't realized people were meant to be not remembering. She's honestly a bit embarrassed not to have figured it out. Surely that can't be right. Cleo has held every single slight and every single ally and every single person she has ever connected to right in her ribcage, next to where her carved-out, unbeating, torn-up heart lies, the entire time these games have gone on. Each game, a new fact carved into the bone that makes them up.

Names ribbon around her memories. Bdubs and the Crastle and Scott and soulmates and Pearl and friend-turned-foe and Etho and survivor and Bigb and traitor and Scar and son and everything else. She wouldn't be the same at all if she didn't remember. Everything she is, it's built on top of everyone that was.

Maybe it's a zombie thing. The undead are said to be memories that can't fade as much as anything else, after all.

But she can't really explain this to Grian, of course. If nothing else, that would require explaining the place he's taken next to her heart, too, and frankly, that's way too mushy for the both of them. What ends up coming out her mouth is: "Oh. Does that really change anything?"

Grian stares at her a moment.

"You know, I guess not?" he says.

"Right then," Cleo says. "Cool. Good to know my victory means nothing then."

Grian squawks. "You can't just say it like that! That's depressing!"

Good enough.

She buries 'not-supposed-to-remember' 'not-sure-if-it-counts' 'laughing-as-scott-dies' and 'I-have-always remembered' in the same place in her ribcage, so she won't forget it, and then she does the thing that sets her apart from the common zombie:

She moves on.

[pinktie]

At Ekoda High Halloween party

[deoidesign]

A frustrating development with the growing lack of reading comprehension I've personally noticed is an emerging fervor of insisting things aren't canon unless they are explicitly stated beyond all reasonable doubt.

I can not emphasize enough how harmful a mindset this is to have. Yes, it's wonderful to have characters outright say "I'm trans," but to deny a character's identity for not saying that is dangerous.

Plenty of real people prefer not to use specific labels. Historically, people didn't have our modern terms or modes of expression. Many modern cultures don't use these terms, either, and plenty of people within those that do can't safely openly identify.

If the only representation you accept as canon is within modern (and let's be honest, wealthy white able-bodied American) standards, then you are denying yourself and others a huge amount of representation and seriously limiting the media around you.

[driftingballoons]

Some creatures are more difficult to perceive than others

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

One day I’m going to finish that essay or whatever it was in my drafts that’s about the themes of womanhood/relationships/thirtysomething stuff and TTPD but since part of this discussion has been revived on the dash but also it’s Saturday so this won’t ruffle as many feathers, I think one thing that sometimes gets lost in the shuffle in the conversation about the muses and stories in the lyrics is just why the recurring theme of the broken dreams pops up all over the album, and why they permeate the discussion of both muses, if not *all* the muses in the album.

Not to project things on Taylor, but it feels pretty clear to me* that the dreams she’s talking about specifically are about having a family, and that is the through line in the album, and why the successive blows devastated her. (*I don’t want to presume that anyone else feels this way and this is just my interpretation etc.)

The suburban gothic allegory in Fortnight depicting a miserable, lonely marriage. The ring on the ring finger in TTPD making her explode with joy because it was a shorthand for lifelong commitment. “He saw forever so he smashed it up” in My Boy. “I’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free” and dying on the sacrificial altar in So Long London. Marrying her wild boy in But Daddy. “Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge” in Fresh Out the Slammer (as in, she burned her life down). “You shit-talked me under the table talking rings and talking cradles” in loml. “The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling” in How Did It End. “Promises ocean deep and never to keep” in Peter. The allusion in The Manuscript that the man in question made her think he was in it for the potential of a serious commitment only for her to feel used when he moved on. And there are probably more examples I’m not thinking of off the top of my head here.

But what I’m trying to get at delicately is that from what she’s put down in TTPD, as well as what she’s put down in previous albums (“give you my wild, give you my child,” Paper Rings, Lover, renegade, YLM, etc.) building a life and a family with this person (Joe) was not only something she wanted, but seemingly deliberately planning and working towards. So in the death throes of the relationship, her grief was not just about things like losing someone she once loved, the breakdown of this relationship that was once comforting to her, what she gave up to make their life work, etc. but about this important thing she had dreamed of and what she seemed to feel was on the horizon. What I think I’m trying to say is that it had likely shifted at some point (even just based on the album pipeline) from a hypothetical “one day we’ll have ten kids and teach them how to dream” thing you wonder about with a partner to something that felt a lot more… tangible. (Again trying to be sensitive in my word choice/not project or assume things etc.)

I don’t want to make any accusations or assumptions on main, but I think those kind of life plans feeling within reach not only makes it understandable as to why someone would stay in a relationship whose cracks were turning into fault lines, but on the flip side why giving up on something that felt like it was on their doorstep would be so wholly devastating.

But it’s also why what happened in the two successive relationships *was* so devastating in the songs on the album, and why the Matty thing specifically was so twisted. He’d reentered her life and he’d insinuated himself back into her circle and gained her confidence which in turn led her to confide things in him (the “hostile takeovers” of it all, the whole bridge of The Smallest Man with its honey pot spy mission imagery in which like a mark he sweet talked her into sharing her most vulnerable, compromising “secrets” only to then turn it around to use her and ghost her like a trained operative). And given the way the family thing appears in both presumed storylines, it’s again because Muse #2 used the info gleaned about the life with Muse #1 to sell her a con about an alternate path to what she was mourning so deeply. (And why it’s such an unconscionable act because it’s manipulation, at least going by her own words about her experience of it. It’s as cavalier as the organ donor line in The Manuscript, with the same effect.)

The shittalking about rings and cradles is both of them (if not all of them) because in all cases, they ended up raising her hopes only to not plan on following through. One because he maybe couldn’t commit, one because maybe he was never serious about it. (And the one who did it first who was both 🥴.)

If I had to guess (because I am not Taylor so I will obviously never know any of this for sure besides picking up context clues), the dream was like a carrot dangling in her mind, feeling like this is what the “agony” to quote another one of her songs was for — like, things may be hard, but life is hard, and at least they were building towards *something* she felt they both wanted. And as that dream slipped through her fingers, it created a cascading series of events that crippled her emotionally for a time. So when she mourns that life in her songs, it’s almost like it’s the same dream, just in shifting contexts. The conman selling her dream back to her is comforting at first, but hits doubly hard and leaves her broke when it disappears.

The story throughout the muses on the album isn’t “she jumps to the person who promises her these things,” it’s that it’s a whole life she’s built that crumbles under the weight of reality knocking at the door and a foundation that shifts until it disintegrates. And losing that foundation and the dreams built upon it leaves her searching for answers in the wreckage — and looking elsewhere for clarity for a time. And it’s why it’s so hard to remove one muse from the other (or again, all of them), because that central driving force is used by each of them in different ways to build her up and take her down. And why working through the pain of one situation bleeds into that of another.

It’s hard to delve into this more without crossing boundaries or whatever, but it’s just such a palpable open wound in the album, but also why working through the pain in different contexts on TTPD brings to light all these different kinds of hurt but also the emotions that go along with them.

Anyway. That other essay will write itself at some point idk.

[vynnyal]

This is likely the hardest I've laughed in rain world yet. Basically, you can glitch a spear into a quantum state using a dead bat body, allowing stabbed enemies to follow you through tunnels. So I tried bringing a leviathan to Moon. And the game really, really didn't like that

[elcucurucho]

obviously you can do whatever you want but there’s nothing that immediately turns me off a piece of fan content faster than a complete refusal to engage with the source material

[gingermintpepper]

hi, i haven't read the iliad and the odyssey but want to - do u have a specific translation you recommend? the emily wilson one has been going around bc, y'know, first female translator of the iliad and odyssey into english, but i was wondering on if you had Thoughts

Hi anon! Sorry for the somewhat late response and I'm glad you trust me with recommendations! Full, disclosure, I am somewhat of a traditionalist when it comes to translations of the source text of the Iliad + Odyssey combo wombo, which means I tend to prefer closeness in literal verbiage over interpretation of the poetic form of these epics - for that reason, my personal preferred versions of the Odyssey and Iliad both are Robert Fitzgerald's. Because both of these translations (and his Aeneid!) were done some 50+ years ago (63 for his original Odyssey tl, 50 flat for his Iliad and 40 for his Aeneid) the English itself can be a bit difficult to read and the syntax can get confusing in a lot of places, so despite my personal preferences, I wouldn't recommend it for someone who is looking to experience the Iliad + Odyssey for the very first time.

For an absolute beginner, someone who has tried to read one or both of these epics but couldn't get into it or someone who has a lot of difficulty with concentrating on poetry or long, winding bits of prose, I fully and wholeheartedly recommend Wilson's translation! See, the genius of Emily Wilson's Iliad + Odyssey isn't that she's a woman who's translated these classics, it's that she's a poet who's adapted the greek traditional poetic form of dactylic hexameter into the english traditional poetic form of iambic pentameter. That alone goes a very very long way to making these poems feel more digestible and approachable - iambic pentameter is simply extremely comfortable and natural for native english speakers' brains and the general briskness of her verbiage helps a lot in getting through a lot of the problem books that people usually drop the Iliad or Odyssey in like Book 2 of the Iliad or Book 4 of the Odyssey. I think it's a wonderful starting point that allows people to familiarise themselves with the source text before deciding if they want to dig deeper - personally, researching Wilson's translation choices alone is a massive rabbit hole that is worth getting into LOL.

The happy medium between Fitzgerald's somewhat archaic but precise syntax and Wilson's comfortable meter but occasionally less detailled account is Robert Fagles' Iliad + Odyssey. Now, full disclosure, I detest how Fagles handles epithets in both of his versions, I think they're far too subtle which is something he himself has talked at length about in his translation notes, but for everything else - I'd consider his translations the most well rounded of english adaptations of this text in recent memory. They're accurate but written in plain English, they're descriptive and detailled without sacrificing a comfortable meter and, perhaps most importantly, they're very accessible for native english speaking audiences to approach and interact with. I've annotated my Fagles' volumes of these books to heaven and back because I'm deeply interested in a lot of the translation decisions made, but I also have to specifically compliment his ability to capture nuance in the characters' of these poems in a way I don't often see. He managed to adapt the ambivalence of ancient greek morality in a way I scarcely see and that probably has a hand in why I keep coming back to his translations.

Now, I know this wasn't much of a direct recommendation but as I do not know you personally, dear anon, I can't much make a direct recommendation to a version that would best appeal to your style of reading. Ideally, I'd recommend that you read and enjoy all three! But, presuming that you are a normal person, I suggest picking which one is most applicable for you. I hope this helps! 🥰

[putterphubase]

Don't you dare come back late again. Seriously.

THE TIME OF FEVER (2024).

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Hob with longer hair and fancy accessories ❤️

If you wanna know where this brain rot came from check this post. I blame @magnusbae ☺️

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

I watched Season 4 Episode 7 "Operation: M.A.T.A.D.O.R." (one of my faves, guess why) and I just realized this...

[warning: suggestive]

SYD YOU NEED TO ADD CONTEXT HERE-

[voiddemon]

i'm just making shit up dude

[ragsy]

"Olive Branch Unlimited Pasta Pass"

A less-than friendly encounter between Dogmark and Kenneth. 993 words. Read under the cut 👇

---

Mark grimaced at the jangle of the shop bell. It was ten minutes to closing; surely nobody needed taxidermy services this urgently. He was going to have to fucking sweep again, and why can't these people ever just put the dead cat in the damn freezer for the night?

He was halfway through his Customer Service Greeting-- a dry and listless "Hi, let me know if you need anything" with an implied "I hope you don't," when--

"Oh. Uh. Hi Kenneth," Mark coughed.

Kenneth, as it were, stepped into the Tucksidermy shop, taking in the many display shelves of magician squirrels, burlesque raccoons, and deer with hats, before finally catching Mark's attention. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Ah! Mark! Working hard?"

Kenneth let the shop door swing shut behind him; he held a large tupperware container tucked under one elbow, and his other hand gripped something in his pocket. For a man who had walked with a cane for as long as Mark knew him, Kenneth was moving with awfully fluid, easy strides.

Mark eyed the container with heavy suspicion. If there was someone's dearly departed family pet in there, he just might scream.

"Just. Uh. Closing up for the night," he said, setting his broom aside.

"Fantastic!" grinned the older man. "Then I hope you don't mind me asking: is Tuck in?"

Mark's pointed ears flicked.

Tuck had been different since coming back from the last mission. They hadn't told him everything that had happened, and the wedge between them and Kenneth remained vague handwaves and omissions. But still, holes in a story still leave behind the shape of some great and unspeakable thing.

And, if he was being honest, Mark was kinda creeped out by the way that guy was always so chipper. If he had more than a measly ounce of candor, he wouldn't have minded telling the old man to fuck off.

Mark slipped his glasses off and polished them on the front of his shirt.

"Tuck's not here," he lied.

Kenneth's face fell. "Oh! Are they, ah, are they alright?"

"Just-... Busy. I dunno."

This was, at least partially, the truth. The usual signs of Tuck is Working were present: Muffled FM radio pulsing through the wall. A hovering scent of blood and chemicals. A bearing in the workshop vent fan that squeaked at a frequency only dog ears could hear.

Kenneth furrowed his brow. "Oh. Hm."

That was another thing-- In the days since the mission to that facility, everyone had returned drained, bedraggled, frightened, or pissed off.

Everyone, that was, except Kenneth.

Kenneth, who Mark had seen take up jogging. Kenneth, whose familiar lines and wrinkles had begun to fade. Kenneth, whose sharpened eyes and revitalized wits now studied Mark, searching him for answers.

It all made Mark's skin crawl. Even as a grown-ass adult, he couldn't avoid feeling like a kid caught in a fib by a teacher. What the hell else was he supposed to say?Desperate for a break in eye contact, he replaced his glasses, grabbed the broom, and resumed sweeping.

Kenneth cleared his throat.

"Well, then, in any case, can I leave this here?" He was hoisting the container aloft in both hands. At Mark's skeptical stare at the plastic lid, he cracked open a corner, revealing a mess of pasta, tomatoes, and cheese.

Kenneth mistook Mark's sigh of relief for gratitude.

"Lasagna. I thought you both might appreciate some leftovers from dinner at Alice's house last night. So-- Ah, so sorry you had to miss it again!" The smile returned to his face. Uneasy. Apologetic.

Sorry. Right. Maybe they stayed home for a reason. Maybe they didn't want to be there with him. Maybe Tuck would have gone if he would just get rid of that fucking tape recorder. Mark's fingers twitched. Maybe he could take it from him the hard way.

He bit his tongue and swallowed his words.

"Um. Great," he said finally. He set down the broom and picked up the dustpan, dumping its contents unceremoniously in the trash.

"Ah," said Kenneth, crestfallen. Heavy silence fell over the two of them.

Once it was clear that Mark would make no move to accept the offering, Kenneth crossed the room and placed the container on the register counter. He patted the lid conclusively.

"Well, ah, I-... I hope you enjoy it!" A glimmer of hope clung to the edges of his words with desperation.

Once again, Mark said nothing. Folding his arms, his gaze darted from the tupperware, to the clock above it, to Kenneth. He sighed and swiped a hand down his face.

"Please go."

"Wh— Pardon?"

"We're closed."

Kenneth blinked. "O-oh, so soon?"

He swept his eyes across the shop. "Will, ah, will Tuck be back soon then, maybe?"

Mark thrust a clawed finger towards the door. "Get. Out," he growled, his human mask vaporized in an instant. A snarl curled up his snout, and his hackles bristled. Enough was enough.

The older man staggered backwards, eyes wide in terror. He raised his hands in submission and, without another word, fumbled open the door and slunk outside.

Mark slammed the shop door behind him and twisted the deadbolt shut. He glanced at the clock again. Five til was probably close enough.

Seething, he finished his chores and stalked out the back door.

Later, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe to Tuck's workshop.

"Hey, we're all closed up now. I'm gonna get going." His voice shook a little, but he had at least managed to hide the dog back away.

Tuck looked up from its workbench. "Oh, heya Mark," it drawled. "Customers give ya any trouble today?"

"No. All good. See you tomorrow."

He hoisted the shop trash bag on his way out the door and slung it into the dumpster. It landed against the metal bottom with a heavy thud.

Kenneth's olive branch would be left there to rot until pickup day.

[myfairkatiecat]

Guys I don't understand what I did.

[ebony-underscore]

The brainrot continues

Anyway I have pokemon mystery dungeon-ificated my ocs (EoS edition)

Russel fills the role of amnesiac former human, and as frustrated by his lack of memory as he is, he throws himself into guild work, partly in order to ensure he can keep a roof over his head but mainly because it's something meaningful. He spends his free time trying to study possible causes of his amnesia, how to cure it and whatever information about humans he can find... Also has the occasional existential crisis, you know how it is

Reena is a thief amateur treasure hunter that convinced Russel to form an exploration team with her, and has been using guild work to hone her skills and wrangle more treasures. She's particularly interested in discovering the origin of her relic fragment. Also if anyone asks it's a family heirloom and she did not steal it do not listen to team skull-