#dittos-rant

[dittos-blog-dylanobrien]

Can you guys PLEASE stop tagging (character) X reader IF ITS NOT THAT CHARACTER 😭 I'm sick and tired of searching (character) X reader and it's every different character possible X reader like😭😭

[ukfrislandembassy]

Another way that 'phoneme inventories' mislead conlangers: seemingly systematic palatalisation contasts.

So you're looking at the consonant system of e.g. Russian, and you think to yourself, 'Man, that's a lot of contrasts, and most consonants come in a palatalised/unpalatalised opposition, I want to make a language like that'.

So you go about thinking how you're going to create this systematic contrast, and you think 'well, I want to generate it from vowels as per usual for language, but I also want to have a vowel inventory afterwards.' In most instances I've seen (and tried myself), this ends up with a symmetrical set of front-rounded vowels which palatalise preceding consonants and then retract, complemented by a set of back-unrounded vowels that front.

Here's the thing though. That particular kind of sound change is barely attested. It is seemingly attested in Nenets, but after that the trail runs dry. The category error here seems to be the assumption that 'X is a phoneme, therefore we need some way of historically deriving the fact that it must be able to stand by itself as a phoneme, right?'

But that's where the category error is, because actually the palatalised consonants in a language like Russian generally aren't evenly distributed across their various contexts.

Let's start with a simple example. Standard Japanese doesn't have *che, *she or *je, because those vowels didn't trigger palatalisation in the Japanese varieties from which the standard derives, and furthermore palatal consonants before vowels other than *i are mostly found in loanwords from Chinese. Thus we can observe that palatal consonants in Japanese have a different distribution to non-palatalised consonants when it comes to which vowels they can precede.

A similar point can be made about palatalisation in Slavic, because it's again skewed by which vowel follows. The only reason that Russian even has palatal consonants before /o/ is because of a funky Russian-only rule which backs and rounds *e before hard (coda) consonants (in stressed syllables only!). For most other Slavic languages a syllable of the *sho type is rare to non-existant. And even in those languages where it does occur, it's not like these kinds of syllables are equally as common as palatal consonants before front vowels (where non-palatalised consonats are almost non-existant). The only context in Russian where palatalised and non-palatalised consonants are on even close to an even footing is word-finally, and only because Russian actually bothers to preserve contrastive palatalisation there (unlike many other Slavic languages).

[mcfanely]

My army grows more and more with each day that passes

[gaywatch]

@ the Emilia Perez anon - The guy who made the film totally said 'I'm gonna do a nifty trans metaphor in a Mexican setting but I already know everything about everything so I don't need to look any deeper before I try handling two sensitive and nuanced subjects that are firmly outside my lived experience, that's cool right?' And like, no dude. That's how you wind up pissing people off and disrespecting/misrepresenting at least one of the subjects you're dealing with.

In my (deeply subjective) opinion, he liked the trans narrative and metaphor of starting a new life but didn't care about the Mexico side nearly as much as he apparently thought he did. And the metaphor is compelling as hell! Never been seen before! But because he played the know it all card what could have been a layered, nuanced, challenging, emotional, enlightening look at complex topics is now all ambition with only brief moments of follow through built on a bed of ignorance so severe that it's harmful (and therefore the follow through hardly matters).

The situation as a whole calls for a little nuance, including the frustrating fact that all the general public will ever know or care about is that a trans film beat Wicked at the Golden Globes, which helps legitimize trans narratives in their eyes. But for actual trans, queer, and Mexican people it's a case of 'yeah but did it have to be THAT one ffs?' I feel like it was a similar situation with Crash and...damn I know there's a good queer example too but I can't think of it at the moment.

[blanketorghost]

WHY ARE YOU SO EXPENSIVE

hey guys anyone wanna buy me this sitting cuties sableye plushie </3 /j

[dittolicous]

the organization i reached out to for financial help, in which my openings statement i stated there was no one big single hardship ive gone through, instead a thousand little ones, and that id even just accept financial counseling on how to get things under control... and after waiting a week in which i got two disconnection notices, they asked me again what my hardship was =)

im just. not even going to bother responding anymore. no one cares unless its one big problem. no one cares that its the one thousand tiny things, that they refuse to help with, that bury us in debt and suffering

i didnt lose my job or break a limb, no, i just suddenly lost/had to euthanize four different pets, had to cut my work hours to do an unpaid internship for my degree, which in turn required ubering just to get home at night and resulted in me getting covid, both of which drained my bank account, caused me to miss more work for over a month, and have completely fucked up my sense of smell so all i can fucking smell is fucking smoke, i have a fucking tooth with a hole in it slowly rotting away and cutting into my lip but i cant get it pulled without having to fix to fucking tooth behind it, and of course i missed a single fucking class to get my bachelor degree and i dont qualify for anymore financial aid so id have to pay out of pocket hahaha.

but thsts aaaaaall my fault and no one cares, so i dont deserve help, nope not at all.

its not like the denial of help is what led me into this fucking pit in the first place or anything.

why do i even fucking bother trying. they dont fucking care. none of them do. they just want to lord over us and shame us for being poor and stoopid, just get a better job and dont ever have anything nice hurhur

[ynsvnte]

My brain

[arthyritis]

I wonder how long this pokemon go habit will last

[hariyunn]

▶ •၊၊||၊|။||||||• 11:00

Harini signing inˎˊ˗

Istg I was born to judge.

As a moa. Looking at how soobin was judging beomgyu the entire fucking episode on "nothing much prepared" when he was a special guest, made me realize that I was meant to be a moa.

Shit has been going down lately in Korea because of Jeju island incident of the plane crash. (Also, I'm so sorry for the families, I don't mean to be disrespectful at all.)

Huening Kai from txt donated 50 million won to support the families and said that he just wanted to help even just a little.

Also, like bitch, wtf do you mean njs disbanded??? It wasn't on my bingo list for 2024 😭

This is me literally in 2025

SOTY. y'all can tell me whatever. I love this whole fucking album.

▶ •၊၊||၊|။||||||• 11:21

Harini signing outˎˊ˗

[tackrusso]

if virals actually had a tv show, especially a formulaic one, there would be at least one episode where stacey shows up and no one questions it. actually if virals had a tv show stacey would just be in it full stop

[ch4mpagnedrought]

compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

[uhhhj13iguess]

high with stiles headcanon:

stiles x reader thoughts

just want to smoke a joint with this pretty boy

you would introduce weed to him one day in high school, saying you got it from danny or whoever and suggesting it as a way to calm down and take a break from everything going on around them

he would cough like a bitch at the first hit and definitely be one to pull a "I don't think I feel anything" and then sit in silence for a few minutes just to start giggling to himself

"what?" "oh, did I not say my joke out loud?" "no" "oh. i don't remember it"

it would become a secret little ritual for the two of you when you needed a break from reality, stiles looking forward to the alone time with you

stiles would be so quick to get paranoid at literally any noise or shadow he encountered

"what was that" "stiles, that was me sitting on the couch next to you" "oh"

which is funny, because he would also love to put on horror movies and curl up with you on the couch, jumping so hard at times that the popcorn would go flying

you two would get really into your adventures, wandering the woods and looking for clues to whatever was currently going on in the town

of course, that would be until he heard a branch snap (of his own doing, obviously) and called it quits

you would go on walks for hours, passing a joint between the two of you and pointing out different constellations and him telling you the different stories

firm believer he would get really into pranking scott when you were out of these walks, thinking it was the funniest thing in the world to ding dong ditch scotts house and run away cackling

"stiles, I'm going to call your dad!" "shit, go go go!"

he would get insane munchies, trashing the kitchen while making the wildest new concoctions and having you blindfold taste test them

he would also then lay on the couch and groan, complaining about how full he was

"I don't think I can ever eat again" "ditto" "... do we still have any oreos"

he would get so horny

I think the rush and feeling of getting high would get him so hard, and he'd have to will himself not to stare at you and drool

getting high would scramble his adhd riddled mind even more, causing him to jump from one thought to another at a more intense rate than normal

it would be his downfall

one night, both on his door steps and a joint in hand, he'd start rambling about something and get distracted by how you looked in the moonlight, shifting his rant to how much he liked you. he would get lost, absolutely going on about everything about you that was amazing to him

you'd stare back at him, just in awe as he spoke, and one thing would lead to another and you'd kiss him, thankful for the haze of the weed leaving you feeling bolder

after that, you guys would smoke and make out for hours, absolutely focused on how your lips felt against each other, and the buzz that radiated throughout your whole body

stiles had never been so happy to do drugs

[pumpkinprincess22]

Butting in slightly because you have unlocked Classics Student Rose TM. There is a misconception about 'the original version' of myths (we literally had a lecture about this the other day) Myths come from an oral tradition where things changed and were developed.

Even works like The Iliad and Odyssey which we consider to be 'canon' had different versions and other lesser known works portrary different versions of the Trojan War myth.

The myths of Persephone and Hades are no exception. There are versions where Persephone goes willingly. The Homeric Hymn to Demeter is probably the most well known version but by no means the only.

I completely agree about the 'feminist retelling' point though. I am writing my dissertation on Medusa in modern fiction and the number of authors who completely ignore the complexities of Medusa myths and portrayals in the classical world in favour of 'victim reclaiming her own story'. Its why the Percy Jackson TV interpretation is interesting because it marries the Monster stories with the Victim.

You and I share a lot of the same literary opinions so I want to know your opinion on this Some people are waaay too invested in a lot of the retelling and essentially remakes of mythology and not the actual history of the myths. For example, Hades and Persephone's origin, where she was literally kidnapped by the god, sure they might have had the "more stable" marriage compared to Zeus and Hera, but it still not great. (It is a mythological marriage from a culture that had horrible views on women)

Ares as the absolute bloodthirsty monster when he was originally a protector of women

Even the humans in myths aren't free from it when I see people get genuinely para-social fandom with Odysseus when analyzing the myth compared to the musical and video games that feature the character.

The modern interpretation of myths have made a lot of people forget the origins and should anyone base something on the original myth it gets extreme hate. I played a game where Persephone killed Hades because he kidnapped her, which is a valid interpretation and continuation of the myth. That is not saying one can't prefer or like the retellings, I find the more modern interpretation of the Hades and Persephone myth great (it is just the most common example rn), but people can't neglect the original myth.

I could go on a fucking tangent about the hades and Persephone myth.

Because it’s not even that, it’s literally called ‘Hymn to Demeter’… It’s about a woman literally defying the gods in order to get her daughter back from the underworld. It wasn’t a tale of an overbearing parent, but a loving one, she wasn’t against Hades and Persephone because age gaps, or whatever, she was against her daughter being taken away from her, or, in a metaphorical sense, dying. It was a tale to give power back to mothers and young girls forced into arranged marriages, where the daughters were taken away from their families, and it was also to make people feel less intimidated by death, as it also promised to the followers of Persephone intimate knowledge about the underworld.

But I’ll stop about that. I think some of the modern interpretations are cool, they just lack the meaning of the original tale.

I think a lot of modern retellings are trying too hard to make myths ‘comfortable’ and sanitised, instead of merely adapting them to the new context. They want Hades and Persephone without the work, so they make Demeter an overbearing parent, as it’s the best they can do to make Hades and Persephone ‘okay’.

I’m not very well-versed in other myths, but honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if similar issues ensued. I know some have changed certain things in order to get their point across, if they’re trying to emphasise certain points, which I think is excusable, to an extent. But when you’re changing something so *fundamental*, it gets so fucking jarring.

I also think retellings need to stop using such negative language about the original. ‘Feminist retelling’ ‘giving a voice to characters that didn’t originally have one’ and it’s not feminist or giving a voice to the voiceless, it just talks about the original in a really non-helpful way. It just gives people the idea that original myths are these terrible out-of-date stories and not the basis for so much modern literature.

[see-arcane]

me: "Wow, The Green Knight (2021) dir. David Lowery, starring Dev Patel is such a breathtaking classical epic. It's so richly portrayed in its fantastical and character study elements. The dynamic between Gawain and the Knight, plus the pseudo-throuple chemistry of him and the 'Lord and Lady' is so well done. Gawain seeing the ruinous vision of where cowardice and pure self-preservation would lead him as opposed to a dignified ending (so he thinks it will be) and being a fellow of honor and a kept word was incredibly powerful. What a marvel of storytelling. If the movie is this good, I can only imagine how great the original poem must be!"

The original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: This poem is 99.99% descriptions of feasting, pretty armor, and how great wonderful hot awesome virtuous beloved Gawain is. Also how utterly jacked and virile and sexy and green the Green Knight is. No it will not explain how or why an explicitly pagan Fae-coded forest entity is a devout Christian, ditto his wife and castle staff. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, enjoy this spontaneous rant at the end where Gawain blames his and all other great men's ills on falling for evil icky women wiles--directly after being told by the Green Knight that his wife was working under the Knight's orders to tempt and test Gawain in the first place. Green Knight and his lady are still DTF and let Gawain crash with them though, xoxo

[dittolicous]

sighs. i have had so much free time because of my cut hours but its. still left me with nothing to do, since i have to save as much money as possible while looking for another job. so i sleep, wake up, look to see if there are any new job postings on indeed/linkedin/ziprecruit/monster/etc, dig farther into google for more sketchy job openings, think about what company sites i can check for direct jobs, check those sketchy 'surveys for money' sites,... and then i go back to sleep. because well. cant be hungry or waste money if ur asleep.

i just. im miserable. i have so much time but i cant even enjoy or use it because im going to start bleeding money i dont have soon. im fucking terrified of not being able to find a new job, of being stuck in this... dead end job. unable to get off this damn island. it makes me sick. so im bored and guilty and scared and i just gucking hate this!

im so fuckibg tired of living in this godforsaken world where you only deserve to live if you give up everything. honestly, i wish someone would just. fuckibg come beat me up. wish my parents had actually fucking hit me instead of just yelling and insults. wish i was missing limbs or brain fuction or just. anything. anything to get the world to see i cant function.

im an empty brained idiot. i dont have any passion or self. how am i suppose to live? id rather be a fucking shattered glass than an empty jar. but thats what i am.

god i just. how???? how????? how do people... live????? how do you create and make.... your brand or personality? i cant make any of that. im just here. breathing. not for any reason. thats how its always been. everytime i see jokes about what kind of 'weird kid' you were i want to cry. because ive never been fucking anything! i wasnt a horse girl or a cat girl or train person or dinosaur nut or a monster fan and never cared about Egypt or rome or didnt care for legos or cars or model building or WHATEVER. ive just! been here! with nothing! im not ANYTHING. i dont have hobbys. ive nev r had hobbies.

ive always been alone and empty. disconnected from the world. disconnected from the community. disconnected from everyone.

my life is nothing. has been nothing. just a waste of time and space. nothing to show but misery and anger. theres no escaping it. i wish i was an actual person instead of this empty sack of nothing.

get hobbies they say, thatll help, yeah surs. sure. hobbies. to store in my roach and rat infested house, where i hide away in a tiny room because its the only space i have that i can control. with the money that i dont have. alone. because im terrible at bonding with people. because why would any human wanna hang around me? and because i tire so fucking fast.

i just. i wish i was fucking dead. im tired of this stupid fucking world. thinking things might get bettrr jusy to have reality forced into my face. im a piece of garbage npc who would have been better never being born.

[ynsvnte]

UPDATE UMMM I LOVE IT SOOO MUCH