#i would tear the world apart for them

[my-entire-personality-is-fake]

You know that song that repeats the line "he ain't heavy, he's my brother"? I have a love hate relationship with it. I love what the person who wrote it was trying to get across: that they love their brother so much they'll carry him and his baggage no matter how heavy or far. I get it and I love it. But. While I don't have brothers, I do have sisters and other family. I love my family. We all have tons of baggage. I carry it best so I do. I carry my sisters, my mom, and my dad when he lets me. I do it happily. But it is heavy, especially with my own baggage. It's really fucking heavy, but I carry them anyway because I love them. And is that not what love is? Holding someone and supporting them? Caring for them? Carrying them when they let you?

[muninnhuginn]

The Anya-Twilight interaction in the middle of this chapter is pretty interesting.

The Anya side of this interaction seems clear enough in that she's trying to obfuscate when asked about her exposure to classical language. The fact we don't see her face as she claims she doesn't remember makes me think she very possibly *does*, but doesn't want to talk about it. And, of course, as I've seen pointed out already, her face when she's first asked is very reminiscent of how she looks in the recent 'Ania' short chapter. She has thoughts/feelings about her past and they've clearly affected her, but they're not for the audience to see yet.

However, the Twilight side of this? I'm a bit stunned at how obviously he does not want to be asking this question of Anya. We know he's considered there's some reason in her past for her knowledge of classical language. We know he's a chronic overthinker. Even last chapter, he was thinking of this, but didn't ask. Anya getting second place though basically removes any plausible deniability. If he doesn't ask now, he's neglecting his duty. But still, he has to work up to it, almost leaves the room before he decides to broach the topic, and when he does, he *mumbles* it. Twilight doesn't really *act* with Anya when it's just them. His mumbling is not an act; it's reluctance.

His reluctance to ask the question of Anya is, in some ways, more egregious than how easily he drops the topic once Anya claims she doesn't remember. Not pushing her further and bringing the topic up later is a valid tactic (and likely one we may see), but we can see that he knows there's more to it. Unlike the audience, he can see her face, after all. And for now, he's indicated he won't push further despite that knowledge. By choosing to back off and patting Anya instead, he's (in a very low-key way admittedly) prioritising Anya over the mission.

It's just so neat how this one interaction showcases so much about the both of them. It hammers in Anya's trauma about her past, without spelling it out in words, but at the same time, it shows how Twilight's approach to fatherhood vs his mission are coming increasingly into conflict. We've had something similar on a larger scale with the recent Yuri-mole arc, with his role as Yor's spouse vs the mission, but it's still playing out on a smaller scale in scenes like this. And it's fascinating how the mission isn't always the clear-cut winner anymore. Sure, early on, we had Twilight sabotaging the Eden entry interview, but that was a moment of passion inspired by his whole "not wanting children to cry" deal. In other words, fuelled by some of his own trauma. In the recent chapters though, he's had time to think and justify before he acts. But the pendulum is still swinging towards his family when given the chance.

[resident-gay-bitch]

steve’s pov here :)

prey.

lots of prey.

that’s what eddie knew.

he watched them enter his land through that… thing. that hole in the ground that let off a high pitched sound and kept him in line. it scared him and his brethren. none of them could go near it. it hurts if you do. they’ve all learnt the hard way, whilst trying to escape. it burns your body to touch and turns your brain dizzy.

but the prey passed through it without an issue.

eddie watched from the top of the tree he was perched in, crowded around by his resting family, his cousins and friends. he watched the prey make their way through his world, listened as his master told him to kill.

eddie attacked when they least expected it.

he swooped down and swiped at one of their necks with his claw. he would have gotten it, if that one with curly hair didn’t scream his name.

it sent eddie flying back- he recognised it, the voice. the face.

it wasn’t prey.

it was a friend.

eddie flew away. too scared of what would happen if he stayed.

he couldn’t stay.

his master was mad. beyond mad at him.

he threatened to kill eddie if he didn’t complete his task. he’d send his brethren on the prey and himself.

eddie didn’t want that. he wanted the prey to live, he thought. well… the curly haired one. he didn’t know about the rest. but if not for that curly haired one, eddie might let master carry out that promise. he didn’t like this world. it was cold and dark and he felt dirty and he only remembered pain.

he flew back to his home, to his nest in a place he felt most safe. a safe place that was still standing. his old home, the one with who he thinks is his father from the other world, now destroyed to the hole that was too big and too loud and hurt too much if he flew near it.

his home in the drama room at school. he’d dragged mattresses and pillows and blankets back into the changing room and built himself a nest, collected all his favourite things.

he had a pile for his father, flannelette shirts all piled up on a bunch of random mugs. he had his sweetheart there too. he’d been collecting dice from everywhere he could find them, all different shapes and colours, they were scattered around his nest, and he played with them when he got bored and couldn’t sleep. he had a picture frame shoved there somewhere with a photo of his mother, a flower pressed under the glass that was her namesake. it was the only name eddie could remember; petunia. and he had the mangled old teddy bear she gave him as a baby that he curled up with every night.

but he had his most favourite pile there too, at the place where he lay his head every night. in the pile was a green and white jacket with a name eddie couldn’t read written across the back. there were shirts and two jumpers, a red and a yellow one. he had three odd socks and one pair, and some underwear, and a singular sneaker. he’d taken them all from a large house on the nice looking side of this world, from a room he didn’t like very much, but he remembered the boy that owned all those things was very special to him.

he couldn’t remember his name or his face though, and eddie cried about it every night.

he pottered around his nest, moving his things about and settling down in it. he hurried out and to the other side of his home where he had a pile of things he’d collected that took up too much space in the nest. he sifted through them; some more mugs, a weird al shirt, a pair of drumsticks, some comics, a bunch of action figures, a green ribbon, an old year book, some novels, an acoustic guitar, car keys, a cheer skirt, journals, a lunchbox- all things that made his heart clench to look at, to touch, but he couldn’t remember why.

except for the yearbook.

when he found the yearbook he got so excited he’d stretched out his wings and started flying in the tiny little room. he knocked over a rack of costumes with them, fucked up his nest, and put a hole through the wall. he didn’t care though.

he had the year book almost permanently open to one page. a page he remembered looking at a lot when he was younger. on the page was him, the man that eddie couldn’t remember the name or face of. the one he loved so much. and beside him was another man with eddie’s old face! he’d made it. he remembered making it. he wrote something, but eddie couldn’t read that either.

after finding that year book, eddie looked at the page every day and every night, whenever he could. he often went to sleep with the page open, he’d sometimes just sit there and look at it. he’d draw his claw lightly over the man’s pretty face and sometimes he’d lick it when he particularly missed him.

oh eddie loved him so much.

so that’s what eddie did now. he sat down in his nest and drew over his pretty face and he stretched out his long tongue until it touched the page and then he smiled.

he smiled so much his heart squeezed.

he missed his boy.

but his master was not happy with him. he made eddie go back out to kill them.

eddie promised himself he wouldn’t kill the curly haired one.

he flew out until he found them, and then he swooped down over their heads to give the prey a scare and perched himself atop an electricity pole. he crouched there with his wings hanging heavy down behind him and looked at his next meal.

only, he didn’t attack. not straight away.

there was something familiar about one of them. the one holding a bat over his shoulder, scowling at eddie. he had floppy hair and strong shoulders. eddie thought he’d put up the biggest fight.

but there was something about him.

eddie cocked his head and looked at him some more. looking looking looking. trying to figure him out. he ignored everyone else. the man adjusted his grip on his weapon, ready to swing it at eddie if needed.

eddie moved his head forward because… no…

no it- it couldn’t be.

it was him.

the boy in the picture.

the one he loved!

he straightened his back out in a flesh, sitting up tall, perched on the pole, and he let out a screech of excitement. he hoped the man was just as excited as he was.

his love leered forward slightly, looking ready to fight… to protect. oh, he looked so strong and brave like that, ready to defend his own brethren. eddie admired him so much. he was so beautiful. so strong. so handsome.

eddie stretched his wings out and stood, he let out another thrilled sound because- oh, because he was here! the one he loved was here… in his world! and eddie could have him.

eddie clutched at his heart like he’d just been struck by cupids arrow and fell backwards off the pole, like he was fainting. he was swooning afterall. he hoped to impress this man too.

eddie had to impress him.

so he free fell and right before he hit the ground he stretched his wings out further and lifted himself high into the sky. way higher than he needed to go. he looked down at the one he loved and- oh goodness, he just couldn’t help himself. he tucked his wings around his body and nosedived straight for him.

it’s what he’d seen his family do, when they found their love. one would fly high in the sky and barrel roll into the other, catch them, and take flight again.

it was their mating ritual, so it’s what eddie would do.

he crashed into the pretty golden haired love and had to take a moment to just look at him as he wiggled around on the ground beneath eddie. eddie tired to pin him down, to show him he was safe… it was just eddie. he tried to communicate, clicking his tongue to say “hello, it’s me, i love you” but he didn’t seem to get it.

that was okay.

eddie would show him.

but before he had a chance his wing was struck with an immense amount of pain.

he stretched it out to look, and found a hole clean through it, and he lowered it just enough to see one of his prey, standing there, a gun aimed right at him.

you hurt me, eddie thought, you tore me.

he was going to make her death the most painful. save her for last.

he looked back at his love and grabbed him tight and lifted up info the air. it made him scream, and eddie thought it was a nice sound. similar to his own happy call. eddie really liked this man.

he took him to his home, sweeping through the crack in the roof, down into his little home, and he lay him down in his nest. his love is the only other being allowed anywhere near his home.

the last being to try - his brother and friend - was ripped to shreds by eddie’s own teeth. no one breached these walls again.

eddie laid him down and crawled back to sit by his loves legs, crouched there and waiting. he looked at him curiously. he looked quite different than the picture. he had lighter, floppier hair, and some scruffy fur around his mouth, and he had this thing on his face that made his eyes look a little bigger than usual, and… clothes. in the picture he only had little swim shorts on. eddie hoped his love might take these clothes off soon.

oh eddie thought he was just neat.

the perfect new item to make home of his nest. he’d keep him here forever, that was for sure.

he was eddie’s now.

he looked a little confused, but that was okay. eddie would help him understand anything he needed. all eddie wanted to do was look after his love.

oh. the picture. that would help him understand. that’s how eddie could tell him he loved him.

great idea!

he crawled over to get it, leaving his love in the nest for a little moment. he sifted through some of his other things before retrieving it. he grabbed the book with his teeth, and crawled back over to pretty man, and perched himself as close as possible. he dropped the book between his own feet and pressed his hands on top of it to keep it safe, and waited.

when he turned back around to look at eddie, he freaked out a little. eddie thought it was very sweet. eddie wanted to see every face this man could make, they were all so beautiful. he cocked his head to the side and looked at him some more, trying to figure him out.

to ask if this was okay.

his love held up the jacket with the name eddie couldn’t read. he looked at the jacket, then back at his love, then back at the jacket, then back at his love and he felt warmth bubble up in his chest. he purred, hoping to let his love know what this meant. hoping to let him know he was happy that he was here. that he wanted his love to wear the jacket.

eddie noticed how his love was wearing one thing that meant a lot to eddie himself. a vest. one covered in patches and pins that he used to wear every day. eddie lowered his head to bump his loves shoulder and blinked at him once.

“it’s yours.” his love said, and it made eddie’s heart flutter so much! he loved the sound of his voice. it was so soft and smooth and eddie wished he could talk the same. his love tugged at the sleeve of the vest, “i know, i’m sorry. i hope you don’t mind. it helped ground me on the bad days.”

don’t mind? don’t mind!?

why would eddie mind about that? this was the best day of his life. not only was his love here, but he was here and collecting eddie’s things too.

eddie cocked his head, trying to communicate that of course he was okay with it. that he was okay with anything his love wanted.

“can you understand me?” he asked.

eddie nodded.

“can you talk like me?” he asked again.

eddie really wished he could. he wanted nothing more than to say that he loved him. he wanted to ask his name.

“i’ll take that as a no.” he hummed, and it made eddie’s chest vibrate, “you have a lot of my things.”

eddie wanted to collect more of them.

he dropped the book on his loves lap and watched curiously as he opened it. eddie’s heart was about to leap out of his chest when the man found the page eddie wanted him to see.

his pretty pretty love drew his finger over the page and read out the words eddie had written there many years ago… the words eddie had longed to be able to read or remember, and now he’d know, “by the time you graduate, this will be real, and he will be nice and want you back.”

oh… right.

yes. eddie loved him. he knew now. didn’t he. his love knew and- oh, he was laughing.

eddie didn’t like that. why was he laughing? did he not love eddie too.

eddie screeched at him and pouted because… because why would he laugh? that’s mean. it hurts eddie. it hurts eddie a lot. he would just like to love his love.

oh eddie loved him so much.

he watched with sad eyes as his love realised how much it was hurting eddie, and then he said, “you technically still haven’t graduated, you know?”

oh goodie. his love wanted him too!

he loved him so much he just- oh, he just couldn’t hold back any more. he flicked his tongue out and licked up his loves cheek and it was so much better than licking the picture. this time, when his love laughed, eddie liked it.

this was a good laugh.

“licking? really?”

eddie smiled at him and nodded his head because, yes. of course! he had to show his love and that’s how he did that. that’s what he knew. he hoped his love would lick him back… but maybe that’s not how those creatures showed their love.

that’s okay. eddie would learn eventually.

eddie helped shuffle his love back to cuddle because he didn’t care how mad his master got right now, eddie had his love and he’d finally be able to sleep well. he was sure this would be the first sleep he got without crying since waking up down here, in this world.

he curled up with his teddy and wrapped his wings around his love, curling into his lap and chest. eddie pressed his ear up over his heart to listen to the steady drum beat of it inside. it was one of the best sounds in every world. eddie started to purr again, feeling warm and dizzy against his love. he smelt amazing, and eddie nuzzled his face under the vest to get closer to him.

eddie felt his love pet his head softly and hold him a little tighter. eddie didn’t think he could love something any more than he loved this being right here. he was going to keep him forever. protect him and make sure he was safe, and well fed, and warm. he’d stay here, in eddie’s home, where no one else was allowed to go so eddie could keep him for himself. if he wanted anything, eddie would fetch it for him.

eddie would love him with every fibre in his body and more.

he’d do anything for his love.

he was sure of it.

if only he could remember his name.

[a-s-levynn]

"I'll tear the fibre from the filament / I'll be the limit of your light again" A Series of Small Offerings - II/7 - day15

[suppenzeit]

this line is making me feel ill. (<- positive)

[yashley]

zerxus’ grief rendering him so desperate he begs patia to wipe the entire memory of the knowledge that he tried everything he could to protect his love and still failed …….……. laerryn’s frantic, fervent determination to try everything she can to protect hers

[saturnaous]

hey you guys suck(not actually) so I have to ask

I'm adding. the actual answer of what it is under the cut.

since I keep seeing people be like 'rOlLeD a. BLuNt tOdAyy pAsS tHe BlUnT' and shit will obviously be a joint. I think you guys just really really like the term blunt. you are wrong

So a fucking BLUNT. Is a weed cigar. It's rolled with Cigar paper. and then a JOINT is a weed cigarette. it's rolled with Cigarette paper. Okay? The difference is the type of PAPER. okay? okay?

[britneyshakespeare]

can’t stop intellectualizing about barbie

[pepprs]

not to be a pain-crazed wild animal. i KNOW i do this every time. but p*riods are so fucking crazy. like my cr*mps are so bad my body is trying to strangle itself but im awake and i need to be at work in 2 hrs and get thru an entire 9 hr workday as if im not in excruciating pain and im gonna bring my heating pad and my p*in r*lief cr*am if you catch my drift (💀) and i’ll need to use them DURING a busy day in which i will not see any other ppl who get periods in person and using them is gonna be a whole awkward thing. like omg. this is not fucking normal lol

[storyweaverofgondor]

Me looking at how fictional characters on here are analyzed: Maybe i should simplify my original characters’ personalities? I don’t think anyone on here would understand them and i don’t want to invite bad faith interpretations. Maybe i should just play it safe and restrict myself to placing characters in the handful of well defined boxs everyone will put them in anyway?

Me in my confident moments: Actually, this sounds like a problem for them. I’m going to make complex characters. Let people have conniptions over trying to shove my babies into ill-fitting boxes. The people who matter will get it. There are lots people who will love my stories.

[glitterghost]

Messaged my friend (who only knows that I like Bad Omens & not much else abt them) about Noah's aesthetic and their reply was:

"I just looked up some pics of Noah! UGHHH EXCUSE YOU SIR WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO LOOK LIKE THAT"

Like yes, touché. I'm glad they got it.

Whatever Bad Omens throws down is just intoxicating.

[diari0deglierrori]

Seriously…. And then they ask why I’m mad so often

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[slightlytoastedbagel]

AnHane Twitch Plays Pokemon Crystal au is the worst idea I've ever had but just trust me on it ok?

[cipheramnesia]

The reason I probably shouldn't be allowed to make movies is I have no impulse control and I would immediately make something called Revenge Of The Dead Tranny Hooker. It would be about a trans woman trying to break into acting, but no one wants to hire her for anything except playing a sex worker who gets murdered. Then one day she does an open casting call which runs her through a series of increasingly bizarre line readings, which it turns out are meant to summon an eldritch demon to grant the movie producer god-like powers.

The culmination is supposed to be sex on the casting couch, but she ditches at the last minute, destroying the ritual and splintering the extradimensional entity across California. She unknowingly receives powerful extradimensional blood, while the rest of the fragments seek out the powerful and violent people of the world. Meanwhile the movie producer uses his new powers to transform his PAs into henchcreatures, and sends them after the protag to finish her off. She discovers her new powers in the ensuing fight, which also seem to be gradually altering her body every time she uses them.

The rest of the movie is a steadily escalating game of cat and mouse between trans woman and movie producer. While the former transformers the fragments into powerful psychic weapons like chainsaws and spiked bats, the later uses fragments to make himself bigger and physically stronger. At first the fights are short and brutal, the protag outmatched and outgunned, but she gets more confident to the point of an anarchic battle of against the LAPD led by a demonic police captain, including a scene where she stands on the roof of a speeding police car and rips the driver through the windshield.

Her eventual form is some kind hyper sexual draconic mantid squid rippling with biomechanoid components. In the fight with the producer he thinks he's winning by tearing apart the last of her human flesh, but this just complete her transformation, letting her easily overwhelm him. It's implied from that point forward she plans to conquer the world.

[caterpillarinacave]

You chose (Yes) the Consequences are as follows:

The man seems relieved you're staying to help and asks some questions about your own rope situation, surprised to hear you actually repaired the damage, he offers to help the best he can and the three of you head to the forest where you find trees fading in and out of seasons, the sky differs each time you look, and the ground shifts like rippling sand despite its solid foundation, it unnerves you, but you feel secure enough to push forward until you reach the field of your interest, which as the pictures indicate are covered in glowing material, loops of rope dot across in lines over the field which remind you of a seam, or maybe that's just the comparison that the writer of your book on all this had used, but she wasn't wrong for sure, so you set up shop, your friend off to the side minding his own business, the scientist curiously taking blurry photos and notes while you wander through the damage, the sickly air cracks drily, the rope puddles on the ground and hangs limply in the air, there's so much, it feels all wrong, like an itch deep in your bones, you pick a spot and begin to work, showing your methods to the scientist as he tries to replicate your actions, he does his best, but he can't quite get the hang of it and he keeps getting distracted reading through the old journal print out you'd brought along to reference, so you do end up shouldering the majority of the work over the weeks, not that you mind, the movements are becoming familiar, you can let your mind wander in peace, the soft rope gliding across your hands, the cracking shimmery air sliding back towards normalcy in increments as things fall into place, it's comfortable if a bit tedious and that's probably why you don't notice the person off to your side before they politely clear their throat to get your attention, you startle to see a woman, she's in fairly dated clothing and wears a fond smile as she works alongside you to repair the damage, she greets you with the name of the author of the book you've been using, you wonder how she's here but she only shrugs,

"You stand here patching a hole in the fabric of the universe, are there not odder things to happen? Though, between you and me, this is not the first I've met a fellow seamstress or seamster, even divided by time as we are. It always a unique experience of course." You puzzle at this, continuing to work on the ropes, she takes over a spot you had struggled with earlier, quickly straightening it out,

"More inquisitive minds than I have worked to measure and define this problem, but I do not mind not knowing, I think I prefer the mystery of it all." You let that pass over you a moment before you enquire about what would happen if you had walked away,

"Oh, it'd have fixed itself eventually, this fabric of ours is self-repairing if given time. But like a wound, it bleeds without care. I'm sure you've seen the consequences of this?" You agree, this conversation alone is proof of her words you imagine and she laughs, the both of you chat amicably, she gives you a few tips and tricks for the situation at hand, but also for general seamstry, you discuss the present and answer her questions where she has them, after a while the project begins to reach completion, together you've made great time, finishing several days earlier than you'd thought it would take, as the last of the rope disappears your newfound friend begins to fade, you say your goodbyes and sit in each others company as the space between time closes,

"Will you keep attending to the fabric in your own time?" She asks, you think on it, this wasn't anything you'd ever planned on, you could walk away of course, but there were plenty of times to have walked away before all this, you think you may keep going, when you can of course, she nods and with a final farewell she's gone. In the end you start a webpage that the scientist offers to run in his free time, he'll keep a look out for strange things possibly related to the rope around the world and have a place where people looking for help can reach out, the group he's a part of chips in, covering travel costs and occasionally coming out to help or study the phenomenon when you have jobs that appear, and for the most part your life continues on, while every once in a while you and your military trained companion head out to some new place in the world to mend the universe.

Congrats!

You've unlocked: Meet the Seamstress!

You've earned the title: Mender of the Universe!

You've earned the award: Carrying on a Legacy!