#loops & threads

[artilite]

more of them 🦠🦠??!!?!

doodles for @anuninterestingperson's velveteen au !!! sorry to all those who'd like context it's lost in the floorboards

[lucabyte]

Stardust.

[beneathsilverstars]

been thinking about the differences between SASASAP and ISAT lately. because looking just at ISAT and the two hats ending, you'd think loop went through the exact same house as our siffrin, but looking at SASASAP, it's different. it's mixed up. it's obviously a condensed prototype.

but. that doesn't have to mean it's a different universe entirely.

maybe that's just what happens after a thousand loops.

the house warped in act 5. siffrin lost their shit and the house got changed and corrupted, far past its baseline king uncanniness. so it wouldn't be too out-of-the-question for it to be able to warp in more subtle ways as well, due to a more subtle breakdown.

like a jpeg uploaded and downloaded a thousand times, siffrin changed, and the loops changed. over a thousand loops of efficiency, the house got more efficient. rooms combining. items moving. data compressing. and of course, run in a changed house, the script changed as well. it did so slowly, one bit at a time, over a thousand loops of zoned-out half-listening – and by the time siffrin would have noticed each difference, they were already used to it. (and in the moments that they did look at a room that was less familiar than it should be and realize that they had no idea where to find the key, well. that's just classic siffrin, isn't it.)

through sheer repetition, siffrin was corrupted, and the loops and the house along with them. all purpose lost, all signals distorted, until finally they couldn't recognize the meaning in any of it. it was all noise and despair.

so they made a wish. and the loop restarted. not just a reboot, but something more complete.

the data was backed up onto a star – a guide, a warning, a reference – and the loops were factory reset. and for the first time in a thousand loops, siffrin woke up to a clear mind and the crisp sound of birdsong.

[jewishrat420]

Steve always thought Eddie was beautiful.

He never let himself linger too long on it in fear of what he might see if he let himself look. If he let himself dust off the dirt that lay on top of it, too overwhelmed by the possibility that he really hadn’t had himself figured out the way he thought he did.

But it’s true.

Like the sky knows clouds that filter in and out of eyesight, like the moon knows the unwavering devotion of the tide, Steve knows this to be a fact as irrefutable as the nature of gravity:

Eddie Munson is beautiful.

It’s in the way his hair bounces with every step. These springy, frizzy little curls that Steve desperately wants to know, intimately, the way he knows his own. Wants to compare them, wants to feel them in the spaces between his fingers, the sensitive parts that nothing else really touches.

It’s in the way he lights up a room as soon as he steps into it, a walking sun that burns so bright that he leaves the hole of every space he was once in great and gaping and singed at the edges. Everything he touches turns to gold, everyone he meets ruined for anyone else.

It’s in the way he carries himself. Tall when people are looking and small when they aren’t, like his body is a show that no one ever willingly buys tickets for but ends up seated front row at regardless.

Steve would buy tickets.

If he had known, if he had been brave enough when it really counted, he would have bought tickets.

There is no one like Eddie, and there never will be again.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Because Eddie is still beautiful, Steve thinks, even when he’s pale.

Even when his skin is sallow and sunken, even when his big brown eyes are tucked behind grayed eyelids.

Even when Steve himself was the one to shut them, but only after he spent nearly an hour gazing into their emptiness.

His hair is shorter now, the frayed edges trimmed by Wayne. He’d laughed as he did it, a sad little hitch in his throat, because apparently Eddie never let him cut his hair when he was younger.

When his blood flowed warm through his arteries, when his skin was still pink.

Wayne said he used to bounce his leg so hard that he was worried he was going to stab the scissors right through his thick skull.

So Eddie grew his hair out, split ends running wild.

But Steve still thought he was beautiful. Frizzy hair and all.

Steve’s never seen him dressed so fancy, not even for his own graduation.

But then again, he never got to try on that suit he borrowed from Wayne. Never got to see just how long the sleeves were, because he never got to be as tall as his uncle, did he?

No, Eddie never got the chance.

Never got the chance to he a normal boy with a normal childhood. To grow into the man he could have become and then into the world that was always too small to fit him.

Eddie Munson: born to die in Hawkins, Indiana.

If only he had tried just a little bit harder.

Fought just a little bit longer.

But he did his best, didn’t he?

Steve certainly thinks so.

Steve thinks he looks beautiful, now, still, always. He tucks a trimmed curl behind his ear, wishes he could have known what it would feel like if his skin were warm.

But it’s okay. He’ll know the feeling one day.

Next time.

Next time, they’ll try again. They’ll try harder.

Next time, Steve won’t be afraid to tell Eddie how beautiful he is.

Won’t be afraid of what comes after, because it will be different.

It won’t end with Eddie, sallow and skinny in a suit six sizes too big for him.

It won’t end with Eddie, pale and pretty as ever, laying in the coffin that’s been on reserve for him since the day he was born.

Next time will be different, see, because it won’t end.

They’ll do it right.

Steve will do it right.

And Eddie will still be beautiful, and Steve will tell him so.

x

original post

[pyxxie-nyxxie]

As soon as I saw @jinks050 tiny John I knew I needed to make him real

+soda can for scale, he's so small

[alcrego]

Far Threads🔊

[pyromaniac-cyndaquil]

I'm needle-felting a little wooloo as a gift rn (got a really cute hand-crocheted cyndaquil and am returning the favour) :] here's some progress pics with how it's going so far!

The legs armature was a pain in the ass bit I'm proud of this so far :D I'll probably start on colours then add the horns and ears w cut felt sheets next time!

[goon-account]

#mytendril

[maeljade]

You all have some Warframe posting too!

[a-tired-human-draws-junk]

"Are you a lifeforce?"

[that-unfortunate-crow]

Y'all seemed to like the last time I pointed out a blend in Sleep Token's music so have this!

Is It Really You? -> Thread The Needle

The very last song on my sleeping playlist blends into the first one seamlessly.

Unlike Missing Limbs this one soothes something in my brain.

[beneathsilverstars]

anyway the lore in my mind palace is that siffrin has a big meaningless crush on odile - they get flustered by how much they like her, but it's not something they'd think about as a romantic potential, it's just normal social nerves and clingy impulses but sweeter.

and then post-canon loop is like . i need to crawl inside someone and die like a bug, but it can't be siffrin bc he'd get all emo about it and it can't be isabeau bc absolutely not and it can't be mira bc i can't do that to her. but luckily that leaves one person. who i've always rly liked but siffrin would never consider an option. and she also won't cry all over me. odile can i sleep on the floor in your bedroom and bring you trinkets like a cat brings home dead birds

[faunandfloraas]

Them actually making the guys use threads and seungmin just sends that he's eating..... always consistent I suppose

[justicepuppet]

@gravity-wall from [x]

It took near every ounce of self-control to keep himself from letting out a noise when Morgana started to talk. It wouldn't have been a scream or a yell, just-- a sound, something that would have caused more heads to turn in his direction. He didn't need that. Couldn't have that. Everything was already twisted up enough and he felt like he was drowning with stress pouring down his throat.

He couldn't breath.

The time hadn't registered for him when looking at the phone, just the date. Considering all the students around, it had to be at the end of the day, but Akechi found he both didn't and couldn't care. His mouth was set in a firm, thin line as he started to walk, struggling against the urge to break into a run that would have inevitably resulted in him getting yelled at or even written up by a teacher.

Down one flight of stairs, round a hallway, there was a set of double doors, and fresh air on the other side. He knew he couldn't just stop in the middle of the entrance to the school, but Akechi could feel his legs shake for a moment as if threatening to simply give out from beneath him. It meant he had to pause, had to breath in deep, and had to go slow when walking again.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he ignored it, not wanting to deal with whoever was trying to contact the owner of it right now. Instead he made a slight glance over his shoulder to look back at the bag he was carrying. "... Morgana?" He already knew that was the name of the strange creature, but he just wanted to... confirm it.

"Remind me, what am I preparing for?"

[deus-ex-mona]

so. i. i guess the subtitle of ‘~the neverending magic of kiss~’ was accurate after all

[siffrins-therapist]

me: *is replaying isat for the 7th time*

me: "I need to make differences in some of the events and House layout for this damn arc in my fic or else the repetition is going to drive me fucking insane*