Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize there’s nothing in there. Not metaphorically—the armor is literally empty. It doesn’t appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body might’ve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what he’ll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy who’s got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didn’t say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures I’d put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so I’m not sure why I asked.
There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.
Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but it’s my own fault so I can’t complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him I’ll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.
I ask if he’s going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe it’s nothing at all.
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I didn’t edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
A HANDY CHART FOR THOSE OF YOU WONDERING WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THESE. NOTE THAT THESE ARE ALL THE INFORMAL AND YOU IS THE FORMAL SO LIKE YOU WOULD ALWAYS ADDRESS YOUR SUPERIOR/ OLDER PERSON/ SOCIAL BETTER WITH YOU BUT WITH YOUR BUDS YOU CAN USE THESE.
I promise you things will get so much better when you start processing people’s behavior as information rather than a verdict on your self-worth. If someone doesn’t text back, suddenly pulls away, whatever it may be, the solution isn’t to put on a tap dance for them and try to regain their approval. It’s not to crash out on them and try to force them to react a certain way. It’s just to take a step back, take a deep breath, and assess what this tells you. What’s this saying about them? What’s this saying about you??
Next level to this is moving away from analyses like "they don't value me as a friend" and considering interpretations like "they may have difficult and/or important things going on in their life that I don't know about" and in most cases settling on "i don't know them well enough to really know what's going on with them" and then to accept that that's okay.
Life works so much better when you only engage with others based on their words or actions and refrain from any additional analysis.
Someone didn't text back? Okay so you're not making plans with them. Someone consistently ignores your attempts to contact them? Okay, so you're not gonna be interacting with them now. You can move on with no additional drama. It doesn't need to be a big judgment on them or a big judgment on yourself.
Focus on the relationships where people are engaging with you and live your life.
I mean, in some very interesting Technically Correct ways, they didn't actually die? Now, they're very much no longer alive. But the forces involved are such that they didn't get any of the usual cellular processes of death, they simply went from biology to physics in less time than it takes a signal to travel down your optic nerve.
At the local hamburger shop and they said yelled out “order 167!” And three middle school age kids yelled in perfect unison “ 6 7!” Life is sometimes so beautiful
The first time I saw this video I didn't reblog or save it anywhere and it's been genuinely impossible to find again. I searched every variation of "dyke falling apart car bentley review asmr meme" I could come up with on Google and across multiple websites/apps.
Because of this video, any time I'm working on my piece of shit subaru and find something new wrong with it, I knock on some part of the car and say "Subaru" the same way the mechanic here says "holden".
"making them afraid will make them more racist" that's wild to me, because we live in a whole culture of social consequences for antiracism anyway. It is literally safer to be a racist than it is to speak up against it, socially.
Idk about you, but "I'm afraid no one will want to be my friend if I'm a white supremacist" seems like a pretty logical thought process to have, and I wish THAT were the normal and not "I'm afraid my friends will hate me if I tell them they made racist jokes".
I had a more intellectual answer for you, but tbh... Then I guess they'll find out. And when they do, they have two options: apologize and actively commit to doing better, or understand that they are choosing racism and will be treated as such. Because the society we live in, somehow option number 2 is the easier route due to a lack of social consequences for being a bigot. I don't think choosing to be a bigot should be the easier route. It should suck to be a racist.
we're literally never going to be a less-racist country if people don't stop coddling racist white people. "oh but they didn't know" be that as it may, and acknowledging that good people can still have internalized racism, a lot of people would rather not learn than learn a lesson that's uncomfortable
yeah it's really uncomfortable to be on either sides of the conversation where somebody has to say "hey don't say that, that's fucking racist" but we HAVE to do that or nothing is going to change
After almost a decade on this site, I found another Tumblr user in the wild. I stopped to tie my shoe with rainbow laces this morning outside the silversmith at Colonial Williamsburg, and I heard it.
“I like your shoelaces.”
Oh. Oh no.
I responded the only way I could. “Thanks.” And then I reluctantly added, “I stole them from the president…and if that makes sense to you, I’m very sorry.”
The poor man, in full Colonial dress, stared at me for a long moment. And then burst into laughter. And said, “I haven’t thought about that in YEARS and this has never happened to me before.”
I live in the northwest coast of Canada so we walk everywhere and do stuff outside in the rain and swim in whatever lakes and rivers we find so imagine my smug sense of Canadian superiority when I met a USAmerican Midwesterner who was horrified at the very thought
What I mean to say is that it's very easy to delude yourself into believing you are more in tune with your environment when your environment is not actively hostile to your existence in every conceivable way
Rains frequently, but the worst is like standing under a bathroom shower. Genuinely inhospitable rainstorms are uncommon.
Along the coast, it's pretty easy in most areas to walk to at least one store, or else there's usually a bus or shuttle available. There are sidewalks and bike lanes everywhere.
It's a temperate boreal rainforest, so while there are many freshwater lakes and rivers, they're usually pretty cold. The biggest danger is typically getting caught in a strong current, and the most dangerous animals in swimming distance are on land.
Earthquakes happen almost every day, but the vast majority go unnoticed. Buildings are designed to withstand bigger seismic activity, so unless it's a 5 or higher it just kind of feels like having low blood sugar for a second. There are no tornados
Rural Illinois, USA:
One minute it's sunny, then ten minutes later that distant smudge on the horizon has swallowed the entire sky in black clouds and the water is coming down like waterfall and you literally CANNOT SEE. Then there's a crash like cymbals and you need to get indoors because the thunder and lightening are on TOP of you
No sidewalks until you are in the smack dab center of town, which is a three hour walk or twenty minute drive from wherever you are.
There aren't many natural bodies of water other than small ponds and creeks, and because the environment is so much warmer, those are filled with snapping turtles that can grow bigger than a nine year old child and water snakes that are incredibly venomous. These are paired with leeches and mosquitos for that sweet umami flavor.
Sometimes Jupiter, Lord of the Heavens decides to jam his finger into the side of your house just to fuck with your whole shit and throws your truck a thousand yards into the nearest church
okay but we can't know for sure that the loud noise and bright flash offstage—which occurred after the character who was holding the gun exited the stage with it—was a gunshot, because we didn't get to directly see it
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
