i reblog things, any/all??, '05
idc if you repost my stuff onto other sites, just tell me when you do (this goes for if you see me elsewhere too. i dont bite(usually))
wedding dresses are white specifically so that if the bride goes axe-crazy you can rest assured you will see the blood stains all over her and it'll be sick as fuck
the stupidest thing about mental illness is the short half life of reassurances. like yes I know you reminded me yesterday that I'm not secretly toxic waste that everybody wants rid of but that was like 18 hours ago and I forgor
Two dudes in my group chat have been playing league & slowly but surely have shifted from saying "wanna play league of legends" to "wanna play some geego legends". At this point their average post is just @ing the other and going "geegogagand?" and I feel insane
anon hate economy is in shambles they're sending me cartoon criminal with a striped black and white shirt and burlap sack with a dollar sign on it ass anons now
one thing i love about OTGW is that despite being a story about The Unknown and all the terrible dangers that lurk in it, the storyās main message is āthings are rarely as scary as they seem.ā the Woodsman scared the boys repeatedly, but he was really a good man trying to help them and in fact saved their lives multiple times. the inhabitants of Pottsville seemed ominous and ill-intentioned, but stopping to speak to them showed that they were benign folks who just came off a little creepy. the āfearsome gorillaā was just a man in a suit and the āghostā was just an unexpected roommate. even Auntie Whispers, a terrifying witch-woman who seemed to be abusing her ward, turned out to love Lorna and was only trying to protect her from evil forcesāand it was Wirt facing the evil spirit head on that finally exorcised it for good.
even the main charactersā arcs reflect this: Wirt is scared of rejection and humiliation from Sara and Jason Funderberker, but after returning to the real world, Sara is more than receptive toward him and Jason Funderberker isnāt even an issue. Beatrice is too ashamed to face her family after turning them all into bluebirds, but at the end of the story itās such a non-issue for them that they only use the incident to affectionately tease her and everybody is perfectly happy.
and it all cumulates in the final episode when Wirt and Greg finally face the Beast. for the entire series the Beast has been a looming figure of evil, something dark and strange and unimaginably powerful that you never, ever want to meet. but when Wirt actually dares to face the monster head on, not running or hiding or falling for its tricks, he destroys the Beast in less than a minute! the monster thatās been terrorizing the woods for who knows how long, preying on fearful travelers and eating the souls of its victims, is extinguished by simply blowing out a lantern.
OTGW hammers it home that as much as it scares you, you have to face the Unknown in order to move forward. maybe its scary. maybe it will suck. but when you do confront your problems directly, itās almost as never as bad as it seems.
I told my little nephew that I'd wave at his airplane when it flew over my house today, and he very calmly and politely explained that it wouldn't be possible to see me due to the limitations of human vision. I said he just had to squint real hard, and he took a deep breath and went into the toddler version of "see, what you're not understandingā"
I was duelling this girl but I misread the vibe so when we got into a bind and got really close to each other I didn't kiss her I just hit her in the face with my pommel and now she's crying and she's got a nosebleed
ok Iām back you and your boyfriend and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your djinn can go
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize thereās nothing in there. Not metaphoricallyāthe armor is literally empty. It doesnāt 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 mightāve 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 heāll 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 whoās 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 didnāt 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. Iām not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. Weāre 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 Iād 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 Iām not sure why I asked.
Thereās not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs Iāve 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 Iāve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where itās barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, Iāll never understand. But itās 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. Itās like heās watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. Iām careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. Thereās no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like heās 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. Thereās nothing there. I ask him whatās wrong, and again he points. Itās the most emotion Iāve ever seen from him, and itās 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 Iām finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesnāt put it on right away. I ask him if somethingās still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I canāt add anything else. Even if he could ask, thereās no room left.
Next time he comes back, thereās nothing wrong with his armorāhe lets me check to make sure. I ask him what heās doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. Itās in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but Iāll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but Iām 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. Itās candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. Itās flavored with cinnamon. Iām 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 itās my own fault so I canāt 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 Iāll 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 itās dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where heās 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 Iāve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesnāt move to leave.
I ask if heās 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 heās not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him Iām grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him Iāve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him itās 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 elseās empty armor with trinkets. Iām not sure if thatās really why he does it. I tell him I donāt have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. Iām 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 itās nothing at all.
ā
I didnāt edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
you donāt realize how important lunch is until youāre wandering around thinking about how unloveable and untalented and uniquely cursed you are and then itās 4pm and you finally eat lunch and you go Oh. oh right.
lot of people commenting on this post like "who eats lunch at 4pm that's a terrible time to eat lunch" yes. that is the point. 4pm lunch is inadvisable. 4pm lunch is not the ideal. 4pm lunch makes the mind demons real.
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