#Great Mother Spider.

[galaxirin]

Rom contacts Micolash, 1825.

Comic series here

[dirtytransmasc]

Do you think some atokirina follow spider around? Not being seen or acknowledged really beside normal but Mo’at and is only slightly confused?

that kid can't escape them, luckily for him he thinks there adorable up until the age he understand what they mean, then he's confused as hell.

up until he starts poking around for an answer, it goes sorta unnoticed; they're only really around when he's alone, or apparently while he sleeps, which he doesn't do often (out in pandora). he ask kiri, jake, and neytiri what it means, and all they have is "it's a sign" but they don't know what of. they ask mo'at and she says only the boy himself needs to know. when he asks her she says eywa believes he's special, like that answer his question, but he knows not to talk back to his grandmother or The Great Mother, so he just accepts it and goes on with his day (aka stuck with mo'at for a day, cause grandma wants time with her grandbaby).

it just never stops, they're always getting in his face, guiding him places, showing him things. hr loves them like you love a nagging mother. Eywa's finds it funny.

[bitchdafuqyousay]

y’all are sooo mean to my girl gwen but i don’t see even half that outrage n hostility finding it’s way to peter b so ik for sure y’all would be more forgiving if she was a boy it’s mad annoying

[luc3]

Woleb os, evoba sa.

Candles dedicated to the Great "Old" Mothers, Weavers of Creation.

[featherymainffins]

I think it's a hatecrime against me that there aren't any slugs as big as the giant African snail. Why do the snails get to have all the fun I just want a giant slime noodle.

[moonlight-eternal]

⏳

"You are all fools," Quelana says. "Gwyneth, Quelathi, you two have always been fools, though for different reasons. Quelaag, Gwyndolin, you're usually smarter than this. Come on, think it through!"

"I have thought as much as I need to," Gwyneth retorts, brash as ever. So little respect he has for anything but strength of arms, for which so little thought is ever needed. "If we succeed in this, then Father will have no need to sacrifice himself as he plans, for the First Flame will burn again without his kindling. That is reason enough."

"And if you fail?"

Quelaag opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off before she can speak by Gwyneth once more. "We shall not!"

On the other side of the room, Quelare puts her face in her hands and shakes her head. She turns away, but cannot bring herself to leave the room and stop listening.

"It is a wonderful and noble goal," Quelavere cuts in, trying to placate her older brother. "But I cannot feel confident in something so unprecedented. Tampering with a Lord Soul..."

Finally, Gwyndolin musters the courage to speak up. "Lord Souls are the closest thing known to the First Flame, born from it in those very first moments. I agree that the risk is significant, but the situation is becoming desperate. At the very least, we must do something. We must try."

"Everyone is depending on us, whether they know it or not," Quelathi adds.

Quelana sighs. "I understand that," she says carefully. "But there is a difference between controlled experimentation and wanton tinkering. Quelaag, I know it was not your idea, but you were the first to voice support and unlike Gwyneth you actually live here in Izalith, so... Could you not have asked Mother at any point before now, for permission to study the Lord Soul? Could you not have invited her to the discussion alongside us all?"

Quelaag shuffles her feet, and hesitates. "I– yes. I could have." She glances to her brother, then back. "He said it would be better not to involve her."

"Mother might put a stop to the plan," Gwyneth asserts. "She has no love for Father, this has been plainly known for centuries. Ever since she built this wretched place so far away, so deep beneath the earth as if to hide from the sunlight itself!"

Immediately, flames appear in the hands of several of the witch-sisters. Quelare stalks over to rejoin the group at last, tilting her head upward to meet Gwyneth's eyes. "Need we remind you that you are guests here, dear brothers? If you desire sunlight, then run along and bask in the rays above, and let those of us with more sense devise a plan."

She strikes her palm toward Gwyneth's chest, and in a display of great control, extinguishes the ball of flame just a fraction of a second before contact.

Gwyndolin looks down and pulls her traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Ah! Right, my apologies," Quelare says as her gaze passes over the youngest sibling. "You, singular brother and yet another sister, are guests in Izalith." To Gwyndolin alone, quieter: "If you want to fit in with the girls, we really must get you a proper black dress."

"If we could return to the topic at hand," Quelana emphasizes, glaring at each gathered sibling in turn. "That side of the room want to do something very rash, without any prior testing to learn the limits and the capabilities of what they would tamper with, and it could save the world or it could... well, we don't know what could happen if they fail, because they've done no testing. Meanwhile, on this side of the room, we have the level-headed people."

"You mean the people too scared to try to help," Quelaag tells her at once.

Quelavere inserts herself physically between the two, addressing the younger sister. "She means the people who favor caution, but not abandonment of the goal. I for one would love for Gwyneth's idea to succeed! But I cannot bring myself to participate, not if you go ahead with it right now."

"I will observe," the previously silent Quelaca finally speaks up. "But at the first sign of trouble, I will seek out Mother and inform her of the proceedings with her stolen Lord Soul."

"I too will watch from a safe distance," Quelavere says. "But I know such science is beyond my skill."

"I suspect it may be beyond any of us," Gwyndolin says quietly, but not quite soft enough to be unheard. "But I stand by my brother in this, even if in so little else. I cannot watch the world fade and do nothing. For all I wish to escape Father's watchful, controlling eye, I cannot allow his death to be without purpose."

Quelana looks around the group, and finds that the opposition is solidly outnumbered by those in favor and those abstaining. She sighs again, exasperated, and relents as much as she is able. "I'm not going near whatever you idiots cook up," she declares. "And when you fail to produce another First Flame, come back to me then and I can try, once again, to teach you the importance of using science in your magic."

"Quelana, please," her sister Quelathi begs. The youngest of those in Izalith, senior only to Gwyndolin, she has long since mastered the art of wide puppy eyes. "Mother's Lord Soul is the soul of Life. What better catalyst could there be, to create a Flame that rekindles our world's existence? How could it possibly lead to anything else?"

Quelana, ever the pragmatist, only frowns. "I would like to think you all are correct. I would like to have that hope, that something other than a direct linking of soul energy to the First Flame could suffice. I want you to know I am not opposed to the goal, or even the method! What is anathema to me is the recklessness. The risk. It is the fact that you are doing this without knowing that it will work."

"Then tell us," Gwyndolin asks her. "You are the closest thing we have to an expert on the mechanics of flame sorcery. Mother may have more raw power, Quelare may have more precise control, but you know how it works. Tell us, if we do this... what is the worst that could happen?"

[astraea-girl03]

Eywa protege e ama todos os seus filhos e filhas igualmente. Spider e minha oc, Zacimba. ♡☘♾

[ominouslavendermist]

Bestie, I think you were visited by, The Web entity from TMA, who may or may not have been trying ascertain what entity you truly served(⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`���；⁠)(⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠)

had a dream last night where I took a uquiz called “what do you serve?” and at first the questions were standard but as the quiz progressed they became more and more highly specific to me personally and the answers became more and more similar and I realised the quiz Knew me and was forcing me into being honest by giving me no other option so I tried to click out but it just went to the next question which was “are you the spider? or are you the web?” and it had an option for each but I didn’t click either so it then turned to a text box and I typed “I think I’m the fly” and the quiz paused for a while and then took me to a results page that said “you serve truth” and the description just read “what you know will kill you but you will die laughing” so like. good morning everyone I guess :/

[savageboar]

rakna kadaki my beloved

[devon-usher]

To note that the only way I have to Not haunt her dreams is to not sleep for a second night in a row, as she’s technically the one doing the haunting. I just fight back more than the others (by which I mean someone’s presence in my head can easily help me… shall we say, lucid dream). Also to note: she’s not exactly nice. Wait no that’s not really true. She’s not exactly good. I’m not of the opinion that arbitrary “goodness” or “badness” of a person warrants punishment or what not, but there’s some who might.

[luc3]

Today's omen

Found it on my way to the bus station.

[luc3]

@graveyarddirt

Crow and Spider by Ohara Koson (Early 20th Century)

[silentheiss]

When Shen Yuan transmigrates in his definitely-not-favorite novel, he’s ecstatic. Sure, dying sucked, but he got a second chance! In a body that looked exactly like his, only healthy and with a perfectly good golden core, too!

He’s a rouge cultivator now, with a cool sword, enough money, long-ass hair and zero actual responsibilities!

So, all in all, Shen Yuan hit a jackpot. He travels, makes notes of monsters he sees and sometimes fights, collects rare herbs and flowers and feels just great.

He feels decidedly less great, when after defeating a Six Eyed Spider Viper in some nameless, remote village, he receives a bride as a payment. It shockes him into a stupor for long enough for the villagers to think he actually agreed, so as soon as he can talk again, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind:

“This one is already married!”

It doesn’t work as well as he hoped.

“So Nie Rong can be a second wife.” An auntie, possibly Nie Rong’s mother, waves her hand dismissively at him.

“No, no,” Shen Yuan scrambles. “This one wasn’t being clear enough. This one is not in position to take wives! He is- is, uh.”

“Master is a wife?” Nie Rong chrips, her cheeks reddened.

“Uh. Sure. Yeah.” Shen Yuan would like to leave the village immediately. A thrill of defeating a cool fucking monster wasn’t even worth the embarrassment!

“Master’s husband must be quite powerful to get such a cultivator as a wife.” One of the villagers says, eyes glinting with suspicion. “Who’s he?”

“This one’s husband is indeed very powerful.” Shen Yuan squeezes out of himself, taking a step back. “Very possessive, too.”

“How come he lets his husband travel so far?”

“Oh! It’s easy, really. This one’s husband’s harem is big enough to slip away for a week or two!”

An agitated murmur passes through the small crowd. Shen Yuan sighs, feeling the control of the situation slipping through his fingers.

“He doesn’t sound like a very good husband.” One of the aunties says. “Maybe you should divorce him and marry our Rong-er after all.”

“This one’s husband is not someone one just divorces.” Shen Yuan takes another step back. “Thanking everyone for kind words, but-"

“Oh.” Nie Rong says, eyes downcast. “It’s the Emperor, isn’t it? That’s why Daozhang can’t leave?”

“Yes!” Shen Yuan yelps before he can really think. “So you can see how the situation is difficult for this one.”

It’s a shit solution to a problem. Might be the worst, actually. But then again, Luo Binghe would never know and Shen Yuan gets a perfect excuse if something similar ever happens again.

And it does happen. Quite too often, if Shen Yuan is honest — shouldn’t all the girls belong to the protagonist anyway?!

So, Shen Yuan uses his perfect excuse: No, he cannot marry your pretty little daughter, he’s an Emperor Luo’s husband. And: No, fellow rouge cultivator, he will not share your bed, he’s spoken for!

Everything works without a hitch, until one day Shen Yuan walks into an inn where he’s been staying for last couple of days and comes face to face with the Emperor of Combined Realms, Lord Luo himself.

Shit.

[movedtodykedvonte]

*Spidey and the Sinister Six having their usual fight*

Doc Ock, landing a hit: You’re getting slow Spider-Man! Age finally catching up to you?

Spider-Man: You wish! I haven’t even hit my 30s! From those costumes I can already tell I failed to save you guys from those midlife crises! Sorry by the way.

Vulture: Watch it wallcr- wait… Did you just say your not in your thirties yet?

Spider-Man: Surprised that this spiders so young and spry? Well-

Electro: Dude I’ve been fighting you for at least 5 fucking years! How old even are you?

Shocker, joking cause he’s the only one who picked up no grown adult acts likes Spidey: Don’t swear in-front of the boy you don’t want him to pick it up.

Rhino: Christ! You’re tellin me I almost crushed some 12-year-olds skull all those years ago?

Spider-Man, regretting his quipping: I was not that young! Like just starting freshman year but-

Sandman, horrified as he’s the only one with a kid and dad instincts(as of my iteration): I could’ve killed a kid…

Shocker, genuinely curious: Are you even old enough to drink? Cruel to kill a man who ain’t had his first drink yet.

Electro: Please tell us you’re at least over 25 as of this fight. Hell, I’ll take over 21!

Spider-Man:….

Sandman, realizing just how young he really is: Oh my god.

Spider-Man: My birthday’s coming up soon so I guess it counts?

Doc Ock, exacerbated: It. Does. Not!

Vulture: What would your mother think if she knew her son was out here risking his life telling poorly constructed jokes?

Spider-Man, offended cause it quips slap: 1. My jokes are great 2. She and my dad are dead so-

Sandman, hysterical cause holy shit he almost killed a kid orphan: OH MY GOD!

[foldingfittedsheets]

No one made any distinction to me when I was growing up when a word wasn’t English. Andale was just another way to be told “hurry up,” and I was certain other parents told their kids, “Watch your cabesa,” when getting into the car. I laughed myself sick the first time I saw Dragon Ball Z because a ladies name was Chi Chi and I only knew that meant boobs.

All my moms family was brown and I desperately wished I was too. I wanted beautiful black hair like my mom and dark skin that didn’t burn. I didn’t like when people asked my mother if she was my nanny when they saw us together. I didn’t like that people told me I looked like my dad. They just meant I was pale.

I’d proudly announce to people that I was Mexican and become furious when they gaped or disbelieved me. My dads side has no cultural roots. When questioned my dad shrugs and says, “English maybe? I dunno.” I just wanted to be Mexican growing up. Alas, I’m only a quarter descendant of an immigrant family who vehemently didn’t want to be Mexican.

My great grandmother announced that we were American now, not Mexican. She embraced American culture as much as possible, while never learning English. My nana was put into school and punished anytime she spoke Spanish. She got caught halfway between both languages. Forced to spend her childhood raising her younger siblings she never learned to cook tamales with her mother and her friends.

When she had her own children she didn’t teach them Spanish. She used it to gossip with her own friends about them on the phone and resisted teaching them more than to come running when she shouted “Araña!” to kill a spider for her.

Thus came my mom, with her brown skin and dark hair, adrift from her culture but treated as lesser by her adopted one. My great grandmother would rejoice to see me as her descendant, white, ignorant of Spanish, the perfect American she wanted her family to be.

When I was born my nana shouted, “What’s that red on her?” only to realize it was my hair. She delighted in her palest grandchild, telling me often I was her favorite.

I’m used to the disbelief now when I tell people I’m Mexican. I can laugh and show pictures of my mom. My friend from work joked to me that I’m always coming out of the closet, over and over, because both my minority statuses aren’t as visible as her black skin.

I was recently lamenting this to a white southern friend the same one I cast psychic damage on during a DnD day. “I wish I could feel more connected to my culture, but I’d be such a fraud pretending my life is the same as other Hispanic people.”

“Skin color doesn’t matter,” he announced blithely to the choked outrage of our Indian friend in the kitchen, “You’re just as Mexican!”

I regarded him in astonishment and said, “I think skin color matters a lot. I am Mexican, but I don’t have the same cultural roots or experiences of people who are perceived as Mexican. My family didn’t pass the cultural heritage down. I think a lot of immigrant kids feel this way but it’s different for me.”

He rambled about how I’m just as valid and I quietly disregarded his advice. I could try to reconnect with my roots, but I know I’d just be another white girl pushing into a POC space.

Instead I make tamales by myself, sweating over the steaming corn husks, and I snap at people who make racist jokes about my family to me, feeling safe because my skin is the same color as theirs.

[luc3]

@lailoken

Babs Webb - Metamorphosis