/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>46754305
Doremy should consider a diet of spider dreams; no Kurodani visited the HSE and Yams have the sweetest fucking dreams around. That's like a mega buffet!

>>46300523
https://i.warosu.org/data/jp/img/0452/94/1700478578465096.png, first part of 12, by the ending, spiderbaby!Chen works with Yams

>>45534463
she knitted each one a sweater with their names on it, so probably made thinkgs easier

>>45421136
I fucking love spiders, they're the cutest retards around. They have these huge cephalothoraxes asses, and look all strong and firm, but are squishy to the touch; and the hydraulics of their movements is ingenious. I could watch a spider moving for hours and not get tired of it, especially if it's one that has a more pronounced navigation by touching pattern, they just swing their front legs like spaghetti arms, and I imagine them saying 'ooooh, what the hell is this? Lemme touch it'; it's even better if they're true spiders, because the sheer weight of their body on your hand is enough to thrill your entire body. So many web patterns and colorings, too; golden silk orb weavers are insanely beautiful to spot in the wild
man, spiders are super cool.

>>45345875
Yamame. I have a passion for spiders, and be born one and raised by one would elevate such autism to a thousand and majorly help me to research them, though I'm banking I'll be born with the same interests.

>>45262993 (3/4)
—
"There, you see? You have to be careful about what type of thread to use—this one," Ms. Yamame points at the brown skein. "Goes all whirl-whirl," using one of her hind legs she makes a spin motion; then points to the gold skein. "But this goes uppity-uppity," now a motion up and down. Some would listen to this esoteric explanation and get utterly lost… My eyes shone, burning the knowledge of a master on the white of my skull. "If you intertwine them without giving breathing room or consideration about friction against what part of the body the crochet will be against, then it might be uncomfortable to wear and will quickly decay."

Two hours or so had passed since I'd arrived, and ten minutes since I glimpsed at the man who looked like Mr. Anon, and, by now, Ms. Yamame had finished fifty sketches of my hat: so many patterns, locations of said patterns, sizes~a master on their craft is simply on another level; "Okay, Ms. Yam—"

"Call me Yamame, dear." She pokes my nose with the tip of one of her hind legs, her smile angelic, and I think I reach Shangri-la for a moment.

"… Okay, Yamame~!"

"Heh~… Any idea what that is, or you're still in the zone?" She points to my hands knitting by themselves; my technique already adapted to her advice. The piece is rectangular and smooth, though obtuse edges sprinkle here and there, the three warm colors blending to create a flow of dark chocolate and gold. Form, however… I shrug, embarrassed. Yamame giggles. "Surprises are nice. Often, surprising ourselves is the best feeling!" I frown at the words and, for whatever motive, my eyes glance at the massive picture hanging over the fire.

"Yamame… that man," I say, and Yamame fondly follows my glance, eyes focusing on the same spot with familiarity. "He looks like Mr. Anon." Her eyes return to mine, surprised and joyous, hind leg drawing another design for my hat.

"Is that so?" I nod—oh, that's a rhetorical question. "Well… My human was well-adventured. Maybe too well. Sometimes I wonder if he loved Eirin considering the many times he ended up at Eientei," she giggled with uncontained nostalgia, her happiness intoxicating. "What about Mr. Anon?"

I smiled, proud of my following words. "He's the best! We climb big trees together, run in the forest at night, and he makes the best food! Maybe they're brothers~" My hands knit faster, printing love on the threads, which seems to make Yamame's smile grow. "Where's your human?" I ask innocently, and there's a sharp pain in her eyes.

"He… has left this world many moons ago—" My eyes drop, and I'm about to apologize, but she continues, pain drowned by immense warmth. "—though, surrounded by 192 daughters and sons and one wife that loved him very much, I bet he crossed the Sanzu with a big, silly smile." I blink at the sheer number, though don't hold it much longer, my heart bombarded by the love in her voice and features—she also had started a new sketch for my hat subconsciously, eyes dreamy.

Feeling a pained smile crossing my face and focusing on her human in the picture, I say before thinking, "Their lives are so short compared to ours…" Yamame looks at me, slowly nodding. "Mr. Anon is already forty years old, and I know him for barely a year… Feels like so much lost time."

Yamame brushes my hair, and her smile, though mirroring mine, has something… more. "Don't think of it as lost time—it's just the time that it took to bring you two together. Without it, the connection between you couldn't exist."

Her words land with a weird taste, like bitter medicine, and I can't contain my next words: "I've been… thinking about how it'll be when I lose Mr. Anon—that it’ll be like a hole, always getting bigger…" I hold my heart, feeling haunted. "How did you deal with it? Losing your human?"

Her hand stops brushing, the pneumatics of her legs tensing hard, as if seeing the question as dangerous… It lasts only a moment before the sweetest of smiles is born on her face. It's so beautiful, it takes my breath away. "Ah, sweetling… It was hard. Harder than anything I've ever done," my heart clenches, her words a book I'll never fully read or understand, but the emotions there are universal and timeless. I kept furiously knitting; she drawing. "It was like I went to sleep and never woke up, imprisoned in a bad dream that lasted far too long—all while knowing I was asleep and missing the rest of my life, my children's lives…" Swallowing something, her smile loses its sharp edge, giving way to feelings that fill my heart with joy. "But I wasn't alone. I had people around me who missed him just as much… Alone inside our little holes, it was certainly tough, but together we filled them and moved forward, and that hole he left with his departure is now fertile soil where our memories can blossom and things like these—" she points at her big smile. "—can be born!"

… Gently, she wipes a tear of mine, then looks at my knitting and I at her drawing—and, together, we say:

“Perfect.”