#and blank out the name of the original yarn

[sweaterkittensahoy]

The copyright rant; re: crochet patterns

A reminder that taking an out of print pattern and scanning it or re-typing it and making it available for money or not does NOT give you any copyright over the pattern.

I see this a lot when I'm digging up vintage patterns on etsy and other sites. People who say, "I scanned it/retyped it, so I own the copyright."

First of all, no, you don't. That's not how that works. I pay for the patterns you offer because 1) I want them and 2) I think it's fair to pay you for digitizing the pattern.

In the US, crochet patterns are copyrighted by whoever first wrote them. I assume that if one writes a pattern for a company (Patons, Red Heart, etc.), then it's a work for hire situation much like comics. The pattern writer gets a one-time payment, and the company gets the profits from the pattern itself. That's just a guess to explain how it works. I assume that if there is copyright fuckery, the yarn company takes care of the legal shit, not the pattern writer that was hired by the yarn company.

This is important because a LOT of vintage patterns you can find for sale on etsy and ebay and other places aren't actually out of copyright (something around 70 years minimum in US law). They're out of print. So, technically, the yarn company could spend time tracking down the illegal reproduction and sale of their copyrighted material if they really wanted to make a fuss about things.

They don't do that because it's a waste of their time. Those of us tracking down vintage patterns and buying them from third-party sellers aren't hitting their bottom line. Because those patterns are no longer part of their bottom line. They're out of print.

But they ARE still under copyright for the most part in the US because they haven't met the age requirement to not be. And here's the thing: even if they ARE out of copyright in the US, that doesn't mean someone digitizing them puts them back into any sort of copyright.

It's like Pride & Prejudice, okay? You know why there are so many ebooks of P&P? Because it's in public domain and everyone wants to make a buck off of it. But none of them OWN P&P. No one owns P&P. That's what public domain means.

All of that being said, you know what is definitely still under copyright and reported by my ass when I find it on etsy? Patterns from books that are still in print. Not the books themselves, mind. Used book market is used book market. But people who have scanned individual patterns to sell even though the book is still in print.

I also get real fucking salty about people selling patterns that can be bought directly from the company or person who wrote them in the first fucking place.

THAT'S a copyright violation. Not sharing a vintage pattern you paid for because someone digitized it. Not digitizing the pattern itself.

Honestly, I get so tempted to take patterns from people who yell "I have copyright!!!" the most and just roll them out for free because 1) no you don't and 2) fuck you. Yeah, you digitized it. Thank you. But to act like you get the rights to any of it because you did that is bullshit.

Anyway, that's the copyright rant. Tip your servers.

#crochet #knitting #vintage patterns #vintage knitting #vintage crochet #i have one etsy seller on my eternal shitlist #because they claim copyright #and blank out the name of the original yarn #and use a huge fucking watermark

[cakeboxie]

A future to hope(?) for/The looming dread of horrors you can’t yet fathom

In which Zevlor (unwillingly) thinks through the course of his life, and fights the urge to set a perfectly innocent book on fire.

Tw. unprocessed trauma resurfacing at inopportune times, vomit + graphic nausea, inconsistent/failing memory, victim blaming (on himself,) abuse, graphic depiction of a panic attack, implied death, self hatred.

(Yall can thank @hallowsden for this btw, she had the idea of Zevlor having visions of his future that this entire fic revolves around)

The little pad of parchment in his hands taunts him. His name messily embroidered in the leather. (And the name of his baby sister below it. Guilt crawls up his spine as he turns it over, one name of too many lost.)

On its backside is a moon, the embroidery much cleaner, in the same yarn the book was bound in. It’s aged leather burns his hands, yet his calloused skin is not marred.

This first of many dream journals, and idea of his mother from when the dreams, or perhaps more accurately, visions began.

He remembered this one well, or did he? Was this truly the first? Surely not, (it is) surely he should toss it to the fire and dig up the true original. (He doesn’t)

“Momma- I had a funny dream!”

“Is that so sweetling? What was it about?”

(His head spins, he tosses the book onto his desk as he tries desperately to find the sound of her voice in the haze. It doesn’t come, only the words, flat and empty. He pushes on.)

“I was a hellrider! I had one of the big swords an’ everything!”

“Ooh you should tell your father, i’m sure he’d be more than happy to teach you to wield a sword.”

(An old scar, imperceptible under a myriad of newer ones, aches anew. The timbre of his fathers voice rings clear as daylight between his ears as an intense wave of nausea crashes over him, he cannot run. He pushes on.)

He sees himself, barely 5 years old then, running to his father. He scolds himself for his impatience, he should’ve known better than to disrupt him.

His memory jumps (thank gods) to years later, he’s almost as tall as his mother now.

“Momma I had another dream!”

Concern etched into her brow, his baby sister sleeps in her arms. (What did she look like..? The face forms slowly, older than she was then? Before he can stop it the face of her corpse is plastered onto the memory. The nausea climbs further up his throat, he swallows thickly, and he pushes on.)

“Hopefully not another nightmare..?”

“I dunno, it wasn’t a good dream, wasn’t bad either? I was old, older then you n’ dad. But I was… sad? My chest hurt like I was sad, but I couldn’t cry like when you’re sad.”

(Should he be crying? Has he not done enough?)

Her expression is complicated (she knows the word loneliness, he realizes that he did not) she reaches into the bedside table, the book now in front of him, the cover is blank.

“You remember when we found out about your sister, and I told you I might not have time for your dreams all the time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I think since you’ve been having so many not good, but not bad dreams you should try writing them down.”

His sister stirs in her arms. The memory falls away as her burnt flesh warps into something akin to an open mouth. He can’t look away, she cries for his help, for their mother, for peace. Her voice swallows him, and he’s out of his seat and retching into his chamber pot before he's consciously aware of having moved.

Time crawls, his entire body aches as he lets himself lay flat on the floor. He is safe here at least (he is not- he needs to run? Run where? Away, he can’t help her- he can’t help any of them. Pathetic oathbreaker he is he can’t save them.)

He wheezes, feels it more than hears it, barely even that over the thundering of his heart. It’s all a world away now. He realizes slowly that he is afraid, though he knows not what is causing it. A thick layer of mud between him and his body, he is afraid. He is afraid? He is afraid.

The book, it’s in his hand? Maybe not, his senses come to him slowly. His throat aches, has he been screaming? Or perhaps just sobbing. The nausea wanes and he sits up slowly, his body protests, he pushes on.

The acrid smell of bile hits him finally as he sits fully upright. The nausea returns. His body doesn’t have the energy to make him throw up again, does it? Hopefully not.

The book?

The book.

It used to have a latch, he thinks. One of them certainly did. A gift from a friend (don’t think about faces don’t think about faces don’t think about faces-)

His writing is cleaner than he expected, as far as expected for a child that is.

‘Momma says i’m supposed to write my dreams down. I think its silly, but if she thinks it’ll help I’ll try!’

It it silly? Maybe he should start a new dream journal, commission dammon to make the latch, he must know a leatherworker for the cover. He could bind it himself, he’s sure-

Off track. He’s off track. Flip the page.

‘I didn’t like this dream. It was so hot, I was tired, but I wasn’t allowed to stop. It was like when-’

Avernus. Flip the page.

Flip the page.

Flip the page.

Flip the page.

‘My chest hurt this time, it was hot again.’

Avernus. Flip the page.

‘There was a lot of screaming too, I don’t know who was screaming.’

He should flip the page.

‘A little kid with one eye was staring at me, maybe she was screaming?’

FLIP THE PAGE

‘I’ve been stabbed, it wasn’t like that kind of hurt. It was deep between my ribs, like something was missing?’

FLIPTHEPAGEFLIPTHEPAGEFLIPTHEPAGE

His chest aches

Deep beneath his ribs

Like something’s missing.

He sees himself, sitting on the floor of his office, is it his office? His room? He’s not wholly sure actually, he was so focused on the visions he’d not fully processed how far he’d moved when he saw his si-

(DON’T THINK ABOUT FACES YOU PATHETIC WHELP)

Yes, pathetic. A feeble excuse of a paladin, a worse leader, he feels his breathing get heavy again.

He flips the page, and with it he is unceremoniously stuffed back into his corpse. Again, nausea, again, he pushes on.

‘I start martial training today! Real martial training! Not just father yelling at me and hitting me with sticks and stuff, I’ll get to use a real sword! I think I will anyway.’

That at least gives him a reference for how long it’s been, did he really use this journal for that long? He was 16 that day.

‘I don’t like the commander. He reminds me of father, mother says that’s a good thing. I do hope he actually teaches me something.’

He was taught plenty, a firm hand did him wonders.

Did his father not have a firm hand?

Perhaps he did, but his father said little to help him parse his mistakes.

When did he stop calling them dad and momma?

(When did he start forgetting things?)

Flip the page.

He’s at the end of the book.

The end of the book? There were many years of visions, they only recently stopped, he thinks in passing that it’s because he’s fast approaching the end of his life. Just over a decade between him and the average lifespan of a healthy tiefling, he’s hardly healthy, perhaps kelemvor will weigh his soul sooner for that.

… of all things to ponder and not react strongly to his own looming mortality certainly is something.

Perhaps he is just exhausted.

He lays back on the ground where he sat. He is home, he may lay wherever he likes. (A strange anxiety claws at him anyway)

His visions from when he was at the grove pull themselves to the front of his mind. Did he see this perhaps? A mess of a man laid on the floor focusing extraordinarily hard on not hyperventilating (again)

He didn’t.

He saw the pod though, of being an absolute thrall. The gap in his chest “filled” (filled with deceit and gore, ripped further open with dirty claws.)

He's glad of all things, of hundreds- perhaps thousands of visions he had been able to decipher that one. The first and last one he’d been able to.

He still couldn’t save them, he knew of her lies and he still fell to the influence of a tadpole he didn’t yet have. (And would never receive)

He sighs, and closes his eyes a moment, don’t think of faces.

Who are you looking at? His face is familiar yet distant, it’s been an age since you’ve seen him. (Has it?)

Halsin? Halsin. Former Archdruid, one of the group you have to thank for your (pathetic, doomed) life.

He is sad? He has certainly been crying. You are comfortable, your chest nor joints ache, there’s a soft pressure beneath you. Like a comfortable bed, but it presses too close to your shoulders to be a bed.

You are tired.

Another looks down at you, pale as a ghost. The vampire, you think. His name eludes you. You feel guilty, it passes quickly, as does he.

You are tired.

Yet another, with a false eye, Wyll. He smells of Avernus, the smell is uncomfortable but somehow not unpleasant. Then another behind him quickly, one horn and a booming voice. You can’t hear their words, but they’re both crying.

You are tired.

More come and go, you are tired. You cannot move, cannot blink. (Are your eyes even open?)

(they are now)

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up more sore than he wanted, with an awful headache and an odd, comforting calm. It’s rare that he doent’t remember his dreams, typically they sit vivid in his mind like memories would. He stands slowly, anticipating the nausea, the dizziness, the ache.

Nothing.

He pours out his chamber pot and returns it to its usual spot. The book remains on the ground.

He considers leaving it there, before tucking it into his desk.

His ribs begin to ache, it's manageable now. He’s not sure what changed.

As usual, he pushes on.

© cakeboxie •• 2024 •• Please do not translate/repost. reblogs are appreciated and requests are open!

Part of @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

~~

Taglist: @yarnnerdally • @starrry-angel • @yuelqnn • @yeonpm

Wanna be added? Send me an ask off anon and lmk if you want to be on the sfw only list!

#cakewrites #zevlor bg3 #bg3 zevlor #theres hellgrove if you squint #eveningatthemoviesnetwork

[aitchnkay]

Jiang Gunian Made A Change Part 17

Summer Hanson thought of herself as a stereotypical American college student: wavy, shoulder length dirty blond hair, green eyes, slightly taller than average. She studied hard during the week and played hard on the weekends. She had learned how to not grimace when drinking beer at parties even though she hadn't yet learned how to like the drink. Where she differed, perhaps, from that stereotype was that she had been introduced to Thai BLs by her freshman year roommate, and she had immediately become hooked.

It was natural to progress through the overtly sexual Thai shows to the more restrained Korean and Japanese BLs to the Chinese 'best male friends, soul-mates even, but definitely do not kiss and are never going to be intimate.... ever.' shows.

And then she discovered that some of the shows were originally books, and she became even more addicted to the genre. She read fan translations, machine translations, official translations. And discovered that there was a whole lot of 'we're not just BFFs' going on in the books that didn't make it into the Chinese drama or donghua adaptations.

As a stereotypical college student, she and a group of friends would escape to someplace warm for spring break. In her junior year, she was with them, waiting for a huge train to pass when the cars in front of her started rocking.

Then the car she was in started rocking.

The cars in front tipped, and fell into a hole that hadn't been there a moment ago. Her own car followed.

She vaguely remembered screaming. Pain. Something wet that smelled metallic. Lights strobing, hurting her eyes. Eye. Something was wrong. Why couldn't she see out of the other eye? People talking fast, calmly, rushed, blurred. And then, clearly, "She's coding."

Blackness. Blankness. Absence of... everything. Soothing. Relaxing. Comforting darkness.

When she awoke, it was to a strange room, strange clothing, a strange body. A new name: Xia KeXin, which made her giggle hysterically seeing as how close it sounded to the Word of Honor/Faraway Wanderers' Wen KeXing.

Thankfully, she had the previous soul's memories to rely on, as Summer had no idea how to live in this new world, new life, she suddenly found herself in. Cooking? Going to the bathroom? Dressing herself? Making a living? Knowing how much something should cost? Without her host's memories, she would be completely lost instead of mostly. Unlike Cucumber Bro, she didn't have a System to help her out, either. Which could be a good thing? No weird quests to go on? No points added or subtracted for doing something well or poorly?

It didn't take too long to discover that she was living in the town outside Lotus Pier in the days before the Sunshot Campaign. Her job as a fortune teller, didn't earn a significant income, but it was steady and sufficient to live on.

Not quite comfortably to live on, though. Her 'bed' was a mat and a couple of quilts that she folded away every morning. There was no padding. Her 'pillow' was nothing that resembled a twenty-first century pillow.

Once she was sort of used to this new life, she talked to the local blacksmith and asked him to make her a set of crochet hooks. She found someone who sold yarn and bought enough to hopefully make herself a heavier blanket to keep her aching bones (who knew being only in her late forties would be this painful?) warmer at night.

And then Jiang YanLi came in for a consultation. Given the opportunity to change Wei Ying's fate? To stop the jianghe from treating this wonderful man as a pariah? What kind of fujoshi would she be to stand by and let Lan WangJi mourn his love for thirteen years? What kind of person would she be to sit back and allow Jiang YanLi and Wen Qing die for nothing?

Jiang Yanli knelt at the table before Xia KeXin and arranged her skirts into a pleasing configuration. The older woman rolled her eyes, but said nothing until the younger stopped figiting. "I assume you're here to discuss your love life and marriage."

#wangxian #the untamed #chen qing ling #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #cql #jiang yanli #wei ying #lan zhan #wei wuxian #lan wangji

[ryqoshay]

Tri-Arame: Prompt Disarray

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Rating: G Words: 642 Fandom: Love Live Nijigasaki Parent Fic: Tri-Arame Time Frame: Late October during their 2nd year Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Prompt

---------

Author’s Note: Primary entry for Oct 31st

Summary: Ayumu finds Setsuna and Yuu having some doujin issues

---------

Ayumu hummed happily to herself as she filled three mugs. She then made her way to Setsuna’s room, nodding to Mrs. Nakagawa along way in silent thanks for letting her in for her surprise.

Yuu was busy helping Setsuna with her doujin. And while Ayumu had wanted to help as well, other plans had conflicted today. Originally, she was to meet the other two for dinner somewhere, then she could help after. However, she had concluded things earlier than expected, then spotted a sale on hot cocoa on the way to the Nakagawa’s. Thus, she was now on her way to surprise her friends with a warm treat for a cool autumn day.

Ayumu knocked but received no response. Odd. She balanced the tray on one hand and opened the door, about to announce herself, when…

What the heck? She thought as she took in the scene before her.

Setsuna was slumped over her kotatsu, face planted on her laptop’s keyboard. Yuu was sprawled on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling wither phone just out of reach on the floor. Paper was strewn about the room, some pages with what looked like abandoned sketches on them, while others were crumpled and toss haphazardly toward the trash bin.

“Yuu-chan? Setsuna-chan?”

Yuu’s gaze slid down toward her. “Ayumu…?” She drawled.

Setsuna, on the other hand, popped her head up. “Ayumu-san! Prompt me!”

“Eh” Ayumu blinked.

“Prompt me!” The girl with keyboard marks on her forehead repeated. “Say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“Other than marshmallows…” Yuu added before giggling strangely.

“Uhm…” Why did Ayumu’s mind blank when asked for something that should be so simple? “Yarn?”

Yuu laughed again. “Of course Ayumu would suggest that.”

“Sunday?” She named the current day.

“Daybreak, Time, Skyline, Ghost, Cattywampus, Seven, Jacket, Yarn.” Yuu listed. “Even all the way down to Sunday and Somnial and Heal.”

Cattywampus? Somnial? What the heck were those?

“A fanfic group is hosting their annual Promptober event this month.” Setsuna explained. “But Yuu-san and I already looked through everything and were unable to find inspiration to get us past our block.”

Ah, so that’s what was going on.

“Maybe it’s time a little break?” Ayumu suggested. “I brought hot cocoa.”

Yuu laughed. “That was one of last year’s prompts.”

“Thank you, Ayumu-san.” Setsuna said as the redhead began to distribute the mugs.

“Mm, yes, thank you.” Yuu added, lifting her mug.

“So, what ideas do you have already for your doujin?” Ayumu asked.

“Well, since it’s October and Halloween is around the corner, I thought we could all be monsters.” Setsuna explained.

“We?”

“Yup. I’m a lamia.” Yuu chimed in. “You’re a moon rabbit. And Setsuna-chan is a Cthughan.”

“A wha?”

“Descendant of a deity of living flame.”

“Huh…” That did sound like something Setsuna would like to be. “But why am I a rabbit?”

“’Cause Ayu-pyon is cute.”

Ayumu was about to protest when Setsuna slid a page in front of her.

“Here’s what we have for everyone else’s type.” Setsuna said.

Ayumu scanned the list. Most seemed quite fitting, though she wondered if they would agree.

“What about a Halloween party?” She suggested.

“Masqurade was listed last year…” Yuu shook her head. “It didn’t inspire anything for us.”

“But maybe it could still work? All of the guests dress up as someone else’s monster type? Kind of like a monster themed version of our Shuffle Festival?”

“Festival was al…”

“That’s perfect!” Setsuna interrupted. “I can see Shioriko-san as Rina-san’s Jiangshi. Oh, and…” She grabbed a sheet and began to scribble notes furiously. “Karin-san could be…”

“Then Lanzhu-chan could be…” Yuu pointed.

“That works, Yuu-san.” Setsuna nodded before looking up. “Thank you, Ayumu-san. I think we can get something made by Halloween now.”

Ayumu smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”

And with that, the three girls got to work.

---------

Author’s Note Continued: This one was really fun to write. In both Promptobers in which I have participated, I enjoyed finding little ways to include prior prompts; this was a large reason for my self-challenge of including last year’s prompts. Mind you, it did feel a little like cheating when I had Yuu just rattle off a list of them, but in the context of the story, I think it makes sense, so there’s that.

That all said, I do want to write more about Setsuna’s forays into doujin and fanfic production. I brought HL(AU) into HL’s canon by way of Riko’s doujin (although it’s canon in other ways as well) and HtHaM is a doujin Nico commissions of Riko in HtHaN. Thus, I think MA may find itself becoming a Setsuna production. Or perhaps a Setsu and Shizu collaboration?

Also, PoH is now a canon part of my canon-compliant works as both a movie and a doujin. Not entirely sure how that will all work out, but whatever.

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #Promptober 2022 #fanfic

[cybermeep]

i originally made a one off, text-used-but-speechless-still post as i was on the bus; it didn’t post, nor did it save.. it caused me to be unable to post anything, actually. had to log out & then log back in. not too difficult, amusing actually. im glad it didn’t post, because now i get to go more in depth:

looked down at my keychain as i was walking to my bus. curious, decided to figure out what the character was… a keychain gifted by zee, someone ive discussed in the past. possible first queer person really established into my life. been about… i have no clue, 6 years since their parents & them moved out? they live on their own now, technically not on their own as theyre with their boyfriend but still… amazing person. had the keychain as a gift from them before they moved, haven’t known origin up until this very day. took a picture & tried to find similar things online, found the exact one i had. name is… gachapin…. a… green dinosaur…

“OUT OF— OUT OF ANYTHING, YOU’RE A DINOSAUR. AND.. AND ROUND.” keys jangle. “…WHY?” silence occurs for a solid few seconds. “THEN AGAIN, YOU CAN’T BE ASKED HOW YOU’RE MADE— OR WHY YOU’RE MADE.”

i talk to the yarn crafted object while on the long route home. it is important to note the acute difference between talking to something and talking down. i do not talk down; thats crude. i also use all caps, but it’s important to say my voice is a mere mumble/whisper.

although i use quotes, most of my walk is still silence. pass the playground, inspect the tree carved into; [nothing new, since my drawings; apparently i have scared off my peers with something that is not violent scribbled words but instead small drawings.] make my way towards the pond, keys still in hand. i see mallards all near the shore

all male, all blue-green heads. know they’re male because of plummage. if i say anything, its not important. i take my time to walk forward, all four scatter off once i get a bit too close for their comfort. all of them, together. look down at keychain again, say something thats been on the tip of my tongue

“YOU’RE LUCKY I LIKE YOU. then again, i wouldn’t do anything. im not like that.”

stating this implies i ever hated or thought of hating this small yarn creation in my hands. i have not; it is one of those minute statements i make simply to deflect. standing hear the water in the pond, sand eroded. i show gachapin the view, close but not touching the water. i do not wish for him to get ruined. after this small trip, we go on our way to the entrance and leave. i eat the cinnamon apple nutri-grain bar i had in my pocket— only fitting, because of its hue.

whilst on my way home, i see a caterpillar being eviscerated by what is, hmm.. 6 or so ants. rolling in dirt, still moving but getting oh so taken over.

any sane person would leave the small organism, let the ants have their way, and simply go home. i am not sane, nor am i rational in regards to the time i waste. i pick up the squirming creature and painstakingly remove the 6 ants poking at its body. one near its nether area, another near its legs, many surrounding its face.. maybe trying to suffocate it? i am not well adversed in ant hunting strategies. whatever the case, they are quite difficult to remove— strong. when they are all gone, plummeted back to earth, i have a squirming, semi-alive body in my fingers. curled. i believe for a second i simply saved a corpse, knowing muscle spasms can just be an effect after death occurs— that is, until i see it start to really move places. i am quietly elated at this discovery. i carry the small organism gently, ever so gently, back to my home.

i realize the act of saving this organism is rather unimportant; idiotic, even, logistically speaking. still, even if it is idiotic, i continue anyway. i realize because of the fact its been a good chunk of time, i must give this organism a name… my mind is blank, body moving on pure instinct. there truly is nothing i had in mind, except for one name. huffing, i try to think of something different.

k.k slider. yes, like the dog from animal crossing. fuck it, i don’t have any other ideas. i sit in my front yard and place k.k slider onto a leaf, then pick another different one for variety. get a minute amount of water, incase they’re thirsty. grab a tiny stick. they move slightly, but sluggish. makes sense, when you’re half beaten to death. try to warm up the organism, they could’ve just been cold. bring them inside, find an apple slice which the bag says expired days ago. place them on apple slice, grab leaf one & leaf two & stick, place them on a stone underneath the deck above. i cannot be by their side forever, as that is impractical. i can only hope they thrive

now i am home, as to be expected. i have 7 pens of the same color variety in my bag, something i counted at lunch. flabbergasted i had that many on me. one of them i don’t use; its a neon sort of hue, but i cannot for the life of me find out how i could use it. its a good pen, jellyroll… i would prefer to give it to a new owner, but finding one would be difficult. i have an odd fondness of objects, so i tend to only give things to people i know will treat them nicely— unless i genuinely don’t care about the object. actually, its less of difficulty finding a new owner and more so finding a new owner i would be comfortable giving the object to… who do i know that will treat this object nicely…..?

ah, whatever. at least its not metallic paint next to my bed. haha. haha. oh my god what do i fucking do with it its literally just a 16 oz bottle i won’t use that much paint ever

oh yeah, i go see my psychiatrist tomorrow. you guys dont need to know that, i just write these things anyway.. if you’re reading this, hello! i should stop writing

#cybers tangents

[tera-91]

Milly Writes A story

Milly stared at the almost too bright computer screen. A blank word document taking up the entirety of the monitor.

What was she supposed to write?

How could she even start?

How many words were enough?

She thought back to the words of the author she met earlier in the day. The first million words are just practice. Of course, she knew that she wouldn’t write something that was a million words long.

Should she pick a fandom and write something random?

No. She would feel the need to get sidetracked to be able to rewatch the series so that she was sure to get the personalities right. Granted, there were many stories online that had a character behaving in a way that was very much out of character, sometimes even in completely contradictory ways.

Or should she write something random? An original work with original characters.

Her heart pulsed in her back.

What if she did wrong? What if she couldn’t do it after all?

GUGUGURA!

Milly jumped, nearly falling out of her chair in the process. Her hand found its way into her hair as she looked down. There sat her snow white dog.

“Oh Boo, I’m sorry.” she said as she gently tugged her hair. Good she needed the distraction.

Boo stood up and trotted his way over to the door, tail gently swayed as he waited patiently for the ornate door to be opened.

Milly turned the lock and placed her hand on the cool metal knob as she turned on the light. She didn’t really need the light to be able to see Boo as she opened the glass storm door. It was a full moon tonight as it was when Milly first brought him home. That was how he got his name, his fur would reflect the soft light creating an almost mesmerizing glow.

It would only take Boo a few moments to do his business but Milly stood at the door and waited, her gazed turned to the woods. Sometimes the deer would make their nightly appearance and she liked to try and catch a glimpse of the small herd. Her gaze drifted upwards in a futile attempt to see the stars.

It felt like a bolt of lightning made its way from Milly’s head to her feet as she jolted backwards. She grabbed the shirt above her heart as she felt it momentarily to a few quick beats before going back to its usual pace. There on the upper corner of the glass, a neon green frog clung.

“Well, if I was the least bit tired, I sure am not now.” Milly muttered to herself as she checked to see where Boo was in the yard. As she looked to the right, she heard a clacking sound. There he was. She opened the door as Boo took his time crossing the threshold.

Milly glanced at the tree line once more before she turned the lock of the screen door.

Ahgraa!

“I’m coming Boo.” Milly said as she turned the last lock and flipped the switch once again cloaking the yarn in only moonlight.

Her gaze panned the room as she turned looking for the white fluff ball that was Boo. He stood in his nook of the kitchen staring intently at something. Milly closed the distance in just a few steps. Upon closer inspection it was his water bowl the pup was staring at.

It was empty.

“Oh you need more water don’t ya bud.”

Milly squatted down, nearly eye level with Boo.

“Let’s fix that bud.” She said as she rubbed behind his ears, white fur showered down onto the tile flooring.

“Looks like it’s time for another brush, I need to write a note to call Andy tomorrow.”

Milly rubbed under Boo’s chin before she grabbed the metal bowl. Her muscles burned and strained as she stood up.

“I knew I should’ve stopped at five sets of lunges today-.”

The metal gently clinked as she placed the bowl in the sink.

“-but no, I let Alex talk me into doing two more.” Milly groaned as she reached into Boo’s cabinet for a replacement bowl. She took a couple of steps to the left to the basin sink. Once the bowl was full she gave it back to Boo who began to lap up the water before the ceramic bowl could touch the ground.

With a yawn Milly made her way back to the table and sat down. She stared at the screen for another few minutes before she picked up her hands from her lap and finally placed her fingertips of the smooth keys.

“Nothing is going to happened if I don’t write at least something.” Milly huffed as she began typing random words in hopes of something she typed would spark an idea.

How many days: 3

Story word count: 804

Word count for the month: 804

Average daily word count 268

#tera-91 #writting #Orignial character #august writing challenge #writing challenge #original story

[kashviblogss]

Truth can be twisted

A well - known business man with a genuine  heart  like Mr. Cooper , who is recognized  for his intelligence, got fooled by himself . All this happened yesterday while he was sitting in the high - lapse park . The scent of blooming flowers wafted throughout the peaceful surroundings . It originated from a group of tall sturdy trees, under which a family playing peek a boo. The sound of the water from the fountain was heart pleasing. On the bench by his side sat an elderly man , wearing shabby clothes probably overthinking about a thing that disturbed him . He vanished slowly into the shadows , and his place on the bench was taken immediately by a young man , fairly well - dressed but barely cheerful , seeming  in an awful  mood. Bensby asked him the reason for his unhappiness , the young man turned to Bensby and said “ I have done the silliest thing in my life ,  this afternoon I checked into my new hotel . While i was freshening up i realized i forgot my soap at the airport and i hate using hotel’s soap . So I went out to buy some.  Suddenly I was blank and realized I had no idea where I was staying. the name of my hotel or even the street had  all vanished . Now I am without money , wandering ,  and no place to spend the night”. There was a firm pause and then bensby asked Mr.brown to show the cake of soap . Hastings got up and groped his pockets but couldn't find the soap . Without uttering a word, he moved hurriedly . bensby knew he was spinning an impossible yarn , the only weak point in his story was that he couldn't produce the yarn , muttered Bensby . He discovered  a nano oval packet lying on the ground by the bench . It could be nothing but a cake of soap , and it had fallen out of the young man’s pocket when he flung himself on the seat . The next minute Bensby began searching for the man and luckily found him near the lake . Bensby processed to the young man and said  “This is the important witness in your story . It must have fallen out when he sat on the bench”. “ Lucky you finding it “ , expressed Mr.brown to him . Bensby gave Hastings a sovereign saying if it is any good to him and marched towards the same spot where all this drama had taken place . He saw the same old gentleman poking on all the sides of the bench . He asked “ Have you lost something sir?” The old man formally replied “ Yes, sir , my soap”. 

[vintageswitcheroo]

Even with little engagement and no clue what tags to use at this point, yesterday’s post felt SO good. It felt like in the process of writing it I articulated some things about myself I’ve had a hard time putting into words for a while. I created a kind of proto-manifesto of what I want to focus on here, a part of my life I want to nurture.

So where to now?

As I write this, darlings, I have just finished a cup of tea and am listening to the British Home Front Radio broadcast on TuneIn, a broadcast provided by a UK radio station. I like to expand my musical horizons beyond what I usually hear on my Spotify playlists. The only thing is they don’t tell you the names and artists…

But I digress. I dithered for a while about what topic to choose for this post. It actually took me a good day to come up with something. I’ve kind of been drawing a blank about subjects, so I guess I thought I’d talk about hobbies I have and how they relate to my vintage obsession.

Right now my two most engaged-in hobbies are knitting and baking. I love them both, and each have their challenges and ways they relate to my love of the past.

I love, love, love to bake for my wife and others, and I love to make a nice, timeless, old-fashioned treat. I recently made malt loaf, which I originally saw as a technical challenge on the Great British Bake-Off and thought sounded interesting. It turns out, it’s absolutely delicious, at least to us. Full of the dark sugar flavors of muscovado sugar and black treacle, with malt extract and dried fruit added, it’s a beautifully unique piece of quick bread that tastes even better after a couple of days wrapped in parchment.

It’s also very much an “old people” recipe, with only the upper-middle-aged bakers on the episode having the slightest clue what it was in the first place. It dates back to the late 1889s as a Scottish packaged food, but recipes eventually popped up.

I also love classic shortbread, especially in jam thumbprint form, and my wife also loves those complicated marshmallow teacakes, but I’ll bake just about anything. I’m really interested in doing more WWII baking, using recipes developed to make the most of what was available during rationing. I also have a strong urge to bake a classic battenburg cake. I just love them. So colorful!

I just ordered a Canadian ration recipe book, and I’m excited to see what’s in it, both for baking and cooking. I’ve discovered that many rationing recipes are delicious in their simplicity! They often leave room for experimenting with whatever herbs and seasonings you can get your hands on; thyme is a favorite around here. I wish I cooked more, and I’m trying to get in the habit by making sure I have lots of cool recipes to try out, at least one new and exciting one a week seems to be a good bet.

I’ve also been knitting! I’ve been doing double knit colorwork on a fandom-related scarf. It’s challenging, but it’s really fun, and the yarn and the double-fabric nature of the finished part makes it nice and squishy and cozy. I plan to make a stuffed pigeon as a sort of mascot for our living history group soon, make him a little garrison cap and mail bag, and name him Fred after Fred Astaire, who always played the mailman in those Rankin-Bass holiday specials.

I can sew. When I put my mind to it, I’m actually quite good at it. The trouble is I find all the little marking and pressing to be SO tedious. But I really need to sew. I’m just outside the size range of a lot of vintage reproduction brands, especially brands that make authentic 1940s wear, so I simply must get into the habit of sewing so I can have an everyday, and event-focused, wardrobe.

I’m also just a plain ole researcher. Not by trade or even by training, though I did study humanities. I just enjoy research. I love learning about things I’m interested in. I have a gift for finding obscure answers with verifiable sources. I’m one of those tropey girls who will spend hours in the library. I want to know everything about domestic life during WWII and the postwar period, frankly, and nothing can stand in my way when I’m in a researching mood.

The last hobby I’ll talk about here is writing. Ever since third grade, when our teacher had us keep a journal she would give us prompts for, I have loved to tell stories via writing. My first ever novel attempt was the story of two resistance fighters in wartime Germany escaping to Sweden, way back in 4th grade! I never finished it, which has always bugged my grandmother. She really liked the plot!

I always have too many ideas to finish them all, and ADHD brain frequently gets distracted during the planning phase and jumps ship to another one. I have a Dieselpunk book I wrote that takes place on a planet inspired by the world during WWI and WWII, one in a series that needs finishing. Right now I’m working on planning the first book of a cozy mystery series about a couple who goes to vintage events in the present day, because cozy mysteries are a nice, simple, fun brain break between more serious writing.

So those are my main hobbies, the ones I go back and forth between most often, and how I engage in them in a vintage context.

Next time I post, I plan to be a little…saucier…as it were. ;)

[informationvine]

How to Make a Morse Code Bracelet? Read All Methods

If you want to make a Morse code bracelet, you will need some basic materials to make it. Card stock is an excellent choice, as you can write a message on it and decorate it with stickers and markers. To create a bracelet, cut the card stock into five-cm-wide strips. If your card stock curls, cut the strips further. Once finished, wrap the card with tissue paper and tie it with a ribbon.

Beads

If you've ever wanted to make a Morse code bracelet, you can do it yourself with some basic supplies and a little bit of time. One of the most enjoyable and simple homemade gifts is a Morse code bracelet. If you're looking for a unique gift idea, you can also use it as a way to create a personalized gift for your special someone.

Morse code jewelry is a fun way to express yourself and send a special message. It is perfect for special occasions, national holidays, and even just because! Using cheap pony beads and a little bit of yarn, even kids can create their own necklaces or bracelets.

Cord

If you want to make a Morse code bracelet, there are several simple ways to go about it. First, you will need an elastic string. It should be longer than your wrist. You will also need to tie a loose knot at the end. This will prevent the beads from falling off as you string them.

Now, you will need to write a message on the bracelet. You can use markers or stickers to make the message look more appealing. You will also need to cut the card stock into slits on both sides. If the card tends to curl, you may want to cut longer slits. When you are done, wrap the card in tissue paper and tie a ribbon on top.

Encoding A Word or Phrase

To create a Morse code bracelet, you can write a word or phrase on a blank card and attach it to the bracelet. You can also decorate the card with stickers or markers. Cut the card stock into two lengths that are approximately 5 cm apart. If the card is prone to curl, make the slits longer. Then, wrap the card in tissue paper and tie a ribbon to the top.

This method allowed people to send messages through long distances using standardized sequences of dots and dashes. It is named after Samuel Morse, a man who invented the telegraph. Morse code was originally developed to allow people to send short messages. It's still used for emergency communications and is used to send distress signals.

Using Crimping Pliers

Crimping pliers are a pair of small pliers with two notches on either end. The first notch squeezes the tube closed while the second notch folds the crimp bead into a tube shape. Using the pliers, you can form the tube of beads into a Morse Code bracelet.

You will need a strong thread or thin cording or chain to string the beads. You can also use eye pins to create links. You can also use single-colored beads to cover the thread to bring out the color of the letter you're using. If you'd like to add a little more thickness to your bracelet, you can use braided strands.

[boldlyanxious]

Remember When 20 Aftermath part 2

RW masterlist

Master masterlist

Tim managed to rest when he got home for a bit. He had set his phone to not have any disruptions unless it was from Marinette. He changed that to a sound he would be able to hear through anything. He didn't rest very long. He ended up immersing himself in a work project. Only by forcing his focus into the complicated project was her able to get his mind off her for a bit.

He could ignore is phone and email for eternity but he was pulled out of his work by banging on the door. By the level of noise they were generating they were either angry or had been trying for longer than he had noticed.

---

Marinette smiled at the sweet older man who only wanted tea and cookies. He stopped her to talk because he said she looked sad and tired. She assured him that she just had a rough night but she would be fine. Marinette filled his tea and sat with him when they closed the doors. They couldn't do most of the rest of the closing tasks until the cafe was empty. They chatted for a few minutes and she also had a cup of tea until he said he should leave.

"I should take some of these cookies to my friend Tim. He lost a new friendship yesterday but he isn't sure why."

Marinette froze at his words before plastering a fake smile on her face. She handed him his receipt and the cookies.

"Well I hope it helps him. You have a pleasant day."

She wasn't sure if it was her Tim he was referring to. It wasn't an uncommon name but the timing and him carefully watching her response made her fairly certain it was. He took her hand and spoke again without hiding his meaning.

"He needed to know nothing had happened to you but he didn't want to be pushy. This is a number to reach me if you need anything. I would be as discreet as you required."

Marinette squeezed his hand back and then took the card from him. She didn't expect she would ever use it because she had no way of knowing who else he knew. But she didn't want Tim to worry about her unnecessarily after having sent the man as a sort of emissary to make sure she was safe without ignoring completely her boundary.

---

When Alfred got back to the manor it was in an uproar. Bruce was standing helplessly by while Barb and Dick argued. There was an overnight bag next to Barb and she had her coat and purse as if she had been about to leave before the fight started. Jason was sitting on the back of the couch with his feet on the seats eating popcorn.

"You appear to be leaving, Barb. Do you require a ride somewhere?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"No," said Dick, "please don't leave. Or at least wait until I can get a bag and go with you."

"I don't want you with me if you are defending what he did," she said.

"I was just telling you he wasn't actually going to do it. You know he wouldn't actually do something like that."

"An empty threat is still a threat. She clearly didn't know he had no intention of following through because she wasn't supposed to. Intimidation doesn't work if the one you are intimidating doesn't buy it."

"I think you are missing the part where he is doing all of this to shut down a dangerous drug ring."

"Which she had helped with as much as she could. The only way she has ever been treated is like the enemy when she should have become an ally."

"I think--" Bruce tried to rejoin their heated argument.

"No one cares what you think," Barb said much more venomously than they had ever heard from her. "I need time away. Do not contact me. I will let you know when and if I'm ready to see either of you."

She went out the door with her bag. Alfred looked back and forth between trying to fill in the blanks before following her out. Jason disappeared before they could recover from what just happened and turn to find out whose side he was on. He called Steph on his way to Roy's. He did not want to be around for the fall out.

---

It was the time Marinette had originally planned to be out with Tim. She couldn't stand being in her apartment anymore. She had already completed all her online orders and had a decent supply of her regular items to sell. She usually stuck to accessories with headbands and bracelets being the most popular but also a steady amount of special orders, usually for wedding parties. She decided to head off to mail the last few orders.

She packed her sketchbook and some snacks along with a little blanket and thermos of hot cocoa. She hadn't done too much exploring around the area in the last few months but she was very interested in a park she had passed by that looked really nice. She set herself up and started sketching.

She had a few ideas for new accessories to try but mostly she was drawing clothes. She didn't sew much any more since she wasn't selling clothing designs. Mostly she just made her own clothes to be cute, comfortable and functional. But all the things she was drawing today were for Tim. Even one day later, she missed him. Possibly because of the finality of their interactions. She had given him no additional information and he hadn't tried to contact her again. After meeting his friend she was fairly certain that she would have make a move if she wanted to see him again. She did, more than anything, but she couldn't explain why she had ended things in the first place.

She gave up drawing and decided that she would make the sweater. If nothing else it would remind her of him. She stopped on her way home to buy the right yarn for it and started making it after dinner.

Next

Taglist

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @silverwhiteraven | @ira-sairain | @iloveitwhen | @wannajointhecrabcult | @toodaloo-kangaroo | @ertyzeta | @no-username2544 | @mystery-5-5 | @laurcad123 | @jiso-lee | @razzledazzle247 | @kaithehero | @diamondjewel123 | @comet-kun | @junarvion | @roselynfey | @moongoddesskiana | @cresentmo0n | @2confused-2doanything | @officiallydarkgeek | @vixen-uchiha | @athena452 | @nach0 | @ladybug-182 | @ladylb | @redscarlet95 | @bigpicklebananatree | @swiftie-miraculer13 | @kokotaru | @damnaged-princess | @i-wanna-be-a-ninja | @velvetterabby | @deepestobservationwombat | @nathleigh | @trippingovermyfeet | @kking13 | @dast218 | @too0bsessedformyowngood | @user00000003 | @roguishredaxion | @enternalempires | @faunrasthewinterelf | @miraculouspenta | @maskedpainter

#maribat #timinette #timari #boldlyanxious

[secret-time-is-here]

Double stitched - Rewrite

Chapter 2

Previous - First - Next

Nightmare stared at the somewhat taller skeleton, unbelieving. In hindsight, seeing a black boned glitching skeleton with multicolored fingers, crimson-red colored legs and arms, and multi-ringed eyes is pretty hard to believe. Even if it was standing in front of you.

Fixing the blue scarf a little tighter around his neck, the glitching skeleton repeated, “NEaRLy EvERyOnE is a skELEtOn in my muLTIvERsE.”

“Why? How?!” The dark Guardian questioned, pulling at his hair, expression distorted with confusion.

“DOEs it-iT-iT LOOk LIkE I knOw-Ow?!” Glitch snapped, glitching harshly, pulling the strings from his eyes on reflex to his anger. Strings gave him a worried look, and he snapped the strings off to stuff into pockets for now. The skeleton sighed, stuffing the bottom half of his face into his scarf, “wE aLL jusT… aRE. THInk iT has sOmETHIng tO dO wITH tHe crEaTORs Or tHE ORIgInaL unIvERsE, I dIdn’T bOThER LIsTEnIng tO tHaT pukE-bRaIn wHEn hE TRiEd tO ExpLaIn iT.”

“Puke-brain?” This multiverse’s Cross questioned, much more outspoken than the reclusive and introverted skeleton he was used to. Glitch nodded, “Is that their name or…?”

“PukE-braIn, SquId, Ink, wHaTEvER.” The skeleton dramatically rolled his eyes for a long second, “By tHE lOOks Of yOuR Ink, I’m guEssIng hE dOEsn’T pukE ink LIkE mInE dOEs.”

“YOu saw OuR Ink?” Strings questioned, and instead of answering, Glitch just simply pulled up a glitching window to that weird “JR” building and started scrolling through the halls until he found Ink lounging and annoying Dream in the God’s office. “Wait, didn’t yOu say yOuR Ink is diffEREnt than OuRs?”

The skeleton thought over it for a moment, while in this multiverse Ink did play the same role as his Cross did, there wasn’t too much of a difference between the two. Both were assholes and emotionless, even if his multiverse’s Ink had some weird paints that somehow made him feel emotion, but his Ink did constantly pester him with pleas of friendship and keeping the AUs alive bullshit.

“SLIgHTLy, EmOTIOnlEss jErk buT Has paInTs THaT gIvE HIm EmOTIOn, I guEss? And pEstERs meE tO sTOp dEsTROyIng and bE hIs fRIEnd oR wHaTEvER.”

“Destroying?” Nightmare questioned.

“THaT Isn’T sOmETHIng THaT HappEns In THIs muLTIvERsE? LamE.”

“Glitch,” Strings asked carefully, his voice seeming serious, “What Exactly dO yOu mEan by dEstROying?”

“WeLL, dEsTROyIng tHE AUs, duH.” Nightmare glared at him, “I’m nOT dOIng tHaT hERe ThOuGH, my bEEf is wITH tHe AUs In my muLTIvERsE, It’d bE pOInTLEss tO sTaRT OvER agaIn anyway. BEsIdEs, sO faR tHIs muLTIvERsE Has bEEn nIcE tO mE, I gOt nO REasOn tO dEsTROy iT, yET.” 

The three roommates glanced at each other for a moment before Nightmare spoke up: “What did they do to you?”

“I...” Glitch’s eyesockets went blank and furrowed in displeasure, hiding more of his skull in his scarf, “...I dOn’T wanT tO TaLk abOuT iT.”

After further conversation, it was decided that Glitch could stay with them, but because of his title of the destroyer, he wasn’t really trusted yet. Understandable. So, since they didn’t have an extra room and didn’t trust him enough to put an extra bed in or share a bed in one of their own rooms, he had a blanket and pillow to sleep on the couch.

It was really rough at first, Glitch not understanding what sleeping, eating, or really anything was, which shocked the meme squad, as the skeleton learned they called themselves. Slowly though, they started to open up some. Helping Glitch to live normally.

Simple reminders of, “Hey you need to...” helping a lot, and even more so with a quirk they learned Glitch had. For every time he slept or ate, or really anything along those lines, he got a small piece of chocolate.

At least it got the four of them to somewhat bond quickly.

Weeks later, Glitch was much more trusted, still sleeping on the couch, more out of preference than anything else, and hanging out with everyone else.

They found things to preoccupy the destroyer easily, Strings helping Glitch better his knitting and learn to sew properly--and not the quick patch job his clothes were, Cross finding a way to bond over video games, and Nightmare showing off their pet chicken Kevin. Sometimes the meme squad would go outside of their little home base only to see Glitch and Kevin sitting for hours, just staring at each other. At least it was a way to pass the time.

“YaRn OvER,” Strings calmly spoke, guiding Glitch through a crotchet technique.

“I aLREady dId-dId tHaT!” The skeleton shouted frustratingly, glitching a bit, his bones currently covered in string as he struggled to do the stitch right.

“Just saying thE stEps again...” The other continued to speak smoothly, leaning back against the armchair and easily doing the double stitch over and over again. The destroyer getting angrier every time he saw Strings complete another stitch. Focusing on the gloved hands, he watched and tried to copy the movements, tuning out the other. “...ThEn yaRn OvER again and pull thROugh thE twO REmaining lOOps.”

And he failed again.

“DAMMIT-dammIT, ALL!” Glitch yelled, glitching, throwing the project down into his lap and hiding his skull completely in his scarf, wishing he kept his old hoodie so he could hide in that too, but the patchy jacket and pants he was wearing now weren’t too bad.

Through his thick scarf, he couldn’t see anything happening, but he could still hear.

He could hear String’s sigh and the armchair ease back forward as the other got up.

Footsteps walked closer and he could hear Strings sit on the other side of the couch. A few fingers came into view, carefully pulling the scarf down while not touching him. The different eyes focused on him and he felt his icy cold soul warm and soften a little. The gaze was welcoming and encouraging.

“HOw abOut wE pick up anOthER timE? YOu cOuld hElp mE with dinnER in thE mEantimE.” Slowly the skeleton nodded, and Strings got up again to go to the kitchen.

His soul much be glitching again. There should be no other reason for it to be jumping around in his ribcage. No. No other reason. He hid his face in the scarf for a bit longer as he felt his cheekbones warm.

No other reason. At all.

Dreamswap, concept and outfits, belongs to @onebizarrekai

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Cross and UnderVerse belongs to @jakei95

Nightmare belongs to the community

#Undertale #Fanfic #double stitched #chapter 2 #Double stitched chapter 2 #Dreamswap #Dreamswap Ink #Dreamswap Cross #Dreamswap Nightmare #Dreamswap Error #Underverse Error #Underverse #UV Error x DS Error #DS Error x UV Error #Errorcest #Strings x Glitch #Glitch x Strings

[100storiesin2020]

There's a raven in Fox Tower (her name is Chainsaw)

This is chapter 1 in a crossover fanfic for The Raven Cycle and All For The Game! Major spoilers for both series. Enjoy!

*****

Blue exited the court, racket balanced over her shoulder. She was sweating and tired and extremely proud. Henrietta High School had won their rivalry match against Aglionby for the first time since Blue had joined the team, and she was fully aware that she was responsible for it. She had scored 4 of the 7 goals herself, after all, and each one of them had been hard-earned. Her friendship with members of the Aglionby team did not affect the ability to play against each other. Instead, it made all of them fight harder, and made the game that much more satisfying to win.

"Hey Sargent! C'mere."

Blue paused without turning around. "What do you want, Coach?"

"There's a recruiter here to see you."

That got her full attention. Turning around, Blue saw Mr. Moore, her Exy coach, standing next to her mother outside of his office. "Can they wait? I'd like to shower," she said. She did want to shower, but more importantly she wanted to change back into her handmade clothes. They weren't just a fashion statement or a desire to be different. They served as a warning sign, a protective shield against people who might judge her. She didn't want to meet a prospective coach without her armor.

"Come in, Blue," her mother said, tapping her toe on the floor. This morning, during the daily card ritual, Blue had drawn the Knight. Maura had told her that she would be meeting somebody today. This person would open a door for her future, and Blue would need to decide if it was the door she wanted. Blue had asked for more specifics, but Maura had declined, always insisting that Blue's future was her own. "It's time. This is it."

Blue sighed in defeat and stalked over to the door, which Moore opened for her. The office was a bit cramped, because a room that was originally intended as a cleaning closet really shouldn't have been able to fit a desk that size, but somehow it had gotten in here anyway. Behind the desk was a tall man with brown hair and tribal tattoos. She recognized him quickly, because Henry was a dramatic little fanboy who was constantly going on about his sports teams. This was David Wymack of the Palmetto Foxes, and he was here to recruit her.

"You must be Blue."

"And you must have made a mistake, because you only recruit rejects, but I come from a perfectly functional home, thank you very much." Blue started to turn around and leave.

Maura stopped her, because she was standing behind Blue in the doorway. "What happened to your manners?"

The corner of Wymack's mouth twitched upwards. "No, she has a point. My recruiting standards are pretty well-known, and you're correct that you don't seem to fit the bill. But I've talked to Moore, and to your mother. You've had quite the year, haven't you, Blue?

Blue grimaced as she took her seat. No doubt Moore had told him all about the news headlines she had been in this year. If she was to be perfectly honest, it had been rough, and it had affected her and her playing. She nodded a bit. "Alright then. I'll sign if you offer me a scholarship."

"Blue!" her mother exclaimed, as Wymack raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not being rude, Mom. We both know I can't afford college without some help."

Maura sighed. "Yes, you've always been the sensible one."

Wymack had a calculating look on his face, as if he was mentally rewriting her backstory. It was a little too reminiscent of Calla, which made Blue very uncomfortable. What were the odds that she get recruited by yet another psychic? The expression passed and he slid a file across the desk toward Blue, who stared at it. It was a hideous shade of orange and it had her name scrawled across the front in some of the messiest handwriting she'd ever seen, and she'd tried to interpret Ronan's notes once or twice. "Well, then, here's the deal, short stuff. I've seen your stats. I've talked to your coach. And tonight I got to see you play in the biggest game of your year. Aglionby is Henrietta's biggest rival, right?" Blue snorted. With how much the everyday folk of Henrietta resented the wealth of Aglionby, a dramatic rivalry was inevitable. "You were in fine form tonight, and I know some college players that you could run circles around," Wymack huffed. "My striker handpicked you, and I think he made an excellent choice. If a full-ride is what you need to be able to come to Palmetto, I'm willing to pay it to get you there."

Blue turned to her mother to get her input. Maura had the far-away look that came during a reading when she was working extra hard to see the truth. She snapped back to attention and gave a small shrug, which told Blue that the earlier read still stood. This was just a choice. Not necessarily a good one, not necessarily a bad one, just an option that could be taken or left. Blue turned back toward the coach and stuck out her hand. "Deal." They shook, and he handed over some papers. "Thank you, Blue. Sign these and we will be in touch. Do you have any more questions? I'm hoping to catch some of those Aglionby boys before I go."

Blue froze while flipping through the papers, unsure if she had heard him right. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Run that by me again?"

Wymack snorted. "I'm just interested in a few of them. Aglionby is not the type of school I generally would recruit from," he said with a grimace, "but I'm between a rock and a hard place right now. The truth is, I have some seniors graduating next year, so I'm in desperate need of two dealers and a goalie. I've been to several other schools this week, but I haven't managed to sign anyone." He sighed. "Apparently they were already committed to another school or unwilling to deal with the reputation of the Foxes, and now I'm out of time. Spring break ends tomorrow and I need to go back to Palmetto, so I've got to take my opportunities here."

Blue considered that and looked at her watch, which had bands made of several colors of yarn braided together. "The game ended 30 minutes ago, so Gansey, Parrish, and Lynch are probably changed out and waiting by the front door. You can catch them while I go shower."

Wymack raised his eyebrows at that. "I was under the impression that you didn't have your mother's gifts."

"I don't," Blue replied, wondering just how much Wymack knew about her mother's reputation as a psychic. "It's just that Aglionby has a very small Exy team, since apparently upper society frowns upon violent sports." She rolled her eyes. "Those three are graduating seniors and play the positions you need." 

Wymack looked unconvinced. "Then how do you know they are at the front door?"

Blue shrugged. "I won today. They owe me pizza." She picked up her racket and walked to the door. "Good luck. I'm going to go shower." She slammed the door shut behind her.

Maura smiled softly at the noisy retreat and looked back at the coach. "It's nice to see you again, David."

"Likewise, Maura." David Wymack leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly. "I don't think I've seen you in a good twenty years, at least."

Maura snorted. "At least. I can't believe you swept your psychic abilities aside to play sports." Her expression softened. "I will admit, now, that you made the right choice."

"I would have been a terrible psychic," David stated. "Trying to impress people? Doing readings for entitled nonbelievers? Useless. Using my abilities to give my kids second chances?" His eyes lit up, and Maura didn't need her second sight to see his passion. "I make a real difference here."

Maura nodded. "You certainly do. So what exactly drew you to Blue?"

He scowled. "I didn't know she was yours, if that's what you're asking, nor did I know she was an amplifier. She's tied to something dark, something that happened recently. A death? Two?" He glanced at her, and she nodded confirmation. "I'm a bit foggy on the details, and I'm not sure that I can provide what she needs to heal, but I can at least open up some doors for her."

Maura laughed. "There's my Knight card." Wymack gave her a blank stare. "Do you have a place to go for dinner? Old friends are always welcome at 300 Fox Way."

"Fox way, you say?" He smirked. "I'm in." They stood, then, and looked at each other for a moment, passing unspoken secrets through the air between them. Satisfied with what they saw in each other, they left: David with a sense that his situation was resolved, and Maura with a promise that her Blue would be safe.

#all for the game #the raven cycle #fanfiction #crossover #aftg #trc #the raven boys #the dream thieves #blue lily lily blue #the raven king #the foxhole court #the kings court #100storiesin2020 #a chainsaw in fox tower

[knitcrate]

May 2020 Early Preview

Inspired by the coziness of our homes and the desire to learn new things, we’re turning lemons into lemonade - almost literally! This month, we’re giving you a blank canvas to create your own adventure and make a splash in the time we’re spending at home. 

We’ll guide you along the way, taking you as close as we can to the process of sheep to shawl in your own home for your most personalized project of 2020.

Like every other month this year, this crate was curated with a little help from our friends! This month, we've partnered with Rebecca Brown also known as ChemKnits Tutorials on Youtube. She has a Ph.D. in Biochemistry and Molecular Pharmacology and specializes in applying her scientific training to the fiber arts. We love getting together as a team to watch her fun tutorials and get a behind-the-scenes look at the fiber magic she creates. Subscribe to her channel today to watch them with us while you wait for your next crate! 

When we found out our mill closed down for quarantine a few weeks ago and couldn't deliver the yarn we originally had planned out for May since last year, we knew we had to make some changes. With some help from Rebecca and our sister store Dyer Supplier, we put together something special for this month's crates. For the first time ever, we are bringing you a DIY Crate, where you'll learn to dye your own yarn with us! Just wait until you tell your friends that you not only stitched up your project but hand-dyed it too!

During our Early Preview, we only show you the yarn that is coming in the next crate, and not the patterns or extras, so that you can make decisions about changing your color vibe or adding a crate for the new month! If you need help changing your vibe, you can watch the video below for more details or contact us by clicking here.

Remember: The option to swap your color vibe is only open between April 15-28 for these crates.

Now let’s squish the yarn!

KnitCrate Membership

This month, we partnered with our sister company, DyerSupplier to bring a variety of industry standard bare yarns to your crates! Your crate will contain 2 skeins of undyed yarn to act as a blank canvas for you to make your own unique creation. Your crate will come with 2 identical skeins of any of the following bases.

2-Ply Superwash Merino

A classic 2-ply yarn with a bit of air within the spin. Perfect for a wide range of gauges and projects, this fingering weight 100% Superwash Merino yarn measures at approx. 399 yards/ 100g.

75/25 Superwash Merino Nylon

A 75% Superwash Merino 25% Nylon fingering weight blend, durable for any project and soft to the touch. Each skein measures at 415 yards/ 100g.

Nice & Round

This base looks and feels just like the name- nice and round. Ideal for crisp speckles and textured stitch definition, this tightly plied 100% Superwash Merino measures 415 yards/ 100g and is fingering weight.

Merino Singles

Wispy and soft, this singles base is an indie dyer essential and best seller! It is a fingering weight made up of 100% Superwash Merino with 415 yards/ 100g.

Energize Me: Ember

Like a warm campfire or fireworks in the sky, this color combination brings a burst of life to any stash. Each Energize Me Crate will come with 1 orange and 1 cherry packet to create 2 skeins of any of the pictured combinations!

Chill Out: Spritzer

This tart combination can be toned up or down depending on how much dye you use! Each Chill Out Crate will come with 1 grape and 1 cherry packet to create 2 skeins of any of the pictured combinations!

All Natural: Husk

Reminiscent of purple corn and pumpkins, 1 packet of grape and 1 packet of orange come together to create strikingly different colorways! Mix both packets for an unexpectedly natural colorway surprise!

Not a member yet? Join today!

Sock Crate Membership

DyerSupplier has filled our Sock Crates with every sock maker’s staple. A soft 80% Superwash Merino Wool, 20% Nylon fingering weight yarn, plied and ready to support those heels and toes! This base is 400 yards/ 100g.

Energize Me: Daiquiri

Blended with bits of undyed, this cherry flavor feels like a refreshing frozen drink by the pool. Each Energize Me Crate will come with 1 cherry packet to create 1 skein of a tonal or speckled sock yarn!

Chill Out: Fairy Floss

Like soft cotton candy, this yarn gives grape a chance to show its different colors! Each Chill Out Crate will come with 1 grape packet to create 1 skein of a tonal or speckled sock yarn!

All Natural: Creamsicle 

Orange and cream- a familiar, nostalgic, and delicious combination. Each All Natural Sock Crate will come with 1 orange packet to create 1 skein of a tonal or speckled sock yarn!

Not a member yet? Want to join Sock Crate Membership? You can do it here!

Malabrigo Quarterly Crate (UPDATED!)

April has been quite a month! We appreciate your patience while we completely redesigned this crate with Malabrigo. 

Now...who's ready for a quick peek at what will be inside our May 2020 Malabrigo Partner Crate?

Inspired by our May theme of Blank Canvas, we've partnered with Malabrigo to bring members luscious hand-dyed skeins of Washted, the superwash version of their Worsted Merino base. It features 210 yards (192 meters) per 100 gram skein.

Here's a quick look of a few colorways we've selected:

Colorways will vary from crate to crate. Each crate will include 2 identical skeins with matched lots of Washted for your next masterpiece PLUS 2 knit patterns, 1 crochet pattern, and an exciting extra (these will still be a surprise).

INTRODUCING:

Asylum Fibers x KnitCrate: Limited Edition Mother’s Day Crate

We are so excited to announce a very special collaboration with some incredible independent makers! From the yarn, patterns, to the extra, each element of this crate has been handpicked and exclusively made to celebrate Mother’s Day.

Stephanie Jones of Asylum Fibers has treated us to Alstromeria- a bouquet inspired exclusive colorway on DyerSupplier’s base, Elegance. This bulky weight base is a 45% Superwash Merino, 45% Kid Mohair, and 10% Silk blend at 167 yards/ 100g. These skeins would normally retail for $30 each. Every Limited Edition Mother’s Day Crate will include 3 skeins, 1 knit pattern, 1 crochet pattern, and 1 handmade extra by Anita Wentz of Walnut Farm Designs. 

Click here to get yours today for $69.99 while supplies last! 

#knitcrate #knitcrate membership #knitcratesocks #knit #knitting #knittersofravelry #crochet #crocheting #crocheters of ravelry

[joyceveneziasuss]

Fun with Rocks

By Joyce Venezia Suss

Are your kids hitting rock bottom from boredom? Adults who are caught “between a rock and a hard place” in finding diversions can use rocks for many fun activities – and a free blank canvas for creativity. Here are some ideas:

 1.     Let kids gather a variety of small rocks outside. Then provide white glue, scraps of felt and yarn, and some paints so kids can create rock people and animals. Use permanent or paint markers for fine details. Add wiggle eyes, pipe cleaners, glitter and pompoms for extra fun. Glue some felt on the bottoms so these "figurines" won't scratch tables. How about making a "rock" band?!

2.     Kids can start a rock collection in an egg carton. Wash dirty rocks, then classify them by shape, color or texture, using a magnifying glass to pick out details. Encourage older kids to look up the names and features of different rocks and minerals (i.e. sandstone, limestone, shale, granite). Alternatively, let kids place their rock collection in a glass jar. Fill with water for a pretty reflective effect (add some bleach to keep the water clear).

3.     Use rocks for counting games and hiding games. To play a guessing game, set out several different rocks, tell kids to shut their eyes, take one away and let them guess which one is missing. Or let a group of kids each select a rock, study it and feel its shape carefully, then put them back in a pile. An adult mixes up the pile, and kids must try to find their rocks. For an added challenge, tell kids to shut their eyes when searching through the pile.

4.     Pour water into a cup until it is about three-quarters full. Ask kids to guess how many pebbles or rocks must be added to the cup to spill the water over the top, then start adding them to the cup and counting out loud.

5.     Send kids on a rock hunt. An adult sits in a designated location and asks kids to find a variety of stones one at a time (white, colored, speckled, smooth, bumpy, slimy, muddy, etc.) Kids must search for rocks within eyesight of the adult.

6.     Let kids make desk paperweights by painting decorative designs or inspirational quotes onto stones, using acrylic paints. Or tear up small pieces of tissue paper, dip the pieces into a bowl of white glue thinned with some water, then cover a smooth rock with the pieces. When dry, apply a coat of Mod Podge, hair spray or clear nail polish, if desired.

7.     Instead of "magnetic poetry," try "pebble poetry." Use paint or paint markers to write words on individual stones. Use people, places, objects, adjectives and adverbs, and lots of action verbs. Seal as above, then place all the stones into a container, select a handful and form a creative sentence.

8.     Let kids paint rocks with pictures of vegetables and flowers to create garden markers for springtime seedlings. A coat of varnish will protect these from the elements.

9.     Encourage kids to arrange rocks in your gardens in pretty designs. This can also be helpful in areas where puddling occurs.

10.  Kids can glue small pebbles onto a piece of cardboard to create a design.

11.  Every adult should teach kids how to skip rocks on water. In case you don't know how, choose a flat rock and toss it sideways, like a Frisbee, onto the water. A good toss will send the rock skipping across the surface several times.

12.  Finally, a classic use for rocks is to use them as individual markers for a game of hopscotch!

This was originally posted as my Quality Time column in The Star-Ledger and i-Village.

#Family Fun #Quality Time #Kids #Children #Fun at home

[sturdy-nerdy-stitchery]

I need knitting help

i'm doing stockinette, the name FINLEY will appear on the K (V) side of the stockinette.  

1) When I go to do the purl row....and i start to get to the letter F...i'd then switch to a _________stitch 

2) When I’m doing the knit row and i get to the letter F, I'd do a ______ stitch

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Originally, the letters in his name were 1px wide. turns out, the horizontal parts of each letter were visible...but the vertical parts were not. I got 5 rows into his name...and the vertical parts recessed too much into the V. I saw similar that had lettering 1px wide, but the dishcloth used a chunkier yarn. My blanket uses a 3 weight yarn. This is why...i decided to make the lettering 2px wide after seeing this sample on ravelry:

So, thing is, i’m getting confused, because chat server discord suggests to me that the lettering is garter stitch. Looking at other samples she has on her ravelry and etsy, I tend to agree. Thing is, I don’t know how to fill in the blanks as I stated above. I ca’t see what the back of the pattern looks like. Or maybe I am just running on 10 hours of sleep in 62 hours. Forget what I assumed or thought...whether i was right or wrong in my assumptions. I just want someone to fill in the blanks for me so that when i go to revise my pattern in the morning, I know how to do it properly so that his name reads nice and clearly on his baby blanket as it does in that green dishcloth...and i don’t have to spend forever and a day trying to figure it out I guess I can always message the shop owner too just to see how she does it...and just state that i’m confused...or i can spend $3.37 to buy the pattern and solve all my problems potentially

#knit #knitting #knitting question #knit question #purl #purl question #i'm confused #probably because i'm sleepy #halp #help #help!

[shyeehaw]

Children of this Land: Ashes to Bone

Supernatural AU - Chapter I

I would like to thank @shethenightwolf , @famderlinde , @kaziklubaby  and @crabby-abby for bearing with me and helping me with my first long fic, hope yall like it <3

This is the story of your birth, my son. It’s an adventurous one, filled with love, but also great sadness and loss. It speaks to us as well, children of this land. We know no home, and neither do you. The same land that created us now is doing the hunt.

The wooden wheels were rolling, and that hellish sound kept screeching on their ears, a sound so cruel that reminds them why they are moving in the first place. A feud as old as time, ignited by the most primordial motive: food. Then, finally, a dead man lying on the road.

When on the run, there’s no time to feed, as fugitives don’t get any rest. Time unfolded as a yarn, and Hosea’s eyes were kept glued to the small portrait in his hands. They had infuriated too many people, both gangs and law. Still, the strong scent of the corpse got them jumping out of the wagon, facing its empty eyes. Dutch approached the dead man, assaying the state of his own skin over the new one. Fresher, better. A grip around his wrist and a screech of the harpy’s throat; That’s how they knew it was an illusion, a trick. There weren’t enough roads to put distance between the Driscoll's and the Van Der Linde gang. And now, as the evening shadows and he sits on his ragged tent, Dutch watches his sons as they heal, with growing hunger.

The flames licked Abigail’s legs, and still, she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere but there. It was a flesh-eating blaze consuming her feet, her core. Yet, the only hurtful sting was their piercing gaze. Her agonized figure was a reason to cheer, to chant, around her, hearts full of hate gleamed like burning coal. Their indifference allowed her to once more, feel the depths of cruelty. What they couldn't wrap their minds around was judged, and tonight, Abigail was the defendant.

She wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t give them that satisfaction, raising her chin up, Abigail breathed the smoke two or three times, the crescent moon as her single witness.

“We are gathered here tonight to send this whore back to her Master’s arms”, said the Cleric, holding a cross against her direction, “Begone, foul creature! Leave us, good people, free of your bewitched venomous words.”

The crowd cheered, oblivious to the ferocity of the fire, as she was reminded, once again, of how she was used, tricked. It was a savage world, and still, Abigail was no more inhuman than those who smiled upon her burning body.

“See! She won’t even deny it! Promiscuous! Sorcerer!”, those were the words used by simple-minded men to describe women who owned themselves, who dared to be free, only to have their freedom sworded by their hypocrisy. Speaking softly to the flames, she asked them to be done, to consume her. Ash and bones. Rolling her head back, and her eyes even further, Abigail chanted a last time, the old forgotten words folding her tongue in a familiar way, praying to whichever God birthed her to claim her soul. She embraced her fiery fate.

Red, carmine -  the vivid colors flashed through their collective mind. John was the first, howling at his packmate to stop, something wrong in those woods.

“What are you fools stopping for?”, Bill stomped his hoof, “Dutch is waiting on us!”

With a growling sound, Arthur followed John, his bent legs opening way between the dense forest.

“Ahh shit!”, Bill turned around, chasing the two immense shadows by the night. A smoke scent filling their lungs.

It was a sorry scene, indeed. Those creatures, those humans, once again burning what they couldn’t understand. Out of sight, out of mind.  How long until is us burning, John? the thought invaded his mind as if was his own. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, spreading quickly, bristling his fur. John jumped at the nearest peasant, munching on his torso, breaking bones.

“You goddamn idiot!”, Bill was furious, his horns now glazed on dripping blood, making his way through the crowd. And how they screamed, running in circles only to meet Arthur’s massive open jaw. Marston, you idiot! Dutch will geld us, those intrusive thoughts were buried under his primal goal, an instinct hard to refuse.

Fire shook his claw-hand as an agreement, John Marston slashed the ropes, freeing the witch’s body from the stake. She was alive, breathing. Barely.

Retreating to the camp, John was the one carrying the sorceress’s burnt body, his nose flaring to the smell. We should hurry, those Driscoll demons are still after us, he looked at his brother -  blood on his fur from the confront, humans and their damned guns, their own way to feel powerful. The night was as silent as death, just the sound of crickets guiding the weird party home.

“Absolutely not!”, Dutch said taking a single look at the wounded girl, “As far as we know humans are burning their own under the accusation of witchcraft. No!”. He left the tent in a hurry, only to stumble upon Hosea, who seemed very much concerned.

“What’s going on here, Dutch?”, He peeked through the open tent flaps, where Ms. Grimshaw avidly worked, the girl seemed like a rag doll compared to how big and feathery Ms. Grimshaw was.

“Is she a witch?”, Hosea asked.

“We reckon”, said Arthur, his beastly shape now a bit more under control.

“Dutch, we can’t just send her away! Are you so caught up with Colm and his demon hierarchy that you missed the news?”, Hosea looked at Ms. Grimshaw, as asking for her to back up his stories, “Night folk are gone!”

“They had it coming for them, going around attacking people.”

“And how do we feed again? We need to eat, and soon! Or we ain’t healing.”, Hosea crouched beside the girl, placing his hand with a cautious gesture on her forehead, “Saint Denis is just about the same, vampires being hunted down. Towns are being watched day and night, Dutch!”

“That’s exactly why I say to take no more folk, we have bad as it is!”

The gang was already used to seeing the pair arguing like this, Strauss was barely lifting his milky white eyes from his newspaper, watching their discussion with a detached interest.

“Alright Hosea! we’ll have her if she pulls her weight! And if she’s not some human mistook for one of us.”, he said putting a saddle on The Count, “Now, we need to tend to the urgent matters, these wounds! Strawberry?”

The face of his partner turned blank by the absurd proposition.

“Jenny, Mac, Davey… I miss them too, you know? They were fine people. But we can’t go looking for revenge, Dutch, Colm’s army is growing as we speak, I thought we was going to lie low”, Hosea said, placing his hand on Dutch’s shoulder, “I would rather we go to Valentine.”

His dark eyebrows furrowed, that livestock town was like going back to his origins, feeding on farmers and travelers. Still vexed, he nodded just to humor his partner, like he did so many times.

An eternal life granted them a non-verbal communication, much like John’s and Arthur. More than that, they merged into one. Hosea became more ambitious and lively, Dutch learned to consider risks, put others needs along his own. What one did the other was there to complement, like a synchronized dance, opposites, but working together. And how far they came, finding friends along the way, watching them turn into family.

As Ms. Grimshaw and Strauss helped them packing things to get to town, John stood still beside the girl, wondering what was her name, and if it was possible from the top of her slumber, to have cast a spell on him. People would soon start wondering why he wasn’t back to his original form, since there was no longer danger around. But the fear that was haunting him had nothing to do with something that could be fought using his teeth.

“Mister? What is you called?”, a crooked lady asked Dutch.

She was the only one still wandering through those muddy streets, stopping right on her tracks when she saw the man’s face. A frightful sight, they must have been. In a group of four, they walked in pairs, the wolves behind, as shadows enlarging the danger on the careless steps of the first two, who walked sure that nothing there could kill them. Except for each other.

“Aiden O'Malley is the name, my lady”, he said with a flourish, old ways never really died. Hosea glared, doubtful, at his partner.

“I’ve seen you before… but no, not with that name, I would recall.”, said the crone, her white tuft of hair escaping from the scarf. She looked so old her memory was doing a favor by still working.

“You must have mistaken me for someone else ‘mam, excuse me.”, a collective sigh and the group left, entering the dim-lighted alley on the right.

With a single gloved hand, Dutch raised the glass window, leaving enough space for him and Hosea to slither in the warm home. Gesturing for the boys to stay behind, they began their millenary ritual, plucking breaths as fruits from a tree. Glowing yellow eyes and fluid movements would never be seen by those who quietly slept. And if they were… their skin would become his.

But Hosea never liked that, the ugly crawling feeling he got when harvesting an innocent skin, no. He and then, Dutch pledged to only take the skin of those who had not done it right.

Still insatiable, drinking the slumbered breath, they heard footsteps. It was not unusual to find a restless human walking around their houses, but sharing a concerned look, the pair hid, mixing their silhouettes with the shadows.

“Who's there? Face me, ya cowards!”, the high-pitched voice floated across the room - disembodied.

With caution, Dutch draw his gun, human or not, a bullet would always slow it down. And the trigger was almost pulled when an almost toothless smile greeted him. And then headbutted him to the floor.

Gliding across the room, Hosea placed his barrel against the thing’s head.

“Easy boy! We are the same as you.”, he spoke slowly, trying to hold the creature still.

“Oh no, that’s my way of saying hello! Hello there!”, he pushed Hosea. And in a blink of an eye, the trickster vanished, leaving both men looking around, in a neurotic state. “Now ya see me!”, he resurged sitting on a chair, “Now ya don’t!”

“Alright! We are leaving!”, Hosea declared, having his sentence finished by Dutch, “We didn’t know this house was guarded…”

“Guarded? eh, not really. Folk here give me only musty bread and milk, that’s nothing if they want to count on me mighty protection.”, the red-head swung his legs from the bed, getting up on a jump, “ Give me beer, whiskey, would’ya? Back in Ireland, I was a fucking king! Know what? Eat them, I don’t care”, he spoke too fast, leaving Hosea’s ears buzzing.

“Ireland? So what are you? Leprechaun…?”, he asked, making his way to the door.

“Pff, ya american creatures! I’m irish so I can only be those fools? Nah, I’m a Clurichaun! Related to those famous bastards, yeah, but way better.”, he said, stuffing his chest as he followed them around.

“Alright, nice to meet you, mister. Goodbye now.”, Dutch said, meeting the inquisitive eyes of John and Arthur.

“I’m Sean!”, he said shaking their furry hands, unbothered, “Say, can I join ya fine fellers? It’s awful boring in that old house.”

Dutch was about to protest, but it took just Hosea dismissive gesture for him to not be bothered, for what he saw of Sean, he had the attention span of a puppy, and would be soon off their hair.

“Great, so as I was saying…”

With their ears filled by the heavy accent, in the length of one street, the gang learned all fae hierarchy, their taste for music and booze. When Arthur could swear his arms were going through the transition just to grab the boy’s neck, they stopped.

“Alright boys, keep your eyes open. Dutch and I are coming in.”

It’s hard to draw a clear distinction between good and bad, with that thought in mind, Hosea signaled to his sons to get working on the jail’s door. Arthur slashed the fragile doorknob, his paws kicking it open, their jaws clenching to the sound. The wolves and Clurichaun kept their guard outside the door, as the couple entered, greeted by moldy walls that held a quiet interior, where all prisoners snored just as much as the deputy on charge. All but one.

“Ay! What’s going on”, a whisper was heard, “Mary-Beth! Wake up!”

Dutch quickly found the source of it. The murmuring pair was sitting at the cold tile floor, ash crosses draw on their foreheads. His eyes lingered a bit on the man’s tied burnt hands. Sharing a look, Hosea and Dutch understood what that meant.

“If I were you, I would look away.”, Dutch said, much to Hosea’s displease.

“No need, sir. We both seen things that would shock you.”

“That I doubt very much.”

Squeezing through the bars, Dutch crouched on the asleep prisoner's chest, his long fingernail slicing the flesh, separating muscle from skin. He did that with precision, with a bored look of who committed this atrocity thousands of times, like he needed it to survive.

“Sir, you seem kind enough. Would you help us getting out of here?”, the soft voice of the girl pleaded to Hosea, “They… burned my tent, and I might be next.”

Ignoring the conversation, Dutch kept slicing.

“I…Of course, my dear”, he glanced at his partner whose frown was getting worse by the moment, “John, Arthur get over here and open this cell would you?”

Struggling but a moment with the lock, the two were free, rubbing the crosses off their heads.

“And then what Hosea? Are we keeping two more mouths to feed? We don’t even know if they are like us!”, Dutch was no longer keeping his voice low, which made Sean fidget with anticipation of that deputy’s sleep being interrupted.

“They clearly are! Look at their markings!”, his voice was firm, “We can’t leave them behi-”

The words were concealed under a freezing scream, one so excruciating and cold that sent shivers down their spines. Dutch’s sloppy movements as he argued caused the man to keep screaming, his skin being ripped off. It was like watching a stagecoach crash, in slow motion but yet unable to stop it.

An iron net, and guns. Hosea’s liquid fear, filling his eyes like never before, unable to move. Among the warning bell sound of the town, he searched for the portrait that he could swear it was on his pocket. He had but a moment to undo that, and failing to find it there was nothing left but to say goodbye.

But not Dutch, his nails went through the throat of the closest policeman, as his sons fought against the others. The girl, Mary-Beth, was unlocking a chest, weirdly enough grabbing a guitar and untying the hands of the man with her.

“There’s no point, my dear…”, Hosea talked above the confusion, “Take them and go, please. Do this, for me.”

With a second chime from the bell, Valentine was filled with it’s citizens. An angry mob following them, There wasn’t enough time for goodbyes. Fugitives don’t get to say “I love you” back. Their furious steps cracked the glass of the picture, Dutch’s smile immortalized beside a beautiful lady.

“I told you I knew you, mister.”, the crone said, accompanied by his old friend. His red mustache and unmistakable black hat. On top of that, the fiery sword embroidery stitched on his cassock.

“Hello, Dutch.”

#dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #javier escuella #mary beth gaskill #bill williamson #sean macguire #john marston #susan grimshaw #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption #rdr2 AU #long reads #alternate universe #rdr2 fanfic #abigail marston #abigail roberts #john marston x abigail marston #dutch x hosea #dutch van der linde x hosea matthews