#how to make macrame earrings

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden - GxG version

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Fem Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macrame. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration. It's violent, it's dirty and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you manged to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost ended up just as they did right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number two of incarceration. (Rule one being 'don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected him without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They wouldn't feel guilt even if they stole from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned to the next page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my momma. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like a man's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids that you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A woman's voice, neutral and respectful but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in her tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice her earlier. She stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind her back like she was at parade rest. Unlike the others, she had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

Her blond hair was scraped back into a low bun and her uniform sat on her in a way that was far more natural than any of the other trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered her before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot him a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

He scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig in to a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think you they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. She was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that she was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that she wasn't impressed with what she saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

She was the last to leave. Her eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. She raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before she turned on her heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about her after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.*

It was a Tuesday when you saw her again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise her before she was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. She wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when she hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job blondie," you managed to wheeze.

She sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," she said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still an aching mess when she slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in the COs' toolbelt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when she returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and her keys rattling.

You turned to her with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not her though. Her eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

She tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

She stayed quiet and you peaked at her over the edge of the fabric. She was much leaner than you realised, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her forearms toned with muscle.

And tattoos. Damn, she had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why she bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful for about two days."

She raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Tell me that after you've spent five years with lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at her.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was her angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they're less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions? Not really something people in here like to talk about," you said.

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

She was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with her. She had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

She leaned against the cell wall, hands on her belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why she was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

She narrowed her eyes and pushed herself off the wall. "Dissapointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like her tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed her test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to study.

She paused at the door.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?"

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did she know? Did she see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

She shrugged. "How am I supposed to know if that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you she would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest of them.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She's almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

She was looking at you again, much sharper this time. You hadn't noticed it before but her eyes were a gunmetal grey.

"Explain then."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

She turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

Her lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes. What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with his finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. She was still watching you, her face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum* by our normal standards."

"How exciting," she deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

She snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," she said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when she smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanor just enough to make you wonder about the woman underneath.

When she was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you up out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to her past. Something, somewhere had given her enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. You'd almost say it was enjoyable. She wasn't rude, she didn't pick favourites and she was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under the table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to her - getting too cozy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you make it a point to greet her whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there blondie!"

She must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see her watching you, head tilted just a little. Like she was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at her whenever you caught her.

It would usually be enough to make her look away, but never for long. Her eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way she looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But at around the third week after her arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You'd put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole 'nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day but mostly it smelt like blood. You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down on purpose.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanging hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemenaors. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you a bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. She walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave her your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake get up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

She scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. She'd brush her uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then she'd settle her blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect herself. Still, you kept your eye on them as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing you in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it hightening to a point. Could feel it like a dirty, oily taste in the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped her. You'd been hoping to catch her for a few days at least and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

She narrowed her eyes.

"They're going to riot."

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

She looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of hundreds of people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, it was in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

She must have seen the answer in your face.

She shook her head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of a job."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Others were already moving forward. Three prisoners grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Ringing ringing ringing off the cafeteria walls.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas cannisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and ran down the corridor, thinking fast.

If they managed to corner Blondie, they'd want to take their time with her. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant they'd want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find them when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of the wall and shot down the main corridor.

The showers. That's exactly what you'd do if you were her.

They didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" green eyes snapped, barely turning to look at you.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching her out like she was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. Her baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to her was cut her cheek, all the way from her temple to the bridge of her nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If she took issue with being called yours, she didn't show it.

"Let her go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly sharp edge. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since she's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping her around."

She rolled her shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodged.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and sending a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She'd dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummeling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge breaking.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She'll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. It hurt to breathe. Hopefully not cracked. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She's going to get even with you," Blondie said.

She was watching you. She hadn't moved from her place. Blood was still running in thin streams down her cheek, like she was crying blood.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at her. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

She finally moved. Picked up her baton and slipped it into her belt. She grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against her face. The white starting spotting red almost immediately. You watched her from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to her without looking at her face.

She wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in her belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and her radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

She grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. Her grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at her. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

She started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. She waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When she finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell."

"You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was her turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

She sighed again and walked away. You didn't see her again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary for a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it might have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without heating from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed her almost immediately. Blondie, her hair tied back in a ponytail and her usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to her, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

She didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

She sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of water.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not relive every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at her and she met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did she have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

She looked away from you for the first time, her ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

She smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She really was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She'd lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she'd been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she'd done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How he wouldn't stop, even though she was bleeding and about to pass out. How you banged at his door and then finally broke in through a back window.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defense by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defense of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No further run ins with the law, not even misdemenaors. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was possibly one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

She was taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

She waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

Her car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely six months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She's a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like her hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to her.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

She was quiet for a bit, but finally manged to force a smile into her voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

She kept her eyes on the road, her hand loose and confident on the wheel. Her sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at her tattoos. It was a really well done piece, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

She didn't answer.

When you arrived, her house was ranch style with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

She grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

She laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with the meagre prison possessions you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into her house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like a breath of fresh air.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place anymore.

Home.

She showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from hers with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

She raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. She probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. She was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did she know you weren't going to make a break the second you could, her tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You can just drink at the table and wait for her to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in her bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through her drawers. She'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of her neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to her bed, like she read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the motony. And better chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time. No return address on their letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favorite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you her life.

And she was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by those lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder she did what she did. No wonder she paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at her house. No wonder she kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

She was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

She stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving yours. She'd taken off her shirt and stood in only her tank top and jeans, her arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take her. She was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold her. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

She continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

She reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

She smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past her tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

She wrinkled her nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

She tilted her head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell her perfume and see the flecks of green in her eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

She smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to jail."

It was true. She was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[anarchy-and-piglins]

I had an EXCELLENT dream last night so of course I should turn it into an AU.

Vampires are not allowed to take their fledglings home. The law is very strict about this. Instead, vampire fledglings must stay in a Vampiric facility that is carefully controlled. This is done with the purpose of keeping the newly turned safe and unabused.

They are kept in locked rooms and only the sire and coven can enter. These rooms are NICE. There is anything a fledgling could ever want. But also, everything in there is on the coven's dime. The facility doesn't do anything except house the fledglings. All care is still left up to the sire and coven. It just provides some oversight.

Techno was supposed to be a meal, not a fledgling. Unlucky when he walked home from his job at a library, grabbed and chomped and left for dead. Except he didn't completely die. He was turned.

He hid this fact. Vampires and Humans lived very separate lives and he was comfortable where he was. He didn't want to live as a vampire he wanted to read books on the clock sometimes. As stubborn as he is, he can't exactly change his biology.

He had a pretty quiet job, so the sensitivity of his ears isn't a problem. What really starts being an issue is every other sense. His sense of smeel becomes stronger and he finds people wearing strong perfumes give him a headache. He is much more bothered by the way his clothes fit, the cheap fabric being more uncomfortable. And his vision! Its awful, sitting under florescent lights all day at his job. Luckily, his boss is chill and lets him wear sunglasses inside. He gets weird looks, but he can deal.

Phil is his favorite regular. The guy is always checking out a different hobby book. One week, its cook books. The next, its woodworking. Then, it macrame. The guy loves learning different skills.

Phil is also a vampire. Technoblade has known that for years, it's not a secret. But after the bite, Techno avoids Phil like the plague. He does not want to be found out.

Phil notices and is hurt that his friend is avoiding him. He tries to pin Techno down and ask him if there is something wrong. Techno is constantly running. Phil asks, a little disbelieving, if Techno was treating him like this because Phil is a vamp. Techno says yes and Phil opens his mouth to absolutely chew Techno out on that kind of thinking only to kind of stop and freeze. Maybe a fan blew Techno's scent toward him a la Twilight movie or something, but Phil finally smells that Techno is no longer human and should NOT be at his very human job.

Phil turns around and leaves without another word. Techno feels guilty that he had been so rude to Phil, but it's what he had to do. He finishes his shift, ignoring how uncomfortable he is.

He leaves the library while the sun is still up, but he never makes it home.

He wakes up and he can't quite remember what happened. He was walking, he thought he saw a car following him? He had brushed it off as paranoia, but then heard someone say his name from an alley and then-? It was blank.

Now he was in a room he had never seen before. Low lights, what looks like sound proofing on the walls. The large bed he was laying on was incredibly soft, some part of him feelinf RELIEVED by the comfort of it.

But most of him feeling absolutely thrown by being kidnapped.

There aren't any windows in the room and the one door that doesn't lead to a bathroom looks like something out of prison. Thick heavy metal. Knocking something against it just has this deep thud sound. No possibility of breaking.

Later, some official looking vampire comes in and talks to him. They ask Techno about his turn. What he remembers of the vamp that bit him. He doesn't remember much. He didn't see the vamp's face. They didn't speak. He couldn't even tell you how tall or what color hair they had. He tells them the when and where, but they just frown.

Official vamp leaves and ignores Techno's questions about when he can leave. Techno is left alone again.

More hours pass and Techno is torn between dozing and pacing the room. Finally, the door opens again and in walks Phil.

Phil tells Techno that the Facility would most likely not be able to find Techno's sire and that they had approved for Phil's coven to adopt him. Techno tells Phil that he doesn't have to do that, Techno is fine going back to his life. Phil tells him that that isn't possible. Fledglings HAVE to stay in the Facility. If Phil didn't adopt him, then he would just be assigned to someone else anyway. Vamp society never intentionally abandons fledglings. Honestly, if they ever did find the vamp that bit Techno, there would be some SERIOUS consequences.

Techno just wants to go back to his old life. Phil says it's not possible, which Techno KNOWS, but if he's stubborn enough, maybe he can WILL IT into being possible.

Phil is sympathetic and tries to comfort Techno on the change. Telling him some of the benefits of vampirism, once he fully develops. Tells him about his coven, Tommy and Wilbur, and how he would be seeing them soon. Techno is getting mopier and mopier.

Techno's stomach growls and he is embarrassed. Phil just laughs and says that they needed to establish a bond, which meant Techno needed to drink Phil's blood anyway.

Phil offers Techno his bleeding wrist and Technoblade just grimaces at it. Phil laughs and tells Techno he will get used to it.

Techno drinks and his mind completely jumps ship. Blood is delicious and his baby vampire mind is completely focused on that. He doesn't even notice when Phil bites Techno's wrist as well, sealing the bond.

The rest of the fic would be Techno going stir-crazy, unable to leave that single room. Wilbur and Tommy visiting, but they aren't allowed to stay as long as a sire would. Phil appearing as often as possible, offering Techno food, company, entertainment.

In the dream I had, there was some other force that wanted to steal Techno for their own fledgling, but the dream logic didn't make as much sense. However, there are a lot of vamps in this facility. If there was an enemy of Phil that wanted to try to hurt him, there is literally a little vamp behind a locked door to cause problems.

Anyway, that was my dream. Not dark SBI for once, just vamps!

Day two of clearing my inbox of these excellent Lenn AUs /j

This one is really good. I'm not going to lie, you had me going at the start thinking it'd be dark sbi anyway if Phil was a bit more uh, forceful about getting Techno into his coven. But then I very much like that it's not. Good old hurt/comfort hits excellently. And given a free choice, I bet Techno would still prefer Phil over anybody else.

And you just know that a double kidnapping is one of my favorite tropes lol.

[skeletondeerart]

Sacred Waters, Sacred Hearts Chapter 7

A Male OC! Metkayina x Fem Human! Reader | Word Count: 2700

Masterlist & join the taglist

A/N: Both Rukan and reader are in their mid 20's

TW: Sibling loss, Terminal Illness.

" " = direct speech | ' ' = Metkayina sign language | Bold = English

POV Rukan

As Vurok and I approach the shore, I mull over Nokai’s words: Let Eywa’s plan for you come to fruition. I sighed, knowing that if I continued to pursue this relationship the clan would find out about her sooner or later, yet that thought didn’t bother me anymore. She may have demon blood, but she was my friend first and foremost.

I hoist myself up on the nets above the shore and let my feet ripple the waters and I gesture for Vurok to leave, he nods and ducks under the waves disappearing off into the depths.

“Ru~ where did you run off to? I’ve been looking for you all day!” Säyani called gleefully and she ran up behind me and leant over my sitting form. Her curly waist-length braids fell gracefully around her supple rounded face as her pale green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was a peculiar woman, one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the clan yet she clung to my arm like a barnacle.

“Säyani please, I’m trying to think,” I mumbled, smoothing out the crease in my brow. I just needed some silence and acting friendly was tiring. She was just well, let's say too intense for my liking.

“Aw, are you alright?” She asks with a honeyed tone wrapping her arm around my own and leaning her cheek on my bicep to look at me through her lashes.

“Doesn’t matter-” I say, shrugging her off gently. “I’m getting tired, I’m heading in.”

“What? It's only early afternoon! Come for a swim with me.” She whines, shaking my arm gently to get my attention.

I felt my blood start to boil as my ears were pinned to my head. “Enough Säyani- I said I’m tired, that's that.”

Her ears pinned back in shock as her tail swayed to a halt in shame. “Oh-” she said shortly before slowly rising to her feet looking down at her feet unable to meet my eyes. “Alright, see you at dinner Rukan” She mumbled before walking down the beach, her hips swaying as she held her hands to her chest timidly.

I watch her for a second until shame weighs in my chest. I should have handled that better. I groan, splashing my face to clear my mind before standing and heading back to my mauri.

…

I lay on my hammock, my woven blanket tossed over my head hiding myself from the world. I felt ill. Not physically, but because of (Y/N)... I’ve never felt like this before. It was an unusual mix of adoration, curiosity, concern and anxiety. I liked her personality - kind, considerate and a tad clumsy, I wanted to see if the tawtute were as ruthless as in the stories… yet I held concern for her safety alone, and was anxious about this feeling growing further and the danger it would pose to not only her but to my clan.

After all, it was forbidden by Tonowari and Ronal to mingle with the demons. I felt like I was going grey with stress. I wanted to show her my world yet that would risk the clan’s safety… is she just gathering intel? No… that's not her. How could I assume such horrid things?

I abruptly tugged the blanket from my face as I walked to a basket in my mauri holding various fabrics and aquatic ornaments. Making her an aquatic navi set would be a great ‘welcome home’ gift plus it was something to burn time. 

I pull out a large leaf and sketch out a sewing pattern template. I carefully made a mock-up of the cut with the leaves but I couldn’t help but imagine what her skin felt like under my palms… how she fit against my form- I flustered at the thoughts shaking my head to focus on fitting the garments to her smaller frame. With practised ease, I began to macrame seagrass and iridescent shells into a top and loincloth. Many hours had passed hunched over my masterpiece, to the point I didn’t notice the cheers and night-life during dinner.

A knock was heard at the entrance of my mauri, but I didn’t bother to look up “Come in” I called, my voice muffled by the twine held in my teeth ensuring that the line didn’t go slack.

To my surprise, it was Säyani holding a plate of my favourites. My brow raised at this unexpected visitor.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me right now. But I didn’t see you at dinner… I couldn’t see you go hungry.” She said earnestly. She traced the woven floor with her foot while holding her hands out to present the steaming meats.

“Thanks Säyani… I appreciate it.” I say with a small smile standing to collect the plate, my fingers brushing against hers. Her teal cheeks bloomed a purple hue, standing there stunned momentarily before giggling. I tilted my head confused by her recent behaviour. She had never been this shy and giggly before, we have known each other since we were children and she had only started acting like this over the past few months. What was going on? I see her eyes dart down to (Y/N)’s gift on my rug, she pushes past me as I stand there shocked as she picks up the tawtute-sized top.

“Oh, This is adorable! Is this for your little cousin?” 

“Hey! Be careful the pearls aren’t secure-” I warn, but it is too late. As Säyani flipped the top over to see the back I heard the plinking of pearls hitting the ground. I let out a loud sigh of frustration as she looked at me like a child who got caught in the oyster jar.

“... my bad… sorry Ru”

I laugh it off to try and distract myself from blowing a fuse “Haha, it’s fine, really. Thanks for the dinner and all”

“No worries… sorry again about the top”

“It's alright” I sigh defeated, crouching down to pick up the pearls and pouring them into a cup ready to rethread them.

“Byee~,” She says nervously as she high-tails it back to the communal dinner.

She certainly is peculiar.

…

After hours of careful work, I stitched the final row of pearls and hung the outfit on a rack to admire it. The ensemble featured a stunning pearl headpiece, a macramé leather top and matching loincloth, each designed with practicality and elegance.

The headpiece bore two delicate strings of iridescent pearls draping gracefully on either side of her face. These strings joined at the center with a polished horn-shell clasp and were complemented by a starfish hairclip that will complement her locks. The top was intricately woven from golden seagrass in a macramé style, accented with a band of pearls on the underbust. Thin, braided straps connected to her top wrap securely around her middle, keeping the garment light and quick-drying. It was perfect for an active life by the ocean.

The loincloth mirrored the top’s intricate design, its knotted twine falling to mid-thigh before gently transitioning into a fine, braided fringe adorned with large pearls at the ends, it swayed gently with every movement. 

It was some of my finest work. I carefully fold it up and slip it into a saddle bag ready for her return. I hope she will love it, she will swim faster with no heavy fabrics holding her back and will look like she was one with the reef.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and take a bite of the meats Säyani brought. I smiled at the familiar spices and watched the eclipse from the comfort of my mauri. 

…

Another day comes around and I’m out net fishing by the smaller coral Atolls. Bundling up the large net into my arms I twist my torso and launch it perfectly onto the surface of the water, reeling the net back in. I scoop up the fish and deposit them into a large jug to feed the Ilu’s and Skimwings. A squawk was heard and I turned my attention to a baby Ilu, they cooed and eyed off the fish in my hands. With a smile, I toss a runt in their direction. They lept out of the water and caught the fish in their jaws.

“Cute,” I say under my breath as I scratch the Ilu’s chin.

I had caught ample fish so I decided to head back. Looping the straps of the jug on my back I trekked back to the village. Walking along the coral pools, the ankle-deep water rippled as I waved to the other fishermen, they waved in return. I walked along the sand bank and watched the crabs burrow in the wet sand, gracefully avoiding crushing any under my feet. Fifteen minutes later I arrived and dropped off the haul to the mount handlers as I went to attend to my other duties.

“Rukan dear,” My mother's voice called as I passed by her mauri “Make sure you visit your sister sometime today”

“Of course, I’ll never forget,” I say nodding. “I was going to head out now.”

“Good, good… remember to say we love her dearly,” Mother said quietly.

“I will Mum,” I say approaching her and kissing her cheek.

“Good boy- run along now.” She says with a small smile waving me off.

I walk back to my mauri selecting a gorgeous conch shell from my collection and take Vurok to the Cove of the Ancestors. I ducked under the rocky entrance swimming to the center of the cove and dismounting. I tread water as I released a shaky breath, my eyes welling with salty tears. It never gets easier… I only learned to live for her. I submerged myself propelling down to the roots of the tree of souls, leaving the conch shell as an offering to her. 

I close my eyes as I sign a prayer ‘Eywa, please guide Rivani te Rena Rashiri’ite through the great flow, and may her light remain in my heart as I walk the path of life without her.’ As I open my eyes I see the tree of souls light up in ripples. It brought a smile to my face as if Rivani was still here. I release the bubbles from my lips and gently bring my kuru to one of the branches, my hair falling away exposing my nerve tendrils. Watching as they intertwined with the leaves I felt like I could breathe effortlessly. The tree of souls gifting me air though my kuru, a spiritual and biological phenomenon. Soon my mind fades and I’m brought back to when I was a child sitting in the family mauri.

…

“Brotheeeer! Quit itttt-” Rivani squeals trying to push his hands away from her. “It tickles!” “I’m the big bad sea monster! You can’t escape me!” Younger Rukan boasted as he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. 

I watch from a distance. This was only a memory. She won’t ever come home again. You would think I would be an utter mess on the floor but it had been so long I could only watch with dewy eyes and a heavy heart. We were only eleven at the time. In a matter of months, Ewya’s plan would take its course. Soon the scene fades to white and a new memory begins. 

“Daddy- I don’t feel well,” Rivani murmured in the morning's wee hours, shaking our parents from their slumber. Father rolls onto his side taking her into his comforting embrace. “We will seek out Tsahìk Ronal in the morning, just try and sleep baby,” Father whispered brushing Rivani’s locks away from her sweaty forehead. “M’kay” She whispered and squeezed her eyes shut trying to block out the migraine. 

I felt sick to my stomach as the scene changes again. We were all in the Tsahìk’s mauri at dawn. Rivani was shivering and pale laying on the mat as Ronal ran her fingers over her scalp, pressing gently on her bare kuru's base.

“A-AHh!” Rivani wailed unexpectedly, she writhed in agony her hands jumping up to her kuru to pry Ronal off of her. “Mummy! Daddy! Make her stop!” Ronal quickly withdraws her hands and raises to her feet, running behind a curtain to grab supplies. “What is wrong with our daughter!” My parents yelled in fear. Young Rukan quivered burying his face into Father’s back. “It’s ok Baby, we are here..” Mother and Father whispered caressing her sodden cheeks. Her wide blue eyes displayed fear and pain. Ronal walks back and applies a cooling salve to her bare kuru before loosely braiding it again. “Rashiri, Rytek. I need to speak to you privately” Ronal says bluntly, trying to mask her sorrow as my parents hurry behind the curtain with her. “Ru? I’m going to be ok. Right?” Rivani whimpers and she goes to grab Younger Rukan’s hand. He smiles trying to be strong for his twin sister “Of course, we are the Rena’s. We always persevere through hardships. Our name means enduring strength after all.” Soon my parents and Ronal emerge. Mum and Dad were crying and spoke the sentence that would change our family forever. “Rivani… isn’t going to get better.”

All I wanted was to hug my sister but I couldn’t bear to intrude on this memory. I slowly turn away from the medical mauri and walk down the beach trying to calm my heart. Rivani contracted a terminal disease in her brain. It ultimately infected her kuru and made her weak and sickly, slowly eroding her mind and body. Her body began to shut down within two months of her diagnosis. I didn’t go out to play with the other kids during this time, I had spent every second at her bedside feeding her pureed foods since she was getting too weak to even chew.

And one day it happened. It was our twelfth birthday... It was dawn. Pinks, purples and oranges filled the sky, the sun kissing her frail body as we all lay with her.

“Happy birthday Ru… but I think I’m celebrating with Eywa this year… I’m sorry,” Rivani murmured looking deeply into my eyes, her eyes were gentle holding an air of acceptance, she knew her song cord was about to end. “The Navi are always born twice right? I’ll guess I’ll see you soon-” She croaked letting out a feeble cough. The real me slowly entered the mauri and crouched beside my younger self. Rivani’s eyes sparkled in recognition, bearing the biggest and toothiest smile we had seen since she became sick. I smiled back through the tears and brushed the hair from her cheeks. She was the only one who could see me.  “Look at how pretty you became Ru- I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so proud of you too Rivani. You fought so hard… it’s ok. Even the best warriors need rest.” I choke out. “We love you so dearly and so does Eywa. See you in your next life.” I whisper leaning down to her cheek, kissing away her tears.  “My dear twin brother… We will find each other in the next life. I just know it.” “I believe Eywa will reunite us. For now… rest.” Rivani smiles as her eyes fade and her chest stills. The spirits of my parents of my past self dissipate leaving just me and Rivani’s corpse. Tears stream down my cheeks as the sun crawls in, the rays' warmth caressing her glossy cheeks making her tears look pearlescent and warming her flesh. You could mistake her for simply sleeping in… it seemed like Pandora was also saying its goodbyes. I sit and watch, eyes running over her form, her soul now passed over to Eywa, I sigh as I shut my eyes.

Slowly I fade back to reality. A reality without my twin. A world without my soul sister. I pull my kuru away from the branches reluctantly.

May we meet again dear sister… I think as I swim to the surface as my tears were lost to the waves.

Enjoy the next chapter in my Masterlist! & join the taglist

Taglist! @stag-symbolism @camiicazi @shadyd3ar @cocopuffff @etexin @nanaluvs-me @misplacedvibes @annoyingasexual @royaltysuite @lovemiss-vale @heyitsaliii @lunagala23 @darktrashpoetry @mojo-jojo-1 @samlove391 @ravenswife

[layla4567]

Fluff person prompts/scenerios/interactions

Character A listens attentively to Character B by tilting his head with puppy eyes and saying "uhm?"

Character A blushes tenderly when Character B hugs her/him/they

Character A is a shy touch starved and babbles incoherently every time Character B touches him/her/their

Character A is shorter or has shorter legs than Character B and has to jog to his side every time they walk together.

Character A laughs heartily at Character B's bad jokes.

Character B loves to stroke Character A's hair when he has his head resting on his lap just to see him smile sweetly.

Character A doesn't drink alcohol so every time they are at a party, character B doesn't drink alcohol either so as not to make her feel alone.

Character A told character B that he always wanted to learn to play the guitar so character B bought him one and taught him how to play it.

Character B really likes comis, one day character A buys him a special edition that he always wanted.

Character A really enjoys going bowling, Character B doesn't like it but does it for her.

Character A is bothered by loud noises so Character B covers his ears every time that happens.

Character A once gave a macrame bracelet to character B and he still keeps it fondly even though a lot of time has passed and character A does not know it.

[harveywritings92]

[Clef is interviewing/ playing Uno with Irma after Ms. Fortune tried to breach containment.]

Clef: So, Mind explaining to me how your boys almost let a little old lady give them a slip?

Dewitt: Argh...I knew I should've had the two newbie to guards to keep an eye on her, they hardly know each other don't have any secret truths between them...

Clef: I take it she read someone's mind? *tosses down a reverse card*

Dewitt: Arg...

-flashback-

[Yep. that's what happened while the two guards were transporting Ms. Fortune to her temporary containment cell her blindfold fell off and she made eye brief contact with one of her guards; Daniels... turns out he had very guilty conscious because...]

Ms. Fortune: Oh my, sleeping with your friend's wife? How shameful of you...

Ramirez, chuckles nervously: ....Who is she talking about?

Daniels, shocked:...

Ramirez: Who?

Daniels:

Ramirez: Ian?

Daniels, looks ashamed: I'm sorry, man...

Ramirez: Wha-..No...You...You son of a whore! You were my best man at my wedding!

Daniels, puts his hands up: I didn't mean to! it was- *Ramirez punches him*

(While the two guards were beating the snot out of each other, Ms. Fortune tried to slip away unnoticed, she barely made it ten feet before she was caught by another set of guards who took to her cell. The two guards fighting in the hall were quickly separated, detained and reprimanded for their actions.)

-present-

Dewitt: Now I'm making a point that all guards must wear sun glasses or some kind of eye protection to obscure Ms. Fortune's mind reading effects so that crap doesn't happen again.

----------------------------------

Description of Ms. Fortune: She is an elderly woman around 60-70 years old, she claims to be of Irish descent with graying ginger hair she keeps tied in a bun.

She wear a modest black dress with a purple knitted shawl around her shoulders the shawl is patterned with silver moons and golden stars that seem to glow when exposed to the dark, the moon patterns on the shawl also seem to change shape in sync with the phases of the actual moon. she also wears a pair of earnings a star on her left ear and a moon on her right.

But her most noticeable feature are her eyes they're described as being darken voids resembling a starry night sky.

Ms. Fortune's existence came to the foundations attention when organizers of a small town fair were receiving a flood of complaints about a fortune teller that seem to know about all the skeletons buried the townspeople's closets.

Which understandably caused a huge crap storm since the fair organizers never hired a fortune teller... Ms. Fortune was quickly located and apprehended after trying to board a bus to an unknown location.

=====================

While in containment Ms. Fortune has requested the following:

Knitting supplies -TEMPORARILY DENIED, APPROVED. (No needles allowed in containment) [Good thing she knows how to Macrame.]

A deck of Tarot cards -APPROVED.

A Tea set, cans of assorted tea leaves and a box of Peek Freans assorted cookies- APPROVED.

A Meal of Irish mutton stew and a slice of soda bread- APPROVED

A television so she can watch her "Stories" -APPROVED.

A cellphone with service so she can call someone named "Sean" -DENIED. (Clef: Figure out who this "Sean" is.)

Being allowed to walk around the site's gardened courtyard for an hour- APPROVED; but with supervision.

==============================

During the containment Breach of another SCP, Ms. Fortune attempted another escape attempt, but ended up lost and found herself in a cell with 049...

The two were seen on camera having a conversation with each before personnel were able recapture the two, since then Ms. Fortune has since developed an odd friendship with the plague doctor.

She'll often ask permission to have him over at her cell for tea. This request was initially denied, though... The curiosity got the better of the staff who eventually approved it.

049 and Ms.Fortune were both observed sitting by her TV watching soap operas while enjoying tea and cookies. For the time being these visits are still ongoing as Ms. Fortune enjoys the company and 049 enjoys the hour away from his cell.

[samsblades]

Idk if this is Ur thing but there's this Hybrid stuff going around. Like basically a cross of a human and an animal but it's not like werecreatures- idk how to describe it but I just imagine Sam being like a deer hybrid- proud and big antlers nearly scraping the ceiling and cute ahh little tail. I imagine he had bigger antlers at the very beginning- especially when he was at Stanford but when Jess died they fell off (due to built up stress. My own headcannon with hybrids is that the more stressed n shit they r the more it'll show on them physically, just like humans but a lil different.) And while hunting he's sort of going through phases where he's growing them back or they then fall off- or get cut off as torture :(

He's such a cutie patootie to me. Don't even get me started on tfem deer hybrid Sam cause I imagine her putting little white spots on herself with white out or some cheap drugstore make-up. She wants to be pretty too so she ducks down lower and doesn't grow out her antlers- politely asking Dean to help wrap them so they stay stumpy for a little longer before she can't stop them.

Or or tmasc doe hybrid Sam who is honestly such a knight- being chivalrous and standing with a straight back as he carries around some macrame antlers he made with Jess (which sadly burnt in the fire and he then made some with you after a while). Tmasc Doe Hybrid Sam who uses drugstore make-up as well but to cover up his little white dots. Tmasc Sam who only really works out so he can plow a dildo into you proper- mount you proper- as if he can actually breed you :p in reality he gets all whiny and only bucks his hips into your mouth when you suck off his little t-cock and scissor his pretty little hole while his cute little tail wags under his ass.

Deer Hybrid Sam who didn't start growing out his antlers again after Jess' death for a while until after he met you. Pretty little you. Always there to comfort him- granting him words his brother can't exactly do. He tries not to be perverse about you. Keep his otherwise gutter worthy thoughts to himself and only himself. But sometimes you leave some panties lying around- and tfem Sam just loves trying them on no matter how guilty she feels after it.

Imagine gripping his antlers while riding him or something- ohhhh fuuuckk. Or the way they'd scrape your tummy a bit as he'd eat you out or suck you off- DROOLING FOR HIM. The tail wags...he's so obvious it's almost pitiful and not to mention the way his ears wpuld flick up to hear your voice whenever even a syllable is uttered by you. Dean teases him about it nearly all the time. I imagine in the later seasons- maybe when things are more settled and he grows his antlers out properly he let's you decorate them for Christmas- little baubles hanging and some tinsle. He asks if there's a star but you just tell him to look in the mirror.

Now- idk to what depth you'd be into this but I also like the idea of him having like a deer bottom- legs down. Think the goat man in Narnia- how he had two goat legs but his upper half was human except for the ears n horns. Idk but the little clomps of Sam's hooves... ugh- and cleaning them for him?!? Just euthanise me please I can't go on anymore if he's not real.

Hope you have/had a great day <3

yes i've seen plenty of hybrid stuff, less so in this fandom though so far! it's not hugely my thing tbh but it's definitely enjoyable!!

i think i've always seen/thought of mostly dog hybrid sam so i loveee this concept of deer/doe hybrid makes me so :,) because sam is so deer <33 and it's sooo extra adorable AGH especially trans hybrid sam, must squish their cheeks and help with affirming their gender hehehe.

i just love all of your thoughts on this so much agh!!! too too good the macrame antlers makes me emo actually :,)

OMG not because gripping his antlers while riding him is actually really hot hehehe <3 his cutie patootie ears ugh i love <333 christmas antlers. his pout... pretending he hates it but he can't too much becase it's making you smile.. sigh.

the deer version of a satyr/faun is a bit silly logistically in terms of certain things to me BUT it's definitely a fun concept! not sure if i find it attractive but i do love a good mythical/supernatural creature in any shape or form!! idk sam's always hot so. yeah hehehe

thank you for your thoughts my love!! i had a good day, i hope you did/do too!! <33 muah muah

[crimson-catalyst]

wrote some prose for my december 2023 neph prompt, "gift shopping" ft Jesse, Oliver, and their sister @skittykittycat's Ersie! enjoy Jesse being a piece of work <3

~~~~~

"Anyone special you’re getting a gift for?" Ashleigh waggles her eyebrows, making conversation as she and Jesse leave class. 

Jesse rolls his eyes. “I have no more time to date anyone than the last time you asked me. Nor money to go shopping with.”

“You’re not shopping at all? Nothing for your family or anything?” she looks shocked, almost hurt, her little ears drooping. Different strokes for different folks, he figured; Seasons' Gifting had never been such a big deal to Jesse, besides as a reason to ask his parents for things.

He shrugs. “They live all the way in Roost. I'm not gonna get something there intact in time.”

“No like- don’t you live with your brother?? and isn't your sister here in town too??”

“oh” Jesse blinks, “right.”

Ashleigh circles in front of him, corralling him as she walk backwards. “Have you really never gotten them Seasons’ Gifts before??”

Jesse quirks an ear. “Not really, no. Ersie moved out before I had my own money and Mom and Dad have always gotten everything for me and Oliver.”

“omg." she practically prances, little hooves clipping excitedly on the ground. "Then you totally should!! Start a tradition!!”

“Wouldn't it be weird?”

“Of course not!! You're an adult now - mostly. You've got your own place and you're independent! You should totally pick something out for them, it'll be fun!”

He tilted his head, thinking. “I guess I could,” it did sound fun. Maybe he could be the star bringing them closer, starting a new tradition between them all. Surely they wouldn't have thought to get him anything; it wasn’t really a habit for the Sceo siblings...

-- How did he get here, again?

Jesse stares blankly at the shelves in a street-level shop selling… whatever this shit was. Glass sculptures clearly from molds, mass-produced macrame that'd fall apart in a month, stock photos printed on canvas. Useless knick-knacks and dustables. Kitsch. He wrinkles his nose and pointedly looks away from the display of fish shaped mugs so contorted they were long past useable for drink.

You're buying gifts for Ersie and your stupid brother, he reminds himself. How’d you let yourself get suckered into this one?

He didn't know what they’d want. It's not like they ever shared their interests with him. All Ersie ever did these days was get on his case, after she insisted on dragging the twins out and about with her to socialize. And Oliver was… Oliver. He hid in his room for days and days and only showed his face for food he didn't have to make. Jesse feels his lip curl in annoyance.

Whatever. Whatever!! This isn't what he was here for. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head to clear it, trying to calm down. Maybe all this’d be a good reason for them to open up more with him. He had been pretty busy with school and hadn't been able to devote them that much of his time and attention, after all. What in the world could he get them, though? He really didn't know what either of them liked these days - although at the very least, he certainly wasn't going to find what he was looking for in this shop.

C'mon, Jesse, brainstorm. Ersie's easy she just likes lights. She wears them all the time and she won't shut up about her light shows when you get her going.... didn't Ashleigh just show you her new fairylights in her dorm?? Done. Sorted. He mentally pats himself on the back. This was easy. Ashleigh would love that she was his inspiration. Now Oliver.....

Gods. He really did just spend all his time in his room, out of sight and talking quietly to his Whisker chat. Video games would be an easy answer but he definitely had all the ones he wanted, sometimes even before they were released; and he knew way more about his ludicrous gamer tech than Jesse ever would. Neither of those would work. He'd have to get a little more creative. As he passes the last shelf in the store he stops and thinks. Maybe...

--

"HEY hi Jesse sorry, I only finally got out of work!!" Ersie adjusts her grip on her phone, holding it slightly above her face so she looks okay on camera. "We've been sooo busy this season. What's up?"

Jesse smiles at Ersie on his screen, admittedly with a little pride. “I left you a gift in your mailbox between classes!”

“Oh?” Ersie’s eyes light up, though her voice belies a bit of her confusion. “For Seasons’ Gifting? I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do an exchange so I haven’t bought you anything yet, forgive me.” The background of her video shifts through her apartment as she moves towards the door, little sparkly lights behind her putting starbursts in the camera.

“It’s fine,” Jesse sounds smug. “It was my idea to surprise you anyway.”

“Aw, sweet of you!” Ersie’s picture dipped to her paws for a moment as she opened the door. “Reception’s kinda bad in the lobby so if i drop you just call me back!!”

A moment later she was scurrying back into her cozy flat, backlit by her softly pulsing light display on the walls. Balancing her phone atop the gift, she snaps her claws and another set of brighter lights illuminate the room at her bidding.

“Okay!!! Let’s take a look,” Ersie exclaims as she plops onto her plush couch, box in hand, wrapped in a perfectly nondescript way indicative of the paws of a tired retail employee. Jesse watches as she untied the glitter-filled ribbon and delicately tears down the middle of the paper with an extended claw, exposing the packaging beneath.

"...Little Kits'... DIY fairy lights? This is cute, Jesse." She pulls out the prepackaged craft kit: little die-cut origami papers to fold over an included string of lights. She was smiling, sure, but Jesse had heard her freak out over something she loved before and this wasn't it.

"You don't like it?" His ears twitch, irritated, and he thumps the carpet with his tail off-camera. 

"I didn't say that! This is really thoughtful," her voice is still cheery as she turns the box over in her paws, examining the packaging, clearly branded for children.

"You don't need to lie to make me feel better."

Ersie rolls her eyes and picks her phone up from its stand. "Jesse, I'm not. I'm really, honestly flattered you went out of your way to pick out something for me when you didn't have to and that you got me something I enjoy! We've only barely known each other for a year now." "I'm twenty y-" "-and we've hardly interacted for fifteen years, Jesse, yes. I'm really, really happy you dropped this off, okay?" She smiles earnestly into the camera. 

Jesse narrows his eyes and swishes his tail, but this finally passes his approval. "Okay well good. I went to like three different craft stores before I found the right ones. And the Highe's lighting aisle is wild? what's up with all the chandeliers? there weren't even any stupid light strings." he shakes his head. "Shopping sucks on its own - stores never have what you want and you wander all over and spend so much money, and then you still have to walk home..."

"How you suffered for your generosity!" Ersie snickers. "This was really sweet, Jesse, thank you. I'll see if I can't scrounge something up for you too before the season's over."

His ears perk up, triumphant, but he can't let it go. 

"-but for real Ersie. What didn't I get perfect?"

Ersie bursts out a good-natured laugh. "I love you, and I love the gift, but this is for spittens, Jesse. I do this for a living."

--

“...a candle.”

Oliver holds a round jar candle in his huge, scarfy hand, peeking through the barest crack of his bedroom door. It’s a question disguised as a statement.

Jesse shrugs. “I dunno, people who spend all day in the house like to make their place… smell nice, or whatever. Look, it's scents of Roost. Mimos rosa and spring winds.” He grabs the jar back from his brother’s hand, pointing at the pink label.

“I…. can’t leave candles burning when I’m streaming, I’m not paying attention to my surroundings for too long. And fire… doesn’t… tangle well with um. fabric.” he whispers the last word about his curse, as if his voice wasn't already too soft. “Why are you giving me this?”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “It’s Seasons’ Gifting, obviously. Happy Seasons’ or whatever. You're welcome.”

“You’ve… never given me anything for Seasons’ before?” Oliver shifts his weight, hesitantly lowering his hand from the doorway, candle still in Jesse’s paws. “thank.. you? um…”

"I thought I'd start a new tradition," Jesse snorts in annoyance. "We should buy each other Seasons' things now that Mom and Dad won't - and Ersie"s around. It's fine if you didn't get me anything this year. It's not like I told you I was gonna. And there’s still a week anyway.”

“y..yeah, okay." His eyes shift away and his eyebrows furrow at the mention of leaving the house. He's trying to shrink back into his room, Jesse can tell. His ears twitch.

“At least take it.” he thrusts the candle back towards his brother. "Ersie liked hers."

“I just told you I can't use it.”

“You said- there has to be times you're not huddled over that stupid microphone - Its for you, you can just let it look pretty! I don't want it!” he waggles it meaningfully, his arm extended, tail rising in anger. His brother doesn't even raise his hand from the floor.

“Thank you Jesse but I don't want fire in my room.” an edge creeps into his voice as he turns away from the crack of his door.

Jesse bristles, and snarls as he turns away in a furious huff. "Gods, so much for new tradition! sorry I bothered!"

He doesn't seem to hear Oliver's quiet retort as the door shuts with a click. “Maybe you shouldn't have.”

[silverwingink]

Wreck Ch. 3

Cold… It was all so cold.

It was the kind of cold that would seep into your bones and cause a deep ache unlike anything else. 

For quite some time it felt like all he could sense was the cold, the ache, and his own shivering.

So it came as quite a surprise when he began to feel enveloped in a deep soothing warmth, like someone had wrapped him in the fuzziest blanket in the world. 

Now that he actually thought about it, there definitely was a blanket around him. 

Fighting against his exhaustion, he slowly forced his eyes open. It took a few hard blinks to get the blurriness to dissipate, but bit by bit he could make out the room that he was in. Above him, he could see wooden planks and glass bottles hanging by macrame hammocks, each one filled with water and plants. 

Had Asmund somehow found him? Brought him here? Had it all been a nightmare? 

Danny opened his mouth and tried to call his name, but all that came out was a high-pitched whine that faded off into a pathetic, pained whimper. It was apparent that the hit he’d taken to the throat was coming back to bite him, and it wasn’t the only thing biting either. A consistent soreness emanated from his paws that would snap into a sharp stab if he dared move. His muscles and joints were all floppy with exhaustion from the fight against the waves. And his tail… oh his tail. All the agony he should have felt when he tore himself out of that e-pod was now eagerly taking center stage in his mind.

Another whimper escaped him, this noise being just as weak and regrettable as the last, echoing through the small, strange room, “E e e e e…” 

He could practically hear the circuits misfiring in his throat. There was no doubt about it; his artificial voice box was completely shot. 

“I think they’re awake,” a muffled voice spoke, barely making it to the edge of his hearing. 

Some creaking filled the room, foreign to his ears. Were they walking on wood? He’d only ever really heard genuine wood once before, a long time ago. No one typically had the money to make stuff out of such rare materials anymore. 

He slowly glanced toward the sound, taking in more of the space in the process. Pastel-painted walls, aquariums, hydroponics, it was seemingly a plant-lovers dream. Netting was delicately hung up with shells and other curiosities interwoven into the strings. An elegant vanity made of wood and coral stood comfortably to his side. This… didn’t look like a survival habitat.

And the stranger peeking in through the doorway didn’t look familiar.

Dagfinn’s eyes widened some when he saw a green figure poking their head in, staring back at him. The two shared a moment of stunned silence before the stranger sighed, seeming relieved, “Yeah, they’re awake!” they called back over their shoulder, before entering the room. 

At first, the blue beetle felt alarmed and reacted by attempting to jolt upright. This action was very quickly punished as every injury on his body screamed in protest at the sudden movement. His breath hitched in his throat as he resisted making another sound, fearing the discomfort it would further cause in his throat. 

“W-whoa whoa! Slow down! I’m not going to hurt you!” the stranger spoke, lifting up his hands in front of himself to show he meant no harm, “In fact, you’re just going to end up hurting yourself more if you keep that up!” 

Resting his weight on his elbows, Dagfinn steadily sank back down, sighing once his body was again settled on the mattress. The throbbing agony in his wounds slowly calmed, returning to the more subtle ache of before. He wouldn’t be pulling that again. 

Seeing this the green beetle approached more carefully, “I’m sorry if I scared you,” they said, “I-I know it must be odd waking up here with a complete stranger, not knowing where you are,” he paused for a moment before offering the other a soft smile, “But, how about we start fixing that? I’m Andromeda,” they rested a hand on their chest with the introduction, “And you’re in a friend’s house right now,” they gestured outward to the room around them, “We found you on the shore, you seemed pretty banged up… do you remember what happened at all?”

The small beetle’s brows furrowed some as he thought back, he could definitely remember what happened, but how would he even explain that? ‘Oh, I’m just an alien from another planet who came here with my cousin, but we got hit by space rocks and–’ 

The edge of his mouth twitched, resisting a frown. Urgh… on second thought, he didn’t really want to think about it right now. 

He looked back up to Andromeda and slowly shook his head, lying. He winced some at the pain it caused in his heavily bruised throat.

Andromeda noticed it immediately, “Ah, I suppose we should keep the questions for later when you’re less sore,” he stepped forward, beginning to look over some of the bandages, “I don’t mind doing some of the talking, as long as you can handle my jokes,” he winked briefly. Dagfinn gave a mildly amused look to this. 

The green beetle worked warily, not wanting to cause any further strain on the wounds than what had already been caused. He slowly worked his way around the dressings, checking to make sure they were secure, “You gave us quite the shock y’know. This beach isn’t exactly known for spitting up half-dead tea beetles,” he began, humming briefly as he found some areas on his paws where liquid was beginning to seep through, “Then again, I suppose you’re the most action this town has seen in quite some time,” he mused, gingerly placing Dagfinn’s paw back down and stepping back towards the vanity to grab some equipment.

As Andromeda shuffled through the various items, the blue beetle’s eyes wandered some, eventually landing on the little swirling designs painted onto the doorframe. In all honesty, it was a useless fixation; just something to keep his mind off the pain of the moment. But, much to his luck, something more interesting than painted swirls soon showed itself before him; another head peeking into the doorway. Well… actually, 3 more, all settled at different heights against the frame. 

His lips parted slightly as he watched, completely confounded by the look of them. They had similarities to the green fellow but were all so unique in their own ways as well. A tall, shark-like one with a frightening grin and sharp teeth, a pale-blue, elegant one with hair that seemed to flow like water, and, possibly the oddest of them all, a skeleton, perfectly encapsulated in a watery form. 

As they entered, Andromeda spoke, “Ah, came to say hello?”

“Yeah, and just to make sure you’re not pulling our tails,” Mako commented, turning her attention to their ‘patient, “How are you holding up little buddy?” 

“They’re doing a lot better than before,” Andromeda answered for him, “But I think something happened to their throat, they haven’t been able to speak or move their neck without looking in pain,” he noted, coming back over and beginning to carefully remove the bandages from Dagfinn’s right paw.

“I might have some painkillers in the kitchen if they need them,” the pale blue one offered. 

“Might be helpful, thank you, Athena,” They smiled some in her direction, to which she nodded and dipped back out of the room. 

The other two introduced themselves while they were there, one with words and the other with signs, which Mako translated. ‘Andromeda, Athena, Mako, and Fiji…This planet’s got unique names,’ he pondered.

Mako turned to Andromeda, “Need an extra hand or two?”

“I find it’s easier if you use both hands, typically,” he smirked.

“Pfft. Ok clown,” Mako snorted, though the comment seemed lighthearted. She became their ‘assistant’ for the moment, passing things from the vanity when they were needed.

Fiji on the other hand approached with some curiosity, looking over the small beetle’s injuries.

Dagfinn’s shoulders tensed some at her approach, still dumbfounded by her mere appearance. She was an honest-to-goodness skeleton, with no special effects or face paint as far as he could tell. He’d seen some bizarre creatures on 4546B, but nothing with an exposed skeleton like this. She also froze when she realized how tense he was, seemingly not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 

“Oh, do you wanna help Fiji? You can start unwrapping the other paw if you want, it’s gonna need a change too,” Andromeda spoke up, presenting a few supplies to the other beetle.

Fiji nodded, accepting the tools. After looking them over, she silently offered an open palm to Dagfinn. Was… she letting him choose? After a moment of hesitation, he took it, placing his paw in hers. 

And so, the three of them worked, tending to his wounds, speaking with each other, and occasionally sending a remark or joke Danny's way in an attempt to lift his spirits. It wasn't a painless process by any means, of course, it wouldn't be with how tender his wounds were. Despite that, Dagfinn didn't feel alarmed or in danger. In fact, he felt quite… safe. 

Even with the questions still swirling in his mind regarding the whereabouts of his cousin, what planet they were even on or if he'd be able to get his voice box fixed, he felt that, at least for the moment, things were going to be okay.

Andromeda belongs to Mirukkii

Fiji, Mako and Athena (mentioned) belong to JoviAC

Chapter 1 is here. Chapter 2 is here.

[dustedmagazine]

Sonny and the Sunsets — Self Awareness Through Macrame (Rocks in Your Head)

Self Awareness Through Macrame by SONNY & THE SUNSETS

Sonny Smith spent the COVID pandemic about the way you’d expect him to, writing loosely arranged but carefully articulated story songs that capture the moment.The man who once wrote and recorded 100 singles for imaginary bands, complete with art and backstory, had no trouble figuring out what to do with his free-floating time and anxiety.He laid down ten songs, matter of fact on their surface but magically surreal underneath, with a friends—Josiah Flores, Ava Lynch, Tahlia Harbour and Rusty Miller—in a few sensibly masked sessions.

Smith has never gotten the ink that Bay Area contemporaries like Kelley Stoltz or Ty Segall or Sic Alps or The Ohsees have garnered, but he’s master of barbed but breezy guitar pop.“Signs” busts out with Kinks-y exuberance, hammering the piano and harmonizing the chorus, as Smith reads the omens.“Waiting” wheedles with vintage organ sounds, jangles with giddy guitar.It starts out chronicling the lockdown in a matter of fact way.Smith’s son is in his room sewing costumes to keep the boredom at bay.But like most Smith songs, it spins out in magic realism, imagining a UFO landing and taking the boy away.He’s a master of twisting realism into gentle fantasy, so that it’s hard to say where the grit leaves off and the fairy dust starts.

The most intriguing song, lyrically, is “How to Make a Ceramic Dog,” where Smith imagines constructing canines in exacting detail.The process is involved—making ears, making snouts, making tails—and it serves as a kind of bulwark against an awful world.“Try not to think about politics.Try not to think about fascists.Just think about dogs,” mutters Smith, in his cracked, half-melodic way, like the boy in “Waiting” using art to stave off anger, despair, tedium.

These songs are well-made, bouncy and infectious, with sunny hooks and buoyant choruses, like 1960s pop but hand-made, with some of the stitches showing. “Memory Lane” is especially catchy, with its bounding bass and rumbling drumbeat; if TVP sounded like the Beatles but cracked, then this one sounds like TVP through a broken mirror, surreal but jaunty, carefree but accomplished.

And anyway, how did you spend the lockdown? Watching the Sopranos again?Banging pots at 7 o’clock for the doctors, and celebrating another day of not dying?Zooming for happy hour with a slight air of hysteria?Sonny Smith made a Sunsets record that both memorializes those months and transcends them.

Jennifer Kelly

[disaster-on-the-horizon]

I can't help but stare at my friend, as he finishes his fifteenth sculpture; a pegasus, with two garden gnomes riding on its back, as they triumphantly lift rakes and shovels into the air. "I mean…he's getting better?", Marla says, the first words spoken in what's probably been the better part of an hour. "I mean, dude, how many more of those are you gonna do?", Beck briefly pushes himself between Rider and his second-to-last block of Edelwood. This one is almost as tall as him. But he just walks around him. "Well I wanna do a sea fairy that's wrapped in seaweed and dancing between the burst of a giant sandstorm going on on shore and an exact replica of our school librarie's bookshelf number 235." "What the hell do you even need that for!?", he tries to rip the tools out of his hands, but is swiftly tripped by a lump of clay. "Originally it was a school project but our teacher never got around to doing it in the curriculum so it kinda got abandoned but I thought the idea sounded really fun and I wanted to do it but I kinda just forgot after a while. Ooh do you think after that I can finally make that Seven-Tier-Raspberry-Plum-Cake for which I found that really cool recipe like seven months ago?"

Before I can even sigh, Marla bumps me in the side with her hip. "Get. The. Professor." "Do you want to be the one who has to explain this mess?", I protest, trying to keep out of Rider's ear shot, though he seems to have those quite full of his own ramblings right now. "Well, I don't want to have to watch my best friend starve, because he decided he needs to learn how to macrame and play tennis at the same time!", her usually soft voice spits at me, as she dumps piles and piles of yarns and fabrics from the cake batter and hot glue splattered table.

"Why does he have to be such an ambitions man?", I groan, stepping over multiple piles of finished novels and open markers, looking for my broom. "Can't he just pick one thing at a time?" "He usually does." Without even looking, I know that she's rolling her eyes at me. "Most of these projects were just 'fun' ideas that died soon after their conception. But you just…had to bring them all back, didn't you?"

"Hey, in my defense, he volunteered!" "Rider would volunteer to getting set of fire, if you paid him ten bucks. Don't kid yourself."

Your teachers always warned you to never, under any circumstances, cast a resurrection spell on someone still alive, but refused to elaborate why. Today your curiosity got the better of you.

[craftideasblog]

How to Make Macrame Earrings - https://craftideas.blog/crafts-by-material/macrame/macrame-earrings/ How to Make Macrame EarringsThese macrame earrings are SO PRETTY and they’re so easy to make, using two simple knots! Simply attach cords with a lark’s head knot and tie them with a double half hitch knot. (Don’t worry, we’ll show you the knots!)DIY macrame earrings look great, and they’re nice lightweight earrings you can wear for any occasion. Choose the earring colour, cord colour, and length of fringe to make them exactly how you want them.  So cute!  This post contains affiliate links. If you use these links to buy something we may earn a small commission which helps us run this website.  PrintHow to Make Macrame EarringsThese macrame earrings are so beautiful and really easy to make! Use two simple knots to create these stylish fringed earrings.Author: CraftIdeas.BlogMaterials:Earring hoopsEarring hooksMacrame cord(2 mm size)Super glueEquipment:Tape measureFabric scissorsTapeFine tooth comb(or wire pet brush)Looking for more macrame ideas? Here's a few of our favourite projects:Macrame BraceletMacrame KeychainDIY Macrame CoastersMacrame FeatherInstructions:Step 1: Find what you needGather all your supplies and materials.Step 2: Cut cords & tape down hoopCut a 10 inch piece of macrame cord.Cut 11 more pieces of cord so you have 12 cords that are each 10 inches long.Tape the earring to your table or working surface.Step 3: Attach cords to hoopYou will use 6 cords for each earring. Attach the first cord with a lark's head knot.To do this, fold the cord in half and put the center loop under and through the earring hoop. Bring the loop over, pull the cord ends through the loop and pull to tighten.Now attach the next four cords in the same way.Take the sixth cord and fold it, making the right strand about 1-1/2 inches longer.Attach this cord with a lark's head knot, making sure that the right strand stays longer.All knots will be tied around this longer right cord.Step 4: Tie knotsNow we will be tying double half hitch knots. For this tutorial, we will number the strands from 1 to 12, with 1 being on the left.To begin, take the far right strand (cord 12) and cross it over the strand next to it (cord 11).Tie cord 11 (the shorter cord) around cord 12 and pull tight. Knot cord 11 around 12 for a second time, and once again pull it tight.Now cross cord 12 over cord 10, the next one to its left.Repeat the same process, tying cord 10 around cord 12 two times, making sure to pull tight.Continue tying knots around cord 12, moving leftward until you have tied cord 1 around cord 12 twice. Make sure to pull this last knot very tight.Cord 12 will now be sticking out to the left.Step 5: Finish off earringCut cord 12 off as close to the knots as possible.Apply super glue (or fabric glue) to the end of cord 12 and flatten the frayed edges down. This will keep the knots from coming undone.Now cut off the ends of the cords to match the shortest cord (cord 11).Comb out the fringe until the cord is completely unraveled.Make sure all the cords are flat and straight, and then cut the earring fringe as short or as long as you'd like.Step 6: Make second earringRepeat all the steps to make a second earring. Hold the two earrings together and cut the second earring's fringe to match the first.Your macrame earrings are complete!What cord is used for macrame earrings?We used a 2 mmcotton macrame “rope” that has 3 strands. Cotton macrame cord is a good choice because it’s flexible and soft, but also really strong.For delicate earrings you probably don’t want to use a cord larger than 3 mm. This will also help keep the earrings lightweight.How can I stiffen the fringe on these DIY earrings?The macrame cord is very soft, especially the brushed out fringe. If you want your earring fringe to lay flat or stay in place, we recommend using Aleene’s Stiffen Quik fabric stiffening spray.You could also use a spray starch or hairspray to stiffen up the earring fringe.What other earring patterns can I make?You could simply attach shorter cords to an earring hook with a lark’s head knot and brush out the fringe.Or for a more complicated pattern, check out Macrame for Beginners. They have a great article about DIY macrame earrings complete with patterns and lots of helpful information.Where can I find earring supplies?We found earring hoops and hooks on Amazon, but you can also check local craft or jewelry stores. You can even make macrame earrings on different styles of earrings. There are lots of different kinds of wooden earring findings on Etsy!These macrame earrings are the perfect project to use up scrap pieces of cord! It’s so inexpensive to make these trendy boho earrings — and they also make perfect homemade gifts.Here’s even more macrame ideas:Macrame NecklaceDIY Macrame BraceletMacrame KeychainDIY Macrame Dream Catcher Our book Low-Mess Crafts for Kids is loaded with 72 fun and simple craft ideas for kids! The projects are fun, easy and most importantly low-mess, so the clean up is simple!Where to buy:You can purchase Low-Mess Crafts for Kids from Amazon, or wherever books are sold:Amazon  |  Barnes and Noble  |   Books- A- Million  |   Indiebound  |  Indigo  |  Amazon CanadaPin20.86KTweet

[numistudios]

How to Make Boho Macrame Earrings | DIY Macrame Jewelry Tutorial

[tamlovesfashion]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: COPY - Bundle Paperback How to Make Guides 1970-80's Macrame Paperback.

[sikaria5655]

Purple elephant ear plants

Introduction: Adding a touch of nature to your home can breathe life into any space, and Purple Elephant Ear Plants are the perfect choice for infusing elegance and vibrancy. With their striking foliage and captivating color, these plants not only enhance the aesthetics of your interior but also contribute to a healthier living environment. Let's explore the beauty of Purple Elephant Ear Plants and learn how to care for them to make them thrive in your home.

The Allure of Purple Elephant Ear Plants: Purple Elephant Ear Plants, scientifically known as Alocasia, are renowned for their dramatic, heart-shaped leaves and rich purple hue. Here are some reasons why they are an excellent addition to your indoor plant collection:

Exotic Charm: The unique shape and color of Purple Elephant Ear Plants exude a tropical vibe, adding an exotic touch to your home decor.

Visual Impact: With their oversized leaves and bold coloration, these plants serve as eye-catching focal points in any room, elevating the overall aesthetics of your space.

Air-Purifying Properties: Like many indoor plants, Purple Elephant Ear Plants help to cleanse the air by removing toxins and pollutants, promoting a healthier indoor environment.

Versatility: Whether you have ample floor space or prefer to adorn your shelves with greenery, Purple Elephant Ear Plants can be styled in various ways to suit your decor preferences.

Caring for Purple Elephant Ear Plants: While Purple Elephant Ear Plants are relatively low-maintenance, they do require some care to thrive indoors. Here are some essential care tips:

Light: Place your Purple Elephant Ear Plants in a location with bright, indirect sunlight. Avoid direct sunlight, as it can cause the leaves to burn.

Watering: Keep the soil consistently moist, but not waterlogged. Water your plant when the top inch of soil feels dry to the touch, and be sure to drain any excess water from the saucer to prevent root rot.

Humidity: Purple Elephant Ear Plants thrive in humid environments. Increase humidity by misting the leaves regularly or placing a humidity tray filled with water and pebbles beneath the plant.

Temperature: Maintain a temperature range of 65-80°F (18-27°C) for optimal growth. Avoid exposing your plant to drafts or temperature extremes.

Fertilization: Feed your Purple Elephant Ear Plant with a balanced liquid fertilizer once a month during the growing season to encourage healthy growth.

Styling Ideas for Purple Elephant Ear Plants: There are countless ways to incorporate Purple Elephant Ear Plants into your home decor. Here are a few ideas to inspire you:

Statement Plant: Showcase your Purple Elephant Ear Plant in a decorative pot on a plant stand or pedestal to create a stunning focal point in your living room or entryway.

Hanging Display: Hang your Purple Elephant Ear Plant in a stylish macrame hanger near a bright window to add a touch of greenery to any space.

Group Planting: Create a lush arrangement by grouping several Purple Elephant Ear Plants of varying sizes together in a decorative planter or basket.

Bedroom Oasis: Place a small Purple Elephant Ear Plant on your bedside table or dresser to bring a sense of tranquility and natural beauty to your bedroom.

Conclusion: Purple Elephant Ear Plants are not only visually striking but also easy to care for, making them an ideal choice for both beginner and experienced plant enthusiasts. By following these care tips and styling ideas, you can enrich your home decor with the captivating beauty of Purple Elephant Ear Plants and create a welcoming oasis of greenery in any room.

[anielskaaniela]

Macrame feathers have become a decorative hit. They are easy to make and can add a touch of boho chic to your home. You can also use them as accessories for your keys, necklace, earrings, or even a bookmark. I will show you how to make a macrame feather with just a few materials. Learn how to make it here.

[australiabeads-blog]

6/0 Light Green Matte Round Glass Seed beads - (10 grams)

Matte Light Green Seed beads

Size: 6/0 (4mm) Quantity: 10 grams of Beads Core: Glass Colour: Matte Green (As shown in the pic) Hole: 1mm These seed glass beads are similar to pony beads in shape and appearance. You'll love how easy these beads are to work with. Their size is ideal for craft projects, cloth embellishment, and fun jewellery creations. They also can be combined with other styles for threading onto leather necklaces and macrame creations and tying onto scarves or weaving into braids. Mix and match to explore new possibilities. These are a new addition to our seed beads collection. They are very high quality and smooth to the touch. We also have a collection of needles to help put these beads on a wire. These tiny beads are a must-have for any jewelry project and besides use in jewellery making (necklaces, earrings),  are also ideal for other crafts like crochet with fiber or wire. These 6/0 pink glass seed beads are incredibly versatile and can be used in a wide range of techniques, such as weaving, stringing, or bead embroidery. They are often combined with other gemstones, or findings to create intricate designs, beaded jewelry, accessories, or embellishments on clothing and home decor items. These are also popular among crafters and jewelry makers for their versatility, vibrant colors, and ability to add intricate detail and texture to various projects. They offer endless creative possibilities and are a fundamental component in the world of beadwork and jewellery making. Read more about them on our blog - A definitive guide to seed beads to learn more about the seed beads types, size chart, and a bit of history. Please also check our Japanese Miyuki beads and delica beads.   Read the full article