#fat quarter friendly

[wyrmscraft]

Simple pattern again, very easy to get done in a few hours after I finished work for the day.

Made this one a touch smaller then the other one, and I think I like it better this way. Less waste of fabric too.

Turned out 63” by 72”, which is a nice couch throw. I used seven different prints and a off white/beige for the background and I’m thinking that I might quilt it in gold thread.

Or maybe beige.

… or maybe blue if I really want the quilting to stand out on the outside border. Idk. We’ll see when I get it on the long arm and do a thread audition.

Huh. I just realised this could be done with fat quarters instead of meterage. Four blocks from each fat quarter and you could pick as many as you needed to get the size you wanted. The blocks are only 9.5” unfinished.

[howlingday]

Soo if jaune is the only one who pass.. Who gonna be his team? team cfvy? cinder team? Or his gonna be like qrow like a solo hunter

Previous

Short summary of my answer; I haven't really decided on an answer to this question at the time of writing this. For now, I'm thinking he's simply attending Beacon alone without anyone on his team until the next semester when a new team arrives, perhaps. OC team, maybe?

And to answer the suggestions; CFVY is a team of third years and it would be really awkward to just add a first year into their already established dynamic, although it would be very fitting considering the current canon. Cinder has yet to really do anything in Vale, let alone start infiltrating with Emerald, Mercury, and Neo under the disguise as Haven students for the Vytal tournament. Qrow is a solo huntsman after already graduating with Team STRQ, which tells me that having a team is required to graduate.

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

Jaune's siren wailed at him as he groaned, raising his tired limb and reaching for his scroll. Shutting it off, he blinked, feeling the stinging pain in his eyes. Sleep, once again, continued to be a privilege he hadn't yet earned, or at least not at night, anyways. Giving another groan, he pushed himself from his bed, ready to attempt another day.

The nightmares continued to haunt him, even after a week of his "passing" of initiation. He gagged on his toothbrush thinking about it, throwing up in the sink. With a weak groan, he turned on the faucet and washed away most of the bile. He'd get the rest later, if he had the energy for it. For now, he had to finish getting ready.

Looking to the time, he'd have to miss breakfast. Again. He couldn't remember the last time he had breakfast before initiation. He closed his eyes to try and remember but could only sway and nearly fall over after overcoming the pain in his eyes. Pulling on his uniform, he made his way down to class.

"Good morning, Jaune." The girl greeted as she passed him. He groaned like a zombie in return. He never caught her name, but he recognized her by her large rabbit ears on her head. She'd tried starting a conversation with him, but he was either too tired or she was too busy with her team to take it further than small talk. Still, it was nice to be greeted every morning by a friendly face.

"Mr. Arc, so glad of you to finally join us." Grumbled Professor Port.

"Huh?" Jaune looked to his watch. Crap, he was late. Class was almost over.

"I will see you after class, Mr. Arc. And don't worry, I've already informed Professor Oobleck, and the headmaster."

Jaune moaned as he slid into his seat. He was about to get another earful of 'no free rides at Beacon Academy' from the large, red huntsman. He blinked once, then twice, then was woken up by a thunderous roar of a weapon being fired.

"What the hell is the matter with you?!" A woman shouted.

"What? Shouting didn't work!" A fat hand waved into Jaune's direction. "And see? He woke up!"

"That is not the-!" The woman sighed. "Jaune Arc, you will return to your quarters and get some rest. You are excused from the rest of your classes for the day."

Jaune, however, couldn't hear her. He was too busy reliving the worst day of his life. Hearing everyone scream, the flash in the cave, the red-eyed nightmares that hunted him in the shadows. Suddenly, a face came into view. It was the face of woman with green eyes and glasses. He felt her cold hands touch his face, forcing her to look at him.

"Look at me." She calmly said. "Breathe with me, okay?" Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. "Do you know who I am?"

"Pruh... Professor Goodwitch." Things started to slow down around him.

"Yes. Yes, that's right. Do you know where you are?"

"I'm... I'm at Beacon." His heart slowed, too. "I'm at Beacon."

"Very good. Very good. Did you hear what I said?"

"I... No. No, ma'am."

"That's okay. I told you to return to your room and get some rest. Do you need help getting there?"

"No, I... I'll be fine." Jaune said, holding back the whole truth. He would be fine reaching his room, but what then? He didn't know.

The only thing he did know what that he was alive, and they were all dead.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I wonder if like,,,, a possibility that ghost might have a small tiny (fat) crush on engel,,,, since like yknow, one of your fics ghost had the fattest (totally not obvious) crush on a soft reader, how would kö react? 🤯 i think we all know hihsishiss

My hc for Ghost is that he's a man who has a thing for petite lingerie and beautiful dresses. So yees his stare would follow reader as she runs around with her colorful flowy things on 👀 This man might even clear his throat under that mask. Ghost would also know it's not wise to go between a cute woman and an erratic 6'10” killer who has an arsenal in their room.

He totally knows König has all that shit in his quarters and, to a certain extent, can relate to and approve of such behavior. If Ghost was any more chaotic neutral aligned, he would tell his superiors… But for some reason, he doesn't intervene. I think Ghost has a soft spot for yandere König. He sees in him a little something of himself, because Ghost can understand the birth process of madness and the possible outcomes of different torture/abusive scenarios. He might look at König with a certain amount of forgiving pity, like: "Man... you really went over the brink, didn't you?"

But someone who would have a teeny tiny crush on reader might be Gaz or Zimo (if and when this is a crack au). Soap would be vewy friendly too, but he knows better than to approach her after seeing that possessive madman stare on König 🫠 I don't think anyone from the base would dare to act on a crush even if they had one, because word around the street is that there's a killer on the loose.

And if anyone would decide to approach and show signs of a crush… Hooo boy. König wouldn't kill his fellow operators easily because he respects them (unlike Graves who in his view was rotten to the core). He thinks they're sort of OK. But on this, he would give them "a word", perhaps accompanied by a knife on the throat.

Now, if someone outside the base had a crush on reader........ Holy fuck heh 🥹💀 *knives out*

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

OC Questionaire

My questions:

What is one embarassing memory from your childhood that you can't shake?

What would you take with you if you were trapped on a desert island for one week?

What is your favorite animal?

Hm, let's do the Outcasts quartet for this one

.

1. What is one embarassing memory from your childhood that you can't shake?

Izjik: "Oh spirits, there was this one time back when I was a kid, I'd just started my apprenticeship as a hunter for my enclave, and one of our patrols found a drakeling carcass. Now, that's a pretty big deal - a drakeling will feed the enclave for weeks - and this one was really fresh, as it'd just been killed in the spring rut. So, Dzako - my old mentor - decided it'd be a good thing for me to learn to butcher it. ...Let's just say I didn't listen super well to where he told me the acid glands were. I'm lucky I didn't lose my hands, but damn if everyone wasn't mad at me. A whole week of fresh meat, gone in one mislaid swipe of a cocky teen's knife..."

Sepo: "Ugh, just one? I wasn't the most attentive child, so be it romantic or malevolent attention, I usually didn't notice. There was this one boy - I was maybe eleven at the time - who kept leaving notes in my bag. I'd usually toss them out, but the one I happened to read held a place and time to meet. I asked Saius about it, and he said the other boy probably wanted to hang out because he wished to be friends. I thought that was stupid, but Saius pressured me into going. A day later, I went to this random park, and turned out, it was not a friendly invite. Apparently, according to the other boy, I had 'marred his honor' by implying his sister was a prostitute and then repeatedly ignoring his confrontational notes. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember saying that about his sister, but then again, I might’ve not meant anything by it. Growing up in a high-end brothel tends to warp a child's view of things. Anyways, long story short, the other boy beat my ass. I never let Saius live that one down, even when he shaved the other boy's head in the dead of the night for me."

Twenari: "I mean, I'm twelve, so I have some more childhood to go, but I do remember one incident from when I was very little. I was probably around seven, so before I'd started working for my mother. She and I were on the deck of The Promise and I was showing her the magic I'd been learning. I'd just figured out the ice sigil and I was terribly excited. Excited enough that I ended up freezing her shoes to the deck. Imagine it - the most terrifying smuggler to ever stalk the Janazi Sea, swearing up a storm as her seven-year-old giggles because her mom's shoes are stuck. Yeah, I'm really not surprised my training doubled after that."

Djek: "Gods, this must've been... my first year on the street? No, my second, cause I'd had some teeth knocked out by then. I was out hunting rats with my little shiv. Fayuki rats are good eating, I'll have you know. Nice and fat, but as mean as dogs when you have them cornered. I was chasing this really chunky one through the alleyways, and I was super intent. Not only were rats food, but there was this guy I knew who'd buy the pelts off of you for two whole tuec. I chased this thing for almost a quarter mile before it squeezed its fat behind into a building. Of course, I followed it, not realizing that the building it had ran into was a fancy boutique. Yeah, you can imagine. A whole flock of uppity ladies started screaming as I ran out of a storage closet after this massive godsdamned rat. Someone got a hose from somewhere. Don't even know why they had one in the first place, to be honest. They tried to force me out with the cold water, but frankly, that was the first bath I'd had in months, so I didn't mind. It was the dye they threw that was kinda fucked up. I caught the rat in the end, but when I turned in that pelt, it and I were both splashed in a lovely permanent spring green hair dye. The kids on the street called my Greenie for months."

2. What would you take with you if you were trapped on a desert island for one week?

Izjik: "My washava. It's a weapon and a tool, great for hunting and trapping. It's been a trusty companion of mine for many shitty situations."

Sepo: "Only a week? Some books. I can drink seawater and fish for food in my siren form, so if survival is no issue, I'd love a quiet week to catch up on my reading."

Twenari: "A boat. Then I wouldn't be there for a week. Duh."

Djek: "Cucumbers. I think those count as food and water, so I bet I could survive off those for a week."

3. What is your favorite animal?

Izjik: "I like a lot of animals, but probably leopard seals are my favorite. Twenari told me about them and I'd love to see one in real life!"

Sepo: "Landhorse, but just her though. All other horses can get fucked."

Twenari: "This is going to sound stupid, but seagulls. They're so fun to watch fly and play, and if you see one over open ocean, that means land is close by, which is always welcome indeed."

Djek: "Pine martins. You ever seen one of those little bastards? They're just so damn cute!"

.

I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @tryingtowritestuff24 @sergeantnarwhalwrites @bunnymermaidwrites and anyone else who wants in :)

Your questions are:

1. What is (or would be) your favorite subject in school?

2. Have you ever played a prank on someone?

3. If you could swap bodies with anyone you know for a day, who would it be?

[tj-crochets]

Actually I was wondering if you have some advice on quilts! I use just a domestic machine, but I have an opportunity to make some throw quilts to give away. They need to be cozy, so my plan is to give them a fleece backing and make them self-binding. I want to use scraps, but I want the quilt blocks to be fairly simple so I can do several blankets. Do you have a favorite pattern thats pretty quick to do but can use smaller scraps? Im aware this may be impossible 😅 but i figured i’d ask!

I'm going to tag in @creations-by-chaosfay here for pattern advice because I have to admit I almost never use quilt patterns For my style of mostly-improvisational quilting, it kind of depends on the scrap size you're talking about? Some people call anything less than a FQ a scrap, some people call anything less than 2.5" a scrap I guess if I had to say a favorite pattern it would be the cat block??? but that takes like a little over half a fat quarter, so not necessarily scrap-friendly

[enchi-elm]

Shaving in the U.S. Military

This was an amazing rabbit-hole to fall into.

Having no visible facial hair of my own and not serving in the military (not being American, besides) means I have no context for the scene I am getting ready to write and so I did what any seasoned fic writer would do, which is procrastinate with 45 minutes of research.

Starting with a Youtube search "shaving in the continental army", because you can always find the best tangents pinging away from your actual question when you search on Youtube. And man! There's so many opinions and experiences with shaving!

I started with this:

Haha, I thought. And then, what's a shaving profile?

A shaving profile, I learned, is a shaving waiver, a paper that permits you to grow a "therapeutic beard" to treat, among other things, a skin condition called pseudofolliculitis barbae (PFB), or razor bumps, which can present as anything from uncomfortable to painful and bleeding. A shaving profile can also be issued for religious reasons. When this was first instituted, the hair length of the shaving profile beard could not exceed one quarter of an inch.

Oh, so men have also realized that frequent shaving is hell on your skin, I thought, with some snark. Sucks when your social capital depends on it, doesn't it?

Or your career. Because, in fact, for people in the military, it does.

From a study reported on in 2012, 21% of air force respondents reported that their career had been negatively impacted by having a shaving profile, read, wearing a beard. And of these respondents who reported a perceived shaving profile bias, 63% identified as Black, 14% as Hispanic and 5% as Latino. PFB is most commonly found in Black men.

How strong is this stigma? Oooh, strong.

It's often couched in "concerns" surrounding looking uniform to the group, being able to follow orders, and -- failing all that -- having a tight gas mask seal. But as you can see in this funny video, the tone behind those "concerns" is anything but friendly, and it's costing these soldiers leadership opportunities and awards.

Man, these comments are fascinating.

Alright, noted, I thought. So what does that mean for the 18th Century?

Well, as it turns out, the style has changed a lot in the course of military history. All soldiers were expected to look sharp, but more important in the 18th Century was being clean. Shaving or hair cuts isn't mentioned at all in Baron von Steuben's famous Blue Book but washing frequently is. It's only through the article below that I learned that soldiers in the Continental Army had to shave three times a week, though their facial hair seems to have caused less issue than their head hair.

Shaving yourself is one thing, but there were few options for competently managing your hair, so most men wore their hair long. Those who plaited into a queue did so with flour and animal fat, while cavalrymen put their hair in a club at the base of their neck (which was just a more horse-riding resistant hairstyle).

(Thinking back now, of course, I don't think I've ever seen an 18th C portrait of a man wearing a queue and sporting facial hair (...anyone?). And certainly in TURN the tv show no one has a beard, but that's a modern show catering to modern audiences. I can just imagine the uproar there'd be if anyone other than Caleb Brewster sported prominent facial hair. And certainly we all know how Brewster's beard informs his characterization.)

In 1801, the beloved queue was officially abolished in the U.S. military and it caused an uproar among the enlisted that nearly reached mutiny. From that to the famously bushy moustaches and mutton chops in the Civil War to the long hair, trimmed moustaches, and long side burns of the 1960s and 1970s that the Navy and Coast Guard to my complete shock permitted among their ranks, hair has been a contentious issue, waxing and waning in style ever since the military's inception in the States.

So there you go!

As a final thought, because I am a fic writer with a preference for the Tallster pairing, I shall leave you with one of my favourite Tallster fics, written by the wonderful @lucyemers.

It is, of course, about shaving.

Guess I should go write that scene, now.

[septusuki]

"Hmm, unfortunately, this property is a bit old..." The estate agent began, flicking between the stacks of papers in her hands, and the gaggle of girls sitting opposite her. They'd called themselves idols, but to be frank, that was becoming a struggle to believe. They were sweet and cute, sure, but being a proper idol was about more than just that. Right? "It might not be especially... Plus-Size friendly." With a little swallow, she admitted to herself that she'd let these unusually affluent girls down as lightly as she could. That was the simple truth of it.

"Hey! I'm not 'plus sized'! Don't be ridic--" Momoi Airi, so slim and perfect - despite her capacity for tantrums - trailed off as she realised; it hadn't been her they were talking about.

Kiritani Haruka looked down and gulped. With either hand plapped to the swell of her belly as if she could hold any of that weighted softness in, Haruka managed little more than a pathetic mewl. She'd worked so hard to slosh her fat belly into her leggings. She'd even trimmed down a pound or two just especially for today. But no luck. Girls her size - plus-sized - were obese, no matter how slimming the clothes you wore were. Haruka's top, that she'd pulled down and stretched so hard, was still a crop top, and it still showed off more than enough belly to leave her all but red-handed. Those leggings, which Haruka was sure would hold at least some thigh-blubber in, just oozed over the sides of her chair, and advertised to the world how well she looked after the quarter-ton junk in her cushiony trunk. Filling with shame just like she filled with milkshake on her off days, Haruka just nodded, rubbed her belly, and admitted it. "I-I know..." She wasn't allowed in most houses: she'd break floorboards, jam doorways, and destroy anything she sat on. And that was if she could even fit in the house, in the first place. "I'm plus sized... I'm a big girl..." She whimpered to noone in particular. "And I'll only get fatter..." Haruka took a full breath of air for the first time in hours, and as her belly rounded out, she heard the distinct crackling of a waistband pulled too tight. Even hidden under her belly-folds, it could scream loud enough to let the whole room know; this was a plus-plus-sized girl. An XSSBBW.

"W-Well we're not leaving until we find the right house, then!" Airi demanded, her passion set aflame by Haruka's complaints. "One we'll all fit inside of, obese or not!"

[rowenabean]

zero waste sewing patterns infuriate me because people present them as this inherently more environmentally friendly option for sewing things (because there are no fabric scraps left over, so you must have used the fabric to its maximal potential, right?) but in practice that's only even slightly true if it also uses less fabric, please stop telling me that your dress pattern that takes 2 metres of fabric and leaves no scraps is inherently better than my dress pattern that also takes 2m fabric and leaves two fat quarters of scraps that will sit in my stash until one day I make a quilt or some baby clothes out of them, or stuff a soft toy with the bits that are too small to use for anything else

[mamamittens]

Required Response (Pt. 4)

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

Warnings: There is a hair clog very much present and I wish that was all it was.

Word Count: 1,657

She wasn’t as alone as she thought she was going to be when the separate sleeping quarters was brought up. Mostly because Stefan was very eager to join her at night. Whoever was ‘guarding’ her section that night just laughing as they unlocked the door to allow the fat, scruffy, white dog inside. Crescent-shaped moustache identical to Whitebeard’s bobbing as he leapt onto the bed and squirmed into her arms for pets. Actually, Stefan stuck to her most of the time, even during the day. Seemingly taking it as his responsibility to guide her around the ship. Even during mealtimes, where he’d beg for scraps.

One of the commanders, a man named Thatch with reddish brown hair styled into an impressive pompadour, advised against feeding him ‘people food’. Though she noticed he’d toss scraps to Stefan anyway when he thought no one was looking, so she assumed it wasn’t a hard ‘rule’ so much as a preference. Stefan certainly made a good case for himself with his watery brown eyes and low, persistent cries anytime she ate a particularly meaty meal. Sweetly, though, he’d only accept a small bite. Refusing to take anymore even though he certainly didn’t restrain himself for anyone else.

The Whitebeard crew was, as a whole, quite friendly. While not all of them seemed fond of children, they usually gave a small greeting whenever she passed them in the hallways. That didn’t mean she suddenly surrounded herself with Whitebeard pirates though. If she could, she stuck with one of her original crewmates. Only sometimes getting pulled away by Stefan wanting to play on the deck under Whitebeard’s watchful eye. The Yonko captain seemed amused by the ‘betrayal’ of what was apparently his usual bedmate. Thankfully. She didn’t know how she’d handle his disapproval given her current… situation.

It was barely a week into their ‘captivity’ that a new routine was set.

She was following Stefan’s wagging tail from the mess hall after breakfast when she passed a group of Whitebeard pirates arguing about something. The four men were complaining in relatively good spirits.

“—Look, all I’m saying is that I’m tired of cleaning the showers! The amount of hair everywhere is ridiculous!” One of them argued to his brothers who grimaced.

“I hear you, but—but! Imagine how pissed Commander Marco would be if we slacked off? You want toilet duty for the year?” He reasoned.

“No! Fuck no! I just want a bit of a break is all. But no one wants to trade with me!” He complained, receiving a sharp snort of laughter.

“Course not! Second division showers is no joke! You’d have to be crazy or—oh.” The shortest man stopped, catching sight of her just ahead of them. He gave his brothers a considering look before tilting his head towards her silently.

The man that originally complained gasped.

“No way in hell!” He hissed, smacking the man’s shoulder. “I’d like to live, thanks!” The shorter man threw up his hands consolingly.

“Hey! Hey! I’m just saying! We could… ask?” He suggested. “Not like the kid has a lot of things to do. And no one is going to check until they know the showers are cleaned.” He pointed out.

She… had a feeling she knew where this was going. Honestly, she really didn’t have a lot to do. Most of her nerves had died down over the past few days but she still wasn’t bold enough to snoop. And there was only so many times she could play with Stefan before she wished she could do something else.

She blinked at them, tilting her head curiously before skipping close enough for them to hear her. They froze at her movement, seemingly paler than before for some reason.

“What is it, mister?” She asked softly with wide eyes, Stefan sitting at her feet with a soft growl. The men looked at each other again. The one that had been complained bent down on one knee to speak to her with a sheepish grin.

“J-Just Touko is fine. And… well, kiddo… we’ve got this chore assigned to us today for the third time this month and we’re kinda sick of it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the worst thing we could be doing! But… a break would be nice.” She tilted her head to the other side to signal her curiosity. “We have multiple areas duplicated across the ship to help… ease the traffic flow with all the people on board. Four group showers split between each division, not including the personal baths for Oyaji and the commanders. Second division shares with four and six. Between alllll those people, it’s kinda bullshhhhh—bull. It’s bull that we got it for the third time this month.” He corrected himself quickly, much to her amusement.

She had already heard very colorful language plenty of times between The Horizon and the Moby Dick.

“It’s not too messy! They’re all cleaned on a weekly basis, to be fair!” One of them piped up.

“Yeah! A-And we’re not asking you do to it for free! For your time and silence we offer… we offer… uhm…” Touko grimaced, looked back at his brothers desperately.

“Extra dessert?” One of the suggested.

“What? Like Commander Thatch wouldn’t cave if the kid waddled up with a sad look?!” Noted.

“Wow. We really don’t have a lot to interest a kid, do we? Sad.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“We have a library! Do you like to read, kid?” The shorter one asked.

“… I… I don’t know.” She murmured thoughtfully. There hadn’t been a lot of things for her to read before. She never really paid that much attention.

“Oh. Right. Well! We can… We can bring you books to try and read!”

“Oh yeah! That’s a great idea!” One of them cheered. “A-And! And! If you can’t read, then we’ll teach you! Right guys?” Instantly, all four of them agreed.

“Of course! It’s a very important skill!”

“We couldn’t give you books and not let you learn how to read!”

“We’ve got a few fairytales I think that wouldn’t be a bad start! Worse case scenario we can just use the encyclopedia. Never too late to start your education!” Touko grinned.

Their attitude was infection, causing a small smile to form as she laughed.

“O-Okay! Uhm… do you have the supplies?” She asked. They paused. “Like, bleach and gloves? I cleaned before. It’s not hard. But Doctor Crusoe would be mad if I hurt myself with cleaner.” They shuddered, quickly agreeing to look if nothing else.

Thankfully, for some reason they did have gloves in her size. The four men thanked her profusely as she took in the large room filled with tile and showerheads along the walls, a few ‘separated’ showers in the middle for additional stalls. Despite the laundry basket by the door, there were damp towels scattered everywhere and empty bottles of product left here and there. It wasn’t… too bad? But definitely not great.

“Watch out for the far corner area. Those drains are a bit clogged and down drain as well, so there might still be water back there, alright? When you’re done with the supplies just put the cart back in the closet across the hall!” Touko cheered, quickly escaping with his brothers.

She sighed, watching as Sefan laid down in front of the door but refused to enter the room—likely concerned he’d be given a bath.

At least she wasn’t totally alone. But she found herself very unimpressed with how dirty the room was. Soap scum, light mildew, and unnaturally slick spots littered the room. She tried to be courteous by wringing out the towels before putting them in the laundry basket, but the soggy ‘thwap!' when they hit the bottom told her how little it helped. Still, she never shied away from hard work, so she simply pulled on her gloves and got to work thoroughly cleaning the floors.

By the time she was done, the tile gleamed in the bright overhead lights.

The only thing left was the previously mentioned puddle of ominous, cold water in the far corner. There was a ‘snake’ in the cart though…

She grimaced, not looking forward to whatever was stuck inside the drain as she carefully removed the drain lid. The water freezing cold as a stale scent emanated from it. The spiked plastic snake required a bit of force to go it, clearly already catching on something, little bubbles popping up to the surface. After she felt confident she made some progress, she carefully pulled it back out—she had no desire to be splashed with the gross water.

The water’s surface rippled as a black mass was pulled free from the drain with a thick, wet plop. Air rushing past it as the puddle began to drain rapidly. The smell was foul as the hair clog seemed to writhe. She tensed, paling as it jerked and small shapes squirmed free. Like tadpoles with many trembling limbs and reflective white eyes, they let out small, frantic squeals at a high pitch. Clumsily rolling away from her desperately as Stefan gave a deep, horrible growl as he barged into the room. One caught under his paw and dissolved instantly, reforming as soon as he moved away with a startled bark.

They left an oozing residue of black that quickly faded away in their wake as they fled. Many went back down the drain, their cries echoing for some time. The rest squirmed across the floor and walls until the disappeared from sight. Like small, gross black ghosts. Until it was just her and a very confused Stefan left there.

And an impressively large and smelly clump of mixed hair stuck to the snake.

She shared a long look with Stefan.

“… does that happen often here?” She asked quietly, giving a disgusted look to the open drain. Stefan whined at the suggestion.

[yesplsnothankyou]

I hate "reasons to live" posts that are all things you can only really seek out and enjoy if you're feeling mentally well and have a well-adjusted capacity for gratitude. Like "Fluffy dogs, autumn leaves, smiling at strangers!" Here are the small joys that remind me the stakes are made up and you can find meaning in anything you want to and it doesn't have to be purposeful or beneficial. Spoiler, I am an absurdist.

Being seen in the same clothes all the time like a tv character or someone who doesn't have anything to prove

Spending time in an establishment without buying anything (maybe i was thinking about buying something. It's a public place, you know.)

Not knowing exactly how to get where I'm going so just starting off in that general direction and forging my way like an explorer til I can't figure out how to get any closer and I look it up

Starting a book I'm not going to finish, just to get a taste

Finding neat but useless free stuff and keeping it for a few weeks just to look at and enjoy before leaving it in the donation bin again

Taking pictures I have no intention of posting anywhere (mostly interesting things written in public places)

Having friendly exchanges with people and not feeling guilty or obligated when we don't stay in touch

Telling people "I love you" after a brief first and maybe final exchange (if meeting them was nice)

having like 3 snacks instead of a meal. I get my fats carbs proteins and vegetables, who cares if it's hot or plated or complex.

walking places i could bus to

arriving (to events, not commitments) as late and leaving as early as I desire, unapologetically

sitting and laying down in public places

cutting my own hair (it doesn't need to look professional or even good)

Saying "no thank you" to anything at all, without elaborating: Unwanted conversations, oversharing, gossip, political debates, unsolicited opinions.

Singing to myself when I'm walking

Asking for what I need. It doesn't matter if you know the person. You're not putting anyone out by asking if they have a spare tampon, lighter, pen, quarter, or for the time. They're allowed to say no. Don't you feel good when you get to help someone like that?

dabbling in things I have no intention of getting good at or pursuing seriously, like art and poetry and gardening.

crying openly in public. It's not illegal. Every single person on earth has had those feelings. I had a good cry while walking to the laundromat today. nothing bad resulted.

[glygriffe]

To love and to hold

For the @sicktember challenge, prompt 13: Seasonal/Pet Allergies

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Sam Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester Words: 1285 Warning: Mostly fluff, some language _________________________

“Look what I found just outside the bunker!”

Sam could hear the smile in Cas' voice. He liked that, and he automatically smiled in response, looking up the stairs to see what had brought joy to his friend. From the map table, he saw him walking down the stairs while cuddling a ball of fur stowed under his trench coat: Castiel had found a tabby cat.

It was not a kitten and it looked well-fed, even a little fat, maybe. If it was a stray, it was from a recent change of luck.

“She's so friendly! She came to me really easily. Maybe she's hungry, or just needs some affection. I hear that cats are somewhat like humans in that respect. Should I give her a name or should we decide all together?”

“Cas, we cannot keep her. Not long-term anyway. It is probably someone's cat that went on a little adventure and got lost.”

Already, Cas' face was crestfallen. Sam sighed as he slowly got up from his chair to go pat the angel on his shoulder.

“I’m not saying put the cat back in the wild and let her starve. But somebody might be actively looking for her. We could go in town this afternoon to see if someone put a lost pet sign, and we'll figure out what is the best line of action.”

Castiel nodded solemnly, any trace of a smile gone. He tenderly put the tabby on the floor and she immediately made a figure-eight motion around his legs. He went stiff as a board, trying not to look at the cat.

Sam’s heart felt heavier suddenly. He preferred dogs but he understood the small heartbreak of falling in love with an animal while knowing you can’t keep it. He just didn't know Cas had it in him to feel that kind of attachment.

“You can still pet her, you know, and bring her into the kitchen for some water.”

Castiel entire demeanor perked up, and he swiftly bent to cuddle the cat in his arms, walking briskly towards the kitchen while explaining to her the layout of the bunker.

Sam huffed in amazement, looking at the angel's retreating figure. Maybe they could consider keeping the cat if their run into town didn't bring forth any potential owners.

“What's up?”

Dean appeared in the map room coming from the sleeping quarter of the bunker, an empty bowl of popcorn in his hands.

“Cas and I will go into town this afternoon. Need something?” “No, I think we still have enough beer in the fr… atchoo!!”

Dean sniffed, then pinched his nose. He looked puzzled by his sudden sneeze. “Sorry about that. No, I don't need any… atchoo!!! Son of a bitch! Maybe I'm coming down with something. Hum… Maybe grab some cold medicine in case?”

Sam's eyes were as big as saucers when he remembered his brother's cat hair allergy.

“Hum… I don't think it's a cold, Dean. See, Cas has been looking around in the countryside and…” “I'm not sure she has a family to take care of her, Sam. Oh, hello, Dean! Let me introduce you to Macska.”

Castiel was now walking towards Dean who quickly stepped back when he saw Macska poke her head outside the trenchcoat. He pointed an accusatory finger at his brother.

“A cat? You let a freaking cat in the bunker? And you let him name it?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, a mimic he without a doubt learned from Dean, and let the scared cat jump on the floor and run back to the kitchen where nobody was yelling.

“Sam didn't 'let me' name the cat, Dean: I just had to call her something while she is under my care. She's too old to be called Kitty and Cat seems too impersonal. Since she seems to respond better to the Hungarian language, that's what I'm using.” “Macska is 'cat' in Hugarian? That's clever. How many languages did you try before…?” “Who cares! That is not the main issue here.” “I know, Dean. But if the cat responds particularly well to Hungarian, maybe she was living with the Kovács family that left town recently. If they abandoned her, that would mean she has nowhere else to go except for the pound.”

An awkward silence filled the room for a beat or two before Macska came back into the map room, going straight to making figure-eights around the angel's legs again. This time, she was purring. Dean seemed torn about what to do or say. He opened his mouth... and immediately sneezed again.

Castiel crouched to pet the cat while squinting slightly at the older hunter. The animal stopped purring to look attentively at Dean, too.

Sam found it fascinating, how the cat and his brother seemed to get into a staring contest right away, each gauging the other, as if trying to figure out who was the dominant species in that particular space. The cat was tense, moving its head slightly from side to side. Dean crossed his arms and Sam could swear he saw him puff his chest a little. But then he sneezed again, breaking eye contact with the beast. If this was in any way similar to a game of chicken, he had the impression that his brother just lost.

Castiel tilted his head to the side.

“Dean, it sounds like you are allergic to cats.” “No shit, Sherlock.” “There's no need to be defensive. It's not Macska's fault any more than it's yours. It certainly isn't mine. I'll clean all the hair that she dropped for now, and I could give her regular baths if she was to stay with us for some time. But I understand it's not ideal to have a cat in the bunker in those circumstances, even if the poor darling is almost certainly homeless. Mr. Kovács was indeed grumbling that he and his wife were moving into an assisted facility with a lot of regulation he wasn't thrilled about.”

Castiel's face was all matter-of-fact, but Sam saw his shoulders drooping in sadness even as he still was petting the cat, gathering her in his arms again. The angel was already deeply attached to the stray and Dean had noticed it too. The way Cas was cradling the cat.

He slowly uncrossed his arms, glancing quickly at Sam to determine which side the young hunter might take. Then he sighed heavily while looking at the ceiling.

Sam tried to hide his smile. Fact: Cas was completely smitten by the cat, there was no question on that front. Fact: Dean would not have the heart to deprive the angel of the ball of fur he was holding so tenderly. But he was still fighting, albeit feebly.

“I don't want it in the kitchen or near my room. Maybe you can keep it in the garage IF it doesn't have anywhere else to stay in town. And get the vet to neuter it if it's not already the case.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turn around as if he could not believe he was caving on the matter of keeping a pet. Passing by his brother, he whispered to him: “And Sam… switch the cold medicine to some Allegra tablets when you do go in town.”

Sam was not surprised by this turn of events. Looking at Castiel smiling softly while holding the cat, he thought anybody who cared the slightest for the angel would have come to the same decision. So he nodded knowingly and actually chuckled when his brother pointed (yet again) his finger at him and hissed “shut your face!” before storming to his room.

[trickster-whim]

A wip I'm working on currently: a blouse and jsk for an American Girl doll I stress-bought on the goodwill auction site during work this year and haven't done anything with since. She's just been sitting there, with her raggedy hair and no clothes, while I've been languishing around, and I finally got enough get-up-and-go to start sewing her something.

The jsk is mostly made from a fat quarter that I've had for years but haven't had anything else to use it for, and the blouse is some old bedsheets. I sewed most of it last night, but once the sun came up, I decided to just finish it today. (Side note, if you're lazy like me make sure you have either a good needle or good thread. Hand sewing takes a long time, and ideally you should have an easy-to-thread needle or thread that doesn't tangle every second, hopefully both. But my favorite needle broke.) Before that, though, the blouse looked very evil villainess.

The pattern I used was from the Molly's Pretty Clothes book, but I used a PDF so I'm not sure if the scale is correct (and also at least one pattern piece was missing!). It's a little small, so it needs a tiny bit more adjusting, but overall I like it! I'll definitely do another one sometime.

Side note, cetus lupeedus I wish American Girl still made these pattern books! This one was a little less beginner-friendly than I was hoping, but it wasn't super complicated, and sewing dolls for clothes is so fun! I would absolutely get more of these books for the other historical girls, rather than the simplicity patterns they did, which were... Eh.

Anyway, I haven't been on social media in a couple months, more than occasionally posting or looking at literally one text post and then leaving. So before I return to the void, here's my sister's adorable cat.

[chemanalystdata]

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[rentmybikeindia]

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