#of a bunch of her old needles and yarn. i still use them all the time

[clamorybus]

i haven't cried since saturday but a lot of little things have made me misty-eyed. like our birthdays are in a month and a half; ever since my parents moved out her and pa's house she gave us phone calls on our birthdays. and for the first time in my life i'm not gonna hear her voice on my birthday

[olderthannetfic]

This might be an odd or personal question, but could I ask how you started knitting and where you started as a beginner? Or what would you recommend? I’ve tried to join clubs and groups irl, but there’s so much drama and gossiping. When I said I didn’t want to take part in that aspect, they started ostracizing and gossiping about me. Any websites, yt channels or books you’d recommend for a beginner?

--

Haha.

My friend, this does not even register on the scale of deeply personal or odd questions people have sent me.

I've been trying to remember exactly how I started and why (like, even before this ask). I think it was on a family vacation to Scotland the summer before I started college. That would have been in 1999.

I taught myself from one of those awful 90s pamphlets with the line drawings. They're a nightmare compared to being able to see someone do the motions in person or even in a video. I had some awful plastic needles and no guidance on yarn and just knit with what I found at some shop there. Do not recommend!

I achieved what I wanted during college, which was to make a nice cable-knit sweater that I still wear, and then I got frustrated with crappy acrylic yarn and drifted away from knitting until a year or so ago.

The fact is, I basically didn't do beginner projects. I moved straight from making one rectangle to making grandiose sweaters or whatever else struck my fancy. (But if you want to know, I was using Viking Patterns for Knitting and a bunch of Alice Starmore books, all of which you can still buy.) I know plenty of people who did it this way, but you certainly don't have to.

And you definitely don't need to learn from a terrible 90s printed pamphlet!

Luckily, nowadays, you can find a tutorial on just about anything on Youtube. I enjoy watching the technical and historical types discuss quirks of knitting you might not think of without years of practice or research.

Roxanne Richardson is great, for example.

Look for somebody old, not wearing a lot of makeup, and not talking about their indie dyeing/yarn business and you'll avoid most of the clowns who learned to knit five minutes ago and now want to be knitfluencers.

When I want a super simple technique tutorial, I usually end up looking at either Nimble Needles or VeryPink Knits. I find her super annoying, but her tutorials are spot-on. Norman's voice is much more soothing and I just enjoy his presence more, but both of them have good ultra close-up shots of what they're doing (which lots of vloggers don't because it requires special equipment).

I'd just figure out what kind of finished products you want to use knitting for and then find patterns and tutorials geared towards those.

Cables are relatively easy. Stranded colorwork requires a fair amount of physical coordination and some people find it rather difficult at first.

Circular needles are far more popular than traditional straight ones for people starting today.

Cotton yarn is relatively less nice to knit with than wool for most people, but it tends to be the natural fiber available at a low price point from major retailers.

Picking up general tips like that by watching various youtubers will help you pick a project that won't be too painful to work on.

People who naturally knit loosely should consider grippy bamboo or wooden needles. People who naturally knit tightly should consider slippery metal ones.

My biggest piece of advice is that you're usually better off with something "hard" that you actually like rather than a "practice" project you don't care about, at least after you've made like one rectangle to practice doing a knit stitch at all.

--

Finding community can be hard, and yes, some crafting hobbies are infested with drama.

But if you just want to know how to knit, you're way better off with some video tutorials and a nice pattern you like.

[yarnings]

So when I was writing my yarn store AU, I had Jenny own only pre-metric knitting needles, to indicate that, while she knits enough that she hasn’t given them away to her kids, she isn’t really big into knitting, and doesn’t see any need to purchase supplies when she has her mom’s old needles there, even though the vast majority of my audience won’t get that detail.

I did debate over this, because I wasn’t sure if that was realistic, because surely she’d have lost some, or had them break (Maybe they were all old enough that they were metal instead of plastic? Or maybe she never uses circulars?) Heck, I didn’t even know if people other than me still have pre-metric needles lying around. (I have the size 10′s that my great-aunt sent me about a quarter century ago, along with some baby yarn, and a “learn-to-knit” book. Pretty sure everything else I have is either metric or US)

GUESS WHAT I FOUND AT THE THRIFT STORE YESTERDAY! Yep, I lied above. I picked up a set of size 6 needles to add to my “4.5-5.5mm needles for teaching” And there were a bunch of other needles in other sizes that weren’t what I needed but weren’t metric. (Of course, I did pick up a pair of needles that were labelled 6, but were actually metric and I didn’t notice, because they were bigger than the 4.5mm needles, and when you’re trying to watch a bored kid and a “may get bored at any minute” kid you don’t notice the difference between 5mm and 6mm.)

[aurumacadicus]

Ok, so random but I went to a yarn group today (I cannot crochet just embroidery but I thought it’d be fun to go) anyways!! I am now imagining Tony picking something like this up (crochet, embroidery whatever) and being in one of these groups could be an AU or maybe he picked it up to have something to do with his hands when bed bound because of getting hurt. Like someone literally just brought him the stuff “you are driving me insane learn how to do this and stay in the damn bed” kind of thing?

Anyways!!! So he’s in the group and for some damn reason Bucky (I’m leaning Bucky) didn’t know he did this, and some older ladies who are in the same group convince him to come after meeting him at a park or something (it’s therapeutic!) but tony is out of town or some reason? So Bucky goes to a few of these meetings, and these ladies won’t stop talking about sweet little “Anthony” and Bucky is sure someone’s talking about a grandson, gotta be someones grandson and how Bucky would get along with him so well and he’s like “oh someone is trying to set me up with their grandson.” Except these women know who Bucky is. Of course they do, he’s been on the news and stuff (if going with superhero’s). But manly because Tony won’t stop talking about him so they know tony has a crush on him, but won’t ever, ever say shit because “oh he hates me” so like old ladies getting them together.

A bunch of getting together shenanigans. Old ladies making it happen. Neither man knows these ladies are doing this. All the fun shit that comes with it you know?

I feel like I didn’t put this together well so I hope it makes sense?

It's perfectly understandable! And it gives me everything I crave, which is: Tony and Bucky being oblivious idiots, and fiber arts.

--

The Stitch and Bitch adopted Tony during physical therapy. He'd been urged to take up something to get the use of his hands back after his accident, and his Rhodey had dropped a hank of yarn and some sticks in his lap, and an hour later Mama Rhodes had arrived to teach him how to use them. She took him to a coffee shop where old ladies people met weekly to show off what they were working on and give advice when they struggled. Tony made a really ugly, lumpy scarf that Rhodey still wore proudly, and also found himself sort of bullied into continuing to attend so he could make better, beautiful scarves.

He figured he was there to stay when he started learning how to make lace shawls.

Tony didn’t get to go the meetings as often as he’d like, but he was always welcomed back with open arms when he could. They especially liked hearing about him vent about the rest of the Avengers, because, "Coffee grounds! In my garbage disposal! Bucky, at least, isn’t a neanderthal and puts them in the compost bucket where they belong." It’s very humanizing for the entire team.

Also one time Tony came in steaming mad because "I thought I had finally house-trained the team but apparently Natasha has just been stealing the coffee grounds to turn her hydrangeas blue and she’s on a mission for the next week and THERE ARE GROUNDS IN MY DISPOSAL AGAIN. I AM FIRING THE TEAM. No, Agnes, I didn’t know she kept hydrangeas, I am absolutely fucking boggled by how she snuck them in when they’re like fifty pounds what do you want from me."

Of course, everyone noticed that one James Buchanan Barnes was carefully left out of Tony’s extensive bitching. "Why would I complain about the only other member of the team who knows what’s compostable," Tony had scoffed when they brought this up to him. Then when they tittered about the fact he was blushing, he just sank in his chair and sighed, frowning down at his motionless needles as he said, “It doesn’t matter. He hates me anyway. He probably only composts because he’s scared I’ll yell at him like I do everyone else.”

“Anthony, why are you so obsessed with compost,” Myrna asked to take his mind off it, because he got this kicked-puppy look that everyone hated when he went into one of his forlorn moods.

“I’m not fucking obsessed with compost,” Tony snapped. “I’m obsessed with the fact that my entire team apparently thinks they live in a frat house. If I find another half-scrubbed plate in the cupboard again, I will blow the team clear out of the tower.”

“As you should,” everyone agreed, nodding.

.-.

Bucky was adopted into the group when some of the members noticed him watching them at the park. He had sort of a resting bitch face, but they figured that just meant he was made for a Stitch and Bitch. They tried him out with knitting, but he hated the way the needle felt in his metal hand, so they swapped his needles for a hook and taught him to crochet instead.

He powered through three washcloths and a blanket before he discovered plush toys, and the rest, as they said, was history.

“You should come to our weekly Stitch and Bitch,” Myrna told him sweetly. “We think you’d be a great match for our little Anthony.”

Bucky sincerely doubted it, because the average person was not made to deal with a semi-brainwashed, dangerous former assassin. “I don’t know.”

“Just think about it,” Agnes said gently, remembering what Tony had said about Bucky not reacting well to orders and having to word everything as suggestions. It was best not to push too hard, he’d said. “I think our little Anthony would just enjoy having someone around his own age to talk to.”

Bucky did not say he was not Anthony’s age, he was almost a hundred, but he sort of wanted to, just to see them squawk. “He’s on the younger side then, huh?” he said instead.

“Oh yes,” Agnes and Myrna assured him.

Bucky still wasn’t sure about meeting ‘Anthony’ and the group at large, so they promised him that the next Stitch and Bitch would just be the main group; Anthony would be out of town for work, so they would be able to ease him in. “Everyone is very friendly, and you can always bitch about how the boy you like doesn’t notice you to fit in,” Myrna added.

“He’s not a boy,” Bucky said, scowling a little.

“The man you like who doesn’t notice you,” Agnes sighed, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scowled a little more. “Will everyone make fun of me like you two do?”

“James,” Myrna moaned, frustrated, before Agnes cheerfully added, “Of course!”

“Pass,” Bucky said, but somehow got wheedled into it with some judiciously wielded Grandma Guilt.

[another-tmnt-writer]

The Quarantine Chronicles

Turtles x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Prompt: There were a few of you that asked for being quarantined with the turtles, so here you go <3

Note: There��s one part for each turtle <3 Thanks so much for 3.5k!! I love you guys!!!

Warnings: Mentions of quarantine/the virus, but other than that, none??

Word Count: 1.5k

Intro

“Well, it’s confirmed.” Donnie pulled his goggles up onto the top of his head, his brothers looking at him, anticipation in their eyes. “We can’t contract or carry the virus.”

“We’re immune?” Leo checked.

Donnie nodded, typing rapidly into his computer. “Not only that, but we don’t have the ability to infect anybody either. Which means…”

“Yep, I’ll call her.” Raph dialed your number to deliver the good news.

“Hell yeah!!!” Mikey cheered skipping out of the lair.

***

It took about an hour for you to gather all of the things you’d need during quarantine and head down to the lair. The boys were waiting anxiously for your arrival, all of them sad about the circumstances but glad that it meant you got to spend some quality time with them. If there was anything they knew how to do, it was pass the time. After all, they’d basically been quarantined for the better part of fifteen years before they were finally allowed on the surface.

The boys set up a nice little bed for you. It was an air mattress, but Raph had knitted you a big red blanket during some of his time in the hashi, and it was warm and cozy, and Donnie had gathered a bunch of pillows, so pushed up against the wall, it was a perfect little cozy corner for you.

Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but you knew that in the lair, you’d be safe.

Leo x Reader ~ Stress Baking

“Ooh, that smells good. What are you making?” Leo had followed his nose to the kitchen, only to find you sitting on the counter wearing an apron.

“Oreo cheesecake cupcakes.” You replied, looking up at him and smiling, your legs kicking from your spot on the counter. “One of my favorite recipes.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of baking since you got down here. Are you…alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding. “I call this: controlling what you can when things feel out of control.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Stress baking.”

“Yes. Stress baking. Instead of writing my essay for Human Origins.” You shrugged. “I’ll do it when these are done.”

“I keep forgetting you’re still doing school stuff with all this going on.” Leo walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms. “That’s rough.”

“It really is. I’m making it work, though. I’m fine. I’m…I’m making it work.”

The oven dinged, so you hopped down from the counter and slipped on your oven mitts, pulling the tray of cupcakes out of the oven. They looked perfect. Now, they just needed to chill in the fridge for a few hours.

“Hang in there, okay?” Leo tilted his head, a concerned look in his blue eyes. “You’ve got us if you need any help with anything. I’m no expert on evolution or anything, but I’m sure Donnie is.”

“I’ll make sure to let you know if I need any help.” You nodded. After you turned the oven off, you turned to Leo and gave him a hug, which he gladly reciprocated, holding you tight in his arms. “Thank you.”

Leo rested his head against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. “Any time.”

Raph x Reader ~ New Hobbies

“Okay, so stick the needle in. Yep just like that. And then loop the yarn around. Yep, good job. And then…uh…here, let me see what you did…” Raph held up your knitting project, spinning it around to look at it. “I don’t know why it looks like that…”

You’d never seen him so patient before, but when you’d asked him to teach you how to knit, he’d been more than willing. Excited, even.

“Sorry I’m so bad at this…”

“No, yer not bad, believe me, it took me a long time to learn. It just takes practice is all.” Raph reassured you. “Why don’t…Hmm…”

“What?” You chuckled at the focused look on his face as he fixed the mistake you’d made.

Raph handed you the knitting needles and then sat crisscrossed on the floor. He patted his legs, motioning you over. “Come here, shorty, I think I know how to teach you.”

You crawled into his lap and he picked you up and repositioned you so that your back was against his plastron. He positioned your hands correctly, taking your little human hands in his giant green three-fingered ones. He walked you through the motions slowly, sticking the needle into the loop, wrapping the yarn around the needle, making the new loop, and then dropping the old one.

“Ohhhhhhhh that makes sense.” You nodded, everything finally clicking into place. “Could you do that one more time for me?”

“Yep. Like this. In, around, through, and off. In, around, through, off.” He did it a few more times so you could get used to the motion. “Alright, now you try.” He took his hands away, leaving you to do it on your own.

“In…around? Through…” you moved the needles, manipulating the yarn carefully. “Off. Like that?”

“You did it! Good job!”

“Thank you for teaching me!”

Raph hugged you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “Anything for my favorite student.”

Donnie x Reader ~ Bleach and Dye

“Okay, so the box says you shouldn’t leave it on for any longer.” Donnie read the label on the box of bleach for the thirteenth time. “Ready?”

“Yep.” You leaned back in the chair you had pushed against the sink, and Donnie helped rinse the bleach out. Next, he helped you blow-dry it. You looked at your reflection, tilting your head. “I think it’s cute.”

“It’s a good look for you.” Donnie agreed, still uncertain how you’d roped him into this crazy scheme of yours. “Are you sure you want to go further?”

“Yep. I want to be purple.” You slid the little container of dye to him and his eyes widened.

“Well, alright…” Donnie exhaled, shaking his head. He read the instructions on the dye container and then started brushing it onto your hair from the tips to the roots. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope. But everyone on TikTok is doing it, so it was about time.” You shrugged, grinning as Donnie very carefully brushed the dye onto your bleached hair.

“I mean, if it makes you feel better with all this going on, then I guess it’s worth a try.”

“That’s my logic exactly.” You grinned and took a sip of your chai latte. You held it up to him so he could take a sip, and he did.

At first, Donnie had been a little squeamish of sharing straws, but since you had been around so much offering him sips of every frozen coffee or iced tea recipe you came up with, it didn’t bother him anymore.

“That’s good. Soymilk?”

“Vanilla soymilk.”

“Mmm, interesting.” He grinned.

The two of you sat around talking for a while before his timer went off and it was time to wash the dye out. He helped you rinse it out once again, drying it off with a blow dryer until finally, you straightened up to look at in the mirror. You squealed, beaming.

“It looks so good!!! Thank you Donnie!!!” You jumped up and latched onto him, your legs wrapped around his hips.

He grinned and grabbed onto your thighs, securing you in place better. “Of course, princess. Glad I could help.”

Mikey x Reader ~ When All Else Fails…Art

“So you take the Ziploc bag and you color on it with the markers you want like this.” You showed him, scribbling a random shape onto the clear plastic with an orange marker. “And then you pick another color, so pink.” You colored some more surrounding the orange blob, but not touching it. “And then I’m adding some yellow.”

“Okay…” Mikey watched intensely, very interested in the art technique you’d found on the internet. He was using some blue and green on his bag, and once you were done with the yellow, he used some of that too. “Now what?”

“And then you dip your fingers into the water and flick it where the marker is.”

“Alright.” Mikey nodded, dipping one giant finger into the water and copying you, flicking water onto the places where the color was.

“And then you mix it around like this.” You smudged the color with your fingertip, smearing it and blending the spots between different colors.

“Okay…” Mikey still wasn’t sure what this was supposed to accomplish, but he did it anyway.

“And then…and this is the cool part. You flip it onto the paper and press down.”

“WOAHHHHHH THAT’S SO COOL!” He exclaimed, spreading the color out on his paper. “Where did you learn how to do this, dudette?”

“On the internet.” You smiled, peeling the bag off of your paper and admiring your pseudo-water color masterpiece. It looked like a sunset. You handed it to Mikey. “For you, sir.”

He held a hand over his heart, gasping. “For ME?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m gonna frame this and put it on my bunk.” Mikey tackled you in a bear hug, pressing a dozen kisses to your cheek. “Thank you, angelcakes. I love it.”

[nyxicnymph]

Guardians of Arcadia: Operation: Secret Santa

Christmas is quickly approaching in Arcadia. While the town may not get such luxuries like snow or ice-skating, the Guardians still want to participate in some form of Christmas tradition all together. Some might not know exactly what is happening, but they're giving it their best shot! (TOA CHRISTMAS SPECIAL WHEN?!)

Rating: ages 13 and up!

Warnings: Canon and character typical levels of teenage violence. Staja. Jlaire. No Zoe, sorry guys. Oh, and swearing.

Part Nine: Christmas gifts for Aaarrrghhh!

Claire hummed as she finished her chores. She was happy, and excited. She'd gotten Aaarrrghhh, and already had figured out what she was going to get him. She'd gotten so excited, she'd called Jim before starting her chores.

She put the broom away with a happy hum. "Now that I've finished with that, I can go and get my gift!" She slung her purse over her shoulder, and turned to Not-Enrique. "Make sure my little brother stays asleep. And if you wake him up, so help me."

Not-Enrique nodded and bounded up the stairs. "You got it, Sis!"

Claire rolled her eyes, but not without fondness. Over the months and years, Not-Enrique had become part of her family, even if it was strange compared to others.

She left her house, and strolled down the street. The sun was shining, the weather was nice, and a bunch of the other kids were out and about, too. Claire saw the Tarron twins going down their street, and Steve came out of the all-purpose mart. Claire moved on past him, past Benoit's, and to the craft store.

Claire stood just inside the craft mart's door, just breathing in the scent of wool, glue, and old ladies.

There was one particular old lady who she wasn't expecting to run into that day, however. She nearly ran her over. When she looked up at the other woman she gasped.

"Nomura?! What are you doing here?"

Nomura frowned, her green eyes reflecting the fluorescent lights. "Calm down, child. I came to get some knitting needles."

"Knitting needles?" Claire frowned, not in anger or defense, but in confusion. "Don't you use knives?"

"Not for knitting. What did you think I was doing?"

Claire realized her goof of getting overly suspicious. "Sorry, I may have thought you were going to try and kill me. My bad."

Nomura waved her hand dismissively. "Old habits die hard," she said as she walked towards the counter. She paused, her face pensive. "I should know."

Claire reached up and patted Nomura's shoulder. Nomura shrugged her off after a minute.

"Go on, get along. You're busy, I'm busy, and the cashier's not. The clock is ticking, and the world is spinning. And I have spinning to do." Nomura sighed.

"Okay, bye then, Ms. Nomura!" Claire said, walking away. She remembered to pack away her prejudices, and walked over to the looms when she finished.

She browsed the looms for a while, and chose the biggest round loom she could find. Jim had said that no one could buy anyone food products, but he didn't say that they couldn't buy the tools to make food. Or. Giant socks.

Claire also picked up the biggest hook she could find, and some heavy weight yarn made of argyle wool. She dumped her haul on the counter, and the cashier looked at her with fear in their gaze.

"Are you quite sure you want all of this?" The cashier, whose nametag read "Ash", asked nervously.

Claire smiled. "Don't worry, it's not for me."

Ash stared at Claire for a minute. "Who hurt you?" They whispered.

Claire raised an eyebrow. "No one? This is my gift for a friend. He's really big, but likes this kind of stuff."

Ash nodded. "Of course. Right. Well, here's your total."

Claire handed them her card, which they then swiped and handed back. "Thank you," Claire told them.

"No problem, Miss Nuñez," Ash said. They smiled and waved at her. "Have a good day!"

Claire returned their wave as she left the building. "You too!"

She turned towards her home, retracing her earlier steps. She had to get her gift wrapped as soon as possible. She passed Douxie heading into Benoit's. They waved, both focused more on their respective paths then on each other.

Archie's voice echoes across the street. "And if you break another leg, I'm grounding you! That was reckless and- Hello, Claire."

"Hey Archie. I'm just going home, I'll see you guys this weekend!"

Archie bowed his head. "Of course."

Claire bounced into her home not long after, and ran upstairs. She put her purchases under her bed, sliding some wrapping paper under there as well, and left a note for herself on her desk lamp. Then she went and checked on her brothers.

As she bounced Enrique and chatted with Not-Enrique, Claire's mind wandered to Aaarrrghhh. She hoped he had gotten someone easy to buy a gift for.

--

Aaarrrghhh actually wasn't sure if this was easy or really hard. He wasn't sure what to get for a wizard that he'd almost killed once.

There wasn't exactly a Hallmark card for that one.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #10: Green Like Flowers

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: mild angst

The train whistled as it left the station. A piercing scream, cutting through the dewy darkness of early morning. Birds, startled awake from their nightly slumber, took to the sky. Fleeing like their wings were on fire, up and away from branches that were all but safe a few moments before. Their small black bodies quickly lost to a sky that had not yet been kissed by an unforgiving sun.

The engine chugged, rhythmically turning large, cold steel wheels. Pulling both itself and its posy of railcars along with it. Quickly picking up speed, outside one of the windows; a dog ran alongside the tracks. His tongue hanging outside his large muzzle, flopping with each bounding leap. He ran on a well-worn path, a frequent activity. The further the train went, the more he fell behind until Elsa could no longer see him. So too did the path fade. Giving way to leaf-covered ground and sparse trees. The click-clack of the train melted into nothing, like the ocean waves when one lives by the sea.

Elsa Settled into her seat but dared not to rest. Her mind racing fasting then the landscape outside the window. The train was still mostly empty, many seats were vacant. She glanced around, taking everything in without fear of looking creepy. The floor was carpet tiles, frayed on every edge but free of at least large debris. The seats, two on each side of the aisle, were a worn blue fabric. Each headrest was adorned with stark white doctor’s table paper. Fluorescent lightbulbs of varying shades of white and yellow had been illuminating the narrow walkways, now dimmed. Allowing the high-backed seats to cast long shadows.

A few rows back an older man sat slouched in his seat, his fedora, which had seen better days, was pulled down to cover his eyes. The ghost of a beard was painted across a jaw held tight by clenched teeth. Next to him, an older woman sat, knitting with the speed of a youth long past. She was counting to herself or perhaps singing. Her thin lips moving in unison with dancing needles. So the yarn was tugged and so too the corners of her mouth.

In another row a small child was fast asleep, curled into his’s mother’s side. The woman’s head tilted back, mouth agape. She wore what looked to be a brand new hoodie, a large sports logo plastered across the chest. It wasn’t a team Elsa recognized, the child shifted slightly, and they too wore a matching hoodie.

Elsa turned back so she was facing forward once more.  She glanced out the smudged windows to see the faintest hint of light, peeking over the horizon. And she took a moment to marvel at the fact she had to travel North, then West, then South, then West again just to reach the opposite coast. All the years of human advancements and there still wasn’t a train that simply went East to West. Instead, it zig-zagged across rivers, over the plains, and through mountains.

A movement to her left caused her to turn. A man about her age sat restlessly in his seat. Large headphones completely engulfed his ears. One hand clutching a phone, the other gesturing wildly through the air - pointer finger and thumb fully extended with the remaining fingers ever so slightly curved inward. His voice was barely above a whisper, Elsa had to strain to hear the words which were choppy, loose, but forever moving forward like a rushing stream over stones.

Just then the door between cars slid open, spilling the outside in. Chains rattled, wind blew, the click-clack of the track demanded attention. And standing there, a young ember, sparking as intense eyes surveyed the nearly empty train car before settling on Elsa and finally flicking to the seat next to her. The door closed as if in agreement and the woman floated over. Two copper veins of braids framed a speckled face. She smiled and sat down without asking.

“I’m Anna,” she said, it wasn’t a comment or an introduction, it was a commanding statement. She was Anna and whoever she was, Elsa had no choice but to deal with the sudden intrusion.

“Elsa.” She replied, trying to match the other’s tone.

This earned a nod from Anna, her head tipping back, chin raised for a brief moment before landing in neutral again. Silence settled like a heavy fog. Elsa was never good at small talk. Through the defining silence, she heard the ticking of knitting needles and soft rap lyrics start again. Nothing from the mother or child, this new woman’s entrance had not been enough to wake them from slumber.

“Where are you headed?” Anna asked, keeping her voice low.

“San Francisco,” Elsa replied, trying to ignore how much the woman’s eyes stabbed right through her.

“Oh what?!?” she paused to take a breath and bring her volume back down. “I’m going there too, maybe we can be train buddies!”

And suddenly the flames that protected the young woman from the outside world parted and Elsa saw, not a commanding bitch of a woman, but an innocence - a kindness that she hadn’t seen in a person in a long time.

“Buddies,” Elsa repeated slowly as if tasting the word for the first time.

This earned another smile from Anna, who had either not noticed Elsa’s lack of enthusiasm or chose to ignore it.

“Well it’s what like, 15 days to get from here,” she pointed beyond Elsa to the series of trees whipping past the window. “Aaaall the way over to there. So I think, it would be nice to have someone to talk to, have meals with, maybe exchange playlists…”

“I mean I don’t know,” she pulled her arms in like pulling a trenchcoat closed. She dared not to let the demons out nor let any new evil in. She hated meeting new people, hated that period of time when stupid questions are asked. Hated, even more, when the friendship was temporary, formed for convenience rather than growth. Why spend all that time putting cereal in a bowl piece by price only to find out theres no milk.

Elsa was not yet old in the traditional sense, but she had lived many lifetimes. Broken enough hearts and had enough hearts be broken, both from love and friendship, to waste even more hourglass sand on the freckled book in the seat next to hers.

“No offense but I don’t really know you.”

Anna laughed, a full-bellied laugh that had her eye squeezed shut and her head tipped back against the paper covering the headrest. Elsa felt her face start to numb and fought the urge to bounce her leg. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she turned her head to study the trees.

“We can be train buddies while we get to know each other. Like, we might as well anyway, seeing as we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other anyways.”

Elsa didn’t turn her head, “It is a long train.”  

“Yes and no, the length? Sure. But there’s the cargo cars, the sleeper cars, the dining cars, the private cars, and THEN there’s the passenger cars like this one. Sooo I think I’m gucci when I say; we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Gucci?” Elsa turned, pulled by the odd choice of word. She was met with yet another smile from her unwanted companion and she regretted turning at all.

“Yeah you know, ‘it’s gucci’ or ‘it’s all good’ same thing.” Anna shrugged but otherwise didn’t move, oblivious to Elsa’s inner turmoil and discomfort, instead, she used this as an opening. Like a racer who finally found a way to pass the leader.

“So, let’s just get all the weird basic stuff out of the way. I’m Anna like I said. I’m from Tennessee, born there, lived there, and went to school there. My favorite color is green. I don’t have any pets or siblings. My parents are divorced but they kinda get along. And I fly drones and do photos for realtors. In my spare time, I like watching movies and pretending to read.”

Behind them, the child resting against his mother stirred, his muffed words, likely exaggerated, were somehow loud enough to be heard over everything else. When his mother didn’t respond, he yawned louder till she awoke will a start. Immediately the child leapt up and took off running towards the door Anna came through. Elsa feared he would open it but he waited, bouncing on his heels till his mother, groggy with sleep and not yet aware of the world, shuffled over. Together they disappeared through the door.

“Aaaand you?” Anna asked. Elsa sighed, the reprieve caused by the commotion had ended and she found herself backed into a corner. She had to at least give some answer or she feared the girl would never leave.

“I’m Elsa, I am from the East Coast. I have a master’s degree. I enjoy the color blue.”

  A few beats passed, the train clicking along the tracks. The sun was higher now, its warm beams reaching out at greedy fingers, casting golden whispers within the other girl’s braids.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“I told you so much more. Are you one of the people who can’t open up and I have to ask a bunch of questions to get them to talk?”

Elsa flinched, she was one of those people. But she didn’t like being called out so directly like that.

Anna smirked, catching the flinch. “I’ll make it less of an interrogation and more of an exchange, so it’s not so scary, alright?”

Elsa nodded, it was actually a good solution to this trap she was in, as much as it pained her to admit that.

“I’m moving to San Francisco or the outskirts at least. What about you?”

“More or less, the same.”

“I have a job lined up with a big real estate firm downtown, I start at the end of the month. And you?”

“At the end of the month, I will be starting my job as well.”

Anna sighed and shifted in her seat, readying a new approach like a hunter with a spear. “So why the train?”

Elsa felt her face redden and she mumbled a quick “I just felt like it.”

And in the spear went, embedded deep within. Its jagged backwards teeth holding it in place. It wasn’t a good answer. It was a very bad answer, one that said too much without saying much at all.

“Oh come on, that’s not an answer!” Anna waited a beat for Elsa to answer before pressing further. “So I’ll ask again, why the train? And this time, no mumbling,  I need you to say it… out loud.”

Elsa exhaled through her nose. And opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She was at the crossroads of telling a stranger a lie or speaking the truth into existence for the first time. Giving a name to the shadow of guilt that hung over her, maybe it would let go and take with it this spear. Maybe still the light that so gently clung, in a smooth loving caress to Anna’s skin would, if only for a moment, grant her one kiss of its warmth. And so she chose the path, and took a deep breath, and pushed forward.

“I left my husband at the altar. I packed as much as I could into a few pieces of luggage, and hopped on the first train headed west.”

For once, since their meeting, Anna was quiet and Elsa suddenly felt the need to fill the silence.

“I left him my car and anything I didn’t pack, like the dog and my piano. I quit my pointless job as an actuarial analyst via email right before I boarded the train.”

Anna exhaled loudly and blinked purposely a few times before speaking, “You.. wow. Just left everything behind huh?”

“I wanted to get out of town quickly. I couldn’t breathe.” Elsa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“So you chose probably the slowest mode of transportation to go across the entire country, just because you ‘felt like it’?”

“I figured it would be a fun adventure and give me time to think.”

Anna laughed, “You mean to brood?”

“I didn’t say that”

“Come on Elsa, you weren’t seriously going to mope and look dramatically out the window for 2 weeks were you?”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess not.”

“Meaning, yes Anna I was but you called me out on it and now I don’t know what to say. Right?”

Elsa made a face, she had known this woman for less than an hour and she was already so far in her head that Elsa might as well charge her rent. But saying her, what she now saw as reckless and impulsive plan, out loud was freeing.

She felt warmth on the back of her neck and turned back to the window to see the sunlight set fire to a field of corn. Brown wispy tops of long green stocks danced in waves, long endless rows bent and swayed. A lone tree in the middle of the field broke the pattern, the stalks that had come to worship at its feet paid the price for being in the shade. They were shorter and more sparse, yet the further from the tree, the more they grew. The further away from the city, the train went, the more Elsa felt like those corn stalks away from the tree.

  +++

The dining car was busier, packed full of life and people. All of whom were in various states of dress. Some sporting loose-fitting sweats, wiping sleep from their eyes. Others in formal business attire, already on their third cup of coffee and 7th morning briefing. The clicking of their keyboards and monotone voices of video calls faded into the conglomerate of sounds contained in the frankly small space.

“Can I get you ladies anything this morning?” a younger woman in uniform asked, she placed two small, single-page menus in front of Elsa and Anna, who each sat on opposite sides of a small booth.

“A coffee and some toast, please.” Elsa handed the menu back, she hadn’t bothered looking, it was a simple basic order that she never struggled to find anywhere she went.

“Umm,” Anna on the other hand was scanning the menu up and down, trying to decide. “Orange juice and a coffee and a bagel with butter instead of cream cheese. Please!” the woman smiled and took her menu, continuing down the row.

It wasn’t long before the food and drinks arrived. Elsa put one sugar in her coffee and sipped it slowly. Outside the large, clean, windows of the dining car, there were vast sprawling fields. It had been only a few days since Anna became her companion and nearly that entire time, the train had seemed to be continually chugging through the same boring field. So much for seeing the country.

Anna dumped several packets of sugar and a few creams into her coffee before taking a large swig and chasing the hot liquid with orange juice. She made a face and busied herself with her bagel.

This is how their mornings went, and it was a comfortable enough routine.

+++

“So listen,” Anna said. They were back in their seats in the passenger car. “The next stop is going to be a long one, apparently there’s a delay further up the tracks and they’re holding us at this next station for a few hours.”

“Yes, I know this. I heard the announcement too.” Elsa mused

“Yeah ok but listen, they said 4 plus hours right? So I googled things around there and I found this!” she handed Elsa her phone, on it was a photo of a waterfall with text below that mentioned a hiking trail.

“I don’t hike, plus I don’t think we have time anyway.” “We wouldn’t BUT! This,” she jabbed the phone screen. “Is a 10-minute walk from the station. See it’s part of a hiking trail but the station itself is a rest stop for the trail. So we’re going.”

There was that commanding presence coming out again. If the waterfall was so close to the station itself, Anna did have a point. So Elsa agreed.

An hour or so later they were stepping off the train onto a dusty brick platform. To call this a station was being generous. There was a small building, which contained two single restrooms, and one vending machine that looked like it hadn’t been serviced in years.

A soft hand grabbed Elsa’s forearm and she found herself being pulled away from the building and towards the beaten path to the waterfall.

+++

“You know, when I left home. No one checked on me. No one text or calls. Not even from my would-be husband.”

“Not text or even a Facebook message?”

“Nope.” Elsa left out a sigh. “I’m not surprised honestly. People say I’m difficult to get to know. At the wedding, the bride’s side was nearly empty. The few people over there just sat there because the groom’s side was full and they wanted a better view.”

Anna picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the stream, it made a soft plop sound before sinking below the surface. “Why did you guys want to get married then?”

“Well,” Elsa chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “When you’re in business people expect things from you. It’s incredibly outdated and sexist too. But you’re expected to have a wife or a husband, expected to have children, expected to own a home, or at least rent somewhere nice. Have a good, clean car, new tech, nice clothes. All those things.”

She paused to copy Anna’s move with the pebble but missed the water completely, the small stone disappearing somewhere in the woods.

“We met at a company gathering and didn’t hate each other. Our drinks were the same, we watched the same evening news, had the same mild interest in the local sports team. It was enough to bolster a conversation. We started dating a few weeks later.”

“What about the wedding?”

Elsa laughed or at least made a sound that was like a laugh. “We had been dating for 2 years. And when I saying dating, I mean we were each other’s plus one to events, and we had dinner together at the nice restaurants. He was up for a promotion, asked if I wanted to get married and I agreed.”

“Wait what, he didn’t romantically propose?”

“No, we were never really intimate. A kiss here and there, maybe a night over to relieve stress. But if I’m honest, we spent most of our time apart and doing our own thing.”

Anna picked up a stick and picked at the bark, her brows pulled together and the ghost of a frown on her face.

“Did you love him?” she asked quietly

Elsa didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to turn her attention to the waterfall. Finally, after a few long minutes of silence, she answered. “No. No, I didn’t love him. And I would bet everything I own that he didn’t love me either.”

This time Anna sighed and scooted closer to Elsa. “You deserve to be loved, Elsa.”

“I’m not sure I even know what love is.”

Anna stood and walked in front of her field of view. Hands on her hips. “Sure you do!”

Elsa responded by standing and making a face.

“Elsa love isn’t a contract, it’s not a business proposal. It’s work and it’s hard but it also good and warm. Love is telling someone about your day and them listening and offering advice. Love is watching a movie together and laughing at the stupid parts. Love is holding someone while they’re sick and telling them dumb jokes to make them feel better. Love is a lot of things, but what love isn’t is convenient.”

“He was very convenient…”

“But was he love?”

“No.”

Anna reached out and took Elsa’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s okay, you know? You’re going to be okay. Fresh coast, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start?” Elsa repeated, confused.

“Yeah, you’re moving to the West Coast, fresh coast, to start anew, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start.” Elsa said again, “You know what, I like that.”

Anna beamed and that warm feeling prickled on the back of Elsa’s neck again.

+++

“So we have the colors all picked out, purple and green. And my dress is white but it’s ever so slightly green like it will catch the light, it’s so pretty.” Anna said. They were back in the dining car, having just finished dinner. About a week had passed since the waterfall adventure and train was rolling again. This time outside the window the fields were broken by large rocks and streams. Anna had her phone out, swiping through photos of her wedding prep.

“You sound excited,” Elsa commented, taking a sip of wine.

“Oh, I am! It’s going to be a lot of fun…” Anna looked up suddenly and stared right at Elsa. “You should come!”

“You don’t have to invite me.”

“Oh please, we’re like practically sisters at this point. Like I know what brand of tampon you used and I know that you snore when you sleep.”

“That’s… that’s a weird thing to know.”

“Elsa, everyone snores, pay attention, I’m forwarding you the rsvp so you can fill out what type of food you want.”

Elsa had to smile as she pulled out her phone to answer the email. “What a strange trip this has been. One day I’m running from my own wedding, and now I’m getting invited to a stranger’s.”

“Not a stranger, a friend,” Anna added, smiling warmly.

“A friend,” Elsa repeated, genuinely returning Annan’s smile.

“You know I was just sitting in the dining car, having a coffee and playing a pointless game on my phone. When I suddenly just felt this pull to leave. And I followed it blindly till I saw you. Then it’s like everything clicked. I think we were meant to find each other.”

Elsa was quiet for some time, considering this. Anna had swooped into her field of vision and hadn’t left since. And for once she didn’t mind the company. That warm feeling was back and with it, Elsa found herself agreeing. “I think we were meant to find each other too.”

+++

In the morning they would be arriving in San Francisco and would be going their separate ways. It was likely they wouldn’t see each other again. Sure, they had exchanged numbers - but in a city of 3 million people, it was easy to lose a single soul.

She didn’t want to lose Anna though. This blaze of a woman who dared to knock down Elsa’s walls with a bulldozer. She had never really had a close friend, and as Anna, asleep on her shoulder, stirred in response to a dream - Elsa couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it felt like to be loved.

Anna shifted, reaching out her hand, searching for something. Fingers moved with a purpose, slowly curling and uncurling until their ship reached the harbor. And she wrapped them around Elsa’s hand, holding firmly, as if she was once again reading Elsa’s mind and was too, afraid to let her go.

Elsa decided then and there, that this time would be different. This time she wouldn’t close the door on someone. She gave Anna’s hand a slight squeeze, causing Anna to nestle into the old woman’s neck.

Elsa turned to watch the lights from the city fade into the darkness of the desert. Her neck was warm and this time it traveled down and warmed her whole body. She ran a thumb over Anna’s hand and smiled.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Knitting

Summary: Ford finally musters up the courage to ask Mabel to teach him something he desperately wants to learn.

Requested by both @starpossum and @3hobbitsinatrenchcoat. Thank you both so much, and I hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had no reason to be so nervous as he stood as stiff as a board and tried to steady his racing heart, but he was. Maybe not as nervous as he was to walk into the principal’s office alone or when he was about to present his project to the college representatives, but a bit nervous. About what? Judgement? Rejection? But that was ridiculous! She was one of the most caring, open-minded, loving people Ford had ever met in his sixty years of living, in any dimension he had come across. Surely he was about to enter a safe domain. Taking advantage of his sudden flock of courage, Ford pushed open the screen door and let it creak to warn his grandniece of his upcoming presence.

Mabel was sitting on the couch as the early-morning sun shined through the trees, just recently risen. Ford smiled at seeing the thirteen-year-old girl knitting quietly with Waddles asleep by her side, a perfect way to start the day. Mabel looked up and instantly made a huge grin at her grunkle; this wasn’t the first time the two early birds had graced each other with their presence and she hoped it wouldn't be the last. “Hi, Grunkle Ford!”

“Good morning, Mabel.” Ford sat by her side on the couch and looked down at her work. Like every morning, she was knitting a sweater. While most of the time she knitted for herself, occasionally she would knit for someone else. “What are you working on today?”

Mabel held up her half finished sweater, which was black with a skull on it, a bit edger than her usual taste and it certainly caught Ford by surprise. “I’m working on my Summerween daytime sweater. And I can wear this at the vampire concert I’m going to this Saturday.”

“Oh,” Ford said and shrugged with a smile. “Well, be sure to eat something with lots of garlic before you go.”

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Stan already promised that he’ll make spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner that night.”

Ford chuckled lightly, “That should keep you safe,” and ruffled her hair gently. Silence fell between them comfortably as Mabel worked blindly, her eyes admiring nature at it’s finest, and Ford did the same, though his mind was elsewhere.

This was stupid. This was preposterous. This was ridiculous. This was ludicrous. This was absurd. Suddenly he was almost too apprehensive to talk to his own family, but why? Surely it wasn’t due to a lack of bravery; he had faced thousands of monsters and even an all-knowing braid demon. No, the fact was that Ford was far more afraid of the smallest possibility that Mabel would turn him down or laugh or deny his request than he was afraid of anything in the Multiverse. But really, the possibility that Mabel would say no was laughable, so he steadied himself with a quiet intake of breath and said quietly to have her attention, “Mabel?”

“Uh, huh.” She said and looked up at him and even paused her knitting to give him her undivided attention. Ford somewhat wished she hadn’t.

He cleared his throat and tugged at his turtleneck a little to try to make it easier to breathe. “Would it be… erm, I mean, I understand you’re a very busy young lady, but… I-I-I would be honored if you would find… um, I mean, if you would take the time to walk me through the details on how to create sweaters by hand.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. Ford misread her facial expression and quickly looked away. He could feel heat rising in his face uncomfortably. “You… want me to teach you how to knit?”

“Of course, I understand if you don’t want to, I fully anticipated that you would much rather…”

“GRUNKLE FORD, I WOULD LOVE TO!” Mabel threw herself into Ford, catching him by surprise, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting almost a year for this moment! I’m so happy you wanna learn how to knit! What made you wanna learn?!”

“Oh,” Ford was still slightly too flustered to communicate properly, but he tried. “I… I suppose you inspired me t-to give it a try, y-y-you know?”

Mabel squeezed him and then let go to grin at him “Well then you came to the right gal! Give me a second, I’ll be right back with everything!” And very soon she was gone.

Ford smiled at himself, feeling a bit stupid. Of course Mabel would be delighted in teaching a loved one how to perform a task she had mastered. But still, he had been waiting to ask her for so long now and had built up the moment in his head that of course his insecurities would ram their ugly head.

Mabel came back with a suitcase filled to the brim and a messenger bag over her shoulder that was decorated with buttons. Ford raised an eyebrow as Mabel let the suitcase sit on the floor and she zipped it open. He was amazing to find dozens of balls of yarn arranged in rainbow order in the suitcase.

“Okay! It’s very important when you knit to work with colors you like.” Mabel instructed as she sat next to him on the couch. “You’re going to be looking at your yarn for a long time, you don’t wanna pick a color you’re gonna get sick of, so pick any color you want!”

“That makes sense.” Ford complimented and held his cleft chin in thought. There were so many colors it was like he was at a craft store. One caught his eye and he happily picked up a blue ball of yarn with white freckles in it. “I think I’ll use this one.”

“Oo! That’s pretty! Okay,” Mabel picked up a dark-green ball of yarn and rested it in her lap. She rummaged through her messenger bag, which from the soundso fi t was full of knitting needles, and she pulled out a pair of orange average-sized needles. “There’s different sizes of needles for what you wanna make, but this is a good beginner’s set. You can keep them if you want.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Ford said, quite excited now that he had the materials he needed to work. “So how do we make a sweater?”

Mabel giggled innocently and elbowed the sleeping pig. “Waddles, you hear that, Grunkle Ford is so cute.” She stopped her laughing to gently guide her student. “Sweaters are really hard, you have to master knitting first before you do something that complicated. The best thing to knit first is a scarf or maybe a hat if you’d rather make a hat.”

“Oh.” Ford did feel a little foolish to think one could go from not knowing how to knit to making sweaters, but he smiled was was excited to learn how to make several articles of clothing. “Very well, I think a scarf would be perfect!”

“Great!” Mabel picked up her ball of yarn and said, “First, you wanna find the tail, it’s usually tucked inside… right there, perfect! Now unwind some, you’ll need a few feet to get started. That’s good, perfect! Now, I’ll go ahead and warn you, getting started is harder than the actual knitting, so if you can get the ball rolling you’ll be gold!”

“Okay, so…”

“Right. First, you wanna make a rainbow… yes! Now cross the ends over like this… good! Then, you see this part of the string? Pinch your fingers, poke them through, grab that part, and pull it through. That’s it, you’re got it! That’s the main hoop, you put it through your needle and pull it tight, like this.”

Together the pair hooked on their first hoop and Mabel smiled proudly. “Good, now grab the long part of the yarn, not the tail, that’s the one! Now what you wanna do is twist it around your fingers, like this.” And Mabel demonstrated it on her hand. Thankfully it mostly consisted of her thumb and pointer finger, so Ford was able to copy it exactly. “Yes, good, now do you see this little hole? Just gently poke your needle through, and pull it off. Watch.” Mabel showed Ford what to do and Ford carefully copied her. He was delighted to see he successfully made another loop, and so he did it again and again.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner!”

“Well I had an amazing teacher.” Ford complimented.

Mabel blushed and said, “Okay, so these loops are how wide the scarf will be, see? So the more loops you make, the thicker it’ll be, so when it’s thick enough you stop. Don’t forget, yarn is fluffy, so it’ll be thicker than this first row.”

Ford nodded to show his understanding and thought of how thick he wanted the scarf. He made about twenty or so loops and then said, “I think that’s good?” He gave her a look that matched his questionable tone perfectly.

Mabel looked down at his work and grinned and nodded. “That looks great! Your scarf is gonna look so cute! Right, now to learn how to knit! This is a pretty basic stitch, but it’s a universal… nevermind, it’s an interdimensional stitch.” She joked. “Once you learn this you know the basics on how to make a bunch of stuff.”

“Okay, got it.” Ford held his opposite needle, excited to learn how Mabel can make clothes like magic by simply hitting two sticks together.

“Now, you see that big hole? The one the loop made?” Mabel asked, and when Ford nodded, she instructed, “Put your needle through that, just a little. Good, now loop the yarn around the new needle. Perfect! Now watch, this is the tricky part. There’s a second, smaller hole you need to pull your new needle through to make the knot. It’s right between the needle and the new loop. You poke it through, and pull. Watch me a few times, okay? You poke, loop, poke, and pull. Poke, loop, poke, and pull.”

“Hm,” Ford watched Mabel make a few stitches and tried to understand the smaller hole she was talking about. He gave it a try and thought he found the hole, but it was too tight and he couldn’t move his needle. He tried it again and found a looser hole he could work it, and when he pulled it made a stitch just like Mabel’s. Ford grinned and tried it again and was delighted to find it could do it successfully more than once. “I think I’ve got it…”

“You do!” Mabel watched him knit a few stitches and hugged him around the neck again. “I’m so proud of you, wow! Look at you go! Now just be careful not to split the yarn, like that. See, it’s okay, just unhook it, there you go. Now you just gotta do that over and over again. It’s kinda like typing, it’s easier the more you do it. Pretty soon you’ll be able to knit without looking!”

“Wow, this is incredible.” Ford marveled as he finished his first line and ran a finger over the stitches; it looked and felt like something Mabel would have made. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome!” Mabel said as she knitted. “I’m just so happy you wanted to learn. Gotta be honest, I thought you’d never wanna knit.”

“Why is that?” He asked, generally curious as to why she would assume that. Had he accidentally given the wrong impression on the activity?

“Dipper tried it once and hated it.” Mabel giggled, but then looked kinda sad at the memory. “I tried to teach him, but he didn’t like the way he had to hold the needles and he couldn’t find the holes and eventually he got frustrated and quit. We hadn’t even finished the first lesson and he decided it wasn’t a Dipper-thing.”

Ford smiled sympathetically and guessed, “And so you predicted that it wouldn’t be a Ford-thing?”

Mabel shrugged apologetically and smiled sheepishly at him. “You and Dipper do like a lot of the same stuff.”

“It’s true that we’re very similar,” Ford admitted. “But we’re not complete copies of each other. I’m just grateful that one bad experience with a student hadn’t caused you to turn down another.” He smiled at her kindly and Mabel giggled and shook her head.

“Never ever. I’m glad you wanted to learn. I just hope you didn’t only wanna learn to spend time with me or cuz you thought I’d want you to. Not that I don’t wanna spend time with you! I do, but I want you to do stuff cuz you think it’s fun, you know?”

“No no, I understand.” Ford nodded. “I truly did want to try to make sweaters and scarfs and hats. It’s true that you inspired me, but I generally was intrigued by the activity and wanted to give it a try.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Mabel said matter-of-factly and gently stopped Ford when he made an incorrect knot and helped him fix it.

As the morning waned on and the day dragged on, despite Mabel leaving to do other things, Ford stayed on that couch knitting. He was very slow and constantly made mistakes, but he felt like he was getting the hang of it and he was having so much fun and was determined to finish what he had in mind. While all he had said to Mabel was true, there was another reason why he had wanted to learn how to knit so badly.

Mabel let his uncle enjoy the new hobby and occasionally praised him and reminded him that if he needed help all he had to do was ask. She said goodnight to him as he continually knitted on that couch and she requested that he not pull an all-nighter. Ford promised he wouldn’t, so Mabel went into her shared bedroom with Dipper for the evening.

The next morning Mabel was yawning into her hand as she cheerfully walked to the kitchen for some orange juice. She was surprised and disappointed to find her Grunkle Ford sipping coffee at the table. Just by looking at his eyes and the way he was sitting and inhaling the coffee Mabel could tell that Ford did not get a full-night’s rest.

“Grunkle Ford, you promised me you wouldn’t pull an all-nighter.” She scolded.

“I didn’t. I just woke up from a nap.” Grunkle Ford said cheerfully. “And good morning to you, as well.”

Mabel rolled her eyes at his cheekiness and she asked, “And how long was your nap?”

“Half an hour.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel whined.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” Ford chuckled amusingly. “But I was working on something very important.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” She asked as she opened the fridge.

“How about a gift for my favorite niece?”

Mabel turned around with the carton of juice in her hand and stared as Ford pulled a wrapped present up from his lap and onto the table.

Mabel had a tradition of making sweaters for Ford and wrapping them and placing them on his couch-made-bed. She would use tons of glitter and a big bow and would sometimes cut the wrapping paper too short and have to cut a second piece to tape over the hole. When Stan and Ford were out sailing and Mabel had to mail them the blankets and sweaters and hats and scarves and gloves and socks she had made them, she filled each and every box with glitter and included handmade cards and drawings and she always put everything she got into her gifts. As you can imagine, when Mabel caught wind that they were sailing in the Arctic Ocean, she was terrified of her favorite old people in the world getting cold and she made it her life;s mission to keep them warm even if she couldn’t hug them.

Ford desperately wanted to do the same for her. In his mind it was so unfair that she had never experienced the overwhelming joy of having someone make something so beautiful just for you. Ford wanted to make something for her he knew she loved and to take the time to wrap it and make it nice for her and to give it to her, not for a holiday or celebration, but just because she deserved it and Ford wanted to do something nice for her.

Mabel put the orange juice on the counter and slowly walked to the table. The present was wrapped in holiday wrapping paper that had reindeer and pine trees all over it. Ford’s math skills really came in handy, seeing how the present was beautifully wrapped, but it had a huge red bow on it and Ford used his really pretty cursive handwriting to spell out on a tag, “For my beautiful Mabel.” Mabel almost felt as if the gift was too pretty to unwrap. Almost. With trembling hands she quietly tore the paper for the gift while Ford rested his cheek on his knuckles and soaked in that star-struck look on Mabel’s face. Totally worth it.

Ford felt a small twinge of worry that she wouldn’t like the gift, but he quickly shoved that away. He wasn’t going to let his insecurities ruin this for himself. Mabel gasped and covered her mouth with shiny brown eyes as she stared at the gift. Really, compared to what Mabel could have done, it was half-decent at best. But it was still a nice scarf. Sure, there is an imperfection here and there, and the ends of the clothing material were bland with no fancy tassel or anything. It was clearly homemade, but the blue yarn was still pretty and the stitches were well made. Not bad for a first attempt, really not bad at all.

However, for Mabel, that scarf was the best gift she had ever received. Ford was startled to see her crying, legitimately crying with sobs behind her hand and tears rolling down her face. “Oh no, Mabel, my dear, don’t cry. It’s alright.”

“It’s so… so beautiful.” Mabel croaked and let Ford scoop her up into his arms. His warm chuckle rumbled against her chest as Ford rubbed circles into her back and she held him tightly. It was stupid to be crying over a scarf, but Mabel knew she wasn’t just crying over the scarf. She sniffed and wiped her tears on Ford’s red sweater and huffed, “Y-You did such a g-g-good job. It’s s-s-so… so pretty.”

Ford’s face felt like it was on fire. He did rinse off when he had finished shaving with fire, right? “Well, credit should be given where credit is due. I learned that all from you, sweetheart.”

Mabel hiccuped a giggle through her tears. It took a moment or two for her to calm down, overwhelmed with gratitude and love, and eventually she wiped her face dry with a tissue Ford had given her and she gently scooped up the blue scarf with white freckles and wrapped it around her neck proudly. “I-I-Is this how I make you guys feel?” She asked.

Ford chuckled and shrugged. “As a matter-of-fact, yes.”

Mabel hugged her scarf and giggled, “Then maybe I should stop.”

Despite the fact that it was obviously a joke, Ford grabbed her by the arms and begged very seriously, “Please don’t ever stop.”

From that day forward Mabel didn’t take off the scarf. Ever. Ford was a little embarrassed when she wore it to bed and wore it with her sweaters and skirts, but he was mostly very thankful she loved it so much. If it was too hot she would rather take off her sweater and wrap it around her waist than take off her gift, and once when she was having a bad day Dipper caught her in Scarfville instead of Sweatertown. When the summer ended Dipper sent the grunkles the new high-schoolers’ first day of school picture and Mabel proudly wore her grunkle’s scarf with her legging, skirt, and t-shirt.

Ford continually worked to improve his knitting and by the time summer came to a close Mabel was able to teach him how to knit a sweater. It took a lot of practice to get it right, but he was immensely proud when he could finally mail her a beautiful sweater that had a Milky Way galaxy on it. Ford was delighted when she texted a picture of her wearing it with a wet smile on her face and the fluffy gifts between the two just kept coming.

[wishingforatypewriter]

“Don’t disturb me. I’m on the threshold of salvation.” for sorina please🙇‍♂️

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Souma asked as he grabbed their luggage from the baggage carousel at Narita. “I can take the two of you home and then leave in the morning.”

“There’s no sense in that. It’s already late,” Erina said as she adjusted her grip on their three-month-old. “We’ll all go to the...” She paused. “Was it a baby shower?” 

“A retirement party,” he explained, not for the first time. “For Tomita-san. He’s been chairman of the neighborhood organization for longer than I can remember.” 

“I see.” Erina nodded, intrigued. Neighborhood organization? The working class truly were a democratic bunch. “Should I ask Kanon to put together a gift basket?” 

“Nah, I already got a gift,” he told her, grinning. It seemed that Erina had underestimated how much he wanted to show their son off in his hometown. 

“And who, exactly, is going to be there?” Erina tried hard to remember which of his middle school classmates had been at their wedding, but no one in particular came to mind. 

“The whole town, basically. Everyone’s gonna be excited to see you. The grandmothers are always asking how you’re doing.” 

“Really?” Erina asked, perplexed. “Why?” 

Souma turned to her then, after he finished helping the driver load their belongings into the back of a taxi. “You married into their community, so they see you as one of us now.” 

Despite herself, Erina smiled a bit at the notion. To think there were strangers who would care for her without any real knowledge of the the Nakiri Group or the god tongue. It was a warming thought on the chilly February night, and she resolved to try her best to enjoy her time in the Sumiredori Shopping District. 

The next afternoon, when Souma brought her to the third-rate event space at which the gathering would be held, only one though was running through Erina’s mind. Don’t make a face. Don’t make a face. Don’tmakea—

“Erina, I know it’s not the Totsuki Royal, but you don’t have to look at it like that.” 

“Like what?” she snapped, annoyed by her thwarted efforts. 

“Like you’re heading to the gallows,” he said. “Just relax. It looks better on the inside.” 

It did. Marginally. And as soon as they crossed the threshold, a throng of people crowded around them, asking when they got in and how long they were staying and whether they’d open up the diner for a few days. 

Souma took all of their questions in stride, exchanging hugs and handshakes, while Erina marveled at the fact that their son had managed to stay asleep despite all the noise. 

Before she could blink, her husband had been recruited to help carry more chairs in—Seriously? Where was the event staff?—and he commended her into the care of a short haired woman named Kurase. 

“It’s good to see you again, Erina-san,” Kurase said with a smile so genuine, Erina felt bad for not remembering when they had met before. “And this must be Raiden.” 

“Oh, he’s so adorable!” gushed another woman who looked to be about their age. “But how is he sleeping through all this?”

“He’s a little jet-lagged,” Erina explained. “We got in from California late last night.”

“Wow,” Kurase said. “Only three months old and he’s already been to America? Was that his first international trip?” 

“No...this would be his fourth, I think.” Erina, paused, trying to remember which one had been his first. “We took him to Paris when he was about a month old. It was Madrid after that, and then Sydney.” 

“What a little jet-setter,” Not-Kurase said. 

Actual Kurase nodded. “He’ll probably have a full passport by his first birthday.” Then her gaze fell upon a group of older women who had gathered at a table towards the back. “Look Aki-chan, Erina-san, the knitting circle is getting together.” 

“Perfect timing.” Not Kurase, whose name was apparently Aki, winked conspiratorially at Erina. “If you show this cutie to them you won’t have to worry about buying him any hats or scarves next winter. Let’s go!” 

With that, Erina was ferried over to the matriarchs of this strange—albeit very friendly—community. 

The elders’ table overflowed with spools of brightly colored yarn and silver knitting needles. There were half-finished pieces—sweaters, scarves, socks—in every size sticking out of the women’s bags and spread over the table for the critique of their fellows. 

“Oh, Mayu,” a woman who appeared to be an older Kurase said. “You brought Erina-chan. Good timing. I was wondering what to do about the booties.”

“Booties?” Erina asked, perplexed. 

The older Kurase-san gave a gentle smile and pulled out a half-finished pair of baby shoes in blue yarn. “Can I see his foot to get the size?”

“Of course.” Erina carefully unswaddled her son and allowed the woman to fit him for the adorable booties. “Thank you so much for thinking of us. This is so unexpected.”

“We weren’t sure what you were missing, so we started on a little bit of everything,” another of the elders said to her, revealing a tiny hat that matched the booties. “Your mother and grandmother probably made a lot already, but it never hurts to have extra.” 

A cold feeling pierced Erina at the mention of her mother. She had not heard from Nakiri Mana at all since the baby was born. “My mother...isn’t exactly the domestic type,” she said. 

“Tamako-chan couldn’t knit at all either,” a third woman said, shaking her head at the thought of this critical deficit. “The cycle ends here. Sit down, Erina-chan. We’ll teach you.” 

When Souma found her an hour later, the neighborhood elders were patiently explaining how to choose the appropriate needles for a given type of yarn, and helping her cast on for her first scarf. 

“Everything alright with you ladies?” he asked, enchanting the knitting circle with his easy charm and wide grins. He took Raiden back from the arms of the older Kurase-san and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.  

Erina, for her part, scowled at him. He’d just messed up her loop! “Don’t disturb me,” she said. “I’m on the threshold of salvation.” 

“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said with something like relief in his honey eyes. “Do you still want to head home right after this?”

“I wouldn’t mind staying for the weekend,” she said, and felt surprised that it was true. 

[efrmellifer]

Dulcis Somnia

Etien woke with a groan, pleased to be on her side this time, but pleased with little else.

She rolled to the other side, burrowing under the covers and more firmly under Aymeric’s arm again, tips of her ears brushing his throat and the underside of his chin.

“You don’t move this much at night,” he mumbled. “Is it morning already?”

“Not that you can tell by the light,” she replied. “The weather is shi—” she cleared her throat— “certainly unpleasant. I’ve never been so glad I don’t have to go anywhere.” She hunkered down even further.

He hummed. “But I still do.”

“I know, darling. I’m sorry. Do you want me to walk with you? You won’t have to brave it alone.”

“You were just saying how glad you were that you had nowhere to be.”

She tipped her head, trying to look at him, pinned though she was. “A walk to the Congregation is nothing. Or are you starting with the House of Lords today?”

The playful disgust was audible in his voice as he told her, “Oh, please don’t remind me.”

“House of Lords it is, then,” Etien giggled.

“You can stay here,” Aymeric said finally. “Here, where it’s warm and you won’t twist your ankle on the ice.”

“If you insist.” She shrugged slightly.

Finally opening his eyes to the bedroom, not even half-filled with the weak light of an overcast morning, he kissed her forehead, then her lips. “I do.”

“All right, then. Get dressed, I’ll make you something to eat before you go.”

Aymeric sat up, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. “You know, you have been more concerned with that lately. I used to have to convince you to have something, even on mornings off.”

No longer held down, Etien slid from the bed, folding over the covers. “I have the time—and cause, really—to be sure I eat, and I’m extending it to you. I should never have taken such poor care of myself out there.” She came around the bed, running the backs of her knuckles over his cheek. “And neither should you now.”

He sighed, though more out of determination to leave the warmth of the bed than in frustration with Etien. “Oh, fine. Nothing too heavy, please.”

“Oh, so no cream in your coffee?”

“Who am I, Estinien?”

Etien chuckled, stepping out of the room and padding down the hall in her new slippers.

“Do you have everything?” she asked as Aymeric rose from the table not much later.

“I believe so,” he murmured. “What is there for me to forget?”

With a pleasant smile, she shrugged, getting up herself to follow him to the door. “I just know I tended to forget things here now and then. My eye mask, a pair of gloves.”

Aymeric stopped walking. “Were those not on purpose?”

“The gloves were, the eye mask was not. Gods, trying to sleep in eternal light was… a trial all its own.”

“Had I known it had been a mistake, I would have flagged down that pixie to bring it back with them.”

“Feo would have called you sentimental and doting.”

With a squeeze of her hand, he replied, “A small price to pay, if you would have slept easier.”

“You’re going to be late, Lord Speaker.”

“I suppose so. I’ll see you later, Etien.”

Her lips quirked up just before she rolled onto her toes, grasping at Aymeric’s clothing to hold herself up and give him a kiss goodbye. “Not if I see you first.”

_

When Aymeric got home, it was to the image of Etien surrounded by knitting, a wide square of powder blue spread over her lap, yarn trailing from the carved bowl at her feet.

The rhythm of the needles clicking together and the motion of her hands as she worked through a stitch were strangely calming, even when he’d only watched them for a moment.

“Before you ask, it doesn’t tangle if I keep it down there,” she said without lifting her eyes from the needlework.

“What… is that?” Aymeric asked. “I know you’ve been working on something rather big—two of them, unless it changes colors every so often.”

“This is a receiving blanket. This one is almost done, and its twin will stay unfinished until this one is complete. Switching back and forth was driving me up the wall.”

Aymeric picked up the yarn bowl, pulling on the yarn to keep it from tangling while he fed it to Etien’s fingers. “Was there something different about it that was giving you trouble?”

“Not exactly. It was the starting over from the same point every time, I think. I would start with a half-done blanket, get it to three-quarters, and then swap to a half-finished one again.” She was quiet for a moment. “That, and struggling with the yarn. The bowl helps, but yarn is still finicky.”

He dug his fingers into the skein, pulling on the loose end some more before winding it through the indent in the bowl again.

“When you finish that row, would you still be amenable to taking a walk with me, like you offered to earlier?”

She smiled, needles clicking all the faster as she tried to finish up the last few stitches quickly, rising from the loveseat to put on her coat and boots.

When she returned to the drawing room, all dressed for the outdoors, Aymeric chuckled before pressing himself up to go put his outerwear back on.

_

The Central Highlands were quiet. The stillness was what they needed, both still in their thoughts as they walked.

Their hands, woven together, kept them tethered as they crunched through the snow, the only other sounds they were taking notice of the bleating of wandering karakul.

“I love karakul,” Etien murmured out of the blue.

“Well, you certainly love eating karakul,” Aymeric responded.

She turned to look at him. “Growing up in the Twelveswood, you learn to appreciate birdsong and roast fowl in equal measure, because the forest can give you both if you’re kind. Tenuous relationship with the Elementals notwithstanding. So I like watching the karakul trot around, and I like roast karakul when it’s on the menu.”

He laughed. “That is a good point. I think Ishgard as a whole forgets what it was like when we weren’t having to fight the land for what we need from it.”

“Camp Cloudtop was having quite a bit of success with the pumpkins,” Etien offered.

“Thanks to you, your knowledge, and your onion-gathering.”

She smiled. “I do what I can.”

Aymeric squeezed Etien’s hand. “And you have been able to do much for us.”

They continued on in silence, their loose grip on each other tightening, drawing them closer together as the sun sank lower in the sky. The tracks of their footprints converged at a point or two, conveying just how close they were walking now, voices low as the light above them began to fade, stars twinkling in the darkest spots.

The sun had gone, but light still clung to the horizon, a glow like dying embers even as the pinpoints of  constellations made themselves apparent.

Aymeric stopped, looking up. “Looking at the sky now, who would have thought it was so dim and dull earlier?”

Etien lifted her gaze to the sky, shielding her eyes, and nodded with a low hum. “But what an excuse to stay in bed it could have been. Skies like this make you come out and see them.”

“Seen a lot of these skies, have you?”

She was quiet for a long time, counting the stars, or maybe connecting them with her eyes. “Not these skies. Thanalan’s skies, Limsa’s skies they use to navigate the waters—same in the Ruby Sea and onward with the stars of the far east. I’ve been looking at the skies over The Black Shroud since I was old enough to tip my head back. And there were the skies of Norvrandt, striking because the deep blue was such a contrast to the light.” She sighed. “But I feel like I rarely get a good look at the skies over Coerthas. Maybe because we’re up at dawn or a little after, when the stars have already been put away for the day. But even if I’d seen this a thousand times, it’s always better with someone you love.”

Aymeric bent, kissing her briefly. “And better still reflected in your eyes.”

They kept walking. Even when snow started falling, they trod on.

“But speaking of the skies over Limsa,” Etien said finally.

“What of them?”

“I’ve been thinking, about my mother and… it’s silly.”

“Dearest, some of the thoughts you call silly are the most interesting things I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh. Thank you. I had been thinking, I’m the oldest of my parents’ children, so I had wondered what sort of mental state my mother was in, when she was having me. Her family was a bunch of seafarers, and she had even convinced my father—er, you know—to do a little traveling before they settled down in Alder Springs. Again, for him. So, did I put a stop to that? What might they have done if not for me?”

“A thought-provoking concept, but not something you could ever find an answer to, is it?”

“I suppose not.” Etien slowed to a stop. “I still think about it, though.”

“To the point of guilt?”

Etien sighed. Caught. “Not yet. I would hate to have been the thing that killed her dreams, though.”

“Why could you not be a new dream?” Aymeric asked, tipping his head to get a better look at her. “If you were, it would have happened more than once.”

Her eyebrows knit. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he replied simply, guiding her under a tree. “Because it happened to me, as well.”

Etien’s eyes just widened as she searched for words.

“For lack of a better way to explain, I wanted you to enjoy the new Ishgard you had helped create. I wanted to enjoy it with you,” he told her. “I had once been ready to die for the changes I wanted to enact, as well you know.” He absently rubbed at his wrist. “But I much prefer satisfying this new desire. It, like the stars, is better with someone I love.”

Etien leaned fully back against the tree they were sheltered under, gently tugging Aymeric to her. “Ishgard wouldn’t be home without you.”

“It would no longer be Ishgard without you,” he rebutted before closing the gap between them, lifting Etien from the snowy ground to negate the difference between her height and his.

Even with them so close now, he waited for her to make the next move. He could have simply claimed her lips, and in fact he rather wanted to. But how long had he waited for her, over and over? The space of a few breaths was nothing. If all she wanted to do was gaze down at him with love in her eyes, that would also suit him, in truth.

But she let her eyes slip closed, leaning in to press her lips to his, and utterly relaxing into his arms when he reciprocated.

For some time, the snow fell and they exchanged kisses, the longer liplocks broken up with tiny pecks across each other’s cheeks and planted on foreheads.

But as Aymeric was lowering Etien to put her feet on the ground again, he whispered, “You have naught to fear of killing dreams. I will do my best to ensure all yours come true, and as for mine, you’ve already fulfilled many of them. You still do.”

Arm in arm, they made their way home, living out dreams while still awake.

[wolftraps]

Does Sasha’s cat live in the archives and does Sasha live anywhere/crash over? Are there break rooms/hangout areas in the archives and if so what’re they like? Did the institute get renovated? Are there different parts of the institute made to be more comfortable to different entity-aligned employees? Do any avatars other than Oliver drop by to hang out? How’s Karolina? Do some avatars start getting to know each other because of their mutual acquaintance Jon Jarchiveist? How’s Sasha’s family?

Damn, you’re putting me through my paces on worldbuilding. (That’s not actually a complaint. Generally I like worldbuilding)

Okay, so, Sasha’s cat lives between her corridors and the Institute Library. It, like Sasha, is no longer allowed in the Archives for extended periods of time. Sasha technically doesn’t live anywhere, and technically could live anywhere. (she could, technically, be the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home) Doors fall under her purview, after all. When she just wants to not be a person, she’ll go into her halls and just kinda... become them.

The Institute still has the cafeteria, but there’s also a small break room on each floor. What they’re like depends entirely on what department and what entity uses them the most. The one used by the Library staff, for instance, who are all part eye, has a wall of TVs, all muted with subtitles. Also a whiteboard wall where they write fun facts and TILs. Meanwhile the administrative staff are mostly part Web. Their wall is full of dates and locations for interesting events or meetups, as well as a fair amount of gossip and networking requests. One of them jokingly brought in a bunch of yarn and crochet hooks and knitting needles and crocheted a spiderweb for one of the corners that Martin’s tarantula frequently hangs out in. The joke backfired and the supplies stayed because everyone else fucking loved it and now there’s a monthly stitch ‘n bitch.

Some parts of the Institute were renovated. Notably Artefact Storage, which was expanded a bit and got the segregated rooms to store by danger level. Thanks to the Vast and Spiral presence, the place is overall just a bit larger inside than out now. The biggest difference is things like the more comfortable office furniture and the updated and Web-installed computer network.

Due to Sasha’s presence, the Library (and the halls) are most comfortable for the Spiral-aligned. The Vast get roof access. The Buried kinda made their own room under the Archives, with stairs very carefully situated to there’s no chance of them actually disturbing anything in the Archives. All the windows have blackout curtains for the night shift, when the Dark-aligned come in. The Hunt usually go out if they’re feeling too stifled, but they also pretty much take over the courtyard. The Desolation are encouraged to go out if they feel stifled. The couple Flesh-aligned they have will hang out in the kitchen during non-meal times and everyone else Doesn’t Think About It.  Web and Eye people are pretty comfortable throughout. Though, on particularly stressful days, some of the Eye folk will quietly slip down into the Archives and sort the discredited pile for a little while. Jon rarely acknowledges them, but he knows they’re there, and it’s not like he wants to do that work.

Simon will drop in now and then. Literally, sometimes. One of the Lukases comes by once a year (whichever one opened Martin’s summons “invitation”) ostensibly to see how their money is being put to use before agreeing to continue providing funding. In actuality, it’s a reminder that everyone is happier if they keep paying Martin to leave them alone. As far as other avatars that we know from canon, none of them really drop by. Former Institute employees who left because they wanted to pursue other interests or devote themselves more to their non-Web or Eye patron, will often come back to visit, though. Sometimes even with a story for Jon.

Karolina kinda dropped off the face of the Earth. Or dropped under it, as the case may be. She’ll resurface in a statement Jon receives every now and then. Last he heard, it seemed like she was slowly making her way through all the less frequently-visited cave systems across Europe.

There have been some avatars pulled in by Daisy to give a statement, and released because they’re mostly non-lethal, that will run into each other now and then and commiserate about the Archivist. A lot of the more successful- though not necessarily more powerful- avatars are starting to be those produced by the Institute. And even after they move on to other things, they often keep in touch with each other.

Sasha’s dad died about a decade after she became the Distortion, and her mom 7 years after that. She attended both funerals discretely. She still hasn’t been officially declared dead, but she also hasn’t really been in touch since Becoming. Her siblings are all doing reasonably well. For a while, Liz was getting dangerously close to obsessed with finding Sasha, which was drawing Sasha dangerously close to Liz, so Sasha started sending postcards from the various places she abducts people from, and they exchange emails every now and then.

Between all of her siblings, she now has three nieces and two nephews. Their parents find it both odd and cute that, at some point or other, all of their children have had “Auntie Sasha” as one of their imaginary friends.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Riding carriages around the camp

For arts and crafts week we've been building carriages and testing them out. Edie, Jamila, Easton, and Anissa have come to visit the camp and help us build these fun rides. So not only we get to build a bunch of cool stuff, we also have a new appreciation for the beautiful scenery - an unexpected but super sweet bonus!

It's so good to see Edie and the others again after so long. The trip is kinda a big deal for Anissa as it's not easy for her to travel. Edie and Jamila reached out to me a few months ago to plan this outing, leaving things as open as possible in case something happens with Anissa.

The building carriages event was something separate that was kinda a spontaneous thing that happened to line up perfectly with the visit. Jamila and Edie love working on big projects together while Easton and Anissa help out so they were excited when I told them about arts and crafts week. Also, riding the carriages was a good way to get around the camp as well as explore outside the usual hangout spots.

I was (still am) surprised when Jamila messaged me and wanted to take Anissa out here. Out of all the places she could have gone, Anissa instead chose the camp. She had once told Jamila that she'd wanted to visit the camp someday and that they probably would've done it by now if it wasn't for her. That conversation stuck with Jamila for a long time and when things took a turn for Anissa, Jamila, Edie, and Easton wanted to make the most out of the time they have left with her.

Edie has been friends with Anissa and Jamila since they for as long as they can remember. During the summer the twins would join the Sperry family on their yearly trip to Edie's grandma's farm, which holds many of their favorite childhood memories. During the school year Edie was a frequent guest at the Amine household and the three would play together for hours, letting their imagination run wild. There, Edie was allowed to be carefree and not have to deal with constant criticism from her father.

As Edie got older, she became part of the Amine family. She and Anissa were often in the same class so they stuck together a lot. Jamila didn't mind being the third wheel as she was happy to be doing her own thing at home while the other two often went out and about. Even though it didn't look like it to the grown ups, Jamila never felt like she was left behind.

Then Easton came along and he too became an honorary member of the Amine family. The girls were ten when he was born, the youngest and only son in the Sperry family. Easton was born missing half his left leg so he wears a prosthetic and other than his father, everyone else treats him like normal. Out of all the siblings, he's the closest to Edie, always tagging along with her.

For a while every day was pretty much the same. Edie, Anissa, and Jamila would walk home from school, sometimes stopping by the Sperry house to bring Easton along if Edie's mom had her hands full. The three would do their homework while the twins's mom watched over Easton. Then Edie and Anissa would usually be playing on the tire swing while Jamila knitted on the porch and played with Easton. Sometimes Edie would bring her banjo along and played some songs while the twins sang along, a highlight during summer nights at the farm.

Their favorite thing to do together was playing pretend in the attic because everyone had something to do, even Easton. The girls would often pretend to be accomplished women with successful lives full of adventure. Anissa was the one with the most creative imagination, often making up funny stories that would leave the others rolling on the floor with laughter. She was great at improvising with Easton, who was happy to join in on the fun.

When the girls were twelve, Anissa's life changed forever. The girls were playing pretend as usual when Anissa complained about a headache that quickly grew worse. She was rushed to the hospital and in Jamila's words, that was the last time she and Edie saw the old Anissa. A blood vessel had burst in Anissa's brain, resulting in a stroke that left Anissa comatose for several days.

While the damage from the stroke was not as extensive as initially feared, Anissa was no longer the same. Edie and Jamila were determined to bring back the old Anissa, only to be disappointed when they got their hopes up too high. Anissa was still set on marching to the beat of her own drum, trying to prove her independence whenever she could, which further convinced Jamila and Edie that she was going to make a full recovery. It took a long time for the girls to accept that things would never go back to normal.

The whole ordeal made Edie and Jamila closer than ever. Edie would help the family care for Anissa and in turn lift Anissa's spirits up. When Anissa got stronger, Edie would bring Easton along and he too provided some much needed sunshine during a difficult time.  Edie's mom and sisters helped out a lot as well, making sure that the Amines were doing all right.

Edie, Jamila, and Anissa have always been a tight knit group. Although Anissa was made strides in her recovery, the effects of the stroke still linger. Jamila and Edie became Anissa's caretakers when the three moved in together, living about twenty minutes away from their old neighborhood. Both families agreed that it was good to give Anissa some degree of independence as by then she could take care of herself for most part and didn't need constant supervision.

In recent years, various complications arose, which was expected but that didn't make it any easier. Anissa was well known at the hospital as she was a miracle. She beat the odds not only by surviving but also by living. What happened to her was rare - her doctor told that in the hospital's two hundred year history, only three other kids suffered from the same condition. One died on the way to the hospital, another slipped into a coma and never woke up, and one lived for two years before suffering from another stroke. No matter what happens, at least one thing's certain - Anissa always marches to the beat of her own drum.

Anissa for the most part managed to live a somewhat independent life. She got her GED, was able to relearn various skills like playing the piano, reading, and cooking, - all which she documented on her blog: Searching for Anissa.

When I started making plans with Jamila and Edie, I later found myself re-reading Searching for Anissa. Reading the stories of the girls, from the recollections of simpler days in the farm to the struggles of everyday life - it's such a fascinating read. The blog's more like a memoir that's a work in progress with Anissa writing her thoughts out and Jamila and Edie contributing by filling in some of the gaps and sharing their own memories.

The blog hasn't been updating regularly for a couple years because life's been getting in the way. But this year Anissa's hoping to post something at least once a week as she wants to keep writing while she still can. In the past year she's had two mini strokes so her hands don't work as well anymore, making it difficult for her to do a lot of things. While she's sad that she can't type anymore, Anissa found it therapeutic to say her thoughts out loud as it helped her accept what lies ahead for her. In turn, her blog posts have been a lot more free flowing as she contemplates her uncertain future.

For now everyone's doing their best to make sure Anissa's comfortable. She's been doing well physically so that's good. Good thing we have carriages so Anissa can explore the camp and enjoy the scenery. Also, Jamila, Edie, and Easton had a lot of fun building the carriage as well as taking it out for a spin at Breezy Hollow.

At times it seemed like the camp was being taken over by carriages. We even managed to make a train by attaching a bunch of carriages together, which was a really fun way to travel! First, we visited the meadow where Jamila knitted a blanket and Edie took out her banjo. Since the weather was a bit chilly I wasn't sure how long we were gonna stay there but thanks to Jamila's blanket, we ended up hanging around for a while.

Then we went down the trail by the mountains, which went surprisingly smoothly as the carriages went by with little difficulty. At the forest we split up into two groups with Daisy Jane, Edie, and Easton going for a short hike in the mountains while I stayed with the twins. Anissa admired the scenery, taking in the sights, sounds, and textures around her while Jamila began knitting another blanket, creating intricate patterns with ease.

Something about the way Jamila knits makes me want to grab some yarn and needles and join her - which is why Edie and Easton have picked up the hobby too. I think it's because she makes it look so inviting, like a fun bonding activity if you want to spend some quality one on one time with someone. The way she knits - on one hand it's like she's a machine because of how much she's able to do in a short time, but on the other hand she totally gives off the vibe of someone who shows appreciation through thoughtful, handmade gifts that she puts her heart and soul into.

After that we passed through Shovelstrike Quarry, OK Motors, and Lost Lure Creek. At Saltwater Shores we hung out at the beach and set up a barbecue. It was too cold to go swimming but we sorta went boating with a carriage built by Whitney and Rolf that can travel on water. The barbecue was a good way to keep warm as it got pretty cold around midday.

Daisy Jane and I cuddled up in our new blankets that Jamila surprised us with. I swear, her hands are like magic when it comes to knitting! While she started another knitting project, Anissa and Easton took a walk down the beach and Edie played her banjo. Later the others joined us by the fire pit for a fun singalong and impromptu concert.

We were planning to head back to the main camp when Anissa said she was feeling up to seeing more of the camp. Since the day was still young and the weather was warming up a bit, we decided to head to Sunburst Island. Anissa got to sit back and enjoy the sunshine while the rest of us harvested coconuts and went bug catching.

Around evening we headed back to the camp, where the campers set up a bonfire to warm things up. Whitney, Goldie, and Rolf went foraging in the forest while testing out their carriages so they found a lot of tea leaves that were perfect for a chilly night like this. After a busy day of riding carriages around the camp, it was nice to cozy up in front of the fire with a warm cup of tea.

Tomorrow will be more of the same - testing out more carriages and exploring different parts of the camp. Thankfully the weather's gonna be much warmer so that gives us even more of an excuse to go sightseeing!

[insane-control-room]

Make a Claim

A collaborative work with the wonderful, incredible, lovely, @randomwriteronline (ilysm <<<333)

ao3 link here

inspired by her fic The Thought 

After a grave mistake, the doctor finally asks him, plain as day, to make their claim their own.

“I am at my wits end, Bandit!” Doc Carver muttered in a loss as he repaired the foolhardy puppet’s strings. “I have tried everything - letters, poems, offers to help him, repair him, even repainting his chipped coat! I cannot understand how a man can be so, so oblivious!”

Bandit did not say anything, merely sighing. He was used to the Doctor’s spiel at this point.

“And to add insult to injury...! After I repainted him, he hugged me, and I felt so overjoyed, but…” a noise of frustration broke out of the taller puppet’s mouth piece. “It was too short lived! And then he ran off, and I, like a coward, was too dumbfounded and startled to even try and go after him, so I didn’t follow. Ugh, that was just simply pathetic, wasn’t it, Bandit?”

“Dunno, doc,” he shrugged. “Never tried courtin’ someone, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Carver grumbled. “You know, you’re a great listener, Bandit.”

Looking into Bandit’s tired, cold, dead eyes, one could see that yes, he did in fact know he was a good listener, especially after having to hear these exact words being told to him a plethora of times. Far too many times, in his opinion. Doc had a bad habit of repeating himself, nearly as bad a habit as Banker’s natural stutter. But, honestly, Bandit did not really mind - it was comforting to have some sort of repetition, something natural and flowing, a familiar back and forth between the attempts at not dying any time he stepped outside of his few friends’ sight.

So he just stood, with the face of someone who was about to doze the hell off, as Carver grumbled away his woes and stitched his strings up. To the doctor's reminder to take care of himself, he replied with a firm thumbs up, and then he waddled awkwardly into what in an episode might have been the glorious sunset, but in this case was only another door through to the wild.

Leaving the good doctor alone. Wooden fingers drummed against the unpolished counter of his workstation, filling the deathly quiet world with a steady rhythm. An impatience filled his head, that constant nagging feeling to do something, anything. Instantly his thoughts turned to the Banker, the sweet, timid, scared Banker, and those thoughts curled around daring ideas and wishes like ivy growing steadily on an old house's wall; he shoved them away, just as the Banker had shoved him away. Yet they kept coming back, filling his mind over and over. Carver leaned against the wall heavily with the soft thud of wood on wood, rubbing at his face with a grumble. Another day, another lovesick time. He smiled wryly to himself, humoring his conundrum. A doctor's worst patient is themself, he concluded bitterly, and he could not heal his own aching heart, despite his biggest efforts. He slid down the wall, trying to quell his murmuring mind, so absolutely wanting, no, craving, no, needing another’s touch. Specifically, the gentle, shaky, newly restored touch of Banker. But it was not like he could just, just up and ask him! Oh, goodness, no! The gall, the audacity! Carver scowled, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then took out, picking up his saw to go out into the wild. He was running short on needle and thread anyways, especially with how often Bandit was getting himself de-stringed nowadays.

So he would return to his old place, murder decimate destroy harvest some aracknits, and pick up more thread.

On his way, he encountered a bank booth. He only got a glimpse of something - or rather, someone, a particular someone who wore a shirt of the same light blue as that of the sleeves he saw retreating into the dark right before leaving the place completely empty. Carver stared at the empty bank for a little, recalling the man that had been in it but moments before. Then, with a heavy, sorrowful sigh, he forced his legs to move past it. It would not have done much for either of them anyways, standing in front of each other, waiting for something to happen, and that yet, knowing their clashing natures, simply never would. Hefting his saw over his shoulder, he crept into Dead Man’s Gulch -- and then into the place he used to call home.

The sound of the spider-like creatures sent shivers up his wooden spine, the inebriating thrill of the hunt filling his chest. He forced himself to keep calm and still his nerves, knowing the adrenaline rushing in what he could consider veins would only give him shaky hands, like those of the Banker he so cherished. But he could not risk having them, not now. He silently stalked through the halls, a thin and lithe coyote between hazy sand stone creeping up to its prey.

A distinctly recognizable sound caught his attention. Ah-ha!, he thought, crouching furtively out of sight. There it was: one of those awful little yarn devils, scuttling around in the shade of the doctor's old home with his needle tick-tick-ticking all over the wooden floor. A quick, painless bounty of thread for the blade of Carver's saw. The Doc slowly crept closer and closer, trying to hide the glint of his weapon from his eyeless prey, sneaking forward without letting himself make a single sound…

A fulminous zac!, and the aracknit dissolved into a bunch of strings with four needles attached.

Carver grinned, at least, the best he could with a solid mouth, satisfied. He still got it.

He stopped to gather the materials, keeping himself from humming and attracting too many of the little beasties. A skittering passed behind him.  He froze, readying his saw once more. He turned his head ever so slowly, his motions nearly unperceivable... An aracknit rushed by, and he swung, missing, his saw flying out of his nervous grip. He swore under his breath, chasting his own hastiness and going to retrieve it, but another spider ran by him and stole it from under his reaching hand. A hiss, long and slow, and so, so, so very many quiet, ticking aracknits. He tried to creep out of his corner, but found every stealthy pass blocked by yarny webs. Without a weapon, there was no way he could go through an open area. He would lose his strings in a matter of seconds if he even attempted to do so! Color slowly drained out of his vision, and he cursed his worsening luck. He could feel his wooden heart beat, faster and faster. More scampering. He demanded of himself to slow his breathing, and could not.

“Well, well, well, well, well,” the air turned cold. The supposed to be jolly and high voice creaked and rasped lowly, angrily, softly, dangerously.  “What, or rather, who, do we have here, caught in the webs of his own prey?”

Carver stayed silent, going at a crawl to the thinnest web, planning on breaking through it and making a mad dash to the exit. The sound of the Faceless Bandit’s three footsteps clacked loudly in the still, dusty air, the scampering aracknits now far too quiet in comparison to the terrifying approach. Perhaps because they too, as simpleminded as a bug of raw yarn can be, could not help but being afraid of the scarred danger slowly coming closer.

“I didn’t know you were Dr. Jekyll,” Faceless chuckled, making the wood of Carver’s back to ripple in disgust. “Seeing that you’re playing around with Mr. Hyde.”

Doc Carver scowled. Goodness, how much he despised the other’s use of terrible puns.

“Stop playing around, my dear Doctor,” his words turned the land foul. The dead shivered and rose, disturbed from what should have been their peaceful eternal rest. “You can’t avoid me forever, you know….”

‘Yeah, right’, Carver rolled his eyes, then refocused onto the web he planned on escaping through. He poised himself to run, breathing in, waiting for Faceless to turn around… and the moment he did, he bolted with a, “Ha !”

It was a mistake.

A grave one.

Of course it was all planned out, of course there would not be a weak spot. After all, wherever a bone breaks, it becomes stronger than before.

Dozens and dozens of aracknits surrounded him, wooly fangs bared. Some trembled, others ducked away, and Carver realized that--

“They listen to me,” Faceless droned behind him. He grew very still. “Out of fear, yes, but still… aren’t they so cute? So sweet? So helpful?”

The doctor ran into the crowd of the small eight legged monsters, the spiders parting like a sea, but also like a sea, instantly drove back.

An aracknit jumped at Carver, and he tried to bat it away with his open arm, but it just scampered onto him, leaving a woven strand over his wrist, and jumped away.

Another did the same to his other side, and he struggled even more, despite the fact that he was given less and less ability to do so.

He felt a string snap, and his left leg gave out, leaving him stumbling to the ground. Second came the right arm. He screamed, not to ask for help, knowing no one would hear him, but to try and bolster his own strength: he bashed an aracknit down and restringed him arm, then going back to fighting with every ounce of strength he could have found desperately still kicking in his wooden limbs.

The aracknits kept coming, the few dozens that were cornering him turning into a swarm that only grew bigger at every turn of his head, crawling out of every single nook and cranny. They bit down on his strings almost faster than he could sew them back up (but luckily, not quite as fast), all while stabbing his legs with their small damned needles as they attempted to climb him, possibly to feed off of him, maybe to try to escape their terrifying master by reaching the top of the doctor's head.

Carver felt their webs wrap around him, pulling him back, swirling around him tight, tighter than the knot of a noose, tying him to the ground and the walls, nearly forcing him on his knees. He screamed - not to be heard, not to gather strength: he screamed in pure terror, almost as though he hoped the sound of his voice would delay the inevitable.

A fly. He was a fly, a careless naive fly, who had thought he could outrun the spiders only to fall in their mother's trap, the hunter becoming the hunted - and soon to be the slaughtered.

He gave one last weakened kick before his legs became a useless mermaid’s tail on land, only barely managing to hit an aracknit strong enough to shoo it away before the string wavered away, dropping onto ash. The little beastie tumbled over, legs frantically moving in a terrified attempt to scramble back onto them, and he pitied it, the shared pain of two prisoners trapped beyond their powers, and he wished that it could get to its feet, to give him a sign of hope that he too would rise, but alas.

It was crushed under the handle of an approaching scythe.

Its needles stiffened and twitched, fighting one last time against their lightning quick rigor mortis; then, it dissolved into a puddle of string under Carver's horrified eyes.

Silence. Accursed, blasphemous, terrifying silence. All the doctor could hear was his own panting breath. He had one string left, and a scythe tugged on it for a moment before sliding down his face, making his head tilt this way and that, as if inspecting a specimen most curiously.

The two puppets were still, and silent.

Not a spider crawled, not a soul moved, nothing breathed and it was all so strikingly obvious to Carver. Of course, of course, why should he have gone back here? He should have baited the aracknits out instead of going in like a fool, a cretin, a pup still unaware of the sly tactics of hunting, thinking it all as fun and games. How foolish he had been!

He wished that he was somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Somewhere to feel at home.

Hanging up his apron in the hall after a fulfilling day of making puppets feel better and smile, going into a cozy living room to join hands with a smiling Banker, to rest with tea in front of a warm fire and good book, simple domestic perfection and tranquility. That was all he wanted. Was it really too much to ask for…?

It seemed so.

A golden tear bubbled up in his eye, and he blinked rapidly to force it away.

It slid down his face, trailing down his scar.

His wooden skin crawled as a scarred and ripped hand came to rest on that mark, and he turned icy cold, shivering. God, how he wished a different, trembling, gentle hand were there! Even if he were in the same position, bound and inflexible and defenseless, he would have given anything for it. For that sweet intoxicating touch, the throne of which was instead being usurped by dirty, loathing, scratching fingers.

“Oh, my dearest Doctor Carver,” the mangled puppet laughed, his words airless. “You always were my least favorite. Always stealing from me those delightful strings of the weakened, of the broken and bent. And you, so resilient and resistant! Why so much of a fuss, hm?”

The doctor felt a knot tie in his throat. He forced himself to stare straight at the eyeless being looming cruelly before him in total defiance: if he was going to die there and then, he would have not given that piece of tumbleweed the satisfaction of seeing him bend his head to him.

“What is it, Doc?” the Faceless hissed, yanking him with annoyance at his silence, scratching at his face, gouging three sharp cuts under his scar that would have bled if the doctor had blood instead of sap, which oozed out of the crevices. “Cat got your tongue? Or did you ever have one? I doubt it, seeing as you’re quite dumb right now.”

Carver inhaled with a low growl.

“Go to hell.” he merely grumbled.

“Ooh, how raunchy,” Faceless snarked back, cutting into his own face with his scythe to display any kind of expression, the smirk he left in his own face jagged and twisted. Carver felt his stomach churn with frost at the sight, so crude and, and unnatural. The scythe returned to the bottom of his chin, sliding up to the top of his head to hook around the string that resided there. Carver shivered as he felt his singular string slowly sawed at.

The Faceless Bandit held his head firmly with one hand, pulled back his arm a little, swiftly, and-

Shhh.

Then there was nothing.

Death felt so weird, the doctor thought.

He had imagined it crueler, darker, colder, more painful. Lonelier.

Instead he felt only… suspended. As if in wait. For what, he could not tell. But it was a peaceful waiting, and he felt far from afraid.

He was enveloped into a gentle, vast hold. A warm, ginormous finger touched his face, tapping each of his eyes, and he felt air seep into his lungs once more.

Another hand carefully, gently, cautiously and lovingly placed strings onto his limbs.

The hands slowly vanished, and he found himself put into something enclosing and… safe?

And then he felt alive.

Which was not ideal, because it made him realize that he was in a claustrophobic and dark space, and with his most recent memories being those of his body tied up in yarn among an army of aracknits and every last one of his strings being cut by the cruel scythe of a criminal lacking a face, so he panicked and kicked the air in front of himself as hard as he could to escape his dark prison.

The Banker nearly had a heart attack when the coffin next to bank opened with a loud noise - only nearly, because he did not actually have a heart or circulatory system.

“B-Bandit? Is, is that you?” Banker’s sweet, timid, wonderful wonderful wonderful beautiful darling amazing incredible voice rang out in the empty room. The doctor pleaded in his heart, unable to find his voice, still gasping and panting, trembling and teary, ‘Oh, please, say more, speak more, keep talking, fill the void.’ There were quiet footsteps, the Banker creeping slowly out of his booth. “L-Lorelei? L-Lookout? Uh, um, Mr., Mr. West?”

And then he stood before him, looking down at the Doctor with four wide eyes.

Carver knew he was a mess, he knew he was shaking and sitting in the bottom of a coffin like container as his tears froze in his eyes, but the moment he saw the Banker looking down at him, silently, mouth open in a slight shock, he felt his frosted heart melt, finally filling his body with relieving warmth, color finally returning to his vision, and his shoulders finally untensed as he looked up at him with total and complete admiration.

The Banker stood, fidgeting with his hands nervously. He was about to start scratching them, but he stopped himself: the doctor had put a lot of time and… and care (wonderful, dutiful, devoted care, whispered the ghost of a thought in his mind) into that coat of paint. He couldn't just… he couldn't just ruin it like that. And, well, he couldn't, he couldn't just leave him there, hazy and frightened and in need of help, either.

He lent him his hand as that terrible fear gnawed at his stomach: “I, I didn't expect you to, to be here, D-Doc.”

Carver grabbed the appendix with both hands, pressing his fingers against its palms. He did not make any motion to stand up; completely honestly, he did not want to. He just wanted to hold it, to hold him, to feel the other puppet's arm curl against him, a soft, shy and gentle shield of blue and brown hues, of tremors and stutters, warming him endlessly. Oh, how he needed it! How he wished for it terribly, now and forever...

“D-Doc Carver?” the Banker felt that fire burn from his fingertips, spreading up his arm. He swallowed roughly to keep it from his face. “D-do you need to make a c-claim?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and pulled Banker’s hand down, close to his heart. Banker stared at him with wide eyes, big, terrified eyes. “Yes, I do, please, Banker, please… grant me this one claim.”

Banker trembled, and still, he asked; “What?”

“I've just been struck down with death,” Carver nearly whispered, eyes glazed with tears. “I have lost my confidence, please, Banker, dear, dear Banker of mine, please, kiss me with life, restore my confidence, please, that's the only claim I ask of you.”

Carver squeezed the hand tight, afraid it would escape his grip, knowing it could.

“K-kiss you?” Banker squeaked, eyes wide, the searing sensations spreading all over his face and neck, but, how enrapturing and captivating those burns were! And how loud the echo of the thought he'd been sure to have killed was! His fear tugged him away, or so it tried, for his body wouldn't move an inch.

Carver nodded, his eyes pleading, as he rubbed his face on the back of the hand, murmuring ‘please, please’ over and over, knowing rejection would have killed him on the spot, and yet not finding the will to care for it. Though he wouldn't beg for life from the Faceless Bandit that so hated him, he would beg and plead for death from the Banker he so adored.

The Banker breathed heavily, shivering. His head shook ever so slightly.

“N, no, no…” he whispered as he kneeled in front of the other puppet; “No, no…”, as he let the doctor cup his cheeks and rub his face on them; “No, no, no, no…”, as he returned the other's affection, kissing him in the way a puppet can kiss, wooden faces scratching ever so softly against each other, slowly, then faster; “No, no, no…”, as his fingers finally curled around the stitches of Carver's scar, stroking it idly, pushing away the tears that slowly dripped from the other’s face, finally seeing his fear as what it was: no fear at all, not even close to fear, even. It was something softer, something that he had selfishly denied himself through his own blindness. Oh, what good were four eyes when he could not use them to see what was right in front of him? What good was the blessing of sight without letting himself revel in the beautiful image in front of him? What good was living to play a part and nothing more if it did not allow him to have the gift of, the, no, his, his dear, dear, darling doctor to gaze upon?

He held Carver closer, nuzzling harder against him. The fire divamping inside him boiled and burned, it begged to be released, to be imprinted on the other puppet for all to see. He was kissing it into Doc, but it was not, it could not be enough. A single face was too restrictive, and he had to improvise, he had to figure out a way to make it more, to have more of the doctor pinned under him, to show him that yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, this was right and wanted and good.

His hand begrudgingly left the side of Carver's head and instead grabbed with all of its strength his arm. The good doctor nearly jumped up from his seat in the case, surprised, left breathless. His own fingers curled around the Banker's forearm, but the kiss they pressed against him was weak, not nearly as deep and passionate as the one pushing into his limb, far more shy and trembling, a near reverse of their usual attitudes. Carver’s whole being shivered with warmth. And oh, oh!, it was so good! So very good, so very delicious, the sensation spreading from that long, long kiss to the rest of his body… goodness, he was addicted to it already. That was it, his only wish, his reason to live. All he wanted was for that magnificent pressure to never soften and leave.

But the Banker had other plans. For him, it was too long, too time consuming; it didn't let him give Carver everything they both wanted desperately after letting so much time pass by. So instead he began to grab and release, grab and release, fast and hungry, pressing quick hasty kisses all over the doctor. On his arms, his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his sides - to hell with his part!, to hell with his fear! - even reaching further down, gripping Carver’s hips and legs in a frenzy, dominated by nothing but the burning embers inside of his wooden frame that pushed him to love and love and love again.

Carver was too slow to reply to those attentions, and he found himself overwhelmed. He was in an almost comatose bliss, jolting and shivering with little gasps and murmurs of, “Yes, yes, p-please, yes….”, only barely managing to nuzzle back his lover's face, goodness gracious, this was it, the moment he always dreamed of, his lover, they were lovers now. He did not feel like himself, not at all. He was out of his body, out of his mind, looking down on that scene from a warm cloud of ecstasy, the prickling of pleasure taking over him in waves.

It took what felt like ages, for the Banker's wild rush of claiming Carver as his to consume itself. It exhausted them both, to the point where they were moments away from collapsing entirely in the box Carver rested in, seconds from slipping into pure bliss and tranquility. They held each other close as they rested, panting softly, Banker’s hand finally finding its place on Carver’s cheek, gently trailing the scar there. Then he felt the ridges, his eyes widening, and he pulled away a bit to inspect the mark, and to his horror and sadness found the three fresh cuts under his hand.

“C-Carver, you, you’re hurt!” he exclaimed, his gentle shaky fingers turning the doctor’s head to inspect the cuts better. “O-Oh dear, why didn't, why didn’t you t-tell me?”

“It’s fine, it really is,” Carver reassured him, though he leaned into and reveled in his touch. “It’s nothing that I can’t mend.”

Banker frowned at that, and so Carver might have even said something more, had a not-so-freshly-painted-anymore visage not rubbed gently on his wounds, kissing away the sap seeping from the small gouges. The kiss threw him for an incredulous loop, stunning him. Had his wood been replaced by flesh, he would have been redder than a blooming hibiscus.

Perhaps it was seeing the doctor like that that slowly brought the four-eyed puppet to his senses. All those newly formed memories reverberated in his mind, slowly becoming clear, first their gentle, almost reluctant, kiss, then the frenzied adrenalinic boiling and burning and exploding cravings that had taken control of him, and finally, when he realized the spontaneous act of kissing those little scrapes, he finally got a grasp on his actions. He gradually began shaking, hands going to cover his mouth already muttering apologies, his legs trying to push him to his feet - oh, but Carver would not have any of it.

His gentle grip tightened around the other's waist, keeping him from escaping into the dark of his shame. Banker would have blushed furiously had he skin, feeling the rippling strength of Doc Carver’s arm around him, his breath hitching as those thoughts that he thought he killed earlier swarmed back into his mind. The doctor collected himself as well, slowly, naturally slipping back into his ordinarily calm and proper self, just like the Banker had returned to his anxieties and worries, their regular personalities bleeding back into their forms as if regaining consciousness after a long sleep.

“Dear,” goodness, how wonderful it felt to say that, “Dear, darling, love, what's troubling you?”

“I- I, I… Doc, I-”

“Carver, dear, please. Carver is just fine.”

“I, I… Car, Carver, I didn't - oh, oh god, I'm, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-”

“Oh, you did!” the doctor adamantly insisted, his eyes widening, but in complete confidence. “We’re… us now. It’s okay, we’re okay… I’m here, you’re here, it’s okay. We… we are good.”

The Banker tried shrinking himself in the other's arms without much success. Carver merely huffed, an adoring look in his eyes, and brought him closer. His gentle nuzzles onto his recently repainted cheek were a balm for the Banker's nerves.

“There's nothing to fear, my darling.” he murmured into the puppet’s ears, feeling him relax from his smooth accent, melting against him in a pleasant warmth, “Hm, but your booth… it seems quite comfortable, wouldn't you say?”

The other nodded, humming absentmindedly, one of his hands trailing up Carver’s arm, twirling around his neck to run over his hair. He had always wondered how it felt, and now found that it was not only wood, but covered in felt to give it a soft velvety texture, and the same went for his handlebar moustache. Come to think of it, nearly everything about the doctor was just so soft and warmly inviting.

“Should we head over to it, then?” Carver's voice caught up to him, pulling him back to reality, yet sending him from one pleasant distraction to another. He barely had to answer, the slightest sigh and the smallest nod, and the doctor slid a firm and strong hand under his knees, and rose him up, carrying him into the bank much like a newly wed groom carries his beloved man into their just made house.

There was some cloth folded in a corner, arranged as if to simulate what could have once seemed like a bed which clearly had been abandoned for the anxious Banker’s many sleepless nights, him preferring instead to pass out in fear on his counter.

The doctor laid him on top of the covers gently before positioning himself on top of him. One of his hands tenderly stroked his cheek, his legs straddling the Banker, looking down at him, eyes shielded by his glasses, though behind those lenses, his eyes were full of pure admiration.

The four-eyed puppet adjusted himself under his weight almost sleepily: “Carver, love…” oh, to be called like that forever and always, what shivers did it send down his spine!, “What…”

“Please, my dearest.” Carver leaned down to press kisses to his throat, and purred against his neck, hands pressing light kisses with thumbs swirling on wooden skin so gently, “You don't truly think I am sated of your kisses? I waited so long for you…”

The Banker sighed blissfully, body melting and becoming as soft as warm clay. He wrapped his arms around his dear, dear lover and let his head fall back on the bed that hadn't seen him in weeks, basking in the wonderful burn enveloping him.

How curious, he thought to himself. He could hear a hummingbird sing in the back of his mind.

For some odd reason, he heard Bandit clear his throat in the back of his mind too.

Then Doc Carver let out a small grumbling shriek, rolling over and tumbling off of a Banker too hazy to notice anything.

“H-Hello Bandit!” Carver stumbled over his words as the cowboy looked at them from the counter where his elbow was leaning on. The four-eyed puppet called for him needily, drawling out the last part of the doctor’s name, his grasp on reality basically non-existent. Carver turned bright red. “F-fancy seeing you here….”

“Sure is, Doc, sure is.” Showdown smiled, cheek resting in his hand, giving him a quick wink. “Mind if I make a deposit?”

“Um, sure,” the doctor stuttered, rushing to the desk to swipe the cash, hastily dumping it in a vault labeled ‘SHOWDOWN BANDIT’.

The cowboy tipped his hat politely: “Thanks, Doc.”

“N-no problem,” he mumbled, staring at the ground.

“Now I suggest ya go back to yer other business. He sounds pretty… um… critical.” Showdown nodded in the direction of the lovestruck Banker. The doctor tried to swallow, and failed. “Y’know what I mean, Doc?”

“Carveeeer, love, please… please, where did you go?” the poor soul lamented, turning on the bed. “You're so cruel, so cruel… ! Oh, love, please… please, I need you… !”

“I know.” Carver muttered to Showdown, closing the Bank’s shutters and swiftly turning around, rushing back into the arms of his darling, finally together.

[wclfgurl]

& .   ✧   ›   MEETING ARYA !

✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ ARYA STARK ]. some say [ HER ] resemblance to [ MADISON BAILEY ] is almost uncanny, but the [ TWENTY-THREE ] year old has been in the capital for [ TWO YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ CORPORAL ] of the [ STARK ] family: perhaps that has made them [ DISCOURTEOUS ] && [ IMPUDENT ] of late, when they used to be so [ BRAZEN ] && [ ASTUTE ]. during the daylight hours, [ ARYA ] can be found working as a [ UNI STUDENT ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ RUN BOY RUN BY WOODKID ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets. ( attina. 24. cst. she/her. )

hey there demons, it’s me. ya boi ! i’m attina and i’m here to create chaos. please slap a like on this if you want to plot and i’ll come at you. there are a bunch of wanted connections listed at the end so if any of them seem to scream at you, please feel free to yell at me ! my discord is ty lee#5523 so feel free to use that for plotting if you wish ! full disclosure, i don’t remember shite about game of thrones and never finished the season finale nor read the books but i’m here to vibe anyways !

& .   ✧   ›  I. THE BASICS !

full name › arya stark.

nickname(s) › arry, no-name, dead girl, horseface, wolf girl.

age › twenty-three ( 23 ).

d.o.b. › december 12, 1997.

gender › cis-female.

pronouns › she/her.

allegiance › the starks.

occupation › university student ( undetermined degree ). 

current location › king’s landing.

& .   ✧   ›  II. THE BIOGRAPHY !

your mother was once so excited when a little girl joined the family once more. thrilled to have another to dress in all pink, teach the ways of a lady, and become one more little her. too bad the child would have other plans. you were never meant to be the prim and proper lady that your mother expected. not when running around wolves was far more exciting. you didn’t have time for the lessons your mother tried to bestrode onto you, disinterested in spending hours with some yarn. you rather use the needle for something that your mother strongly disapproves of. that’s what really gets you going; doing things your mother states to be vile. 

the years growing up weren’t without bruises and stains. you have scars filled with stories that you tell with a wide grin on your face. proof that you are the one still standing and whatever --- or whoever --- gave them to you succumbed to your victory. you have spent plenty of time in the principals office for fights that you never started but certainly ended. you don’t mind the bruised knuckles the battles gave you. it was completely worth the look on their faces when you took them down.

when you were a teenager, rebellion was in your blood. you did what it took to defy the law. breaking and entering abandoned buildings were a good after school activity for you, running from the police was just a nice jog in the middle of the night. you kept a kill list for everyone that has done you wrong --- most of the names on there were for petty reasons but not billy. you still fucking hate billy. you still have that kill list, though more prominent names are on there now. ones that have harmed your family in one way or another. that’s one thing you don’t fuck around with and that’s family. 

it doesn’t matter how much you felt like an outsider with your siblings; they are still your blood. your loyalty lies with your family and if anyone messes with them, they are immediately pissing you off. the only one allowed to mess with your siblings, including sansa, is you and you’re not afraid to make that known. you will fight tooth and nail for any member of your family, including those loyal to your family. that is, until you prove to be a traitor. that’s one way to get their name written on your list.

despite the loyalty you have for the starks, it didn’t stop you from disappearing two years ago. you told a few people but really, you just had a desire to see a part of the world. just for a year. call it a break from university if you will. studying abroad, if that helps your mother sleep at night. you came back as per agreement with your father and yet, you still wish to be gone. there was so much more that you haven’t seen and the classes that you’re taking are just dull in comparison. is it too much to wish for a different path for yourself?

but that’s something you never dare say. instead you keep your hit list close to your heart in case an opportunity presents itself and you continue doing what you want when you want it. that includes any duties you’re given. you do as you please, speak your mind to whomever, and post tiktoks for the hell of it. 

& .   ✧   ›  III. THE FACTS !

yeah that’s right, arya stark is a tiktoker. honestly fight me? she’s a gen x’er what do you expect? her tik toks are probably one way that her family realizes she was still alive during that year of traveling. is she a famous tiktoker or whatever you call them? hell yeah and you can quote me on that.

her weapon of choice is a small rapier nicknamed needle gifted to her by jon snow.

she has no idea what to study in uni and none of it really appeals to her? she finds it all boring. which is probably why she’s often skipping classes, turning assignments in late, or plain not doing a thing in that class. definitely an argument she has with her mother every day is about uni. 

arya joined the organisation as a corporal as a request from her father, utilizing her skills, and a big f-- u to her mother. because honestly isn’t that what life is all about? 

she has a siberian husky named nymeria ofc.

rebel for rebel’s sake; she’s definitely spray painted buildings before. probably has been arrested as a minor. it’s fine though. everythinG’S FINE.

personality wise; arya is loud and proud. she’s never one to stray from speaking her mind despite the turmoil it may cause. think the girl cares if she hurts your feelings?? probably not but maybe a little and only if you actually cared about what she thought. listen, it’s complicated and so is she. she doesn’t believe in happy ever afters but looks more realistically, and potentially more emotionally as she doesn’t mind keeping a grudge and doing things that would end a grudge in a not forgiving way (murdah is fun)! she thrives on making her ancestors ( mother & sister ) disappointed in her but also it hurts when they are? its fine, she’ll worry about those complicated emotions later. 

& .   ✧   ›  IV. THE CONNECTIONS !

what the fuck is up kyle › negative; their paths have crossed once or twice before and each meeting has never been a pleasant one. arya doesn’t try to hide their displeasure when face to face whether it’s public or private. there is a solid chance that they are on her hit list for a petty reason.  i’m in my mum’s car. broom broom › positive; listen, arya isn’t heartless idk what made you think that. she has a heart, she just doesn’t know how to express emotions and rather vanish for a year than face people again. but listen, this character is someone who has seemed to break through her shell. whether or not that’s a good thing is up for debate. wtf, is this allowed? is this allowed? › romantic; romance isn’t something that arya daydreams about but man, she fell and she fell hard. they were just meant to be a nice distraction but here she is, acting like something that she’s not. first loves are a scary thing and she would much rather just pretend that they are just for fun. i’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me › negative; political parties aren’t something that arya cares too much about, but she does give a damn if someone hates her family for whatever reason that is. it doesn’t matter that they are on opposite sides, what matters is your mom’s a ho. but in all seriousness, prepare for some stink eye and arya badmouthing them. zach stop! you’re gonna get in trouble › positive; listen. even arya needs someone that she might be a good influence towards. the one person who is like hmmmm, maybe not a good idea right now. however, they are still creating havoc together for the vine ( rip vine ) tiktok.  stahp! i coulda dropped my croissant › romantic; distractions and fun times and maybe doing things that you’re mother doesn’t approve of, that’s the arya way! and this one really is just a booty call. it doesn’t matter what side they may support, that’s not what they are talking about, if they are even speaking, when they’re meeting up.

[ladysaraholt]

Request for Aid

Hello, mutuals, followers, and my various RP families. Sara’s mun here.

The past several weeks have been incredibly emotional, so if you guys aren’t interested, I’ll add in a break for those who would prefer to scroll past. For those that stay, even a reblog to help share this would be incredibly appreciated...

A few weeks ago, my mother called me to inform me that my grandfather had a heart attack, and that he was staying at the hospital because of built-up fluid in his lungs. Over the course of 48 hours, the doctors ran a myriad selection of tests, which led them to discover that he has End Stage Metastatic cancer in his lungs. After finding it there, they ran more tests to see if it was elsewhere. It was confirmed positive in his lymph nodes, adrenal glands, and bones, with a test pending to confirm whether it was also in his brain. They gave him approximately 6 months to live.

A few days later, my mother called me again, anxious and in tears because he was being so combative with the doctors that his heart rhythm was highly erratic, and exacerbating the fluid that kept building up in his lungs. At this point in time, they were also still waiting on the brain tests for confirmation of cancer presence. Everyone was sitting on pins and needles, hoping he would cooperate long enough to get his first round of chemo-therapy (which the doctors told them would ONLY be for quality of life improvement, not for added longevity).

Three days later, another phone call from my mom in hysterics saying that he had gone home the night before only to take a turn for the worst and get rushed back to the hospital. The particulars were not given to me (though the cancer had been confirmed to also be in parts of his brain), but it was bad enough that she put my dad on a plane from where they live in GA to MI where his parents live.

He ended up staying with my grandparents for six days. By the time he went back home, grandpa was stable and cooperative enough to go back home (for the second time). His first round of chemo was scheduled soon, and everyone was looking optimistic that he would remain with us through his time left in relative comfort.

For four long days, I heard nothing from my parents. I hoped no news was good news, and even managed to keep busy enough at work for the days to go by relatively quickly. Then on Thursday, I received a tearful call from my mom. My grandpa was back in the hospital - his cancer had now spread to his liver. The doctors had - by this point - tentatively shortened his time left to the end of January, and (according to my mom) that was being generous.

After a lot of back and forth conversation, I determined that I wanted to try to have my nuclear family (myself, my husband, and our 8-year-old son) travel to Michigan for Thanksgiving this year to ensure my son would get to spend one more holiday with his great grandfather (which we had done once a year up until this year [we went to Easter family get-together with that side of the family every year until this year - we weren’t able to make it this year]). I agreed to do everything in my power to ensure I’d be able to take time off work to make this trip happen for us, and for my parents, and for my grandparents.

But the fun of that day wasn’t quite over - about an hour after my initial phone call with my mom, she called me back to inform me that the doctors were now giving my grandfather approximately two weeks, give or take a little, to live. The acceleration of his cancer, it seems, had been incredibly aggressive, and they did not expect it to slow down at all. With that in mind, they now planned on stopping all treatment once my grandfather was stable, sending him home, and getting him set up with hospice care to make him as comfortable as possible.

On Sunday, my mom called me to let me know that they got him home and set up, with everything in place. He seemed to be comfortable and stable, for now. The one thing the doctors have reveled at in all of this is that my grandfather’s pain levels have been minimal throughout this ordeal. That alone still gives us hope that he will remain stubborn enough for us all to see one another at Thanksgiving in Michigan.

And this brings us to yesterday. Somehow along all of this, my mother had not been made clear that my intentions were to go to Michigan. Once she heard that was my hopeful plan, she went to see about plane tickets. Thanks to her long-standing good reputation with Delta, she managed to get a quote for the tickets for the three of us: $1100. My mother’s initial offer (knowing that money has been tight for us) was to cover two of the three plane tickets so that we would only need to pay for one. In order to lift some stress from my mother’s shoulders (despite not having a plan in place for it), I offered for us to pay half of the total instead of just for one ticket. While this helped my mother relax, the two hours I spent frantically trying to figure out where to come up with $550 dollars was quickly wearing my nerves away (all while I was at work, too).

On my lunch break, I had to run to Target to pick up a few cleaning supplies for work when my mom called me again. She was getting the plane tickets booked in my ear, while my husband was trying to find a way out of fronting $550 we don’t have in the other ear. I was incredibly hesitant, and vocalized it, only for my mom to stop me. She then informed me that my grandmother - who was infinitely grateful that we were trying to plan to come visit for Thanksgiving - had told my mom to buy the tickets and that the cost was covered. It was more than my heart could take. I broke down in tears, in the middle of the day in a damned Target, trying to think of something to do to pay my grandmother back. She’s been through more than everyone, and yet she was sweeping in to the rescue anyway.

That being said. I am opening emergency commissions for sketchy headshots, jewelry concept art, and handmade scarves. My goal would, ideally, be to make the full $1100 to pay back my grandmother. Regardless of whether my grandfather makes it to Turkey day or not, we will be making the trip to Michigan, and that’s not something I get to do very often (a con to my job, which typically blacks out the months of November and December from any and all holiday travel because it’s the busiest time of the year for us).

If any of the below interests you, please send me a message and we’ll get the particulars figured out. Here’s what I have to offer:

$5-$20 : Jewelry Concept Sketch (traditional artwork)

For those who might have an idea for a canon item their character may or may not carry with them, I can help give your trinket dimension. The more details / complexity, the more this would cost. Can add digital color for an additional $3. Seen below are a mix of requested designs for tumblr and concept art drawn by me at work.

$15-$45 : Character Bust Headshots

While I usually need a faceclaim or inspiration in order to create these, if you have a general idea (or give me creative license based on the info you give me), I can likely create it with little trouble. Line art only takes the least amount of time. Shading is midline. If you want color, I need screenshots / references, and it would be the most expensive. Armor is not something I’m strong at, but I would absolutely try to include some if it is wanted.

$25-$55 : Handmade Scarves

I have a self-taught talent for creating scarves of various sizes and styles. The ruffly scarves are good spring / autumn scarves - lightweight and fashionable - but still provide a light amount of heat retention; they can come in pretty much any color of the rainbow (availability would have to be confirmed, but I do have a bunch here at home already). The thick fluffy scarves (middle image and bottom left image) are a combination of 2-4 yarns interwoven together to create a very warm winter scarf that can either be traditional or infinity-style and provide heavy heat retention; they too can come in myriad colors (subject to availability), but it should be noted that multiple colors are more expensive. I also will put a disclaimer here that I will only provide a scarf to those who confirm they are not sensitive to wool products, as all of these are wool-based.

All payments will be taken via PayPal (which we will discuss via dms), so please be respectful of this.

Thank you for taking the time to read through everything. It means a great deal to me. Any and all small donations are incredibly appreciated (I’ll be trying to put something together for those as well). If you cannot purchase or donate, please help me out by reblogging this to share it. I’ll be reposting a shorter Commission post later this week for proper reblogging, after work is done for the week.

I love and appreciate you all for your time, and hope there is something I can offer to each of you.

(( to my various RP families: @blackbay-wra @holtandthornetradingco @householt @the-wyrmrest-sanctuary ))

[thedappleddragon]

two in one because I fell asleep lol

ball state visit day!! I kept having dreams about sleeping in too late and not getting there on time, and the whole dream was tinted in shades of brown. (also I want to mention before I forget that the night before, I had a nightmare about a life sized spring trap living in the corner of my room that would walk towards you and attack like a slow weeping angel unless you stared at him with yellow glasses on. he went from terrifying to being my boyfriend for a moment and then back to terrifying before I woke up. I'm glad I have a desk in that corner of my room so I KNOW its impossible, even in a half-asleep headspace.) but I got up with plenty of time to spare, showered, washed my hair, had breakfast, gathered my things, and we were off! we left a lot earlier the I expected because my mom wanted to drive around campus and see what it was like and bring my sister along. the drive was pert straightforward until we had to take a bunch of weird directions to actually get on campus. we drove around looking at all the buildings (LOTS of brick, huh) and peeking into a couple of them. my sister and I walked through the woods a little bit, looked through the bookstore, and looked some of the photography pieces in the halls. eventually it got closer to the time my friends agreed to meet up, and I anxiously waited for them to walk up. thankfully they both arrived at the same time and my mom razzed my friend SO HARD for looking like a skeleton of a man while the doors/windows of the car were still closed. I got out of the car and we walked around the art museum for a while before they closed. there was a pop-art exhibit upstairs and a LOT of religious and abstract and historical stufff downstairs. they were closing really soon so we headed put and walked around campus and talked and warmed ip to each other since were had to be really quiet in the museum. we walked through some buildings and talked about classes and campus until we got to the bookstore building with the food court. I had actually been there a couple of times for jazz band competitions over the years in high school, but I was still a bit of a nervous wreck trying to navigate it lmao. but we had a nice lunch and I ate too fast and got hiccups for the rest of the got dang day. my friend paid for my lunch which was very nice of her, thank you friend :> after lunch we toured the rest of the building where my art classes would be next year. we walked into one room and someone left some BEAUTIFULLY stylized cartoony drawings that I found really impressive. after that we headed off to the dorms where they gave me a mini tour and we played an INTENSE game uno flip. then another, where we did shitty accents at each other and accused each other of being homophobic/abelist (JOKING, OBVIOUSLY. 2 of us are queer and 2 of us are neurodiverse so its fine lmao) and after uno we play a little whiplash until skeleton man had to go. he promised to play Stardew valley with someone else at 9. I had asked my mom to pick me up a little before nine, but unfortunately she had some trouble with directions and we had to spend a while walking around outside trying to figure out where the FUCK she was. we eventually found her lol. my mom and I drove home and talked about my day and got Burger King. I ate too much and got too full and had to lie down when I got home oops. I think I went to bed a little early 

and as for today, it was really nice and relatively uneventful. I woke up early after some tossing and turning and apparently taking off my sweatshirt in the middle of the night?? somehow??? since the weather was so nice I spent a lot of my time outside with my cat :) my sister talked me into going to goodwill, and while at first I didn't want to because looking through shirts at goodwill is boring, I went anyway because we would go to dollar tree afterwards. we took the car because we were in the main road less than 30 seconds and it would have been too hot to comfortably walk. it felt really freeing to just be able to drive somewhere! going to goodwill was actually a lot nicer than I thought it would be; it felt nice getting out of the house, although I now realize I had just been out all day yesterday?? meh. I kind of enjoyed filing through shirts with her until I got really hot under my mask. I wanted to check if they had any yarn grab bags, but to no avail. so we walked into dollar tree looking for snacks and possible art supplies. my sister lead me around a corner, and apparently they had rearranged the store a little because all the art supplies were on one wall!! I was actually pretty surprised at their selection of stuff; there were KNITTING NEEDLES! and chalk markers! but most importantly they had Y A R N! and pretty ok quality yarn, too. very nice cute pastel colors, so I had to buy one small skein of each of the six colors. earlier today I had seen a tutorial on how to crochet fairy wings from a wire frame, so that morning I took an old beat up pair of wings my sister and I had and stripped off the feather boa border and out away the pantyhose material in the middle. one wire popped out of place, so I gotta figure out how to fix that before I can continue. but after our shopping, we sat in the car and chilled. listening to musoc and I ate the cheezits I bought. we drove around a little bit, circling around the park once, and returning home, making sure to leave the car how we found it so dad wouldn't notice that we borrowed it. shhhh, secret mission. I changed into shorts, and we both laid outside in the backyard to enjoy the sun. my sister took the trampoline and I took the hammock. Lily came and hopped onto my lap for a while, and I pet her and did my best to shield her eyes from the sun. I almost fell asleep lol. eventually the house blocked the sun, so I went inside and stared making a frozen pasta thing. I split it with my sister and it was really good. I played some stardew valley, taking breaks to stretch my legs n stuff, but quit when I accidentally died in skulll cavern trying to get to level 100. I think I'll have to wait for the best luck day to do it, because I wasn't making great progress anyway. I'll just redo that day. anyhow I showed my dad the yarn I got (telling him my sister and I walked there), had some ice cream, brushed my teeth, and now im laying in bed with my cat, a fan on, and my window cracked open to hear rolling thunder from a nearby storm <3