#someday in the future when i have room enough to clean a fleece

[trashpandacraft]

i mentioned the other day that we seem to have acquired some spinning wheels, and when i get my hands on a new wheel, i like to sit down and try spinning a few different ways on it to see what it feels like. thought that someone might be interested in a visual overview of how fibre prep/drafting style changes your yarn.

so that's my bobbin, and there's woolen on the left, worsted on the right, and semi-woolen in the middle.

one and two are both true woolen yarns—i made a rolag on some hand cards, and spun it long draw. one is a little chunky, and would probably be a light worsted weight after being plied. it's super soft and squishy, and a little irregular. (the bobbin collapse you're seeing isn't due to the yarn, but to a little criminal who thought he'd stick his claws into it while i wasn't paying attention.)

two is laceweight, or would be after it was plied. i'm not sure why you'd want to do this other than seeing what a new wheel is capable of—putting in enough twist to keep such a fine yarn together loses a lot of the squishy loftiness that you see in thicker woolen yarns. it's squishier than other laceweight, but also more fragile.

three and four are semi-woolen, and were spun long draw with commercially prepared top. three would probably be fingering weight when plied; four would be laceweight. this is sort of my default spinning style, and what i spin the most of—commercial top is readily available, and i love long draw. i love having twist all up in my drafting zone.

finally, five and six are worsted, or as close as you can get without combing your own fleece. commercial top, spun short forward draw. five plied up would probably be a light fingering, and six (again, plied) ranges from laceweight (on the left) to cobweb (on the far right).

one of the interesting things to me about this is the way that you can see the fuzziness of the yarn just fall away as we move closer to worsted. it's especially clear on top of the bobbin, right under the brackets—that little halo of fuzziness just disappears as you move to the right, and the yarn gets shinier (tho that part's more obvious in person). the worsted yarn is firmer and smoother in the hand, and much sturdier than the equivalent weight of woolen—i had to really back off the tension for the woolen laceweight, but the much-finer worsted lace was happy enough at the same tension as the thicker worsted was.

[oflovesandlikes]

Could you write some jonny taking care of sick patrick?

Dear anon, the story kind of run away from me. I blame it partially on the fact that I have written a similar fic before & I was struggling to come up with something entirely new. The other part of the blame falls on this that has been stuck in my head for a few days.

So it became an almost 3500 words of Jonny and de-aged, sick Patrick -mess.

I’m not sure it’s what you were looking for but I hope you’ll still enjoy it and maybe I can make it up to you another time.

My askbox will be open for prompts for the foreseeable future. 

“God, youare such a baby, Kaner.”  The wordsstill echo in Jonny’s ears, his voice tired and resigned, as if he has spokenthem only a minute ago.

Logically he knows it’s not his fault. If itwas that easy, they would have won all the Stanley Cups and Patrick would wearthe Toews name next to his #88 and love Canada enough to retire there with himsomeday. Or loved Jonny. Period.

On the other hand, getting stuck taking care ofa not only de-aged but also sick Patrick can’t help but feel like karma to him.

After he gotten the C, he knew he had to‘babysit’ the rookies, he even learned to like it especially after Saad, whowas probably a better-behaved rookie than even Jonathan himself. Nowhere in hisCaptain duties did it mention raising regressed teammates though.

Then again, his team consists of a bunch ofmorons who thought it best to coo and coddle the toddler as if he was an actualkid. He was Kaner for fuck’s sake. The guy was a text book ‘Peter Pan syndrome’case on his best day.

The fact that Jonny is in love with him despiteall that, falls under the Stockholm syndrome. At least that’s what the internethas told him. What does Jonny know?

He knows even less about taking care of sicktoddlers and his A’s are suffering from what his trusted internet search calls‘hypengyophobia’ which means theyhave a fear of responsibility. In Jonny’s -self-made- lexicon, the synonym is “a bunch of lazy assholes”.

They do provide him with the name of theirpediatrician, which is at least something, and that’s how Jonny finds himselfin the waiting room with a bunch of suburban mom and a Patrick who fusses andtries to get out of his stroller.

Jonny can’t make eye-contact because he has putthe stroller to the side so that it doesn’t block the corridor but he can stillfeel the violent shakes the poor thing gives under Patrick’s tantrum.

“Pipe it down there, K-“he catches himselfquickly “Peeks.” He figures it’s the safer name choice; not like the moms paythem much attention.

Patrick, like always, challenges him even whenhe uses his captain voice so Jonny is not surprised when he immediately bumpsthe tray table with his fist.

Jonny lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Stopit.” He hisses quietly.

Instead of quieting down, Patrick starts cryingand shove harder at the tray.

Jonny stands from his seat, faces the strollerand crouching down he makes eye-contact with the little trouble maker. “Comeon, now,” he softens his tone but his gaze is intense and scolding “don’t cry;you’re better than that.”

“His fever has probably gone up,” a femalevoice says somewhere behind him. “making him fussy.”

Patrick’s eyes are indeed glassy and his cheeksa deep red but Jonny is pretty sure Kaner somehow willed himself into it justto spite him. “Taking him off the stroller might help.” She suggests.

Jonny mumbles a “Yeah, thanks” because he hasmanners and it’s not the woman’s fault that Patrick’s mission in life is toruin his.

Once he lifts the tray and unbuckles himPatrick quiets down, the little shit. Jonny glares harder at him while he’sstill out of sight and no one can judge him for it, picks him up and puts himon his feet.

Patrick wobbles and grabs Jonny’s hand tosteady himself.

“Can he walk, yet?” the same voice asks.

“Yeah, he’s 28, he’s just got a heightproblem.” Jonny deadpans without a moment of hesitation.

Patrick digs his tiny nails in Jonny’s skin andwails. Jonny would gloat to his asshole teammates for being right if Kanerwasn’t causing a scene.

“Oh, come on” he protests “it was a joke.” Hemutters.

More than a few pair of eyes are silentlyjudging him. Jonny takes a deep breath cursing the fact that no one seems tohave a decent sense of humor except him.

He quickly picks Patrick up and the toddlerburies his face in the crook of Jonny’s neck like he has done a hundred timesbefore as an adult; with such ease and comfort as if it’s his rightful place.

Now that he thinks he can get away with it,Jonny gently caresses his soft curls and scrapes his fingers down the tinyback. And if Patrick gives him shit for it later he can tell him it was justfor keeping up appearances.

 Acute otitis the pediatrician had said. “An earinfection, Kaner, come on.” He scolds, rolling his eyes before he can catchhimself. He had to make a few dozen calls before he was utterly convinced thateven though the real Patrick is indeed somewhere in there he doesn’t have fulladult mental capacity.

Jonny wanted to argue that the real Kanerdoesn’t either but it’d probably result in that drum-shuttering wail and thatwas the last thing he needed.

He takes a deep calming breath and tries again.“Look, I even got you the cherry flavored one,” he says gesturing at the syrupbottle, “you like cherry, don’t you?”

Patrick neither moves nor speaks. Jonny knowshe can. According to the doctor, other than the ear infection he is a perfectlyhealthy three-year-old so he could answer him with at least a yes or a no. Atthis point, Jonny would just take a nod.

He squints his eyes at Pat, “Are you giving methe silent treatment?”

Still nothing comes his way. Patrick just sitsthere, in the couch corner, tiny fists clenched on his lap.

Jonny sits close beside him and he swears ifthat pink shit stains his couch he’s gonna make Pat pay for a new one. Screwdry cleaning.

“Come on, Pat, please,” he’s got to the pointwhere he’s not above begging “you heard the doctor. It will make you feel somuch better and then we can do a lot of fun sh- stuff” apparently, he’s notabove bribing either.

It, at least, earns him Patrick’s attention,those clear blue eyes searching his face. Jonny’s not sure for what. Probablytrying to access the honesty of his words.

Jonny gets lost at the colour for a fewseconds. It’s a bit lighter than usual, almost like a soft grey. He kind oflikes it but it also kind of bothers him because it’s Patrick’s, yet it isn’t.Not exactly.

He almost misses how Patrick inches his facejust a tad closer but he definitely catches the moment he parts his lipssilently.

Jonny tentatively gets the spoon closer to hismouth, not wanting to push further. Patrick almost buries his nose in the spoonand takes a sniff. Almost as suddenly, he grabs the spoon and shoves it in hismouth.

Jonny lets out a relieved sigh while Patrickkeeps licking it even after the syrup is all gone. Jonny chuckles. “Come on,”he says trying to extract the spoon from Pat’s slightly chubby hand “you canhave more later, I promise.”

Patrick, somewhat reluctantly, finally gives itup and proceeds to violently lick his lips. He keeps at it, with the additionof his fingers, even when Jonny gets back from the kitchen having puteverything back in place.

It’s such a Kaner thing, too so Jonny can’treally explain the clench in his heart. He brushes it off and grabs a baby wipeto clean both Pat’s mouth and hands.

Patrick allows it without fuss, he even puckershis lips so Jonny can do a thorough job. “Such a good boy.” He coos,unintentionally.

Patrick’s eyes grow huge for a brief second andthen blink close, head lolling at the side until it rests against Jonny’s arm.

It’s not that comfortable so Jonny pushes himoff gently and proceeds to wrap it around Patrick’s shoulder, cocooning him,but not before grabbing a soft fleece blanket that uses to wrap the both underit.

Patrick burrows further into his side with acontent sigh and Jonny can’t control the fond smile that appears on his facethat turns rueful the moment his brain registers that he has been imaginingsomething similar at least a billion times over the year. Obviously never quitelike this.

Lazy off days with an obviously a lot much older and bulkier Patrick, a heavy butwelcoming presence on his side, occasionally tilting his head up seeking a softpeck on the lips if Jonny hadn’t beaten him to it.

This particular fantasy of him is neverexplicitly detailed; the house they’re in doesn’t matter except that it’stheirs, what the TV plays makes no difference as long as they’re together. It’sthe feeling that he enjoys the most: soft and close, settled, together andcontent.

Patrick tugs at his sleeve and that gets Jonnyout of his haze. He lowers his head to find tiny Kaner glaring at him thenturning his eyes pointedly at the still shut TV screen.

Jonny chuckles and immediately grabs theremote, going through the channels. Most of them have nothing suitable for akid and he can feel Patrick getting impatient. “Uh, Sport channel.” It’s moreof a safe bet than a suggestion but Pat shakes his head vigorously and makesgrabby hands at the remote.

For once Jonny gives it up without a fight.Patrick fumbles with the buttons for a bit but quickly gets the hang of it andchannel surfs for a while until he settles on one with an approving hum.

Jonny quirks his eye brow. “Tangled, really?”

Patrick narrows his tiny eyes at him thenraises a brow of his own. Jonny knows he’s beaten. He should have said ‘acartoon?’. When you know the film name, you don’t have a lot of room to judgehe supposes.

They watch in comfortable silence for a whileuntil it’s broken by Patrick’s loud giggles right before the frying pan scene.Jonny files it as chirping material for later use but laughs along because tinyblue eyes look up at him expectantly.

“Awesome,eh?” he says and Patrick beams at him.

Seeing him in a much-improved mood, Jonnyhazards a question.  “Hey, you thinkyou’d wanna talk to me at some point?”

Sure, adult Jonny knows his harsh wordscouldn’t have been the ones to turn Patrick into a baby (well, toddler) butmaybe Kaner’s tiny little self holds him responsible on some level.

Patrick bites his bottom lip and shrugs,returning his attention to the screen.

“Are you mad at me?” Jonny finds the courage toask directly.

It gets him no answer, just Pat slightly shyingaway from him and his heart sinks. Apologies go a long way though, especiallyheartfelt ones, so Jonny sincerely offers his.

“I’m sorry. You just –“ he catches himselfbecause sharing some of the blame with toddler Patrick is unfair. “Sorry,” herepeats but Patrick blatantly ignores him.

Jonny sighs, defeated. He can try again later,perhaps. “How about I make some lunch,” he changes the subject “minestronesoup, I know you like that.”

Patrick at least shakes his head at that.

“Come on,” he coaxes, “at least some crackers. Idon’t know if you even had breakfast today.”

Patrick seems to consider it and finally nods.

Jonny stands up hastily and rashes towards thekitchen. He stops mid-way there “Want some juice, too?”

Patrick’s nod is more eager this time and Jonnysilently curses himself. Hydration is so important, he’s a hockey player, heknows that. How could he have been so stupid.

He vows to himself to do better from now on.

He returns to his sit, unwraps the crackerpacket and offers it to Patrick.

Patrick on his end, stares at it intensely,then up at Jonny with eyes wide and then down at his lap. It takes a moment forJonny to catch on.

“Go ahead,” he says, offering the crackers toPatrick once more “take it. It’s OK.”

Patrick is still hesitant. “It’s fine, Pat,really.” He assures “Don’t worry about the crumbs.”

Patrick snatches it, not giving him anotherchance to change him mind. He inhales the first two and that guilty feelingre-envelops Jonny.

Patrick wipes tiny crumbs from the corner ofhis mouth with the back of his one hand, while the other is digging in for thethird one. Before that ends up in his mouth as well he pauses and glances onceup at Jonny and then down at the cracker, then right back at Jonny.

Maintaining eye contact, he closes the tinyfist holding the cracker, crumbling it in the process.

Jonny sees it like the challenge it is. Patrickdares him to break his promise. He doesn’t bite. He just shrugs.

Patrick shoves the crumbs in his mouth and withthe same hand reaches for the juice, making a mess as he goes. It gets evenworse when he squeezes the box in the middle and both he and the blanket getcovered by the sticky liquid.

Jonny still doesn’t say a thing. He letsPatrick have the remaining of the juice and yet another cracker. This time,Patrick lifts his other palm and let the few crumbs fall in there. Then he getsthem back inside the packet.

Jonny ruffles his hair as soon as he swallows.“Come on, little piggy,” he teases “bath time.”

He must have feel incredibly sticky and grossbecause Patrick jumps off the couch and runs towards the bathroom shedding hisclothes on the way.

Jonny picks them up one by one on his waythere. A stark-naked Patrick dutifully waits for him beside the tab. He doesn’tmove until the water is high enough. He climbs in and sits down, splashingwater with his hands until Jonny hands him a sponge and drips some shower gelon it.

Patrick holds it but does nothing other thansearch around. Jonny thinks he might can’t do it himself so he tries to helpbut Patrick hides it on his other side.

“What are you waiting for?” Jonny asks.

“Quack!” he croaks, voice unused for so long.

“A duck?” Jonny asks incredulously, “who do youtake me for? Seguin?”

At Tyler’s name, Pat’s eyes light up withmischievous glee and Jonny scoffs to fight the hurt.

He’s one second away from snapping a “then whydon’t you go to him to give you one?’ but catches himself. They’d have to pryhim over Jonny’s dead body because he’d never give him up willingly to anyone,in whatever shape or form he may be.

So he patiently cleans Patrick and suffersthrough the wet mess he makes and he’s not even mad that his bathroom floor nowhas more water than the tab because Patrick giggles happily and it’s the bestsound Jonny has heard in a while.

He dries him off with his most soft and fluffytowel and dresses him in a worn off t-shirt before he tucks him in on his bed.He turns the TV on and hands him the remote.

When he comes back from cleaning up the mess,because the last thing he wants is for Patrick to prattle on the wet bathroomand break a bone, he finds Pat rubbing violently at his ear.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

Patrick nods with a sniff. When Jonny takes acloser look, his eyes are misty and a little red. Instinctively, he lowers hishead. When his cold lips make contact with Patrick’s forehead, it elicits apleased hum. Jonny does find him to be a bit warmer but it’s still too soon foranother round of medicine.

Jonny half picks him up, enough to put himunder the covers and Patrick fusses a bit trying to get out until Jonny walksround and settles on the other end of the bed.

“Nap time,” Jonny explains, laying his head onthe pillow and turning Patrick’s way.

Patrick lets out a soft yawn, nods and closeshis eyelids without protest.

Jonny sits there watching him- for how long hecan’t tell. When he thinks his breath has evened out he caresses his hairsoftly.

As if he had taken that as his que, Patrickinches closer just a tiny bit. His eyes are still shut but Jonny knows themotion was timid. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

He doesn’t pause to think about it, he justtakes him in his arm and lets Patrick head rest on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I know I can be suchan assho- asshat,” he censors himself “sometimes. But just this once can youmaybe do me a favour? Can you talk to me? Just a little? Just tell me thatyou’re mad if you want to. I just want to hear your voice.”

Patrick doesn’t speak but Jonny knows he isn’tasleep because he rubs his tiny nose on Jonny’s shirt.

Jonny lets out a heavy sigh. “Can you at leastchange back?”

After a beat, he can feel Patrick move hishead, he’s just not sure if it’s a shake or a nod. “Can you?” he asks again andthis time he can definitely feel the nod.

That at least unties a huge part of the knotJonny carries inside. “Will you? Now?”

Patrick shakes his head and tries to pull away.Jonny doesn’t let him go far. “Why?” he asks “It’d be better for you.Especially now that you’re sick.”

At that Patrick pushes that much harder to freehimself and Jonny rashes to clarify. “Not that I mind. – Taking care of you, Imean. Not that you’re sick. I mind that. I mean…” he takes a deep breath andtries to remember how to word “I just want to know you’re OK, ok? That’s all.”

Patrick looks up at him with hooded eyes.Jonny’s guessing he was probably trying to narrow them at him but he’s fever ismost likely coming back and it’s the only thing he can master.

“Ok,” herelents “ok, you win. I’m also a selfish jerk who wants to make himself feel alot less guilty, alright? There. I said it.”

“You’re mean.” Patrick accuses and theunexpected reply catches Jonny off guard.

“Uh- no, I- yeah I can be I suppose.” Headmits. “Is that why you don’t want to change back? Because I can try to bebetter and I am sorry-“

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but he seemsto regret it and closes his lips shut.

Jonny tugs him closer again. “It’s OK. Let’sjust nap. Whenever you’re ready, alright?”

Jonny is half-way asleep the next time Patrickspeaks. “Will you make me go away when I’m big?” comes a lisp-y whisper.

That’s enough to wake Jonny up. “What?” hesquawks.

He can feel Patrick slipping away and this timehe lets him enough to face him. “Patrick, never, ok? I never want –“ he can’tdo it. Not now. Not like this.

“Patrick, you have to listen to me carefully.”He stresses. “Are you listening?”

Patrick finally looks at him, reluctantly, yethe does and nods. Jonny gives a nod of his own. “Good, because this isimportant.” He takes a deep breath. “We need to talk.” He pauses because theinternet tells him that’s never good. “I-I need to tell you a lot of things but you’re 3 now and it’s creepy andwrong and all kinds of weird, ok? So, I’ll wait. Again.” He can’t help but addbecause he feels like he has been waiting for Patrick half his life “But I willnever, ever send you away, ok? The next time you leave is because you chose it,alright?”

Patrick just stares at him open-mouthed. Jonnyrubs at his forehead with sweaty palms. “Do you even get what I’m saying?” Hesays when his frustration takes over him.

Patrick glares at him. “’M not stupid.”

That makes Jonny smile. “I know.”

Patrick eyes him warily. “Even when I’m big?”he questions.

Jonny doesn’t hesitate. “Even then.”

Little blue eyes assess him. “OK.” Patrickfinally decides and then proceeds to tuck Jonny down to resume their previouscomfortable position.

“Jonny?” Patrick says, from inside Jonny’sarms.

“Hmm”

“’M not stupid,” he repeats “you are.”

Jonny huffs a laugh and leaves a quick kiss onthe top of Patrick’s head. “I know, Pat.” He agrees. “I know.”

[ecotone99]

[SF] Matilda and the Augean Stables

[ XVIII ]

Matilda had wore herself out on the process of capturing and hanging up the Siren to a bridge. She now sat at home ruffled and fuzzy hair unbrushed and out of sorts. She walked home and handed her weapons to her oldest sister Desmona, who was crippled by violence: opposite to the fighting ethos of Matilda. This issue had been a long-standing problem, as Desmona was often left committing sins with her apathy and inability to concern herself with orders outside of her own at the expense of others. This fault had lead Matilda to sharpen her weapons twice over, as she was expected to fight Desmona’s battle whenever she needed assistance. As Matilda entered her home she was informed that by Desmona that her magic pet named as chandler had wandered off and had yet to return before Matilda had returned from battle. When Matilda asked where the swift beast had ran: she was informed that the animal had ran in the direction of where Matilda worked: cleaning the stables of the Augean horses. Desmona had said that she were able to escape after Matilda had left for the battle, and that she were worried the cat had gotten lost, and too cast to capture once more. They joked about how the fluffy animal were as large as a hind, and that it was best to go search and retrieve the sassy animal before another night fell. Matilda left home once more, as she knew Desmona would be distraught had she lost the fluffy beast forever, and so they formed a party in which to search for the beast.

As Matilda walked, she noted how much she hated working at the stables, and wondered why the fluffy beast had followed her in the first place. She reflected on her awful occupation: smiling at dead-eyed savages as they demanded corn, wine, and sweets all day long. Matilda was in charge of cleaning the stalls of the now de-crowned King Augeas: an awful boar who treated women like the shit Matilda was contractually obligated to shovel each day. Matilda smiled as she watched the dead-eyed savages fill their oversized cups with sugar and find any reasons to complain aboot their mini-vacation at the stables. Matilda swept corn from off the floor, and forced herself to make light of the situation, as she declared herself the “Queen of the Corn” and admired her own ability to haul waste and make stairs her bitch. She didn’t mind all her guests at her work, but it were definitely an unwelcoming position to be in: since Matilda was not allowed to be herself by the orders of the managers who ran the stables. The managers made fun of Matilda and her limp and crooked spine, as they were unaware she were Indigenous Warrior royalty, as they never cared enough to learn learn the names of their employees. To this discrimination she had been forced to call for aid by those who actually owned and ran the Augean Stables over the Centuries, as she finally realized they had actually been breaking the law with their discrimination: hiding their true selves behind smiles, proudly boasting to of their own abilities to dehumanize their workers to one another. Matilda waited for her aid by the owners of the stables: sad as she walked back to the stables hoping to find the quick beast before she arrived at the Augean stables.

Matilda had started working at the stables as she had spent her youth attending the shows of mustangs and show-horses with her papa as a youth. She had no complaints of the lack of payment, or the guest who demanded to know “what are you?”: whenever Matilda and her ambiguous looks offended a guests on the patterned occasion. These dead-eyed savages often looked for reason to try and displace Matilda upon seeing her, asking of her to speak in Spanish, or her own language as though she were a monkey in a zoo. The dead-eyed savages and managers didn’t find it funny whenever she pointed out to them that she were a Homo Sapiens. Annoyed by their own privileged need to know her ethnicity, and amused as she informed them she were an Indigenous American Warrior: as their eyes grew huge in their own cultural shame. Matilda knew that the guest only came to watch pony shows of men riding around dressed at bats, and spiders: constantly spilling butter down their obese consumer faces. Matilda had never met the man known as King Augeas, besides the fact he were wealthy a prominent for his sexual depravity. He had became so used to his wealth that he finally slipped up, as a hostage had got away during one of his many times that he had tried to force himself on one of his own prized horses. Matilda had survived her own rape, and so she admired all the tall men and women who stood opposite to the King Augeas and his many chins and personalities. Matilda knew she had the honor of met these brave people on purpose, as she handed them back their papers, and telling the women who cried endless tears “Me Too” hoping someday these heroic women would be strong enough talk about whatever had made their hearts heavy. This lead to a ripple on the land, as Matilda now used her dreams to sooth the countless women who had once fell victim to King Augeas, absorbing and surviving their nightmares until her new friends no longer feared the beast.

Matilda had once loved the stables, as her father and her used to bond over the fancy stables and sites provided by the horses that bought at insane prices while stable workers received almost nothing. It was here that her papa had once gifted her with hints, as he showed her the race in which Truman finally walked up the stairs and out the door and expected her to understand as a child. He would point out all the horses with a definitive beauty mark, blonde hair, or curly hair and say "that's you", as though she were always the star of every horse race. It would be years before she found the races labeled "Get Out, and Us" on the stable boards that light up, and remembered her conversation with her papa, as he attempted to explain to her that she needed to jog her memories as fast as she could for some random reason. It wouldn't be until she saw a story within her golden fleece that she recalled the whole incident with with her papa, as she now remembered that she once actually knew a woman her dad called Hera whenever she left the room, a dead-eyed savage that had married into Matilda's family: luckily of no relation. This was vindictive and violent woman, as she waited until Matilda's papa had died until she began to feel safe enough as to abuse Matilda. She would deter her from finding her culture, as Hera bragged she were from a land across the sea. A place where Matilda and her siblings had once had their faces carved into a parthenon, a standing monument to their familial might. The woman ripped and clawed at Matilda and her face any chance she could as she scared her lips and chin with her talons. The woman loved hyping and preparing Matilda for her future life of incarceration: the expectations set. When this didn't work: Matilda had been forced by the woman known as Hera: referred to today as her reincarnated name: Carmen. The woman being paid to foster Matilda: would now force her to eat a large bag of ants for a week: punishment for Matilda having pointed out that her breakfast had been infested with ants in the first place. The abuse would only continue to escalate until the woman finally decided to pounce on Matilda as she wept uncontrollably, sad because she could no longer remember the sound of her papas mumbling voice. To this inconvenience Matilda was punished to permanent grounding, as Carmen stole and forbid Matilda from having books, music and food whenever she deemed fit. It were her goal to keep Matilda ignorant and submissive to her abuse as she was seclusion to all things that weren't child labor: Matilda and Desmona had once ran a childcare operation as pre-teens ruling over ten random kids while Hera often sat and did nothing. Carmen dismissed the teens exhausted pleas of grieving kindness and simply said "I don't know why you're crying...he wasn't even your dad", and with that one statement of displacement Matilda finally left her childhood home..never to return. Matilda would later regret leaving her sister Desmona with a woman who had been famous for her cunning demeanor and sustaining a Diet from Santa Clarita. Matilda never knew why her papa had married the woman in the first place, but she looked forward to the day when she'd get to tell her dad of his dead-eyed savage of a wife and her evils. He wondered what he'd say since he'd also been tortured as child by the Hydra: unsure if he knew that his Hydra-crest wearing wife Carmen had the audacity as to torture Matilda as child the second he had left unprotected. Matilda knew in the meantime she was to avoid the Redwood forest where Hera now hid, and now Matilda knew that child abuse was human rights violation. A law the Carmen had broken for over four years as she attempted to force Matilda to bow at every expense, stating she believed it were her "duty to break her", a religious terrorists who hid behind a cross and abused children in the comfort of her own home. Matilda had only told the Kindhearted Hunters a few of the things the hag Carmen had forced her to say, feel or do in the past. To these safe understandings of family, healing and time passed: Matilda was left only with the option as to continue her journey, and in the meantime she'd savage for clues in the building with still but moving horses that reside in the place Matilda occasionally called a shit stable.

Matilda arrived at crescent drive and crescent plaza, and stared up at the lit up stable that she often avoided at all costs. She began to scavenge the road, as she walked into the dim stables. Matilda had began to be annoyed by the beast, as she looked for the bushy tail that often purposely wagged sassily in front of Matilda. She continued to search the stables as she wandered in the darkened building that was filled with monsters and demons alike. As Matilda walked down the never-ending hallways and popped her head into each of the sixteen stables she noted someone following her slowly. Matilda turned to see one of her managers with long hair holding the black fur of the green eyed animal: stiff by the scruff of her neck as though setting a warning as she approached cautiously to save her beloved moody pet. The manager stated that they knew that the wild beast belonged to Matilda, and that they’d been waiting for her to slip up: if only to finally find reason to rid her from their employee list. To this Matilda laughed and told the so called leader to "fuck off" and that she’d give the manager until the count of three to gently release her beast.

The manager had never been spoken to like that by those who were openly called inferior, and so they took wise and let go of the animal who had opal colored eyes and teeth of a dragon. Chandler was a good girl, and Matilda could tell there were no fight to the death to be held today, as Chandler looked over her should past her own butt back at the manager who had the audacity to hold her without permission by: Desmona, her husband Kenny or Matilda. The small animal had enough shit to say for the both of them so Matilda let her do her thing, as she casually returned and rubbed along the shins of a human she actually knew. The small hind was now bored of the dead-eyed savages and missed her home as she slow blinked, and with that they both turned to leave the shit filled stables.

Matilda walked to the lobby of the stables where others often stood in cattle lines to retrieve their overpriced corn. It was here that Matilda heard the manager whisper to another manager: once more they felt powerful enough to feel the need to talk about Matilda and her inability to walk without pain, discomfort or occasional limp. This made Matilda cry, as she felt embarrassed by the fact she needed a chair or the aid of brace to stand and walk as her spine was curved and was progressively worsening. Matilda felt her warm tears trickle down her face, barely seeing her furry pet transform into a massive beast the size of a stallion. To this bad-assery Matilda instantly stopped crying and said “whoa...holy-balls”: as she wasn't aware the cute animal could do that. The oversized beast lunged at the managers and instinctively began to maul the many smug faces of all those Chandler had seen laugh or talk aboot her auntie Matilda when she were absent to defend herself. Matilda: unaware of how often the managers had degraded and threatened her in the past: stood busy staring in shock as the battle inferred between the fluffy animal and all those now stuck in the middle of frazzled the chaos that had now erupted in the stables.

Matilda was unsure of what to do in the case: as the animal was technically defending one of its owners, and the manager had brought it on themselves as Matilda wasn’t sure what the treatment was like between the manager and the small hind. It would seem that Chandler had gotten the same treatment from the managers that Matilda had been privy to: at least from what she could tell by the reaction of the now bloody managers who now begged for their lives. The supersonic speed of the animal was no match for any human, and Matilda was no different, as she finally instructed the beast that it were finally enough. To this the beast glared at Matilda, for she was not one of her true owners: Desmona and her husband Kenny. It was unsettling to see such large green eyes and black fur growl and hiss as she refused the orders and continued to rip at the throats of the managers who the small hind had heard threatening her old friend and who had even dared to degrade her auntie Matilda by calling her a beast.

Matilda was not equipped to fight this massive fluff-ball and used the time of the mauling to run down the endless hallway as she ran to closest restroom. The stalls of these stables were plenty and too few all at once, but endlessly trying to overflow if Matilda didn’t clean them. Evidently Matilda was the only one who was forced to clean shit, as the managers had enjoyed watching her on her hands and knees with her face stuck next to a stall of shit as she scrubbed the bowls. Matilda had never been deterred by hard-work, and so she put on her favorite hoops and put her Princess bun high atop her head as she scrubbed for almost no earnings. The stables paid poor, and Matilda already owed the Boar her tax returns, and all future earnings, as she had managed to rake up 45,000 in debt by forcing herself to attend University, and now they had hunted her down as they cut her earnings wherever she went. This was how she ended up shoveling shit in the first place. As Matilda paced up and down the restroom trying to develop plan she remembered that there had been a leaking faucet and a toilet that refused to stay fixed. Well...Matilda had told the managers of these two problems in multiple ways to no avail, and so she assumed they had been fixed since then. As she observed the leaks, she giggled to herself and said "never-mind" and shrugged. She had made jokes to herself of the managers by giving them the benefit of a doubt, assuming that they would have ever done anything other than sitting locked away in an office as they degraded their workers that they had hand selected to work in their stables.

To this already broken property: Matilda said fuck it. She began to rip off the silver boxes that were tacked on the walls to hold paper, and began to break as many porcelain toilets as she could. As she took finally blow to the last stall: she saw that there was now shit plastered from wall to wall as the toilets had now become fountains spewing shit. Matilda began to gag, as the smell began to fill the restroom with warm air filled with feces. Evidently she had forgotten to hydrate and felt her eyes tunnel into blackness, as she finally collapsed from lack of oxygen and clean water in a growing lake of shit that now began to flood the restroom of the busy stables.

Matilda woke up to her friend and fellow stable worker Cathrine as she slapped her hard across the face in the hopes to make her friend gain consciousness. It worked as Matilda stared at her old pal and made light of the situation by only saying “o no...we brown”. Both the woman kindly smiled to one another as they enjoyed making fun of their pigmentation so others couldn’t. Catherine was covered in shit, having walked into the stalls looking for help as there was evidently a large black fluffy beast mauling managers for reasons Catherine didn’t know. Matilda told mumbled as she managed to break suction that the moist waste held her to the floor upon fainting. She updated her friend that it were her loving animal Chandler: a surprise to Cathrine who had often unknowingly petted the now oversized fluffy beast.

The two knew the animal had a right to charge the gaggle of managers, but it didn’t mean it were acceptable to avoid from stopping the small hind that continued to claw and bite at the necks of the managers who had threatened her family. Catherine and Matilda continued to rush about the bathroom as they now began to break the already broken line of water faucets frantically running out of time. Matilda asked for her help as the last sink was still intact and hard to knock off the counter. The two women took their silver boxes and stood on the faucet as they braced against the mirrors that covered the wall as they delivered the last stomps and the line of sinks burst open spewing clean water everywhere as it overflowed from the sinks and weaved itself over the layer of shit that now covered the restroom stalls of the stable.

The sink began to back up as the pressure built up under the counter until the two women were finally swept up in the shit and water, as they were slickly whipped from their feet from the restroom into the hallway on a tsunami wave of beast repealing shit and water. As they helped one another up they looked around the lobby of the stables, as they were the cleanest the two had ever seen them. They admired their work and began to look for the small hind known as Chandler as they saw no living thing in sight of the immaculate and now empty building. Catherine pointed out the beast as they followed a fluffy black tail as it turned a corner, and as they reached the hallway: the beast had returned to her petite size once more and sat judging the pair as though they were late for attending a ball. The animal began to lick her small paws, and the two collected her as Matilda said by to her friend Catrine and thanked her for the help as she took her family and left the dead-eyed savages with their addictions to escapism and consumerism. Knowing now that the labor had been done for free, as the managers paid her with endless mocking and degrading Matilda and spreading rumors of vitriol disdain for her limp and crooked spine without caring that she were a person. Matilda took her Chandler and bounced, never to return to the stables where they made fun of her for looking like her furry friend that she now held with one hand. A mighty wee package were the two: wielding and delivering the power and justice of a thousand beast.

Matilda walked the animal home, and as she opened the door once more she was greeted by the sight of her sister Desmona. The girl was sitting in the middle of the empty apartment in the middle of the room crying. The woman had been crying endlessly as her Kenny had left to also go look for Chandler, and she was upset that she were alone. Matilda gave her sister her magnificent animal back as she tired to console her elder sister. Desmona had said that her and Kenny had argued about the way she had treated the animal in the past, and that it were no wonder the animal had ran away: he too was upset he had lost his family member as she had wandered to the stables. Matilda tried to boost her mood by distracting her with her own pet, and watched as the woman began to cry harder. She stated she worried her Kenny would leave her forever if she lost their pet, as they had parented her together. To this Matilda informed her sister that she could be nicer to their small hind, as she had noted that Desmona had an occasional temper with the domesticated animal. As the woman began to cry harder: Matilda talked over the sobbing as she attempted to resolve the wailing girl and unburdening her own heart at the same time. Matilda confessed that she had once harmed her own beast as an angry and violent youth, and spent every waking day regretting it as her heart was weighed down by her own sins. For Matilda had lost her beloved animal known as Emilio as he had wandered off when she were forced to move residencies last minute. Matilda said that she wished herself harm and even death each day because she now knew the innocent animal had done anything wrong other than love her unconditionally. To this honesty the sister stopped crying, as she hadn’t known that Matilda harboured such hatred and anger in the way she had expressed in detail, as she never allowed anyone to see it outside of her stories and drawn pictures. Matilda began to cry as she realized that every awful thing in her life that had happened since then had felt like pure karma for how Matilda had once treated her best friend: a loyal companion who just happened to be a small beast.

As Matilda cried she told her sister how she were ashamed of her actions and that she knew she didn’t deserve to parent a magnificent animal. She lamented that she had dreams and nightmares where she were running around the city at night running away from a dark figure who wished to harm her as she searched for her beloved animal, Buckles, or even the Viking on occasion. Desmona said she had recently had a dream that Matilda were locked in a room screaming as she were beaten and raped and her sister helpless to break down the door in the hallway. To this Matilda glared at nobody, as she had never told anyone about the locked room with only a bare hardened mattress and light buzzing and flickering ominously above. This was the exact room that Matilda would often be kidnapped to in her nightmares, as she were forced to relive the day of her rape as an infant. She lived in horror of sleep, as her dreams always began with the unbuttoning of her one piece that opened at the crotch. This rape she remembered vividly throughout the day, being paralyzed and in pain as she laid on her back staring up at the light on the ceiling wishing the excruciating pain would cease for only one night even if it meant her death. Matilda would spent her entire day avoiding all those around her: assured that the dead-eyed savages wish she were raped again if only to watch and jump at the chance to mock her crushed spine. A spine that received its first physical trauma at the age of one and a half, when a full grown man decided it were his privilege to force his erect penis into a baby until she screamed and howled the screams of a full grown woman as she’s tortured, as her drunken birth mother was nowhere to be found while her baby was raped repeatedly. Desmona was not ready to hear this story: and she may never be ready, and so Matilda holds it in as a secret out of concern for her sisters comfort. As they hugged one another crying: Kenny walked in the front door nonchalantly asking if anyone had found Chandler. The two giggled at Desmona and her melodrama, but left the moment at that: for they now had all their family together once more. Matilda would allow the world to know the details of her life as whore, as she continued to write down her adventures in a story wrote for no one, and shared by few, as Matilda and the readers were now left looking at a manuscript asking themselves "what is this?": Matilda now afraid to stop writing as her readers were finally asking her is she were real, as though she hadn't given the world enough clues with the leaves and flowers as she had once planted herself in all art crafted from cement, or ink until her name was known the world as she had once had the name Tila after the Yurok God of Destruction. Her presence only know by those who believed in a battle angel or holy ghost. The first name ever written on caves in the past, as even she had heard Yurok stories that she had personally taught the mute ancestors how to count and speak in the language of the original ancestors. Following the understanding of the skies and numbers, Matilda gifted them with written language, as they mistakenly thought her name was "You" as she were always pointing and directing at others. Legend says that the name Matilda was shortened to Tila when the Goddess were in battle as her name was forever honored by calling all men "Sir" despite the fact that it were only her true name. Matilda had been told by her dad in the forest that her name was hidden: as it was written for all of history as the pictograph "I" or as the number "1". Matilda knew it were silly and asinine enjoying the idea that world evolved around only her, and admired her own name occasionally when writing in the ancient Yurok languages made of 1's and 0's . These types of experiences: Matilda often avoided talking about with the dead-eyed savages that still roamed her land, as they had made sport of her ability to daydream growing up. She did not wish her readers the curses she held for seeking patterns obsessively: the way Matilda had since learning of her existence in a past life as a winged Deity. She wished to ward the madness from the minds of her readers but knew she'd written enough to help the world remember, and it the rest were solely up to her readers to make with it whatever they choose. Matilda now sat safely with her Golden Fleece :watching avidly as she hoped all those who read her work would admire her strength as she had mightily joined two rivers into one: a task previously only successfully done by Hercules, fulfilling his labours. Matilda wrote for no crowd, and held attention with only those wise enough to dare finish learning of their ancestors sins. Matilda knew she'd continue on her quest with or without her readers, but thanked them as each vote of approval gave Matilda the pride of a thousand horses, and each completed read allowed her to finally breath with ease knowing she'd done her best to explain her life and culture in a language she'd just learned. She now held no shame in her body and her actions as Matilda watched as her music sounded and felt different, and her heart seemed lighter than it ever had in her entire life for she had finally told someone, anyone about the empty room in odd fear of the chance of Matilda being inception-ed in the future. The two sisters and Kenny grew closer because of all the furry babies they all cared for, but it would be only Matilda who still cried for endless shame of having lost her temper and forever losing her favorite beast.

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