#the sweaters are salvageable. at least

[carfuckerlynch]

killing wool moths with my mind and also soap and water

[000png]

:(

[wordsnstuff]

Hello! I just had the realization my original plot just isn't going to work but I'm almost done with my first draft and I'm too married to a lot of my scenes I've already written to feel like i can fully start over. Do you have any advice? Just thinking about starting over is making me want to put the pen down for a while...

Starting over near the finish line

By first draft, I'm assuming you mean that this is the first attempt at putting the your story to paper. What I'm about to say is not to devalue the incredible amount of work that you must have invested up to this point. It is an accomplishment on its own to sit down and put words on that page, let alone reach a point anywhere near a finish line.

The first time you do something (anything) is rarely the time you do it well, let alone perfectly.

If I sat a beginner down with some printouts of blogposts about knitting and a spool of yarn, I doubt they'd make me a sweater without having to undo at least 50% of the moves they make. That wouldn't be because they're stupid or genetically predisposed to suck at knitting. Regardless of how seasoned you are as a writer, each work you approach is like starting a brand new hobby from scratch. You have to mentally allow for space to make errors and to let go of good ideas. This doesn't mean you throw the good and essential core of your story out.

Take significant time to review what you have, identify the bits and characteristics that you find most emotionally and mentally compelling. Write them down, examine the commonalities and congruencies between them, and work out exactly you like about your story as it stands. There is always good amongst the bad. You seem to already have identified certain parts that you cannot bring yourself to let go, so once you figure why that is, you'll be able to trim away what doesn't serve you and move forward.

You aren't starting over. This is not the beginning, and you will never be back at the beginning again. This is process, and process is imperative to making anything. If you continue to visualize writing as an act that starts at point A and ends at point B you will never be done. Nor will you do justice to your ideas. If you don't allow them to waddle around and fall on their face like the newborn babies that they are, they won't develop as they're meant to.

This is not failure. This is writing. It's a necessary part of what you're doing. It's normal. It's good for you. It's good for your story. In fact, it speaks well to your character development and world building and even your plot development that you can recognize there is so much worth salvaging in this first attempt to bring to the next. You're already emotionally connected to so much of what you've made, and plot is only part of that. If you're able and willing to acknowledge what doesn't work, you will be able to trust yourself when you determine what does. A story is a sum of its parts, and this is just one part that you're going to put down, regroup, and reconfigure.

There are several resources that I've created over the many years to assist in plot development and all the problems encountered within, and those are available on my masterlist for your perusal.

I wish you the best of luck and look forward to your triumphant follow up once you finish that second draft.

x Kate

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daryl was out on a hunt,

He had been tracking a deer for most of the day as a trail of large canine prints caught his attention. They seemed to also follow the deer's tracks so he begged the animal hadn't gotten to his prey yet.

Following the sets of tracks he eventually finds the source chowing down on his deer.

'Fuck' he thought as he lined up his crossbow and held the animal inhis sight, shooting and hitting it in the leg.

It let out a howl as it looked around in panic, fear clear it its eyes as Daryl stalked closer.

Upon closer inspection this animal wasn't something he had seen before. Certainly canine, but in no way or shape a feral wolf. Its fur resembled that of a golden retriever and german shepard mix but the way its body was shaped was just off. As well as the cloth around its leg. It looked like one of those retro puffy hair ties.

He raised his crossbow again and the animal ducked away but never tried to run. As he didn't shoot its arm lowered away from its head to look at the attacker.

Why did this thing's reactions feel so ..human? And why was he being stupid and letting go of his crossbow?

He kneeled at its legs and reached for the arrow, making the animal pull back and whine out in pain.

"Lemme get tha' out, yeah? Imma let ya go." He tried again, with more success this time as he grabbed the arrow with one hand and held the flesh around the wound with the other and yanked it out, muttering sorries the whole time.

The wound seemed to disappear beneath his fingers before the animal moved its leg and hopping up and running off into the overgrown woods.

Daryl took another look at the deer, took his knife and salvaged whatever he could to take back home.

On his next run he managed to track a family of boars that, albeit a bit bloody, ended up dead right after their tracks turned around a group of large rocks. He scanned the area bit found nothing but the freshly killed animals for him to take home.

Yet another run after that one was cut short when a deer with its neck snapped was sssmingly left for him near his home.

This time he decided against his sceduled run and would sit it out at the edge of the woods, wondering if the one leaving the food for him would make an appearance. And yes it did, but as soon as it spotted him it dropped the smaller game from its mouth and ran off too fast to catch. But at least he had some meat again.

So one day before his next run was supposed to be he headed into the woods again. Straying far off the path and almost getting attacked by the animal he saved. It caught him off guard and managed to knock him on his ass before hiding away again. But he wasn't gonna give up and went on, camping out during the night and continuing the next day only to stumble on a hollowed out part in a large rock wall.

There were remnants of mostly eaten wildlife and fish too, but also what looked like ashes from a campfire at the edge of the hollow.

Taking his two knives in hand he slowly moved forward to take a look, only to be grabbed by something and shoved forward to stumble over his own feet. He turned to see what shoved him and found a woman standing over him. Dressed in a wrapped skirt, torn old sweater and a deer pelt draped over her shoulders.

The woman growled at him as he held up his a knife. A huff left her lips as she turned around and walked off to grab a fish off the fire and toss it at him. He managed to catch it only to let go not a second later. "Ah, hot. Damn." He shook his hand and licked at his scorched fingers which had the woman let out a laugh that barely sounded human.

"Yer the one tha's been huntin' mah food." It wasn't even a question as her eyes were the same ones he had looked into when he helped the wounded animal that first day.

"Ya talk?" He watched as she opened her mouth but only produce a garbled noise, not being able to find her voice.

"So ya live here." A nod confirmed his question. "And yer a ..skinwalker?" He had no idea what he was asking but he had heard that word somewhere one day. But he was wrong as she shook her head.

She crouched down and swiped at the floor to make a patch of clear sand, putting her finger out and writing. 'Wolf'

"Yer a shapeshifter?" A thinking expression with a sideways nod, giving him an okay for that guess as she doodled what looked like a cresent moon next to the word.

"Werewolf?" Another nod, but this one was more excited which made him chuckle.

"Ya haven't been human in a while, huh? Or a'least talked." Fhe conversation stayed very one-sided as Daryl asked simple yes or no questions and they shared some fishes for lunch.

It didn't matter to him that she didn't speak. He enjoyed her company in this strange forest cave.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Plot twist! It's a she-wolf this time!! Sometimes drabble idea hit you in the middle of writing another fic, so you're all getting something extra!

Part two HERE

[jae-bummer]

One of Those Days

Request: Felix & Prompt #2

Prompt:

2) “Get in the fucking blanket fort."

Prompt list can be found HERE.

Pairing: Stray Kids Felix x Reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Swearing

.

The coffee stains on your shirt weren't nearly as bad as you had convinced yourself. No one at work had made a comment about it, so either they hadn't seen it or they were just being polite.

It was totally fine that you locked yourself out of your apartment without your car keys this morning. The walk to work really wasn't that long and you swiped your key card only 32 minutes after you should of, making it necessary for a security guard to walk you to your desk.

Shredding the wrong file totally wasn't the end of the world either. You had back ups, or at least you thought you did until your computer popped up with the blue screen of death. Maybe the IT guy could salvage it after all?

Pulling at the lobby door of your apartment, when you subconsciously knew good and well it should have been pushed caused you to pause, taking a deep breath. Everything was fine. Some days are just bad and that's how it is. The universe decided to throw your mental health into a dishwasher without the detergent. All of the worst bits still floated around and nothing ending up clean like you hoped it would.

But you were home now...well, you would be as soon as Felix showed up with your spare key. Until then, you could lay in the fetal position next to your welcome mat, nice and safe.

Glancing toward the elevator, you had to chuckle as you noticed the white piece of paper taped to it. "Out of Order."

"Looks like we're walking," you muttered, eying the staircase you loathed after an especially long day. Grabbing tightly to the banister, you decided to take your time. There was no need to rush when you were just going to wait anyway.

Up and up you climbed, pausing once you heard someone rocketing up the stairs behind you. Turning a hopeful eye over your shoulder, you prayed to any of the gods available that it was Felix.

"Excuse me," you heard briskly as an unknown tenant flew past you.

"Hey!" you gasped, colliding with his shoulder as he continued to climb.

"Sorry!" he called back without turning around, not even noticing as you tripped up the stairs.

"It's okay," you said quietly, closing your eyes. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay...

IT IS NOT OKAY!" you finished with a screech. "I AM NOT OKAY!"

"Y/N?" a familiar voice whispered from the platform above you.

You winced as you looked up, your eyes locked on a familiar face. Heat rose up your neck and steadily moved towards your ears as you remained silent.

"Should, should I-" Felix said quickly before shaking his head to correct himself. "Yes, of course."

He quickly descended the steps toward you, immediately crouching to take your hands in his.

"It's just," you began weakly. "It's just been a r-really hard day."

This caused his brows to furrow, his mouth turning into an upside down "u" shape. "Tell me all about it."

"Can we...can we maybe get up first?" you asked, hearing more tenants filter into the lobby. You didn't want to cause any further spectacles today.

"Oh right, totally!" he gasped before beginning to stand, gently bracing your arms as you stood as well. Without letting you go, he led you up the remaining steps and to your apartment door.

Entering slowly, he eased you into the small mudroom area, only stopping long enough so you could kick off your shoes. Nodding to himself again, he led you to the kitchen and patted one of the bar stools. "Do you need snacks? I brought some! And I just tried out this new recipe-"

Before he finished, you found yourself shaking your head. The tears you were so desperately trying to avoid were dangerously close from falling. Felix seemed to notice too as he reached out to you, pulling your shoulders toward his chest. From the seated position, you could easily nestle into the soft material of his sweater as he wrapped protecting arms around you. "Please let it out," he whispered into your hair. "But also know, that I am a sympathetic crier and am not responsible if I get snot in your hair."

You let out a hiccup that was a mix between a sob and a laugh. "I've already suffered enough today, why not add someone else's bodily fluids into the mix?"

"Hey now," he chuckled. "It's not just anyone's bodily fluids."

"Can we please stop saying bodily fluids?"

"I kind of like it."

"Lix," you grumbled, leaning away from him. You couldn't help the smile that tugged the corners of your mouth as you saw the one spreading across his face.

"I know just what you need," he said, looking more sure of himself than you had ever seen. "Where are your spare sheets?"

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, quirking a brow.

"Spare sheets, Y/N, this is very important."

"Uh...hall closet?"

He smiled before releasing you and waddling in the direction you had sent him in. "Stay there."

"Okaaay?" you called behind him, completely confused as to what he was doing.

After fifteen minutes of listening to him grumble, swear, and even scream in alarm (It only happened once, but you were convinced he may have almost set something aflame) Felix finally appeared in the kitchen doorway. Looking more than ruffled, he shot you one of his award winning smiles. "It's ready."

"What is ready exactly?" you asked, leaning forward off of your stool.

"Come find out," he grinned, darting away from you and into the living area.

Heaving a sigh, you followed behind, only to be met with a very unexpected sight.

"Tada!' He jumped, extending his hands in the direction of the couch. "Welcome to Hotel Felix! Dinner is served promptly at six and the dress code is business casual. Please make sure to tip your servers and cleaning staff."

You blinking quickly, trying to shake what had to be a hallucination away from your sight. Felix had quickly and efficiently turned the entire living room into a blanket draped tent. Tiny fairy lights (that you had never seen before and were convinced he may have kept on his person) were woven between cushions and could be seen lighting the interior of the "hotel." Candles illuminated the entertainment center and book cases. Scrunching your nose, you couldn't help but smell the slightly singed scent in the air.

"Felix," you said cautiously. "Did you-"

"Make the best "feel better" space of all time? Why yes, yes I did," he smiled.

"Set something on fire?" you finished.

"Only myself, but don't worry, me and my sleeve are relatively unharmed," he nodded.

"Look, Yongbokkie, my sweet, summer child," you sighed, turning to him. You watched with a tinge of guilt as his excited expression turned into one of confusion. "I really just want to take a long shower and then maybe-"

"Y/N?" he whispered, an unfamiliar stony expression overtaking his face.

"Yes?" you asked quietly.

"Get in the fucking blanket fort."

Without making another argument, you quickly dropped to the floor, crawling into the space he had created. A small room draped in sheets and blankets opened up to you and you couldn't help but gasp. Cushions and pillows coated the floor, and his laptop sat in the middle, Netflix already queued up. Scooting toward the left side of the tiny room, you sat and began to take everything in. It was adorable.

"Now was that so hard?" he said, following behind you. You let out a sigh of relief as you saw his normally sunshiny countenance back.

"Felix," you chuckled, shaking your head. "What the fuck?"

"Making blanket forts is one of my most marketable skills." Leaning toward one of the blanket walls, he reached through the slightly parted sheets and pulled out a convenience store bag full of snack foods. "It started when Hannie had an anxiety attack one day and I just wanted...well, I just wanted him to feel safe. The dorms can be so loud and there's so many people everywhere. I wanted to make him his own special place where he could decompress and...well, I got really good at it. Except when candles get involved, obviously."

If you were a cartoon, you would have heart eyes. "You are the most precious human being I have ever met."

"Thanks," he smiled, unwrapping some licorice and pulling out a strand. "Licorice?"

"Wait, I'm not done!" Scooting as close as you could into his side, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you. For all of this. For being you and being here for me. I couldn't possibly ask for more."

"Well, you could," he said, wrapping an arm around you.

"I wouldn't even be able to come up with something more! This is perfect."

"You could ask for a kiss?" he smirked mischeviously. "Or some cuddles? Or to not have me pick what we're going to watch because it's going to be Power Rangers: The Movie again."

"Is that the one with Ivan Ooze?"

"Is there any other worth watching?"

You smiled, eying his lips as he stared lovingly back at you. "How about I just watch you instead?"

"Oh, I'm boring," he hummed. "But a lot less boring when you're kissing me, so you should probably get to it."

You couldn't help but laugh at the cute, little man in front of you. "Okay, okay, I'll kiss you, you nerd."

And you did just that.

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Yay then!!!

Hmmmm…

So, for hurt-comfort, I had another idea, but I realized it's too big and would prob work as a one-shot better, so this is the scenario idea:

James finding his gf (the reader) crying after someone was bullying her for being muggleborn, (if u wanna make it more extreme maybe they also cast a spell that ruined all her hw, or drenched her in water, or something like that) and by the end she's just kinda asleep in his arms and he promises (to himself) to protect her

Also, I swear, for some reason the bad liar update never showed up on my page, so I'll be reading that tmr

always yes to protective Jamie 🥺🥰 Warnings: reader gets bullied for being a muggle-born Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter 😊 gifs aren’t mine 😁

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Bullied

"Hey, sweetheart, I was starting to think you forgot about me" you heard your boyfriend's voice coming from the bathroom, as soon as you stepped into his dorm. He walked out and his smile instantly dropped when he saw you. "Princess, what happened?"

You were an absolute mess. You looked completely drenched, covered in mud, your knees and hands were wounded, and your bag looked like it had been burned.

"I w-was coming b-back from the library" you said, between sobs as James walked closer to you and took your bag off your shoulder. "A-and they- they started yelling at m-me" you cried as James walked you over to his bed and sat you down.

"Who?" he asked, feeling his blood boiling.

"S-some kids from Slytherin" you said, trying to calm your breathing. "I'm not sure what their n-names are. They just started yelling 'm-mudblood'" you cried on James' shoulder. "A-and then they threw water a-at me with their wands a-and mud" you said, looking up at him before you grabbed your bag. "A-and they ruined m-my bag. I had all of my assignments here" you said, opening it but nothing more than ashes came out. "I worked on m-my Charms essay for t-two weeks" you said, crying harder and James pulled you closer to him.

James took a deep breath to try and calm himself down so he wouldn't run out to find the shitheads who did this to you because he knew you needed him here.

"Come on, love" he said, getting up and bringing you with him.

"But my things-"

"I'll take care of that, princess. I'm gonna draw you a bath, and we're gonna use Padfoot's fancy salts and soaps, just don't tell him, okay?" he said, kissing your forehead.

You smiled a little as James prepared the warm bath for you and as soon as you got in, you instantly felt at least ten times better.

"Where are you going?" you pouted when he walked towards the exit.

"I'm gonna get you some clean clothes, love" he said, giving you a peck on the lips before he walked out of the bathroom.

After you were clean and changed into James' pajama pants and your favorite sweater of his, you walked out to the dorm and saw James trying to salvage what was left of your bag.

"It's ruined, isn't it?" you asked, feeling a few tears in your eyes again, sitting down next to him.

"It's okay, princess. We're going to Hogsmeade this weekend and I will buy you any bag you like, okay?" he said, kissing your temple.

"Love, you don't have to do that" you insisted.

"I want to. I love spoiling you" he smiled, kissing your cheek.

"Still, I don't think I'll be able to go to Hogsmeade this week" you said, as James brushed his thumb against your cheek to wipe away your tears. "I have to redo my Charms essay" you explained. You noticed James tense a little before he took a deep breath. "What?"

"Alright, if I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?"

"What did you do?" you asked, wiping your remaining tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

"W-well, sometimes when we're too busy with Quidditch or... well, pranks, Padfoot and I grab your homework and Moony's and... we kind of make copies of it" he said, going over to his nightstand and taking a few parchments out, handing them to you. You saw your Charms essay, the one that you had worked on for two weeks and had just finished at the library. It was just missing the last part, but everything else was there.

"How often do you do this?" you asked, going through the papers.

"We don't use them, we just, you know, make our own version of them. Only when we have Quidditch practice" he insisted but you looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. "Or when we forget there's homework" he admitted. "I'm sorry, love. I should have told you but-"

You cut James off by throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the lips. "I love you so much" you smiled.

"Y-you're not mad?"

"I'm not entirely happy about it and I doubt Remus will be either" you told him. "But you just saved me from having to re-write this entire essay" you smiled, bringing him closer for another kiss. "Thank you" you smiled.

"You're welcome, princess" he said, kissing you again. "Do you want to go down for dinner? You can point those kids to me so me and Padfoot can-"

"No" you said, hugging him. "Can we just stay here a little longer?" you asked, looking up at him, knowing he wouldn't be able to say no to you.

"Of course, princess" he said, lying down on his bed and bringing you with him. "Whatever you want" he said, kissing your temple as you rested your head on his chest. "I love you" he said, stroking your back, noticing you were almost asleep.

"I love you too" you said, closing your eyes and falling asleep in his arms while he mentally thought about letting Sirius in on this and plotting his revenge against the Slytherins.

The End

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A/N: hope you liked it, loves :)

[reachartwork]

CHUM RS.1: The Smalls

The living room still smells like fresh paint and new carpet. I've been trying to mask it with scented candles, but there's only so much Yankee Candle can do against the persistent odor of reconstruction. It's been months since we moved back in, but sometimes I still expect to wake up in Moe's guest room, surrounded by boxes of our salvaged belongings.

Ben's shuffling around in the kitchen, probably rearranging the crackers on the plate for the fourth time. His need for symmetry used to drive me up the wall, but after everything we've been through, it's almost comforting. A little island of predictability in our chaotic lives.

I check my phone again. No messages from Sam. She's out with friends – or at least, that's what she told us. These days, I'm never quite sure if "hanging out with Tasha" means gossiping over frappuccinos or punching bad guys in dark alleys. I push the thought away. Tonight isn't about Sam, not directly. It's about us – the adults who are supposed to have all the answers and instead are drowning in questions.

The doorbell rings, and I hear Ben's quick footsteps. He always beats me to the door, a habit from when Sam was little and we were paranoid about strangers. Now, I almost wish it was that simple.

"Dad," Ben's voice carries from the entryway. "Come in. It's freezing out there."

I stand up, smoothing down my sweater. It's the nice one, the cashmere blend that I save for special occasions. As if dressing up will somehow make this evening less fraught.

Moe bustles in, all smiles and hugs. He's wearing the gaudy Hanukkah sweater I got him last year as a joke. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous. On Moe, it looks somehow dignified.

[n4rut0runn3r]

Step-by-step Sweater

I finished knitting my first sweater! This has been a long adventure, and I wanted to share some highlights.

This sweater was originally crocheted and finished on November 14, 2021. 5 hours later, a historic flood had come and destroyed my childhood home with 6-10 feet of water inside my house and our shop. The water moved with tremendous speed and I had lost all of my possessions. The sweater was thrown into a wet garbage bag with the rest of the clothes we thought could be salvaged, as the flood was from the river overflowing through dairy farms and from an asbestos tainted mountain run off. It was washed by some volunteers who I am very grateful for. Unfortunately it never fit right afterwards.

I was going to throw it away, but on November 28, 2022 I decided I should at least salvage the yarn.

This yarn has been so many places. I worked on the crocheted version in Washington DC, and New York. It even accompanied me on the NY subway in all its grimy sticky glory. This yarn has gone on every road trip the past 2 years. This yarn came with me on a cruise and I made so many nice rich old lady friends. I even got a nice handful of cough drops for showing a lady how to do the increase I was working on.

I decided to learn how to knit because I read on a forum that knit garments use less yarn and are less heavy, and that was my original complaint with the first one, was that it was too heavy.

I frogged and restarted so may times, questioned my ability to count, but I kept going. Here are some things I learned:

-Knitting is very fun, I would just want to come home and sit in my chair and spend all day working on it

-Frogging knit is alot harder than frogging crochet

-The absolute hardest part of the whole thing was weaving in the ends. Why is it so much harder with knit!?!

-The nicer knitting needles are worth the investment. I knit alot faster with cooperative needles and cables. The bamboo ones also don't squeak like the metal ones

-I learned how to hold yarn tension in my right hand! I'm so used to holding it in my left hand, that it took a solid 6 months of practice to get it! I still can't do it when I purl though.

This is how much yarn was left over. All the yarn I had to use came only from unraveling the crocheted sweater panels, all of my yarn had been lost otherwise, so I didn't have any extra skeins on hand at all. This is how much more yarn was used to crochet vs knit. That's why the first one was so heavy!

This is me washing and blocking the sweater, I laid down some towels to help keep my table from being soggy for days. I washed and rinsed with wool light delicate. All of the yarn had already been machine washed, but I just wanted to be gentle since this project took so long.

I'm glad to be done! I'm already starting a second one, and I'm being sure to document the whole process. I'm attempting some more techniques in my second sweater. The sweater was completed on December 22, 2023. Here are some final pictures of the sweater!

The pattern I used was amazing. I also followed along with the YouTube guide. I highly suggest this pattern/video if anyone wants to try knitting for the first time. Video link posted below.

[sunnysideprincess]

Mind the tags | TW: language, dubcon (something that's kind of already engraved into the soulmate trope), self harm, blood, gore

Hell, If It Glitters

He stares at the mangled piece of tech on the ground, contemplating pressing the panic button and calling for help—that generally means whoever's haunting the compound for the night. His three options are limited to Rhodey, Vision and/or Nat, though she goes by Elena these days, wears sweater vests of all things, thick glasses and a blond mop of hair that does not suit her at all. He hopes it's Vision tonight. Because whoever did that to the patrol drones could very easily squish two humans, specially when one of them is still recovering from his physical therapy. Vision, though not infallible, is much more durable.

A noise to his left alerts him to the possible intruder and Tony makes sure to clutch the empty needle tighter in his hold. More than ever, he wishes he wasn't so openly vulnerable—wearing threadbare hospital jammies and a bandage around his neck to hide his gruesome attempt at ridding himself from the bond.

He walks around the gurney and parts curtain, only to get jumped by one of the drones, sparking and squeaking pitiably in soft beeps and boops.

Tony coos at it for a while, doting soothing caresses on its metal hide as it floats by his head, no doubt scared of whatever attacked his brothers and sisters. He vaguely recalls Peter naming it Ider and smiles to himself.

"Come on, let's go find the ghost."

The ghost is waiting for him in the hallway and Tony has a half formed thought that the world wasn't wrong to call him a ghost story.

Barnes stays still as a statue while Tony taps a message on the drone. A clue left behind for his compatriots if and when it's needed.

"Come here to finish the job?"

A soft exhale, something he shouldn't be able to pick up makes him shudder and take a step back. Then a voice he listens to in the familiarity of his mind's darkest corners chides him for being a coward. Barnes can't hurt him. Or at least will not get away with hurting him. There are people who would avenge his absence. His death. If it were to happen tonight.

Besides—Tony isn't going down without a fight. He doesn't even care if the scratched out name on his neck burns with every breath.

One of the hallway lights flickers out, just as the drone falls to the ground. And for a single second, Tony doesn't understand what's happened. At least not until he sees the leak in the temperature regulation.

Barnes shot the fucking thing and Tony couldn't even see him move. That's-

"No way the serum can make him do that," he worries out loud before gasping at the empty hallway.

"Shit. Shit, shit-fuck."

It hurts to think about salvaging Pete's favorite, but Tony knows a lost game when he sees one. It's a desperate attempt at best. He picks up the drone and rips out the miniature reactor, before hurling the sad remains of Ider towards the wall. It takes him a second to rig a makeshift grenade. Then it's his turn to go for a hunt.

He doesn't find Barnes.

No.

What he finds is worse.

"What the hell," he whispers to the endless supply of emptied bags of blood and a bunch of ripped out limbs strewn about on the floor.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust when his bare foot squelches on a puddle of blood and hastily takes a step away from some poor nurse's arm, while almost dropping the bomb on himself.

"What in the name of Asgardian gods and shit is this?"

"Stevie said a lot of things," a voice coos next to his ear and Tony swings his left fist blindly towards the source. "But he never told me you had sea legs, sweetheart."

A cold, metal limb stops his swing with ease, then reels him in. Too late, Tony doesn't realise there's another arm going for the bomb and then he's watching it blowing up the wall.

Ears ringing, Tony struggles in his assailant's hold while Barnes doesn't waver in his silent assessment. His heart, weak after receiving the dual super soldier beat down and then the subsequent attempt at removing his soul bond, is a battering ram against his chest.

"Let me go you fucking-"

Fingers, long and gentle scrape against the bandage on his neck and it's like his body's on fire. Tony chokes on a cry as Barnes rips it off, uncaring of the pain it causes Tony, ucaring that Tony doesn't want it—doesn't want the name of his mother's killer on his skin, on his soul.

"No, no-no-no fuck you, Barnes."

Barnes laughs. He laughs and Tony feels his breath on his neck, his tongue on the cut.

So easy, it's so easy to fall without his suit. But more than that it's easy to fall when it's his own body rebelling against his free will.

Fuck soulmate science.

"You're mine. You have been since Stevie decided to let you go. Since I decided to have you instead." Their eyes meet and it's then something clicks.

"You're not-" Human. Super soldier. Innocent. A helpless prisoner.

"Hydra was relentless, y'know. Why stop at one Winter Soldier when we can have five more? Why stop at one failed experiment when we can have ten more. You think Maximoff was the only one to volunteer? Sure-"

Barnes grins, dripping blood from his lips. Tony's blood. His mind is repulsed by the sight of it. But his body-his mark has decided otherwise. A soft moan slips past his lips when Barnes pushes him up against the wall.

"Some of us were forced to meddle with the scepter. But hey-"

His head is yanked to the side as Barnes licks and nips at his jaw, groaning like he is seeing heaven already.

"Nothing compares to this- not even sex."

Tony feels the sharp burn of teeth, the sting of a pull. The numbness settles soon after. But it's the force of arousal that brings tears to his eyes.

"Then again," Barnes whispers while pulling away, wiping a thumb over Tony's lips. A move that rips his entire being into two warring sides. "Everything's different when it belongs to you, right?"

"No. I'm not-Never," he chokes on his own words. Because he is. He is bonded to his worst nightmare.

Barnes smiles, his nose wrinkled like they were friends.

Like they were lovers.

"Never say never, sweetheart."

[firespirited]

I should probably make a scavenging tag to keep tab of this buuuut it kind of goes under the home hacks and multipurpose crafting i've been doing ever since that first 2008 doll streaks with gold embroidery floss rooted using a toothbrush handle with the needle inserted by melting over a candle.

Guess this is kind of my brand. ¯\_(◡‿◡)_/¯

On Friday, I walked Lily briefly and found a big bin bag that was someone's chest of drawers emptied so I sorted it into clothes, recyclable and rubbish put it all in the correct bins and left the clothes and accessories for others to go through after picking out a few gorgeous scarves, a brand-new djellaba in bronze cotton, a lovely stained cream jumper (sweater) that i'm going to dye: it had a snagged loose knit - crochet looking but done by machine - back that just needed re-knotting/rethreading (what ever the word is for when you use tweezers to weave the yarn back through its original pattern and knot it down), a machine knitted snood to frog/unravel, some glitter body lotion and a notebook.

*I found the glue at another bin next to a bunch of tools (including a stainless ratchet wrench 😍 with accessories I couldn't carry 😥) thought I'd grab the glue in case there was a chance you could get some out by using a pin through the top as I'm currently waiting for superglue in the mail. Score: It's not jammed at all.

Loctite powerflex is pricey (€7 for 3g when you can get 20 x 3g liquid superglue for €4) and takes about double the time to set (hold tight and count to at least sixty not thirty) but it is magical stuff: not only does it go where you direct it to, you have a window to wipe off any excess without it leaving damage and it holds really well without cracking on flexible surfaces like vinyl, shoe soles, headphone wires. It's got superglue in it but also some kind of rubber base solution. It's one of those fancy glues you want around for the special stuff while having a backup of bog-standard superglue for basic repairs.

*I keep sleep and symptom notebooks to keep track of any circadian rhythm disruptions, migraines, gastrointestinal issues so I can circle back to a particular food or activity. I'd been using these cute panda shaped accounting notepads and stocked up but as with all things good, they got discontinued. I tried other notepads but it wasn't quite right: it needs to be lightweight, easily replaceable if I drop water on it, as unobtrusive as possible. This merch pocket book with the 5mm squares is just right when unbound into 6.

/// I learned this trick as a kid, someone showed me how different books were bound and how to salvage thrown out school exercise books, remelt crayons, use carbon copy, properly wash brushes... that kind of stuff. I think it was a free summer art class where you turn up and there are all sorts of different people and even if you end up just drawing ye olde square house, you absorb a bunch of history or techniques and get to watch other people: how they sketch, how they observe, I think that was the first time i'd seen cross-hatching and then couldn't unsee it in illustrations. I'm so glad my parents dropped me off at the various council, museum and church free events as a kid: some are really rigid and you get in trouble if you don't assemble the pompom bird exactly as instructed, others are an occasion to bond with some grandpa who'll show you how to whittle or learn and learn. ///

Why not go digital? because you don't want your phone on: you'll forget what you were supposed to do and go down a rabbit hole. Besides, half those things come with weird reward systems that make me feel obligated or guilty, or worse: diet propaganda. So that lil find has me set for the next year, I transcribed my current messy too big notepad into two pages and voilà! (well i still have a couple of symptoms to add now that i look it over)

*After working with yarn for a while, you start to get a sense for the type that doesn't pull apart when brushed or tugged and it's rarer than you'd expect so I took the snood despite not liking the green tinge to the mustardy colour: it doesn't make clawdeen's skin tone pop for example. So it's the right fibre with a light enough base for some dye experiments.

*it has taken forever and it's just a start (50+ more) but I have listed 12 more dolls on ebay!! there are reroots from before I got injured and deglued dolls i'm really proud of. If you're interested, I'd much prefer to sell in bulk to the EU, will happily sell at cost instead of those higher ebay prices and have a ton of doll heads and partially finished projects if you repaint or reroot.

[lu-inlondon]

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words

I was tagged by @rekishi-aka - thanks, love <3

Fic with the most hits: Of Angels and Bells A Lovesquare-multichapter, for which I wrote 13k in one day, completely shredding my wrist for two weeks :D Marinette has a kid in this one, which is Adrien's which he doesn't know for reasons* (*because I said so).

Adrien drives a black jaguar, which I thought was hilarious, but only one person got the joke T-T

Fic with the second most kudos: A Token of Affection A Dreamling-OS, which I wrote because I found a knitting pattern I thought Dream would love :D So Hob gets to knit and live my "I studied in London during the pandemic"-experience

Posting this was so wild? Because I've been writing for a much smaller fandom for about a year or so at the time, I was floored by the amount of kudos this one received overnight. But I'm happy people liked this fluffy OS and grateful that I learnt about the sweater curse

Fic with the third most comments (comment threads): Sand zwischen meinen Zehen, deine Finger zwischen meinen Hörk, undercover at a holiday resort, pretending to be a couple trying to salvage their relationship.

It was supposed to be 7 chapters and an epilogue, but I had to much fun torturing those two, so I ended up with 37 chapters :D

Fic with the fourth most bookmarks: Here's the deal, Kitty Four chapters of Marichat smut with an eventual identity reveal.

This is by far my most popular fic and I'm both surprised and not surprised at all :D For one it's smut??? And people - while they read it - are more reluctant to leave comments (no judgement) so I don't get why it has so many. But then again it's Marichat ;)

Fic with the fifth most words: A little Trouble goes a Long Way A Stucky-Multichap (this game really covers all my fandoms, huh?) with accidental baby acquisition and the second fic I ever posted to Ao3

Spelling and Grammar could be a bit better on this one, but it was the first long story I wrote in English so overall, I don't mind. I'm just happy that people liked it :)

Fic with the least words: Well, there are two that share the same wordcount of 500 words - Die Sache mit der Steuererklärung und In der Lampenabteilung

Both are short Hörk Fics, both are thanks to @pinksnowrabbit. The first is a Rainer POV OS, that examines both Leos tax report and his relationship to and with Adam, the second is based on this gif, which both Leo and I think is very cute Adam behaviour :D

tagging @aanabear2803, @starlighnes, @writingowl1985, @falleraatje, and anyone else who might want to play and playing is (of course!) optional

[pbandjesse]

I am bone deep tired. I hate it because I just want to be able to accomplish stuff. I haven't made anything this week. And that upsets me. Like I get it. I have a ton going on right now. I am just so busy all of the time and while work is great I am also just a little sick of being so tired.

I had trouble falling asleep again last night but it wasn't as bad as it has been. It was just to warm. Waking up was terrible. When my alarm went off I told James I just couldn't do it. And reset my alarm for 740.

I woke up right before it went off. I was still not feeling great but I got myself together. I got dressed. I grabbed a few snacks. I couldn't handle figuring out an actual breakfast or lunch. I grabbed my cup. And I left.

It was raining a little. And that's when I remembered I left my sweater in the council ring yesterday! It's gonna be all wet. Terrible.

So once I got to work I drove right up to the amphitheater but my sweater wasn't there. I was so sad. I figured it got taken by the feild trip ground yesterday by mistake. Disappointing.

I went back to the office to unlock the doors. And then drove up to Yukon.

I was looking forward to the organization of the basement. And it would be good but it was a little overwhelming at first. I put on a podcast and worked through almost 10 just moving things. Pulling out any material I thought we could repurpose or use up in arts and crafts. Or for any of the other specialty programs. But I was frustrated. One by the sheer amount of stuff. And two by the casual appropriative nature of so much of what's stored down there. I am jokingly (not jokingly) referring to it as the racism corner. War bonnets and questionable masks and costumes.

A little before 10 Sarah joined me. She asked if she could help or would she be in my way. And I asked if she could work on refolding and organizing all the bedding we have down there. And she did such a good job! It's also a shocking amount of stuff. We had to throw some of it away because it was just damp or to dirty to salvage. But she did an amazing job.

And while she worked on that I tackled the tipi kitchen stuff. I found about 8 boxes of stuff that I think they keep creating every year. So I emptied them. I sorted everything with like things. We have an embarrassing amount of silverware. Specifically forks and knives. Very few spoons. But at least it's all together now and hopefully more easily accessible for next summer.

Once that was done I moved all the empty boxes into the corner and sorted that to make it nicer. And then we moved the bedding boxes. The space is so much nicer now. You can actually walk around. I can't wait til everyone sees how good it looks.

Sarah loaded up her car with the materials I pulled. And we drove up to the art building. We stopped and talked to Joe and he said thank you for organizing Yukon and that made me feel good. He asked if we could add cleaning the tipi mattresses to the list so I will get that done soon.

After we unloaded everything we went and got the gator and started our next adventure. We had a package of frozen coffee concentrate to deliver to the dining hall. Then trash to be tossed. And mattresses to be counted.

We went to every building and counted all the mattresses and made notes about the covers and what would need to be replaced. We had to throw out some. But it was fun looking in every building. And we also got to see all the finished work from our projects. And saw some more we wanted to add.

We would head back to the office and took a half hour break. I ate some of my snacks. And read the graphic novel I brought. Which was really sad. But I'm glad I read it.

It was around 1 and we still had upper camp to count. We would also grab the trash from up there. We counted everything pretty quickly. And we were able to toss the trash and the. Go to the art building and start putting away materials and resetting my fibers boxes. I also told Sarah some stories about drama and it was fun. I like her company. She's a quiet spirit and I like that about her.

It was just about 2 when we were supposed to go to the office to wait for the wedding party to come and check in. But then they did not until like 3. It's fine. I worked on some stuff on my laptop. We chatted. And eventually Rachel and Dachelle joined us.

Dachelle coaches a lacrosse team and her students are going to a college game and were tasked with making posters. But they didn't get to finish. So Dachelle brought them to finish and we all helped.

We did get some pretty great laughs about some misspelling (hornts instead of hornets) and weird spacing and layouts. It was very silly. I was pretty proud of how I fixed the one I was given. Rachel always makes a big fuss when I make art but she does it like she's mad at me. So when I came out to show them she put her head in her hands and went "Jesus Jesse, you should look into being an art teacher." And then everyone was like you are going to make a children fight over your poster. High praise. I am glad they think the kids will like it. I did only give 4 legs to the one hornet so it's fine.

I said goodbye after that. And drove to taco bell. I thought it would be nice to get a taco or a crunch wrap. I got two potato tacos and nacho fries. Which were fine but I probably won't get again. I really liked the cinnamon bites the best though. Not shocked.

I went home and was surprised that I beat James. I would get a shower and try to not feel so tired. It was hitting me hard.

I thought I would take a nap and get some thing done. But then James got home and they seemed so sad that I got a spike of adrenaline and couldnt rest in any way that mattered. Instead I just laid in bed and watched videos. James would get cleaned up and joined me.

And that's how we spent our evening. Resting together. Painting our nails. I am really tired and struggling to get this all written so I can stop thinking. I really hope I can fall asleep quicker tonight.

Tomorrow is going to be very busy. I am back at the market for the first time in forever!! And then we have to rush to a wedding!! I love a wedding so I hope getting there goes smoothly. It's all the way in PA so we need to get on the road ASAP. James is taking a half day but it will still be a close one getting there on time.

So wish us luck. I love you all. Sleep good and be safe! Until next time

[janelley-fish]

Unspoken

Chapter 2

Story warnings: angst, very slow burn (mostly Eddie has feelings), friends to lovers, eventual smut, eventual violence and gore, language, some fluff eventually. This chapter has some dirty little Eddie thoughts. Think that’s it but overall 18+ so get outta here babies

You let out a small groan as you looked down at your sweater. It was dark, a deep maroon, but you could definitely see the small shape of the spilled root beer float seeping through. Eddie had practically whined like a baby about being hungry on the way to practice, so you had stopped at a drive in diner that was new to town. Eddie got the biggest burger on the menu, and you had told him you weren’t hungry. But knowing you had a major sweet tooth, he ordered you a small float to go. You started to argue but Eddie just stuck his tongue out at you and blew raspberries loudly so you couldn’t get a word in. You flipped him the bird, but wore a grin on your face as he dramatically clutched his heart, pretending you shot him straight in the chest. You rolled your eyes, but thanked him anyway for thinking of you. Eddie knew you would be stealing his fries, but it didn’t bother him. He liked pretending it was a big deal and complaining about it just so he could see that adorable smile light up your face at his teasing.

Because you stopped for food, you were running late, and the combination of Eddie’s rushed reckless driving and him holding a burger in one hand as he scarfed his food down resulted in him hitting a curb going much faster than he should have, and while the van was fine, you ended up wearing your drink. You couldn’t really be mad, it was an accident. But it was uncomfortable. You were sticky and you smelled like root beer. The rest of the way to Gareth’s house Eddie was snickering and trying to hide his amusement while you dabbed frantically at the mess with spare napkins, trying to salvage your sweater.

“Don’t worry about it, Dee. It’ll dry.” He waved his hand around in the air in a motion to brush off the whole incident.

“Eddie it’s not like it’s water, it’s soda and ice cream. It will not just dry.” You huffed a little as Eddie jumped out of the driver side door, still giggling to himself. He casually walked to the back doors of the van and swung them open, obviously looking for something. He tutted to himself while he searched, and you heard him mutter an enthusiastic bingo! as he pulled some sort of white balled up fabric from behind an old amp.

“Here, you can wear this.”

He tossed his hellfire shirt up to you.

“It’ll probably be a little big, but it’s dry at least” he said with a shrug. He closed the door to the back and came around to open yours for you.

“Although,” he paused as you climbed out of the passenger seat and jumped to down to the gravel. “I could get used to you smelling like a root beer float all day. It’s pretty sweet.” He flashed his teeth in a big cheesy grin before leaning into you to take a big whiff, and then signing contently. You rolled your eyes and smacked his shoulder, but still wore that adorable smile that made his heart melt.

“You’re such a weirdo. Now, can you turn around please?”

Eddie took a moment to register what you had said. Then he gulped, more loudly than he meant to. “Wha— you’re changing right here? In the driveway?” He looked at you with wide eyes and you snorted.

“Relax, it’ll take like 5 seconds. It’s not like I’m stripping naked, and no one is around. Now turn, please.”

You shoved him to face the other direction and quickly stripped off the sticky sweater and pulled his t shirt on. It was a little big, but not by much, and it was comfortable. Whether or not it was clean, you couldn’t say. But at least you didn’t smell like root beer anymore. “Okay you can turn around now.” Eddie stood for a moment that seemed much longer than it should’ve before slowly turning, his face just a tiny spec of red, and you saw your opportunity to tease him. You couldn’t help it, it was just one of your favorite things to do.

“What’s got you all flustered, pretty boy? Are you that embarrassed for me? Or is it something else, hmmm?” You winked and gave him a smirk as his face grew more red, looking towards the ground and kicking the dirt with his high top. He stood like that for a moment before he let out the breath he had been holding and met your eyes again.

“Come on, let’s go inside before the neighbors think they’re getting a free show.” He tugged your arm towards the garage door as you threw your head back in laughter.

Eddie hadn’t registered what you had said at first. Why did he need to turn around? unless… “wha—you’re gonna change right here? In the driveway?” He could feel himself growing hard at just the thought, and it was taking everything in him to calm down and keep himself from giving his feelings away. He barely heard your response, while you spun him around. He was so caught up in what you were doing; wondering if anyone was watching. If the guys could see. Fuck, that would suck. He would never get over it if his band mates saw you like that. He was lost in his thoughts. Dreaming about The color bra you were wearing, the way your skin would look in the low evening light, how it would feel under his rough fingertips-

“Okay, you can turn around now.” You words snapped him out of his thoughts; the dirty images playing in his mind of you, and again he had to stop his growing errection before he turned to face you. He had hoped you wouldn’t catch sight of the way he adjusted himself slightly, and you didn’t. But you did notice his pink-tinged cheeks.

“What’s got you all flustered, pretty boy? Are you that embarrassed for me? Or is it something else hmmm?”

Pretty boy. Fuck why did you have to say that. Your nicknames for him were few, but they always had such an affect on him. God the things that came to his mind when you called him pretty boy. Eddie felt himself getting too excited again, so he grabbed your arm and pulled you along behind him, hoping that by the time you both made it inside that the bulge in his pants would be gone and he would have calmed down enough to stop growing hard at every little impure thought of you like some fifteen year old boy.

“Come on, let’s go before the neighbors think they’re getting a free show.” Eddie heard you laugh, really laugh, and it was his favorite thing in the universe. The kind of laugh that could make other people smile. Eddie loved that laugh; he loved more than that laugh. But he could never tell you, for the same reason you didn’t want anyone reading your journal. Fear of rejection; of losing the people who mean so much to you because of the possibility of them laughing in your face. So Eddie decided it was better to long for you in secret, no matter how much it hurt, instead of risk losing you completely.

If only he knew that all you needed was him to say the word, and you’d be his. Even if you didn’t know it yet either.

End of chapter 2

(I promise they’ll get longer. Thanks for reading 💕)

[twothpaste]

fic snippet. lucas & isaac boating hours, feat. worldbuilding, flashbacks within flashbacks, and layers upon layers of remorse.

Lucas' kayak was carved from red cedar. Gold in the morning. Vermilion by sunset. Thread it deftly through any tide, like a needle mending a torn shirt. He learned to paddle when his arms were still made of sticks n' twigs, n' his scars were still cleft in crimson. As were Nowhere's. Weaving the channels between ruptured cliffsides. Dodging grisly swaths of surfaced bedrock. Perilous was the word after - at least, upon first glance. 'Til the Dragon's shadow draped down, to temper the waves. Kid grew into his strength. Sturdy biceps, sure. Muscles not so lean. Ain't your arms that get ya there, though. You row from your core. This vessel was - and still is, in his lonesomest hours - his home away from home. It's his heart that carries it.

Bronson did the bulk of the handiwork. Whittling away the chilly mornings, while kiddo slept off tears n' terrors. "But really," he'd insisted, come Christmastime, "It's a gift from all of us." Jill had beamed her best ear-to-ear grin. Abbey n' Abbot, in their matchin' holiday sweaters, gave meek waves. Tessie'd done a fine job wrapping the goshdarn thing. Leder, from his mile-high vantage, had picked the perfect tree. Lighter lent his axe. And so on.

A hero's greatest thanks, apparently, take the form of smiling sobs.

"It's wonderful. Really. Th.. Thank y'all."

To his left strode Isaac's big ol' canoe. Beige as could be. He'd mentioned need of it, offhand, the spring after. Gruffly resigned himself to the task. Takin' clumsy bites out of a fallen trunk, with an unsharpened carving knife. While jetsam surfaced, and shifted about, in his aching head. Again - the guy was indeed a woodsman. Friend to the trees, n' creatures that be. His role was aptly set. But he was no lumberjack. N' far from a shipwright. In his dreams - to this day - he roams the desert-dry creeks and lakebeds of Appalachia. Searching in vain, for survivors of any clade.

Lighter found him there (or rather, not there at all) on the Sunshine Forest floor. Chipping haphazard pieces. Tree rings laid bare. Scattered about, in choppy chunks.

"… Yer goin' about it all wrong, y'know."

And Isaac leered up at him. Squinting through the crack in his glasses.

He could growl back, if he wanted. Proclaim otherwise. Or shrug it off. Say not a damn thing, n' wait for him to leave. The hermit could tell his forsaken neighbor to go to hell, for all he cared. Made not a lick of difference. His protests were for less than naught. Before he knew it, Lighter n' his boy were at his side, salvaging his wreck. Showin' him the craft. Teach a man to fish. N' all that.

He didn't deserve it, then.

Maybe he does, now. Who's to say.

The vest he had tailored was snug to his chest, and almost familiar. Lucas' was all but identical. "Mm… Maybe make it a size up, if ya could," kid told Tessie. "I'd prob'ly outgrow it in a few months, otherwise." And he'd've been right, by his next birthday. 'Til then, his vest hang slightly loose over him, ruffling in the breeze. Such thoughtful foresight had always distinguished him from the rest.

Isaac wore a badge, as well. Courtesy of Bronson, n' Fuel's apprentice metalwork. It weighed him down. Like every other ounce of generosity. Perhaps this too was an exercise in penance.

They made another for Lucas. He kept it at home. Stowed away, in a little bedside drawer. Ranger or not, never again would he dare pin anything of the sort to his vest, nor jacket, nor any breast pocket.

Call it what you will.

Both boats twined the Murasaki-Highway border, upon this fine 11 AM. Both Rangers kept their eyes peeled. Roving the myriad islets which splattered the Mapson's handiwork, in search of their quarry. A cluster of pink snouts. A ragged, weedy sprout.

Got a tip from the locals, see. An ex-militant encampment, takin' up residence in the asphalt ruins. The Pigpen, they called 'emselves. Proudly. Colonel Hox used to reign as their Napoleon. Three years prior, she n' they had stood in rebellious opposition to Tazmilian civility. Like a gang o' rowdy Lost Boys. But with Peter Pan in prison, and their winter stockpiles dwindling, separatist resolve seemed an increasingly fleeting fantasy. Offers of aid, a less damnable prospect.

"We're overgrown with the little hellions," Hox's guys told Isaac. Barkin' up at him, like tin toy sergeants. "Can't hardly breathe, what for all the spores. You can bash 'em all ya like, but they just puff out more of the shit! N' then five more sprout in their place! If you bleedin' hearts think you can help, be our guest. Here."

Neither soldier would even grace Lucas with a glare. A pair of hoggish masks found their way into Isaac's hands, instead. Battered to hell n' back. Calamine pink. In contrast with the cobalt blue that stared him down.

"Don't get it twisted, now, private. Colonel's only lettin' ya borrow these 'cause of your service history. If it were up to me, though? Heh. I'd let ya both choke to death."

"Noted," answered Isaac . His frown unwavering. "Thank you, Tyson. We'll be back by sundown."

And Tyson froze, for a sec. Sputtering vaguely. Surprised the craven hillbilly oaf had remembered his name. The Rangers took his hesitation as an opportunity to skedaddle. Head back shoreward, n' get to work.

Thus, their first outing had 'em relocating Pigtunias off the sundered Highway flats.

Their latest has 'em on a pontoon. Layin' out a crescent of netting, 'round the Harbor's periphery. Catch whatever garbage may float astray, before it's lost to the wild blue yonder. The motor revs n' rumbles at their ears. Lucas is a stiff, peculiar, not-quite-Lucaslike kind of quiet. In for four counts, through his nose. Out for eight. Teeth barely ajar. Eyes kneading the horizon line. Just as dirty nails knead calloused palms.

He bore the same silence then, too.

Isaac, the selfish prick he'd always been, would carve any quiet into klutzy splinters. Bustling banter was his bane. Small town gossip n' coworker rapport drove him reeling back to the shade. Lips curled, head spinning. A stark reminder of un-belonging. But quiet? Oh, he could hardly hold the peace. Find a clearing, and barrel right in. Fashion a goddamn therapist's couch, on the spot, with his gruesome carpentry skills. It's why he'd said such awful shit to the kid - made a total ass of himself - back before. Why he found himself rambling like a maniac to a goddamn fourteen-year-old, fishin' by a ripped-to-shreds river, about ye olde Forest Service. How his whole pitiful life story had to precede his apologies. And how, therefore, Lucas of all people was the only hapless sap who got to hear either.

"It's alright," the kid had told him. And meant it. At the time, how could he not? With everything that'd drifted up from the depths, in lieu of Leder's bell? Most everyone had lost a mother. A brother - for real, n' for good. N' a few undeserving billions besides. So, who was he to wield a cudgel? To bear grudges down upon clueless traitors, and their countless burdens? "Nah," he'd said. "It's fine." It was fine.

Even though it wasn't.

On the canoe, Isaac broke the silence with a story. That one from the Bible. His namesake. He'd carried it with him since he was small. It tumbled outta some tangential pocket.

Lucas said, low and brittle, he was glad to hear it at sixteen. As opposed to six. The nightmares wouldda been ceaseless.

On the pontoon, Isaac breaks it with a request. Not for his own sake. Someone else's. Progress comes in increments. ...

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Forty Five

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan could smell Donna’s cartofi cu carne de porc as he dressed; his mouth watered.  Just as he pulled his shirt over his head and inhaled, he remembered that he would have to confess his strange behavior, and his stomach dropped again.  He stared in the mirror skeptically; he was clean and shaven, his hair in its simple style.  Grey sweater, blue jeans, tan shoes.  No black or grey veins crossed his face.  Just the signature frown.  He continued to stare as if doubting the reflection-he had reason to.  

Godric had said we are, in response to the question about the Black God.  That made less sense than most things.  

He could hear Evie talking animatedly from the kitchen.  Ethan’s thoughts turned to Dulvey at her voice.  Jack and Marguerite were at peace, Zoe was enjoying her life, Mia at the very least wasn’t trapped, reliving her three years of terror over and over again.  The last victim had been Evie, and she was here now-she had a second chance, a chance to be a child.  The uneasiness of Louisiana in his mind should have faded, a bad memory overshadowed by how comparatively great Ethan’s life had become.  He hoped it would only improve in the future.  

But he looked haunted, felt even more haunted, like a house full of spirits.  Like the Baker house, he supposed.  

His gaze left the mirror and drifted to the old-fashioned phone on one of the ornate desks.  He would have to call Zoe and tell her what he’d done with Eveline.  She’d kill him.  Zoe only knew the child as her tormentor.  Ethan wouldn’t blame Zoe for being mad, but as she’d planned to visit over the holidays, he would need to call her soon.  In case she decided to curse him out for an hour and mail him an alligator head, instead of visiting.

With one more, hopefully resolute, stare in the mirror, Ethan left the room.  Talking to his faraway, ancient friend had at least cheered him up enough to socialize.  He doubled back to check Karl’s room, remembering Godric’s warning about the crystal.  

He fully anticipated Karl to be peering into it deeply when he turned into the large mostly-workroom, but the engineer was at his bench with the same item in front of him.  He was stooped forward, hair wild as he worked.  Ethan didn’t even have to ask what he was doing, but the blond frowned.  “Really?”

“Don’t start,” Karl said simply, his lips gripping a cigar.  He was squinting past the smoke, his eyes glowing faintly as he held the delicate tools.  A recent purchase, a very expensive watch repair kit, which Ethan had bitten his tongue over.  Why the hell was Heisenberg so obsessed with a key that went to a factory that no longer existed?  It had been months.  He’d restored multiple vehicles, even salvaged a goddamn tank.  He’d built up the sheds, stables, the garage.  He was now working on erecting a whole little fishing village complete with windmill.  The key seemed to be the thing he couldn’t figure out.  And it led nowhere.  

Ethan had hoped Heisenberg would invite himself to the table, make nice for Ethan’s sake, but it became clear that the brunette hadn’t even considered it. 

“Godric says to protect the crystal.”  At this, Heisenberg’s head shot up.  “He said Miranda might be able to corrupt it.  I don’t know how, I’m just letting you know.” 

Heisenberg moved to stand, and began knocking things around the desk.  Ethan presumed his help wasn’t needed, and headed back toward the others, feeling slightly shunned for the second time that day. 

—--------

Some of Eva’s flowers had made their way onto the table.  The nice china was out; the tablecloth had even been changed.  Ethan marveled at how beautiful the dining room looked, and then put a hand on Eva’s shoulder.  “This looks fantastic.” 

“You seem to be a bit cheerier.  At least more than the weather.” 

“Rolling around in the mud helped.” 

She giggled.  “Godric?”

“Yeah.  How was your day?”

Eva’s nearly translucent eyebrows raised and she glanced at Alcina, who was sitting at the table with a pensive expression.  “It went well, I think.” 

“Is the castle rubble? That why she came back?”  

They both snorted at this.  “No, the castle will be fine, I believe.  We did learn things, but we can discuss those later.” 

—---------------

Dinner was actually far less dreadful than Ethan anticipated.  The first topic that came up was, surprisingly, going to the city.  Moreau and Karl already made a list of medical supplies they needed, and Donna was beaming at the idea of getting new crafting material.  Ethan had been promised a computer, still needed to buy a winter wardrobe for Rose, who was growing out of everything, and now he needed a winter wardrobe for Evie as well.  When he voiced this, Evie abruptly interrupted, “Wait…we’re going out in public, to get me clothes?”

Ethan was chewing.  He swallowed.  “Is there something wrong with that?”

“You mean, you trust me? To be around….other people?”

The table’s other occupants looked uneasily at the girl, and Ethan raised his eyebrow, dipping another roll into the stew.  “Well….yeah, I guess I do.”  He gave her the most skeptical, dad-like stare ever.  “Should I not?”

Her face softened.  “I’ll be good.  I promise.  I can be good.  I just…” now she turned back to her plate, stirring her soup uncertainly.  Ethan realized as he studied the girl’s face that she had Mia’s almost button-like nose.  Her voice was low.  “I just hated how everybody thought I was too much of a freak to be in public.  Worried I would do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing.  The lab made me age up fast, but I didn’t know how to act like a kid, I never saw another kid.  Even though the lab had them.”

What a creepy thought.  Ethan frowned.   

Donna, who sat beside the older child, rubbed a pale hand across her shoulder and back.  “You will do just fine.”  Her voice was so soft and soothing, Ethan wondered how she was ever capable of creating the horrors she lived with.  “You will be in good company…we were not allowed out of the village for many years, so it will be new for us as well.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Alcina said smugly, her red lips curling into a smile.  “I loved the city.”  She paused and looked at the window, where rain still poured against the glass.  “Though…it will be new to go in daylight.  With a body that…”

“Oh yes,” Moreau said with a loud, almost gleeful exhale.  “A body that is normal!! Yes, it will be AMAZING!”

Ethan had to smile.  They would look like a bunch of goofy tourists, in their out of date clothing and with all their excited questions.  As he turned to feed Rosemary, who had no interest in the art of the spoon, Evie asked, “Will we get ice cream?”

“Oh yeah,” he said with another smile.  Donna and Eva smiled at this question as well.  After Rose began gnawing on a carrot, Ethan returned to his own bowl.  “Although, we’ll probably be the only ones lining up at the shop if it’s raining like this out there.  They’ll think we’re crazy, eating summer food when it’s cold.” 

“I don’t mind that!”  Evie was so excited she was nearly buzzing.  Her smile was full, and without any sinister undertone.  Ethan smirked back.  

“Wait, if you are taking me to the shops, and buying me clothes…does that mean you’re my Dad?”

He nearly choked on the soup that was already halfway down his windpipe; Ethan chortled and sputtered, causing Eva to slap him on the back, as Alcina watched with a raised eyebrow.  “Uhhh, I?” 

The table waited expectantly.  

“You’d pick him? Look at ‘im, he’s scrawny, he’s a dope.  You sure you want him as a Papa?”  Karl sauntered into the room and plopped down on the other side of Moreau, grabbing a plate and ignoring Alcina’s glare as he scooped food onto it without even checking to see what it was.  “Although he does have a real mean streak, and a temper, so maybe you two are alike.”  His flash of a white smile and wink at Evie betrayed his nature, and she giggled shyly.

Alcina surprised everyone by adding to the joke.  “He’s also quite terrible as a houseguest…breaking things, bumbling around, disturbing the visiting merchant.” 

“Hey!”

“I agree,” Donna said in her quiet, contemplative tone.  She barely carried the hint of a smile.  “You should also know….he is also afraid of the dark.” 

“And he’ll just barge in anytime, no matter what’s on tv!” Sal moaned extravagantly.  Ethan tried to form words as the others chuckled, until he realized that-holy shit, they were all laughing together.  Even Alcina’s lips were upturned behind her wine glass, her cheeks rosier than he’d ever thought they could get.  

Ethan settled for cutting into the meat forcefully and mock-scowling.  He winked at Evie too.  She smirked back, but then her eyes widened as she second-thoughted Moreau’s comment.  “Wait–we have…TV??” 

—-------

After the morning plans were made and dessert was eaten, Ethan held Rosemary in his lap.  He mopped what food he could from her face, but she had always hated being cleaned.  After thrashing about, ducking from the bib, she disappeared from his arms, only to appear in Karl’s lap, laughing gleefully.  

Ethan threw his hands up, and then his eyes widened.  “Boy, I hope you don’t pull that while we’re traveling tomorrow!”

“She won’t,” Evie said with another laugh, “She has to be at least next to where the mold is to do it.”  

Karl simply ate around Rose as if he dealt with this often.  Alcina was studying the toddler with interest, and she finally, hesitantly said to Ethan, “...May I?”

“Of course,” he answered, perhaps too quickly.  

Karl picked up the toddler.  “You wanna go see your aunt?  Ask her how the weather’s doin’ up there?” 

Ethan thought his heart would surely melt, and even Dimitrescu’s expression was warm at his gentleness.  Heisenberg handed the child over, and the castellan’s facade of sternness melted even further.  She began speaking gently, cooing, as Rose very interestedly talked about something.  Rose’s father, true to form, was about to ruin the perfect moment.  

He stared at his hands.  “So…early this morning I…something happened, I. I got really forceful with Heisenberg, asking him questions, but the thing is, I don’t remember anything.” 

Eva in particular looked troubled.  He saw the glances between the others.  But she spoke first.  “What were you asking about?”

“Asking him to tell me where his crystal was,” Ethan said flatly.  He felt stupid.  What a dumb thing to lose consciousness over, wasn’t it?  It sounded lame, not scary at all like it actually was.  They were going to think he was a moron.  

“I changed.  I…”

“He calcified,” Heisenberg supplied from his seat.  “Not a full transformation, but…”

The Lords now stared with trepidation and fear.  Heisenberg threaded his dark hands together.  “He was strong too.  Had claws.  The works.” 

Moreau’s glassy pale eyes were full of worry.  “That’s not good!” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Ethan responded, and the other ducked his head as if to apologize. 

“Blacking out means you’re scared,” Evie said simply.  Her voice held none of the malice it had before, but she still spoke so matter of factly that Ethan had to remind himself she was only a child and not his elder.  Why was she the one supplying so many answers to him about his own existence? 

“Godric said that too,” Ethan said.  “I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“You have to stop being scared, silly,” Evie answered with a sly smile.  “If it happens more, it can give you more power, but maybe that’s a bad thing.” 

“It is,” Karl interjected, as Ethan contemplated.  

“How can we help, Ethan?”  Eva’s stare was the one that Ethan couldn’t meet; Eva had done nothing but help them and take care of all of them.  Eva was also the one person who knew the Mold.  If she had no answers, and Godric’s best answer was ‘don’t be scared’ …Ethan was screwed.  He hated this situation, hated the stares he was currently getting, hated that he had no answers, and worst-hated that he felt it would happen again.  

When he shrugged helplessly, she put a hand over his.  “We’ll figure it out.”

“On the other hand,” Alcina shrugged, “If you were able to control this transformation, this might help you defeat Miranda, might it not?”

The table was quiet.  

—-----------------

Ethan brought her another bottle of wine.  This time, he knocked on the door and waited where he stood.  She came to the door already bathed and in pajamas–a beautiful silken robe–her face beautifully bare of makeup.  He held out the bottle and then lifted a second glass.  “Care to…share a glass?”

Her scowl was palpable, but she stepped aside and waved him in.  “I have never in all my life invited a man into my sleeping quarters,” she admonished, and he smiled as he passed through the doorway. 

“Guess I’m special then, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”  She took the wine, and closed the door.  They sat on two plush chairs in the suite, facing each other.  Ethan began to pour the wine; she held her glass out.  “Is this about our conversation earlier?”

“Not necessarily,” Ethan said honestly, pouring his own glass.  “I just wondered how you were doing.” 

“I am….something,” she admitted, and rolled her eyes as she drank.  “I am…old, tired, sad.  Bitter.  Angry.  I am alone.  I am lonely.”

“I’m sorry.”  He was stunned to hear her speak this way, but he appreciated the honesty.  Still, he didn’t dare reach forward to comfort her; he simply looked at the floor.  

“I will say, Ethan, I appreciate your hospitality.  And your daughter is beautiful.  Daughters?”

“It’s Heisenberg’s hospitality really,” he said quietly, and then drank to cut himself off.  The last thing he wanted to do was lecture Lady D on her interactions with Karl.  He hadn’t had the best track record of interacting with Karl, after all.  

“I do not fit in here,” she said rather bluntly, fidgeting with her deep red nails.  “I may not fit in anywhere.” 

“I feel like….maybe that’s something you’ve always dealt with?” 

Her wry smile was oddly terrifying.  “Not for the reasons you might think.” 

He sat back in the chair, and drank more wine.  “Try me.” 

Alcina considered this.  She at first looked skeptical, but her eyes lighted on the compass necklace that Ethan always wore.  Clearly she recognized it, and contemplated some more.  “I think, perhaps, you might understand, at least a bit.” 

After his gesture, she began.  “You saw what the stored consciousness showed you…pieces of my life.  But that was what I consider the end of my life.  I was forty-four when I showed up on Miranda’s doorstep,” she chuffed, clearly sore about it.  “I had a whole life before this.  It was…difficult.  As a young girl, I was the epitome of feminine beauty.  I went to finishing school, even though my mother could not afford to feed my siblings.  I was the eldest, you know, and they were very poor. Our noble line ended when they moved to America and someone gambled away the family fortune.  Had I been a boy, I suppose I would have died in the war, or else become a rich businessman and saved the family.  As it was, my duty was to grow up beautiful and marry a rich businessman, to save the family.” 

All of this required more wine; he filled her glass as she continued.  “The dresses, the poetry, the instruments, the training were…” Alcina’s lower lip was trembling as she tried to smile through the sentence.  “Perfectly suited to me.  I was such a young lady .  So they all said!  It came so naturally.  But then…when I became a woman, when things began to grow, one could say,” she chuckled, but Ethan’s stare didn’t waver.  

“...I became suddenly too tall to be pretty.  That wasn’t the worst of it, I could still have survived, but I got all of the hormonal urges and ideas of puberty and…well.” 

His face was still stoic.  She shrugged at him, as if to spur him toward a conclusion, but Ethan shook his head, signaling that he didn’t understand.  When Alcina spoke, her voice was oddly full of fright, almost fragile.  “Those thoughts were all for the wrong gender.  I found femininity personally appealing, but I also found it…tempting.  Alluring.  It was all I wanted to seek out.  I was ravenous.” 

Now Ethan nodded, finally understanding, his eyebrows raised.  When she saw this, she hurriedly drank from her glass, and then asked in a rush, “Was it…difficult for you?”

“To come to terms with my sexuality?”

“I suppose that is my question.” 

He considered.  “At times, yeah.  I was confused for years, made sure I had relationships that were either low maintenance-” cue Mia, who was always studying abroad or going on work-study programs and wasn’t necessarily there, to be vulnerable with, in the early years, “or people who I knew there wasn’t a future with.  It took a long while to be comfortable, and it only happened after years of talking about it.”  He said the last part pointedly; it didn’t seem she was too experienced with talking about it.  

Alcina gave him a hesitant smile.  Then her eyes cast downward at the ornate rug under their feet.  “I did want to save my family.  I did want to start my own family even, become a mother, be the good eldest child.  But…I wanted all of that with another woman.  You can imagine that it did not go well.” 

“I can imagine,” Ethan said sardonically.  She frowned.  

“They forced me into an engagement in the end.  And he, the man….he…”  Ethan remembered the intrusive memory, the assault.  Her eyes met his again and he said nothing; she could sense already, that he knew.  She exhaled as if in relief.  

“Would you believe me, if I told you that even in my castle, even as I grew and changed, even as I murdered every man who set foot on my property, would you believe me if I said….I never felt safe, ever again?” 

“Well, if I look back at how I acted.  Last night.  If that was a fear response, I guess I can believe it, yeah.”  His lopsided smile was meant to be reassuring, but she narrowed her eyes as she smiled back.  

“What does that say about me, Ethan Winters?”

“Says even the scariest monsters I know are operating on fear,” he answered swiftly, and she laughed heartily.  

“Might I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure.” 

“Eva spoke to me of this…Godric.  We talked about a great many things.  But he intrigues me.  I would like to meet him.  I am finding the amount of men I want to interact with still firmly at zero-no offense, but I…have some questions for him.” 

“He’d love to meet you, I’m sure.” 

“Splendid.”  

The father stood, a flush across his cheeks from the wine.  He turned toward the door.  “Guess I better go try not to…black out and turn into a villain,” he muttered, and she stood with a sweeping gesture, moving toward the door.  

“I may be able to provide assistance with that, but let us wait until after sleep.” 

“Sure, Karl got out the tire iron and the cattle prod in case I act up again,” he joked, and shuffled toward the doorway.  

He was out of the door, and leaving, when she said hesitantly, “Ethan.” 

He paused and turned back, his eyes bleary from the difficult day.  

“You have been…….surprising.” 

“You too.”  He smiled fully.  “G’nite, Lady D.” 

“Good night.” 

[kryo-does-art]

Sitting by the small window in his basement chamber, trying to get at least a little bit of sunlight in this dark dreary place. It was a daily occurrence, sitting by the window feeling the UV rays brush his skin and humming softly a tune he barely remembered but it's all he really knew other than his name, how to function and his father. Speaking of his father, that wretched man just tossed something down the stairs, the item making quite the ruckus as it tumbled down the creaky steps. Oliver hesitantly crawled over to see what had fallen into his damp and sicken abode. It was a canister of some kind, a red plastic one then he smelled the stench… it was a canister of gasoline, it was open and pouring its contents across the floor. The shiny liquid coated Oliver's hands making it hard for him to back away; he could only think of the possibilities of what's next to come after this. From the top of the rickety wooden staircase was the gentle click of a match being lit, then the little flaming stick was tossed down landing on the puddle of gasoline the liquid quickly igniting and spreading. Fire got on Oliver's pale little hands, spreading up his sweater sleeves and scorching him. All he could manage to do was scream, the pain was unbearable but since his body was so small his end came fairly quick.

-

-

-

As the arson investigator and his team rummaged through the charred house, he found something interesting, a boy's body in the pit that used to be the basement. This kid was gone too soon… he thought taking the body carefully, that was surprisingly still intact with all the burnt skin and embers surrounding it. Instead of taking the body to the coroner on scene he hid the body in his trunk, having connections with a witch doctor had its perks and he'll use the favor the witch owes him to give this boy a second chance on life. He spent the rest of his shift that day with the boys crispy body in his car trunk going straight to the witch doctor's 'office' after clocking out for the evening, the doctor's office was really just an abandoned funeral home, they claimed that the spiritual energy of the mortuary there heightened their powers. The body got placed on a table lined with crystals and herbs, wrapped in an old blanket. The doctor was informed of the predicament, and once the investigator was gone, they got to work. Forming a body made of cloth to look exactly like the boy's, shoving fragments of salvageable bones into places like the hands and feet, knees and elbows, but polyester was put in every other place, the rest of the work was on organs. All his organs were salvageable with a bit of a magical push, his heart and stomach now held together with twine, lungs healed to just barely meet the requirements for working and other organs made the same way they all got put back in their respective places within his torso finishing with a stitch horizontal on his stomach and a vertical one of his chest. With the final additive of his brain, new hair made of the most beautiful mint green synthetic hair, a sweater which was way too large for his small body plus a pair of brown, and green button stitched over his right eye he was complete and living. With a short hour of teaching on how to live again, he was sent out to wander the world with fuzzy memories of his past and who he was…