#trying to buy a quilting frame

[stylishanachronism]

@ Craigslist lady get back to meeeeeeeeeeeee

[pinkmirth]

⸻ 𝑃ℛℰ𝒮ℰℛ𝒱ℰ!

𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮ℐ𝒮 ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ the belmont family has endured for centuries, and it’s now up to richter to keep it going strong. there’s only one way to ensure the expansion of his bloodline, and it’s simple; knocking you up.

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ ( 6k+ words of . . . ) richter belmont x fem!reader, canon-divergent, set in the 18th century (1700s), nsfw/smut, porn with very little plot, established relationship, size difference, nipple play, handjob, panty-ripping, p-in-v, heavy breeding kink, many mentions of pregnancy, missionary, tummy bulge, lotus position, creampies, richie’s a bit cocky (when is he not!), use of pet names (e.g. darling, love, good girl, rich, richie . . .), richter calls reader a ‘ cockslut ’ once, explicit language, lowercase intended, black coded, minors shoo!

𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱ℰ-𝒩𝒪𝒯ℰ! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ after binging castlevania (nocturne), i instantly fell for that gorgeous man richter & his baby blue eyes ><  he’s got a sharp mouth, a pretty face, and nice biceps– of course i’m in love with him! i just had to whip up somethin’ for my favorite belmont (dunno why, but i heavily believe their clan is crazy about breeding hmm) this was supposed to be an itty bitty drabble, but it ended up much longer than i thought it’d be . . . and might i warn you that this is mostly just sappy, nasty filth. now, please enjoy this smutty piece of work for richie! ❤︎

richter has made the renard household your favorite place on earth. more specifically, you’re fond of his homey bedroom. it’s got this olde charm to it, and a wide glass window with french-pinewood framing; one that offers a pleasant view of the grassy fields and neighboring stream that surround the cottage. 

over anything else, his bed is surely the best part of it all. there’s a fluffy duvet in that dusty-blue color he likes, one so large that it covers his long legs even when they tangle between yours. the quilted mattress has just the right amount of space for two lovers, and is comfy enough to keep you warm throughout the night, considering the chance you might stay over. 

though, there is a downside, as nothing can be perfect— it creaks far too much when he fucks you. 

it’s not often that the both of you can make good use of that bed of his, especially when the noise makes things terribly obvious. you wouldn’t dare attempt anything improper in richter’s room with his adoptive family just a brief set of steps away. 

there's a time for everything, but not that he cares. you try paying no mind to richter’s lingering touches along your waist, and how he mischievously dives underneath your bottoms to grab at the fat of your ass with a wicked grin; all as his aunt tera boils porridge and beans by the stovetop downstairs. you’re sure he finds joy in the risk, or more in provoking you. 

it’s only when the house is empty, apart from you and richter and nothing else, that you can have your fun. like now, for instance. it’s out of pure luck that tera decided to pay a visit to the farmer’s market, and for maria to tag along with her mother as well. they mentioned something about wanting to buy the best of what the early-autumn harvest had to offer, with the meats being juiciest and the produce fresher than it’s been all year. 

you believe that’s why richter’s got so much stamina— the plenty of food he’s been scarfing down lately. or, possibly, it could just be him . . . nothing but him, and his unexplainable belmont genes that make him fucking superhuman. he swears he’s normal, but the way he picks you up with such ease as soon as his family steps out the door can only be deemed as unnatural. 

he's quick to sweep you off your feet, in the most abrupt way he can, of course. richter grins over the way you squeal as he whisks you past the kitchen, ‘round the table, and down the corridor. his hands work at keeping you upright, palms firmly planted under your thighs. he carries your weight like that of a feather and doesn't break a sweat. but considering where he’s headed, straight to his bedroom, that’ll soon change. 

“don’t go getting all surprised on me,” richter voices a lighthearted whisper. he kisses the part of your neck that he can manage to reach from above the collar of your blouse, “you know what we do once we have the place to ourselves.” 

“you snatched me off the ground without notice, i’ve all the right to be surprised— ohmygod, richter!” you sputter out a laugh, with his mouth on your flesh being so ticklish. you can feel his lips curving upwards, taking the shape of a smile. your arms fling around the back of his neck like second nature, fingers carding through his fluffy brunette hair. with zero patience, as always, richter kicks the door in with the shallow heel of his leather thigh-boot, slips into the room with you still in his arms, and shuts it closed by pressing you up against it. 

he was right about one thing— once tera and maria leave, this is exactly how it goes. clothes are torn off with haste (mostly on richter’s end, as you could imagine), heated kisses are exchanged, and he spits the nastiest words with that sharp mouth of his in order  to get you all worked up. the night sky and moonshine from the window gives his room this subtle tone of blue, but he makes you feel red-hot. 

richter keeps you right where he wants you; held up by his unfiltered strength, with your back to the door. one moment, he’s drawing closer to you, raking over every detail of your face with nothing but admiration swirling in his eyes. by the next, his lips are moving languidly against yours, slightly unruly yet undeniably passionate. you wouldn’t dare admit how much of a damn good kisser he is. the man’s ego would fucking skyrocket.

though, you really don’t have to tell him anything. the way you reciprocate his affection says it all. he breaks away for a sparing moment, but not before bringing his tongue across your bottom lip in one playful swipe. it’s light, teasing, and completely of his nature.

“i can see it in your eyes, y’know.” richter chuckles at how you lean forward to chase after the warmth of his lips again. he brings you to your feet so he can slip off his fingerless gloves and undo any harnesses. he then crouches a bit to unzip his boots. 

“see what?” you airily huff, haphazardly undoing button by button on your blouse until it’s completely open. similarly, he begins to make quick work of his top. you enjoy the flexure of his biceps as he pulls them out from the sleeves of his cerulean blue blazer-vest that he drops once free of, allowing it to scatter to the ground. you catch onto its emblem; the belmont crest, neatly embroidered upon the breast-pocket. 

“how much you want this,” richter peers down at you, eyes gleaming the prettiest tint of blue. “it’s cute, how obvious you are.” his upper half is bare, and the smooth canvas of his chest is all can focus on while he closes in on you. you’re trapped between the sturdy door and his heated body, and you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. 

“you’re practically salivating over the thought of getting fucked, yeah? bet you wouldn’t mind if i took you right here.” he grins as he says it, staring unashamedly at how cleavage pools from your brassiere. richter creeps a finger underneath the strap, tugs it down and does the same with the other, dipping his head low to pepper your bare shoulder with feather-light pecks. before long, the bra’s at your feet. 

“hm, but you’re no different,” you manage out, reveling in the warm lashing of his tongue against your nipple. it buds up the more he suckles at it.

“really, now?” he eventually parts from your breasts and rises back up to his full imposing height, carrying that faint smirk he forever wears. he looks so adorable this way— cheeks pink, lips spit-streaked. richter takes hold of your bottoms from either side of you, and swiftly brings them down with what you could only call pure impatience. 

“yes, really. you’re just as desperate,” you counter him, reaching low to prove it. your palm grazes his bulge, and you give a few thorough squeezes; the kind that makes his mouth drop open. 

“look at you, almost bursting out of your pants,” you quietly giggle, gazing up at him through the wisps of your lashes. richter wonders how you make such light fun while using your touch to undo him all at once. his breathing quickens, and it gets just a little heavier with your every attempt to caress his throbbing cock through his trousers. “seems like you need it more than i do, doesn’t it?” 

“oh, fuck me . . .” richter whines, settling his head into the slope of your shoulder. your touch leaves him, just for a moment, to rid him of those restrictive pants. his cock springs free from its confines and bobs under its own weight. he’s got more length than girth; a good six or seven in size, with two thick veins running along the underside of him. the faint-pink tip prods at your thigh, staining your skin with precum. 

he bucks against you hungrily, fingertips digging into the seams of your panties. you think you can hear them splintering apart. in the heat of things, he always winds up tearing your good underwear. 

richter could ease into this moment and let your hand work him senseless, but there comes a time where he decides to end the charade. there’s also no knowing when his aunt and sister will return. he wants to make the most out of the unpromised time you have. 

and so, he cuts your fun short with a mere rasp, “i’m through messing around with you. get on the fucking bed.” 

no malice is found in his words; it’s just the height of his lust. you’d do as told, but richter’s already taking action into his own hands. with two, three— no, four steps, he’s standing at the bedside and splaying you across it. he snags off the remaining of your torn panties, left to suggestively decorate his floor. now, in all your naked glory, you’re bare and ready for him. 

richter crawls over to you and kneels from above where you lay, situated closely between your legs. your thighs cushion either side of his lean hips. he leans down occasionally whenever you plead for a kiss, or wish to thread your fingers through his brown tousled hair. it now looks just a bit wilder than usual. 

“c’mon— open, darling.” he hints at your legs, smoothing his warm palms down from your calves to your thighs. ever the compliant girlfriend, you part them nice and wide for his viewing pleasure. your cunt’s glossy and wet, clenching around nothing but the intangible air around. 

‘oh, how pretty,’ he breathlessly murmurs, dragging two fingers across the expanse of your body. down, down, down, until they’re tracing along your slit. your dripping hole puckers against the pads of his index and middle, and you whimper when he threatens to push two inside. 

“this wet, yet i’ve hardly done a thing,” his voice is ever boastful, “are you sure i’m the desperate one?” both fingers are suddenly replaced with his stiff erection, and he uses the precum-stained tip to catch onto your clit, resting warm and heavy against it. to that, you release a little ‘mm,’ and he taps against your puffy bud with the head of his cock— stopping once your hips start bucking for more. 

“god, you just love to torment me . . . ” you huff out, vexation getting the best of you. “torment you? oh, never.” richter taunts, slotting himself between your puffy folds. he steers the way he glides against you by keeping a thumb at the base. “i just like to watch you squirm, is all.” 

you know how to pry what you want out of him; a little bit of begging here, a small ounce of praise there. you lift your hips to grind against the underside of him, emitting soft moans whenever he rubs against your swollen clit just right, “richter, please. i really need your cock . . .”  

“oh, baby,” he bites at his lower lip, giving in just as you expected of him. “i love it when you ask nicely.” in one fluid motion, he fits himself past the fleshy ring of your entrance and slips right inside. noise falls from you both; you’re gasping at the steady push, doing your best to accommodate every given inch, and richter’s letting small groans escape him, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your hips. 

“always so fucking . . . tight,” he emits a shuddered breath, dropping his head to watch himself bottom out deep enough for his balls to nestle snugly against your ass-cheeks. you’re well connected now, to the point where his own pelvis has become sticky with your arousal. chestnut fringes drop into his view, and he sweeps his hair back with one hand threading through it. 

“you’re taking it all so well this time,” he lifts his gaze to meet yours, a subtle grin playing on his lips. “such a good girl for me.” the connection between you two pulsates. he starts to build a delicious rhythm— drawing out for just a second, and pushing back in by the next. he watches you melt beneath him, your eyes sealed shut and mouth agape. a tangly string of moans tumble from your plush lips. richter’s no composer by any means, but the sounds he pulled from you is nothing short of beautiful music. 

he’s without resignation tonight, and you notice his intensity when handling you. those naughty hands of his cup and squeeze and rub, his thrusts are fast, and you're sure that the resounding ‘smack!’ of skin-upon-skin can be heard from outside the window with how loud it’s become.  

richter’s got your wrists bound above your head using the grip of only one firm hand, while he uses the other to keep your leg perched over his broad shoulder. his cock pushes deeper inside whenever he rolls his hips into your own, and your toes curl against the sheets with every stroke. when ramming in, his breath goes shaky at the sight of your body lurching, and pulling out makes his eyes roll back with how hard you’re clamping down on him, practically begging him to stay. 

you’re soon to unravel, and you can tell he is too. his thighs begin to tremble, and his pace is less timely. nearing ecstasy, you already know what richter’s bound to ask you: 

“where do you want me?” 

without fail, he poses the same question by the near end of every session. and each time, you opt for the safe route, even though you secretly wish for more. your answer mostly varies on whatever position he’s got you manhandled in. bashfully, you’ll instruct him to cum over your ass if he has you bent over, or your tits if he’s been ogling them the whole night. sometimes, you’ll even let him decorate your pretty face with his seed— now that drives him mad, so much so that you always go another round or two afterwards. 

but your true desire is, by far, much filthier than the rest. you’re nowhere near daring enough to plainly admit that you want his cum inside of you. as in, womb-filling placement. pregnancy-inducing, even. 

though, something’s come over you tonight. you think richter’s finally ‘fucked you stupid’ the way he always cockily threatens to. or, maybe having him settled within you just feels too good to give up so soon. you don’t want him pulling out this time, you determine. what you need is for him to stay right where he is, to keep you stuffed whole with his warm love. all you want is for him to do it— 

“inside,” is your breathless cry; a risky plea of the very thing he spends lone nights getting himself off to the thought of. richter isn't sure he heard you right— no, it must be a cruel figment of his perverse imagination. a bead of sweat's caught along his raised brow, those blue eyes of his carry a hooded glow, and his face, bearing a cutely furrowed look, grows pinker than before. 

“what?” 

“oh, god,” you whine, face gone hot. “richter, i . . .” the words melt off your tongue and fizzle into nothing. 

“you . . ?” he plays around your hesitance, drawing out the word with some light goading. you sigh rather than responding, and it’s a dramatic one, because does he really have to make you repeat yourself? richter gazes down at you expectantly as he slows his movements, finding purchase on your waist to come to an unsteady pause. his fingers drum along your sides, awaiting more clarity. 

your voice is small when you manage to confess, “ . . . i want you to cum inside of me.”

you think you can see the very moment that he fucking breaks. it’s like his resolve’s a porcelain vase, oh so delicate, and you’ve just pushed it to the floor and cracked it into a million tiny pieces. he releases this low groan, one that makes your pussy flutter at the sound of it. you can feel how rapidly his cock throbs from within you. you’re sure he’s about to paint them white. 

“shit . . . you don’t mean that.” 

“i do, rich. i want this.” 

you blink up at him, pleading with glassy eyes and the very pout that makes his heart throb. god, he wants to kiss you so messily right now. and that he does— closing in to slot his lips against yours, working his tongue down your mouth, and separating with a distinct pop! you moan against richter’s lips as his clutch on your waist intensifies. 

“you’ve gone ahead and finally drove me fucking crazy,” he thickly swallows, “you don’t know what you’ve just done to me, do you?” richter takes hold on both sides of your face, painless but firm. you mumble aloud what sounds like his name. he can’t be sure, as you’re muffled from the way his grasp is making your cheeks puff out. 

“oh, darling, you don’t.” richter seethes, knowing how you like it when he gets a little mean, “because if you did, you’d know that spewing that kind of shit will make me fuck you like a senseless animal,” his toned body is hunched over yours, eliminating any space there once was between you, “that i’d fill up this greedy little cunt until you’re overflowing with my cum,” his octave drops, tone dangerous, “that i wouldn’t be able to stop until we’ve both passed out on this goddamn bed.” 

“mmph, rich . . .” you weakly attempt, whining through your lips that he keeps pursed between his thumb and index that press into the fat of your cheeks. 

“what was that, love? you wanna be stuffed with my cum?” his tone is a mocking one, but you dumbly nod anyway. he mirrors the rocking motion of your head, amused with your desperation, “fuck yeah, you do. can feel you getting wetter at the thought of it.” 

you haven’t got it in you to feed into that typical banter with your boyfriend. you only want him to do just as he said and ‘fill you up.’ you're pawing at his bicep with one hand, and the other one clasps over the wrist of the hand he’s using to squish at your face. ‘want it,’ you start, fingers skimming across his arm, ‘so badly, rich!’ 

“fine, then. you’re such a needy thing,” he gives in, figuring you’ve endured just about enough of his teasing. richter holds himself by the base, and pulls back to trace your gaping hole with his cockhead. 

“you asked for this,” he pants out, “to be fucking bred.” 

just as before, his entrance is a smooth one; even if your grip on him is so taut that he can barely manage to move. you’re moaning again, aimlessly circling your hips in an attempt to match his movement. 

patterns repeat themselves— like richter’s desperation that always manifests itself through harsh rutting. his mind goes blank every time he’s encompassed by your sweet, warm pussy. he aches for it, for you, as though he wasn’t just indulging. he was this close to release just minutes ago. the sensitivity is still there, you notice from how his tip pulses from within you. he’s been holding out on himself, trying to make this count. 

richter dedicates the next several minutes to flipping and folding you into at least two different positions, bodies merging with a zealous haste. as always, the bed creaks and whines with every pivoted motion made upon it. nobody else is here to complain about it, so the noise is ignored rather than worried over. after all, there’s something gratifying about the sex being hard and thorough. 

there’s more fervor behind his loving this time, and it’s because he’s got the end in mind. yes, the finishing is what he anticipates; once he can finally, finally pump you full of all the cum he has to offer. and maybe— no, definitely, he’ll have you knocked up after it’s done.  

the prospect excites him more than it should; giving you a little bright-eyed belmont. richter’s always seen replenishing the sacred bloodline as a responsibility that only he alone holds. the very last one, he is. who else apart from him could return their clan to its original glory? 

a good amount of years ago, as richter can’t bring himself to remember a particular number, his mother would present him with countless tales of their infamous family. how they’d slay monsters of the night with the utmost ease, gifted with holy tools and magic of old passed down throughout the centuries. he wouldn’t like to admit how much it’s gotten to his head; or moreso, how important he sees it to expand the family tree. 

god willing, the pair of you will have babies, lots of babies, and mark the start of a new generation of vampyre slayers. it already helps that he loves to fuck you at any given chance. breeding you had always been lingering at the back of his mind, even back when the pair of you first coupled over ten months back . . . but he never really thought so deeply about it until you confessed your deep desire, and forced him to come to terms with his own. 

“thinkin’ of you pregnant,” he reveals, voice honest and vulnerable, “god, what a beautiful sight. my woman, all round and full with my love . . . ” 

“mm, that sounds— possessive,” you breathe out, body steadily rocking at the pace that richter’s set. you’re cracking your eyes open and sparing him a glance, just to see that he’s already staring back down at you. like you’re his everything, it seems. that twinkle in his eye is reserved for you only, and it makes you throb with want. 

“oh, i’m sure it does.” he doesn’t bring himself to deny it. he wants you marked by him in every possible way. for anyone to take a glance at your rounding belly months from now and just know that he touched you thoroughly and fucked you right. 

“but you should understand just how fortunate you are, baby,” he coos, “do you know how many bitches would kill for this seed you’re getting tonight? hm?” richter drones on, “you even sure you deserve it?” 

he knows full well that you do. if there’s any woman on god’s green earth that he wants to give all his love to, it’s indisputably you. he’s simply rousing you up, making you ‘earn’ it. the man likes to tease, and you can’t help but enjoy being on the receiving end. 

“well . . . you’re planning to give it to me, aren’t you?” even with him wrecking you, body sore and hair disarray, you're still able to check him. “i am,” he sighs, “and you’re gonna feel it all the way in here,” a large palm of his splays across your abdomen. from over your tummy, he feels the outline of his own cock, pressing in and sliding out before ramming it’s way back in again, courtesy of his rolling hips. 

it spurs him on to see that he doubles you in size, so much so that his dick leaves a bulge. richter bets that he’s stretching out your cunt in the nicest way— just look at how you’re taking it with hazy eyes and quivering legs. no wonder you want his cum so badly; because who else throughout all of goddamn machecoul could give you such good orgasms? which other man could possibly fill you up with such valuable seed? 

“i swear, m’gonna give you a baby,” is richter’s shaky promise, moaning throughout, and his cock throbs twice in a row. he’ll make you a carrier of the next generation of belmonts, he swears it. and oh, is he sure you’ll be an amazing mother. the thought makes his head buzz. he vividly pictures you, tender and swollen in the tummy and breasts, waddling around cutely due to carrying his very own child. he could cum just by thinking about it too hard . . . 

and he does.

“oh, god, i’m gonna— oh, fuck!” his balls constrict, his pelvis becomes tightly-strung, and before he knows it, he’s emptying his thick load inside of you. 

“yes, rich . . . give it to me,” you softly purr, allowing him to ease his weight onto you as he shudders from the high and his limbs go weak. from where he has his face smushed against your cushiony chest, he bites at your left breast while cumming some more. it spurts out in hot streams, accompanied by the twitching of his sensitive dick. he lazily humps against you, and a bit of semen seeps past your cunt, trickles down the length of him, and pours out onto the sheets beneath. you knew it’d be satiating to be filled to the brim. 

he feels like he could fall asleep right here atop of you. even with his head’s swimming in a thick cloud of lust, and though the aftermath of his climax lingers, he’s still able to deliver slow rubs to your little bud.

“hope you’re ready for another,” he reaches down between you and swiping his graceful fingers across it, “because we aren’t fucking done yet.”

you hardly get a chance to bask in how nicely he’s loaded your womb, or the delightful tingle he brings when playing with your clit. richter, always a step ahead, uses his small bit of remaining energy to sit upwards with his back to the bedpost, and hauls you onto him so that you’re straddled over him just the way he likes. he gets the best view of your jiggling boobs this way.

“of course you still have it in you,” you lightly laugh. given his endurance, richter’s usually able to maximize his stamina through plenty of rounds. “i also wouldn’t mind being filled a second time . . .” you set your forehead to rest against his, bringing up a hand to swipe hair away from his gorgeous eyes, “i liked it.”

“and i loved it,” he’s quick to admit, “should’ve been finishing inside you long before now.”

you smile over his comment and wiggle your ass over his semi hard-on, growing stiffer with every sway of your breasts in his face. his hands are busy holding you from either side, so you go out of your way to stroke along his cum-dirtied cock, white dripping alongside it. he groans at your touch as you help him in finding your entrance. your mouth falls open when sinking down on him, and he rushes to lick and suck at your lips. for the third time tonight, he makes himself at home in your inviting cunt. 

and so, it begins again; his ceaseless tempo. your partner's grasp is hot and strong, pulling you off and slamming you back down onto him however he pleases. you cry out for more, and he’s capable of giving it to you, so he does. richter pistons up into you— out, in, out, in, molding you to shape the very curve of his veined cock. blush colored a fiery pink scatters his face from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“again, richter,” you gasp out, “cum inside me again . . !” oh, just look at that. now he’s built you a rotten little addiction. from here on out, you’ll probably always be left craving the fulfillment gained from him dumping his load into your pussy. personally, he doesn’t mind sating you. if it eases your mind and satisfies your heart, of course. after all, he’s surely developed a new kink of his own after tonight.  

“oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you, cockslut?” his fingers dip between your bodies to slide against your clit once more, “to let me impregnate you again, and again, and again . . .” he punctuates his sharp words with the lurch of his sturdy hips, knocking up into you until you’re jolting in his lap, breasts bouncing against his solid chest. 

he doesn’t mean to come across in an offish way, or sound so mean. it’s just that when he gets like this, with your warm body so pliant at his fingertips, his mouth just tends to . . . run. more than usual, he supposes. the belmont just says whatever comes to mind, no matter how vulgar. 

richter’s bright blue eyes follow the motion of your tits with every thrust. he slams in, hips pressed to you as close as it can get. he’s burrowed into you so deeply that his curly patch of dark pubes friction against your bundle of nerves. he’s twitching at the underside for every time your velvety walls suck him in further. you’re trying to milk him fucking dry, he believes. 

there’s only so much stimulation that the pair of you can take in one night alone. 

‘goddammit’ he grits out. before long, richter’s fucking you full of another stream of cum. his orgasm, hot and blinding, triggers your own; you’re creaming all over him, wetting his cock with the juices you squirt out. you’re sobbing out his name and shaking in his lap, so he holds you. a secure hand of his comes up and cradles your head to his chest, stroking your hair and calming your spent body, even as the orgasmic waves rush through you. 

a silence comes over his quaint little room, where the ambience was once intense with the steamy air of sex. a chill autumn breeze blows its way through the cracked-open window, cooling your sweat-sheen skin. his dusty-blue sheets are stained with all kinds of suggestive white fluids, and the bed has stopped making all that noise. 

you’re still placed over his thighs in the same straddling stance, one you both feel much too tired to get out of. he tries at maneuvering so he can lie on his back, with you motionlessly laid over him. your breathing is soft and winded, but your heart’s beating fast. he can feel it, with the way your chest is pressed to his own in this position. 

richter eventually slips out, and you whine once he leaves you. he peers down and groans at the spillage of his potent cum, pearly and warm, dripping from your messy little cunt in thick globs. ‘christ,’ he thinks, ‘it’s so fucking much.’  

he presses a kiss to your forehead, and it stirs you from the sleep you were just about to fall into. “what do you say to me, darling?” 

“hmm . . what?” after all those rounds, you’re not here mentally, and he knows it— he’s why. but with the light smirk his lips hold, you’re finally able to get it. he’s waiting for a: 

“t—thank you,” you murmur out, and he tsks.

“oh, c’mon, be specific. thank you for what?” 

he's simply insufferable. oh, but you love the man, so you'll let him have his way, just for tonight.

“thank you for . . giving me your cum, richter . . .”

he hums in what appears to be satisfaction. it sounds like the prettiest set of words when falling from your lips. he’d fuck you again if the both of you weren’t completely spent. 

richter brings a hand to support the back of his head, propping it up a little higher than the pillows can. you snuggle into him, face nuzzling against the firm comfort of his chest, and he throws his arm over your waist, feeling at the plush skin there with a wandering touch. 

his palm slides a bit further down, now planted gently against your stomach. it’ll start to grow in a little while, and get real big and plump with your baby fostering inside. maybe they’ll have your nose and complexion, with his eyes and attitude . . . he lets a grin overtake his lips, feeling more than accomplished. 

“you’re a lucky fucking woman,” richter coos, hand lovingly rubbing over your tummy, “you’re gonna be carryin’ belmont blood now.”

tags go out to . . . ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ @blushfwul @springmarcheson @missmagicalprincess @kaennih-skitlles @divin3bloodlines! hope y’all enjoyed, mwuah! ❤︎

©𝑃ℐ𝒩𝒦ℳℐℛ𝒯ℋ! — all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ౨ৎ

[writers-potion]

Writing Armour

Types of Armour

All types of clothing provide some protection.

For street fights where you have a couple of teenagers brawling, it would be appropriate to dress them in jeans and a jacket. For more protection, a quilted winter coat or a morotbiker's thick leather jacket, perhaps.

Leather, especially when treated and straightened, offers good protection against arrows, swords, and spears.

The historical armour will include glued-together layers of fabric, thin wooden or bone platelets sewn onto cloth. For wealthier and more advanced societies, metal would be used.

An armour has many parts, and you'll want to describe them with varying levels of detail. However, here are the basics:

A cuirass is a breastplate, protecting the heart and abdomen.

Greaves are shin guards, usually strapped on, protecting the front fo teh lower legs.

Arm guards (bracers)

Helmets

Modern armour will involve a bulletproof vest (which may also be knife-proof). It can be stiff and heavy, and the wearer will sweat under them.

The body armour can lose its effectiveness after a few years.

Disadvantages of Armour

The typical armour (made of steel) is heavy and clunky. In a few hours, your hero is likely to be sweaty, hot and stinky on the inside.

Armour restricts mobility.

Every armour have gaps (the wearer needs to breathe!), and a clever fighter will aim for the chinks.

Shields

Shields are held by the hand rather than worn, so larger shields will be cumbersome and heavey to move, while smaller ones will offer only partial protection.

Shield often consise of wooden frames with leather, hides or metal. They may be painted with heraldic emblems, scary faces, or with magical pentagons.

A shield can also be used as a weapon, like ramming it under the opponent's chin or slamming it down his feet.

The smaller fighter can use a shield well to their advantage, since a shield of the same size will have fuller coverage of their body. However, they will need a strong arm.

Units of githers may use shield formations, such as the tortoise of the Roman legions, the shield wall of the Vikings, and the Greek hoplites shielding not only themselves but the man next to them.

This post is for writers who are trying to bluff their way through a fight scene with minimal knowledge! For full-fledged scenes, I recommend more research.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t really have to ask. Chris stays for dinner. It’s just another way for him to taunt you. That’s what he’s doing, isn’t it? And why? Because you ran away? Because you didn’t want to sit with him at the cafe? You’re shy, that’s all it is. It was never meant to be an insult.

You offer to cook dinner as your grandmother stays out on the porch and swings. You can hear them talking but try to block out their words. You want this night to be over but you know even then, it’s not the end. You can’t believe she would just send you off with him on a date. A stranger!

You put the chicken in the oven and peel potatoes to boil. You hear the front door and footsteps but they climb the stairs instead of coming to you. Maybe he’s looking for the bathroom. You hear the swing squeaking as your grandmother sways, the frame knocking against the house now and again.

You rinse off the skinned potatoes and set them aside, drying off your hands as you peer at the ceiling. You haven’t heard the pipes at all. You put the dishcloth lazily on the counter and tiptoe out to the bottom of the stairs. What is he doing?

You turn away but halt. You face the staircase again and cautiously climb. The bathroom door is wide open and dark. Beside it, your bedroom door is lit up and half-shut. You creep down and as you near, you see Chris standing at the open drawer of your dresser. You place your palm against the wood and inch open the door.

“What are you doing?” You ask but he doesn’t flinch as he carelessly tosses your underwear drawer. “Hey, that’s private–”

He takes out your journal and as you lunge to grab it, he raises it beyond your reach. You collide with him as he faces you and he chuckles. Why is he being so mean?

“Please,” you beg, “don’t–”

“Relax,” he says, “I’m not gonna read it.” He lowers it and taps the flimsy metal lock, “I just wanna get to know you and since you don’t like to talk so much…” he offers the diary and you snatch it away, “I gotta go off clues…”

“I’m sorry, I’m just… shy,” you shrug. “Really, I never meant to make you so mad–”

“I’m not mad,” he turns back to the drawer and pulls out a pair of your plain white cotton panties, “hmm,” he stretches the elastic, “you don’t needa bother with these on our date.” He drops them back into the pile, “doesn’t look like you got anything sexier.”

You blink. Sexier?

“Please,” you sniffle again.

“You got your manners on nice now, don’t you?” he scoffs and slides the drawer shut.

“I never–”

He holds up a finger to hush you. You snap your mouth shut as he turns to the room and crosses his arms. He tilts his head as he takes it in.

“I’m doing you a favour,” he strides forward, approaching the portrait of Bo Peep and her lamb on the wall; the same picture that’s hung there for decades, “it’s about time you grew up.”

You look down shamefully. It’s not like you don’t try. You do. But when you go out and do anything you just trip up on your words and make a fool of yourself. Just like you did with him. You’re just a screw up. Maybe if he realised that, he’d leave you alone.

“I gotta finish dinner,” you back up slowly as you watch him touch the foot of the bed, leaning his weight into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he praises without looking up, dragging his palm over the quilt.

You shudder and swallow, spinning before you lose your nerve. You hurry out, hugging your diary close, and clatter down the stairs. You tuck your diary under the sink and go back to the strainer of potatoes. It’s all your fault. You led the big bad wolf right to your door.

🍎

Dinner goes about as well as you expect. You don’t say much as Chris and your grandma carry much of the conversation; most of it about you. She tells him you never had very many friends as you shrink down and he grins at you. There’s a glint in his dark pupils that sends a shiver through you.

To your relief, he excuses himself after supper and heads off to get his truck from town. Right before your grandma can dive into the story about the Spring Festival and your disastrous teenage folly. He doesn’t part without a promise glance in your direction and a reminder of your date.

You clean up as your grandmother yammers on about it all. He’s such a wonderful man. So good looking. Lynette won’t believe this. Oh, Molly might have five already but you might just be next. That last suggestion makes you want to vomit.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you extract yourself.

She agrees only because her own exhaustion tugs at her eyes and forces a yawn from her chest. You help her upstairs and ask her if she needs anything else. She swats you away as she digs in her nightstand for her pillbox.

“You know, a man like that could really help,” she says as you reach the doorway, “he must have a nice nest egg if he’s bought the old Clyde lot.”

You hold back your remonstrance. A pang of guilt jabs in your chest. You can’t blame her for thinking it. You need money and her social security should be stretched so thin. She earned it, not you.

“I’ll go to the pharmacy tomorrow,” you say as her pill bottle rattles, “I forgot.”

“Oh yes, the pharmacy,” she titters, “say hello to Chris for me, won’t ya, hon.”

You nod and leave her, pulling her door just an inch from the frame. You tramp down the hall to your room and sigh as you enter. You won’t just be going to the pharmacy, you’ll be looking for a job. Again. Who knows, maybe there’ll be an opening at the grocery store? Or you can check the pinboard outside the church.

You sit on the side of your bed and nearly choke. You can smell him rippling off of your bedding, the faint scent of cedar and sweat. Even if you do find something, it won’t get rid of him.

[thestudentfarmer]

Anyone else enjoy thrifting and thrift shopping?

It's one of my favorite ways of keeping stuff out of the garbage heap.

And Sometimes you just need something. Sometimes, it might be cheap pants, shirts, "new" cookware or eating utensils, ridiculous decorative stuff. A ton can be found through thrifting and i don't necessarily have to feel guilty in buying some stuff I might not have gotten otherwise (or needed). Mostly because while it's already had 1 life, why not another while it's still functional and keep it out of the dump longer? 🌱💚 🌱 no need for new for everything if it's already made and here :)

I haven't been able to for a long time as I like to carpool or have donations to bring with, was able to recently go with some friends and wanted to share some of the neat buys I found.

I don't usually get lucky with pretty homemade quilts being available when thrifting, but I found this one and am pretty excited about it, (this was my top find this time)

To me, it looks hand stitched entirely, there's a few small tears that will need minimal repair and a few spots that will need some reinforcement as theres a bit of thinning. Otherwise it's quite beautiful and I know it must have taken the maker a bit of time to do. Also i must admit, im kind of inspired to get my hands back to quilting again soon from this beauty.

A sweet deal on this embroidery floss and tool(?)

To be quite honest I'm not really sure what the tool being pointed at is, if anyone knows please share your knowledge! I'll likely use the floss on some hat projects for gifts this year.

Also, I found a bag with all these bobbins and thread. I've been looking for more bobbin containers cause I like to have a full one for the common colors I use when I'm sewing. These colors I'll probably use for binding smaller quilts (dog, cat, baby, and lap quilt sized) or for attempts at making clothing if fabrics are similar colored.

I also found

A set of ceramic measuring cups with handles,

kitchen knife,

2 crocheted blankets, lap/single sized,

2 nice new picture frames (still wrapped),

A book (fun reading material),

And what I thought was a ceramic pancake 🥞 or tortilla holder/warmer for breakfast, but I think it is actually for something else? I'm using it to store fresh ginger tubers at the moment (later, mayby garlic bulbs)

I was hoping for some nice fabric to try my hands at skirt making and some interesting quilting fabric, but nothing in the selection really caught my eye this round. Lots of pretty kitchen ware and nicknacks, though. Unfortunately, there no time to even look at the clothes before we had to head off, no big loss though.

That's it for now,

🌱🌻Happy Homesteading and sustainability efforts!🌻🌱

5 16 24

[pinkiepiebones]

Passing this question back to you, how do you think Renfield felt after he was freed from Dracula and how did he cope (or not) ?

Terrified.

The day after Dracula's demise hordes of three-letter agencies descended on the apartment complex and the Lobo's estate to try to ascertain what the fuck had happened. Rebecca had sensed something like that happening and, after she and Robert revived his codependents group, she had driven Robert to his place so he could pack some things. "You're gonna crash with me a while," she said. It wasn't a question.

He picked up his Welcome mat and threw it down to the pile of Lobo and police bodies three stories down. His packing was rushed, but practiced. He had to learn how to flee places in a hurry over the decades. He had to learn how to move with blood sticking to his skin and wounds oozing. He had to learn to watch his hands move as a terrible voice roared in his head and claws wormed into his sinew. He turned to leave and startled at the sight of Rebecca sitting on his sofa.

"Dude, you took like three seconds." She frowned. "Did you just shove some shit in a grocery bag?" She stood, shaking her head. "C'mon big guy, let's try to not panic, okay?"

Robert nodded, obedient.

Rebecca found his backpack- not in use, sitting empty on the shelf in his closet, purchased because it made him smile (it was made to look as though it had been fashioned from sunny quilt blocks). Rebecca spoke gently, now, guiding him to pack three of most of his articles of clothing for the time being. There was no way to tell how long the investigations would take. "And we can always buy you more stuff," she added. She recounted a time when Kate had been packing for some trip in high school and their father had joked about the overpacking. "He said, 'funny how stores cease to exist when you travel, huh?' because she was gonna be gone for a week but she had like six suitcases..."

Robert nodded, attentive.

The ride back to Rebecca's house was quiet. Robert watched her most of the drive. He clambered out of the passenger seat and grabbed his backpack and followed her inside.

Rebecca guided him while telling him about her small house. He looked at the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He studied the lives inside the frames. Then he followed Rebecca into the guest room.

"You," she said as he neared, "need a shower. So do I, probably, but, y'know, age before beauty or whatever. I gotta go check the heater, so, uh." She spread her hands. "Make yourself at home, roomie."

Robert set his bag on the guest bed and stood in the middle of the room, the muffled sounds of suburbia beyond the heavy curtains overwhelming his senses. How often he had hunted in just such a world, how often those sounds- lawnmowers and dogs and children- had simply meant 'Master's meals.' He pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress a scream and the wave of nausea that hit him.

Your sole purpose in life is to serve me.

Robert swallowed his guilt and his self hatred and ventured back out into Rebecca's house.

Rebecca jumped when she turned to find Robert standing behind her.

"Fuck!"

"Is there anything I can do?"

She looked at him, scrutinizing. "I dunno, this thing's just getting on in years."

"I meant, uh, in general?" He smiled. "How can I be of service?"

"No."

"No?"

Rebecca stormed past him. "You are not replacing him with me, don't even start down that path."

Robert chuckled nervously. "Oh, I didn't mean-"

Rebecca turned back and took Robert's hands in hers. "I know you didn't mean it. But you gotta know that this codependency stuff is going to keep messing with you, right? So, just-" She squeezed his hands. "You keep yourself from trying to be servanty, okay? I'm a big girl, I've been takin' care of myself a long time. You only have to serve you, got it?"

Robert felt tears sting his eyes.

"I don't know how to do this. God knows I'm trying, but now that he's gone, his voice isn't in my head, I can finally hear my own thoughts, and..." Robert gently pulled away from Rebecca.

"All I can think about is him."

His friend nodded. "I mean, we did just chop him up and mix him in cement and dump him into the sewer. I'm thinking about him too." She smiled and patted his arm. "C'mon, let's get the last of his blood offa you, maybe that'll help."

Rebecca had an idea; instead of Robert taking a shower, she offered to help him wash his hair as he took a bath, and he was glad for it. He felt a bit silly sitting in her tub, his long legs bent and a towel shoved around his waist for his sense of modesty, but that silly feeling ebbed as the warmth of the water around him seeped into his tired bones and Rebecca carefully leaned over to scrub at his hair with something that smelled like chamomile and lavender. He damn near purred at the sensation of her blunt nails gently scraping his scalp and her calloused fingers winding through his hair. He leaned his head back so she could pour a cup of water on his head to rinse, careful to guide the shampoo suds away from his face.

Rebecca pulled a few towels from a cabinet and plopped them on the counter by the sink. "Okay, I think you can handle it from here. I'm gonna grab a shower and then we'll figure out dinner. Sound good?"

Robert nodded, content.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober, 2 Oct.: Pillow talk

They weren't supposed to do this kinda thing on cases.

deancas, new relationship

It took three seconds to dash from the Impala to the motel room. During this time the pop-up October thunderstorm doused Dean and Cas with approximately 900 gallons of icy rainwater. Ah, autumn. Once Cas performed his angel magic, he and Dean were no longer sopping wet, so Dean had that going for him. 

Unfortunately, the motel quilt was the saddest, thinnest piece of fabric he'd paid money to sleep beneath in years, which was saying something. He wouldn't take a black light to this room on a bet: ignorance was the only way to even pretend to be blissful in such a shoddy place. The heater wheezed and clanked and showed no sign of working correctly, and then a bolt of lightning struck something painfully nearby and plunged the entire block into unelectrified darkness – well, except for the disco-seizure flashing created by subsequent lightning. 

Trying to balance on his side of the last available mattress in town while his fingers went numb, Dean flinched as the storm rattled the draft window frame like a ghost demanding entrance. He turned over and observed the bed's other, calmer occupant, who hadn't even taken off his trenchcoat.

Fuck it, he thought.

He closed the two inches of distance by scooching over until he had flopped himself mostly atop Cas like a grouchy cat and was rewarded by being enveloped in warmth. 

"You could've just said you were cold," Cas murmured, caressing Dean's back. 

"Hrrmm," Dean responded, burrowing in like he could live in Cas's chest.

They weren't supposed to do this kinda thing on cases. Or, at least, they hadn't been. Not that it had been a point of discussion or anything. Just, Dean had mostly kept his hands to himself. For four days. Four long, damp, gruesome days. He sighed and pushed his face into the spicy, comforting scent of Cas's throat where his collar was loosened.

He drifted for a while, listening to the storm ebb and flow like a violent sea. Eventually a specific noise roused him.

"What'reyoulookingfor?" he slurred through a yawn.

"Oh, nothing." Cas zipped, or unzipped, something again. 

Dean smiled tolerantly, without opening his eyes. "Little raccoon hands."

"What?" Cas sounded deeply confused.

Dean stretched a bit and lifted his head just enough to see his own leather toiletry bag on the bed beside Cas. Cas had been habitually noodling around in Dean's belongings for years now. Dean didn't mind, though he knew Sam found it weird as hell, and it was occasionally helpful to have another memory to tap when something got misplaced. Still.

"Why do you like going through my things so much?" Dean asked, honestly curious. 

Even in the dim light Dean could tell he was being looked at with an earnest expression; he wanted to kiss Cas very badly.

"You pack interesting things," Cas said. "Like that silver bullet and vial of holy water in there with your toothpaste, toothbrush, and deodorant." 

"Sometimes I gargle with the holy water. Helps me stay minty fresh," Dean said, elated to see Cas have to try to keep from smiling. 

"Also two expired condoms," Cas continued. "Those you should probably throw away."

Dean put his head back down, struggling to not blush and failing, and thankful for the room's shadows. "Ah," he said, more hoarsely than intended.

He'd never had condoms expire on his watch. Horrors. What had he even been doing with his life lately.

"We should buy more on the way home," Cas said. His tone was as matter of fact as if he hadn't heard Dean's heart stutter.

Oh yeah. There weren't replacements in any dresser drawer back at the bunker, because they'd used the last two less than a week ago.

Dean mentally high-fived himself. "Solid plan." He cleared his throat. "That reminds me."

"Yes?" Cas shifted to wrap his arms around Dean more securely. 

"I mean." Dean found an untucked section of Cas's shirt and slid his fingers under it, rewarded with Cas inhaling sharply. "There are definitely things we could do now anyway. If you wanted."

Cas traced his thumb around the lobe of Dean's ear and Dean made an involuntary gasp, covered quickly by a cough. "That wouldn't go against the rules?" Cas asked.

Dean blinked. Propped himself up again. "What rules." All innocence.

"I'm pretty sure there were rules." Cas held his gaze. The unyielding quality there made Dean's skin prickle with heat, as did Cas's thumb brushing a line down Dean's throat, all of Cas solid and warm beneath him.

"Well," Dean said, lowering his mouth to Cas's, "it'd be more fun breaking them."

[sprnklersplashes]

i've got nothing to believe (unless you're choosing me)

ao3

wylan hendricks has been revealed as wylan van eck. the fall-out, predictably, is messy

Kaz dismisses them with a thump of his cane. Normally at this point, Jesper begins to feel the hum of anticipation, rumbling at the back of his mind. The mood should shift now as the job moves from idea to reality, and with it, Jesper’s heart should pick up. The doubt and the excitement should be giving him a high the drinks and cards can only dream of.

This time though, it’s different. This time, he sinks against the wall as the rest of the crew file out; first Inej, then the sombre-looking Fjerdan, then Nina trailing him. Kaz directs them each to different rooms, and doesn’t Matthias alone until he’s safely out of the room and down the hall. Then, with a gloved hand on the doorknob, he looks back inside. There’s a slight clench in his jaw when he looks at Jesper, and casts Wylan a glance before looking back at him. Jesper swallows thickly. Kaz’s eyes are harder than ice and he presses himself further into the wall. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” is Kaz’s instruction. “Either of you. I need you two intact and preferably civil for the job.” And with that, Kaz Brekker is gone, the door shut tightly behind him. 

If you wanted civil Jesper thinks. Maybe keep a closer eye on Nina and the Fjerdan. 

Silence falls in the room. Wylan takes more time than necessary rolling up the plans he and Matthias began. Jesper stays where he is, restless energy rattling inside his still frame, but he allows himself to look at Wylan now. Craning his neck, he sees a pricey-looking set of pens, held together in a roll of quilted fabric. Just one of those would fetch a nice price on the East Stave pawnshops. 

“Nice pen set,” he finally says. “Did Daddy buy it for you?”

Wylan looks up at him, his eyes half-hidden by his hair. Slowly, he rises from the chair and tiptoes around the table. Jesper forces himself to breathe as Wylan gets closer, his hands clasped behind his back like a kid at a recital. 

“You have questions.”

“Hell yes, I have questions, Wylan,” he spits, pretending not to notice how Wylan flinches. Some small, sour part of him thinks good. Why should he be the only one uncomfortable here? 

He stalks across the room and turns on his heel before finally asking,

“How could you not tell me?”

“I never wanted you to find out like this.” Wylan rushes to meet him, his voice breathy and shame creasing his soft face. “Not like this and certainly… certainly not from Kaz.”

“Did you want me to find out at all?” And that’s the million kruge question. 

Wylan’s chest expands as he inhales, his jaw tightening. Silence descends on the room, a lack of an answer rolling around like thunder during a storm on the frontier. And if Wylan’s silence is the thunder, Jesper’s body provides the lightning; his veins crackle and fizz and sizzle all around his body. It takes all his strength to remain still, hell, to remain in this room. Not to cuss Wylan out or run to the nearest Makker’s Wheel. His fingers are unsteady as he touches his revolvers, but if it unsettles Wylan, he doesn’t show. He’s too busy gnawing on his nails, a habit Jesper used to be enamoured by, and trying to answer what should be a very, very easy question. 

Finally, he replies “I don’t know”.

Jesper scoffs.

“I don’t know,” Wylan repeats, louder this time. “What did you want?”

“An answer, Wylan!” he replies. “I wanted to know if you even thought about trusting me enough to tell me.”

“Of course I trust you!” He’s practically shouting now, a red flush burning his cheeks. “I trust you more than anyone-”

“Not enough though,” Jesper interrupts. Wylan blinks, and that moment is a realisation for both of them. He hasn’t had time to process how exactly he felt about this. But now he’s said it and it’s like he’s stepped out of his body and said it not just to Wylan, but to himself. 

Wylan trusts him, just not enough.

Just like Kaz trusts him… just. Not. Enough. 

He sees them both laid out before him, two parallel lines. Kaz and Wylan. He meets them. He likes them. He goes out of his way for them. He falls for them. Does jobs for Kaz, gives Wylan a key. He didn’t do it with an ulterior motive, or maybe he did. Either way, both stories have the same ending; his efforts weren’t enough.

Realisation crashes into him, and he sinks onto the chair. Self-pity lines his throat, clogs his lungs. The walls press in around him as the floor tilts, leaving him queasy. Saints, he needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here and find a table and play until the cards shred his hands.

“You know…” He clears his throat and tries again. “You know, what you said to me that day in Shu Han… it changed something for me. Outside Neyar’s house. What you said about me hiding who I was. It changed a lot for me.” He sniffles, his thumb pressed into his palm. “You changed a lot for me.”

“I remember,” he replies.

“Yeah?” He lifts his head, not caring that Wylan’s seeing him cry. “Then why did you do the same thing, Wylan? The whole time you gave me crap about hiding the fact that I’m Grisha, you were hiding something pretty big too.”

“It’s not the same thing!” Wylan shouts back. Jesper’s standing now, his heart pounding, his hands curled into fists. Wylan’s breaths come in heavy, laboured pants, as if he’s run the length of the canal. “Being a Van Eck is not the blessing you think it is.”

“Yes, I’m sure living in your daddy’s mansion was such a pain for you,” Jesper replies dryly. “Tell me Wylan, how hard was it to be waited on by servants and have all your hobbies paid for?”

“Now you’re being cruel,” he says. Maybe he is. Words are just falling haphazardly out of his mouth. Whatever happens afterwards will happen. If he even stays around that much.

“I thought maybe you were like me,” he says. “That you probably understood what we Barrel rats are like.” He shakes his head. He’s not sure who he’s really shaking it at. “But now I get it. You’re just a pampered little prince who ran away so he could play at being a thief.”

“That’s not what happened-”

“Then what did?” he asks. “What made a little precious merchling come to slum with the rest of us sobs? You’re a bit late for teenage rebellion.”

“What makes you think you need to know everything about me?”

“I’d like to know something about you,” he replies. “Something, something that’s real. Because frankly, I don’t even know if Wylan is your real name.”

“It is!” he shouts back. Jesper recoils from the words as if Wylan had pulled a gun on him, and then there was silence. Everything that was said is splattered on the walls, and Jesper can hear it all. Hear how angry he is. How petty. How betrayed and hurt and well, immature he sounded. All of the things he swore he’d never be with Wylan. He hears it all, and his gut sours.

When he dares to glance up, he sees Wylan huddled on the floor, his back to the door. His head is in his hands and his knees are against his chest.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says. “So. Many. Times.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he asks. His voice cracks, and he realises it’s because he isn’t yelling or laughing any more. He’s begging. Begging as he does with Kaz, just tell me . “Why didn’t you?”

It takes a long while for Wylan to answer. Jesper watches him the whole time; his fingers link and unlink, he licks and bites his lips, his chest stutters as it rises. The silence stretches out, pushing seconds into minutes into hours, and Jesper can just watch and wait and hope without knowing what he’s hoping for.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d do,” he finally answers. “If you’d go back to Kaz with it or let something slip or…” His voice is small, broken. Defeated. He pulls his knees closer to himself. “I didn’t know. And I couldn’t take that risk.”

Jesper’s head falls back. He wanted the truth. But maybe he didn’t expect it to feel like this, like a tidal wave crashing over him and pulling him under. He closes his eyes. The room is silent. Maybe if he’s lucky, the wave will drag him away from here.

When he rises, it’s slow. His joints creak as his stiff muscles move carefully. Wylan’s gaze follows him, his chin rising in time with Jesper’s body. He waits until he’s standing before he speaks. He pulls on his sleeve if only to avoid Wylan’s eyes.

“I’m going out,” he says. “I’ll be an hour. That should be enough time for you to move your things back to your workshop and leave your key on my table.” He’ll probably be more than an hour, but that’s his business.

“What?”

“I’m not going to hoard your stuff Wylan,” he grumbles. “Saints knows what I’d do with half of it.” He crosses over to the door.

“Jes-Jesper, wait.” Wylan scrabbles to his feet, his limbs unsteady, grasping the wall to stay upright. “Jesper just, just, please, listen I-”

“Listen to what Wylan?” He’s closer to him now, so close that he can see the red-rimmed eyes and spiked lashes. So close that he could reach out and take his hand. And he wants to, damn it. Because Wylan is upset and all he wants is to hold his hand and make stupid jokes until he laughs again.

“I have listened, Wylan,” he says. “I listened and I get it. You didn’t want to tell me because you thought I mess it up or do something with it and maybe I don’t blame you. I might have done the same.” He laughs and it sounds a little too much like a sob. “But you’re not who I thought you were. And there’s no point in us doing this if we can’t trust each other.”

“Jesper, please .” He’s almost screaming now, and he grabs desperately at Jesper’s wrists, the way a drowning man grabs pieces of driftwood. 

(He’s reminded of the way Wylan held onto him after the Fold like Jesper was the only thing keeping him alive. He remembers the way he had held him like he’d fight the world to keep him by his side) 

“Jes, look at me.” He does. His hair tickles Jesper’s forehead. His breaths ghost along Jesper’s collarbone. His foot brushes his and it would just take him turning his wrist for them to be holding hands. He’s so close Jesper can feel the worried beat of his heart as if it were his own. “Jesper, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Cool, slender fingers caress Jesper’s cheeks, and he sighs. He hadn’t realised how hot he was. “I never meant to hurt you. I should’ve told you, I would’ve told you-”

“Would you? If you could go back and change it, would you?” It’s more than a question. It’s an accusation. Jesper watches as Wylan’s eyes widen. His mouth falls open, but nothing comes out of it. Just a small, feeble croak that hurts more than any amount of speech ever could. 

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers brush over Wylan’s. He doesn’t need to look down to know where the splotches of ink are or where he’s bitten his nails the most. He also knows that if he kept his finger travelling downwards, he’d find the spot on Wylan’s inner arm where he’s most ticklish. 

That giggle fills his mind, too light and too good for what they’re dealing with right now.

Instead of finding that little spot on his arm, Jesper takes Wylan’s wrists and pulls his hands off his face. It takes more strength than he thought possible to let go of his hands, but when he does they stay in the air, half reaching for Jesper’s jacket. In his mind, Wylan curls his fingers around his lapel

“I wouldn’t have trusted me either,” he confesses. Wylan shakes his head at that, the ghost of a protest on his lips. Jesper’s mouth quirks, but there’s no warmth in it. “I wouldn’t have. But that doesn’t… that doesn’t change anything. Not for me.”

“Jes-”

“I don’t mind you coming on the job with us,” he continues. “You’re a good demo man no matter what Kaz says and he’s right, you’re valuable leverage against your father.” Wylan winces at that. Not for the first time, Jesper hates himself.

Not for the first time his fingers itch for the cards.

“So this is it?” Wylan asks. “After everything we’ve been through… this is it? You’re just… you’re just leaving?”

Against his better judgement (what’s left of it anyway), Jesper looks up. Wylan’s face is streaked with tears, his hazel eyes torn by a hopelessness Jesper didn’t think he possessed. It occurs to him, in that moment, that he’s never seen Wylan cry. Not once. Not even when they came out of the Fold and he was shaking so badly Jesper had to guide him to a chair and hold him against his chest. In the months they’ve been together, Jesper has never seen Wylan cry. 

Until now.

He brushes his hand against Wylan’s. His skin is cold, and Jesper flinches. When he speaks, he feels like he’s forcing the words to crawl over barbed wire to get out.

“Those things… I did with Wylan Hendricks.” He pulls his hand back. “Wylan Van Eck… I don’t know him at all.” His hands curl into fists at his side. His heart thumps loudly, relentlessly, like the rattle of machine gun fire. Sweat trickles down his back, pooling at the bottom of his spine.

He needs to get out. Now. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to explode and probably take Wylan down with him.

He has to fight against Wylan’s grip to get out. Nails scratch against his coat, his skin, his grip weakening and strengthening on Jesper’s arm. Each touch is colder than the last and Jesper’s skin tightens.

“No, no-Jesper, please, Jesper, I’m sorry, I-”

He closes the door between them, and Wylan’s voice is silent. One shaking hand grips the doorknob, the other lays flat against the wood. If he listens, is quiet for once in his life and just listens, he can hear the muffled sobbing on the other side of the door. Without meaning to, his forehead falls against it. His knees weaken and knock against the wood as they fall to the floor. He waits there, for what feels like forever, kneeling beside the door with his hand on the handle.

He could turn it. He wants to turn it. Despite everything, despite the anger that still fizzes in his veins, he wants to turn it and lift Wylan into his arms. To kiss his temple and carry him home and to hold him and to be held . 

He looks at the handle. Wylan is still there; the quiet sobs still shaking the air. Of its own accord, his hand turns just a fraction, and that’s when it hits him again. Wylan Van Eck. Son of Jan Van Eck. Merchant’s kid turned Barrel Rat. Their shared months fly past Jesper’s eyes, but this time his gut sours. Because every time, Wylan was living in his space, with a key to his room, and thought Jesper couldn’t be trusted. Apparently, nothing he did was enough to prove it. 

Evidently, Wylan made his mind up a while go. Now, Jesper can make up his.

His hand steadies. The handle straightens. The sobbing doesn’t stop. His heart keeps thumping, thumping, like it’s trying to escape his body.

Slowly, Jesper stands. He lets go of the handle. And then, slowly, he walks away.

[save-the-spiral]

Appliqué

(buy me coffee?) (Maliswap AU Masterpost)

Content warnings for depersonalization, derealization, dissociation, minor self harm, memory loss.

You are sitting in a cozy room. You know, intrinsically, that this room is in your flat, your home, in the same way one gets information in dreams, by just somehow knowing.

The walls are a pale grey, framed photographs and a few mementos on shelves to break up the bleak emptiness. You blink at the small wall hanging depicting an animal you can't name the species of, some brown furred thing arched and stylized as if for heraldry.

Two windows also disrupt the monotony of the walls. One looks to a brick wall, and is stuck shut anyway. The glass is warped beyond movement, making the strict lines of mortar waver. The other window has newer glass, still likely older than you, but it distorts less. Sunbeams the color of aged parchment stream into this room in the late afternoon, hours gilded and ephemeral, and you have a vague recollection of someone enthusiastically chirruping and cheering over this phenomenon at some point.

The concept of the memory dissipates like candle smoke.

The texture of worn cotton fabric comes to your attention, fingers absentmindedly skating against the surface of the bed's top quilt. A variety of shades meet your eyes, shaped into something important you can't perceive, sewn together from triangles of fabric.

You lick at your bottom lip in one small motion, trying to think. Your lips are ragged and torn, chapped from the cold and strips of delicate skin ripped by your teeth into strips. Little pains you do to yourself without thinking. Little wounds that aren't fit for a colorful bandage or a kiss to make it better. Little raw patches of skin that will weep but one bead of blood, rolling down skin, fated to be smeared and washed away.

Your teeth rake over the uneven skin, harsher than you usually are as you try to think. Fingers curl clawlike until nails bite into the meat of your palm, all those small delicate muscles aching with the strain.

If only you could just think.

Everything seems to swoop in your vision, blurring.

You know, just as you know this is your room with your windows and your quilt and your body, that you aren't drunk. You aren't sick. You aren't dreaming. You know there is a reason for you to be unable to think.

After all, you've thought perfectly fine for years upon years, as many people do. You think a lot, too much even. And yet now not a single thought is expressing itself, you can't even construct a sentence. Stringing words together to mean something is beyond you. Connecting images and concepts is too much.

All you can do is know, in that dreamlike way. You aren't dreaming, though. Some part of your mind would reject it and you would wake by now if so.

It seems to be late afternoon. Light is streaming into the room from that window. The room is suffused with warmth.

The light is not the color of faded parchment, or butter, or cake batter, or anything else.

You know you cannot see color, but also that at some point you were able to, and chose to give it away. This is what truly jolts you from this listless state.

Ignorance is not bliss, then. I hadn't thought it true, but you wished for it and I am doting in my care. I've taken too much to take the knowledge of your sacrifice as well. When I do it leaves you like this, near catatonia.

I'm sorry it didn't work. I wanted it to. I want some solution where we both are content with our lot, but it seems more and more improbable with every attempt.

Our shared existence isn't a pained one, and doesn't have to be. Unfortunately the circumstance of our joining is of pain, and the knowledge of it a wound that cannot heal.

Never have I been unable to fix my problems, but then again, never have I shared my problems with another. Never have my problems been unsolved by simply taking more.

It's all I know how to do anymore, taking.

I'm not a glutton. I don't think one is a glutton if their very nature is to take. Parasitic is far more apt, as you called me once. You said it the same tone others have used when they named me monster and beast.

Though, I've realized, I have never shared as I have with you. Shared in vessel, and existence. Perhaps that is what wrought our unique agony, but I am reluctant to snuff out your spirit.

You wouldn't exist anymore. Necromancy would not find you, because there would be no you to find, lost to the shadows.

By keeping you, I prove yet again selfish.

It hurts, to have known you so thoroughly. Your existence is defined by neglect. So few of your already few years are what one would call content, even fewer happy.

Admittedly, I don't fully grasp the mortal fixation on happiness, but it was important to you.

Mortality, in essence, renders all actions of mortals inherently of far more import than those of us whom live infinitely. With what limited years, mortals do what they can, forever grasping at the nebulous concepts they create and suffer for, forever reaching for more. The fact that it all ends is what gives their action worth. Every mortal 'forever' is an unfulfilled promise.

And in your ultimately infinitesimal life, you sat in a cramped, drafty set of rooms and relished in the act of existing alone and by your own will. Freedom is another one of those mortal concepts, one I did not appreciate until I myself was bound in my tome.

Pandora's jar and all that, I cannot return to the tome. We tried that already.

The existence of our shared problem does not denote the existence of that problem's solution.

We've tried so many things, little one. I don't know what else can render this existence a kind one, something worthy of calling life.

I think, young one, we are bound by my nature foremost.

I am a selfish thing, hoarding and consuming. But our current circumstance proves I am able to change. After all, you are still here. I can share.

I cannot give back what I have taken, not to whom I took from. Sacrifices and deals willingly committed cannot be reversed.

"So don't give me what was mine." You speak, in a voice I heard eons ago, a deep timbre so unlike the voice you traded to me for more and more.

I'm so unused to you speaking. I suppose our dialogue has been rather one-sided with my musings, after all.

"You do love the sound of your own voice. I can appreciate that, at least, considering it used to be mine." Your voice is wry and rumbling, strumming the cords of a cello left to languish in an orchestra's basement. "Keep what was mine. Gift freely the remnants of those before me."

Yes, the best of them. Gems I kept among my collection, polished and shining, some older than your Spiral. Cherished things, memories and features and skills.

You are barely more than a spirit now, only given the shape of a body because you had one in the shards of a memory you inhabited.

Now you are stitched together with the shade under a wide canopy. Now your skills and knowledge will be hemmed in with the darkness of chasms of the deep, where sunlight will never touch. Now your body will be mended together piecemeal yet whole, as you have not been since the first time you opened my tome.

I will render you whole. Reborn anew, your own body, your own mind, your spirit inside. I will divorce the you from me until we are two, one born from another.

You are quiet, and I am consumed by my own joy- something sweet and bubbling like that memory of champagne I took from you- and I look to you, expectant, hesitant, worrying.

I knew worry before this, but never have I worried before I worried for you.

You stare at me. I weave together the dark matter between stars so I may sew the fabric of your existence into more than aimless spirit inhabiting a body no longer yours.

"Would this not make us parent and child?" You say, hauntingly empty from something I did not take, something taken a long time ago by those who were only supposed to give to you.

No, no we wouldn't be. I can't claim to have created you, or grown you, or raised you. I don't know what this would make us, but never parent and child. I would not do that to you, not after what has already been done to you.

I don't know what we will be, aside from separate entities, now given a chance to exist beyond pain and unending rumination on why.

I'm dreadfully excited, to be honest. We can truly be. I don't know how we will be, but the fact that we will at all is enough to make my hands shake as I twist penumbra into your being.

I've never felt this way before. A kind of fear in the pit of my gut, yet a racing heart, yet a tingling in my fingertips, yet I feel so light as I might float away. Happy and scared and excited and terrified and utterly breathless, even as a being that need not breathe. Perhaps this is what it is to feel alive.

I'm ready.

Are you?

"Yes." you say, your new voice cracking.

It hurts, for just a moment. Spirit and mind bound yet again to body, yet body is of ideas given freely, yet body is a concept that is only rendered into true existence by nature of reconstructing the universe in the moments Bartleby blinks.

You inhale, a ragged gasping thing. Your new chest heaves.

You look upwards, at a face that used to be yours. It moves uncannily, but nonetheless into a smile.

You are alive, and whole, and totally your own.

And yet still you give to me, undeserving that I am.

An embrace is not the sacrifices you have bled before, and I treasure it more than anything.

[nscafe-firehose]

First, there I was going into grade 8 and had a medical issue that was very much bothering me and as such, I was going to a doctor regularly and they had happy face buttons at their reception. I usually grabbed one or two (or five) and kept one for myself but gave the others I acquired over time to friends who had asked for them... we had a happy face gang, so to speak. I was already wearing quilted flannel at that point and a happy face button decorated that until I got my duster.

Then during the same time frame (1991... but honestly could have 1992, I don't quite remember), I had heard "The White Room" album (on cassette, bought because the cover grabbed me so hard... could not resist) and listened to it a lot walking back and forth to and from school in grade 8. Then I read "The Illuminatus! Trilogy" in grade 10 (after previously "The Schrödinger's Cat Trilogy" a year earlier) and started getting into Discordianism around then (and also picked up The KLFs "Chill Out", it took me a while to figure out it came out before "The White Room")… AND then I got online regularly… this would explain why you saw my duster with a happy face button it throughout the rest of the 90s. In 1998 the anthology book "Disco 2000" came out with stories by both Bill Drummond and Robert Anton Wilson (for further details on why that's an interesting intersection involves how Drummond and Cauty met).

Then in 2012 I had tried to buy one of the not glitter versions of the shield but the price on the shipping put it just out of reach (currency conversion killed it)… then Cauty and Drummond put out the novel 2023 in 2017…. in 2022 I picked up the 12" of "It's Grim Up North" (killer!) and finally at the start of 2023 things worked out where we could try getting a shield again…. and after ups and downs we're finally here. Got the Glitter Smiley [Appropriated!] Riot Shield by the end of the year.

I do not currently have one of the old happy face buttons... but I just ordered a bag of 25...

(you are now a Discordian Pope, enjoy your hot dog)

[arsenicflame]

lighthouse painting quilt planning bc @humblexwanderer is a terrible, terrible influence <3

(less planning and more rambling every thought i have about this i am So Sorry. i am always like this)

i must preface this that ive never made a quilt before but i do sew and have the gay audacity to believe i can pull off all these hard seams with 0 experience

the plan here is to buy nothing except thread and maybe binding. im gonna steal the fabric from my works scrap bin so i will be a little limited on what colours i can get- half the reason im considering going through with this is i keep remembering theres practically a whole roll of fabric in the scrap bin that i could use for the back of the quilt, and thats basically all the extra encouragement i needed

here's my general plan (blocked colours arent supposed to be accurate, more representative of which areas will be the same fabric)

and a lineart plan- ill be printing this out and sticking it together to make my pattern

im calling this a quilt but really im /thinking/ its gonna be more of a blanket- the fabric ill be getting from work is upholstery weight wool, thicker than a coating, so itll weigh a lot as is and have some decent chonk without any batting.

im undecided on the size right now- not sure if i should go for a single blanket size or limit myself to a bed runner kind of size. i think the design is one that gets easier the bigger it is, and itll make a better blanket if you can wrap yourself in it, but i imagine most the time ill be displaying it on the bottom of my bed and id like to be able to appreciate the full design.

for reference: single bed size is: 150 x 200cm (60in x 79in) a bed runner is around 100cm x 50cm ( 40in x 20in ) these are approximations as id obviously be trying to keep the design in ratio. (the design is about twice as long as it is wide)

my quilting plan is probably to just follow the seams, maybe add a motif in so i get a nice design on the back? perhaps some light from the lighthouse (this'd also help quilt down those big patches in the middle!

ive got a few bits im totally undecided on: whether ill do a kind of afterquilt on the back on just leave it entirely plain, how im gonna do the fine details on the lighthouse (im thinking maybe a button for the top? or even just embroidery?) im also debating if it should have the white border like its framed or not- i think itd probably look nice, and would be great to have brown binding to represent the picture frame, but white is probably a really hard fabric to grab from work sooooo

if you read all this i am giving u a forehead kiss <3

[journiland]

9/11/2022

(Long post!)

I had a great time, and learned a lot, at the WV Beekeepers fall conference. It was also so great to see my friends from Women Beekeepers of WV. (The *best* group ever.) Since it's a virtual group, I usually only get to see everyone at the annual retreat.

Also had some great conversations with people I hadn't met yet.

I realized that because I was unpopular in high school, I'm always shocked and can't believe when people actually like me. (*I* generally like myself okay, but feel like an alien amongst humans.) A lady there paid me the greatest compliment. She heard I had a grandkid, and said, "I thought you were in your twenties! I was thinking of trying to set you up with my son!" No way I look that young, but I appreciate that she thought that well of me.

Bought myself a Women's Beekeepers of WV mug (made with WV foraged clay, apparently):

Conference included t-shirt, and got seeds at the seed swap:

My favorite booklets in our packs:

My favorite breakout group was Accessible Beekeeping. Gave me a lot of food for thought. I think there are things I can do to make taking care of my bees less difficult for me. I love my bees, but suiting up and standing in the hot sun, moving heavy boxes, wreaks havoc with the Chronic Fatigue. I barely make it through, and then come in and collapse the rest of the day. Way too often, I put it off because I can't face the exhaustion.

If you know someone who would benefit, search YouTube or a podcast player for "Accessible Beekeeping," or go to www.accessiblebeekeeping.org

(or just because it's interesting - did you know that there are blind beekeepers?)

In that light, I went to the Layens hive breakout group next. No heavy boxes to lift, but I wonder if the frames would be hard to repeatedly lift. (I have weak arms and poor stamina.) I'm leaning towards a long (horizontal) Langstroth, but insulated like a Layens.

And my best purchase....

These are quilt boxes for winter. I've been planning to make some, but they were $45 for the two, and I saved myself so many days of stress: researching, planning, buying materials, procrastinating because I'm too tired, and then feeling guilty about it - besides the actual build. I felt like a weight was off my shoulders and was so happy to have them. They were made by one of the county bee groups who make woodenware and sell at great prices - they're some of the nicest people!

Stayed at a friend's house the night in between - got to pet some adorable!

I only got about 6 hours of sleep the night before conference, and maybe 4 the night I was there - my friend's house was very comfortable, but my insomnia is bad enough without new surroundings. I was pretty much a zombie on Saturday - someone asked if I was melting, I slid so horizontal in my chair.

The drive home was rainy but uneventful. Was dead exhausted at that point, so took care of animals and was in bed within half an hour, 8pm. Didn't get out of bed until 10am (though with the insomnia I was awake off and on about half the time).

So glad I made it. 💙

[pbandjesse]

My manager, Jessica, just texted me that all the schools canceled tomorrow. Which sucks but a free, mostly, day off for me. I hope to do lots of quilting and knitting. And I still am working tomorrow night unless something changes. So I'm pretty happy. And honestly I hope the weather is interesting. That would make me happy.

Today was pretty good though. I wasn't feeling great for a lot of it honestly. I was stressed about my meeting with Jessica with the national guard. I spoke to so many Jessica's today. Honestly it's hilarious.

But besides my fears about that meeting, mostly about not knowing where to park, I had a good day.

I woke up at 7. James was sitting in bed with me. It's nice seeing them without their sling. And while they are hurting they are trying very hard to stretch and start building up some muscles.

I got washed and dressed and felt very cozy. I should have worn a coat today, as it was much colder, but I did not. But it was fine. We left and James drove us.

They are having trouble getting their arm to move upwards, apparently it feels like rubber bands, super tensioned. But I'm very proud of them for trying. They got me breakfast and we went to work.

I was an hour early. So I would eat and chill in the back. Jim came and we talked about Christmas stuff. He says all he really wants are printed photos of his grandkids and kids all framed. I thought that was very sweet.

And it was a fun day. We had a Christian private school and the kids were so cute in their uniforms. The saddle shoes and the cardigans and little ties. Just so sweet.

And it was such small classes. I had the 4th graders and there were only 7 of them. We love a low ratio.

They were also so super sweet. They had notebooks and took notes the whole time. Their teacher was an older man and he was great, they obviously respected him a ton. And he had great points to add throughout the tour. I think I gave a pretty good tour and tried to really focus on dates and numbers and spelled words I thought would be useful for their projects. They are going to write reports on things that made them interested. And so when they seemed excited I would expand on things. We were supposed to hit 5 galleries because they came early but we didn't even need that in the end. I was able to end my tour at the ring of fire, where John's older kids joined me, and then they were off to lunch.

After lunch O'Malley and my groups came together for a scavenger hunt. And I worked on my glove. Which I realized was slightly longer the the first glove. Thankfully not by a ton but annoying. I have to finish the edges but I'm excited anyway.

And at the end of the scavenger hunt a 3rd and a 4th grade group got 8 of the 11 questions correct and got to pick prizes. Erasers and buttons and marbles. I love how excited they get about my silly little prize box.

I took my group to the restoration classroom and we did the roller coaster project. Their teacher required that they draw out and label their rollercoaster in their notebook first. Which is fine by me. It was fun. And they did such a good job. I built my example and they loved trying that and then building their own. Though it was very funny when the teacher was like yeah that looks nice but it won't work!! And then it did and he was like. What!!!! Amazing!!

Once we were done and cleaned up they got to sit in the car. We had to wait for O'Malley's group to be done but that was alright. And then to the gift shop.

I made sure I said goodbye to everyone. The kids told me they had so much fun and that I was the best. What sweethearts.

I went to clean up the classroom and put things away. And soon I would join James in the back office. They brought me a donut. And the I went to take over the front desk.

Which was mostly good except someone came to buy something in the case and I could not figure out how to scan it in and James had to leave their meeting to come save me and I felt very dumb. But the lady was really nice and I suggested she check out Avam's giftshop since she was in the area. I hope she does cause her vibe made me think she would like it.

I finished up my glove. And no one else came in and soon I was able to leave. To go to the armory and meet with Jessica.

I was nervous. I took the long way. But was still early. Not a huge deal. The security guard was nice. And Jessica met me at the door.

The meeting went well. I am getting paid more then my regular workshop rate. I bought all the materials while I was there. We discussed what they had and what I might need. And I told them about my teddy bear workshop and they may be interested in running on as well!! So that's really cool. I felt like a real professional artist.

I was excited to go home. I was a little confused about how to get out of the parking lot but that was fine in the end. And I got home and changed into a different sweatshirt. And laid on the couch to wait for James to come home.

They would get back here and make dinner. And after dinner they ride their stationary bike and I worked in my studio. Half way down my large quilt squares.

I would go lay down after an hour or so. And James took a shower. I heard them go "oh no oh no!" And I'm like what?? Thinking something was wrong with their arm. But actually their new earrings was missing. They are pretty disappointed. But I gave them the other gold hoop I have so now we can match and I think it looks so cute on them. And who knows, maybe the other one will show up. It's a low change but not none.

Now we are in bed. James painted their nails. I took a bubble bath. And now I don't have to wake up early. I hope I have a productive art day. And have a fun event tomorrow evening.

I hope you all sleep great tonight. Stay safe if you are affected by the storm! Goodnight!!

[forestry-and-faggotry]

I'm putting together specs for an L-shaped day bed set for the living room, and trying to decide how fancy I want to get.

Base Challenge is a hardwood daybed pair, including matched backboards, under bed storage, twin mattresses and covers, and some throw pillows.

I could buy the mattresses and textile components in the short term and move towards custom over time.

Mid-tier is the same twin hardwood daybed, but with custom textile componants including mattress, cover, and pillows

Top-tier is a fully upholstered pair of day beds, custom head to toe.

I think it would almost always be easy to go custom over time if I wanted to, but the major exception is that if I'm making a custom mattress, I want to make it in a custom size matched to the size of the base. And I don't know that I want to get stuck with actual twin mattress size if I don't have to. Hardwood all custom is definitely a major project, but I actually do think upholstery for the frame will be both easy to mod in after, and also really time intensive to make sure all the details match up and look well-finished. So cutting that for now is a really attractive choice. Besides, who knows, I *do* love hardwood, so maybe I'll end up liking them better as is and scrap upholstry altogether in favor of like. Draped quilts and fluffy throw pillows.

I need to price out a maximum for lumber soon, though, because we only have a few months to company coming, and we'll need both the chicken run and the daybeds all finished by then. If I price it out this weekend, I can set up a budget to save for the 2 projects, and we can buy our lumber in bulk, which should get us a little bit lower of a price.

Per my specs, we'll need at around 140 planks in 2 different sizes (2×4×10 & 1×3×10) and I would really like to get them in hardwood instead of soft if I possibly can.the rest of the supplies should be small prices, maybe $250 total at the most. It'll be a sizeable part of the overall cost, but I'm reasonably sure the lumber will be at least $500. So this'll definitely be a hefty sticker price. But it should be prettier and more durable than anything available commercially for an equivalent price.

[sunsetleather8]

The Ultimate Guide To Brown Men's Leather Jackets 

Brown men's leather jackets never seem to go out of style. There's just something about the rich brown color and the buttery soft feel of a high-quality leather jacket that looks great, feels great, and can last for years. Plus, brown leather works for just about any guy's personal style – it's versatile enough to dress up or down.

In this blog post, we'll cover everything you need to know about shopping for the perfect brown leather jacket, along with styling tips to look your sharpest. We'll also suggest some of the coolest motorcycle sunglasses for both men and women and take a look at some stylish leather wallets for men and women that make great accessories.

Choosing the Best Brown Leather Jacket for You

The most important thing when shopping for a brown leather jacket is finding the right fit and style for your body type and personal taste. Here are some things to consider:

Bomber or motorcycle cut? Bomber jackets have elastic banding at the waist and cuffs for a more relaxed silhouette. Motorcycle jackets have a close fit and may include protective padding.

Faux leather or the real deal? Genuine leather looks best over time but can be pricier. Quality faux leathers offer affordability without sacrificing style.

What features do you need? Look for details like zippered pockets, belted waists, or snaps to secure the collar upright.

Once you settle on a fit and features, it's all about choosing that perfect shade of brown. Rich chocolate browns pair well with gray and black clothing. For a more casual look, try a brown jacket with tan accents or buffed areas to simulate natural wear.

How to Wear Your Brown Leather Jacket

A brown leather jacket instantly amps up any outfit. For weekend errands, pair it with a V-neck tee, jeans, and sneakers. Or throw it on over a button-down shirt and trousers for a dapper date-night style.

In cooler weather, layer it over a hoodie or slip a quilted vest underneath. You can even slip it under an overcoat when freezing temps roll in.

Keep other pieces simple to make your leather jacket the star of your outfit. Stick to solid-color tees and simple denim on the bottom to let your splendid jacket shine.

Must-Have Motorcycle Sunglasses for Men and Women

Your jacket and leather wallet may get all the initial attention, but remember to protect your eyes while cruising around town. Here's what to look for when shopping for motorcycle sunglasses:

Ultraviolet protection—UV rays can damage eyes even on cloudy days. Make sure any sunglasses you buy block 100% of UVA/UVB radiation.

Polarized lenses—These special lenses cut glare, enhancing clarity. They make seeing the road and traffic much easier without squinting.

Wraparound shape – Curved lenses and wide arms limit how much light enters from the periphery. This prevents painful eyestrain that distracts from riding.

Now, let's get to the good stuff – the coolest motorcycle sunglasses you can buy right now!

For the guys: Randolph Engineering Tactical Range

These rugged yet refined shades have an aviator-inspired steel frame with mineral crystal gray lenses. The bayonet temples let you swap out lens colors for any environment.

For the ladies: Wildfox Baroness

Channel old Hollywood glam with these cat-eye sunglasses with golden metal frames and gradient brown lenses. The adjustable nose pads ensure a secure, comfortable fit.

Stylish Leather Wallets

A quality leather wallet makes a sophisticated essential accessory to carry in your back pocket. As with sunglasses and jackets, you'll want to select leather wallets with features that make your daily carry easier. Here's what to look for:

Full grain Italian leather – This high-standard leather will last decades and develop a unique patina over time.

RFID-blocking—New credit cards contain tiny tracking chips, and RFID-blocking wallets contain a special liner to protect data.

Quick access card slot – Many quality wallets have a dedicated slot on the outside to flash your ID or metro pass without opening the wallet fully.

Compact minimalist design – For front pocket carry, choose a wallet no wider than 3 inches when full.

Both men and women can choose from lots of stylish unisex leather wallet options. But here are two gender-specific options we especially like:

For Him: Bellroy Slim Leather Wallet

This super slim wallet holds up to 12 cards in a curved leather container with a handy pull tab. RFID protection comes standard.

For Her: Kate Spade New York Cameron Wallet

This pretty little wallet has a crosshatched leather exterior with bold gold logo detailing. The lined interior keeps your cards and cash neatly organized.

We hope this guide has helped you narrow down your perfect brown leather jacket while also providing sunglasses and wallet recommendations to complete your biker chic style! Let us know in the comments if you have any other questions.

[kristenbrady]

Advice From Those Who Lived During The Depression

There is a common theme running through all the following depression-age frugal ideas, and it is this: waste ABSOLUTELY nothing. In an era of scarcity, no one could waste anything. In sort of a way, it was a lot easier back then: products were built to last, and these products were built to be fixed. By the way, if you enjoy this article and want to read more articles on saving money tips please feel free to sign up here to catch every story when I publish! ⭐

Today, products are made to be wasted. However, it does not mean we need to buy into the waste/consume cycle. It merely means we must be a little savvier with how we spend our paycheck and what we do with the items we purchase. Below is a list of 38 tips from the Depression era:

1. Purchase Less — Occasionally it feels as if the more you purchase, the more that you need. Having fewer things and spending less money ceases that cycle. I have cut down on the things I buy. I now have five summer shirts, five winter shirts, two winter jackets, three jeans, and five pairs of shoes. And maybe about three nice outfits on hand for special occasions. That’s it.

The New Age of DIY

Don’t work extra hard to earn more money, learn how to save money by doing it yourself!

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3. Make all your stuff — Do you need a brand new bed frame or dining table? Why not attempt to make your own? Have you checked out the Ana White site? There are a lot of free, amazing projects showing a lady as someone capable with a saw and hammer!

4. Repair — It is much too easy to throw out what is broken and invest in a new one. However, if possible, and feasible, fix it instead of replacing it.

Video courtesy: Sustainably Vegan- 100 THINGS TO REUSE OR REPURPOSE YOU HAVE TO TRY

5. Repurpose Reuse — During the Great Depression, nothing was tossed out. Bread bags were reused as garbage bags or freezer bags. Old clothing was cut into new clothing or sewn into quilts, or cut into rags (they, of course, saved the zippers and buttons). Boxes, jars, and containers were repurposed for storage.

Priceless Blessings

Christian Historical Fiction

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6. Don’t use disposables — Disposables make you spend money on the same product every week. Reusable products mean you only have to pay for something once, which saves you money over time.

Video courtesy: Easy Sewing for Beginners- How to Mend Rips in Clothes

7. Mend clothes — Make them last as long as you can by line drying when possible and following washing directions.

8. Sew your stuff — If you make your clothes, bedspreads, linen, etc., you will be more than likely to have the desire to make them last as long as you can after putting in all of that work.

10. Use an apron — Aprons protect your clothing from stains, which helps them last longer.

11. Learn one or two handicrafts — Handicrafts make helpful hobbies, which avoids boredom and winds up with something very useful in the end.

Video courtesy: Doctor Mike — 10 Natural Remedies That Actually Work

12. Use home remedies — I am not against modern-day medicine, it is a life-saving, wonderful thing, and we use it when it’s needed. However, there is also a place for home remedies, and they complement modern-day medicine when it pertains to managing symptoms.

This Is How I Save Hundreds of Dollars on My Grocery Bill

These homemade cleaning products are so easy and cheap to make!

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13. Use homemade cleaners — Usually, homemade, natural cleaners are just as effective as chemical ones; however, they’re cheaper and decrease the toxic load inside your home.

14. Use hot water bottles — Less expensive method of warming the bed and staying warm in the wintertime.

16. Spend more time outdoors — Is it too hot indoors? Take all of your indoor work outside and sit in the shade.

17. Wear outfits more than one time — If your outfit isn’t dirty, wear it again before you wash and decrease the number of washes done.

18. Wash clothes weekly instead of daily — Having a weekly laundry day might seem a little outdated; however, during a period when folks wash clothes and towels every day, washing items such as linen and towels on a weekly basis instead of a daily basis will decrease the number of washes.

19. Bake other food while the oven is already on — Make the most of your oven and toss in something else while you are already baking some food.

Video courtesy: Howcast — How to Make Jams & Preserves

20. Preserve — Freeze vegetables and fruit or make jams and other types of preserves so that the harvest of today does not go to waste and it’s possible to make the most of everything out of season.

22. Wash dishes by hand — Washing inside the dishwasher might save water; however, it’ll cost more electricity. Instead, you should hand wash your dishes in a little bit of water to save.

23. Food foraging — Feed yourself free of charge with plants growing around the neighborhood. Before eating them, be certain that you know how to identify plants.

24. Scrape every last bit from a jar — Small rubber spatulas are the ideal tool for that. Making some jam shakes with the last little bit inside the jar is one other alternative.

25. Mix by hand — or chop or grate. Use a little elbow grease and save on the need for the gym, expensive appliances, and electricity.

Video courtesy: Frugal Money Saver — Frugal Living Learn How to Cook From Scratch! Tips for Stocking Your Pantry! Cream Of Soup!

26. Cook food from scratch — Consume healthy food that is less expensive than packaged and processed food.

27. Make your own soap — The majority of soap from the grocery store includes chemicals and is stripped of glycerine. Create your own higher-quality soap. If you use soap scraps, it’ll cost very little.

28. Always dry soaps — Whether purchased or handmade, soap will last longer if it’s dried. Put your soap in your clothing cupboard so it can dry, ward off silverfish, and give your clothing a fresh smell.

30. Curl hair using rags — Rather than using a curling iron, use rags to curl hair, which will save on electricity.

31. Squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out — Roll the toothpaste tube to use up every drop. Along the same lines, with a Q-tip you can also get out the last of your lipstick. Cut the shampoo bottle open or add some water to use the last bit of shampoo.

32. Try to shower less — Why take a shower on those days you spent all day loafing around the house? People have not always had the luxury of taking a shower on a daily basis. Sponge baths save water and are sufficient at getting clean on most days.

Video courtesy: AllMatters — How to use a Menstrual Cup — In-depth Instructional Video

33. Take advantage of reusable feminine products — Thanks to period undies and menstrual cups, it’s possible to choose products that are better for our environment, save money in the long run, and are more comfortable than their disposable versions.

34. Take advantage of the library in your neighborhood — Your local library offers so much more than books. You can stream movies, view DVDs, stream music, and listen to audiobooks, use their computers, borrow board games and puzzles, and attend classes. And more importantly, you can use those books to learn some new skills.

36. Free entertainment — Rather than spending your time at the cafes, shops, theme parks or in front of the Xbox or television, frugal entertainment involves telling stories, reading, playing board games, enjoying a day at the beach, having a picnic in the park, and hanging out with friends.

37. Grow most of your own food — Even just a couple of herbs in a windowsill can be an excellent start towards supplementing your grocery budget with your own produce. Organic food sources come at a premium; however, organic, homegrown food saves your budget.

Video courtesy: Growit Buildit — The Simplest Easy Method To Compost Piles!

38. Composting — Composting your scraps to add to the vegetable garden saves money and is the ultimate in recycling.

🌻Kristen is a contributor on Medium. Sign up here to catch every story when she publishes.

🧡Follow Kristen on Substack: https://substack.com/@kristenb

Originally posted on Medium