#and the yarn colors this season are so pretty

[kikiknits]

What I need to be doing: continuing these sleeves or perhaps going the f**k to sleep.

What I do NOT need to be doing: looking at new patterns and thinking what yarn might go well with them.

Guess what I’m doing. Guess. 😅

[vidavalor]

Hello! I love your posts about the Ineffable Husbands coded speech so I wanted to ask if you caught the double meaning of the word “clue”! It is one which we hear the first time after the pub and jealous Crowley. The word “Clue” has a double meaning as it is slang for “developing an erection”. Didn’t know if you already caught it, but wanted to share that with you! 😂

Allo allo allo @the-apology-dance! 💕I'm glad you're enjoying reading my wordy rambles. Thanks for the reminder of modern use of "clue." I did think it euphemistic in S2 and why relates to a few other words, so, a shiny little bit o' meta for you on clue, investigate, appearance, suspicion, trace, Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte, and goo in Ineffable Husbands Speak.

Like you pointed out, in our modern times, clue is used euphemistically for getting/having an erection. In slang terms, it's not that old by comparison to other euphemisms for the same thing-- one of which is, of course, "pitching a tent", which the canopy-themed season didn't ignore, as we looked at in another meta how it's one of the words produced by homophony in Aziraphale's French. The thing that's funny about Aziraphale's euphemistic use of clue in S2 is that it's part of their wordplay for reasons different from how we use it so it winds up not really mattering if they know the reason why the rest of us do or not.

A clue as euphemistic for an erection in our world originated around 2006/2007 off of it being used that way in an episode of South Park. Crowley & Aziraphale don't need to know that or even be remotely aware of it for clue to be euphemistic already in Ineffable Husbands Speak because of the etymology of the word. (And, as with everything, it's also possible that they are-- unintentionally or otherwise-- actually the origin of it.)

Clue-- in the sense of a piece of information that helps or could help in solving a mystery-- is a respelling of the Middle English/Germanic words clew/clewe and the French cleue, all of which mean a ball of yarn or thread. It's a really neat origin for a word because of its built-in metaphor-- getting a clue is pulling on threads to unravel a mystery. It also evolved into having a nautical meaning... and we know these two and the sea.

A clue with relation to seafaring is to raise a sail up through use of the cluelines/clewlines on the ship. So, ah, as you can see lol... we're already at an erection euphemism pretty easily without them having the first clue about South Park, right? Clue is tied to both the sea and to thread/yarn, which is seamstress work, which is part of the colors & clothing-themed euphemisms that they have going on as well. There are some of the colors and clothing stuff in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings and also it's part of the shades of grey convo in 1941, etc.. [I've other Asks related to Mrs. Sandwich/seamstress & the shades of grey convos so more on those soon.] But it's the element of a sense of mystery involved in clue, along with everything else, that makes Aziraphale so hot for the word.

If one of the metas you read was the one about Tip Top, Thank You & Ticketyboo, then you saw a couple of examples of wordplay around the verb to come. The long and short of it is that we humans, as you know, refer to having an orgasm as having come and, within that, is this implicit sense of travel, right?

A coming is an arrival and to come means that you arrived. It implies a journey was undertaken-- that you went somewhere and eventually got to a destination. Humans do this linguistically with other mind-body experiences as well-- you "go to" sleep; you can have "a bad trip" on drugs, etc.. In addition to this, there is a never-ending list of travel-related euphemisms for sex in support of the verb to come. A ride, for example, can be had in a car, on a horse or with your partner. Relevant to what you're talking about with clue, though, is what else that the verb to come deals with and that's appearances and disappearances.

To come also means to appear-- as in, to come into view. This is amusing to Crowley & Aziraphale since, ya know... they can appear and disappear at will. 😄 They're magical beings who can miracle themselves places and pop up in each other's presence. Sometimes, this is part of whatever they're playing at in the moment, like in 1793:

Other times, it's in reference to a mystery, which is often centered around a disappearance. As a result of to come meaning to appear, there are a series of other words related to disappearance that show up in their wordplay. Two of them-- suspicion and trace-- pop up in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings. Crowley buried the word pish (which has ties to nightingales, fish, and peas, as we looked at in another meta) in the middle of "suspicious" while tying it to Aziraphale's ears in the entry. Among the other bits of wordplay in there is that one definition of suspicion is that it is the barest trace of something and to trace also means to lightly outline with touch.

Additionally? Something that "seems fishy" is something that is suspicious.

The word investigate-- what one does with a mystery-- is from the Latin in (in this case, meaning into) and vestigare (which means to trace). So Crowley's use of suspicious in Demon's Guide and Aziraphale's use of investigate in S2 are playing at the same root word of trace-- a word related to disappearance/appearance/to come that isn't just an action one might take to track clues in a case but is also how one might touch their partner when feeling a bit amorous.

But investigate is also funny to Crowley & Aziraphale for another reason: the words inside the word.

Investigate: IN. VEST... 😂 A day hasn't gone by in, like, at least three hundred plus years that either of them hasn't been wearing a vest and Aziraphale has a clue and he's thinking he might take the car that he's made into an on-going sexual metaphor for Crowley and he wants to go do some investigating...

...and it would seem that this has something to do with why this description of Aziraphale's planned trip involves him pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in the time-honored, traditional, non-verbal sign for indicating a desire to give a blowjob. Aziraphale plans to thoroughly follow all possible leads but his hope is that following the clues in this in.vest.igation will lead him on a path south of Snake Belt.

It's also hilarious that Aziraphale tells Crowley that he got his clue from Gabriel 😄-- who was singing to Aziraphale in the house this morning.

Additionally, investigate includes the words gate and ate, right?

Ate obviously relates to their constant theme of food. The word gate originally meant not a door but a hole or to breach a hole and also the eye of a needle... so, we're also back to our ball of yarn/thread in our seamstress-y word of clue. Among its original spellings were geat (so, containing eat) and geatu (containing eat + u lol). As if that weren't enough? The word gate is also found in a French word that is pronounced somewhat similarly to geatu, which is gateau.

A gateau is a rich, French sponge cake that has layers of icing, cream and/or fruit. In Good Omens: Lockdown, Aziraphale is sharing what he's baked during Lockdown but everything that he's baked is euphemistic for fantasies he's been having to get himself off, the content of which he's sharing by way of describing them as kinds of cake. He tells Crowley that he has baked (and "has baked") a Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte, which is almost a Black Forest Gateau but for one, key difference: by definition, it contains alcohol.

Crowley is the embodiment of an elegant and sexy Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte-- a rich chocolate sponge cake layered with and topped with whipped cream and cherries. In Germany, it is actually illegal to refer to a Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte as such unless it contains kirschwasser, which is a cherry brandy made from regional cherries. If it doesn't have that, it's a chocolate cake or, depending on how its made, a Black Forest Gateau.

Alcohol refers to sex and, while it appears to be a generalized word for it as well, it also phonetically kind of spells out what it is: alcohol is "all-co-hol." A hol is a hole or a hollow in several different languages and it's Dutch slang for anus/arsehole/the ass as a whole. Making things funnier? It's also apparently the Dutch word for a cargo hold on a ship. Alcohol is then sex featuring equal hol opportunity for both of them and for Aziraphale to have baked a Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte is to have gotten himself there fantasizing about having some alcohol with his "whipped-cream"-covered, cherry-topped, black forest gateau.

You'll notice that while they eat chocolate, Aziraphale does not ever eat or bake-- and definitely has never had any desire to "bake"-- a Devil's Food Cake. That would just be offensive. You might also notice that Aziraphale said the name of another kind of cake "incorrectly" in Lockdown-- it's called Angel Food Cake. Aziraphale calls it Angel's Food Cake... verbal italics and apostrophe emphasis included. 😉

Anyway... back to clue... in the South Park episode that started the euphemism, there's actually a second one that developed as a result, too, as you likely know, and that's clue goo-- which is euphemistic, as you might suspect, for semen. Goo is a word that Crowley actually uses twice in the series-- once in the show itself and it's one of the words that shows up in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings.

When Crowley proposes that they run off together in the bandstand disaster scene, he's using a bunch of sexual euphemisms in the process, largely because he knows that Aziraphale is going to reject him. He also is because of language overlap with Armageddon and destruction with sex. In the bandstand scene, he uses "a puddle of burning goo" to describe the end of the Earth as a result of Armageddon but it's also probably an accurate description of Crowley himself after sex. Self-descriptive as well, probably lol.

Because goo is a sticky or, well, gooey, substance but it's also sappy, mushy, romantic sentiment. When Crowley uses the word in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings, both of those meanings are present, with the idea that what he's writing is total goo (and it is) but he doesn't care. Additionally, he is also referencing its homophone-- gu, the root of the word guru.

Gu is a Sanskrit word that means, among other things: to go (similar in travel theme to to come), water, earth. Guru itself means "worthy of respect." A guru is an expert and guide who dispels spiritual darkness and is one of several references in Demon's Guide where both Crowley and Aziraphale use words relating to healers, the ecclesiastical and other forms of ministry to describe one another, all in a way that relates love and sex in their eyes to a form of spirituality.

Crowley uses guru for Aziraphale and, also, the-erotic-as-religion theme appears to be one of the reasons behind his choice for Aziraphale of the word bishop... one meaning of which is one who, ahem, oversees the actions and spiritual needs of other clergy...

...while Aziraphale goes full throttle on the blasphemy as he always delightfully does and refers to Crowley as a god... several of them.

Finally, if you're looking for words within words, you probably noticed that the word appear has a rather familiar one in it: pear.

But, that's for next time. 😉

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Autumn with Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of rain, thunder, and lightning

~ * ~ -Welcome to autumn!! That lovely season between summer and winter that keeps everything on track and in balance -Liyue is more of a temperate region, so often you can’t tell that summer has ended until autumn is already half over -But oh boy, when the weather changes, it CHANGES -One day it’s sunny and mild, the next day it’s pouring rain, you and Foul Legacy staring out the window in disbelief -He then nudges your shoulder, glancing from you to the rain and back again with a pleading expression. With a sigh you allow him to pull you back into bed, snuggling up to you with a happy chirp -Taking the first rainy autumn day off from work becomes a tradition for the two of you -And when it’s not pouring, walks outside the city are an absolute must! Liyue is a sight to behold in autumn, with the leaves turning vibrant colors and slowly falling from their branches- you and Legacy happily crunch many, many leaves underfoot, relishing the crispy crackling sound they make -It’s also harvest season, so there’s plenty of apples and other fruit growing from the trees for you to snack on -SPEAKING OF APPLES, you and Foul Legacy could harvest some to make cider, he is very enthusiastic when helping you!! Occasionally an apple will fall and bonk him on the head, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing at the chagrined trill he lets out -Warm drinks aplenty, especially during cooler days. You make tea, hot cocoa, the aforementioned cider- but not coffee. Never coffee. Have you ever seen an Abyss monster on caffeine? Do not give Foul Legacy coffee -You’ll curl up with these warm drinks together, cuddled under a blanket as you watch storms and wind from the safety of your home. Sometimes there’s thunder and lightning, and Legacy quickly hides under the covers and presses himself up to you with a slight shiver, but he slowly begins to purrs when you run your fingers through his hair, tense muscles loosening -The colder season also means thicker clothes, which means comfy sweaters!! You take great joy in wrapping yourself in cozy coats and scarves -Unfortunately shops don’t make sweaters in Legacy’s size, which he is very sad about :( So you decide to make one for him! It’s a deep blue color, made with yarn that has little silver threads in it so it glints when the fabric moves -He absolutely adores it, chittering in delight and running his claws delicately over the soft cloth before very carefully putting it on. Now he’s warm and comfy and so much better to lean your head against :) He treats that sweater like it’s made of gold -The nights also get chilly, so there’s a 95% chance you’ll end up with a moth in your arms and vice versa. Abyss creatures get cold (and lonely) too! -If you’re out for a walk and a particularly biting wind comes by, he’ll bury his face in your neck or put his claws against your warm stomach- he never admits how much he likes the startled shriek you let out -Occasionally it will start drizzling during your walk and you have to run home, getting to witness Legacy shaking out his wings and hissing in displeasure, pouting until you smile and give him a tight hug of reassurance -Autumn is the season of cooking and baking, and Foul Legacy LOVES peeking over your shoulder to see what delicious treat you’re working on. He’ll even dare to sneak a taste here and there, letting out low, rumbling laughs when you catch him in the act -You also make jam together!! There’s plenty of fresh berries growing, so you’ll pick some and preserve it in jars for the winter (Foul Legacy likes strawberry rhubarb) and the whole house smells DELICIOUS -He’ll keep any pretty leaves he sees and give them to you as a gift :) And if you press and save them, he’ll be so incredibly happy

-Of course, not everything is sunshine and rainbows- a lot of rainstorms and thunder, honestly. Some days you have to sneak out of bed before Foul Legacy’s even awake, leaving only a gentle kiss on his forehead as you head to work while it’s still dark and raining -Those days are hard, having to file reports and attend meetings with your shoes soaking wet and sleep still in your eyes, because everyone at your job always wants something -But it’s alright, you can handle it, because you know that there’s someone waiting for you at home, someone curled up on the couch and looking at the window to try and catch sight of your figure walking back -And the moment you open that door, you’re scooped into his embrace, your Foul Legacy’s arms snaking around you and giving you a tender hug. You hug him back as your heart warms, the first smile of the day creeping onto your face when he carries you to his blanket nest for snuggles, so you can feel warm and toasty and happy again on this dreary autumn day

[comfymon]

warm knitted beanie

i finished this beanie mid-december- just in time for the winter season. i made this for my partner because he loves wearing beanies. january brought a lot of below-freezing weather, so i'm glad i finished it in time for him to wear it outside.

while in japan, we were in setagaya, and we passed by a yarn store on the way to lunch. so after eating, we hurried back. i was so excited to find a cozy, little yarn store! some people were sitting at a table in the store and working on their projects. in the store, i browsed the yarn and found some pretty yarns from husky brand. the yarn is made in Italy, and it feels so soft! my partner said that he would like a beanie made from the yarn, so I purchased it with that in mind. he usually wears a lot of blue, so we picked the red/orange for something different.

you know the feeling of using a really nice yarn for a project? it makes you want to keep knitting. i loved seeing the colors unravel while working and was surprised at how neatly the colors laid out!

my partner loves a folded brim beanie, so i took inspiration from my acne studios beanie which is the warmest beanie i own (it better be for the price!!!) i measured the acne beanie, and it was about 15 inches before the decrease, and the brim is folded twice. so, i knitted this beanie to be pretty long. i knitted this flat on circular needles, i find it way easier than knitting in the round. it's been a while since i've properly knitted in the round lol

my partner loves this beanie a lot and wears it happily!

yarn store: puppy yarn

yarn: husky yarn, color 205, 50% wool, 50% acrylic

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Four point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C     

word count: 7.9K  

chapter summary:  If Din Djarin was going to be f----d to death by a crazy Dahl-woman, he wanted to be comfortable.    

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI!, Mando'a and English cursing, unprotected PiV sexual situations, non-con sexual situations, violent situations, past hurt, past misogyny, past child abuse

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Marathel kept up her high-speed march all the way from the chook pen to her hut.  She was so angry, and Frith, it felt so good to be angry.  Better to be angry than being so scared, so sad, so lonely all the time.  The fact that she probably had no right to be angry at the Bounty Hunter mattered not one whit to her.  How dare he!  How dare he have the temerity to laugh at her as she struggled to climb down a tree!  Tearing her only gown, no less.  The gown that she had spent the entire of the cold season making, preparing all the plant fiber, spinning enough yarn to wrap around the Hold wall thousands of times, finding the perfect flowers to make the beautiful yellow that made her think of sunshine and warm days and freedom, warping and wefting and weaving that yarn into the deepest hours of the night because she was so excited to make something that wasn’t the colors of dirt and grass.  Why in the name of Frith had she worn that gown today?  It wasn’t even remotely useful, and she knew she was going into the chook pen today ... not the cleanest of places, but then she didn’t expect to be put into a tree by a little spoiled brat!  

Marathel stomped up into her hut, setting her basket of mostly broken eggs on the counter.  Even worse, the whole morning had been a waste, food-wise.  With a grimace, she poured the egg mess from the basket into her largest bowl.  Out of all the eggs, only three managed to come through unscathed or uneaten by the gaping maw of the little green goblin.  The rest she whipped into a scrambled frenzy, imagining it was the Bounty Hunter's liver she was blending into froth.  She strained the whipped eggs through layers of cheesecloth to get out all the shells.    

And what am I going to do with all this? she thought.  All these eggs would make the largest omelet ever.  Good enough for the Bounty Hunter and that bottomless pit of a son of his!   All these eggs, I hope they both get terrible wind and just blow away to wherever they came from!    

The image in her head of the Bounty Hunter and the little green boy flying due to wind made her laugh as she held her face in her hands.  The laughter ebbed away into a single sob.  Oh Frith, she was so confused and frustrated.  She had worn the gown because she felt pretty today, and so, she wanted to look pretty.  But trying to impress the Bounty Hunter? Oh, no no no, why would she want to do that?  Her thoughts wandered back to the previous night, when she was under the spell of the Dahls.  She had been mostly aware of what was happening the entire time – of what she and the Bounty Hunter were doing – but it hadn’t been her.  Not fully.  Sort of.  Oh, it was so hard to explain, even to herself!    

The eggs taken care of, Marathel looked down at her dress and smock, stained with pitch.  She twisted around to see the tear in the back.  Hopefully it was repairable.  She quickly pulled both over her head and off, forgetting that she was standing in the middle of her hut wearing nothing but her shift and those two male-types could show up at any moment.  With an exasperated grunt, she went behind her curtains.  She just had to invite them to stay, didn’t she?  Ordinarily modesty didn’t concern her much; no one came to bother her over here anymore.  When she first came to live at the hut, she would either hide or chuck rocks to drive off the Cyiloggs the Hold sent out to bring her back.   After a while, they stopped coming … so she assumed that the Hold and The Bishop wanted nothing to do with her now.  Diwhyn Olba had come out to inform her that she would be left alone so long as she delivered Dahl eggs for the Elders each season.  But then the Bounty Hunter appeared with his tiny metal whatever-it-was that had The Bishop’s voice within, telling her that he had not forgotten her, that she had an obligation in the Hold that he still expected her to keep.  

Oh, Diwhyn Olba, I wish you were here right now.  

Marathel indulged in a moment of tearful self-pity, calling herself foolish a thousand times over.  She found some clean clothes and put those on.  Looking down at herself, she felt as plain as the quack grass color of her clothing.  Patched.  Utilitarian.  As frumpy as a Diwhyn.  With a sigh, she left her curtains and picked up her gown and smock from the floor.  The smock had a couple of snags and would be easily fixed.  The tear in the gown was L-shaped and went straight along the grain of the fabric.  This could also be fixed almost invisibly if she was careful.    Marathel dug through her basket that held the remainders of her spun yarn, finding the ball of the yellow.  She sat cross-legged on her table and prepared to weave the ragged edges of the fabric back together.  Why had she worn this today?  

Because you felt pretty.  The Bounty Hunter made you feel pretty … even desirable.  

Had he?   

She thought back to the night before, when he had kept her pinned and unable to escape against the post, pressing his body firmly against hers, into hers, which had felt so good, so fulfilling, with her legs wound tightly around him, feeling his muscles ripple under her thighs … just the memory made her heart beat faster and she felt a flush creeping up her neck. And he had been willing, yes, he had been.  And yes, Frith, that part had filled her with amazement, but it was after that had touched her heart: the care with which he covered her up, the gentleness of setting her feet back down to the floor, even just the simple act of asking if she were all right.  Those kinds of moments, she didn’t know those could exist.  Oh, what must he think of her?  That she asked him to stay with her that first day?  She hadn’t even been thinking about the Dahls rising to mate soon, she had only been thinking that she was so lonely, and how captivated she was by the little child and the strange, frightening man that had come looking for her.  

Looking for her.  

She had worth.  

Marathel pushed the why of her worth out of her head, at least for now, choosing to remember the sight of the Bounty Hunter running to the chook pen because she had called for him.  And then, him calling for her.  Using her name.  Calling her by her name for the first time.  The sound of his voice coming from his helmet, saying her name.  Marathel bent down to repair her gown with a better heart.  

Marathel was almost finished with her sewing when she noticed the Bounty Hunter and the child returning to the hut.  Frowning, she realized that they had been gone for quite some time.  She watched them approach, Grogu on his father’s hip.  She bent back down to her task and waited.  

Din could see her as they got closer.  It had taken a while to walk to their destination, but he had hoped that the time apart had calmed her temper a bit … not that her temper wasn’t justified.   He also hoped that what they brought back for her would please her.  Marathel sat on top of her table, the yellow gown in her lap, a needle flashing in her hand.  She was now wearing clothing the color of dead grass, which did her coloring no favors, he thought.  The yellow and charcoal combination had been so striking against her fair skin.    

He and Grogu had made it to her steps.  Marathel took a quick glance over and looked back to her dress.  Din set Grogu down on the floor, and then bent down to whisper in the boy’s ear, “Now, just like I told you, okay?  Go ahead.”  He gave Grogu a little push on his back.  Grogu toddled silently all the way over to the table, while Din removed his blasters and jet pack.  Louder, he said, “Um … Grogu has something to tell you.”  

Marathel looked up at Din, and then down to Grogu, noticing that he had clambered up on the bench, and was holding a few stems of yellow cup-shaped flowers, which he held out to her.  Marathel knew that Grogu had no way of knowing that not only were these her favorite flowers, but they were the very kind that she used to dye the yarn for her yellow gown.  Smiling, Marathel reached down and lifted Grogu up to the tabletop.  “And what does Grogu have to say?”  

Din walked over to her and stood rather like a boy who was in trouble, with one arm behind his back.  Rocking back on his heels, he said, “Grogu says that he is sorry that he ate the eggs.  He also says that he is sorry he put you in a tree.  He promises that he will obey you if you need to scold him, and … he also promises not to move people unless they’re in danger or if they’re a danger to someone else.”  Marathel watched Grogu’s face during this little declaration, and she didn’t think that the boy could make his eyes any larger or any more winsome as he held out the flowers to her.  

Marathel took the flowers.  “Grogu, I accept your apology.  Thank you.  And I am sorry that I was so cross.  Thank you for the beautiful flowers.”  She leaned forward to give him a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead, and then gave him a cuddle.  Happy again, Grogu climbed into her lap into the pile of yellow fabric.    

Din moved around the table, seeking out a tall clay cup from the kitchen counter, filling it with water.  He took the flowers from her and placed them in the cup.  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”  Marathel looked up at him.  “I’m sorry for laughing, and … I’m sorry your dress was torn.  I hope it can be repaired.”  

Marathel smiled and dropped her gaze back to her dress.  “I suppose I was quite a sight, treed like a crazed dycwingen.”  

“Yeah, you were.”  Din gently picked Grogu up off the yellow dress, walking back to the steps.  Marathel turned to the counter to look at the flowers, and then noticed three perfectly ripe gorugellys standing there.    

A gift.  He brought me a gift.  She looked out to where the Bounty Hunter was sitting, playing with Grogu.  He didn’t turn his head, but Din could see her smile from across the room.  A smile as bright as the yellow dress.  

Marathel finished repairing her dress to her satisfaction.  She held it up and figured it wouldn’t be too noticeable unless someone was looking for a flaw in her fabric.  Or were staring intently at her backside, something she could do little about.  With a sigh, she got off the table, stowed her sewing gear, and put her dress and smock on to soak.  The tree pitch would come out with a little work.  As she considered what to make for dinner, she felt her hands and her shoulders tense.  The Dahls were getting active again.  She closed her eyes and did what she could only call reaching, sending out feelers from herself to the Dahls, trying to work out how many Dahls would be rising tonight, which ones, if they were her bonded Dahls.  Marathel was dismayed to learn that there would be a great many rising tonight.   Whatever should I do? she thought, dropping her face into her hands.  At that moment, all she could do was take a deep breath in, which she released in a gasp when she heard the Bounty Hunter’s voice just behind her.    

“Are you all right?”  

Putting a hand on her chest, she said, “Not when you sneak up on me, no.”  

“I have been standing there for quite a long time.”  

“Oh,” she murmured, moving down the counter, keeping her back to the Bounty Hunter.  She went to the same post as last night, leaning against it, wrapping her arms around it, her back to Din.  Just like last night.    

Din decided to keep his distance from her this time.  “Is it the Dahls again?”  

There was a long pause as Marathel pulled her hair over her shoulder, combing it with her fingers.  “Yes.”  

“Are they … rising to mate again tonight?”  

“Yes.”  She continued to stroke her hair.  “You should just take Grogu and leave.”  

Din suddenly found himself disappointed she would say such a thing … even though he had had the same thought himself.  “You said yesterday … that you had always been alone before, when the Dahls would rise.”  He paused, wondering the best way to put his question, whether he should ask it at all.  “What happens when you’re alone?”  

“I can only tell you what has happened to me before.”  She took a deep breath before continuing.  “When I first came to the hut, I could sleep through their mating.  It would be difficult for me to sleep, though.  I suppose that was before I realized what they were doing.   Diwhyn Olba had to explain it to me.”  Din watched a light pink flush grow from her neckline up to her hairline.  “She even explained … ways … I could … take care of myself.”  In a whisper, she continued, “I never found that to be helpful, though.”  Marathel paused, looking out over the rocky field.  “I have woken up, far from this hut, with no knowledge how I got there, sometimes a full day’s walk.  I have tied myself to this very post to keep me from wandering.  I simply chewed through the ropes to escape.  I have tried to use objects …” She drew her breath in sharply and it was a moment before she could continue.  “I have injured myself, sometimes badly.  Once, I came back to myself because I had thrown myself off a cliff – this was out past the tidal flats -- into the ocean below.  That was possibly the worst.  That was a time when I had over twenty bonded Dahls, and it seemed as if all the Dahls on this side of the Hold rose at the same time.”  

Din stood silently.  He had considered tying her up.  He had considered taking her to the Razor Crest and locking her in his sleeping cubicle.  He had even considered just leaving the planet altogether, leaving the bounty behind … but taking her with him.  “You said that you could hear the Dahls.  I assumed that meant just yours.  But you’re able to hear more of the Dahls than just the ones you’re bonded with?”  

“I can hear all the Dahls.”Marathel took another deep breath.  “It’s usually not a bad thing, to hear them all like that.  It’s just noisy, in my head.  Confusing, sometimes.  I know when they’re hungry, if they’ve found food, if they’ve laid a clutch of eggs. I get stronger feelings from my own bonded Dahls when those things happen.”  She chuckled.  “I feel their joy when the eggs are laid, when the kits hatch.  Those times fill my heart with happiness.  When the Dahls are mating, they are in such a frenzy that … they are so loud then.  It’s amplified, it’s all I can hear and feel.    And when one dies, especially one I’m bonded with … The pain is immeasurable.  As if a very part of me has died as well.  I’ve stopped bonding with so many because of that.  I can’t bear their deaths.  Rodanthe is the oldest of my Dahls.  She’s the last of my original Dahls from the Hold.  When she dies … I don’t know what I’ll do.”  

Din could hear the tears in her throat.  In that moment, he wanted nothing more than for Marathel to turn around so he could see her face.  What a burden these Dahls were to her.  “If this is the case, then why would the Elders want Dahl eggs?”  

Marathel stroked her hair at a faster pace.  “They want the power of control over another living thing.  That’s all they ever want.  And … now that I fully understand what kind of power the Dahls have over me, what I will do because of them … I can see them desiring that power as well.”  She took another deep breath, and said in a rush, “Please, please, understand, that I had no knowledge of what would happen, of what I would do …”  

Din looked down to the floor.  “No, don’t say that.  It’s … it’s all right.”  

“I don’t want you to think that I lured you here, to stay with me.”  

“I don’t think that.”  

“Then,” Marathel said, wiping the tears from under her eyes, “you should take Grogu and stay on your flying ship.  Stay away from me.  Leave me here.  When the eggs are ready in a couple of days, I will bring them to you, and you can take me to receive your reward.”  She sighed, leaning her temple against the post.  “That’s the best thing for you to do.”  

Yes, that would be the sensible thing, Din thought.  But the idea that she could do herself a grievous harm, perhaps even accidentally kill herself while under the control of the Dahls, upset him greatly, and not because of the potential loss of the largest bounty he would probably ever receive.  “Will it be bad tonight?”  

She swallowed.  “Yes, I think so.”  

“Are there a lot of Dahls rising?”  

“Hundreds,” she whispered.  

“Then I will stay here with you.”  

Marathel's head snapped up straight, but she continued to keep her back to the Bounty Hunter.  “Why in the name of Frith would you do such a thing?”  

Din stepped closer to her, standing just behind her shoulder, mere inches separating her back from his front.  “I will tell you … if you tell me who this Frith is that you call on so often.”  

Marathel stammered, “Wh . . . Frith is the name of the Luad Dycwingen.  He can see us all the time, being up in the moon like that.  We were told as children that if we misbehaved, Frith would tell the Diwhyns on us.  We also blamed Frith for things that happened in the Hold, like carrots growing where the onions should be.  Or if a boy’s shoes went missing.”  

“Or … loaves of bread going missing from the kitchen?”  Din asked, trying to bring a touch of levity to this conversation.  

“Yes, just so.  Missing loaves of bread.  Frith must be in my kitchen.”  Marathel dropped her head.  “Now, back to my question, Bounty Hunter.  Why would you stay here with me, knowing what will happen tonight?  Knowing what I will do?”  

Din reached over her shoulder, taking her hair away from her nervous hands.  He gently stroked it with his gloved fingers, fanning it out over her shoulders like a cloak of molten silver.  His gloved hands remained lightly touching her shoulders.  “Because I want to.”

Marathel stood stock still for a very long time.  Din felt her shoulders rise and fall with each breath.  Both remained lost in their mutual embarrassment, their mutual dread, their mutual anticipation.  Frith and the Maker alone knew how long they would have stayed in this moment, which was finally broken by Grogu, who wrapped his little arms around Marathel’s ankle again.  “Patu?”  

Marathel lifted her foot, letting a giggling Grogu hang from it.  “No, me not Patu, you silly gochgoch.  Me Marathel.  You Grogu.  You probably very hungry Grogu.”  She lifted her leg higher, bouncing Grogu up and down, making him squeal.  Marathel tilted her head towards the Bounty Hunter.  “Now, if your Patu would peel you off my leg, I can make you something to eat.  Probably eggs.  I have an exceptional amount of eggs.”  

Grogu did not want to let go of Marathel, of course, since he was having too much fun bouncing up and down, so it took Din taking hold of her leg and physically unwrapping Grogu’s arms to try to make him let go.  Marathel started laughing so hard that she fell to the floor, Din dragging her a couple of feet as he tried to get Grogu to release her ankle.  Din threw up his hands in disgust.  “Haar’chak, kid, let go of her."  Grogu blew a raspberry as he swung back and forth.  

Marathel’s laughter subsided to giggles.  “Grogu.  Grogu.”  Her voice changed to that of a stern parent, and Grogu looked down at her.  “Let go now, child.  I have things to do.  Go play with your Patu.”  Grogu immediately dropped to the floor.  Marathel sat up and kissed his ear.  “Thank you, love.  Go on now.”  Grogu immediately complied, toddling back to the front of the hut.  

Din watched him go, and then held out a hand to help Marathel up.  “I need to learn that tone of voice.”  

Marathel took his hand and let herself be pulled up to a standing position.  She shrugged.  “It only works if there are no trees to put you into.”

For dinner, she swirled the blended eggs into a boiling broth, filling out the soup with finely chopped vegetables and sliced fish cake, and then floating fluffy dumplings on top.  Grogu, of course, ate more than Marathel ever thought a little body like his could hold.  “Where does he put it?” she asked Din, who simply shrugged and led the boy out into the yard.  He sat down with Grogu and produced the little round gear knob from the Razor Crest.  He spent the next couple of hours encouraging Grogu to use the Force to move the ball, to toss it into the air, to raise it and the surrounding rocks higher and higher around him.  

Marathel sat on the steps, watching.  As the shadows deepened in the yard, Din could tell that she was getting more and more agitated.  If he had passed her on the street on any other planet, he would have assumed that she was a spice addict in withdrawal: her hands shook, her head bobbed up and down, her toes curled and uncurled over the edge of the step.  Grogu bleated for Din’s attention.  He looked over and just managed to catch the gear knob before it smacked him in the helmet.  Grogu looked quite grumpy.  “I know, kid, but I am purposely trying to wear you out.” Din tossed the gear knob straight up for Grogu to catch in the air, making it hover about a meter above his head.  “I need you to sleep like a rock tonight.  It’s … it’s going to get weird around here.”  He turned to look at Marathel again.  She was gone from the steps.  He looked past the hut, and finally saw her walking through the stream.  He watched her until he felt the clonk of Grogu throwing the gear knob against his helmet.  “Sorry, buddy.  I’m paying attention now.  Show me again?”  Grogu harrumphed, but obediently raised the gear knob again, along with several stones and a large roly-poly bug, making them all swirl around each other in a complicated pattern.  Din leaned back on his hands and watched. “Good job, kid.”  

“I think I could watch that all day.”  Din turned to see Marathel standing in the stream that coursed along the edge of the yard.  Her hands were clamped hard on her arms, her knuckles white.  “It’s mesmerizing.”  

Grogu gave a little whimper and set everything down on the ground.  Din took the gear knob and put it back in his pocket.  “He’s not strong enough to do this for too long. It makes him very tired.  But he’s getting much better at controlling his Force powers.”  Grogu sighed, looking exhausted.  Marathel came over and picked him up, cuddling him in her arms.  Even though she was shaking, her lip trembling, she remained focused on the boy as she began to softly rock him, humming a quiet tune.  Grogu closed his eyes and snuggled against her.  Marathel continued humming and swayed as she hummed, turning in slow circles, stroking Grogu’s ear.  Din watched as the waning sunlight reflected on her hair.  Her features were so soft, her eyes closed, her lips tilted in a small smile as she continued to hum.  If he had thought she would make a good wife before, he knew now that she would be a superb mother.  She was so good to his kid.  She was probably good to all the children of the Hold too, before she left, even though she was a child at the time herself.  She would raise good children.    

She could raise warriors.  

He stood up and moved to take Grogu from her.  She flinched away.  “He’s all right, Bounty Hunter, I’d never hurt him.”  

He held up his hand.  “I know that.”  

Her eyes filled with tears, and her hands trembled.  “I’d tear my heart out for him.”  

“I know, Marathel.”  

The tears spilled over.  “Then please … let me hold him a little longer.”  In response, he put his arm around her and held her close.  He put his other hand over hers, the hand that was supporting Grogu’s head, intertwining their fingers together.  They stood that way, Din stroking her hair, their hands linked together on Grogu, until it became full dark.   Together, they stepped up into her hut and laid the sleeping boy in his pram.  Marathel gave him goodnight kisses and Din whispered quietly in the boy’s ear before closing the lid securely.  They stepped back and away from each other.  

Din shifted his weight to one hip in that way he had.  “So … now what?”  

“Oh, your guess is as good as mine.”  Marathel, already breathing hard, put her face in her shaking hands.  “There’s never been so many rising at the same time.  My heart is already racing.  And it’s so hot.  Aren’t you hot?  I’m so hot.”  She turned away and went behind her curtains.  Din turned his back, but he could hear her clothes sliding against her skin as she stripped them off.  He took a deep breath himself, listening to her moving about behind the curtains.  Haar’chak, he was already aroused with just the thought of her.  Oh, he had a bad feeling about this.  He felt as nervous as a first-timer at a brothel.  No, scratch that, he was as nervous as a first-timer sex worker at a brothel; that was a more appropriate feeling for his situation.  He heard her step down from the platform, then a splash.  He could just see Marathel in the darkness, wearing her thin nightgown, walking quickly away from the hut through the stream as she held her hair on top of her head.  She disappeared into the tall grass.  Din stood still.  She would come back, right?  Yes, of course she would.  He was here.  She would come back for him.  He was her prey tonight.  

How does one prepare to be prey? he wondered.  What the shab should he do while waiting for her to come back? Anxious to be doing something, he found the lantern and shook it.  The lantern gave off its pale glow.  He carefully moved Grogu’s pram until it was tucked against her loom, fully out of the way.  Out of the way of what, he was unsure, but out of the way was good.  He looked out over the landscape with his thermal vision.  She was out there in the tall grass.  He watched her pace back and forth, continually turning back to look down into the valley where the Dahls were.  The Dahls were very loud now with their yip-yehs and occasional keening wails, piercing enough to make him wince. If the noise was almost unbearable to him, how must it be for her?   Then he saw her turn in his direction.  The Dahls quieted.  He watched her breathe, chest heaving.  Her heat signature was much higher than a humans should be.  She took several steps towards him.  He instinctively took one step back despite the fact she was a couple hundred meters away.  There was a sudden shrieking howl of several Dahls at once, and Marathel clapped her hands over her ears, emitting a howl herself, and dashed away down into the rocky valley, out of view. 

Din didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a rush.  He was relieved for a respite.  Being this far out of control was anathema to him.  He had been relaxing the limits of his comfort zone ever since he met his ad’ika, but this half-crazed woman possessed by freaky dog-lizard-cat things was really pushing it.  He tried to take some deep breaths, but it seemed to do no good.  He became aware that he felt warm, almost feverish, when just a few moments ago he was quite comfortable, temperature-wise.  Now he felt as if he was in the Dune Sea in high summer at midday. 

Osik, why was it so hot?  

He pulled off his heavy cape and undid the cowl at his throat. The night air was cool and refreshing, but now his armor was so damn heavy.  He stripped his gloves off his sweating hands and dropped his cuirass and cuisses to the floor.  Still too damn hot.    He jerked open his jacket, pulled out his arms, and stripped his thermal shirt off, relishing the cool air on his bare chest, on the throbbing bite mark.  He pulled his jacket back on, only halfway fastening it back together, and swept his discarded cape and armor out of the way, still not sure what out of the way meant, and put his hands on the edge of his helmet.  Here, he stopped, closed his eyes, and struggled for self-control.  No. The helmet stays on, the helmet stays on.  He took a deep breath and dropped his hands to his sides.   Feeling better, he sat on the steps to wait for Marathel to return, as the yip-yehs began again. 

She finally reappeared on his thermal vision, walking back into the tall grass.  He watched her stop and raise her head, appearing to look directly at him.  She began walking again, this time back towards the hut, walking with great purpose, much like her angry marching earlier today. Was that really just today? he thought idly, not quite noticing that she was moving faster and faster until he realized she was running at a full tilt straight for him. 

He had just enough time to half-stand, thinking oh kriff oh kriff oh kriff as she reached the hut and leapt at him, planting her knee in his chest and laying him flat out on his back.  His breath was knocked out of him, but he was still able to make an automatic defensive move as he used her own momentum to flip her over, and she rolled hard against one of the benches, ripping her nightgown from hem to waist. She grunted in surprise and pain, and got up into a crouch, snarling at him. Din turned to her and got to one knee as she leapt at him again.  He jumped up and grabbed her by the wrists before she could get to him.  She cried out in dismay, stretching up on to her toes, trying to break free.  Din swept his leg under her feet, knocking her to the floor.  He held her down, his knee in her gut, holding her wrists as she struggled. His knee slid on her nightgown, and she managed to slide out from under his knee, trying to twist herself free of his grasp, getting one foot under herself before he swept his leg again, knocking her back down to the floor.  This time he pinned her down under his full weight, grabbing her nightgown and ripping it free from her shoulders before pinioning her wrists to the floor with his large hands.  She shrieked with fury.  She raised her head, baring her teeth, seething, snarling, spitting at him as she struggled beneath him.  Her eyes were completely dark, her face was flushed red, her breasts were heaving, she had bitten her lip at some point in the struggle and there was blood in her mouth.   

Osik, she was so beautiful.   

He had to take her right there or die trying, he thought, and he let go of one wrist to open his breeches.  She immediately sprang into action, using the leverage of her free arm to get a leg loose from under him, trying to flip him over off her.  But he had about fifteen kilos on her, and her advantage was short-lived as he simply rolled her right back over and slammed her flat on the floor, holding her wrists tightly over her head again.  Crazy bitch! He shouted in his head, or he might have said it out loud, he was beyond rational thought beyond wanting to fuck this pretty piece of flesh, fuck her right into the floor, to fuck her right until she split in two.  But she kept fighting, wailing, tears streaming down her temples.   

Haar’chak, this was what she wanted! 

Wasn’t it? 

She took a deep breath and with all the force she could muster, she got one leg out from under him, twisted it around his leg, and with a strength he didn’t know she had, flipped him over, planting her knees on his hips, slamming his hands to the floor, screaming into his face like a wild animal.  He pedaled with his feet, trying to slip out from under her, actually getting about halfway free before she forced him down again, this time setting her weight down heavily on his crotch, breathing hard, snarling. 

Now he understood.  She needed to dominate him. She needed to take him.  She needed him to be terrified of her. 

Well, I’m scared shitless, so one out of three so far, he thought, panting.  He looked to his left and saw that they were actually fairly close to his bed tick.  If he was going to be fucked to death by a crazy Dahl-woman, he wanted to be comfortable.  His brain was so fevered at that moment that he actually started laughing.  She shifted her weight backwards, confusion crossing her face, allowing him enough freedom to backpedal more with his feet, dragging her with him into his curtained cubicle.  She fell off her knees and ended up stretched out fully against his body, gripping his hands, both breathing hard in point/counterpoint. He let go of her hands, laid back, and stretched out, to let her do what she would.  Surprised, she scooted back until she was sitting on his legs.  She snarled again, her hands gripping his thighs, squeezing, daring him to defy her.  He gave her no struggle.  She knee-walked up his body, sitting on his chest, pushing his shoulders down to the sleeping tick.  Again, he did not struggle.  She made her way back down his body, scrabbling at his jacket and laying it open, dragging what was left of her fingernails down his ribs and belly to his waistband.  Here she tried to pull at his breeches, but they were secured by his belt buckle; he had to quickly get that loose for her but immediately laid back down in his supplicating pose.  He felt her forcefully drag his breeches and under thermals down, which hooked briefly on his erection on their way down to his knees.  He closed his eyes, because he was scared of her, oh yes, he was terrified, the only words he could manage in his fevered mind were please don’t bite me over and over.

He felt her warm breath on his thighs, on his crotch, and he began to whisper please don’t bite me when he felt her soft cheek stroke his erect penis from base to tip.  His eyes opened and he gasped; it was the most exotic feeling he’d ever had, and he felt her face move to the other side, and he felt her eyelashes against the side of his shaft as she stroked her face against him, the feathery touch driving him mad.  She nuzzled her nose into his pubic hair and then she stretched out her neck to stroke him again, up one side and down the other as she breathed deep, her exhalation soft and warm on his skin.  Oh, he sighed, she was getting his scent, marking him with her scent, taking possession of him.  She dragged her breasts up his thighs, her nipples tracking on his skin, bringing out goosebumps on his legs, softly rubbing her body up his cock, squeezing her upper arms together to capture him between her breasts, and she moved up and down there several times, his precum seeping from his tip as he marked her with his fluid down her breastbone. As she moved her breasts down his cock one last time, she dropped her chin and took the whole of him into her mouth, causing him to groan.  But she did not close her lips, she did not use her tongue on him, all she did was breathe, just like the Dahl did with his hand, breathing in his intimate scent, tasting it with her inhalation, exhaling against him like a hot summer wind.  She removed her mouth just before he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from moving, lightly grazing her teeth on him, and he whimpered.  She moved back up his body, smelling him, softly rubbing her face against him as she moved, brushing against his erection with every motion she made, and he could not help it any longer, he arched his back to thrust at her, at any part of her he could reach, he was so desperate to be taken by her.  But she would continue to deny him as she leaned forward on her knees, nuzzled his chest, working her way up to what she could of his neck, not trying to remove his helmet but holding her face just under the lip of it, breathing softly into his helmet, taking his exhales into her mouth, her erect nipples dragging on his chest, her hands sliding down his arms to hold them down when all he wanted to do was take hold of her, and he murmured, “Please Marathel, please Marathel, please,” as she completely dominated him, laying mostly naked and exposed on his back on a planet beyond the edge of nowhere, pleading, promising to kill for her, promising to die for her, promising to set the universe on fire for her if she would just please, please take him now. 

 

She settled back on her heels, tilted her hips, and took him fully within her in one smooth stroke as she quietly inhaled and softly exhaled.  

He, suddenly enveloped in her sweet hot wetness, died for a full second, and then was revived as she moved her hips in rhythm, slowly, so slowly, too slowly, thinking that he would die for real this time as a sob escaped him and tears slid down his temples.  He bucked at her, desperate for more than what she was willing to give, when she dropped her dark eyes to his helmet and snarled, and she slapped the palm of her hand sharply on his bite wound and pressed hard.  He cried out with the pain, and this must have excited her, for she moved a little faster on him, and he grabbed at her hand on his bite wound, which she slapped away with a hiss.  She rocked faster, throwing her head back far enough that he felt her hair brushing against his legs, and her hair wasn’t soft at all, but was coarse like the mane of a running beast, like sheaths of dried summer grass, and her hands clutched at his ribs and her thighs squeezed him tightly as she began to climax.  He lifted his hands and slid them up her legs to her hips as she bucked against him, his thumbs pressing into her soft round belly, his fingers clasping at her hipbones hard enough to leave marks on her supple flesh. He arched his back, flexing his hips upward, balancing on his heels, trying to get as deep into her as he possibly could, losing all conscious thought as he whimpered “Mara … Marathel … my mesh’la …" as she cried out with her own orgasm, collapsing down towards his chest, thighs trembling, her hair falling over his visor, her hips still pulsing against his as he drew his knees up, thrusting his pelvis against hers, clutching her tightly to his chest as he finally came, grunting, tangling his fingers into her hair, sobbing her name, “Marathel … Marathel … my mesh’la Marathel …"  And then he laughed as she gasped against his shoulder.  She pushed up just enough to look into the visor of his helmet, and she was Marathel again, with her silver hair all in disarray, tears leaking from her silver eyes, lip trembling as she reached up and placed her hand on the helmet where his cheek would be. He laid his hand over hers as they breathed in time together.  Then her eyes fluttered closed as she collapsed on his chest.  He felt every muscle in her body release their tension as she melted off him to the bed tick, rolled to her back beside him, and threw her arms up above her head, unconscious.  

Oh, Marathel, he thought.  You are the Queen of the Universe.  

He gazed at Marathel's still face for a long time. He got up to one elbow and watched her slow breathing, a lock of hair lifting and falling on her collarbone with each breath.  His eyes skated down her naked body, her round breasts, just nicely proportioned to fit in his hand if he so dared, her middle softly curved with a slightly rounded belly, a little extra flesh at her hips, her long legs, one stretched out straight, the other bent at the knee with her toes touching her calf, legs that were heavy but were so much more muscular than they looked, legs that could break a tree in half, strong rounded calves with finely turned ankles.  He sat up on his hip and reached with his bare hand, thinking, forgive me, Marathel, but I must have this memory of your skin as he lightly skated his hand over her flesh starting at her ankle, moving up her leg.  She stirred slightly at his touch but did not wake.  He stroked her gently, passing over the already-forming bruises that he had given her in their struggle tonight, flinching that he had injured her so, but continued his hand up her bent leg onto her inner thigh when he felt a patch of puckered skin near the apex of her legs.  His hand stopped.  Her skin until now had been as smooth as liquid beskar, but this texture was different, like scar tissue.  Curious, he bent down to look closely at the place on her inner thigh that he had found, thinking maybe a very old injury, perhaps a birthmark.  He turned on the light on his helmet, blocking it as much as he could so as not to wake her.  Focusing the beam on her leg – and the lovely silver thatch of hair next to it – he could see that the puckered area of skin was not a birthmark at all, but the remnants of a brand.  The brand was latticed, stretched, signifying to him that she must have received this mark as … a very, very, young child.  He turned off his beam immediately, but the mark was already burned into his retinas. It was square – or had been at one time – with an arrow-head shape in the middle, but it was so hard to read, as old as the mark must have been.    

Someone had held her down, opened her legs – a little girl’s legs – and held a brand to her delicate child’s skin, burning it to leave this mark.  

He'd heard screams of children before, many times.  Too many times to count.  He felt physically ill as he thought of her screaming as a tiny child, probably even younger than he when his parents had been killed before his eyes.  A little girl, tortured by the very adults who were supposed to have protected her.  Was Diwhyn Olba there?  Did Diwhyn Olba have to hold her down?  Did Diwhyn Olba tend to her wounds while little Marathel screamed in pain?  

Din rolled away from Marathel and stood up, closing his jacket, pulling his pants back up, ashamed to have exposed himself to her, who suffered as a little girl at the hands of men.  She must have sensed his movement; she rolled to her side, curling up with her hands in front of her face, curling up like a child.  He grabbed one of the blankets she had given him and unfolded it, gently tucking it around her, covering her, wishing in some way to protect the child Marathel from the unnamed unknown evils that must have taken place in that Hold.  Marathel sighed in her sleep, took hold of the blanket and pulled it over her ear as she snuggled down deep in the sleeping tick.  Din carefully lifted a wayward lock of her hair from her face and put it behind her shoulder.  He stood and then passed through the curtains to the center of her hut.  He sighed.  The room showed no signs of their earlier struggle, other than the pile of his cape and removed armor, and the bench at the table slightly askew from when she crashed into it.  Din picked up his discarded clothing and armor, quietly saying the proper old incantation for each piece as he replaced them on his body, ending with the words this is the way as he straightened his helmet.  Feeling stronger in his soul with the remembrance of his Creed, he sat down against the post closest to where Marathel slept, vowing to protect her until the hunt was finished.  Crossing his feet at his ankles, he stared at the stars above him until he dozed off.   

 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

[giant-tiny-fiber-friends]

Knitting in G/T

Let's get started with a classic!

(This is a continuation of a conversation that began here, for context)

I'm intending for this to be partly an informative post, as well as a conversation starter in case anyone had ideas or questions regarding the topic. As part of the g/t writing community, I know how handy it can be to have resources for niche topics, so hopefully this can help or inspire someone! I'm going to talk about knitting in existing g/t media, some of the possibilities I can think of as far as knitting for giants and tinies go, and some examples of what gives me real life g/t vibes in knitting.

Knitting, for clarity, is the art of turning yarn into fabric using a pair of needles. It seems like one of those crafts that people have plenty of ideas about with tinies, but doesn't so readily come up with giants. Maybe we'll fix that here, we'll see!

In Media

I've noticed this has mostly been explored from the tiny side of things, at least in established media. Now's the part where I admit that I do not have a comprehensive understanding and grasp of g/t media, so if there are further examples of this that exist, I'd love to hear about them! For now, the most immediate examples I can think of is The Borrowers, both in the book and one of the film adaptations.

The first is featured in one of the original covers of the original book, a colorized version of an illustration that shows Homily knitting on a pair of pins.

The text describes her as "knitt(ing) their jerseys and stockings on black headed pins, and, sometimes, on darning needles (...)" and goes on to describe her using spools of silk or cotton thread to do so. This is doable, especially since both thread and pins can vary in thicknesses, which can affect the way the fabric created behaves. One would simply need to find or make pins that were more dull, because those things can get Sharp!

Darning needles, which are slightly bigger than what you'd think of as sewing needles but still pretty thin, are a little thicker and I would think would be used with something a bit more substantial than thread. I'll get into this more in depth when I get around to talking about spinning, but yarn can be spun pretty finely, and tinies could easily be resourceful enough to manage to get it to a usable size, no matter the needles used.

As an aside, the BBC's 1992 iteration of The Borrowers quietly goes into more detail about this side of their existence. It ran for two seasons, covering most of the books up til "The Borrowers Aloft", I believe. The whole thing can bee found on YouTube, and someone recently posted an HD remaster!

Homily's knitting crops up throughout the first arc as not only a tool for keeping her family warm, but as a way for her to cope with her anxiety. She quickly picks up her knitting (from a small ball of wool she seems to have wound herself rather than from a spool, which is much more mobile) after an argument with Arrietty, and while she waits for Pod to come home from late-night borrowing.

Then, after they flee the cottage, they collect wild wool (seen above) from the brambles to use as insulation, and I believe the implication is that it's later spun into yarn for Homily to use to make Arrietty a sweater/jumper and herself a cardigan, shown in this short clip:

Seriously, if you haven't seen this adaptation, I highly recommend! Lookit Homily getting to be a bit of a badass for once!

The Potential

Knitting like this is plausible in g/t spheres, in my opinion. A lot of modern knitting has grown to lean away from separate straight needles like the pins would facsimile, choosing circular needles instead. Basically it's a few inches of solid needle attached to a flexible cord that more easily allows a knitter to work in a continuous tube (like hats), but they can be used to make flat things (like scarves) as well.

Even if an article is made of tubes- hats, sweaters, and even socks- they can still be made flat and seamed together. So if all a tiny has access to are a pair of pins, or if all a giant can do is carve and polish some wood into straight needles, it's a perfectly valid way to go about things. I'm not going to put a limit on the innovations of big or small folk to be able to come up with workarounds if they truly wanted to make a circular needle equivalent, though. Maybe a tiny could use a sturdy yet flexible bit of wire with the tips worn down to a taper, or a giant could MacGyver something with literal cabling, who knows? I'm all for hearing other ideas!

Real Life G/t Vibes

Most Vibes I get from knitting are from things made with really thick or thin yarn. Big, chunky yarn reminds me of how even the thinnest of yarn would probably still be quite lofty to a tiny. To me, it gives the feeling of having found doll's clothing and using it to keep warm!

The Harper Jacket by Ciadree via Ravelry.com

And I know it's not really useful to a hypothetical giant, but knitting tiny things does give one the feeling of being big. I'm often reminded of Althea Crome, the self-proclaimed micro-knitter who made the knits in the movie Coraline and has a whole gallery of miniature knitted art!

Mixing different weight (sizes) and colors of yarn also gives me very homemade, using what you have on hand even if it doesn't match kinda vibes, which I find fitting for both giants and tinies. They (most likely) don't have textile shops where they can get all matching bits. Or maybe they do, and that's valid, too! I'll get into more detail about that when I talk about scraps and stash eventually, but I think this post has gotten quite long enough.

If you have any more ideas or questions about this topic, and especially if you have more examples in existing g/t media that I don't know of or forgot about when writing this, please do keep the conversation going!

[guardevoir]

Fiber arts update:

Warped the loom for a second, simple scarf for practice purposes: (the camera is lying to you btw, the blue is actually really vibrant)

I'm figuring out several things here: Firstly, just plain horizontal stripes are boring. Secondly, my shuttle is a mess because I didn't pay attention to the direction colors would be coming off of it again. Made it work, but notes taken for next time. Thirdly, I've found SO many fun and spicy new ways to utterly fuck up my warp tension! I am studying those fuck-ups like particularly odd bugs. Fourthly, there are ALSO so many interesting ways to fuck up your selvedges! The same thing applies. Fifthly, despite all the ????? I've got going on, I adore doing this nonsense and I can't wait to have my wheel free so I can spin for weaving.

Then, spindles! Still working on the alpaca/merino stuff on the big spindle, and having an excellent time with it, even if alpaca is fuzzy bullshit. I like the way this spindle spins; the slowness of it takes some getting used to, but the more rim-weighted distribution of the weight here is just so forgiving and chill compared to my regular bottom-whorl spindle. You have to fuck up SO badly to drop this one by comparison, too.

Then, the viscose nonsense is also progressing well: Worked on it on the train a lot a couple days ago, because that's something you can actually do with a spindle that small - less space being taken up by the spindle shaft means more space for yarn, even while sitting. Pretty neat!

And on my regular spindle, I've got Merino/silk now! 'Tis the season for not having a single easy, straightforward fiber on a drop spindle, apparently.

Didn't get too much done on it yet, mostly because this one's harder to use while sitting than the Turkish ones and I haven't done a lot of standing around lately.

And on the wheel, I still have the royal blue Merino I'm working on. Also not a huge amount of progress there because I've been out and about quite a bit (also, new shiny loom), but I'm slowly chipping away at it every day!

And on a Temperature Project note: Still haven't made a decision; I'm just tracking temperatures for now while I figure out what I want to do.

I'm also currently looking at blending boards so I can get more creative with my yarns, but idk whether to go for 19cm or 40cm width, and whether I want a prebuilt one or trust myself to find a good cutting board and handle a staple gun.

[letkirillfight]

15 people 15 questions

thanks for the tag @babygirlspurgeon, @masonshaws, @giveemgreef, and @babygirlboberrey

1. are you named after anyone?

I share my middle name with my mom.

2. when was the last time you cried?

A couple days ago. The last month has been a bit rough.

3. do you have kids?

No and never will.

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

I played soccer when I in like elementary school and then did a season of tennis in like high school. Low-key hated doing both of them. I'm not really one for playing sports unless it's the sort of casual pick up game with friends. I much prefer to watch.

5. do you use sarcasm?

Yes, religiously.

6. what's the first thing you notice about people?

I'm going to be honest I am not self aware enough to know the answer to this one. But probably their outfit if I had to guess.

7. what's your eye color?

I always say gray.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

To my endless annoyance my brain is absolutely the worst while watching scary movies, like the most obviously built up jump scare will still spook me, so happy endings I guess.

9. any talents?

Uh, I'm really good at packing? And I'm pretty good with horses? I don't know, my mind kind of blanked on anything I have ever been good at when I read this.

10. where were you born?

Michigan

11. what are your hobbies?

I am a huge nerd and also a grandmother (this is not a slight towards grandmothers). I love watching movies and binging tv shows and have an extensive dvd collection because they will tear physical media from my cold dead hands. I also love playing video games and really want to build my own desktop one of these days towards that end. I will read anything that looks half interesting and have also lost many an hour to writing whatever idea pops into my head. I crochet, can technically knit, and am learning how to spin yarn and sew beyond basic mending. I also play sudoku, solitaire (spider specifically), and do puzzles. Plus like hiking and traveling to occasionally get out of the house. Oh and hockey.

12. do you have any pets?

Nope. I grew up with a wide variety of animals but have yet to get one of my own. Someday I'm considering getting a cat or two but we'll see.

13. how tall are you?

I am 5'5".

14. favorite subject in school?

History, followed closely by English. This probably has just as much to do with my teachers as the actual subject material as those classes were really fun.

15. dream job?

None lol. I dream of financial stability not working. If I had to pick something though it would probably be something physical. I like being able to say "I made that" or something with horses. I loved working with them before. Most realistically though it wouldn't be one thing. I like the idea of being a jack of all trades type and bouncing around learning how to do a bunch of things.

tagging: @wildrangers, @eis-hockey,@kirill-kaprizovs-curls,@cecishockeyblogging, @jonassiegenthighler, @lindholmline, @carpehistoryandthepens, @stanleyoffseventh, @couthbbg, @dwisp, @devils-wild, @thecardiackids, @wehaveagathering, @flaticeball, @oetter if y'all want to do it and haven't already done so. Plus anyone else who sees this and is interested consider yourself tagged.

[ambalambs]

Thanks for the tag @zylphiacrowley ♡♡♡

Idk who to tag for these things anymore so if ya wanna go ahead lol

Last Song: Arise by CLANN i had my miko playlist playing in the background while I was crocheting and cuddling with my cat >.>

Favorite Color: green!! Mostly softer greens though and nothing too bold or bright

Currently Watching: as in tv shows? Well I just finished watching buffy for the first time so now I switched over and started the bear until only murders in the building's new season gets more episodes lol my sis told me I should watch the bear tho so I figured I'd get through that first :/

Last Movie: the evil dead rise...it was...something lol pretty icky but it was fine

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet!! I love fruit orz

Current Obsessions: YARN or crocheting lol its been fun and I just need/want so much more yarrrrn!!! Also still obsessed with my ffxiv ocs but that never changes lol

Last Thing in my Search History: how to hide my hud/ui in gw2 (I wanted to see if I could take a nice pic of my salad boy but it didn't work out lol)

[craftycoola]

Happy NYE/NY everyone!

Because 'tis the season for reflection, I went through my camera roll and picked out the 9 projects from this year that I'm proudest of.

(We all know what posts from this year got the most online attention, but I think it's important to be introspective and think about what projects and posts were actually most valuable to me. Anyways. /soapbox)

Swan Song Scarf (Jasmine Lin, Crafty Coola). This is my design, and although I released it a good while ago, I'm still incredibly proud of it. I spent a lot of time sketching, charting, knitting, ripping back... it was a labor of love, but I'm proud that I stuck with it and got a result I'm happy with. Yarn: Miss Babs Yummy 2-Ply (World in a Book and Light Clematis)

Woodland Cardigan (Anna Johanna, Where We Once Knitted). This was my first time steeking, and yeah, I'm pretty gosh-darned proud of that. Yarn: Knit Picks Palette (Wonderland Heather and Calypso Heather)

Anza Dress (Kennis Wong, Itch to Stitch). This was my first time installing buttons, making (sewn) buttonholes, using interfacing (...don't judge me), and sewing scoop pockets. So many new techniques for me, but it created such a polished product and was an excellent learning opportunity. I'm so glad I took the leap with this pattern. Fabric: Singer Brand Cotton Poplin (2 yards)

Color Triangle (p: do you love the color of the sky?). This was my first time using powdered acid dye (read: Big Girl Dye instead of tie-dye/Rit/food coloring)! Obviously the whole color-formulating process for the Color of the Sky shenanigans remains in progress, but I'm proud of this triangle as it is anyways. Fiber: Knit Picks Stroll Bare, Dye: G&S Acid Dyes

Custom Intarsia Blanket. This depicts DNA replication using restriction enzymes and DNA ligase. I did this one for a custom commission, and I'm proud of myself for a) designing it, b) being so free with it, and c) getting to make something science-y! I sketched a rough plan before beginning, but I had to make an absurd amount of adjustments along the way -- in the end, I even had to duplicate stitch over the restriction enzyme bit with a half-strand (i.e. half the plies) of yarn since the stash yarn was too fine. I'm so used to planning everything and then being stubborn; this was a great exercise in adaptability and letting go.

Elderberry Dress (Shavonne Cruz, Mood Sewciety). I'm not one to do muslins or even much fitting on my sewing projects. I tend to just take patterns straight out of the envelope and then sew them, consequences be damned. This dress, though? After each wear, I've been making little adjustments to improve it; shaping the neckline and adjusting the fit, amongst other things. That's something I want to carry forward for my future projects.

Eliane Scrubs (Jalie). These aren't anything particularly special from a technical perspective, but they are possibly my most-worn me-made EVER. They've held up to weekly wear and washing and I'm proud of them for that, as well as of myself for letting my babies "do their job" instead of hiding them way out of fear. Fabric: cotton poplin

Fractal Yarn (p: swirling solar winds). I spun most of this for Tour de Fleece (which feels like a lifetime ago!) and it's a huge accomplishment for me. I'm often afraid to break down gradient braids, so doing a fractal spin was a first for me! I also got it nice and fine; a practical weight for what I usually work with. Fiber: Emily C Gillies (now House of Wool) Luck of the Draw December 2022 on Merino/Silk

Handspun Sweater (p: we pull apart the stars). Ok, so this isn't finished, but handspun sweater. I think that speaks for itself as far as why I'm proud!

[cozyhearthyarnworks]

Finished Object: Cailleach Shawl

October 31, 2019

Happy Halloween! Just in time for the spooky season, a project that has engaged most of the household for the entire summer is finished – the Cailleach Shawl. This stunning, witchy, wooly garment is knit in Cozy Hearth Yarn Works hand-dyed Rustic Worsted yarn (Dubh as the primary colorway, with a one-of-a-kind skein providing the accent edging). I dyed up the yarn early in my development work for our Dathanna series, my wife Kai and I worked on the pattern design together, and she knit the entire finished object! While Kai primarily works with Cozy Hearth Yarn Works as a fan, supporter, and frequent knitwear model, she has been working on improving her own knitting skills, and this shawl shows that improvement magnificently. Rather than blather on forever, though, I’m going to let her introduce her own work.

Kai showing off the wild chaos lace edging of the Cailleach shawl.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO MAKE THIS SHAWL?

I knew that I wanted something that was a little more witchy feeling for my wardrobe, and I also wanted a BIG warm shawl. We’d recently attended an online conference about (among other things) the Cailleach, and that gave me enough background on her lore to confirm that she would be an appropriate association to call on with the creation of the shawl.

WHO’S THE CAILLEACH? (I KNOW, BUT OTHERS MIGHT NOT!)

She is a figure in Irish and also Scottish folklore and mythology. As far as we can tell, she’s a preChristian goddess that in Irish folklore is associated with the building of great stoneworks, and also in more recent folklore has heavy associations with cunning women, shapeshifting, and general witchery.

Shawl wrapped traditionally around her shoulders and fastened with a pin, Kai leans back against a tree.

WHAT WAS THE MOST DIFFICULT PART OF WORKING ON THIS SHAWL?

I think honestly the thing that I had the most consistent trouble with is keeping count of where I was as the rows got long. This project had the longest rows I’ve ever worked on, and I was, um, not as diligent at keeping track in some places as I should have been.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WHILE WORKING ON THIS SHAWL?

That chaos lace is possibly the most fun technique I’ve ever discovered! Also: counting is important. I found that I really also enjoyed the fade technique that I used to transition from the Dubh colorway to the edging colorway, and that’s making me think I’ll have fun with similar color-changing effects in the future.

Enjoying the seasonal foliage / Wrapped up close for warmth / Securing with a pin

DID YOU LIKE YOUR FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH DESIGN WORK? AND RELATEDLY, ARE YOU PLANNING ON RELEASING THIS PATTERN?

I almost feel guilty calling it design work because it’s composed of very simple patterns with a crazy tail added on, but yeah- I can’t give instructions for identical chaos lace to mine, but if people are interested I can write out a simple sketch! (Kit note – I’m interested in knitting up my own copy of the shawl, so I’m also invested in a written pattern existing.)

DID YOU ENJOY WORKING WITH THE YARN?

Yeah! It wasn’t a difficult yarn to manage, so it feels like it’s fairly strong without being scratchy or unpleasant to touch. It’s a good, medium, balanced yarn. One of the things I enjoyed about the dye work itself was the way that it very subtly moved from a deep, purpley tone to having hints of blue and brown and green, so in different lights the shawl has a range of colors like what you’d find in, say, a blackbird feather.

WHAT WAS THE MOST REWARDING PART OF THIS EXPERIENCE?

Having a big warm shawl to wear that’s exactly what I’d been picturing.

WHERE DO YOU PLAN TO WEAR SUCH A BIG STATEMENT SHAWL?

Wherever I want! I figure I’ll mostly wear it as an outer layer on colder days, as it’s pretty heavy for milder weather. (Kit note – she’s literally been wearing it everywhere. A shawl this fabulous makes its own space, and Kai has never been shy about her wardrobe.)

Kai likes to have fun during shoots / She also just really, really loves this shawl

WHAT ARE YOU MAKING NEXT?

Right now, I’m working on trying to level up my basic knitting skills before I try to do anything more ambitious. I’m going back to the Simple Collection by Tin Can Knits and working on the Oats Cowl.

And that’s all from Kai! I am also very in love with this project, and, as mentioned, I’ll be working with her on making the pattern more accessible. For now, though, it’s time to go enjoy the spookiest of eves. Stay warm, friends!

boooOOOoooOOOooo

[catmomjudy]

New-ish project. I bought this a few months ago but got busy with other things. I like having something mindless around to work on, and I finished my previous mindless project. I like more complicated things (and I’m currently working on a Tunisian crochet afghan with a different stitch in every block), but I also like having something where I can read or watch TV while working on it.

My sister was visiting last week and brought along her own project, which is a shawl made out of a similar cake yarn, so I dragged this out. Cake yarn is pretty cool. It’s self-striping and wound so you can see the colors. We had fun announcing “New color!” while we sat and watched at least two seasons of “Friends.”

[gemmahale]

Sighing wistfully (again) over hand dyed yarns.

Zodiac fades? Beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Taurus is more than just green. I want to collect them all. 😭

Zodiac on plant fibers? Drooling. They’re shiny and pretty and Leo’s not yellow and Taurus is this earthy rose and Scorpio is this beautiful deep sky purple. ☺️

Witchy themes? I want to finish my collection from this dyer. 🫣

Tarot card theme? Seasons? Zodiac? Gemstones? Whimper. That dryer does such a phenomenal job with color. I want all of them to make a big blanket. (I have a pattern picked! I just need some tools first. 😅)

Notions? Counter chains and measuring tapes and reversible crochet/knitting stitch markers. (I have so many notions 😆. We don’t talk about my stitch marker collection yet.)

Patterns? Don’t get me started. 🤣

Just gonna sit here and lust and dream.

I also realized that none of the yarn I got helps me finish any of the projects I’ve got already on the docket. Goddamn it. 🤦‍♀️ Gemma, stahp.

[scaryscarecrows]

Antoine doesn’t bother knocking. He hasn’t for years and he’s not about to start now. Besides, his hands are full. It’s all he can do to open the door in the first place.

No one’s in the hall, but he’s stolen from the kitchen enough times to know where it is. It’s in the back of the house, next to the dining room–

“Who the Hell–”

“Shit–”

Once the mutual flailing and terror stops (and the tart is unharmed!) he realizes the person he about walked into is just Dove.

…

She looks exhausted. He’s not surprised, given all that’s happened, but she really does look terrible; dark circles for days and the painful sallow color from not sleeping. He probably doesn’t look much better, though, so he keeps his mouth shut and holds out the tart in apology.

“My sister sent this over,” he says, like he didn’t almost just die of fright. “I guess the pear trees were a little overzealous this season.”

“I’ll thank her when I see her,” Dove says, sounding like she also almost just died of fright. “Come on, you can put it in the kitchen.”

The kitchen hasn’t changed. He remembers being ten years old and sneaking in here to grab fruit–or better, cookies–off the counter. The cabinets had seemed high, then, high enough that he and Jason had had to carefully sneak chairs in to get into them (and been caught more than once). Now, it’s just a matter of reaching up and pulling one open.

He sets the tart down and swipes an apple from the bowl (he’s had enough pears in the last four days to see him through the season, he will swear on that). Before he can bite into it to lay claim, Dove’s pulled him into a hug.

“It’s good you made it back,” she says roughly. “I didn’t see you at first and with Jason–” Yeah. With Jason. “Thank God you made it back.”

Some days, he’s not sure he did. He wakes up to squeaking so loud he’d swear they were in the house, to horses screaming in fear and to the overwhelming scent of blood.

He hugs her back all the same, wishing he could be ten again.

“How’s Jay?” he asks her, once he’s bitten into his apple. Easier to have the grounding apple flavor for this, because the last time he and Jason had any sort of conversation, Jason had been busy dying and making him promise to tell Dove m’sorry, m’so sorry, she was right, I never…

It wasn’t pretty, that’s all.

“Better,” she says. “A bit. The doctor thinks he’ll be all right.” It’s something. He’ll take it. “You can go poke your head in, if you want. If he’s asleep, out, but you can say hi if he’s not.”

“I think I’ll do that.”

“Only for a minute!” she calls after him, and yeah, sure, only for a minute.

He’s not asleep. He’s lying in bed, obviously, but he’s awake, looking at the fire with a closed book on his chest. He’s pale and his breathing is still rough and for one awful minute, all Antoine can think is that they never made it home, that they’re still in the damn woods and that he’s stuck here watching his oldest friend die over his stupid fucking heroics and–

S’okay. S’okay.

Antoine raps on the frame and informs Jason, because somebody should, “You look like complete shit.”

“Choke, asshole,” Jason says, but he’s grinning anyway. “How’d you get here?”

“Dove let me.” He pulls the desk chair out enough so he can fling his boots onto the footboard. “My sister sent over a pear tart.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re busy almost dying and she wanted to give Dove a break.” Jason throws a scrap of yarn at him. It…doesn’t even reach the foot of the bed, to be honest. “So she told me, ‘he’s your stupid friend, you take it over’, like it’s somehow my fault you got stabbed.”

“Your sister scares me.” Jason levers himself upright and stacks his pillows behind him. “The army should take her, this would all be over by next Tuesday.”

“It would.” Now that he’s sitting up, he looks…well, he doesn’t look better, but he looks less dead. “How the hell are you still alive?”

“God and the Devil are fighting over who has to take me,” is the flippant reply, like his face isn’t still creased with pain. “You didn’t run into any trouble, did you? With the kids?”

It had been a silent, frantic push. The girl–Amicia–had managed to get it together well enough, for the most part, but her brother had been a little more upset. Fair enough, he’s what, eight?

What kind of monster hunts down a eight year-old?

“Nah,” he says, realizing belatedly that he hasn’t answered, even though they had this conversation before. Jason was…really, really not okay, though, so. “Nah, didn’t even see a deer.”

The fire snaps and they both flinch, Jason’s hand going out to where his sword’s been for two years and Antoine reaching back on instinct for an arrow he doesn’t have– shit–

Just the fire. Just the fire. Not the rats, it’s not…

They’d both accepted, mostly, that there was a very real possibility of dying horribly when they left home. They’d agreed to that. What they hadn’t agreed to, what nobody had agreed to, was the possibility of being eaten alive by swarms of rats.

Here, now, it seems insane. Rats swarming over a grown man in full armor and eating him in seconds? Preposterous. He’s only brought it up once, to his sister, the night he got back. They’d both had a bit to drink and even then, she hadn’t really believed him.

Jason goes slack, breathing hard, and murmurs, “I don’t want it out, but I could do without the sudden noises.”

That’s the thing, isn’t it. Every little darting shadow, or sudden noise, and he’s straightening up and straining to see any place at all where the damn things could get in. And as terrible as it is, he’s glad he’s not the only one.

“Did Dove believe you?”

“Not really. I didn’t…she’s already upset. ‘Cause of me.” He gestures towards his stomach. “I didn’t push it.”

“Honestly, it’s probably for the best,” Antoine admits. “We thought we’d brought you home to bury you.”

“What about you? You share any fun stories?”

“My sister’s skeptical, and I don’t want my nephew hearing anything, so. I let it go.”

They fall silent. Jason returns his attention to the fire, breathing slowly. Antoine sighs, settles into the chair a little more, and tries to remember what it was like not to panic at sudden noises.

He can’t.

“Yknow,” Jason says suddenly, “I could still die.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, no. Listen. Somebody sent muffins over yesterday, I know they’re down there. But I can’t exactly make it downstairs on my own.”

“Don’t involve me.”

“Think of the guilt you’d suffer if I up and keel without having one.”

Honestly, he wouldn’t. However, depending on where the muffins came from, they could be worth swiping.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But if I get caught, I’m dragging you down with me.”

THE END

[ajgrey9647]

"Can I fall asleep on your shoulder?" + World of the Coinless; Sentry Adam~

Connecting Touches

In some ways, Adam was glad his family wasn’t here to see how gray and solemn this world had become. More importantly, they weren’t exposed to the life he’d been forced into, a life of cruelty and violence, one without mercy or compassion or even the vestiges of happiness.

Only one person’s joy mattered in this new reality and you’d be wise to keep that forefront in your mind.

Skull often commented about how even nature itself seemed to change suit with the ascension of its new ruler. The more experienced Sentry was a firm believer that Lord Drakkon’s reign altered something that was fundamental and normally fixed in the universe.

“You ever notice how all the color seems to have fled from the world, rookie?” Eugene had asked the newcomer once when the pair were weapons training.

Pausing in their mock combat, the dark-haired man pointed up at the sky, a dark ominous color and covered with thick, heavy clouds. The wind carried the scent of rain and a rumble of thunder growled somewhere off over the horizon.

Adam had frowned, forehead wrinkled.

No, he hadn’t paid much mind to anything else beyond keeping his head down and following orders.

“Huh…” he responded, also gazing into the approaching storm.

From he’d gathered about the Red Sentry, the younger man was sure he had ideas as to why this was so.

“Yeah,” Eugene continued. “I know its not the most important thing in our lives, it shouldn’t matter. But I feel like we are foolish not to be concerned.”

He chuckled.

“Though, honestly, I’m not sure there’s fuck-all we could do about it anyway.”

Nestling his weapon back in the rack, Skull favored Adam with a thoughtful look.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who’s noticed this? Everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”

The Black Sentry also relinquished his training staff as he considered the observation. Now that he actually thought about it, Adam realized that most of the vegetation, at least around the palace, were an odd growing shade of brown, though the farmers were still able to raise crops and livestock. Besides the bright reds and yellows of two Sentry regiments, it had been a long time since he’d seen any bright, cheerful colors.

“You’re not crazy,” the Black Sentry murmured. “They either don’t notice or don’t care. Maybe both.”

Skull shook his head, a mirthful grin curling his lips.

“I didn’t think so.”

Walking from the training grounds situated on the far side of the courtyard, the pair could feel the static in the air, a building electrical current of threatened lightning.

“I miss how things used to be,” Adam commented. “I remember rainy days, before…all ‘this’… when I’d curl up with a good book and a mug of tea, thinking how nice it was to be inside where it was warm and cozy. Now, we’re back to candlelight, wood burning cooking appliances, and looms.”

Skull stopped, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“That’s another thing, rook. How long ago would you say all that was? What year do you think we’re in now? ‘Cause for a while even I thought I was nuts.”

He looked around for any eavesdroppers. If you dared to question things, it was best not to be too loud about it.

“This whole… world… or whatever the hell you want to call it, feels ‘off’. Like sometimes I’d swear I had seen or done something just yesterday, or maybe even a long time ago, and I’m off base. At first, I chalked it up to no real markers of time, calendars and all that shit. But man, the seasons are messed up too. I’m pretty sure of it.”

This was another thing that Adam had not been cognizant of. How long had it been since he’d seen his parents, his teachers, his friends? What about his wife and child? Why do those two distinct time periods seem ‘mis-mashed’, like a knotted ball of yarn?

“What do you think it all means, Skull? You’ve clearly given this some thought.”

Again, the Red Sentry gave a quick scan of the area.

“My love, Billy, was a genius. Literally. Super smart could invent the coolest gadgets and fix basically everything. He’d have this all figured out like that,” he sighed, snapping his fingers, voice tinged with grief.

“He…died. A long time ago now. I’m no where near that intelligent so I’m not sure what he saw in me. But from everything I’ve observed over that last twenty so-called ‘years’ is that our world, our reality, our time is jacked the fuck up and it has something to do with ol’ Fuck Face and his nutty powers,” Skull continued.

“I mean besides what I’ve already pointed out, our lifestyle and ways of getting on in the world went ass-fucking-backward like it’s the early 1800’s or some shit. But then peppered in the mix like ground glass, we’ve got spaceships, teleporters, energy blasters… well, that fucking dick does. We’ve practically got covered wagons and horse drawn plows. And NO ONE bats a goddamn eye!”

Eugene was starting to get worked up, outraged that everyone had decided to be complacent and ‘forget’ how their world used to be. He struggled to lower his tone, lest his voice carry and Drakkon find out his observations.

Adam stared silently into the swollen, angry clouds. Nature, the planet, time… all were displeased. Or sick. Or as cuckoo as Lord Drakkon.

What could possibly go wrong with that?

“I think its partly from the Grid’s influence, not just poor Mother Earth losing her marbles,” Skull admitted.

He’d NEVER told another soul about the Grid besides Bulk. Definitely not anyone in this backstabbing clusterfuck of a hellhole. But he sensed he could trust this soft spoken, gentle looking man. Seeing Adam’s confusion, Skull delved into what he recalled the Blue Ranger telling him of this mysterious ‘Grid’ where the Rangers drew their powers, the colors and their possibly associated attributes, and the various creatures that attached themselves with each.

“I may not have the smarts that Billy did, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that a demonically evil Green Dragon mashed up with the light of goodness White Tiger is the most stable thing to ever exist. And they’re probably both pretty pissed about pressed up against each other. Perhaps they’re rebelling?”

The Red Sentry shrugged.

“That’s my two cents for what it’s worth.”

Adam sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“Sounds like it doesn’t bode well for any of us, Skull.  Not that I believe in happy endings anymore.”

They walked on quietly for a moment, headed towards the shelter of the barracks. A scattering of icy raindrops sprinkled upon their bare heads, winding a chilly path to their scalps before gliding down the backs of their necks.

The sky growled again with thunderous warning, a blinding arc of lightning crackling through the clouds.

“We’d better get a move on, newbie, or we’re going to be a couple drowned rats before we even reach the door,” Eugene called over a sudden gust of wind.

Skull’s words echoed in Adam’s mind, about nature and time and a primal clash within a ‘Grid’…

The weather right now seemed like an accurate barometer of what must be going on under the surface of things. It made him shiver more so than the chilly rain, an unseen, unpredictable, unstable presence…

Just as they reached the threshold of the Red Sentry’s dwelling, the clouds verily split and a torrent of water gushed from the sky. Adam was reminded of hysterical tears and open, bleeding wounds as he stared out the window while Skull nimbly flitted through his cupboards, pulling together a small meal of soup and crusty bread.

He whistled while he cooked, lifting an amused brow in self-deprecating humor.

“Not exactly like a five-star restaurant or the meal of champions, but we won’t have empty bellies to keep us up. At least we can mark that off the list of sleep-killers. I’ve got enough on mine already and I’m sure you’ve got your own.”

Skull noticed the tense set of the Black Sentry’s back as he continued to gaze out at the powerful deluge, the wind picking up dramatically, and accompanied by a clap of thunder so deep it rattled the delicate pane of glass.

“I don’t think I’ve managed a full night’s sleep since my wife and child…” he stopped his quiet confession, always unable to say aloud the words that hung suspended from the tip of his tongue.

“When I close my eyes, no matter how exhausted I am, I still see their faces, their terrified tears…hear their begging, my begging and crying that I’ll do whatever he says as long as…”

Skull paused in settling the chipped bowls on the makeshift table, his thoughts turning to Billy’s face just before he’d made the ultimate sacrifice to save Trini. While he’d understood the Blue Ranger’s actions and been proud of his bravery, in his heart he felt the raw anguish of loss. The time they’d had together, while beautiful and special, just wasn’t enough and it certainly was NOT FAIR!

“There’s no winning with that motherfucker,” he responded, his voice rough and throat burning painfully with holding back his own grief. “I can’t believe that no one and nothing has ever gotten one over on that smug, arrogant sack of elephant shit! I don’t see how it’s even a possibility!”

He walked to where his companion stood and stared out into the pouring rain. It was coming down so hard that even if it were earlier in the day, they would have been unable to see anything with clarity.

“I want to believe,” Adam whispered brokenly, “that one day that will change and he’ll get knocked on his pompous ass, be made to feel the terror, grief, and pain that we all feel, to lose EVERYTHING he…”

The Black Sentry laughed.

“I was going to say ‘everything he loves’, but he only loves himself…”

Skull remembered the power coins and how Billy had explained their abilities in tapping into the Grid and what they meant to the Ranger who possessed them, not just in terms of power, weapons, or any of that stuff… But what the coins meant to their heart…

“There’s something else he loves, I’m pretty certain. His coins. They are what give him his power, which he enjoys as well. Without those coins, Drakkon is nothing but a mortal man. A batshit crazy, psychopathic homicidal asshat… but you can kill those. And he knows that.”

Adam growled, a usual noise coming from such a meek, reserved, mild mannered individual.

“No powers mean he’s nothing special and I think that’s something else he’s aware of. He would just be a garden variety asshole and those are a dime a dozen in a world overrun with people who aspire to his fuckery. What a lovely punishment that would be! One of many of course.”

“Preach,” Skull muttered, his hand going back to the Sentry’s shoulder. “But considering we have a snowball’s chance in hell of ever getting close to those fucking coins, I say we get some food in us and get a little rest while we can. You never know what’s shits going to get unleashed and when around here.”

The muscles under his grip softened and Adam allowed Eugene to guide him to the table where their food waited. The broth was on the watery side, but it did contain a rather generous helping of vegetable scraps along with a smattering of shredded chicken.

“Don’t worry… I’ve got connections. That chicken’s fresh from this morning when they were prepping the dinner ingredients. My man on the inside passed this off to me while the others were finishing drills.”

Adam wasn’t sure he’d care if it wasn’t fresh. What’s the worst that could happen? Food poisoning?

Ehhh… if it killed him, it killed him. He’d be reunited with his beloved family and be free from this wretched urine-soaked hellhole. He had never been able to bring himself to take the actions needed to end his life, but the Black Sentry wasn’t cautious, becoming at times reckless, which ran contrary to his normal temperament. His fellow comrades in the regiment couldn’t claim to understand it, but Adam’s business was Adam’s business.

And around here, you were wise to mind your own…

As they ate, the rest of the light faded into oblivion, prompting Skull to light some lanterns, the rain pummeling the roof in concert with the cavernous thunder and streaks of lightning.

Consuming such a filling meal compared to what he usually ate at any given time, Adam felt the weight of his eyelids grow exponentially. He was bone tired, physically and mentally, though he was hesitant to close his eyes, knowing what he’d see on the other side. His head dipped slightly to his chest, first in fits and starts, then progressing down… down…

“Hey,” Skull’s voice murmured near his ear. “You’re about to take a header into my fine china.”

He pointed at the threadbare mattress on a rickety wooden frame and draped with a faded orange and blue checked blanket. It was one of his most cherished possessions.

“I don’t think this is letting up any time soon so why don’t you catch some winks while you wait. Not much else to do around here. No cards or books or games, board or console, to amuse us. My buddy and I used to be quite skilled at figuring out the newest video games without even knowing the instructions. And Billy…”

He smiled sadly.

“Billy would read to me from a book while I laid with my head in his lap,” he breathed. “I didn’t care what type of book it was. It might be a textbook, an autobiography, a novel, a comic… Just cuddling up against him, listening to his voice and feeling the warmth of his body.”

He gathered the dirty bowls as Adam pushed back from the table, grateful to have someone who was willing to share their own tale of sorry. Most around here would clam up tighter than a sausage casing and deny or deflect or repel with heated anger.

“I used to lay in bed with him and the feel of his skin against mine, his chest rising and falling… I always felt safe and loved. Like we were the only two people in the whole wide world…. Like we never had to get up and face the day. We didn’t get as much time together as I hoped we would, but we always made sure to live in the moment and make the days count,” he whispered, staring absently into the empty, mismatched vessels.

“I’m so glad we did.”

Working his boots off without bothering to undo the laces, the Black Sentry settled into Eugene’s offered bed. He pulled the soft material around himself to his chin.

“Billy sounds like was a great guy,” he sighed. “I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me about him. I’ve heard the others guessing about each other’s private lives, but no one seems to know anything when it comes to you.”

Skull chuckled.

“Billy was an AMAZING guy. You don’t know the half of it. That’s a big part of why I don’t bring him up. And it’s a piece of my life that I’ll always treasure so I don’t want to share him with most of these hateful creatures. They wouldn’t get it. They’re too much like Dictator Dickhead.”

Adam yawned, his eyes struggling to remain open, still fearful about the terrors and memories that awaited.

A visceral need came to him, one that he felt embarrassed to verbalize aloud. Yet, Skull had never once passed judgement. In point of fact, he’d taken the newest recruit under his wing where the others had been nothing but vile assholes, some attempting to ‘haze’ the rookie and some seeking ‘favors’ for their time and attention.

Not Eugene.

“This might sound silly. Or gross. But I don’t mean this like another Sentry might…” he started.

Skull waited patiently, already knowing this man was nothing like his regiment.

“Can I fall asleep on your shoulder?”

He twisted the hem of the blanket in anxious fingers, his cheeks flushing hotly, and he felt every inch a child terrified of storms.

“I mean… I miss feeling…”

“I get it,” Eugene whispered, already walking toward where Adam huddled shamefully. “You miss the feeling of falling asleep laying next to someone, that physical touch we are all starved for here. Most of us anyways.”

After kicking off his own footwear, the Red Sentry clambered onto the bed and situated himself under his beloved quilt. Reclining back, he grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Bring it on in here.”

The weight of Adam’s head as it slowly and carefully (and awkwardly) nestled into position unexpectedly wrought a contented sigh from Skull’s lips. He’d missed this too. The soft black hair brushed his cheek and jaw and the feel of another living breathing body curled alongside his body brought a soothing calmness he’d not felt in decades.

It was a basic, essential need, this craving for human contact, body to body in the vulnerability of sleep. It didn’t always link arm in arm with the desire for sex, though it often did at times. That was simply biology and hormones.

Having Adam in his bed, flush against him, was definitely not of that variety. He could see why the younger man would be concerned that he might think that though. The Sentry barracks were at one time rife with ‘grab ass’ games, favors for favors, blackmail and extortion, ass kissing… That didn’t include the destructive things they got up to outside the palace walls.

Essentially, they were like a roving band of yowling tomcats and the tyrant had grown extremely annoyed with their antics. There were enough rug rats running about underfoot as it was, and he was not risking anyone ‘catching feelings’ and wanting to create a family in his palace. Babies and children made one vulnerable as he’d obviously taken advantage of that fact.

Hell no he wasn’t about to be bothered with the incessant whining and wailing of snot nosed brats. He himself had taken care of his own procreation ability long ago and he wasn’t shy about sharing. His abusive old man had given him one piece of advice when he was but a surly teen.

Despite his assertion that ‘Tommy’ was a fairy princess beneath his denials and protestations, Mr. Oliver warned his adopted son about ‘semen demons’, shrewd harpies out to snare a man with the promise of soft, cuddly, powder scented brats… or as a means to use the courts to take the cash they were truly after.

“Those bitches will poke holes in condoms, Thomas,” he’d drunkenly slurred, feeling as if he were imparting the wisdom of the ages. “They’ll dig them out of the trash when you aren’t looking even! ‘Forget’ their pills. Get you baked or drunk and rub one out when you don’t know what way is up! Don’t trust none of ‘em! Look at what I got to deal with!”

He snorted, a slimy booger bubbling from one nostril and contracting and expanding with his respirations.

Tommy had stared at it in disgust, an expression that his ‘pa’ took to mean he understood and was in agreement.

“You get any type of cash, power, fame, and those cunts will swarm you like ants in a sugar hill! A man can’t be too careful. But you want to make sure you can still have your fun when you want it then gallop off into the sunset when the rodeo is over.”

Though Lord Drakkon had taken measures with his ‘castration’ protocol, it only helped to stim pregnancies, but not all the wild, distracting debauchery, much to his dismay. Many men were still able to desire and participate in sexual activity, not all the guards but enough of them to make things dangerous for an innocent new recruit.

Skull listened to the tyrant recount his own sterilization with curiosity as the guards assembled those first few weeks once the weaklings had been eliminated. They knew they weren’t going to like what was about to go down, but it was that or a painful death…

Later on, he found it ironic that the asshole even bothered with his nuts. During his first few years working his way up the Sentry ladder, Eugene, like everyone else watched as Drakkon trotted his precious ‘pet’ about the palace, though at the time, it wore a knock-off Ranger helmet in addition to a form-fitting black silk uniform and golden collar.

And that muscular build and narrow hips clearly belonged to a male.

Rumors swirled about Red’s other job besides guarding Drakkon, the very stories that got many scathing punishments. But it was hard to believe otherwise when the asshole’s hands lingered about the pet’s hips, thighs, and ass, his fingertips gliding along defined curves in a way that was obviously full of possessive lust.

Why Drakkon gave a goddamn about anyone wondering about their relationship was unknown.

Skull’s reminiscing was interrupted by Adam’s soft voice. He was surprised as he’d thought the weary man had fallen asleep already.

“Tell me more about your Billy, Eugene. Just what you’re comfortable sharing,” he whispered.

“Well,” the other man chuckled sadly. “Where should I start?”

[pbandjesse]

It's 2024! It is the first of the year. I have always been of the mind that how you spend the first day of the year sets the tone for the rest of the year. And I think I did a good job setting myself up for a good year.

Last night we all got ready with our shoes on. Poor James was falling asleep but they got up and shook it off. They waited in the hall and at midnight they came in and made me laugh and gave me a new years kiss. Then we kissed Sweetp on his little head.

We would hang out and talk and try to see some of the fireworks we could hear. I would be up until around 2 just texting with Celia and poking around on my phone. But I would fall asleep and slept pretty well.

I woke up at 830 without an alarm. James wasn't home yet. But that was okay. I would slowly get up and started to get ready for the day. I changed my mind about what I wanted to wear. And James texted me that they would be back soon. They were stopping for donuts. And as I was finishing my makeup James was coming in the door.

We had donuts and coffee and orange juice and talked about the day. This would be a calm one. We would put the Christmas decorations away. Go walk around Loch Raven reservoir. Just enjoy the day.

While James was getting cleaned up I got my temperature blanket started. I figured out that each row uses a little under 4.5 feet of yarn. This is excellent data and will make doing the two colors a day way easier to handle. I am also going to leave longer tails so they will more easily weave in, which was a problem last time. I am glad I can learn from the past mistakes.

These rows take a lot less time. So I was ready very quickly to jump into helping James take down the Christmas decor. They had brought down all the boxes from our storage closet and I decided I would sort those for each season. I got some totesbags so it'll be easier. When we move I want to get bins with lids but this works for now.

We have a lot of holiday decor but I think we did a good job packing it up in a reasonable way. And it was nice getting to see all of our stuff and talk to my husband. They packed up all of our ornaments in little boxes so it will all be safe.

The mantel still has lots of stuff on it but I think it looks sad and empty. It's not empty but it's not as nice. But it doesn't make sense to do to much decorating so we did not do more then just tidy it up.

I felt very lightheaded at this point so I laid on the couch. James put the boxes away with only a little help from me. But I felt so winded and uncomfortable that I needed some time.

But once I was doing okay we would each have a little lunch. I had an egg salad sandwich and James had nachos. And when we both felt good and ready, we bundled up to go for a drive.

It was very grey out today. A little drizzle but it was light enough that it didn't matter.

We got out to the reservoir and it was so pretty. I was sad that the water wasn't frozen but with how warm it's been I am not surprised. I really enjoyed holding hands with James and watching the water and seeing the birds. There was a family feeding all the geese and ducks and seagulls. A few just absolutely beautiful ducks were there that were larger then mallards and that was really neat to see.

We would go and find a spot to walk down closer to the water and sat on a log. I just wanted to watch the little waves. A goose with some kind of angel wings syndrome came very close to us and I loved seeing them, even though I felt bad for them and wished I had something to give them. Maybe next time we'll bring a bag of peas. I would enjoy that.

We wandered for a bit longer but I was still getting winded and was both cold and overheated. Love my big puffy coat but I get very hot very fast in there. But my ears were really cold and I wrapped my head with my scarf when we got back in the car.

We had a nice drive back. It started actually raining. I was happy to go home where it was warm.

The plan was for me and Jess to get on a video call to discuss our outfits for Disney. She was baking cookies and needed some time so I would get my laptop set up (which ended up failing and I had to usd my phone for our call), and started thinking about the outfits I have planned for each park.

Because I had a little bit of a plan Jess showed me her ideas first. And we were pretty close on a lot of what we are thinking. We don't want to match but we want the vibes to be the same. It was fun seeing what she was thinking and showing her my ideas. I am still unsure about my travel day outfits but that's okay. I have time to figure that out still.

She would get off the call to work on her cookies and think about her outfits. And I would photograph the outfits I had planned. The issue really is that we are going to Florida in the end of January and early February. Rain possible. What is the weather? Do I need many leggings? Will I be to hot or to cold??? No idea. So I have to bring a bunch of layers and stuff. The brainstorming continues. At least I know what I'm wearing for the parks.

Once I was done photographing everything I put it all back on hangers and did some work with my Disney pins. I hope we can do some pin trading because that seems super fun. Mom got us a whole bunch of pins. So I made up some lanyards. Left those in my suitcase so it would be safe.

James made us some food. We are both sick of eating out but we also don't have many microwavable foods so it's frustrating . Hopefully tomorrow we can get an answer about the stove. But in the mean time we are what we could.

I've been hanging out in bed watching videos and being cozy since then. I took pictures of my bear Edwin in his outfits. Hung those on hangers. Broke a hanger. But that was funnier because James made such a dramatic face when it happened.

Today was a good day. I am tired but I am happy. I am honestly really looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. I hope we have a lot to do and I can feel like I accomplished a whole bunch. For real. I just want to feel really busy, I think it will be good for me.

I hope you all had a beautiful day. And I hope tomorrow is better. Goodnight everyone. Until next time.