#but like. i got a puzzle book and some new yarn and some new hooks and some Old People candy and an orange oragami-shaped brontosaur orname

[ourceliumnetwork]

time to play everyone's favorite game: Anxiety Attack from PTSD or Dysautonomia Symptom!

[writing-royza]

Two Hundred and Thirty-eight - Mischief, 3.0

A/N: Happy Monday, everyone; sorry I’m late. Internet trouble yesterday and now an entire chapter of Snap Shots got deleted from the file, so I have to rewrite it... It’s a banner week lol. But I can push through this, no problem. Please enjoy. :)

I do not own FMA.

Two Hundred and Thirty-eight - Mischief, 3.0

Riza stood in front of the bulletin board, idly reading as she waited. Not much was especially interesting amid the general notices of office changes, upcoming events for the months, duty rosters, except for the flyer announcing General Grumman's annual Spirits' Night party.

"Please tell me you're dressing up this year," Roy's voice murmured in her ear. "And that it's at least half again as tempting as that fortuneteller outfit from last time?"

Smothering a smile, she didn't turn. "Hard to say," she answered cryptically. "My visions have said nothing so far, sir."

He snorted quietly, moving off along the hall. "Come on. We've got work to do." He waited until she caught up and fell into step behind him before speaking again. "Grumman mentioned that the rumour mill has been pretty active the last few days. Heard anything interesting?"

"Only that Havoc's ideas for Spirits' Night costumes range from the strange to the ridiculous to the downright questionable." She frowned, thinking back. "And I think I remember hearing that Breda caught on to a plan by some enlisted men to go ghost-hunting at the local cemetery. He made sure they know better than to try."

"Good. I'd bet it was just some slightly drunken barracks talk, but better safe than sorry." He shook his head. "Not that they'd find anything to hunt, but I'd rather not see their arresting paperwork come across my desk."

"I would think if they went on Spirits' Night, it would be like open season for ghosts." Her face was serious, but her tone belied the joke.

"Hard to hunt something that doesn't exist," Roy shot back good-naturedly. "Science doesn't lie, Lieutenant. If human transmutation isn't possible, then neither is the concept of ghosts."

He closed the door behind himself, still smiling faintly, his head still slowly spinning from alcohol and the fervent kiss goodbye Riza had given him when she dropped him off. Shrugging out of his coat, he hung it from the the hook on the back of the door, wishing she could have followed him in… but she had needed to go home. Home to Hayate, home to take off that costume herself instead of letting him do it….

Roy shook his head at that, smiling to himself as he flicked on the lights and moved deeper into the tiny apartment. Trust Riza to dress up as something —rather, someone — that was guaranteed to simultaneously annoy him and make him laugh. He'd always said she and Edward could pass for siblings; he hadn't expected her to try and pass for the boy himself. Even now, the memory replayed in his mind.

She had pulled him aside at the party, a few blonde strands already escaping the braid down her back, smiling at the way he had stared for a good five seconds before starting to laugh. "It's pretty good now," she'd said, "but I need one last touch put on that I'm hoping you can help with."

"Since when does Fullmetal ask for my help?" he'd teased. "What is it?"

Shrugging out of the red jacket, she had set it front-down on a nearby table, smoothing the back out. "I wasn't able to get the flamel on in time." She tapped his hand with one finger. "I was hoping you could take care of it. Just change the colour in the right pattern?"

"Sure…." His eyes had glinted with private mischief. "But it's going to cost you…."

Dropping onto his back on the couch, not bothering to change his clothes just yet, Roy smiled again, eyes closing. Tomorrow, when they were alone, maybe she would —

A faint crackle, just at the edge of his hearing, brought his eyes snapping open and his train of through jerking to a stop. He held still, gaze on the ceiling as he listened intently… and there it was again. Just faintly, like radio static in a distant room; one of his neighbours, maybe? Probably.

Eyes falling shut again, he took a deep breath to dispel the adrenaline that had built up. Heightened sensations brought on by his own daydreams were nothing new. He just had to calm himself and —

"Can you hear me?" the voice whispered.

He was sitting bolt upright in a matter of seconds, eyes searching the dim room for the voice, and finding nothing. Getting stealthily to his feet, he eased toward the desk, in the direction it had come from. The thought nagged at him this was probably just an overheard telephone conversation from a neighbouring apartment, but —

A quiet giggle split the silence. "You're not going to find me over there." He froze in place instantly, before it spoke again. "Do you want to play a game? If it'll help you find me?"

Roy didn't answer, not past the chill running up his spine or the dread building in his chest as he kept slowly scanning the room. There was another giggle, sounding uncomfortably like Elicia, before the voice said "I'll give you a hint. You're cold right now, but if you start walking, you might get warmer."

His eyes still moved warily from place to place in the apartment, watching. "Say I play along," he said aloud. "Will you at least tell me who you are?"

The voice turned silky sweet."You can stop looking for me when I don't want to be seen, Mr. Mustang. Don't you know you can't see ghosts unless they want you to?"

In an instant, he was thinking of anyone who might be willing to play such a bizarre prank. A Homonculus they'd missed... or Selim regaining the memory of who he had been... Edward trying to make him flinch... Somehow, the last one seemed the most plausible. He had seen the boy only an hour ago at the party; like as not, this was some kind of payback for all the teasing he'd given him as a subordinate.

He relaxed. No such thing as ghosts. Think of the science. "All right." He took a pair of steps back toward the couch. "Am I warmer now?"

"Warmer." He took another step. "Waaaaaarmer..."

He made it all the way to the radiator on the opposite wall before the voice giggled again. "Ooooooh, you're red-hot!"

Puzzled, he looked around but saw nothing. "...You're supposed to be the ghost of the heating system?" Another laugh was the only answer. Still, it wouldn't have led him here if there wasn't something he was supposed to find... Dropping to one knee, he looked underneath the radiator... and reached past the pipes to withdraw a small, handmade doll.

"Pretty, isn't she?" the voice asked, gleefully.

Turning it over in his hands, Roy felt his stomach drop. Yellow yarn for hair, pinned up in the back, blue clothes, black boots... brown eyes. "...Is this supposed to be Hawkeye?"

"Very good!"

It took three steps to get him to the telephone to call her, to make sure she was all right, but when he lifted the receiver to his ear, he was met with silence. Heart beginning to thud, muscles re-tensing, he slowly placed it back in the cradle. "All right, you have my attention," he said, careful to keep his voice under control. "Now what?"

There was one last, fading laugh... and then a final crackle of static. Roy waited, listening... and started violently at a crash behind him. Whirling on the spot, he stopped just in time to see a stack of books and papers still settling from their fall to the floor from his desk.

And as he stood there, trying to figure out how they had managed to fall, the apartment went dark around him.

A chill ran down his spine despite himself, one hand instinctively going for the gloves in his pocket. Perhaps they weren't entirely useful against a spirit, but to have them on was a comfort. Turning slowly on the spot, he waited for the next occurrence...

A noise from behind made him turn, to find moonlight and cold autumn wind coming through a window that hadn't been open when he turned his back. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he took a cautious, silent step toward it... and froze, looking to his right as a tap sounded from the other, still shut window.

A ping! sent him looking toward the tiny kitchen area. Physical noise; that was something he could deal with. Edging in that direction, fingers held ready to snap, he kept his eyes moving for the source of the noise.

Another ping! and, as he stopped to search out the source, something lightweight hit the back of his head. Spinning on the spot, still seeing nothing, he growled low in his chest out of annoyance. Someone or something was toying with him, and even Edward wouldn't work this fast. But who?

Silence held for a full three minutes, in which he stood stock-still. Listening. And suddenly, it was shattered. Roy snatched up the ringing phone, one hand still ready to snap at a second's notice. "What?" he bit out, not caring whom he might be speaking to.

"...I - I was just calling to -" Riza's voice faltered, and she started over. "Sir, are you all right?"

He could have melted through the floor in relief. "Oh. Lieutenant, it's you. I'm sorry, I thought -" He stopped himself; unwilling to try and explain what had been happening. "I thought you were someone else. What can I -" He broke off again as laughter - not belonging to Riza - came over the line. At least three or four different voices.

And then, as the lights came back on, he got it.

Leaning back against the rear of the couch, he shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling I've just been had?"

Riza's voice was slightly wavered as she struggled to contain her own humour. "Probably because you have been, sir. Look out your south window."

Carrying the telephone with him, he did as instructed, and immediately spotted the small group standing around the payphone on the street corner below. "I thought perhaps it was too much for one person to manage on their own," he said, unable to keep from smiling. "But I suspected that at least Fullmetal would be involved."

"He was, to an extent," Riza explained. "Most of these suggestions were his. We were just the ones who carried them out."

"I see. And who did what, exactly?"

"I was the voice on the radio that Fuery hid inside your apartment. I was also the one firing paper pellets at your pots and pans from the open window." There was no mistaking the subtle pride in her voice at what the little group had accomplished. "Fuery ran communications, and temporarily cut the power and phone connection. Breda ran fishing line through the same window to topple the books, and Falman got Major Armstrong to alchemically make that little doll and took care of placing it before he arrived at the party tonight."

He lifted an eyebrow, knowing her keen eyes would see it even from the street. "And Havoc?"

"Check the rooftop directly across the street." He looked up, finding the blond man grinning from behind a chimney. "He kept us apprised of your movements, so we could organize better."

"I see. Well, it was very well planned out; I would commend all of you... if I weren't so pissed off." He grinned. "Do you have any idea of how bad this is going to come back to haunt you?"

"With all due respect, sir?" The challenge in her smile was visible even at this distance, brown eyes burning with that mischievous fire he loved so well. "Bring it on."

[cimness]

Hark, a list of lists meme

5 things you’ll find in my bag

hand moisturizer

teabags

crochet hook (one time at a workshop a girl saw me using this to fix my knitting and offered to buy it off me at a markup bc she was so bored and wanted to crochet, so I totally made a couple euros there)

darning needle

earplugs (the idea was for movies but one time we went to lunch at Mylly and were forced to eat right next to a stage where they were having an amateur rap contest and I was really glad I brought them)

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom

a giant stuffed moose which makes the perfect reading pillow

antique sewing box on legs (this kind)

antique painted seaman's chest full of yarn

a bamboo plant that's almost as tall as I am and refuses to stand up straight

pictures of sheep and a pony 

5 things I’m currently into

mid-20th century costume jewelry

history of Western women's fashion, particularly Edwardian and earlier

escaramuzas, female precision team riders who compete in charrería, Mexican rodeo

origins and history of the pop culture and Hollywood imagery of the 'Age of Chivalry'

Hungarian and Czech embroidery

5 things on my to-do list

call the maintenance department 

knit a sweater for Wax's pal Sofia

mount a giant puzzle on foam-core board with puzzle glue

find a way to store an entire closet's worth of stuff that doesn't fit in our closets

invite some friends over to meet the bunnies

5 things people may not know about me

My alarming Russian jew great-grandfather had to flee the 1st Russian Revolution because his father was a wealthy Tsarist, and fled to China where he ended up in Chinese prison - wholly deservedly I have no doubt - where he made friends with the criminal underworld which he used to enter Canada and make a new fortune smuggling opium from China into it. (My great-grandmother came to her senses and divorced him when my grandfather was a toddler, fortunately.)

I'm allergic to metal from an infected ear piercing attempt when I was 6 and for most of my childhood couldn't wear any metal but solid gold without breaking out in a rash (I still got a rash from sterling silver and through gold plate up until high school, and metal pendants even gave me rashes through my shirts).

I love reptiles. My first pet was a box turtle and I collected turtle stuff as a child.

In the 1992 election I organized and led half of my 4th-grade class in marching and chanting for Bill Clinton in the yard after school. (”Bush is gonna be creamed” is a memorable slogan.)

Someone gave me Edith Hamilton's mythology when I was a kid and it was my favorite book for a few years, briefly leading to me deciding to worship Athena and making a shrine in my bedroom out of a footstool and a piece of periwinkle fabric.

I don’t like tagging people because it makes me socially anxious, but consider yourself tagged if you want!

[tmdrechny]

What Crochets around comes around...

It has been a long time since I have worked on a crocheting project. Now that my broken thumb has pretty much healed and the holiday bustle is over, I am considering tackling a new project. I am trying to decide between a baby sweater with gorilla length arms or a cozy blanket that tapers at one end. Or perhaps a pair of mittens with no thumbs. The options are endless and I have all the supplies I need, skeins of yarn, hot beverage and my beloved crochet hooks from my grandma.

My grandmother was the one who taught me to crochet. It started with one medium sized crochet hook and one very tightly crocheted chain. From that chain came the most lopsided, irregular afghan ever made, and a life-long love of creating with a hook and some yarn. Using the hooks always brings back warm memories of my grandmother, as well as the unusual story behind the hooks.

               You see, I didn't inherit my grandmother's hooks.

              They were given to me...by one of my best friends.   Yes, you heard me right, from one of my best friends. And no, we are not related.    You see, my grandmother's hooks had long ago been passed to an aunt, who passed them on to a friend. I never gave them much thought when my grandmother died, after all I hadn't created anything in years. Maybe even eons. What did I need crochet hooks for?                Until the creative bug bit me one fateful Friday night.   It was on Friday nights when I always met up with my best friend to hang. Sometimes we watched our favorite TV shows together, or visited neighborhood shops near my apartment. Other times we enjoyed the view off her balcony swapping stories and having wine coolers. This particular Friday we had decided to craft together. I brought over a book of patterns and some yarn I had picked up at the store. As she was opening some wine coolers, I was leafing through the pages of my new book looking for something nifty and different to create. I was limited, however, by my selection of hooks to choose from. I owned two hooks of dubious quality and had not thought to purchase new ones.   As I was bemoaning my meager selection of tools, she jumps up and says "Hang on" then leaves the room. Puzzled, I waited. She didn't crochet. I wondered if maybe she had taken up metal-work and cast a whole bunch of hooks....   But no, she came trotting back in the room with a bulging old brown vinyl zipper pouch. "For you." she said presenting her trophy proudly. "I knew these were waiting for a good home."

It was a very familiar bulging brown vinyl zipper pouch. It looked like a case my grandmother had used. I unzipped the proffered pouch and what I discovered inside floored me. It WAS my grandmother's old case. Inside were her hooks as well as her sewing scissors and even a familiar wooden spool of reddish brown thread.                       "Where the heck did you get this?" I asked.   The answer was she got them from her aunt, who had recently passed away. She inherited them.   Turns out her deceased aunt used to live across the street from my aunt. The same aunt who my grandmother had given the crochet needles to a long time ago and who had, in turn, passed them on.   Forget six degrees of separation; change that to just the width of a crochet hook!   I don't recall doing much crafting that night, but I do remember swapping childhood stories. Although my friend and I had not met until college, turns out we both played in the same backyard, swam in the same pool and hung out with the same neighborhood kids - some of whom were related to us!   Over the years, I have learned some pretty elaborate stitches thanks to the really cool book mentioned before, and enjoyed hours of creating with yarn using the beloved hooks that never fail to bring me warm memories. My love for crocheting has given me a chance to work on some really wonderful projects...

                                              Snowflake?    

Some more successful than others.