#thinking about when i was very little and my grandma taught me to knit.. if only i'd have kept it up i cld be so good rn. instead i am

[mumintroll]

knitting is very hard especially with my hand strain problems i cant do it for very long at 1 time.... ive done like 5 rows of a coaster since i started last night :O

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

hey dude, love the writing! your characterizations are so on point for em :0 what do you reckon the merc's hobbies are in their downtime? like knitting, golfing, stuff like that.

TF2 Mercs and Their Hobbies!

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I'm glad people think I'm good because that justifies the fact that this is what I do with my spare time 😭 (kidding) Also again mandatory mutual appreciation, love ya for that 🫶🏻 and ty for loving my writing, I really appreciate it <3

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This one's definitely got me smiling and kicking my legs bc something about the idea of these guys being happy and doing normal human things makes me happy.

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Demo knits! He also sews and crochets. This man is just a little grandma (affectionate). His mom taught him, and he just always liked it. It's calming, has definitely given the other Mercs blankets, and just claimed, "Oh well, I found it somewhere." Like it isn't in their well-known favorite color or subtly customized to them. I think he'd also be into most art. Painting and wood carving are two I think he'd fine interesting.

Engie- This man loves Legos. He has at least ten finished sets and about six unfinished ones lying around. He buys the adult sets for himself but has bought Pyro smaller sets so they can build together. Also isn't opposed to going fishing.

Heavy- Did you know he likes rock climbing? Turns out it's a lot easier to get into that hobby if you're strong. He's also a fan of hiking and swimming. Also very good at chess, he and Madic play a lot.

Medic- He loves music! He's good at it too, (I've seen others hc that he plays violin and please I love that, I love violin.) Along with the violin he kills on piano. It's actually really nice to hear piano coming from the lab and not screaming. Who knew? THIS. MAN. LOVES. TO. DANCE. He knows how to and loves to teach people. He specifically likes ballroom dancing, he can waltz, he can swing, if you can think of a dance he probably learned how to do it at some point.

Scout- Sports are probably the most obvious hobby I could pick for Scout, with video games coming in second. But I am a man who deviates from the obvious. He likes to bake and cook! Like I've seen people say this man can't boil water, and that's an insane take to me. Sure, it's funny, but this man loves his mom. Do you think he didn't bake and cook with her to help her out? He has a box of recipes that have been in the family for years. This man is killer when it comes to food, and I will die on this hill. (When he's baking, though, Pyro comes out of nowhere to "help." If any fellow bakers know how annoying it is to have a partner in the kitchen, you'll know how patient Scout has become, but he aurally doesn't mind Pyro baking with him after a while.) Don't ask him to do paintball with you! He loves it a bit too much.

Sniper- My man loves plants. He loves to garden. He has a little windowsill planter in his van. He grows little fruit plants sometimes and has a few cacti scattered around. He also has a bonsai tree, which he is meticulous with. You'd think this man would take up these hobbies to relax, but no. He is also insanely good at poker.

Spy- Really in to calligraphy, origami, and wine tasting. (Also, not really a hobby, but I hc that he can bartend if need be). He's just really into the "fancier." Hobbies that can also show off his art skills, also he likes wine so yk.

Soldier- Like Sniper, he's a really good poker player. He's definitely more into it than the other guys. He hates losing. He also does the traditional suburban while dad hobbies. He watches football and likes to grill. He's just a silly little American man.

Pyro- For the most part, they don't have a singular hobby they really do by themself. Scout and Engie just tend to include them in theirs, so they've never really had to figure out what to do in their downtime. But that doesn't mean they didn't find one eventually. They get into collecting! Specifically, bugs! They have at least two orchid praying mantis and one normal green one in a shadow box. Plus, they have a small collection on honeybees and even some scorpions and spiders (I know they aren't bugs, but I feel like most bug collectors have them too.) Engie went into Pyros room once because Pyro wanted to show off their collection and nearly fainted when Pyro showed off their favorite spider, it was a camel spider. (Look them up if you want but good God, they're so gross 😭)

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One of my favorites to write, super cute and wholesome idea. I smiled the whole time writing this.

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[petitteperle]

Hey girl!!! Can you tell me more about your oc? I think shes one of my favorite BES ocs but you don't post about her often :( I'd especially like to know about Acharas modern teenage version (like the one you did about Mizu)

OMG HIII😝😝😝😝 So, I don't think so much about modern teenage Achara😞, but I can try a little harder to answer😆 (I'm also glad you liked her!!)

Modern teenage Achara <3

Her parents are divorced, she lives with her father and grandmother, and she met Mizu a few days after moving to a nearby neighborhood. Her father took the motorcycle to the concert, at Eiji's mechanic and Achara accompanied her father, a few days later she went to school and discovered she was Mizu's classmate.

Eiji was talking something to the man, Mizu even tried to pay attention, she understood that he was a new police officer in the city and that he lived nearby. He wanted Eiji to fix his bike. Mizu tried to concentrate on the conversation, but her gaze shifted to a girl next to the man. She must have been her age and about her height, being just a little taller, she was smiling. Mizu's stomach turned and turned. It was strange to have someone of the same age group so close to her. Eiji and the man entered, when Mizu was going to enter the mechanics, her adoptive father spoke to her — Mizu, stay with Achara while Hoshikki and I talk. -her voice rumbled. She nodded as she tried to remember when that girl and her father had introduced themselves, she missed that part. When Mizu got closer to Achara, the strangeness increased. — Mizu, right? - She smiles like a mischievous rabbit. — Yes...Achara right? - Mizu speaks in a low voice, she wasn't used to socializing with other people. Especially when she was someone her age. The girl smiled and nodded positively. - Can we be friends. I live nearby, how old are you? Why do you live here? What is Mr. Eiji yours?- That burst of questions left Mizu stunned.

Achara was considered a very pretty girl at school, but as she hung out with Mizu a lot, boys didn't come near her to flirt, as many thought Mizu was a boy and they were dating.

She loves music, having extensive knowledge of musicals and pop divas.

Even without singing well, Achara had this habit of putting on music and getting on the coffee table or sofa while dancing and singing, using the remote control or the broom as a microphone. Her grandmother is not very pleased with this behavior, saying in a soft voice that she does not behave like a lady

She had average grades, being practically impeccable in grammar and foreign languages ​​and terrible in mathematics and physics. At least she was good at chemistry too.

Achara has her own style, she is not the type of person whose wardrobe fits into just one style. She wears what she likes, even pink or pastel tones always remaining in some way. She really likes miniskirts and customizing clothes, so she learned (at great expense) how to embroider, sew and knit, as it was very difficult to find a piece of clothing that fits her crazy outfits, so she makes them. Her presence in the city's thrift stores is extremely normal.

Her grandmother taught her how to cook, but she only really used this skill when trying to befriend Mizu, trying to win her over with sweets (LMAO😆)

She ties up the bangs of her long black hair with large, colorful barrettes.

Her school bag makes noise when she walks with it. With several keychains and buttons on it

Achara learned how to apply makeup at an early age, finding tutorials on YouTube. She follows many influencers in this field, including some drag queens, which is where she became familiar with the slang of this community.

Achara's hair has slight waves and is very long, she also likes to cut the ends of it when she's bored and she happens to have scissors nearby, leaving her hair chopped up (although not too much, since if her grandma notices she'll get angry). Her hair is also full and voluminous, so it's not as well-behaved as Mizu's.

Finally, Achara has two cats, Sabrina (homage to Sabrina Carpenter) and Gaga (homage to Lady Gaga)

Thanks for reading! and sorry for any spelling mistakes, as I said before, this is not my native language🫶🏻

Sabrinas song that I think Achara would love:

[see--sea]

Allooooo, this is part 2 of Souls Of Redemption. If you haven’t seen part 1, you can read it here.

Also, HUGE thanks to @dem0nguy for editing and giving me some pointers.

Anyways, with out a further a due, I hope you enjoy :3

It was about Noon the next day. Penny, not truly remembering much from the previous day, woke to the sun blinding her. She stumbled out of bed as though she had a hangover. Before slowly walking downstairs in the world's baggiest PJs.

She comes face to face with her mom, “Oh honey, you're awake. How are you feeling?” “Like I’ve just had a thousand bottles of liquor, how about you?” Penny murmurs under her breath. “Oh jeez louise, let me make you some tea to help ya.” She reaches for a mug that says “World's best Grandma.”

It was one of Penny's favorite mugs. Her dad jokingly got it for her when she turned the grand age of ten years old. Her dad hadn’t expected her to love it so much, but it meant a lot to her. Her dad meant a lot to her.

Penny’s dad, John, had been a sweet man since he was a little kid. He was raised Christian, and taught all of the good values of Christianity. Penny’s great grandmother, her father’s grandmother, was John’s caretaker. His mom had unfortunately died during childbirth and his dad in the line of duty only a few months after he was born. All he really had was his grandma and the church, that’s how his life had always been.

When he turned 18, he became a permanent volunteer at the church and started actively working there when he turned 22. It was at the church where he met who is now the love of his life, Courtney, Penny’s mother.

John, known to be a very charismatic young man, approached Courtney and asked her to go out with him. Courtney was flustered, no one had ever talked to her like that before. But not skipping a beat, she said yes. The next day they went out, and as most movies would tell you: they started dating, got married, had a kid, etc. etc.

When Penny was born, John was thrilled. He was always perceived to be a family man, and now he finally was. He spent every free second bonding with Penny, and they grew an unbreakable father-daughter bond.

“Would you like to go to church today sweetie?” Penny’s mother asks, putting the mug of tea down in front of her. She snaps out of her trance-like state, “Uh, what? Yeah, no I’m good.” It was, odd for her to say. She almost never missed a day of church in her life. The only time she did was when her Great grandma passed away and they held a funeral on Sunday.

“Why not?” Her mom raises an eyebrow, she too, picking up on the oddity of the situation. “I don’t know, I just don’t want to.” Penny turns away from her mom, “Get off my back why don’t ya.” She mutters under her breath.

“EXCUSE ME YOUNG LADY?” Her mom screams, “I DON'T CARE HOW YOU FEEL, THAT IS NO WAY TO TALK TO YOUR MOTHER!” Penny was shaken. Her mom had never raised her voice before, let alone screamed like that.

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t care.” Penny states as she gets up from the table to go back to her room. Hoping she could get back to sleep. “I DON'T THINK SO YOUNG LADY, YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK DOWN HERE AND GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!”

Penny froze. Her mom was still screaming, which was startling enough, but now she’s swearing? It’s rare for Penny to hear anyone swear in her tight-knit community. But to hear it from her mother of all people… it was startling.

“Ugh, fine” Penny says, lightly tossing her phone onto the kitchen counter. “Oh you’ve done it now.” Her mom glowers. “Go to your room and get dressed, you're going to the confession booth.”

Confession booth? Penny thought to herself. She never, ever had to go to the booth. Despite the pressing idea, she still didn’t care about going. She dressed in her laziest and most comfortable church clothes, before heading back down the stairs and into the car where her mom was waiting for her.

In the short car ride to the church, what happened earlier finally clicked in Penny's head. Jesus, did mom actually yell at me? Did she actually swear? She looks up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of her mom’s face. Ok, yup she’s totally pissed. The car ride was silent the rest of the way there, it was almost haunting.

When the two ladies arrived, Penny's mom practically dragged her to the confession booth. “Now go and there, and fix what you started” Her mom passively aggressively states. Penny, not knowing what else to do or even say, simply listens to what her mother said.

“What’s on your mind?” A rugged voice spoke from the opposing wall she entered from. “Uh, honestly, sir, I don’t know why I’m here. My mom just told me to come here, so honestly if it’s cool with you, I’m just gonna sit here for a bit till I’ve, I guess confessed my sins. If that’s cool with you?” Penny stumbled through her words.

The voice hums, “You’re the girl from yesterday, aren’t you?” Wait, how would he know this? She hasn’t even said anything about herself—OH WAIT, that wasn't a a fucking dream… “Umm, yes sir. How—how do you know that?” A piece of paper slips through a crack at the bottom of the wall that blocks off Penny from the man.

“You are now a demon now, and you are in debt for your life. You need to collect at least a hundred human souls by the summer soulstice, or else we won’t take mercy on yours.” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? Penny, the sweet Christian girl is now a DEMON? And she had to do WHAT NOW?

“The name of every soul you collect will appear in the notebook we gave you. And if I were you, I wouldn’t lose it.” HOW DID HE KNOW ABOUT THE NOTEBOOK? Penny had completely forgotten about it until now.

“Uh, sir, respectfully, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! I’m a WHAT? I need to collect souls? Not to even mention how crazy that is, but if I were to do it, HOW would I do it?!?!” Penny quietly shouts, resisting yelling any louder for fear of her mom hearing.

“You will know enough in due time. If you don’t believe me, young one, look at the back of your hand.” The door on the man’s side swings open, leaving Penny in her own shock.

She, inevitably, looks at her hand. She hadn’t even noticed it, but what looks to be a—A PENTAGRAM ON THE BACK OF HER HAND!? She, in turn, panics. What if mom sees it? What if my friends see it? She freezes. What if dad sees it.

Penny, scatterbrained as all hell, shoves her hand in her pocket and walks out to face her mom. She had a smug look on her face, her arms crossed as she stared down her daughter. “Are you happy with yourself?” Her mother smirks.

“Uh, yes ma’am. Can we—can we go home now?” Penny said, still in complete shock. “Sure honey, of course we can!” Her mom’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. She practically skipped out of the church and into the car.

Penny, reluctantly follows suit. Before long the pair are back home. It’d already been a long day for her. She walks back to her room and collapses onto the bed. She casts a glance at the clock, only to realize that a mere hour had passed since she woke up. Great God she thinks to herself, only to pass out the next second.

[seyoonlgc]

"Eh?!" Perhaps he exclaimed a little too loudly, but Seyoon was surprised. Why would anyone want to know his thoughts on relationships? What did the company know? Perhaps someone saw him somewhere? Mentioned something they shouldn't?

Or perhaps this was simply innocent curiosity from a coach who had always been friendly. "No, no, I am totally cool with answering some questions." Seyoon smiled cheerfully, putting a lid over his paranoia for now. "I got time, let go for it!" He sat cross-legged, stretching his arms over his head, carefully feigning ease for the show he was about to put on.

how do you choose who you spend time with?

"I am pretty easygoing," he replied. "If someone wants my time, I would give it to them."

Well, he'd hang out with them once to test if they get along. After that, whether or not he'd see them again depended on how much fun he had during their first meeting, how good-looking they were, and who else they were competing with that day/night.

How could he possibly have enough time? What about his social battery?

Oh, don't worry, Seyoon had enough time to spare - he wasn't nicknamed the Stamina King of the North for nothing. He was perfectly fine running on three hours of sleep and could comfortably party until 3 every night for whole weeks straight. When he first came to Korea and felt lost after...finding out the truth about his birth, he spent some months doing nothing but partying. Man, that was a time. As for social battery...guess his just drained very slowly.

if you were in desperate need, who would you turn to?

Nobody.

God?

Ha, guess nobody's correct then.

That would not be a great answer for dear coach, though, would it?

"My family, I guess!" Lie. He would rather die than burden his loved ones. "My friends too, they are all pretty good to me." Lie. They were good to him, but trust was hard to give. Of course, Seyoon had some people he'd lean on more than the others. He trusted a few in his circle to take care of his physical needs, like hunger, exhaustion, or whatever.

Seyoon supposed the truth for anything beyond that would be nobody and he'd either have to get himself out of the pickle or whoever happened to find him in a state of desperation could decide whether or not to lend a hand.

what's your idea of romance?

Oh hell if he should know.

Seyoon squirmed uncomfortably as his brain struggled to piece together a Legacily correct answer. "Um...romance is like, when there's...I guess, love?" He felt like an elementary school kid caught unable to spell the word bee. "Uhhh and love is...um....when somebody is...devoted to me? Thinks of me, takes care of me, and would...die for me?"

He realized he said 'me' quite a few times in that sentence.

"And I mean, I would do the same for them!" Lie.

The truth was, if someone would ever unfortunately fall in love with Seyoon, they'd have to give him everything. And in exchange, he might be able to give that person something. It won't be a lot, but it would be more than what he gave everyone else...and it would be more than what he thought he was ever capable of giving.

who is the most important person in your life?

"My grandmother." It was an honest answer. Normal people would answer their parents, wouldn't they? Or their siblings? While it was true that Seyoon loved his mother and father, stepmom and baby brothers, grandma was on a different tier. She made him toast and knitted him sweaters. Taught him how to grow vegetables and make homemade jams. She read him fairy tales and listened to his boring school stories. They watched nature videos together and she was the one who said go for it when he lacked the courage to ask a girl to the middle school dance. Every day was a good day with his grandmother! She had never disappointed him, never hurt him like everybody else that mattered, and was the most important person ever!

have you ever lost anyone important to you?

"Lost...someone?" Seyoon's smile became stiff. Once fucking again he was reminded of a kid who had died too young. Except this time, instead of a splatter of blood or a pale-faced ghost, he saw a piece of memory featuring two idiots splashing around in a pool. They were laughing, yelling, and having a jolly good time. The kid who died said I wish we could stay like this forever and he, while trying to crack open a can of soda, mumbled uh-huh, yeah.

"Have I..." His chest tightened, but he pretended to not feel it.

Why wouldn't we stay together? You are my best fri-

"Lost..."

On his seventeenth birthday, the wind was howling extra loud. Seyoon cranked up the music to drown out its cries. It was supposed to be such a wonderful night.

"No," Seyoon said in the end. "I haven't lost anybody. Nobody of importance, anyway." Truth? Lie? He pretended he couldn't tell.

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

Thank you so much for the ask, 🩶 Anon!! It's always so wonderful to hear from you!

We'd be thrilled to answer all of these questions for you, but to keep the posts from being too long we've decided to divide them between canon characters and OCs into two separate posts (the other is linked here). The canon character answers are below, and in keeping with the interview part of the game, we tried our best to answer in the respective character's POV (and included some game sprites just for added fun!).

We hope you'll like what we come up with! Take care! 💙

HERO Answers:

3. What is your favorite childhood memory?

I have so many wonderful childhood memories that it's hard to choose just one, especially if I had to choose between memories of my family or my friends. They're both very important to me.

In terms of childhood memories of my family, I loved learning how to cook from my grandma, Mamá Alma, and cooking big family dinners with her. My parents taught me a lot too. Kel and I used to build bird feeders with our dad, and our mom tried to teach us how to knit once but Kel ended up tangled in all the yarn (which he insisted was way more fun than knitting anyway).

Kel and I had a lot of fun together when we were young! We'd stay up late building blanket forts or telling stories, and we loved playing adventure games especially pretending we were pirates looking for buried treasure in our backyard. Sometimes our friends would play too.

I have a lot of fond memories of them as well. I loved spending time at the park or visiting the beach, watching cartoons on Saturday mornings, playing cards or board games, and especially having picnics together. I think some of my fondest memories are of when we would all cook or bake things together to pack in our picnic baskets. Mari and I always tried to make everyone's favorite foods, so we'd spend a lot of time preparing, and honestly, I think I sometimes enjoyed that more than the actual picnics themselves.

Looking back on it all now, it's hard to choose just one favorite moment. It's all those little things that are most meaningful to me: helping Basil plant seeds in his flower garden or building blanket forts with Kel or how we'd all stay up all night playing video games, reading comics, or watching funny movies. The way Aubrey laughed when her face was covered with watermelon seeds or the way Sunny was always way more excited about the box and wrapping paper than any present you ever got him. How Mari's face would always light up when she pulled her cookies out of the oven or how she smiled whenever she played piano for us and we'd all stand around singing along.

So I think it’s not just one favorite moment. It's so many, and they're all precious to me.

16. Describe your perfect day.

I don't think I need anything too big or exciting for the perfect day. If I got to do anything I wanted, I guess I'd cook a big meal for all my friends and family and invite them over for dinner. Everyone's so busy these days, it would be great to have a quiet evening where we could all get together and catch up, eat good food, and spend time together.

KEL Answers:

18. What's the best way to cheer you up?

With my favorite stuff probably! If someone brought me an Orange Joe, I'm sure I'd be happy again!

(Hero: Kel...I think they're hoping for something a little more specific...)

Oh, uh...okay! Mmmmm... When I'm having a bad day, I like to distract myself and try to take my mind off it by doing something else I like. I'll play basketball or ride my bike, listen to my boombox, or play video games, or yeah, have an Orange Joe!

Watching funny movies or tv shows are always good too because when you're laughing you can't feel as sad anymore!

SUNNY Answers:

13. You're given an unlimited budget to build anything you want!  What do you build and where do you build it?

A perfect, comfortable bed as big as my room. Then my room would be a bed.

It would be at a 12/10. Maybe more if it had a high-density viscoelastic polyurethane mattress, but I don't know if they can make one as big as a room.

[vagueandominousvibes]

Kalh's TotK Knitting Adventure: Part 1

Recently I've been on a knitting binge. My grandma taught me the very basics of how to knit when I was little (how to knit a stitch), and since March I've been teaching myself how to do different kind of stitches, different patterns, embroidering onto knitted fabric, and overall inhaling anything I can learn about it. The results have been an oversized woollen sock with reinforced heel, a pair of reasonably-sized woollen socks, a woollen dress with pockets, a too-small hat, a reasonably sized hat, a sweater with embroidered flowers, a sleeveless turtleneck with spring vibes, and worn and calloused fingers.

With the release of Tears of the Kingdom I've been wanting to knit something themed to celebrate, and I think I've finally come up with a reasonable idea that I genuinely like: a merino sweater with embroideries on the front and back, and possibly some additional decorations.

Planned colour scheme:

+ maybe gold for the additional decorations?

Embroidered pattern on front:

Embroidered pattern on back:

Possible additional decorations:

Of course, this means I've got to translate all of these images into knitting/embroidery patterns. I expect I'll have about 100 stitches across, so the dimension of one of the large embroideries is probably going to be 100 × 100 stitches (approx. 45cm × 45cm).

I'm off to the local yarn shop today to see what they have and what they can order (and when a potential order would arrive), but I'm planning to post updates here (text and photos), so if you want to see how it all turns out, I'll be using the tags #totk and #kalh's knitting adventure!

[maquil-adora]

The Girl who Met Death

~900 words

There was once a quiet little girl, in a quiet little countryside, in a quiet little world. Carol, the little girl, was a very still child. Though it would hardly be her fault, as her parents treated her like a glass doll. “Don’t run around too quickly,” they'd say. “A little lady such as yourself should hardly want anything.”

Like a doll, her parents dressed her in charming garments and ornate bells that twitter in the wind. “Beauty is a virtue,” Carol’s mother would say. “You cannot be anything less.”

To be frank, Carol did not see how her mother could say such a thing. It is not as if her mother were particularly gifted in beauty, nor her father, so how could she? As a matter of fact, Carol could not remember anyone who had stood out to her in looks. There were other, much more important quantifiers to her parents, like her mother’s fairy-like giggles and her father’s scent of rich spices and cigar smoke.

Carol was a curious child with many adventures under her belt. From stopping the gardener on his lawnmower, to exploring the attic by herself. She even went to the kitchens while the cooks prepared for evening dinner, trampling their feet as she looked for that evening’s desert. The product of these excessive excursions? Carol was quite the independent child, much to her parents abhor. They would much prefer her to be more well behaved, to follow their directions and stay in the few rooms allowed. However, that is not something Little Carol was not interested— not at all. In many ways, exploring her family’s grounds was the only thing she had: between lessons and visits from Dr. Peed. She wasn’t sure why he came to the manor or why her parents insisted she sit through his constant prodding of her arms and head, but that wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was that she deserved her time for fun: something outside of reading, drawing, and playing tea parties with her Nanny. Outside of sitting pretty for her father’s coworkers when they have social dinners. Time to run and explore all the nooks and crannies of her home. At least, that’s what Grandma taught her. To be free to run and jump and learn as much as she wanted. It was one of the last things Grandma had taught her, at least until she went to the clouds.

Sometimes, Carol feels as if she can still hear her, in the low hum of the living room television, straining the springs in her recliner. She would knit a lot, that Carol was sure of, and she was always very particular about her collection of soft yarns. “Only the best for my little girl,” Carol’s grandmother would chortle. Soft to the touch, the knitted sweaters were Carol’s favorite thing her grandmother made.

She would especially need these warm sweaters for the winter. When the cold of the winter mornings clawed through her tiny feet and settled icy shards into her bones. When all she could do is huddle up by the fireplace in hopes of warming quickly. When she was utterly bored with nothing to do in the living room, and the only scarce entertainment found was by plucking at the strings of her clothing.

It was during one of these nights that she was visited by a man she had never met before. He was quiet as death in his meandering approach. His clothing scraped at the floor as he stood by the fireplace. “Are you a friend of my father?” The girl asked.

“No,” the man said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but howled through the room. “Although, I am a good friend of your grandmother.”

“Really, I don’t think I’ve ever met you before. Were you at her funeral?”

“Yes, in fact I was. Although, you have met me before.”

Confused, Carol asked, “I’m sure I would have remembered you if we had met. Who are you?” He was a very distinct man. Just standing a few feet away from her, and it was as if he filled the room with the smell of pine and wet moss.

“But you have,” the man says. “I have always been around the manor: from the roaring heat of the kitchens, to the crisp cool of the edge of the grounds. I was even right beside you as your grandmother was lowered. Do you truly not know me, child?”

“I’d think I’m not a liar, Sir.” Carol puffed up indignantly. “Who even are you?”

“I am a friend of your grandmother,” The man says. “Along with your grandfather, and your great-grandfather, and the man before him.” He keeps going, “Your parents don’t like me much, although they know me as well.”

Carol stomps closer towards him, “My father’s never talked about you, nor my mother for that matter.”

“Most people don’t like to talk about me.”

“My grandmother taught me not to suffer fools,” the little girl huffed. “And you are especially insufferable. If you really won’t tell me your name, then I’ll have to tell you to leave.”

“Calm your irritation, my dear child. If you must know, I will explain.” The man's cane scrapes against the floor before he continues. “I am the last breath taken by every person to ever be born. The shadow of the night, I am the end. I am Death.”

@maquil-adora

[emyluwinter]

Warm socks.

Yuu warns in the chat of the gang of first-year students that it will be cold at night when they gathered together to spend the night in Onboro.

In Yuu and Grimm's room, the boys took out mattresses from neighboring rooms and collected blankets and pillows. Having arranged a warm soft kingdom. Epel puts on warm socks already in the room.

- Are these socks from your grandma Epel? - Ace began to laugh, looking at how the Pomfiore student furiously removes the thin "elegant" socks he wore in his dorm.

- Yes!They are my favorites!! They're fluffy. Long and very comfortable. Not the ones that the headman ordered me to wear. - Epel proudly declared stretching his legs and showing hand-knitted socks.

- Oh, they look more like gaiters. - Yuu looks at them curiously. Grimm, on the other hand, climbed onto Epel's legs with interest. He didn't mind at all. They are already used to Grimm walking around them like a smug cat.

Grimm tried in every possible way to try the material of Epel's socks with his paw.

- Yuu's legs are softer than yours Epel. You're hard as a rock!

Everyone immediately looks at the confused Yuu.

-.....what?why are you looking at me like that?

Epel looks at her feet then looks at Yuu's feet. And very carefully pokes his little finger into their calf. Because first of all, though he is a curious Gremlin. But still well-mannered.

- DAMN IT. REALLY SOFT!! - Epel in surprise switched to his native dialect that almost no one understood him.

Ace joins in and also pokes Yuu's calves with his little finger. He is also interested in finding out whether it is true or not.

- What?! Do you have cotton wool instead of muscles?!

Everyone immediately checks how hard the muscles are on everyone's feet.

Ace is a basketball club.

Deuce and Jack - athletics club.

Epel - Magift Club

Sobek is an equestrian club.

Of course they will have tougher muscles!!!!

Yuu angrily looking at them and puffing out his cheeks - damn sportswomen....Yes. I'm soft to the touch, what's the problem?

As a result, Ace was beaten with a pillow because he tried to use Yuu's legs as his personal pillow.

There was also a "small" contest about which socks someone has.

Epel warm knitted leggings above the knee from his beloved granny. With a wide binding and plain. Yuu remembered that it is worth giving an Epel with some kind of "cool" pattern.

Ace is wearing plain socks with the logo of his favorite basketball team.

Deuce warm cheap socks with white polka dots and chickens from his mom.

Deuce wore them so often that when he took off his slippers and everyone saw this monstrous hole on his finger and heel. Yuu took out a sewing kit without further ado. And they taught Deuce how to make an inconspicuous seam on his socks.

The boys are very impressed with Yuu's "talent and experience" in fixing things. In general, any.

Ace joked about Deuce that he now has "rivals" for repairs.

Jack - warm socks made of Pyroxenes specially sewn for beastmen to regulate their temperature. I think that beastmen like Jack have a higher temperature and it is vital for them to select the right materials for clothing.

Sebek - branded socks from Thorn Valley from his mom. With a beautiful pattern of thorns. And very high-quality material. There is a couple with a funny animated dragon - a gift from Lilia.

Sebek told Yuu for 15 minutes that the Thorn Valley was also famous for its fabrics and threads.

When it's the turn to Yuu ...

well....

the boys are discouraged to put it mildly.

Warm leggings are almost above the hip. On the left leg in a wide vertical stripe like a Grimm ribbon. On the right there are several "cat tracks" on the thigh and a large imprint on the heel.

Sebek was completely confused because they are different.

- Human! Couldn't you find a pair for this??

- But there are no rules to wear the same socks. If I want different, I will wear different.

Ace, Deuce and Epel - if our headman had seen this, he would have strangled you with a look.

Of course, Ace and Epel wore different socks on purpose for the next week, counting how long their headman would notice this detail.

Yuu just prays that neither Riddle nor Vil will find out that it's their fault. They will have to lock themselves up in Onboro until old age in order to survive and not get reprimanded by these two.

Ace - you look like such a serious Prefect. But you have details even more chaotic than Floyd's..

Yuu grinned and smiled maliciously - said the one who stole the hedgehog from his dorm.

Ace is exhausted, parrying the accusation - I didn't steal it!!He got into my bag and fell asleep!!

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

Every now and then I start thinking about how I’m very much a reflection of all the people in my life. I quote certain vines because my best friend loves them. I make salads from scratch instead of using kits because my mom likes them better that way. I put toilet paper facing a certain direction because of a boss I had at a job in high school. I knit a little weirdly because that’s the way my grandma does it when her hands hurt, and that’s how she taught me. We are all just lovely little windows, reflecting the people who stop to see and love us

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[drethanramslay]

Perfect (Happy Birthday Bree!!)

Pairing: Ethan x MC (Leah Garcia)

Word count: 1500 words

MASTERLIST

Warning: None, this is just a load of fluff 

Author’s note: Happy birthday @jamespotterthefirst​, the most talented and amazing writer🎂🎂 Hope you have a great day and keep rocking babe❤

I have taken part in @wackydrabbles so the prompt will be in bold 

Title inspiration: Perfect by Ed Sheeran 

Forgive me if i make any mistakes 🥺

"Happy birthday, doctor!" A cheerful nurse greeted as Ethan stood at the nurses' station, signing charts at a break-neck speed.

"Hrm." He answered absent-mindedly, not even bothering to look up from the file and continued to look down at it as of it were the most interesting case but the fact is that Ethan did not care to celebrate his birthday.

But if Leah were to hear that, she would have him by his balls.

And Ethan wasn't one to go against a woman with a mission. She had said that they would do something in the evening and Ethan was low key looking forward to it, which is quite the growth from a year ago.

According to Ethan, birthdays were irrational. He couldn't figure out the entire hype to celebrate the day which is just a marker that you are one year closer to death. Sure it's a pessimistic way to see it but Ethan never promised to have a positive outlook on life.

No wonder Leah calls me the human equivalent of a robot.

The thought just whispered into his head which had him halting what he was doing and a small smile made its way on his lips.

Just her very name has his face splitting into a wide grin. Her very presence has this flux of endorphins in his system that he feels as if his heart is going to burst or a blush would sear through his cheeks.

She was his Kryptonite. Yes, Leah had taught him that reference when they watched that Super-boy movie.

Coming back to his birthday, Leah had wished him in the morning itself which comprises of affectionate kisses with a side of old man jokes.

Or you could say it was the other way around.

She then proceeded to give him a hand-knitted scarf which she made along with this gold plated bar set which he had been eyeing for a couple of months but never had the chance to buy it.

"I hope you like it?" She had asked in a tiny voice, watching his every expression.

"Leah, you are the best gift I could ever have. You didn't have to go all the way out for me."

And it was true. Leah just wishing him was the only thing that mattered to him. Nothing could compare to it. Just like the shine of glitters can't compare to the radiance of the sun. But Leah just pressed her lips in a soft kiss and said that he deserved the best of everything.

I am so lucky to have a partner like her.

He shut the file and submitted the last chart to the nurse. He lifted his left wrist to check the time and he noticed that there was only an hour of work left before he could head back to their home.

With a sudden burst of motivation, he turned down the hallway to visit his next patient.

It would be an understatement to say that Leah was nervous.

The pressure of this entire evening being perfect weighed down on her like a pile of bricks. She paced in the living room, digging tracks from her walking back and forth so that she could work off the nervous energy settling into the pit of her stomach. The posh, classical music did nothing to calm her racing heart down.

Will he like it? The doubt filtered through her head which had her gulping and smoothening the little black dress which Ethan liked a lot.

Jenner whined, sensing her distress. She trotted towards the stressed intern and nuzzled against her leg, stopping Leah in her tracks.

"Hey, girl... Guess I'm just overthinking huh?" Leah ran her fingers through Jenner's silky ears and scratched behind her ears which earned her a happy bark.

The sound of the door unlocking had the duo looking up. Jenner cocked her head before running to greet her dad. His familiar baritone voice echoed through the hallway leading to the living room. Leah ran her eyes around the apartment, just running a final check to see if anything was out of sight.

She had lit candles all around the house and turned the lights down low, to set the relaxed ambience of the place.

But that wasn't the main event.

She had come home early so that she could cook an entire extravagant meal for him. From butter garlic shrimps and stir fry vegetables as appetizers to Pastelon which is Puerto Rican version of traditional Italian lasagna as the entrée. She had used her grandma's recipe which has been passed down for generations on her Father's side of the family. Last but not the least, she had baked him a coffee cake which was the only flavour he liked.

She had set the table out on the balcony because it was a wonderful weather and nothing beats a candlelit dinner under a starry night.

"Leah?" His voice called out and she turned to face him with an incandescent smile which beautifully complimented against the dancing shadows of the lit candles. She walked towards his open arms and embraced him.

Hugging Ethan was something she thoroughly enjoyed, The way this man was all hard and soft at the same time often blew her mind away. The way his arms would tighten around her waist and the way he would tuck her head under his chin was her personal heaven. His cologne mixed with his manly essence was intoxicating, which blanketed her senses, making her feel safe and at peace.

Placing a soft affectionate kiss on her forehead, they pulled back just enough to see each other's face.

"Hi."

"Hey yourself, E."

"So what is this surprise you have planned for me?"

Leah chuckled, her hands looping around his neck. Her fingers played with the short hairs on his nape as she looked at him adoringly. "Eager are we?"

"If it comes to you? Always." He pecked her lips.

"Good. Go get fresh and meet me at the balcony."

Ethan and Leah were having fun.

They had popped open the champagne bottle which Ethan had stored for a special occasion and poured copious amounts into the sparkly glasses. And the food was amazing.

The way Ethan devoured the food and gave compliments every now and then made Leah smile with pride.

"Sunshine, you have to feed me more Puerto Rican dishes because this is delicious," Ethan said as he sipped on his champagne.

"I am not as good as my dad. He can make so many more yummy dishes than me. He actually hosts a cookout Sunday for the boys working at his security firm. I have only been to a few but they are super fun."

"You have already met my dad so I think it is about time I have to meet yours."

A rosiness settled on her cheeks as she smiled back at him. "Of course. I know he will like you."

Giving a smile which has his eyes glimmering like the stars, they went back to their meal. After a while, with their stomachs full and plates wiped clean, Leah rose from her seat. Ethan shot her a questioning look but she just kissed his cheek.

"I baked a cake for you. Just getting it out so that we can cut it, old man."

Ethan groaned as Leah chuckled. "I am not that old, okay? I'm a millennial!"

"Whatever you say, gramps."

She went indoors to take the cake out of the fridge, where she had placed it after icing it. A sudden thunder resounded throughout the penthouse, which had her raising her eyebrow.

Rain? But the weather forecast said it won't...

She placed the cake on the counter and headed out only to find Ethan standing there, with his eyes closed and enjoying the raindrops washing his face. The water seeped through his black shirt, making it cling to the hard planes of his chest. A small smile played on his lips.

"Ethan? Come in, you will fall sick." She said as she stood at the threshold. To be honest, there was a reservation in her voice because it had been so long since she has seen him so peaceful.

"No, I will be fine. Come, join me." His eyes smoldered as they fell on Leah and it felt as if she was hypnotized by his brilliant blue eyes.

She walked towards him and instantly Ethan settled his hands on her waist. Placing her hands on his chest they just swayed to a rhythm of their own.

"Are we really dancing without music?" She whispered as she looked up at him.

"What can I say sunshine... you make me want to dance even when the music stops."

The cool raindrops fell on her flushed face while Ethan smiled down at her gently.

"I hope you liked your birthday, Ethan."

She wrapped her arms around him and placed her face on his chest, this heartbeat lulling her into her own safe haven.

"I won't forget this. Ever. This was by far the best so thank you, Leah. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

I would have attached pictures but a bitch is lazy 😔✊

Taglist: Tagging separately because that seems so effective

[tj-crochets]

hello!! i recently started following you account because i think i want to get into crochet. i really like cross stitching and embroidery but i wanna try crochet, do you have any advice on where to start? i’m feeling a little overwhelmed with some of the stuff i see when i look up crochet kits.

Hi! I absolutely do have advice! First off, I can’t recommend Ravelry highly enough. It’s totally free and worth making an account so you have access to the best database of patterns (so searchable!!!) both free and paid, crochet and knit. That’s not where I’d start, though. For absolute beginners to crochet, I recommend mooglyblog. That link goes to their crochet abbreviations list, which shows you how stitches are written in patterns and links to tutorials on how to make the stitches, including photo and video tutorials. My grandma taught me chain stitch and double crochet and every single other stitch I learned I learned from mooglyblog. They also have some patterns that are great for beginners and very well explained. AllAboutAmi and OneDogWoof both also have some very well explained beginner projects with lots of photos.  I honestly don’t think I recommend most crochet kits for beginners? I mean, the one I used for the crochet UFO was a great kit, but kits are usually pretty expensive, and the kind that come with a book + yarn + a hook, in my experience, don’t have very good quality yarn. The crochet pattern books in those kits can definitely be worth it (that’s how I got my horse pattern book) but I pretty much always use yarn that didn’t come with the kit.  If you have an idea of a thing you’d like to make or the kind of thing you’d like to make (blankets, sweaters, stuffed animals, etc) I’d be happy to help you find a starter pattern and some yarn recs or post about it here asking for yarn recs. I know a lot of my mutuals and probably a lot of my followers are yarn people of one craft or another and they’ll have some great advice. Let me know if you have any more questions! I don’t crochet as much as I used to but it’s still a craft I love and I love talking about it and helping people get started crocheting

[joshsmama]

Requesting a ship! I am a 22 year old bi female. I'm plus size, I have blue/green eyes and medium length hair that right now is brown but I dye it a lot. I have a lot of ear piercings along with stretched lobes, and my nose and Medusa (upper lip). I love to read and knit (I'm secretly a grandma lol). Music is super important to me even though I have no musical talents. I love earth tones and am studying social work to become a counselor that focuses on mental health and substance abuse. I can be pretty shy but also do love to go out and have fun once I'm comfortable with people. I love fall time and just sitting outside while reading in the sun. Here's a pic of me as well ☺️

Request by: @parodsal000

Hello Beautiful!!

I ship you with…Sammy!

Inspo juice🧃:

Imagine falling in love with Sam in the Fall omg :,)

PICNIC DATES

going to the farmers market together and getting fresh fruits and veggies

He’s such a gentleman you already know

this man is holding all the doors for you and imagine him carrying the umbrella for you when it’s raining because he’s taller than you🥲✋

Momma Kiszka taught him well

Imagine convincing Sam to get a piercing how dope would that be

Like he thinks you look so cool with all your little piercings he wants to be cool too

he might get a nipple pierced

stealing all his hoodies

reading outside on a nice quilt with Sam in the Fall while he plays guitar and the sun is setting and it’s chilly but you don’t care because it’s one of those moments you don’t get to experience often and it’s absolutely perfect

Sam helps you dye your hair and if it’s a crazy color he can’t help but dye a strand of his hair too

He just want you to think he’s cool

Sam is very impressionable lol

you help Sam with his mental health when need be

And he’s there for you too

you are a breath of fresh air to him anytime he gets stressed about work or is fighting with his brothers

you are his home🥲

he writes you little cryptic love notes that don’t have a lot of context but then months later the boys come out with a new song with the notes as lyrics and it all makes sense and basically he tells you he loves you for the first time.

so cute omfg

Josh, Jake, and Danny love you too

you’re apart of the best family ever

like what more could a person want

The End!

I hope you liked it!!🧡🧡

Requests are open if anyone else would like a ship!! Have a great day!

[themagichour]

I had a dream about being in a production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show last night, and it's gotten me to thinking about it. I do that a lot. I wrote a little bite-sized "essay" on it last year, which I'd like to share here. It's taken me till my early 30s to realize my queerness and the fluidity of my gender... and I'm lucky to have had this film as a foundation from the time I was, um, a toddler.

Exhibit A: a drawing I did at age 4. Fat Frank N. Furter my beloved. <3

I mention this a lot, but my parents introduced me to The Rocky Horror Picture Show around age two; it became my first-ever favorite film, and I watched it over and over and over and over and over again, exhausting the VHS tape the way another child might stretch thin some clamshell-cased Disney din.

Most people consider this bad parenting, but I am so thankful for it. Before I had any functioning grasp on language, and FAR before I knew ANYTHING of society, I watched boys and girls wearing pretty outfits and makeup, singing the most fun songs, dancing and smiling and living life fully and enthusiastically.

It wasn’t all fun, of course – there was fear, jealousy, anger, sadness, violence, and death – but that was life. And ultimately, those things were worth the joy and experience of being alive. And I’m glad I learned that sooner rather than later.

Sexuality was not a concept at that age, and I had only a base understanding of the difference between “boys” and “girls”. When I watched Rocky Horror, I saw that boys and girls were the same, and that sometimes boys were girls, sometimes girls were boys, and sometimes they were both, and sometimes they were neither.

Boys kissed girls, and boys kissed boys, and girls kissed boys, and girls kissed girls. People kissed people. That was love. And bodies were fleshy and present and alive: they were what made us, and they let us do things like sing and love and dance and laugh. And we could make them pretty like Christmas trees, dress them in anything we liked. Dress them and paint them in whatever way made us happy, and use them to do whatever made us and others happy.

Unfortunately, as I grew, society very quickly taught me shame surrounding my own gift of a conscious, human body. But luckily, what society NEVER did, was convince me that gender and sexuality had to be a certain way. My favorite childhood movie had already shown me the truth of those things, before I knew really anything of the world, and before I knew what the characters were saying when they spoke and sang.

In the summers and winters, we’d fly to Ohio and live with Grandma for a few weeks or months. Kip and Kevin rented the other side of her duplex, and they had two happy dogs, one big one and one small one. I’d play with them in our shared backyard, and loved how they wore little knit booties in the snow. I threw balls and sticks for them with Kip and Kevin and Mom, and those are some of my happiest memories.

I knew Kip and Kevin loved each other the way Mommy and Daddy loved each other. There was nothing “odd” or “strange” or “different” about it at all; certainly nothing “wrong” or “bad". It just was.

When I first became aware of the words “gay”, “lesbian”, and “homosexual” — when I first became aware of slurs — I could not for the life of me understand it. I didn’t understand why there were words for it, and I especially did not understand why there were bad words for it. I hadn’t even realized there was an “it” at all. And I hadn't realized there was a difference between me having a crush on Brad and me having a crush on Columbia. It was “okay” that I thought Brad was pretty, but “not okay” that I thought Columbia was pretty? Not okay that I wanted to look and dress like both of them?

Over the years, society tried to make me ashamed of who I was, and who and what my beloved characters in Rocky Horror represented. Worse, it wanted me to hate those things. And I refused. But the one black-cloud-looming idea that sadly did poison me was that of fear. I spent my childhood, teenage years, and young adult life afraid to let anyone know that, yeah, I wanted to kiss Brad – but I wanted to kiss Columbia, too. (And maaaaaaybe I had a little thing for Frank. But let's keep that under our hats.)

I’m happy to say I fear that less and less with each passing year. And I’m trying to take back love for my body, too. I’m trying to remember what I saw before I was “taught” anything: that I can do what makes me happy with it, and that I can love what and who makes me happy with it.

My mother always says how she “didn’t know gay people existed” till she was twenty-two and in college. Just a few months following this realization, in 1975, The Rocky Horror Picture Show was released. It played for just one weekend in the United States before it was pulled from theaters.

Imagine if my mother had not been cisgender and heterosexual in small-town Ohio in 1975. Imagine she had instead been her close friend Mel. Mel, whose close friend Kathleen had not even known he'd “existed” till they'd both entered college.

Imagine what Rocky Horror’s release and stuttering rise to cult fame did for people like him. Barely anyone noticed its birth at the time, but when it was rediscovered one year later, it became a space for those in the queer community to celebrate themselves. And it taught those who weren’t a thing or two, as well. They also came to love it. And in those cramped midnight cinemas, there were humans. Nothing more, nothing less. “And crawling on the planet’s face…”

So, yeah. Rocky Horror is important, and it always irks me when people pan it as “stupid” or “weird” or “annoying” or “overrated”. While my Mom was learning in college the truth of gender and sexuality, I was learning in college that the old Hammer and Universal movie monsters were often portrayed as being effeminate, posing a threat to society, and having a knack for disrupting the engagement between two young, straight, white, apple-pie-wholesome lovers.

Sound familiar?

Thank god for the passage of time. A pox upon the steps the rotten bits of modern society shoves us down. But we brush off our knees and resume climbing. And thank god for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, you know? Bad parenting? Nah. What my parents and Richard O’Brien gave me was a gift: I saw humanity in its (literal) naked truth, nearly right out the womb. For the first few years of my existence, I knew that biology, sexuality, gender, individuality, fun, and love were what made life. And it was so very, very pretty.

I was watching The Mighty Boosh with my niece in 2009. She was just shy of six years old, and when Vince Noir kissed Howard Moon upon a rear-projected rooftop, she didn’t bat an eye. I sat there on the couch with her and smiled as she took in the wacky costumes and colors and musical numbers with joy, and I believed in humanity. I continue to, despite everything. And I know that art does, in all cheesy sincerity, move mountains.

Exhibit B: 20 years after my Fat Frank doodle... painting my face and badly but lovingly singing and playing the intro number. (I was trying to emulate Tim O'Brien's voice, for the record, that's not my natural singing voice lol.)

Anyway... it means a lot to me. And sometimes I just gotta think aloud about it. If you've never watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show, you should go and do that!

[storysims]

NIFTY KNITTING - GAMEPLAY OVERVIEW 🧶

Gameplay was what I was most excited for with this pack. As an irl crafter + crocheter, this is the dream! ✨ (Still would like a hobby pack though, EA).

I ended up going a lot more in-depth than I thought I would, so obvious “spoilers” under the cut.

I was provided with an early access copy of Nifty Knitting to review via the EA Game Changers program!

Getting started with the knitting skill is as easy as plopping a bag or basket of yarn into your sim’s inventory and picking something to create! At level one, you’ve got the choice between nine different beanie variations for all ages. 

I noticed my sims had a tendency to gravitate towards rocking chairs for knitting, unless directed to sit elsewhere. You can pick their knitting spot by clicking on any sittable surface and telling them to knit in the pie menu.

Unfortunately, the bag or basket has to be in your sim’s inventory to do any sort of knitting. In my opinion, this sort of defeats the purpose of having yarn sitting around the home. It’s honestly a shame, since my apartment is covered in random bags of yarn and half finished projects. It doesn’t stop you from placing them for decoration, but it does make for some useless spending for sims on a budget. And honestly, what was the point of voting on what this looked like if we’re never going to see it outside of inventory?

Additionally, each sim will need their own basket of yarn in their inventory if multiple members of the household want to knit.

As your knitter progresses through the skill, more things will become available.

level one - beanies

level two - socks

level three - mailbox cozys, hanging plants

level four - rugs

level five - sweaters, the ‘teach to knit’ interaction

level six - poufs

level seven - decorations (cacti, turtle, octopus, penguin, llama)

level eight - toddler and baby onesies

level nine - sweaters with scarves

level ten - child toys (bear, grim reaper), mentoring sims in knitting

completed aspiration - yarny toy, yarny sculpture, ‘sacred knitting knowledge’ trait, bonus when teaching other sims, ability to dispel the sweater curse

I was honestly pretty disappointed that onesies require such a high skill level. I’ve really been looking forward to decking out all the babies in my 100 Baby Challenge in cute new clothes. Like I mentioned in my CAS review, I don’t foresee Day having the time to devote to knitting in the forseeable future, much less getting to level eight.

Thankfully, items are available to buy on Plopsy!

According to the gurus, Plopsy can also be used on the computer - but I never even thought to try it. I was honestly surprised that it was fully functional on the phone, both for buying and selling items.

Buying something on Plopsy is just like anything else in the game - funds are immediately deducted and the item can be found in your inventory. When purchasing clothes, you’ll need to select the item once it arrives in your inventory and hit ‘add to wardrobe’ in order for it to appear in CAS.

I specifically tested purchasing baby onesies, and it seems like a mod I have prevents them from actually being applied to the baby. I have no idea which one, but I tested two onesies purchased from Plopsy in a CC free game and had no issues. 

Failed item variations cannot be purchased on Plopsy - your sims will have to make those all on their own!

Selling items on Plopsy is probably my favorite part of this pack, and has the potential to be a huge money maker! Most things your sim can craft with a quality value assigned to it will have the option to be listed online from the sim’s inventory. I was able to list paintings, woodworking sculptures, herbal brews, photographs, flower arrangements, potions, candles, and knitted items for sale!

One of my test sims knitted a sweater dress and the cost of yarn was deducted automatically from her household funds - §50. She listed the dress on Plopsy, and within 24 hours she had an offer of §747. 💰

After knitting and selling duplicates of several items, it definitely seems like the cost varies a bit depending on the buyer. But I was always able to sell at a profit.

Believe it or not, there are dangers to knitting! This pack doesn’t come with a new death, but instead a curse. In my opinion, this is a super fun change and I’m so glad for something different.

There’s a chance that when giving a significant other a knitted sweater, both sims will become cursed!

Oh no, you’re cursed! They say couples with the Sweater Curse are destined to break up, so be very, very careful. Maybe don’t try anything romantic for awhile, because it will not go well. The threads of fate can be cruel.

So naturally, I cursed Bob and Eliza and then spammed the hell out of romantic interactions. They were all rejected. Their relationship plummeted in the span of a few sim hours. I didn’t stick around to see if they would organically break up on their own, but it wasn’t looking good.

It’s worth noting that I was never able to get this to work while they were married, but the second I demoted them to dating they got hit with this nasty seven day long moodlet. So if you plan on gifting sweaters to significant others, it’s definitely worth completing the aspiration.

As fun as the failed knitting items and the forbidden sweater look in CAS, there are consequences to wearing them in game! 

The moment a sim puts them on, they’ll receive a negative moodlet:

Itchy Knits (From Clothing Item) It’s as if a thousand tiny insects are nibbling the flesh!

I’m a little disappointed that these aren’t feasibly wearable in game, but I’m sure someone will fix it with custom content. It does add another unique repercussion to knitting, though!

On a more wholesome note, the ‘teach to knit’ interaction is absolutely adorable. 🥰 Knox sat down with Bee, his daughter with my simself, and got her skill all the way to level four! 

Children can knit on their own without being taught, just like adults. But I have very fond memories of my grandma teaching me to crochet as a kid, so this was an interaction I was SUPER excited to see in the game.

I still feel like this is a small pack as far as physical content goes, but the gameplay is pretty fun. Plopsy is an amazing feature, and I definitely see myself using it often! Both with buying and selling, I really feel like it adds another layer to the game and gives more self employment opportunities for sims that don’t want a traditional career. 

There’s a bit of gameplay I feel like I didn’t get the chance to fully explore yet, but I’m looking forward to integrating it all into my game.

My initial reaction to playing this pack was disappointment, but I honestly think my expectations were too high. This is a stuff pack, it’s bound to be small. After a few days to sit and play around with it, the gameplay specifically grew on me. I still have a lot of mixed feelings - some things I really like and some things I’m just not crazy about at all (cough cough, buy mode. why did everyone vote in crazy pastels? it matches NOTHING). 

But with tempered expectations in mind, I would ultimately recommend this pack for the gameplay elements alone - especially to crafters. As always, different people enjoy different things. If this style of gameplay isn’t your cup of tea, pass it up or wait for a sale!