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gaviicreates · 4 months

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Tips for Using Red Heart's All-in-One Granny

(From someone not trying to sell it to you)

And I mean that - I'm just another crafter who was skeptical but intrigued enough to want to give it a try. If you have no interest, this post isn't for you and I'm not going to tell you to go out and get it anyway. But if you are curious or intrigued like I was, or if you have it in your stash and are struggling, I wanted to share my thoughts and tips.

TIP 1: Know yourself as a crafter Who is this yarn for? Is it for me? That's a great question, and really the first thing you should ask yourself. Be aware of what you are working with and the goal of the yarn. This should be for someone that enjoys working with acrylics. If you work up granny squares often, or enjoy the process of a basic granny square, and will enjoy the seeing the colors change, you might enjoy this. Do you like playing yarn chicken, or does that stress you out? If living on the edge, is your cuppa of hot cocoa, you might find something with this product.

Maybe read through some of these tips if you aren't quite sure where you fall, and they might help you can decide if this type of yarn is up your alley.

TIP 2: Understand what you are trading.

Because there is still work involved - just a different type.

This yarn is going to work differently for everyone, and it's going to take time for you to figure out what works best for you. That'll be a lot of work on the front end, getting to know the yarn and your gauge and tension and how you want it to look, for a long term trade off of not having to weave in ends later on or having to choose colors at the beginning of the project (if that's part of this yarn that's appealing to you.)

You'll be making a lot of granny clusters, so strap in.

Tip 3: Find your own recipe

What helped me was not thinking of the goal as one whole granny square and then finding the right tension for it. I've only tried a little color pooling (I'm awful at it so far), but one thing that stuck with me was that it's more about the color than it is the gauge or stitch. You might sub a hdc if you have more yarn than needed, or pull tighter in areas, so not to sacrifice the way you need the colors to lay.

This is where that yarn chicken comes in - I thought of each row in the sequence as it's own challenge figuring out what I need for each part of the sequence. For me, I was willing to go up and down hook sizes. If you feel you need to change the cluster a bit, or alter the number of chains to get a row to work - I would encourage giving that a try and see how you like the aesthetic. Keep in mind there might still need to be some adjusting, and I am still learning and working with this yarn, but here's what I've been using as a starting point for myself.

Row 1: tight 5.0mm Row 2: relaxed 5.5mm Row 3: relaxed 5.5mm Row 4: relaxed 5.0mm Row 5: tight 5.0mm I've had to swap out for a 6mm for some, so I do have a third option easily at hand.

Successfully working the row so that the color change is happening when you want it, feels like a mini-version of how it feels to succeed at yarn chicken - without the risk of having to buy a whole new skein of yarn at a potentially different dye lot if you lose. In this case, just go back a bit in your row, alter something about what you just did to try again. You can either alter the whole row, or just go back a side or two depending whether you have too much yarn or too little.

It's like a puzzle and finding the right combination that works for you and for that particular part of the sequence. Something about it has been tickling the lizard brain for me.

Tip 4: Use this alternative for the starting chain 6 I am fairly tolerant to different ways to make the same thing, and I've done many a version of a granny square. But I can not emphasize enough how much I despise the way the main pattern recommends for the starting corner. If it's been working for you, great! But here's my gripe with it, and my solution.

The chain 6, 3dc in the beginning with the 2dc in that space at the end, as the pattern suggests, looks incredibly clunky in comparison to the other corners. Because of the way the join pulls the chain together, I consistently was still left with what felt like a gaping hole unrelated to gauge.

So if this is happening to you and you want to fix it - replace it with a stacked sc. You know that trick that helps you get straighter edges along the sides? It's that one. I am not a very good teacher - I have written words and pictures, and am not savvy with a video camera to explain how this works. So here's a video I can recommend that explains it well - Here. You just make a sc into the corner and one sc into the side of that stitch as the tutorial describes. When you get to the end of the granny round, 2dc into the final corner the way the pattern explains, and then join to the top of the stacked sc.

If you are worried about the amount of yarn, I've been able to work with this alteration. You are going to be doing enough making and frogging and making again in order to find your recipe that I recommend just doing this alternative from the beginning so you can account for it as you practice.

TIP 5: Don't relax on that final row

Remember, you're supposed to also have enough yardage to weave in, and more consistently than not, I was finding I had to go down a hook size AND tighten my tension to get row 5 to have enough yarn to close the row, let alone have some left over. As part of finding your recipe, you may just want to plan ahead for that. I haven't tried it yet with skipping the ch1 spaces in between the granny clusters, but I did think about it. So far, pulling tightly has worked, but I've had to give it a few tries.

TIP 6: Don't expect perfection

Look - I'm not going to dance around this. There are imperfections in the yarn. Most of the time, the spotting from other colors didn't bother me, personally. But I did have one situation pop up early on where the color inconsistency was confusing around what was supposed to be a color change. I went up to a loose 6mm to try to work through it, but I couldn't really tell what the intended end was supposed to be. In the end, I still got it to work relatively cleanly.

The 2dcs and join to end the row help blend the color transition, so just be aware of that if your color change is not happening *as* perfectly as you'd like. Since your double crochets that end the round are working around the previous row's stitches, they help to hide some of the transition. Plus, I found the goal of this worked better with the stacked sc than the ch 3 - another reason I am a big advocate for that.

TIP 7: You should be having fun

Try not to be discouraged when it doesn't work right away, because it won't. But if you are not finding the process of experimenting with the yarn fun, then just put it down. Maybe take a break and come back to it later if you just need to mentally reset, but this comes back to knowing yourself as a crafter if you want to give it another go.

Final Thoughts: I'd continue to use this. Right now I only have two skeins for practicing, but I could see myself getting some more to make a bigger project. And I could see the tiny wins of getting the color change aligned being a motivator for me, rather than a deterrent.

However, you will be "locked in", so to speak. The yarn was designed for one pattern, one sequence, and as cool as that is, it's also limiting. This isn't going to be a versatile yarn. More than anything, the process tickles the part of my brain that wants to succeed over a challenge, less so the creative part. And sometimes, that's ok. I know myself well enough as a crafter to know what WIP I need to pick up. Right now, I am having fun, and I'm planning to keep playing with it.

If anyone has additional tips and tricks, I'd love to hear them, and good luck if you're taking a go with this yarn.

I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Thanks for reading if you've made it this far :)

By the way, this colorway is called "Black Dove" and the second one I ordered was "Cyber Leaf" which is blacks and greens. Excited to keep working them both up.

#crochet #crocheting #crochetblr #yarnblr #red heart all in one granny #granny square #crochet tips #yarnspirations #red heart yarn #yarn crafts #long post

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scaledmedic · 4 years

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Mark of a Martyr--Path

once arriving in UNDERTOWN, the group starts to set up camp. there's no sun to tell the time, but your inner clock pushes you towards sleep. you lay down, feeling something strange inside your chest. a pressure you can only point towards as the strength the ambrosia ignited within you. you feel it growing, multiplying, attuning you closer to your own senses and the power residing in you.

if you ever doubted the power within you, now more than ever, you feel it.

you 'awake,' but you're alone...not in the tent you drifted off in, or perhaps you are. blinking, the area around you seems familiar to you. describe this place you've awoken in. what does it look like, sound like, smell like?

After winding down for the night with Vincent beside him, Julian fell asleep to the burning oil drums and smell of ash and soot falling from the 'sky'. The feeling, however, grows and proliferates in his heart until he wakes. It is different. Where his lover was sleeping is empty space. He isn't in the underworld anymore, nor undertown for that matter.

Instead? He is in Norway. The meadows surround him and he stands in front of a patch of bluebells, under one of the many spruce trees. Sunlight flits through the overarching leaves and branches, while the cool breeze wafts down the mountain side. Birds chirp and deer roam the forests. It smells fresh; like the cusp of spring and summer, where grass is vibrant and lush while sun ever-loving.

the sunlight dapples onto this familiar meadow stretching out before you. the gentle breeze - refreshing like spring water on your skin - tussles your hair and makes the bluebells sway. a few stray strands of grass dance into the sky, distracting you for a second. the light reacts oddly behind where your eyes have focused on the blades of greenery drifting away, and your eyes drift towards it.

a figure is stepping towards you, slowly, through the knee-high flowers, blocking the light here and there. as it approaches you - what do es they - or it - look like? describe the figure that approaches you, and how that makes you feel.

Julian's eyes drift to the swaying bluebells and the wedding ring since buried under it. The warm breeze, however revitalizing and refreshing, catches his attention from the past. He takes in a breath and blues drift to a figure. It approaches and sifts through the grass and flowers, becoming one with reality rather than the shadows. Julian furrows his brow and squints, trying to gauge what it is.

Only when it nears, illuminated by the sun's golden rays and the vibrant flower petals refracting its color, does he recognize them. Her. His heart clenches and his mind blanks. Julian takes in a slow breath. This isn't a wraith. This isn't real; it's a dream. It's a dream.

"Rachel." It's his belated that wanders over, tan skin and brown hair that shines auburn in the sun. Her hazel eyes look more or less like moss as they dance above freckled cheeks. Julian's heart aches for the sight, but he's already grieved her. Instead, he feels homesick and nostalgic. Love, too, for what ended too soon. "What--What are you doing here?"

auburn hair cascades around her face, catching the sunlight like you remember it always did in the morning light dappling through your bedroom drapes. a smile that always caught your breath, and she stops in the middle of the field of flowers, directly over the area you buried the ring. she looks impeccably like rachel, standing before you, clothed in light.

her mouth moves to speak, but the sound is incoherent. it's like tinkling sunlight made manifest, the sound of the breeze catching in your ear at just the right time to snatch her words away. you try harder to hear her - maybe even approach closer.

what does she sound like? she is rachel, in body at least, but does she sound like you remember? or is it another voice? male, female, animalistic, melodic? describe how it makes you feel, and if it's familiar to you at all.

Julian's hands tremble but his breaths soon return to him. He swallows and, as her likeness nears, he starts to ease. It's as relaxed as he can get when his dead fiancée is trying to speak to him. The words are initially lost on him. It isn't the surrounding forests's fault nor the wind's strong gusts. He steps closer to understand her.

Layers of varying voices and cadences--masculine, feminine, animalistic and primitive--settle to one tone. One by one do the voices depart for the stronger to remain. In the end, it's a rich, sweet voice reminiscent of sweltering summers in the Kentucky blue grass. The voice is the same one he's associated with long summer nights, stargazing atop a car, and sunday morning hymns at church.

He can't seem to place the voice beyond it being Rachel's own, but hearing it soothes his heart. It washes over him and envelops the smattering of gunshot, stabbing, and biting scars he's since received from his job and the accident that claimed his aunt. Hearing her heals him in ways he imagined only the afterlife would.

"i've come to help you, julian," her voice rings out again, as if she knew by just glancing at you that her words had been missed before. and you realize the voice is both on the wind and in your mind. it's everywhere, coursing around; existing as both separate and apart of you.

"you've done so well so far," she encourages you, smiling. it's like her words are stitching your soul back together.

"but i fear it is only just beginning. do you think you're ready?"

It isn't a dream. It's something more.

Closure, cathartic. A final end like the one he's buried under the bluebells. It's almost as though the ring and what love went into it proliferated the flowers. They've certainly grown and spread in this...dream. Julian's gaze softens to Mediterranean blues and his lips part for something. Words? He's lost them right now.

He feels her sweet words and praise bring him back together. The gunshot scar on his side feels warm and forgiving, mending, much like the stabs to his arms and gut. The bite on his forearm and the jagged scars on his back, too, seem to lighten and mend with her voice. What was once broken in now whole.

He catches her question and raises a brow. Julian gives a soft laugh that rolls off the lip like the start of a summer's breeze, "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. There's no guidebook to follow beyond what we learn in the moment; it's practice and survive, out there. I'm here because of those around me, the family I've found and protect. I'm here because of you, Rachel." The last words, and name, come from the soul.

"But you are not Rachel, not quite."

her smile illuminates the field around you once more. her own laughter like airy wind chimes echo around you and mingles with your own. she nods, slowly, hand brushing against the nearest set of petals lovingly, tenderly, expertly.

"as astute as ever, julian," she agrees, eyes of molten honey turning back towards julian. "i'm an echo of your power, of your father's power. your soul has given me this form."

she sighs, contentedly, breathing in the aromas around her, but her eyes harden. her features set in a determined glint, "adapting to overcome is a fair methodology, but where have you found the strength for such feats?"

If only she were real.

But she isn't, not his fiancée. The 'she' is power manifested into a memory. It's much like angels from scripture, ones that take on many faces but retain their powers and epithets and more. Even the gods, from what he knows, do the same. Different faces, different pasts, all the same being on the inside.

He watches her warm gaze shift and sharpen to a dangerous degree. Julian's heart doesn't skip a beat, but his breath does escape him. Lungs stumble to find their place and the passing wind brings him back. Julian reaches down, adjusting the wicker basket of herbs and flowers, before he runs a finger along a bluebell. It's soft and a little resistant to the touch, but sunlight lends it to yield.

"It is," he agrees in a gentle cadence. Spanish accent is his to claim, yet it's from his mother's side rather than his birthplace. Smooth and easy on the voice, it continues to seep and bleed into his words, "I've found strength in my life and the people I've met. It's been with me a doctor and surgeon, but also as an uncle and lover. Father-figure, too, in some instances. As much as I love to have a plan, life doesn't work like that."

she listens, intently; hazel eyes watching every twitch of your lips, every beat of your heart against your neck, every fraction of movement in your eyes. her determination never wavers; instead, she seems gradually more impressed by your stalwart stance and clear understanding of the chaotic nature life conceals under its beauty.

"the people you've met," she echos your words, turning them over on her lips easily, "you've found a place where you prop others up. you're a foundation, are you not? do you trust them to return the favor?"

He's support, an ally. Julian isn't meant to be the hero in the traditional sense. He's the foil for many, the archetype to compliment the unyielding and courageous. While only thirty-five, he's old enough to acknowledge not everyone can be 'the main character' in their position. Such mindsets compromised the group. He is the rising star in his own life but for different reasons: putting others before him, ensuring the well being and lives of those he sees, and likewise providing a presence or friendship for many more.

Julian Dorado is many things. A foundation for others is one such thing, while family another.

Her words are returned with a little smile and a tender weight to his gaze. He remembers his promise to Dane, to Vincent, and Greyson and the others. Julian recalls his assurances to be there for them and keep them alive. He's promised it countless times and even pulled through when Yves almost died. Julian wants to ensure his family's safety--he has the power; he has to keep them alive.

No; he wants to.

"I am a foundation. I am the person that keeps us up and keeps us going. I may not be the one on the frontlines, but I like to say I'm the one that reminds them of the good cause. What we're fighting for." He looks to her and his smile settles, "I do; they are my family. They have taken blows for me, risked their lives, too." Hudson risked his own against the Rhino, one that even Julian almost died from.

"They trust me with their lives; I trust them with mine, too."

she listens just as intently before, but as she listens, her hand waves over the flowers below her. the petals twist and turn, pulling themselves into the likeness of those closest to you. as you remember the promises you've vowed, each recipient appears in front of you in bluebell-likeness.

"then you understand you cannot do it alone," she echoes his sentiments in more laymen terms. and a smile paints her lips; dazzling like Rachel's had always been for you.

"how would you react if i told you even with the bonds that tie you and them together-" she waves her hand over the flowers again. who do you see?

"you'll fail?"

The boys--oh, the boys--appear. Greyson; Voithos' youngest, brimming with possibility and light, appears before him. Dane; Aspida's stubborn and tender, one he's taken under his wing much like a father-son dynamic, appears beside Greyson. Another Aspidan joins the fray, one whose bright smiles ease him and company, too, in a way only brothers supply. Keaton stands beside Dane, smiling much like he usually does. Then his lover, the aloof and since self-condemned to independence but transitioning to reliance, follows suit. Bluebells they may resemble, his family they resemble more.

Julian swallows at the sight, "Mi familia," he whispers. Her smile is charming and her understanding is sound. Dane, Greyson, Keaton, and Vincent, amongst plenty more, are his family. He rips his gaze from the group to watch her words and how she delivers them.

Fail?

He doesn't like to fail, but it's always a risk.

"I can't do it alone, no," he starts. Julian's eyes gain a humble glint, even a little hurt in the prospect of failure. He straightens himself, standing back up to meet her gaze. The basket remains in the crook of his arms but eyes are resolute in spite of their hurt weight, "If we fail, we'll learn from it. There's always a risk that the odds won't work in our favors. I'm willing to fight it, however. We all are."

she nods along with his words, eyes fluttering shut for but a moment. they open to rest on yours once more. her fingers clench and the bluebells shaped like your family start to crumble. fade away, drift off on the breeze you once thought was comforting.

"they're being taken from you, julian," she explains, stepping back. "what do you do?"

dane's petals flit off to the west, greyson to the north, keaton to the east, and vincent's petals rush behind you.

"who would you chose when all are facing peril?"

His smile falters. It drops. Julian looks around to the petals as they start to crumble and drift away. His heart runs cold and skin shudders from the likeness. They're passing, they're passing. He's failing them, by letting them all go. But he won't work like this; no. Julian knows better than that.

Dane's been with him since the beginning. He's let the doctor into his life, let him care and hug and be there for him. He's let Julian heal when needed or laugh when their alone. Dane's let him crumble and rebuild in the Aspidan's presence. He's his son in all but genetics and name; if it means Dane'd live, he'd sacrifice himself.

Greyson's a boy whose meant for medicine yet family life deemed otherwise. He's a positive and young one Julian's guided and tried to protect. He's kept his eye on the boy with the manticore and consoled with the inevitable loss. Greyson's too young to die; he has far more potential in his future than he.

Keaton's his younger brother in all but name and genes, too. The boy's been a positive figure in his life, one that's helped Julian expand to defend just as much as he supports, but likewise loosen up for time to bring family back into the light. Keaton's a growing cook because of him; the man's too kind, too strong, to go down in such a way.

Vincent's been with him in the beginning, too, but for a different reason. Paired together for Nomiki, investigated the manticore's den of deceased, they've braved many things and consoled in others. Julian's taken the man in as the lover he's grown to become. Vincent's his and he's Vincent's. If he betrayed the man's trust, what would that make him?

The whicker basket comes in hand. He slides it down to his hand and grips the handle with a strong, determined grip. With it, he arks it through the air to collect the first three's petals and then his other hand reaches behind for Vincent's. He'll try for them all.

"All of them; I will choose them all at the expense of myself."

the gentle breeze is slow. it's cool, and the petals lazily drift across the air. you spin around, scooping them all up in your basket, where they dance together happily. they start to shrink away from you, always out of reach, but where you can still see them happily spending time together.

rachel steps up to you, a hand on your shoulder, and a soft, kind, empathetic smile sits on her lips.

"this path could be painful," she explains, "but you already know that. this path could be lonely, but you already know that. you've chosen them over yourself, which is the mark of a true martyr."

she holds out a hand, where a ball of light floats. it's emitting a warmth, a love you realize, a medicinal magic you're familiar with - "i'll help you. you've convinced me your heart is pure, so i can inhabit it. we will protect them.

together."

she presses the ball of light into your chest, where the heat radiated before. and you awake, suddenly, with a gasp. you expected to wake in a cold sweat, but there's a heat that's comforting enveloping you. and maybe a little sparkle on your cheeks.

you feel revitalized, empowered - confident.

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vinummagicae · 4 years

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weeks have turned to months and your journey to olympus, your acceptance of your life as a demigod, has lead up to this moment. it's been brutal, wrought with pain and close calls, thick with loss, but you've endured. as you begin to get ready to sleep, winding down for the night, something inside of you feels different. there's a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it.

as soon as your head hits the pillow you fall fast asleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. who knows however long later, you "awaken". you're not where you fell asleep, nothing is as it was when you slept. you have to blink a few times but you realize that you're in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?

Opening his hazel eyes, Ender looked around to see that he was no longer in the tent fast asleep next to the son of Apollo, but instead standing. The lights were bright and shining down at him in a way that blinded him temporarily. Raising a hand to cover the lights as his eyes got adjusted to the sudden brightness, it took a few times of blinking before he could make sense of where he was. Standing in the middle of a stage, he was facing an auditorium where every red velvet upholstered seat lied empty. Glancing to his left and then right, Ender soon realised that he was alone standing there in the middle of the stage, in fact he was the only one from what he could tell in the building. He had been in this room before, several times in fact but never on this stage. He had sat in the mezzanine when he came to see Hamilton with his best friend, Cole, and years before that sat front and center as he watched Romeo and Juliet be performed here. It had always been his dream to stand on this stage - or any stage in Broadway - to take the shape of a character and drop his old skin for a few hours but he never got to live that dream. Smiling to himself, the drunken demigod took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of the theatre, they all smelled the same to him, and relaxed instantly. It smelled like home.

the auditorium is as beautiful as you remember it. the overhead lights beam down on you and send your shadow in almost all directions.

the air is filled with the familiar scent of hardwood and red velvet. even with the seats empty, you can feel the thrill of a performance thrumming beneath your veins.

then you hear someone or something clearing their throat. you could’ve sworn this place was empty, except for you. you look around, hazel eyes trying to find the source, and see a figure sitting in the front row, directly center. the bright lights make it hard to see through but they shift to illuminate the figure.

who or what do you see? describe what they look like and how they make you feel.

It was almost as if he could tell who was sitting there in the front row from the second he heard that familiar clear of a throat. How many times have he heard it directed towards him when he knew he was to be scolded for ‘not acting his age’ or whatever else the fine dressed man felt like getting onto him about that day/week/month. Taking a heavy sigh that he could feel throughout his whole body, Ender closed his eyes for a second almost as if he kept them close then he wouldn’t be able to see the white haired man sitting there, glaring at him and judging him for wanting this in life. Wanting to feel the thumm under his skin and pretend he wasn’t the same person that he was outside of this building-- There was one person who hated Ender McKenzie more than he did himself, and it was the man sitting there front and center. He could almost hear him say ‘Edward’ before he even had the chance to do so. Roger, his step father, never called him by the nickname he had given himself before he even met the guy, deciding that nicknames weren’t professional or some other bullshit. Then again nothing Ender ever did was in Roger’s agenda for the life he had planned for him. Yet he always said he never wanted to be a father figure for the young child when he first married his mother. It seemed he just wanted to control him instead. Wanting a carbon copy of his real son-- someone to take over the business when he retired, who was married to a pretty little blonde and had a couple of kids. Big shock to him when Ender came out gay. Though it wasn’t really a shock when a kid grew up dreaming of standing on a stage like this, singing musicals around the house and talked about how Harrison Ford was handsome now was it?

“Can you just not?” Ender asked before the voice could even speak, pinching the bridge of his nose; the feeling of safeness he felt just seconds before when he realized where he was standing was now gone. Then again Roger always was the best at stripping him raw, exposing who he was really on the inside and then leaving him bleeding out expecting Ender to stitch himself back up again and be the person he wanted the drunken demigod to be. Too bad for his step-father, it never worked out that way.

roger sits there poised, hands resting on the arm rests, eyes focused on you. he doesn't react when you speak, only stares for what feels like an endless moment. this is the man who would turn you into a fraud, who would rip the happiness from your hands and turn you into a reflection of himself and his son—who would take your individuality and your freedom of self away just so HE could find some ounce of happiness.

a smile curls along his lips and he brings his hands to rest in front of his chest, fingertips resting against fingertips.

he opens his mouth to speak and you can't hear anything at first. the sound of the clearing throat is gone and instead it's replaced by something that sounds muffled. you can see him, he's only a couple dozen feet away from you, maybe, but trying to hear him and identify what he's saying is as if he's screaming from hundreds of feet away.

you strain your ears to listen and then it all clicks into place. the voice is audible as if he's standing right beside you, talking into your ear.

what is the voice you hear? does it belong to roger? is it someone else's? describe what you hear and how that voice makes you feel.

For a second, Ender is relieved. He can’t hear him and it makes him chuckle some. It almost feels like he is a young child sticking his fingers into his ear to avoid listening to their parents scold them. Though the feeling doesn’t last long and soon the familiar voice fills his ears--

It’s a deep and rumbling voice. More bass than baritone as if he was constantly grumbling or growling in his direction. Which he usually was in Ender’s case. It was one that could always fill him with dread.

The first time he was scared of that voice was when Roger sat him down and told him he was going away for a bit and wasn’t coming back until he was better. He was fifteen and it was also the first time he screamed out loud for his real father not knowing who he was or why he was calling out for the greek god. Just that he was scared and didn’t want to ‘go get help’ when he was perfectly fine. The second time he was scared of that deep voice was when he came out of the closet. He hadn’t been home from the psychiatric hospital for long before he came out of the closet - though again it wasn’t that much of a shock for everyone -. Ender still had the scar on his chin from that day that he hides under the slight stubble he always wears now. There had been other times he had been scared of that voice, never knowing what was to come from it. Too many times to count actually and he had given up trying by the time he hit twenty-one and could ‘legally’ drink. Alcohol always helped when it came to his step-father. He learned that at young age.

When the man speaks this time it’s one word, the word Ender had expected him to say before he even opened his mouth and the relaxing exhale he had taken moments before was gone and replaced with tension. As if someone had wound up every muscle in his body and he was ready to snap. All over one fucking word. “Edward.”

Gods he hated that name.

"edward," roger says once more, the voice a deep bass, a growl that rumbles through the speakers of the auditorium as if he's hooked up to a microphone. "i've been waiting for you."

he doesn't move from his spot, still sits there with his eyes focused on you as if he's trying to gauge who you are now to who you were then. there's the unseen scars that linger beneath the surface, hidden away from sight from everyone but you. but he's the reason many of those exist.

"you've kept me waiting." he says, finally standing up. he seems taller than you remember, towering over you even from his seat in the front row. "that disappoints me."

Was he always that tall or did he just have that way of making himself appear that way to him? Ender couldn’t remember, perhaps it was because when he still looked at him he felt like the 15 year old boy that was being told he was going away against his will. The man towered over him then and continued to do so even when he hit his own growth spurt that now made him over 6 feet tall. Yet the man before him could make him feel like he was 2 feet tall…

Sometimes never changed.

“I thought I always disappointed you,” Ender said with ever so slightly a quiver to his voice at his words. Cursing himself he told himself to get a grip, to not let fear show as he planted his feet firmly on the ground of the stage. He had faced ogres and huge ass wasps and came out alive. He could face his step-father. Right? He hoped so anyway.

“What do you want? Can we make this quick? I have someone to get back to.”

"always is a strong word, edward."

roger moves from his seat and begins to walk along the long, almost endless row of red velvet seats. when he gets to the aisle, he stops to stare at you, hand resting on one of the large backs of the seats. the spotlight follows him, follows him for every step he takes.

"we have as much or as little time as you may need, edward. i have waited this long, even if it displeases me. but you know about causing upset and unrest, don't you? what is it about you that makes you so rebellious?"

Ever the narcissist he tries not to be, Ender’s jaw clenched when the spotlight started to follow the older man. Here stood a man who made sure in his power that he could not end up on stage for a living, was now taking _his_ spotlight from him. Oh the irony was not lost on him and he added it to the list of many things why he hated this man.

“Rebellious?” It was the first time in a long time, Ender actually laughed around the man and it was dry and bitter. "Who? Me?"

It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it. Ender could count on one hand how many times this man had to bail him out of jail and pay the cops off just because he was hanging around the wrong crowd again. How many times his mother and him told Ender they had a fund set aside for his funeral because all three of them knew that it was only a matter of time before his coke and alcohol addictions caught up to him and they got the call that he was dead somewhere. None of them expected him to make it to the age of 30 and, well, look at him now.

“Why do you even want to know?” Ender asked as he began to pace back and forth on the stage, his hazel eyes staying on Roger the whole time. “Why do you even care? You made it abundantly clear over the years you were never a father to me, though you sure did try to punish me like one. Every little thing I did wrong you were there to make sure it was known how displeased you were with me.” Pacing from stage left he moved towards stage right before asking yet again, "Why do you care? No one cared what happened to me, no one ever cared about me except--” Except Cole. This made him stop, eyes going wide as he was hit with the realization of what he had done all over again. How he toyed the boy around for years, playing with his feelings, using him for sex until the day his best friend told Ender how he really felt. No he wasn’t going there right now. Not ever. “So I will ask you again, what do you want?”

"i want your honesty, i want to know who you are."

it's a strange thing coming from the man who, for so many years, never wanted to know who YOU were but only wanted you to be what HE wanted. he walks to the edge of the stage and the spotlight begins to flicker in and out, as if it can't stay lit for too much longer. you watch as roger raises a hand, waves it to the stage in a dismissing wave—a practiced one, you remember how easily he dismissed you when he was done with you—and you're no longer on the stage, but sitting in the same seat you sat when you saw hamilton, but you feel as if you can see the stage and every thing about it like you were still standing there.

you blink a few times and realize that roger is sitting beside you. the stern face, the disappointed set of his jaw and eyes, isn't there. his eyes don't even look like his, you realize. but someone else's, someone kind.

do you recognize the eyes? who do they belong to?

"i only want you to be honest with me and yourself." roger says.

"who are you?"

“Who are you?” It was a question Ender had asked himself so many times in his life; growing up, school, college, even now. There were moments he stared at himself in the mirror at camp and asked that to his reflection and the answer was always the same. “I am weak.” He didn’t glance at the pair of eyes but kept them on the stage wishing he was back up there. Where he belonged to be. It was like a magnetic pull inside him, trying to get him to go back up there but he couldn’t move. “I am weak.” He said again with a shake of his head, gripping the armrests of his seat to the point his fingers were turning white from his grip on them. “I am a high functioning alcoholic who only hurts the people who love him.” He hurt Cole. He hurt Greyson. Who knows who else he would hurt if they got close enough? Perhaps that is one reason he kept his distance and didn’t get too close to anyone at camp. Sure he would talk to them but why bother opening up if he was just going to leave them for his own selfish needs?

“I am someone who doesn’t deserve love. I am someone who never expected himself to make it to the age of thirty, yet here I am and what for? Why am I still alive?” His voice cracked at the confession and before he knew it the rest came tumbling out of him like a river bursting through a dam. “It’s why I spend most nights high or drunk. I wanted to die. I spent so many of my years of my life never expecting it to get this far and what for? So I could be some kind of champion for a guy who never once offered to help me? Fuck that! Why should I help him when he didn’t help me every time I called out for him? When I needed him the most he was nowhere to find and now that he is missing I have to drop my life and help him!?”

Ender was all but screaming now as he spoke, his chest rising and falling as the emotions flowed through him. It wasn’t until he turned to look at the man sitting next to him he realized that the eyes were no longer Roger’s ice blue ones but someone else’s. They looked familiar like he had seen them pass by on a street or a party once but can’t place a name to who they belonged to. Though if he had to guess it was a female’s. Yet as he gazed upon them he felt oddly at ease, the rage and pain that had been filling up inside him at the question was gone. Instead it was more sadness as he asked-- “Who am I supposed to be? Because I have no idea anymore...I just know I don’t want to be weak anymore. I don’t want to die anymore and that scares me more than anything.”

for a long time after you speak, roger stares at you. every time your voice rose, every time you were almost screaming, he didn't flinch away from you or tell you to be quiet. he didn't scream at you to shut up and stop complaining about the life you have.

no, he only listens.

then, calmly, he begins to speak once more, still staring at you as if he sees into the deepest, darkest parts of you; as if he's shining a light on the places you wish no one to go.

"it takes great strength to continue fighting, to persevere regardless of circumstance. it takes strength to still fight a fight for someone who never fought for you." from his hand, he produces a bushel of grapes and offers you one. "but maybe you don't do this for him, maybe you're here because you didn't want to die long ago and this was an option to allow you to live."

he pops a grape in his mouth unceremoniously and peers at you through his lashes. "you are whoever you wish to be, ender. the world is a stage and you are an actor. you can pretend to be whoever you wish or finally be who you ARE."

hearing roger's voice and seeing roger's mouth form the name ENDER hits you like a brick. what emotions does it bring out of you?

“Is it fair for me to be selfish like that?” Ender asked reaching out to accept the grape because fuck he needed something right now. Even if it was just a small nectar filled grape, it was better than being sober for this. “Everyone else seems to actually want to help their birth parent and here I am not caring at all that he is missing. Is that wrong of me? Does that make me weaker than them?” Every time he stepped in front of a creature or person he was expected to fight, he wasn’t frightening for Dionysus but a chance for another day to live. And maybe all along he knew that deep down, that he had come to camp not to die like he thought but a chance to live like this version of his step-father suggested. Those pitch black eyes peered into his soul a bit more as he felt the grape pop in his mouth and released the nectar that he craved. It wasn’t until the slip of _Ender_ came out that he knew for sure this wasn’t his step-father as much as he had spent most of his life longing to hear that name fall from Roger’s lips. A sign that the man finally accepted him for who he was. The drunken demigod knew better than to get his hopes up and realized, finally, that it didn’t matter if Roger accepted him or not. He no longer lived to please or make him happy with his life choices. It wasn’t who he was anymore. It will never be who he is again now that he had a taste of what he could do. The strength his younger self never knew was deep inside him longing to be set free. If he had discovered it fully back then would he have killed the man out of rage and pent up energy? Ender didn’t dwell on the answer, knowing too well what it would be.

Yes.

“Who are you? You are not him, I know that now. Why bring me here?” Ender asked, reaching for another grape missing his own bunch he kept on him at all times.

"to have reservations is human. some maybe slipping into immortality quicker than you and that is alright." roger says, his voice a low rumble that still catches over the speakers of the theatre. "everyone's journey is different, that's what makes life beautiful. eventually, you will come to know your father and understand him. but if you shut him out entirely, this life—" he waves to the stage and then toward you. "would be gone entirely."

"i'm not him as you are now who he has tried to make you." roger stands, fingers moving to the bannister to look out over the stage. "i am an echo of your father's power, here to test your resolve. you are strong willed, son of dionysus." he tips his head toward you. "ender." his pitch black eyes almost turn as red as wine before shifting back to the abyssal emptiness of darkness.

"it is up to you to craft a path for yourself. you picked a theater to bring me here." he pauses, looking at the stage once more. "Why?"

“He is the one who shut me out,” Ender said growling for a second letting that bit of anger slip through. At the mention of this figure being an echo of his power, Ender froze almost and stated at him with wide hazel eyes almost in disbelief. “Fifteen years...I have waited at least fifteen years for any sign of you and now you come to me? Now you want to act like you care? Now you want to show up? When were you when I needed you the most?! I--” He paused and once again pinched the bridge of his nose trying to calm down and focus on things that weren’t going to piss off the one person he had been screaming to the heavens for years over. So instead he focused on trivial things, like how the eyes shifted from dark black to red and part of him wondered if his own would do that one day when he tapped into whatever power he had within him. A sigh escaped him and he opened his own plain hazel eyes and glanced to the stage. “It’s where I wanted to be my whole life. Ever since my mother took me to see my first show when I was younger I dreamed of belonging up there- or any stage really. It’s where I could shed my skin and be someone else. I was--am so tired of being me that the idea of being someone else was ideal to a young child who could do nothing right, it felt like.” There was a pause in his words, the silence filling the theatre as he said, “I think part of me still longs to shed my skin some days and be someone else. It’s freeing to pretend you aren’t yourself even if it is just for a few minutes or hours. Makes you hate yourself a little less.”

"you weren't ready for the truth until now, ender." the bottomless eyes flicker toward you and back to the stage. roger takes a more relaxed stance, more so than you've ever seen him take before. he leans against the bannister and smiles. "but i'm here now and i won't be leaving unless you want me to."

"you wish to be an actor, a shapeshifter." he turns to face you now, as if he's still looking into the darkest parts of you. "the stage is what you make of it. remember, all the world's a stage."

“I don’t,” Ender confessed looking at the man who was supposed to be an echo of his father’s power. As he said those two words he realized how true it was. “I don’t want you to leave. I wish you didn’t look like _him_ but I don’t want you to leave.” As he spoke he sounded almost like a small child asking his parents not to leave them at a babysitter or a new nanny as they rushed off to go to work.

His whole life, he went on believing that he never needed a father figure in his life that he was fine with his mother who was a strong independent woman who raised him for a love of theatre and of arts. He never got to participate in father-son activities and he was okay with this. He told himself over and over that he didn’t need to know who his father was, that he didn’t need him to teach him things father’s taught their sons. But now, having a glimpse of him in front of him--

Well he realized how wrong he was and how much he wanted to keep that glimpse near him now. To make up for lost time almost.

At the mention of being a shapeshifter, an actor, Ender nodded his head and explained, “It’s all I wanted in life. To pretend I wasn’t me for a bit. Roger, the real him, never let me achieve those dreams so I went to school for other things. But this,” his eyes glanced back to the stage with a longing. “This is where my heart lies.” Exhaling he turned back to the figure of his step-father and said, “The world is my stage now. I need to remember that.”

"i won't leave." roger says before he tilts a glance toward you, eyebrow arching up.

"just as you wish to be a shapeshifter, this is not who i must be either." he begins to drip away, like a waterfall of wine until he is nothing more than a puddle of deep red at your feet. you hear an echo in your mind, a gentle nudge. "go on, maestro, turn me into whoever or whatever you wish me to be and you, too, will have an echo of your father's power."

what do you turn roger into? who or what shape does he take in this new form?

For a second his mind goes to Cole, the boy he was best friend with and the very boy he broke as well. Ender knew it was selfish to think this, to wish the echo of his father’s power to be the boy just so he could see and talk to him again. Sure he was selfish and the past him would have done it in a heartbeat, it just didn’t feel right to have his father’s echo to turn him. His mind then goes to the exact opposite of what he imagined he could make Roger look like. His step-father was tall and silver haired and screamed respect, but in his mind he saw a girl he once talked to at a party. They hit it off immediately, becoming friends and staying beside each other during the whole night, only for her to slip away without a trace and without a way to contact her. He had seen her face a few days later in the news having died from being mugged on her way home. Part of him blamed himself, though he never got her name or her number. He just held onto the bit of sass she threw at him, the way she made him laugh and the way she could boss him around after minutes of meeting her. “Her.” Ender said imagining the girl in his head. Her dark wavy curls, black eyes and petite frame. He didn’t even have a name for her, or if he did he lost it in the dug filled haze that was most of his twenties. He just knew that if she had more time on earth she would have been his other best friend, the only other person to boss him around and make him get his shit together when he needed it most. It was what he needed now. “I chose her.”

"good. now i'll give you my power and we'll kick some ass together." the new form grins and, although she's nameless for now, you think that, eventually, you'll find a suiting name for her. she pushes your shoulder and her dark curls bounce and her dark eyes see straight through you.

you wake up feel as if you've been pushed from your bed and when your eyes adjust, you realize that you're back in your tent with greyson after a long, treacherous few days in the underworld. but oddly enough, you feel more well rested than you've ever felt before.

kick some ass together.

it's a thought that races through your mind and you know that you're ready to take this stage by storm, star of the show or not.

#son of dionysus ( muse )#kick some ass together ( gaurdian )#//ill add a proper path tag when we get the name of it #PATH OF THE TRANSFORMED CHARLATAN ( path )

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nozomijoestar · 4 years

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Pt. 1 of my LL! x TMA crossover is finally here. Crossposted on my FF.net!

TWs: Gore, warfare, being buried alive, body horror

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With the world plunged into the apocalypse of never-ending fear thanks to The Eye and The Archivist, two stories intertwine. Statements of Nozomi Tojo later the entity called The One Alone- pre and post mortem of humanity. Recorded direct from subject.

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“The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers. It doesn’t need to tell you lies. It waits for the lies you tell yourself.”

There is a wind that rides amidst the expanse bare of clouds that dares to call itself a sky still. It rolls ever onwards like a wave beneath the ever shifting Eyes; the Eyes with presence to match the same that crowns a panopticon. The tower it calls home stands higher than anything conceivable by Man. Though she has tried escape she knows there is nowhere on this barren land it cannot be seen. The gaze of the Beholder sees those who suffer in sacrifice below; it too sees the servants, the avatars, of its fellow Entities revel in a Hell once thought promised to one devotee or another now open for all. She is reminded of the amusement parks she yearned to step foot in as a child until it made her sick.

She is reminded it sees always through her disembodied form. It knows where none other should know; ever thirsty for the forbidden and beyond boundaries The Eye (The Beholder, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, names are irrelevant in its pursuits. They are attempts to describe an aspect of what people called impossible.) sips her essence with precision a mosquito could envy. The fog that is and is not her whenever she molds it to a human shape whips about in fury. It is tainting her loneliness. It wants to dip its finger in her blissful isolation just as it has every other monstrosity made manifest.

Her Entity is a kind being, an understanding one that divides the Who from They into an intimacy; one so singular and gentle to allow those within it to banish all others. She can still remember the first time grasping it brought her to tears. Both it and she cannot escape what it is to be known. Not now in the presence of that damned thing which exists to play voyeur. She looks down.

The trench that scars the earth and stretches beyond the horizon marks the domain The Slaughter calls a feeding ground. Even as high as she is the stench of cordite, gunpowder, gore, and all that tears apart wafts into her. Within the trench figures once store clerks, families, businessmen, teachers, students, children, fire enough bullets and shells to massacre what was once Tokyo. Each cracks sharper than thunder while the rat-a-tat-tat from infinite machine guns never stops. In between the gun nests slump people lost within war that is not satisfied with surface destruction and swallows the mind. They are worse than those casualties who scream, in their silence.

On the fetid breeze bagpipes in a mockery of ‘Scotland the Brave’ wail enough to vibrate No Man’s Land. She can spy the tanks advancing ever forwards peppered by shrapnel; flayed bodies can vaguely be made out strapped to their armor. The edges of her fog wiggle in place of a shudder. Neither now nor in her meaningless days as feed, as human, had butchery in any form brought anything from her but nausea. From that barren hell a bulky creature towered over its victims; it made way for her as their eyes locked.

She knows this monster well no matter how tiny the ribs spiked out its chest appear at this distance. It stamped its clawed bloody foot and snarled. Its teeth glistened red in a multitude of fangs arranged row after row like a shark mouth. The pointed shoulder blades protruding out its back drip viscera; she knows it has fed. Feeding is all it can do now; she knows it laments the conveniences a human form had after all. That like her it loathes having the terror it creates tainted under The Eye’s ruling gaze. Its face comprised of exposed wounds for flesh and two smaller faces twisted in pain on its neck, glares at her unflinching. Its black and orange pupiled eyes are beady as if carved from revulsion, from hate. Around them no soldiers aim and the tools of war bend paths to avoid harm. The monster shouts in a growl that booms over the din of murder.

“Forsaken! Have you come to strut and brag again you little shit? Making fun of me showing up like that are you?-“

The Slaughter avatar’s insults fell on empty air; she glided onward without a destination. Suddenly several stones passed through her leaving holes that reformed instantly. Not a glance did she spare back; U’ral-whatever-her-name-was could shout her distain till her throat bled. The One Alone would not stoop as weak as her to hold reservations about their paradise.

On this ride no one would get off.

She stopped above a circle of candy colored lights that formed the outline of a carousel. A few meters around its dim shine run shadowed shapes. Shape is the best word she has to describe those frantic wretches who pile atop each other; their fingers peel faces reused again and again among their number. They long to no more ask themselves Who Am I? but know beneath the ache they will never be whole.

They could have counted her among them, once. Almost.

Though reason reminded her it’d been months those days, the idea there’d been a time before, was impossible. Had she always been what she’d embraced or had her human shell been her true home? Some days before the opening of the Door she was ashamed to still ponder it. Not in this world however; here she at last knew her peace. The edges of her form swirled outward. She continued to watch. The Stranger’s victims continued their frenzy as another face was for the taking. Cries of triumph clashed with envious screams not unlike the battle-shouts of one brought under Slaughter.

If she squinted she made out the current victor. The teenage girl bolts across the fairgrounds in a random direction; her red-orange hair waved in its ragged bob cut like a dancing flame. Where once she had pale skin and…had they been yellow eyes? The One Alone saw her now a shambling thing that slapped its prize atop a carmine skull. Something in her puzzled to think she remembered the girl’s face, and yet nothing of her name. Nothing of what their connection had been in another life.

Not a fiber of her cared to linger longer; yet as she made to leave one final sight stopped her. This time the name and everything with it returned. Kotori busied herself on a cross-stitch of skin and sinew when she saw The One Alone above. Did she too remember? Did she know who they both once were? Even if she did The One Alone couldn’t bring herself to care. It would be unnecessary and in a way always had been. She had never existed. Kotori’s eyes gave her a look filled with the briefest solidarity, before the indifference reclaimed her. The blessings of The Stranger have created fissures along her skin; it ceased to be skin so much as it resembled a potato weak enough to tug, in its fragility.

Not for the last time she feels the deep, deep truth twist her at the chance that in another world, she joined in the stitching. Disgust shook her fog at the idea of companionship looming before her. A semblance of sympathy even if in the imagination; avatars do not trust. Not each other. The smartest ones, her, saw trust for the waiting betrayal it was. For the lie it had been since the moment she was born.

She flies beyond the circus of the damned toward a thundering in the distance. At the passing over a spot of darkness that stretches miles, she swallows the urge to stare. It is a black void so absolute it cannot cast shadows; nor can any bottom to its depth be found as though you’ve entered the essence of nothingness. Eli was there. She felt the knowledge wash over her like rain. Eli was there, transformed into something that drowned her victims into obscurity. This was a comforting thought; their domains weren’t too unalike.

It’s enough to almost make her wish Eli had joined The Lonely. She smothers it before it can bloom further. The Dark chooses its chosen and there is nothing she can do. She is alone, as she was meant to be. Ahead the thundering slams into her ears snapping her from ruminating. Niko appeared no bigger than a dot from this high. The shovel she pointed above her head reflected the Eyes that’d replaced the sun on its blade. Above her a pink man with shriveled skin stuffed into his suit smiled. It was knowing and unbothered; he stared down as calm as if he were choosing a sandwich. Simon Fairchild.

Of course The Vast would entertain a challenge from The Buried. The space around him appeared more than air; his very presence distorts that not bound to earth. His true distance away is impossible to gauge, he is both forever distant yet under only sky, a neighbor. She watches his wisplike white hair flap in the breeze. His calm slides into amusement. Niko’s curses and yells have grown louder now. She stops at what serves best for not too close; she observes.

None of it is productive. Niko, poor desperate, witless Niko still clung to a blanket stitched from emotions. If she was an annoyance in the old world, now she was insufferable. She remained a prisoner as she’d always been. She’d been a prisoner of her desires, slave to her circumstance, yet another decimal point on a statistic. Yes The One Alone remembers those days before they’d embraced their natures; however faint the memories Niko had been a worm inching for the sky, for escape. Anything was better than bills and so many mouths to feed with so few helping hands. She notices the pockmark of holes littering the ground around Niko’s feet.

There are at least a hundred here. A hundred other worms that’d cherished denial at the crushing that finally bound them physically. They would never know the suffocation of an illusion of control as Niko does. They will smell rancid air and gargle on sod in those depths; they will wonder why them. There will be no answer; no release for their attempts at freedom. It is not the freeing isolation she has accepted. You weren’t even allowed to enjoy it; you couldn’t if you didn’t embrace it. She hears the curses grow louder followed by an earth splitting crack.

Indeed the ground dents under Niko’s tap against it. A chorus of screams ring as one at another tear in the soil. The worms that’d never lived neither as humans nor now were rattled within their prisons. Simon answered the challenge and so their game at which Fear dominated the other began another wasteful chapter. Though it wasn’t her domain she felt a faint pulse spinning in the bottomless emptiness of the Falling Titan. If Simon knew she saw into his world he didn’t show it.

Honoka was there among his captives, falling, and falling. Falling with a soundless scream against the whipping winds; she was begging like the rest for a splat, for some grounded, definite end. Silly fool, nothing in this world had an end anymore. Once Honoka had been marked by The Vast; had she accepted it Simon might’ve welcomed another for his kind. The One Alone laughed in a sound near breathless and let her fog curl. Avatars serving the same master; they’d have torn each other apart.

One remained the superior number; alone the greatest of words.

Niko’s voice calls after her as she fades from view.

“…Nozomi! Always watching like a creep huh?”

The name reaches her faster than an arrow and pierces the impenetrable within her. It nests in what remains to be called her soul. It was a poison, a gate however small to expose the person long dead within her. To call out to what had been defined by failure, naivety, and longing.

The One Alone shudders as fog might. She makes her own way until silence embraces her tight.

#the magnus archives #love live!#my writing #after 10k years lol #lonely!nozomi

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bucklesomeswashswan · 4 years

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At the Beginning (1/11)

well well well, look who’s back at it... finally. It’s December again and long overdue at this point but... Buckle in and gear up for a whole new adventure because it’s the Once Upon a December sequel!!

Big thank you and shout out to everyone who helped this story come to life! Thanks to everyone who reached out and sent a message asking how writing was going and encouraging me, this would not have happened without you!

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew? rated M AO3 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3] [Tumblr]

Chapter 1: Never Dreaming

Ruby wrapped her fingers around the cup of coffee she was nursing, the mug heating her skin to the point of almost being painful. She watched the steam rise, lazily curling into the air. All the voices at the table faded into a hum around her as she let her mind wander, finding a little peace as the others argued around her. These meetings were futile. They were just a charade so everyone here could feel like they were doing something even when nothing was ever decided or changed.

It had been almost a month since she had sent Emma to the coast after Killian. A month of trying to honor her decision to take a position in the royal court and these council meetings. A month surrounded by strangers, each with an ego and inflated sense of importance. A month as the newcomer on the council with no appreciable or discernible skills, the target of sidelong glances. A month alone without her friends.

It had been a hell of a month.

At this point she might have even willingly chosen to face down a hoard of blackguards, or even Gold himself just to have a break from the endless politics. She ached for a little of the adventure of her old life. Sure, it hadn’t been easy, but it least it hadn’t felt like slowly withering and dying. She longed in some deep part of her for the shadows and scuffles of the desolate streets where she had once lived.

“That still doesn’t address the issue of the grain shipments,” one of the men across from her said drawing her attention back to the discussion. She didn’t bother wondering how the topic had shifted from the squalls in the bay to grain.

“If we cannot get that grain across the border the stores within Misthaven will run empty,” he continued his gray eyebrows bushy and a bit absurd against the lines of his face. “When the top ranking Industrialists fled they raided the warehouses. The people left behind are dependent on our imports.”

“What exactly is stopping the shipments?” another man asked. “There can’t still be blackguard patrols along the border. I heard they had scattered.”

The first man leaned forward his knuckles white on the smooth surface of the table. “It’s not a matter of the blackguards. It’s been a problem with ever changing oversight and regulations at the border,” he said. “Some of shipments get stopped, some get raided, some get through. At best only a fraction reaches the people.”

At the head of the table the Queen nodded, the motion catching Ruby’s attention, she at least seemed to be following this conversation, never showing any signs of fatigue at these endless discussions.

“That fits with the other reports we’ve had,” the Queen said. “Everything is unpredictable in Misthaven. The lack of leadership is becoming a problem.”

The sentence was met with ringing silence. A few people at the table traded loaded glances. Lord Fergus became suddenly very interested in stitching in the cuff of his jacket. Ruby perked up a little watching their reactions carefully. Finally, after weeks of posturing and bluffing, people were showing their hands.

So the Queen thought someone needed to take control of Misthaven.

And her tone implied she thought she was ready to take up that mantel once again. But even here, among her most trusted advisors and staunchest supporters, the silence stretched and no one jumped at the opportunity to support that idea.

Maybe it was because they understood the gravity of what that would mean. Or because they all simply liked the illusion of sitting around this table playing at being kings rather than having any interest in actually ruling. Or maybe it had something to do with the way their eyes lit whenever Emma was mentioned, the eager way they talked about how to use her reappearance to their advantage. The hungry way they spoke about her magic, her birthright, her popularity.

Ruby had sat at this table for a month with her head down and her eyes and ears wide open. There was something shifting within the council, an undercurrent beneath the placid surface of their negotiations and bickering. A dark secret she saw flash in the faces around the table. Emma had presented a new answer and opportunity to the stalemate of Misthaven politics. An answer that muddied old loyalties and raised silent questions of succession.

“There are other rumors,” Lord Fergus said at last leading the conversation back from the edge none of them acknowledged. “There is increased activity near the Dark Palace. There are even reports of Black Knights in the enchanted forest.”

Ruby put down her mug at that. The Dark Palace was a myth, the witch who lived there was a story meant to keep children in their beds at night. The Black Knights had long ago rained terror in the borderlands and the deep parts of the forest. It was even said the Blackguards had fashioned themselves after the Black Knights.

The Queen shook her head. “The Dark Palace has been empty for years. My father saw to that.”

Fergus pressed his lips into a thin line. “Rumors are all we have had for years, your Majesty. I see no reason to start questioning them now. There is always a bit of truth in any rumor. We need to be prepared for what this rumor could mean for us. If the dark sorceress-”

The Queen drew herself up a little straighter. “There is no reason to incite fear when we don’t have solid facts. When we have more information we can react accordingly.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say in response was lost as the door to the chamber groaned open. Everyone at the table turned as a guard entered the room.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Emma, has returned,” he announced to the council.

The door opened wider to reveal two figures standing in the doorway. It was Emma and Killian, fresh from their ride from the coast. Ruby’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t known they were returning today. She would have thought Killian would have sent her a letter letting her know.

Emma looked around the room in surprise and seemed embarrassed that they had disrupted an official meeting. She gave her mother a sheepish smile as she stepped into the room.

There was a commotion as the members of the council stood, some bowing, others watching Emma carefully. A few asked how she was, if she had come back to stay this time. Emma looked overwhelmed by the bombardment.

“We’ll pick this up later,” the Queen announced dismissing the meeting then she stood and moved to give Emma a tight hug. Even in the crowded room, it felt like a private moment and Ruby looked past them to where Killian had edged into the room behind Emma.

Killian’s sharp gaze moved to take in the group at the table, marking each face, gauging friend or foe. When his eyes found Ruby they held there, pinning her. At last his expression softened and he gave her a small nod. The sight was so familiar it made her heart clench, and at once she felt herself relax.

She moved, ducking around other advisors and pushing past them to get to where Killian was standing, ignored by everyone in the room.

“Ruby,” he greeted as she reached him. He seemed relieved to see her.

“I ought to kick your ass for trying to run off like that,” Ruby told him, she meant it as a joke but the words came out a bit thin.

He let out a breath, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but a part of her was relieved to hear those words. Their longstanding promise to each other, it meant they would be okay. It was like finding solid ground after a month on shifting sand.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she agreed trying to give him a little shove but he dodged and then surprised her by pulling her into a hug. He was never one to be physically affectionate when a few words or a look would suffice.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her as he held her tightly and she let her arms come up around him gripping him as it all crashed in on her.

She’d almost lost him. If he had sailed off, if Emma hadn’t stopped him, Ruby might never have seen him again. He was her oldest friend and companion, her closest ally through many dangers. He was a brother to her, her only family, and she was so relieved he was back.

“Ruby!” Emma said excitedly joining them and they broke apart. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

Ruby turned to her before gesturing to the room around them. “I’ve been attending all the council meetings,” Ruby said. She noticed the calculating look Killian gave her, the question in his eyes..

“Good,” Emma said looking slyly at the council members. “They need someone on the council who has seen what it’s really like in Misthaven. I got the sense that some of them had forgotten. Too long spent here with feather beds and full stomachs.”

Ruby knew what she meant. “The trick is getting them to hear what I’m saying. It’s been an adjustment, learning the subtleties of politics.”

Emma chuckled. “Adjustment. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. That week I spent here after the ball felt like always being one step behind. At least now maybe we can try to figure out being on the council together.”

Ruby tried to imagine Emma at the table, seated beside the Queen, weighing in on grain shipments and political allies.

“That should make it much more tolerable,” Ruby said. At least now she’d have a friend on the council, someone who didn’t look down their nose at her. And more than that she had a feeling Emma would need someone looking out for her. Someone loyal to her, not just the idea of what she could mean for Misthaven’s future.

“I’m just surprised to see you,” she told them. “You should have told me you were coming back today.”

“We came back because we received word that there’s been unrest,” Killian said.

“On the council or in Misthaven?” Ruby asked with a scoff. Unrest didn’t seem like a strong enough word, not for the scattered reports that rained in or the tension in the council chamber.

“In Misthaven,” Emma replied before frowning. “Why? What’s happening on the council?”

Ruby pursed her lips deciding how much she should tell them. “Not everyone agrees on how to help Misthaven, or what approach to take,” she watched their expressions carefully before adding a little quieter, “I don’t think everyone on the council fully supports your parents.”

Emma’s expression darkened. “My parents are the King and Queen,” the words were steeped in a confidence and power that Ruby had rarely heard from her. “The council wouldn’t be here if they didn’t support them.”

Ruby gave her a tight look. “Still, you’ll need to be careful. You shouldn’t trust everyone here.”

Killian ran a hand over his face. For a second she was afraid he might just grab Emma and run back to wherever they had been hiding from the world and she might lose them again.

Emma looked rightly concerned by her words. She opened her mouth to speak and Ruby wasn’t sure if Emma would heed her warning or argue. But she never got the chance to know because another voice cut in.

“Emma,” the Queen called gesturing her over. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Emma held Ruby’s gaze for a split second before turning to where her mother was standing. She gave Killian a small smile before saying, “Duty calls,” and making her way over to where her mother was standing with Lord Fergus.

Ruby watched as Emma smiled politely as introductions were made. Ruby knew that Lord Fergus was distantly related to the King and therefore Emma’s relative as well. This was a homecoming in many ways for her.

“So when do you get to officially meet the family?” Ruby asked knowing it would ruffle Killian’s feathers.

His expression tightened and he swallowed. “When Emma’s ready. She’s still getting used to the idea of her family, when she’s ready, I’ll be here.”

It wasn’t exactly the response she had expected. A bit more rational, a bit more understanding, a bit less like the reckless boy she had known for years. It made that same part of her that longed for the past ache again. Everything was changing, sliding away from her. It felt like she might be left behind even with Emma and Killian standing right beside her.

She suddenly wanted the old ease and familiarity of their friendship. The way they had been when they were kids, teasing and goading each other. She chose the most impish comment she could think of. “So,” she said giving him an overly innocent look, “did you have a nice time with Emma in Capetown?”

He looked at her cautiously.

“I was beginning to think you’d never come up for air,” she teased. “A month, good lord.”

He rolled his eyes, but she caught the flush at the tips of his ears.

And there it was, a little flash of the old Killian. Pleased, she laughed but didn’t torture him further. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He hesitated, glancing over at Emma across the room.

But Ruby just took his arm and tugged him along. “She can take care of herself, there’s plenty more family and friends for her to meet. It might take a while.”

He didn’t look totally convinced but he followed her out of the council chamber.

~*~ The Queen watched Killian leave with Ruby, and she saw the way his eyes lingered on Emma before he left. She saw the affection and protectiveness in that glance. If she had known nothing else about him she would have liked him just because of that.

But over the last few weeks she had learned quite a bit more about Killian Jones. She had heard from the other refugees that Killian Jones was a name whispered in the streets of the capital, more a story than a man. He had lived just outside the tight control of the Industrialists. Someone who had once stood toe to toe with Gold and was not afraid to defy him. As reckless as he was elusive. Most wouldn’t have been able to pick him out on the streets but many would have been able to tell some exaggerated tales of his exploits.

He was a con artist and a thief, a rabble rouser, and he didn’t bow to authority. He was not the sort of person she would describe as an ideal ally. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t trust him considering how much a con artist stood to gain from conning someone like her, or her daughter.

But he had walked away from a sizeable reward once, and he had risked his life to fight Gold and protect Emma. Both were contradictions to what she would have expected. It seemed in this case, as with so many others, there was more to his story than the rumors told.

She marveled once again at the people Emma had met on her long journey home, the obstacles she’d had to conquer. She wondered if she would have had the strength to survive as Emma had if she had been left behind instead?

She watched as Emma smiled and spoke mildly with each new person she was introduced to. A picture of diplomacy, she thought with a flash of pride. She kept catching glimpses of the girl she had once been, a willing pupil of what it meant to be a princess. And yet now there was a grown woman, strong and independent, standing here in place of that young girl she had lost. Sometimes it was hard to reconcile the past with the present.

She knew David was having trouble with it too. She would never forget returning to the townhouse after that eventful ball to find him awake and staring at the fire in their bedroom. The look on his face as he had turned to her, shattered. The way he had sobbed against her asking again and again if they could have known Emma had survived, if they had abandoned her. If there was a way they could have found her all those years. If they had failed their daughter.

But there were other changes too. Emma’s name was a phantom that disappeared as soon as the Queen entered a room. Conversations hushed and long sideways glances. There was an excitement around her daughter, one that hadn’t dimmed when she had chased Killian to the coast. She knew Emma had turned a tide she hadn’t even realized had gone out. She had reinvigorated the dying ember of their power, fanning it into a new flame. She just wondered if Emma was a force to carry them forward or topple them. At times it felt like they were a moment from teetering off the razor edge of their power.

But if there was any hope of returning to Misthaven they needed to ride the wave of Emma’s return. They needed to use and weaponize that momentum. But she didn’t know how far she could push Emma, or at what point would she refuse. And if they pushed Emma too far how many of their supporters would follow her and turn against the King and Queen? It wasn’t a point or question she wanted to reach, so she had to tread lightly.

But now as she watched Emma interact with the council she thought maybe she was more ready to step into her role than she had thought. Maybe there was more hope than she had allowed herself to believe.

~*~ Ruby gave Killian a cursory tour of the townhouse, showing him the kitchen, sitting room, library, and finally the bedrooms. It was a lot to take in, and honestly he just wanted a warm bath and a good night’s rest. Ruby finished at Emma’s room, and then she left to go tend to some business or other. He watched her go knowing her vague excuse was just that. She was giving him a moment alone and he was thankful for it.

He stepped slowly into the room, like one of the devout stepping into the heavy quiet of an empty church. It almost felt like an invasion of privacy to be here without Emma. But there wasn’t anything really personal that made the room hers, after all she had only stayed here for about a week before leaving for Capetown.

He tried to imagine her in this room, sitting at the chair by the window, sleeping on the plush bed. He tried to imagine her here without him or Ruby, trying to get acquainted with her new life. A life that was so different from her old one. So different from his world. The thought made all his insecurities and doubts slither back out. Looking around he knew he didn’t belong here the way she did. What if it eventually drove them apart or made her hate him? Was it was better for him to let her go so she could become everything she was meant to be?

They were all the same thoughts that had convinced him to leave her behind and go to the coast.

He knew now it had been a moment of weakness to leave. He loved her and he needed her. Even now he wondered how long he would have held to his decision to leave her. It was so much harder to keep running from something than to chase after something you wanted.

He was trailing his fingers along the spines of the books on her shelves when a voice startled him.

“I wasn’t sure where you were hiding.”

He turned to see Emma leaning against the doorframe. The sight made him smile, finally it was just the two of them again. He could almost feel the tension melt off both of them. They didn’t need to pretend or put on a brave face when they were alone.

“I’m not hiding,” he told her.

She gave a speculative tilt of her head. “Okay,” she allowed with a small smirk. “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t hide here with you. I think I need a break from… all that.” She gestured vaguely out the hallway toward the stairs where all the others were.

He wondered how long they would have until her duties pulled her away from him again.

“It all feels so much more real now than it did before,” she said softly.

“Being a princess?” he asked.

She nodded. “With the council, and diplomats, and the guards, it feels like there are so many people around, so many faces watching me. This is my family and my home but I feel so exposed here, so vulnerable and judged. I don’t know how to be this person they want me to be.”

He sat down on the bed and waited until she joined him. “They’re not expecting you to be perfect.”

She let out an exasperated sound. “Tell that to my parents, and Lord Fergus, and Lady who’s-it, and all the rest of them. I think half of them would practically crown me Queen tomorrow. They all look at me with this hopeful expression and I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think I am this person they see when they look at me.”

Killian gently pulled her closer. “They’ll learn who you really are just as I have.”

Emma leaned her head against his shoulder with a small groan. “Is it too late to just run away again?” she muttered into his jacket. “Maybe we can just disappear.”

His eyes fell shut for a moment. The idea of running back to the coast and the sanctuary they had found in each other there was like a siren call. The past month had been something out of a dream, and that made this feel like waking up to a harsh reality.

“You don’t really want to disappear,” he said. She pulled back a little to look at him.

“I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore,” she whispered.

He shook his head pushing back a lock of her hair. “That isn’t true,” he said. “You want to be here with your family, and you want to be accepted by the people that matter to them.”

She gave a half-hearted smile. “Oh, is that all?”

He smirked. “No. You also wanted to sneak away from that crowd because you knew there was someone devilishly handsome waiting for you.”

She laughed. The sound settled beside his heart, a sound he never got tired of.

He leaned forward, his hand finding her cheek as his lips brushed hers. It wasn’t the heated passionate kisses they had pressed into each other’s skin by the shore. It was soft, reassuring, steady. It was quiet in a way they needed after a long day.

Emma drew away making his thumb slide absently down her jaw. She glanced up from his lips to give him a small smile before she pressed her forehead to his. He held her there. This felt like home in a way nothing in his life had before.

Someone knocked on the open door and they both looked up.

“Sorry,” Ruby said seeing she had interrupted. “The King and Queen want to speak with us.”

Killian felt a shadow of anxiety unfurl in his stomach. He glanced at Emma. This was the moment he had been most nervous about. He had no idea what Emma’s parents would make of him. He pulled away from Emma standing up.

Emma rose slower, he could feel her eyes on him. He didn’t meet her eyes, he didn��t want to see any pity or worry there.

“Follow me,” Ruby said and Killian waved Emma ahead of him as Ruby led them back to the sitting room that the council used. The room empty now except for Emma’s parents.

The Queen stood from the armchair she had been sitting in when she saw them. The sight of her and the King standing before the fire was a bit intimidating.

Emma paused glancing between Killian and her parents as if unsure if she should start the conversation. He felt instantly out of place, everyone looking at him. After years spending most of his efforts on not being seen or noticed he bristled under their gazes.

“Killian Jones,” the King said stepping forward, “It’s time we were introduced.”

Killian looked uneasily between the King and Queen. If they already knew who he was there was hardly a need for an introduction. He wondered exactly how much they knew about him. The thought making his stomach clench.

But the King didn’t seemed phased and continued speaking mostly to Emma, “Thank you for responding to my letter, I couldn’t put everything in writing in case it was intercepted. I’m afraid the situation is more dangerous than we have been letting on and we needed you here.”

“What situation?” Emma asked him. “What couldn’t you tell us?”

“It’s about Gold,” the Queen said simply.

Killian glanced at Emma who went pale.

“After we captured him he was sent to Lydgate Island, to the prison there,” the Queen told them before pausing.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said looking between her parents.

“Misthaven is in a precarious position. If Lydgate is going to stand, if we have any hope of keeping Gold locked up and preventing him from escaping to reinstate Industrialist rule, we need a stronger presence in Misthaven.”

“Are you going to send soldiers, or diplomats?” Emma asked. “We don’t have enough time to gather a lot of supporters.”

“That’s the problem, we are almost out of time as it is. We’re sending everyone we have. That includes us,” the King said. “We’re going back.”

There was a heavy silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Killian felt his heart sink into his stomach. This was even worse than how he had feared this conversation would go.

“Go back?” Emma asked at last in a small voice.

“It’s our only choice. If we don’t do this now, if Gold returns, there will be nowhere safe for us. Not Glowerhaven, not the Frontlands, no corner of any territory or tiny island out in any ocean from here to the Leviathan Shoals. No realm will hide us. And Gold will stop at nothing until Emma is dead now that he knows how powerful she is.”

Ruby shook her head. “We can’t go back to Misthaven, we just left. We almost died several times, Emma almost died.”

The King and Queen were looking at them as if their minds were made up and no argument, no matter how sound or logical, would sway them. But he had to try.

“It’s too dangerous,” Killian said. “What you’re suggesting is suicide. You have no allies in Misthaven. You have no army. You are going to be walking blindly back into a country you haven’t seen for over a decade.”

Killian saw Emma wrap her arms around herself.

“The council has not idle. We have been collecting intel on Misthaven and we know there are people who are still loyal to us there.”

Killian could have laughed. The people of Misthaven didn’t care who was ruling, not really. They cared about if the streets were safe and if there was food on their table. And if things weren’t improving with change then people would fall back to whatever was familiar. And familiar meant the Industrialists.

“Unless they are very powerful, wealthy, and numerous it won’t matter,” Killian said.

They both fixed him with a disapproving stare, clearly they hadn’t expected this much push back. They had probably thought he would be working harder to get in their good graces. But blind loyalty would only get them all killed.

“We’ve already made arrangements,” the Queen said. “We were only waiting for Emma to return.”

Killian didn’t miss that she hadn’t included him in that statement. They were only tolerating him for Emma.

“Why can’t we just stay here in Glowerhaven?” Emma asked, her tone betraying just the slightest note of desperation. “I feel like I haven’t even had time to get used to all of this. We’re barely a family again. We can’t just leave now.”

“We have to.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want to go.”

Emma’s mother reached out to hold her hand. “I wouldn’t push this if I didn’t think it was best.”

Emma pulled back her hand, she was breathing quickly, looking distressed. “Best for who?” she asked darkly before turning and almost running from the room.

Killian watched her go in surprise before turning back to her parents, their dismayed expressions. The room felt much more awkward without Emma there.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said, glad for a reason to escape.

The King stopped him before he could turn to go. “No, I’ll go.”

Killian’s jaw clenched but he nodded. He was her father, and Killian knew Emma adored him. She was smart enough to know a flawed plan when she heard it. He’d leave it up to her. If her parents convinced her to go then he’d go with them. If she wanted to stay here in Glowerhaven, he would stay. A glance at Ruby told him she was thinking the same thing.

~*~

Emma stumbled out of the house almost in a daze. She could feel something roiling in her stomach, heat pulsing through her. She wondered if she’d eaten soured food, but a part of her knew exactly what the feeling was.

Only one thing had made her skin feel like it was too tight for her body, as if something was building within her trying to burst free. Magic.

She pushed out the back door of the townhouse and ran into the gardens. She felt a little better without walls surrounding her. Out in the night air she didn’t feel so stifled, the cold air cooling a bit of the fire within her, but still she was afraid her fear and doubt about going back to Misthaven might trigger another of her magical outbursts.

She stopped a hundred yards from the townhouse and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Finally she felt her heartbeat start to slow a little, the feeling of her magic retreating once again. She tried to imagine a tide slowly receding, moving out of reach. At last it was just a little flutter in her stomach and she let out a breath in relief. She was safe for now.

“Emma,” a voice said and she turned to see that her father had followed her outside. She glanced around looking for Killian, and she was a little surprised when he wasn’t there.

“I can’t talk about this more tonight,” she told him. She had just barely avoided unleashing a wave of her power. She wasn’t sure she could keep it contained under the stress of another argument. She looked down at her palms, the slightest shine on her skin. She wasn’t sure if it was magic or a sheen of sweat catching the moonlight.

“I just wanted to be sure you were okay,” he said.

She glanced over at him, but his expression didn’t hold any signs of a lie. Sometimes it was hard to remember that this was her father, and parents were supposed to comfort their children. She had spent so many years without that.

“I’m not sure,” she said trying to be truthful.

He looked at her before gesturing for her to follow him and he led the way to the back wall of the garden. He sat down on the half wall looking out at the shadowy alley beyond. She sat down beside him the feeling of the cool stones beneath her grounding her.

“I’m sorry this is all so sudden,” he said quietly.

She looked over at him but he was staring down the empty street. She followed his gaze a light mist forming in the air hovering over the bricks.

“I would have stayed here forever, just us as a family, if I thought we would be safe,” he said.

“What if we gave up being royalty? What if we left it behind to just stay here?” Emma asked, a last ditch plea to not lose everything she had gained.

“It’s not that simple. There are some things that you can’t run from, sometimes you have to stand your ground and fight for what is right.”

“We didn’t fight last time,” she said, barely a whisper. Voicing her darkest thoughts. “We ran away. You ran away.”

She couldn’t look at him as she said it. He was silent for a long time.

“You were very young, but we did try to stop the Industrialists. We didn’t realize the threat they were until it was too late. We meant to gather our strength and return.”

“But you never came back. You left everyone there.”

You left me there. The unspoken truth hung heavily in the air.

“We’re going back now. It took longer than we hoped. But you are here now and we are returning stronger than we’ve ever been.”

Emma sighed. She was tired of fighting, she felt like she had been on high alert for far too long. Now they were asking her to walk back into the place that had tormented her. The very idea was exhausting and terrifying.

“It will be okay,” he told her reaching over to hold her hand. If he felt the heat of her skin he didn’t make any sign.

She looked over at him skeptically. “How can you know that?”

He gave her a smile, surprising her.

“See them?” Her father asked pointing down the street. She followed his gaze scanning the stone buildings lining the road until at last she saw a flicker of light, she might have mistaken them for fireflies but as she looked longer at them she realized they were something else. The lights were faint at first but then they shone brighter in blues and whites as clear as crystal.

“What are they?” Emma asked puzzled at the lights hanging in the fog.

“Will-o-the-wisps,” he said.

“Fairies?” She asked remembering the terrifying stories of the dark fey and the tricks they played on people that wandered into their liars.

He shook his head. “Not exactly. Similar but not as devious as fairies. They are said to lead the lost back onto their right path. If you follow them, they will lead you to your destiny.”

Emma felt a sad smile pull at her lips. “Are we lost?” she asked him looking out at the winking lights dancing in the alleyways and twinkling into the distance.

“No, Emma,” he said quietly. “We’re finally getting back on our right path. They’re pointing us home.”

She looked over at him. At his aging face, the years of tough decisions visible there, and she tried to trust in his experience, his wisdom. Maybe he was right and she was being a coward not to accept it. But if this was their destiny, why did it fill her with dread? Why did it feel like something was tearing apart within her?

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs crew #steampunk anastasia au #once upon a december sequel #at the beginning #thanks for reading #i'm so excited to finally share this story #my writing

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catch22inareddress · 6 years

Text

My Soldier of Winter: Chapter Three: Seventeen

The next few days consisted of training and trying to get back in some sort of shape. Nat brutalized me and when she wasn't it was Clint. On the third day, I was near collapsing and could barely stand. As my body swayed on the mat in a defense stance I heard Bucky yell "ENOUGH!" From the door halting everyone from where they stood.

The agents stopped and watched as he stalked across the room towards me. I could barely stand and every muscle ached in my body. Nat spoke up, "It's for her own good. She needs to be prepared." He glared at her instantly shutting her up. My eyes widened at his anger and made something in my body heat at the site of him walking towards me in such a way. On a mission.

"You are going to kill her. She's not like us. She's not an assassin or a super soldier and I'm not going to let you turn her into one. So back the. Fuck. Off." He took my hand and started to lead me off but I couldn't keep up with his pace and he turned around with ease and picked me up bridal style. "I can walk Bucky." He clenched his jaw. " And I can carry you just as well Y/N. I let them do this to you so I'm going to take care of you."

People stared at us and moved out of the way as I hid my face in the crook of his neck from their faces. It felt like we walked by a million employees and friends on the way to my floor.

He took me to the living room and sat me gently on the couch and took off my shoes. I opened my mouth to ask him if he was ok but Tony came storming in my flat yelling my name. "Are you ok? What the hell happened?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "What do you mean?" He paused looking between me and the ex-assassin unlacing my shoes in front me with complete confusion on his face.

" I have people telling me that he was carrying you through the tower. So I say again. What in the hell happened? Weren't you training? Are you hurt?"

Bucky stood up and crossed his arms in a defiant stance. "She's not training anymore Stark. I've seen her fight. She's good. She doesn't need to be brutalized and made into an assassin like Natasha or me. She's better than that. Than any of us. Hell, what are we here for if not to protect her. I can protect her."

Tonys' eyebrows shot up and I just stared at him. "A-a-alright. J-just keep my girl safe. And no hankey Pankey Barnes." He poked Bucky in the chest for show but he was immovable.

Tony smiled at me and left my floor. I smirked and Bucky went back to taking my shoes off but I could see his pink checks from behind his curtain of hair. "What is it, doll?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just never had my own assassin as a bodyguard." He walked towards my bedroom. "Ex-assassin. I'm running you a bath." I sat back and laughed. Never thought I'd hear that phrase coming from him.

He came out a few minutes later and helped me up. "Bucky, I'm fine really" I blushed at the thought of him helping me into a bath. He silently assisted me taking off my shirt and saw all of the bruises on my shoulders and arms from the sparring session. I took off my leggings and he saw the rest of the bruises and the anger on his face was felt in the whole room. I cleared my throat and our eyes met.

"I didn't think I needed to protect you from them." He went to storm out of the room and I grabbed his metal arm and he stopped and looked at me. "They were-They just want me to be prepared." I steel myself for what I was about to tell him. I just finalized the plan with Fury and Cap this morning, although Nat and Clint knew my intentions for a while. Hence the heavy training. "I'm bait, Bucky. I'm getting a tracker put on me then taken to the base in few days."

He turned his body to face me and stepped closer, towering above me. I bit my lip and avoided his penetrating gaze.

"The only way this ends is to locate the base and destroy the weapon."

He took my face in both of his hands. " Tony can do it. Fuck that."

I tried to shake my head but he held me too tight. Afraid to let me go. "If something goes wrong then they have what they need to make the weapon. Trust me. Tony doesn't like it any better than you but he doesn't have a say. Plus I already agreed."

He stepped back and put his hands down. I felt an instant loss from his touch. I could see his barrier going up. The difference between Bucky and the soldier. "Why? They could kill you?"

"They could kill you, the team or worse, an entire continent...city. How could I say no if I could help end this?"

His brows stitched together and stormed out of the room. I heard the elevator ding and knew he left the floor. Part me wanted him to be mad because he had found feelings for me over this short time. But the doubt surfaced and settled on the fact that I'm a mission of sorts. His mission is to protect me and I just made it infinitely harder.

I resigned to the bath and wondered how many women he had thoughtfully done this for.

How many women had James Buchanan Barnes taken care of? Somehow jealousy seeped through because I wanted him to be mine.

How do you warm the heart of The Winter Soldier?

BUCKYS POV

The room was closing in on me. I ran. What I'm good at. I left her there. Bruises and all. I knew I needed her from the moment at her house. When we locked eyes the first time. It was like my heart had beat for the first time and the blood in my veins had finally thawed.

Now I could lose her. Fate was a fucking fickle bitch and I hated her. I've lost everything at some point and I finally found her and I haven't even had a chance to try to be a man that could deserve her or earn her love and this shit happens. Fuck that. She deserves more than being fucking bait.

I found Steve's office and he had plans laid out on his desk, he stood up to meet me. "Buck, are you ok? What happened?" I saw his body tense. He knew what was coming.

I shook my head at grabbed his shirt and pushed him against the wall.

"You can't have her! She can't risk her life and be the bait, Steve!" His face instantly fell into remorse and regret. " I know man. I fought hard on this. So did Tony. But she went above us, and Fury is backing her up. We don't have a say. All I can do is make sure that we are prepared."

He didn't fight me. And held his hands up while I held him against the wall trying to control my breathing. After 2 minutes...or hell 10 minutes I finally was able to breathe.

I let go of his shirt and my head fell and he hugged me. "I fell for her." He let out a small laugh and nodded. " I knew you would. That why I assigned you to watch her, you two need one another. I knew you keep her safe. Does she know?"

We let go and stood back for each other. "No. I'm an asshole. She wouldn't go for me anyway. I'm a shell of a man with nothing to offer someone like her. She could have anyone. She's a Stark. I'm the pathetic mess that sleeps outside her room most nights to make sure she's safe for fuck sake."

I collapsed in the chair in front of Steve's desk while he sat down in front of me and shook his head. "While she's a Stark now she hasn't always been. She's had a pretty shitty life, even with Tony. He's done his best but he's no father figure. We are just as much her family as he is and she needs you Bucky. She needs the man you were and the man you are now."

We both sat in silence staring at each other for a long moment.

Nat poked her head in the office. "Not to break up the girl talk but I know Y/N, I've seen the way she looks at you. Now stop being a winter baby and make a move." She rolled her eyes and came in. "Now if you two are done can we review the plans. We need to make this foolproof. Then you can go woo the Lady, Barnes."

Y/N POV

Hours had passed.

"Friday where is Sergeant Barnes?"

"He is with Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers in his office going over plans for the upcoming mission. Would you like for me to page him for you?"

I laid on my bed and declined Fridays offer. I reluctantly fell asleep. In a few days, I could lose everything, quite literally and the only person that gives me peace is angry with my choice. What kind of person would I be if I didn't do this though?

I can tell you...a shitty one.

*Time lapse*

I woke up to complete darkness and looked at the clock. 3 A.M. I kicked the covers off and decided to go to the living room and look out the balcony. Sometimes the city lights would lull me into sleep.

I opened my door and saw Bucky leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed and his head down. He was in a tight white shirt and some grey sweatpants. I stood there a moment staring at him wondering what was going on. Had he slept walked out here? From the looks of it he had been out here for some time.

I knelt down and brushed his hair behind his ears. "Buck?" I whispered.

He groaned. "Bucky. Are you ok?" He roused and looked up at me then gauging his surroundings.

"Y-Yeah. I--I must've just fallen asleep." I nodded as I sat across from him. He looked everywhere but my face. I couldn't be sure if it was because of our fight or if he was embarrassed by falling asleep in the hall.

"OK. But can I ask....what were you doing out here."

His eyes met mine for a second and then he looked down the hall.

" I-I feel better if I know you're safe." He paused almost shy and unsure and I could see the flush stain his cheeks.

"I sleep out here quite a bit. It's hard to sleep anyways for me and......" he trailed off so I just nodded and didn't say anything. "I know. It's pathetic."

I stood up and took his metal hand. "No, it's not." I led him into my room without hesitation.

"What are you doing Y/N?"

I turned around and shrugged looking up into his blue orbs.

"The way I see it. I need you to feel safe. You need to know I'm safe. Stay."

For a moment my courage slipped and I looked down. Afraid he would say no and so frustrated because I could never read this man. Just when I thought I could he would turn cold and distant.

"For how long?"

I looked up and saw pain and the fear of rejection etched between his brows and in his eyes.

"For as long as I can have you."

He closed his eyes for a moment and I took his hand and pulled him into the bed. His body was tense and he was unsure of himself. At the moment I didn't care what would happen tomorrow. As we lay face to face with each other I know that these moments are fleeting and I'll take whatever he gives me. At the moment though he was frozen. I debated on waiting for him to make a move but at this point, I could literally die before that happens.

Instead, I scooted closer to him in hopes that he would hold me. I moved his metal arm so it would wrap around me and buried my face in his chest. "Is this ok Bucky?"

He kissed my forehead. "It's better than ok Y/N."

He held me tight until we both found ourselves in deep contented sleep.

HOPE THAT YOU GUYS LIKE THIS PART. Love to all!!!

Forever Tags @mscaptainjones @ssweet-empowerment

My Soldier of Winter @dragonselene @squidneysbooty @thatgirlwithmanyobsessions @lost-and-wandering-alone @loislp @imagine-that-100 @chipilerendi @cutiepiemimi13

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listsea59 · 2 years

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Stretching - Pay Attentions To these 10 Alerts

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campwintersoul · 7 years

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Wintersoul Report Day 8: ~Spooky Scary Stories~

Cammy’s story of Zippo The Virtueless Temmie!

@two-littlesouls

Cammy took a deep breath, and then began.

“So, you know the Patron Temmies of Virtue, right? The special ones, like Lacie and Nugget. Well, when I was looking around the island the other day I found out that there is another special Temmie. One that no-one ever talks about.”

He looks around shiftily, almost like he’s thinking about whether or not he should say their name at all.

“...Zippo. The Dark Temmie. The Patron Temmie of the Virtueless.”

Another long pause, checking that saying their name didn’t cause them to show up or something.

“Zippo was just like the other Temmies once, only his body was jet-black. Looking at him was like looking into a Temmie-shaped hole in the universe. His role was important, representing all of those who live without souls or virtue and showing that they could do the right thing too!"

"But...Zippo was naive. He got jealous of his brethren and wanted what they had. The legends are sketchy about how he did it, but he tried to steal their virtues for himself. Eimmet, grief stricken and horrified by this betrayal, had no choice but to banish Zippo to the depths of the island. Under the Soul Sanctum, under the Core. Out of sight and out of mind...Forever."

"No-one knows what happened to him after that. Eimmet went to check on him once, to see if he had learned the error of his ways, but he was gone…There’s no point asking any of the other Temmies about him, because they’ll just pretend they don’t know anything.”

He turns to Eimmet and gives him a knowing wink.Then, after a few more moments, he gave another shifty look around and stood up. He dusted off his knees and lurched forwards, hands up and clawed so he was making a spooky pose.

“But they say that in his frustration, jealousy and hatred, Zippo became one with all the darkness of the island. A lingering shadow that hOids in waiting for souls who stay out too late! So, my friends, be very careful if you decide to stay out after curfew, otherwise the Dark Temmie will come and take your virtue!!”

He cackled and grinned.

*~Sure Eimmet. Exactly what a temmie would say!~

[[The rest are under the cut. Enjoy!]]

‘The Raffle by Ice Queen Aisha

@nolvlost

[You waited this long, it was bound to happen!] * Alright. [She takes a deep breath before starting.]

* I call this story the Raffle.

* It was a lovely summer morning in the small town. The air was sweet and cool, rolling in lazy waves. There was all but 300 or so people populating it, but they always worked so hard. They had modest homes, all charming in their own ways. They also had massive farms that they put their blood, sweat, and tears in. And they had a massive school, empty now, but usually filled with students, eager to learn. It was no ordinary day, no. It was time for the raffle.

* The whole town joined it. You could feel the electricity in the air. Some of the town's children gathered stones and meandered about, before getting pulled over by their parents to gather on the towns square. They left their stones in a large pile behind, eagerly tagging along.

[Aisha pauses to swallow built up spit, gauging a reaction for her foreshadowing.]

* A lady joins the crowd, and finds her family just as they are putting in slips of paper into the raffle box. It seems she has forgotten all about today, and is quick to make small talk to other people in the crowd.

"This raffle is totally rigged, don't you know?" They don't answer her back. She quiets down, and listens to the rules she has heard for many years now.

[She stifles a cough before continuing on.]

* The announcer were to call out names, the head of the family were to retrieve a slip of paper, and only after everyone was called, then the papers be shown. The town elder pulled a slip for himself, eager to partake in the lottery. It's been going on years, decades even. The announcer decides to have a small chat while he was up there. 'There has to be a better way', he says. The elder was quick to retort that there was nothing wrong with tradition, and that stopping it was nothing but trouble. 'Raffle in August, corn among us', he said.

When all the the papers were drawn, everyone looked at their papers. All of the lady's talk about being rigged and unfair were spoken even louder by her, calling shenanigans. Her husband seemed to get the slip with a bright red sticker in the middle of it. The lady protests again, but her husband escorts her and their children to the stage where the raffle box were. The announcer dumps the rest of the paper out and puts in four slips of paper in, one for each member of the family. One by one, they all drew a slip of paper. Upon opening it, the lady breaks down crying, seeing as her slip held the sticker. Her husband, wordless, gave her one last hug before retreating with his kids.

[Aisha looks around the bonfire to gauge any reactions before breaking into a small coughing fit. No need to be alerted folks, she's okay, and the story's almost over.]

*... [She leans over the fire for that spoopy aesthetic.]

'This isn't fair! This isn't fair!' she screamed. A pebble hit her square in the temple, before small stones. The villagers fetched more from the child's pile, and soon, like vultures, they were upon her.

[Wow okay that deep voice really hecked up her throat. She leans away from the fire now and sits back down.] * ... I'm done now.

‘The Boy Given to Darkness’ by Rhys

@sixsmolsouls

Rhys took a deep breath, wringing their hands together anxiously. Was this an okay story? They guess they'll find out... "A-ahem,," They pulled an origami figure out of their pocket and held it tentatively between their hands.

"D...Did you know that the dark is really scary...?"

"You can't see... and it's suffocating. Things happen in the dark and you can't even see it.." They swallowed, eyes focused on their hands."No one else sees it either. Or they try not to see it. Because the dark... is really scary.."

"A long long time ago.... there was a little boy.. and the dark hunted him wherever he went. People would take them in.. care for them... but the dark always came and it always took them away."

"But... not really take... because the people gave the little boy back to the dark. Because the little boy was too much trouble. He would cry too loud or not eat or not sleep, and the people thought he was... too much trouble."

"That he wasn't worth it..."

Rhys was slowly folding the origami. A tired smile on their face.

"There was always the same punishment, for the little boy, he had to let the dark do whatever it wanted to them! Anything... it wanted." They swallowed. "Anything it wanted at all...."

"It was like a game to the dark, but it was life for the boy. And he always ran and he tried to get away but... no one thought the boy was worth it. So he always got taken back.."

"They didn't think there was anything wrong with the dark because ... they liked it. Everyone seemed to like the dark! N-no matter what it did...."

Rhys took a breath, shifting in their seat. Fire illuminating their face. They had folded a person-like figure from the white side of the paper.

"So the little boy thought... I'm wrong. Even if the dark does terrible, horrible, b ad b a d things to him, he had to be wrong. He was wrong, and the dark was right. Because everyone said so! And It had to be true because he kept losing."

They placed the little figure on the ground and the light from the fire caused a large shadow to be cast. Miraculously, the shadow looked like a large man with his hand on a child's shoulder. And the man was smiling.

"So the boy decided to stay. And the dark won. And the little boy's punishment, became their life. And they'd do anything for the dark... They'd be anything.. because.."

"They were really only worth anything to him..."

"T-the end!"

‘Mina’s Doll’ by Sabrina

@friskandmisc

Well you have all had such wonderful stories I hope I do not disappoint you with mine... ahemm....

One upon a time there was a girl named named Mina. Mina was kind and sweet but was very lonely. her parents hardly ever payed attention to her and were far to busy to play, And her brother was mean and picked on her, the only persons she truly loved was her grandmother, who they had come to live with as they were moving. She was not her father’s real mother but a step mom but she loved Mina all the same. She was a successful toy maker but was a bit of a town pariah for and was known by the towns children as “the witch who lived in the old house”.

One day Mina’s grandmother decided to make her a doll so she would not be lonely. The grandmother had made the doll from scratch herself and made it in the girl’s exact image. While Mina watched her grandmother sew it she tried to help and pricked her finger on the needle and a drop of blood fell into the dolls body before being stitched up. The Grandmother smiled and comforted her and said it was okay and made the doll even better now! The doll had a piece of her in it so the doll will always know how she fells, and love her like a sister. When Mina’s Round blue eyes locked onto the dolls blue button eyes it was love at first sight. She named the doll “Mimi” as in “Me Me”; a second her. Mina and Mimi were best friends and did everything together. They played and spent every night together, ignoring all her other toys.

Soon Mina began to talk to the doll and giggle as if the doll has responded. She referred to the doll as he twin sister and treated it as if it was real. Her parents were displeased with this unhealthy behavior and did not want people to judge them it in public. One day Mina was playing with Mimi when her brother and his group of friends came over to hang out. They took one look at the girl and her life sized doll twin and began to tease then. They called her “weird” and a “freak” for her closeness to the doll. The brother did not want to seem weak in front of his friends and took the doll from mina’s hands and took it away to impress his friends and for the boys to “play” with.

Mina ran to her mother and father but they were busy and just told mina that she had to share. Mina cried and tried to be patient and wait but grew anxious without her “sister”. During that day mina grew sick and pinpricks appeared all over her body which bled and caused her a great deal of pain. Large clumps of hair fell out, but not all the way… the hair was broken off and straight as if cut... It eventually stopped before they were going to take her to the hospital. Nobody knew what had happened. Later, The brother returned from hanging out with his friends and gave the doll back… but he and his friend had mangled it, but They had cut off it’s beautiful brown yarn hair and stuck pin and needles into it. The parents merely scolded the son and shrugged it off as “boys will be boys” but they also scolded Mina for getting so worked up over a “silly doll”. The Grandmother was shocked at their parenting and comforted Mina before she ran in tears to her room.

Mina took the doll back and held is close crying, she apologized to it and asked her to forgive them. Mina fell asleep. But.. a scream woke her from her slumber in the middle of the night. It came from her Brother’s room. When she arrived her brother was sitting in bed as his parents comforted him. What she saw shocked her. Pins were jammed deep all over his arms and chest and his head was shaved bald. But as stared did Her brother pointed at her “ SHE DID THIS! For me messing up her stupid doll!” The parents looked and asked her if this was true. She had no idea what they were talking about and honestly denied it “I saw her!! I SAW HER RUN BACK INTO HER ROOM!” Mina tried to defended herself but her parents didn’t listen. “who else could have done it? And he saw you!” They then snatched Mimi From her arms as punishment and claimed she was too attached to it and it was messing with her mental state, “were going to get rid of it the morning. Now go to your room and we will discuss this in the morning!” Mina cried in her room and looked up at the night sky. She saw a bright star and gazed up at it and said aloud “I wish it could just Be Me, Grandma and Mimi, things would be so much better. Her tied puffy eyes soon closed as drifted off to sleep once again.

When she awoke she smelled something sweet drifting up into her bedroom. And found a fresh breakfast laid out for her, Golden pancakes: Her favorite! Mina sat down to eat with her grandmother and looked around for her parents and brother. “Where is everybody else?” she asked but her grandmother only looked confused and asked her what she meant. “what do you mean my dear child, it has always been just you and me. Mina opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself…come to think of it..it had always been her and grandma. Was everything from yesterday all a dream? It had to be but she still felt uneasy. “Something feels missing…” Her grandmother smiles and shook her head and turned to the kitchen doorway. “Mimi please come bring us some milk.” Just as the grandmother finished speaking a girl with blue button like eyes and stringy short hair walked back in, she looked just like mina, and Mina recognized her right away as her sister. Her Twin sister, She was realized to see her sister after her nightmare and hugged her close. Mimi hugged back. “Oh did you have a nightmare? I am so sorry, but it’s okay now. I am here for you. I will always be here. “

The three Continued to eat breakfast together as a family. Mina had never felt so happy, at least that’s how it felt. It was like this all the time: happy. Before Mina and Mimi were about to head off on the bus to school however Mimi stopped her sister. “I will meet you there, I forgot my workbook! I will meet you on the bus okay? Mina nodded and ran off to the wait for the bus. Mimi went to her room and picked up her book before glancing over at a doll house in the corner of the room. It was an exact replica of the grandmothers house. She knelled down and looked at the three dolls in it.

pauses for a moment to see their reaction

Eimmet:*O-OH dearest!...T-the dolls inside that house...Don't tell me... they are...

There was a mother, A father and a boy doll, without any hair and pins in its arms. Mimi smiled at the little dolls and said with a cruel little smile in a childlike voice, “How does it feel to be a silly little doll?” The dolls did not respond but their faces were not that of a smiling happy family but that of horrified and punished criminals. Mimi smiled and got up closing the doll house leaving the lifeless dolls in the darkness and ran back out to her sister to stand beside her. They were truly connected and loved each other, and Mimi would never let anyone hurt her sister again….

….So, The moral of the story is be nice to your dolls…and your children….or you might end up like that family…by the hands of a doll…like MIMI!!

she pulls out a doll like the one she described in the story hidden inside her muff the sneaky little thing and holds it out to the terrified campers

Eimmet:*This story surely gave the creeps! No more dolls for me... gosh...

Eimmet:*KY AAA!!!*HISSSSSSS

‘Origins’ by Aswell

@the-grephil-anomaly

"Um..yes!" Aswell recalls the story Grephil has told so many times, that's stopped him from ever leaving the borders of The Dump...

"Once long ago, before The Great War, there was an innocent little ghost that loved to eat. Unfortunately for this ghost, he couldn't enjoy any of the delicacies the living took for granted. He never got to enjoy the sweet taste of a cinnamon bun, or the soft and yummy goodness of a fresh baked pie..."

He pauses for dramatic effect, just as his Father did.

"However, he one day came across a dark wizard, who offered to give him the abilities to enjoy the food of the living. A corporeal body that would let him feel, taste, smell! He accepted the offer immediately! Finally being able to enjoy what he loved most on an entirely new plane of existance! The Wizard asked for only one thing in return. A favor, which he would redeem at a later date."

"With the sign of what appeared to be an ancient tome, The ghost was blasted with intense and mystical energy. He was given a black and murky mass of slime as a physical form, and looked even more horrifying than the toughest monster in the underground! He didn't care though. He rushed to Snowdin with glee on his face, planning to eat the first thing he could think of."

Another pause.

"What he thought of first...was the souls of monsters! The flesh of children! And needless to say, he didn't enjoy these thoughts at all. But as time went by, and he avoided the public's eye, the thought became more and more exhilarating! It sounded so good to him, and he was only getting hungrier with each passing minute!"

Aswell's mouth starts to drip with something black. His eyes start growing whiter and his voice gets lower.

"This ghost..this supposedly L O V I N G father, couldn't handle himself anymore! Hee snapped, went out of his mind as the hunger consumed him!"

His eyes go pitch black, eyes beginning to run the same black goop and his voice getting slightly gargled

"His poor adopted son, who loved his Father for who he once was, tried to FLEE from the monster they now were. And what did they do? When the only thing they had in the world was horrified at them?"

he starts breathing raspily, coughing up the gooy substance as he eyes starts glowing faintly, the iris completely invisible

"H E K I L L E D H I M . . ."

" He squeezed the life out of his pride and joy, impaling them with their PRECIOUS body..."

His voices gets heavier with every sentence

"Realizing what he did, he went even more insane! Going on a bloodbath across the entire underground, killing all in sight..."

Aswell's fur gets matted with black goo. How long had that been there?

"Afterwards, he decided to FIX his error, bring his darling boy back from the dead... How would do this? When He had already turned their soul to dust and the body a mangled mess?"

Aswell lets out a toothy grin, gargling madly but still clearly heard as he started speaking like a mad man.

"Necromancy of course! That, and a little BODY stealing. He STOLE the body of another monster, who looked just like his old son, and took half of his own soul, with a mixture of what his body was now made of, to make the new soul for that precious, PRECIOUS abomination!."

Aswell walks towards the fire. As he does, footprints are left in his wake of that black substance, and the goo he coughs up hits the fire, causing the flame to turn a greenish color for a split second each time it comes into contact. It's clear to see he was completely COVERED in the stuff, and as he lifts his arms up, he gets a very joyous look on his face as he looks to the heavens.

"And that was the day that ASRIEL died, and ASWELL was born! AAAHAHAHAHAAA!"

...He passes out, the goo dissipating into the air. You getting the feeling that wasn't how the story was meant to go..or that any of that was meant to happen...

‘Feeding a Shadow’ by Omen with assistance from Joe

@fusedfloras & @the-selfishsoul

Omen nodded before looking out to the crowd.

"There once was a child that gave up everything for the sake of others. It pained the child to give up so much of themselves and to see their own friends used them filled them with such hate. Yet the child never spoke up. Years upon years this, the child felt more hatred that it manifest into a dark gloomy shadow. One day, a wise old lady came across this child and saw the manifestation that others had failed to see "

It was by then that the shadow being casted by the flickering bonfire lights had stopped moving accordingly, it was subtle but if one were to pay close attention...they'd notice it.

" The wise lady ask if this child had any resentment towards anyone like their friends. The child quickly denied it and said they would give anything for their friends without a second thought. The respond from the child worried the lady as she gave one final warning, “ If you keep this up your going to end up being swallowed by the monster you keep feeding...”

It seemed to stretch, ever so slightly, to the point where it's presence had seemed to be exaggerated by the light itself. Was the bonfire getting brighter? Or was it to the others a strange illusion?

Omen's tone soon shifted as she continued on with her tale. " The child did not heed the lady instead they ignore her just as they ignore their feeling. The continue their lifestyle until one night, on a night like this. They gave up everything for their friends like always but their friends ended up throwing the child away, ditching them. “You wish for revenge don't you?” a voice spoke from the shadows. “ * I can help you with that but you first must help me in return...*

The girls shadow would start to slowly but surely stretch wider in width. It looked rather intimidating for someone of her size.

" The child was pent up with rage that without hesitation they agreed to help the mysterious voice, wanting nothing more that what was finally due to them. And at that moment of the verbal agreement was made, the child's shadow grew to a towering height with two red gleaming eyes trained on them.

Suddenly, as described by Omen, her very own shadow had emerged, looking menacing with their very own bright red iris' that stared down the camper's with a menacing glare, accompanied with a smile that seemed to glow like the fires itself. "I'll consume your so called friends but first....I'LL CONSUME YOU!!!”

" !! "Omen turned around, looking at the shadow that stood behind her in fear, before letting out a shriek.

[[https://campwintersoul.tumblr.com/post/155969054638/the-selfishsoul-scary-story-telling-at]]

[And immediately! The shadow abruptly charges forward, grabbing Omen in a shroud of darkness...before suddenly, it spun around as genuine laughter rang out as the darkness surrounding the girl spinned and reformed themselves to hugging them with the shadow somewhat in an uproar at the whole telling of the story.]

"Jeez! You should've seen the look on your guys faces!!"

#camp wintersoul #Nero's News Booth #Nero's News Booth Day 8 #camp happenings #Wintersoul Report Day 8 #scheduled announcement

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chronically-angelic-transripts · 6 years

Text

Template of Oct 5-7: More Side Effects and Frustration

So I'm just trying to sleep.

It is...

Why did I put so many things in front of my alarm clock?

It is 12:47 and I'm having a little hard time breathing.

I haven't had to use my rescue inhaler in months and I had I had just taken, about 30 minutes ago,

my maintenance inhaler, my steroid inhaler, my breathing treatment. (All names for the same thing)

And then I had to take my rescue inhaler.

I just took a second antihistamine which I wasn't planning on doing until I talk to

my allergist about all of this but I don't want to wake up like in the middle

of the night in anaphylactic shock if this is continuing to get worse.

I'm pretty sure that wouldn't happen but just like the idea of it is really scary

It's getting really hard to breathe.

I took my melatonin.

So I'm really hoping that kicks in soon so I can just go to sleep.

But yeah.

So this is gonna be fun.

Alright.

It is now the morning.

I ended up sleeping in the recliner last night just to

kind of help with the breathing issue.

But then when my siblings came through to go to school I went ahead and switched

over to my bed 'cause it's really hard to sleep sitting up for me.

Well it'd not that hard but like is really difficult to get back to sleep in the first place

when you're woken up and it's like not being my own bed didn't help.

I'm just eating my breakfast.

Waiting for my computer the finish loading up so I can do work.

That's where I'm at.

I just went back and tried to do the captions for my day in the life video I realized its

editing it was kind of horrible.

I don't know how like just because there were so

many files like it was really confusing.

Once I finished editing it like I just didn't go back.

What I had started doing with the vlog that I'm uploading today

is that I exported it and then I re-edited it just to cut out like what I

needed to cut out and for some reason there was like a giant black screen in

the middle of my two scenes 'cause I just used the... no I'm not gonna ramble on about it.

Anyway I'm gonna go ahead and I'll fix that and reupload it.

I can upload it with the captions this time.

I didn't know I missed all that stuff like some of the clips weren't even

muted I don't know maybe one of the edits...

I don't know. I don't know but it was bad

and I'm gonna fix it.

So yes.

I guess I was just in a rush.

So apparently there was,

in the middle of this day in the life video, blank screen and then a clip that

wasn't even supposed to be there I don't know how that happened.

I fixed it the video was 9 minutes long it's now only 5 minutes long.

Let's try this again shall we.

Welcome back to the darkness.

I have such a bad headache.

I really didn't want to lay down because it's only 1 o'clock my semi was getting

home around 3:30.

So I still have time to work but my head is so bad.

I can work through it almost any symptoms but a headache when a

headache gets really bad I can't do it.

I'm gonna have to take some Aleeve.

I don't like taking stuff for my pain because I feel like it could hurt my

kidneys in the future I already have enough problems but when I get to a

point where I can't work through something, I have to take something.

I'm just goig to lay down and wait for the meds to kick in a little bit more.

There's no telling if this headache is related at all to the

allergy stuff but I'm sure it's not helping. My body seems to be under

a lot of stress.

That's where I'm at.

Talk to you later.

It is now 3 p.m.

My headache still has not gone away.

It has gotten a little better so that's good.

I'm just really annoyed like

I can't...

if the allergy pill is...

If the allergy shots continue to cause this

I don't know that I'm gonna be able to continue treatment and I don't know

that if it is causing symptoms like this that it's actually even doing anything

because I would figure it it's Friday I got the shot on Monday.

I figure if it's supposed to be training my immune system to fight at all my mean system was

basically not done that yet so I don't know, again, I don't know if we're gonna

have to dilute or stop altogether or whatever. I called my allergist today.

They didn't pick up so I left a message. I'm thinking about calling them again like

right now but I think they might not be open on Fridays. I can't remember.

Yeah.

Alright.

Talk to you later.

Everybody I actually did get

the week's vlog up which I was worried about but pretty much had all

the work done on the editing.

So I just had to upload it so when I did

that when I was already up for going to the restroom and yes so that's up.

I really wanted to get the captions done today but I have a headache and my

siblings just got home and kicked me off the computer.

So yeah talk to you later.

Dinner time!

I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and I barely had

anything for breakfast.

So it's Friday. Pizza day. We have pizza pretty much

every Friday.

My mom's homemade pizza.

These are bread sticks. That's the pizza.

And in our family we like really thick crust.

This one turned out a little thin this time round but it's still good.

So question for you:

Do you like thin or thick crust pizza?

Comment.

Hello.

I am now lying down while I eat

because I'm getting really nauseous.

I'm actually getting like to the point where

it feels like I'm actually gonna throw up and if you get a lot of nausea,

you know there's a difference between just feeling nausous

and feeling like you're going to throw up.

Anyway, a lot of times whenever I feel like this,

it's because there's a lot of air in my stomach and for some reason I

just can't burp. So I'm lying down on my left side because that helps facilitate

burping and it does... I am feeling a little better but...

I haven't actually thrown up in months,

like maybe even a year.

But I still get nauseous all the time

so I still have to keep up a bucket just in case because I'd rather have one

and not need it you know what I mean.

So yeah. I might not even use this clip

but there we go.

I'm mad.

So I write captions for another vlogger here on YouTube. I had captioned five

minutes into the video but YouTube told me it saved the draft.

It did not and now I have to do all of that work all over again and I'm mad about it.

I can't do much about it.

But ranting helps a little bit and

then I can just buckle down and do it.

10 minutes down, 40 minutes to go which I

kind of split these minutes up so by the time she gets her next video up,

this should be done.

So I am editing my last vlog,

and I'm realizing something about myself.

I talk with timing like comedians do right before they get their punchline

but I don't have any punchlines so it's just weird long awkward pauses

for no reason and it's annoying me because I can hear myself doing it now

but maybe it has something to do with just like processing like letting the

other person process what I just said.

Maybe it's just lag time before my next sentence

which is interesting to think about

See I think it might just be the lag time thing but it's also like

dramatic timing I guess but there's no drama like it's just me talking to a

camera with dramatic timing for no reason.

I don't understand what's happening!

Although I do have an oatmeal cream pie.

Okay so I was planning to go to bed like right after I finished working on my

friends captions but then I got distracted by editing the stuff that I

had just found about the captions and then I decided to go ahead and start

working on the captions for my last vlog.

So it's now one in the morning but my last vlogs captions are half of the way done

So I feel accomplished.

Alright, so yeah that's where I'm at right now.

See you tomorrow slash today?

I don't know anymore.

See you in the morning.

There we go there we go I found

Afternoon lovely people.

So I had been working on the sock I was working on

and I wasn't really following a pattern because I couldn't because

this certain yarn is... I'm using a gauge that I'm not supposed to technically be

using at all with it but whatever.

I went ahead and found a pattern I had to

unravel all that work I did already and the pattern I have know is like a

very simple pattern but I'm having to multiply the number of stitches by like

1.3 to make it big enough for me personally because it's supposed to be

like a women's medium.

I am not a medium.

So yeah I'm just re-working on that now but this seems to be going a lot

faster and I'm not gonna be able to tell whether it's too big or small

until I work on it for a while and then try to slide it on but what I did it

before it seemed like it was the right size and then as I kept going it got larger.

So like I won't know until I get like way down which is really annoying but I

I found this new great app so I don't have to take notes on my freaking arm anymore.

So this is...

by the way totally unsponsored because I get like 10 views on every video who the heck would sponsor me

It's "My Row Counter"

and it's so cool.

So that's what I'm doing right now is I'm working on this

and I'm watching youtube.

I just had a My Chronic Connection meeting and

I should probably do a video all about that too but yeah I'll talk about that more later.

So because I had to unravel the thing my yarn ended up being tangled.

I had to take the whole thing out of a ball and and now looks like this

I will update later because I am going to get all of it untangled. It's going to be fine.

Right now it looks like this. So yeah.

Through the magic of video

this becomes

this *gasp*.

Good morning!

It is a little past 11:00 a.m.

I didn't end up going to sleep until like 3:30.

because my stomach was being really weird.

I actually threw up. Which was fun.

But now it's morning.

My sister brought me my donuts

because we have donuts pretty much every Saturday but

we didn't have them yesterday so we're having them today.

I'm making sure to tell you that we have them all the time because they normally don't mess with my stomach.

My stomach issues really are like whatever.

Like it doesn't matter what I eat at this point and so I may as well eat things that taste good.

Finished the cuff on my socks!

Now I'm gonna go take a shower.

It [the shower] is complete.

And now I'm gonna go watch some TV with my parents.

So yes.

So.

I love pink lemonade.

It's a problem

because I have acid reflux.

I had a jumbo mug and a half pink lemonade.

And now my stomach wants to kill me.

It comes in waves.

But uh...

Send good vibes.

So it is now actually technically Monday

cause it is one a.m.

But I never filmed an outro so.

I actually took a nap and woke up at midnight.

I went to bed at nine

and I woke up at midnight

because that's just how my life works these days.

But it's okay because I got to work a little bit.

And tomorrow's going to be really busy.

I have to go get my allergy shot and then I have a therapy appointment.

And my siblings aren't even going to school tomorrow because they have the day off.

For student teacher conferences or something?

*parent teacher confrences

I'm wearing my retainer for once.

So I sound a little weird.

So I won't be able to get as much work done as I normally get done on Mondays.

I'm hoping I'll still be able to get everything done but

it's just going to be a little bit of a time crunch.

*click*

Ow!

I just popped my ankle.

Could you hear that?

Anyway.

What am I trying to say right now?

So.

Yeah you'll see my day tomorrow on Friday actually.

I'm probably going to get the editing for this video done.

And see if I get it up tomorrow night and I'm probably gonna have to save the captions again.

And just do them like a little bit at a time.

Seems to be the way I've been doing it like...

Captions won't come out with the video but they'll be out before the next video.

It's kind of dissapointing but...

I'd rather publish something then I have that step separate but I can still work on it.

But I don't just want to like... give up on that.

Alright so you can hit any buttons,

type anything, click on any links in the description.

And yeah. That's all.

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rikrakyarnncrafts · 6 years

Text

The Swanky Sweaters of Dapper

If you want to hear me gush about how excited I am about the new Dapper collection (KNITTED FLATCAP *), then you should definitely check out the podcast episode. Rather than blather on further about how much I like the patterns, I thought we could all benefit from a touch more objectivity and dive a little into the more technical aspects of the collection. Between all of the Henleys and cardigans and pullovers, there are 8 sweaters in Dapper. While there are plenty of useful and appealing accessories for accenting your ravishing raiment, these sharp sweaters are the meat of the book. Whether you’re looking for something with the insouciant charm to rehabilitate your leisure dishabille or dashing dress-wear to add style to your semi-formal sartoriality, Dapper has something for you. So let’s take a good look at the differences between your many sweatery choices.

Henleys

Although only the Georgetown is explicitly called out as a Henley, the Breckin Pullover also features the distinctive abbreviated placket and casual collarless neckline. Both sweaters are knit from the bottom, but the Breckin is knit entirely flat and seamed, including the traditional single seam that stitches up the side and sleeve from hem to cuff. Take care to align your sleeve cap properly when attaching the set-in sleeves. The Georgetown, on the other hand, is knit in the round, joining the sleeves as you go to work a shallow raglan sleeve. The continuous round allows for the two-color seed stitch, which also gives it a touch more structure than a plaint stockinette, but it will still have a drapier, more casual look than the seamed Breckin. With its sportswear origin, it might be a fool’s errand to dress up a Henley, but the Breckin’s subtle texture might be understated enough for a layered look. You’ll most likely want to keep these in the closet for low key looks.

Cardigans

Between the two cardigans, you’re likely to have an easier time with the Matinee Cardigan. Even with the stranding, it’s the only sweater in the collection knit from the top, it features a simple and generous raglan sleeve, and the only seams are for the inset pockets. Be extra vigilant with your tension for the Fair Isle motif for the body, since you’ll be working flat (also: swatch!), but it’s a traditional motif with just two colors and the extra style of the colorwork combines with the homey feel of the construction to really make this a perfect switch-hitter in your wardrobe and will dress up or down quite easily. The Danny Boy Cardigan is a little more complicated, but is actually a good introduction to the uncommon saddle shoulder construction. Since the sleeves are seamed onto the body, it avoids the knitting on or picking up stitches of a seamless saddle shoulder and gives you the chance to really figure out how the sleeve and saddle relate to the body of the sweater. Saddle shoulders are interesting sweater specimens; it’s an unusual construction that tends to draw the eye and illicit comments and compliments, but also creates a very top-down drape that makes the sweater extra relaxed. They’re incredibly comfortable to wear and always seem to skew to a casual look.

Pullovers

Of the 4 pullovers, both the Esquire Sweater and Riverfolk Pullover are knit entirely flat in pieces, and not even the sleeves are knit in the round. Since both are knit in soft and drapey tweeds, the Esquire in City Tweed and the Riverfolk in Provincial Tweed, the seams will help structure the sweater while still enjoying the luxurious textures of those yarns. The surplice collar adds a bit of class to the Esquire (try it with a tie, you won’t be disappointed), while the funnel collar, extra ease, and kangaroo pouch make the Riverfolk a great outdoor look, but definitely casual only.

The Rockland and Soren are both rather smart pullovers with wide crew necks perfect for a collared shirt and a nicely finished look. Both are knit in the round from the bottom with set-in sleeves, though the Soren uses a seamless faux set-in construction that keeps the Fair Isle colorwork going around the shoulders. The simple construction is perfect for getting a customized fit. If you have a sweater that fits you particularly well, try taking measurements to compare to the sweater schematics. If you can’t add or remove whole colorwork motifs, you can adjust the number of stitches one by one at the side directly under the arm for minimal impact; or adjust the number of rows between colorwork to get just the right length. Both of these sweaters are classics in their own way, though instead of traditional colorwork the Rockland uses textured stitches at sides, shoulders, and elbows for a lightly martial flair that still preserves it’s clean lines. Choose the right color and you’ll have a look that will fit almost any occasion.

For all the sweater details at a glance, here’s a handy chart for reference:

Construction Shoulder Direction Seaming Collar Georgetown Henley Henley Raglan Bottom Up Seamless Crew Breckin Pullover Henley Set-in Bottom Up Fully Seamed Crew Matinee Cardigan Cardigan Raglan Top Down Seamless Shawl Danny Boy Cardigan Cardigan Saddle Bottom Up Shoulder Seams Shawl Esquire Sweater Pullover Modified Drop Bottom Up Fully Seamed Surplice Riverfolk Pullover Pullover Set-in Bottom Up Fully Seamed Funnel Rockland Sweater Pullover Set-in Bottom Up Shoulder Seams Crew Soren Pullover Pullover Faux Set-in Bottom Up Seamless Crew

I honestly could see buying this book even if it were just these sweater patterns. Add some on-point accessories like the Bailiff Scarf or the Rye’s Stranded Mitts with a few vests like the eye-drawing Makin’ Waves, and you have all you need to achieve an astonishing array of snappy styles all in a single book.

—

*A bit of added insight on the Offshore Flatcap: check your row gauge. It’s a wonderful pattern that requires very specific shaping and lots of short rows, so if you’re row gauge is off, you won’t get the proper size or shape. Do your future self a favor and swatch like there is a tomorrow; a tomorrow that will have required swatching.

The post The Swanky Sweaters of Dapper appeared first on KnitPicks Staff Knitting Blog.

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eddiejpoplar · 6 years

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Rad Rides by Troy Conceals the Deal on the Mariani Bros.’ Tudor

I recall, quite a few moons ago, a particular closed-cab pickup in bare metal that was the talk of the town (this was well before the advent of social media, so people were actually talking …). This was back when that rodent rod infestation was in its infancy, and thus the chopped 1934 became both the antithesis for those who understood and the poster child for the misguided perception of those who didn’t, but latched onto a catch phrase and applied it to anything without shiny paint. It’s just a hot rod in the buff, folks, pure and simple.

This was also a turning point in time when so-called unfinished (but finished) hot rods became more socially acceptable within the hobby—especially when examples started appearing on the covers of magazines. Builders started taking advantage of the trend by having fresh projects photographed in the raw for a feature prior to paint and upholstery—and generally speaking, that transition from naked to clothed (finished) was usually swift in order to meet deadlines with paying customers, and that meant the average person would only get to see the bare version in print (or digital format in this day and age). But Troy Trepanier and his Rad Rides by Troy team apparently have a different approach to that transition process on certain builds, one that takes the interactive out of the virtual-reality world and puts it back where it belongs—in the real-reality world.

Rather than take the Mariani Bros.’ Tudor straight back to the shop in Illinois for its final build stages following the 2016 SEMA debut, Trepanier thought it might be a good idea for the shop to have it on display at some of the bigger national events, starting with the Grand National Roadster Show. This obviously gave spectators the opportunity to see the Model A in all its bare-metal glory—but it also allowed them to meet some of the build crew and find out all the particular hows, whys, and what fors they’d been dying to know. Rad Rides’ Adam Banks summarizes the process like so: “As a shop we get to take a car, still in construction, and discuss all the details pertaining to that aspect of the build. Then we get to take it around again once finished and discuss a whole new set of details. Whether someone likes it better before or after, or both, makes no difference to us … we just enjoy sharing the process with others.” Of course people want to learn about the fabrication, the mechanical aspects, and where they can buy those one-off wheels; they were also inquired about the manner in which the raw metal surface was being preserved, and if they were going to paint it at some point, just what would it take to prepare the bare metal, as more often than not a penetrating oil of sorts was introduced to the surface … the same types of questions every owner of bare metal hot rods can relate to.

After six months of show ’n’ tell, Rad Rides finally put the Mariani sedan back on build schedule, as the 2017 SEMA Show—its follow-up debut deadline—was just around the corner. That meant the shop had a short window of opportunity to blow the Tudor completely apart to begin the transition process of concealing/refinishing all the exposed metal, as well, simultaneously creating the entire interior to suit. Adam, our insider info provider, had this to say about that: “The interior for the Model A was all done in-house at Rad Rides by myself … I also did the majority of the fabrication on the car. I mention this only because doing both the fabrication and interior in the shop ensures components are in place that greatly improve the quality and ease of installation when it comes time to fabricate the interior—items such as headliner bow location, tack strip recesses for windlace, and tabs for interior panels are all integrated into the car during the fabrication stages.

“The dash, all interior panels, seat frame and foam, garnish moldings, and interior trim are all built from scratch. The dash features a 1949 Packard instrument cluster with custom machining by Lawrence Laughlin of Rad Rides and gauges by Classic Instruments. Laughlin also machined the air conditioning vents, finishing out the Vintage Air Gen II A/C system, and the unique crown-shaped knob on the top of the dash that controls the functional cowl vent. The steering wheel that Laughlin and I designed features hand-stitched leather grips and a four-spoke Indycar centersection. The steering wheel also features a unique quick-release hub and tilt roadster column, allowing for easier entry and exit of the car as well as improving driving position. The seat and all interior panels are covered with a hand-tipped tobacco brown Italian leather, with perforated inserts and cream-colored contrasting stitching. The floor, lower door panels, and package tray all use a brown German square-weave carpet bound with leather matching the interior. The headliner bows were custom made and the headliner patterned to align the seams with the roof insert’s raised beads. Doing so effectively gave the driver as much headroom as possible.”

Figured since he was on a roll, I’d see what Adam had to say regarding the exterior: “That too was all executed in-house at Rad Rides—the bodywork on the Model A was done by Warren Lewis and Gary Childers, while the painting was done by Lewis, as well as final wet sanding and buff with the help of Zach Ingram and Ed Robinson of Zrods in Knox, Indiana. The striping on the body, wheels, air cleaner, and dash were done by local sign painter Tom Evans, who has done all of our striping for years. The paint is a custom mix Glasurit Bronze Metallic on the main portion of the body and a modified version of the same base with satin clear on the accent pieces and roof insert. The drivetrain components were all deburred and prepped for paint by Rad Rides’ Brian Ferguson. The engine, transmission, and rear axle were also painted with a custom mix dark gold Glasurit satin. Many suspension components were blasted heavy with steel shot and powdercoated with a gold-bronze texture to give them a cast look. Other steering, suspension, and drivetrain components were also powdercoated with a darker soft bronze metallic for durability. Plating on the car is all bright nickel, done by Sherm’s Custom Chrome Plating in Sacramento, California. All the sound deadening and carpet underlayment are products from Dynamat, keeping heat and unwanted sound to a minimum, while the windows in the car are bronze acrylic from AM Hot Rod Glass. Final assembly of our cars is a group effort led by Troy; Alex Marion did all the wiring and much of the mechanical assembly on the car, with help from Dale Cherry from Injection Connection for tuning; Casey Modert, Ian Walton, Brian Ferguson, and Gary Childers are all involved in various aspects of final construction as well.”

It’s now 2018. The Mariani Bros.’ Tudor sedan has made its SEMA debut in full dress, with a following appearance in Pomona, where I finally see it in finished form for the first time. My initial thoughts? I’m not sure which version I like better. Without having a chance to express my views, Adam had one last thing to say: “What we hear quite often about the car at this point are not always questions but comments about the finished car versus bare metal; because it was featured in print unfinished, as well as the Velocity Channel’s hour-long special about it winning SEMA’s Battle of the Builders—which was quite an honor to win and humbling that our peers choose us out of so many amazing vehicles—people are familiar with it both before and after. We get comments about how much they liked it raw, or how they were nervous about seeing it finished, concerned we would make some ‘bad’ choices on color. That’s actually a very enjoyable part of doing a car this way.” Constructive criticism is one thing I can truly relate to—not that I ever get much. But I do get what Rad Rides by Troy is doing, and like or not, hope you do too.

The post Rad Rides by Troy Conceals the Deal on the Mariani Bros.’ Tudor appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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jonathanbelloblog · 6 years

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Rad Rides by Troy Conceals the Deal on the Mariani Bros.’ Tudor

The post Rad Rides by Troy Conceals the Deal on the Mariani Bros.’ Tudor appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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