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existing is hard. expect more of me in the future.

i've signed up for this terrifying non-fiction flavor of FFM: Souljournalist Challenge|Signup!

nonfiction. 200 word minimum. prompts and prizes. can't convince me it's not a flavor of FFM. and non-fiction is something i'm entirely allergic to, so here's to attempting.

if you're interested, it's running the whole month of june. please come enjoy hell with me.

also as a reminder: we're now 52 days from FFM. which means i'm actually going to have to put my crochet hook down, and write something. it's gonna be glorious.

in slightly other news, i now exist in other places.

Ravelry, for yarn related adventures: I'm toxic--sunrise there, too.

WorldAnvil, as my Hellverse babies have a home now. Dysfunctional Trio, as well. It's currently afflicted with a perma-construction sign and maybe a foot of dust: i'm anatomyofagun over there

Discord, where I lurk and respond to anyone that tabs me when I see it: i'm paradox#1767 at the moment, subject to change.

Please, tell me, what's new with you guys?

The Wild HuntThe midnight hour brings howling winds across the sky dark clouds gather hiding moonlight the hounds lead us, the horns blaring our battle cry innocent girl ready to fight the chaos begins- the wild hunt solidifies frost covers the land glittering everything else is withering hooded rider leads- his will is never denied she does not want to be his prey refuses to be led astray horses beat the earth, witnesses are terrified shivering she stands determined offering his hand, coaxing her to say goodbye denying his evil burden he turns away, her purity can't satisfy. In Lieu of FlowersShe knew it made her father sad, how she always looked backward. Jenne would spend her time, when she wasn't studying, or even when she was supposed to be studying, face pressed into the eyeset, looking at the feeds from the left-behind telescopes that still made their journeys, like breadcrumbs between here and Earth.Her sister would slap the back of her head, tsk , then say something about the boy she'd been talking to over the wave. That one on Charon, maybe. Seemed like a different one every time.Josephine was a kid. She didn't remember Mom. She had no reason to look through Jenne's eyeset at the grainy feeds. Had no reason to glance ...