I designed the pattern, and my almost-ten-year-old did the weaving on the inkle loom.
I wasn’t really expecting any of the kids to take an interest in this, but it seems to have tickled the fancy of my two oldest. We’ve been taking turns.
Unfortunately, the pale pink and white threads aren’t easy to distinguish from each other. I have discovered through experience that just because two colors look good next to each other on the spools, that’s not necessarily the effect that you’re going to get with weaving — it’s better to compare individual strands.
Should you decide to use this pattern, I recommend going a little darker with the pink. Also, I forgot to change the weft color in the pattern — it should be black to match the outside edges.
It wasn’t destructively strong, but it was the sort of wind that howls and blows ice straight into your bones.
I can’t sleep when it’s windy. I always end up wide awake, listening to every gust, and wondering how long it will take for morning to come. For some reason, I get the mental image of giants outside …
We ended up with the one-year-old in our bed, and the four older children camped out together in one of their bedrooms. The wind bothered them, too.
I couldn’t help but think about how lucky we are, that no one has to be alone when they’re scared.
Purely by chance a few months ago, I saw a video on historic tablet weaving. It stayed on my mind, so I looked up instructions on how to do it, made some makeshift cards, and proceeded to string a bunch of yarn between myself and a table leg to experiment with.
It was a chaotic mess, and I loved it.
I then came to the conclusion that I needed to be free to get up move around at the drop of the hat, on account of the toddlers that I live with, lol.
And promptly got sucked into that world of crafting.
I’ve joked with my husband that weaving is telling yourself, “one more pass with the shuttle, then I’ll do something else,” for three hours straight. I actually have a number of bands that I’ve made, and a few that the children have done as well.
Now I’ve begun experimenting with fancier patterns.
Latvian flowers
Baltic style hearts
Next step: Applying these to clothing.
I also have some bands that I’ve made with the cards, but I’m saving those for another post.
I’ve cut out the more explicit content, which also happens to include pivotal parts of the story. Deal with it.
The first chapter is mostly the same as what I posted before, with few changes.
Aurora’s eyes closed, and for a moment she drifted off before she snapped herself back into consciousness. The horizon was growing lighter, and he still hadn’t appeared. While she was doing her best to maintain the vigil, it was difficult to feel a sense of urgency when their fate rested on someone who was now hours late.
“He’s not coming,” Talon murmured, closing his hand around Aurora’s. His skin felt burning hot over hers, so she snuggled up against his side to soak in his warmth.
“He has to,” she replied quietly.
“As soon as the first sun rays appear, we’re out of time.” Talon motioned to the frozen 12-foot mecha that stood some yards away, still poised in mid-attack. “The artifacts won’t hold it after daybreak.”
“He’ll be here,” Aurora weakly insisted. “He’s the only one who can stop it.”
“We need to leave before we get killed.” Talon stood then pulled on her. “Come on.”
“But what about the artifacts?”
“They’ll probably be destroyed. We’ll have to worry about that later.”
Aurora reluctantly followed Talon, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking back. Recovering the three artifacts had been a long and difficult process, and so had been activating them to imprison the mecha in a force field. The thought of being abandoned by CR1515 at the last minute was too much to bear.
“Let’s go find him,” she suggested hopefully.
“If Robot Boy was coming, he would have been here hours ago,” Talon snapped.
“The Gate isn’t far from here. Let’s go see if we can contact him, at the very least.” Aurora hated the thought of giving up, and even though she knew her idea sounded silly and irrational, it was far better than doing nothing.
“You go then, if it will make you happy. I need to tell the others what’s happened.” Talon stopped and turned to Aurora, put his arms around her waist, then lightly pecked her lips. “Don’t risk waiting around, though,” he whispered. “If he doesn’t answer in two minutes, get underground.”
“I promise I will.” Aurora closed her eyes as they kissed farewell again, then continued on to the Gate alone. She approached the metal door, standing in the middle of an empty lot free from any buildings or walls, and pushed the small button next to it. Silently, she began to count the seconds, feeling the weight of fatigue build with every number.
At 64, the door swung open.
She hesitated, then stepped through.
Aurora was no longer in the empty lot with solid earth beneath her feet. She was inside a large room with monitors and windows on every side, looking out at a dark sky that was speckled with innumerable stars. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization that she was no longer on the planet, but far above it in space.
Metallic footsteps came towards her, and she turned to face CR1515. It hurt to find him home, staring at her with his expressionless face, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying out, “How could you?”
He stopped, and his voice sounded deep with a slight electronic buzz, “Have you never questioned whether or not you are worthy of my help?”
“Aren’t … we?” Aurora was lost for words. The truth was, through all the hard work and sacrifices that they had made to reach their goal, it never once occurred to her to wonder what CR1515 thought of them – she had assumed that he would assist the moment he was needed; he always had in the past.
“I have grown tired of humanity. Save yourselves.” He turned to walk away, but Aurora jumped forward and caught hold of his back, pressing herself against him as she begged,
“Please. Please. We’ve done everything we can, but that mecha is … a lot of people will die if you don’t do something right now!”
“No.” His reply was so flat and blunt, it was like being punched in the chest. Aurora let out a cry of pain, but clung harder to him with increased desperation.
“I swear that I’ll do anything you ask, if only you’ll kill that thing!” she begged.
“You swear?” CR1515’s metal hands pressed down over her wrists, holding her in place with her arms around him.
“I swear!”
“I want what your species takes for granted.” He thrust Aurora’s arms away from him and once again turned to face her. “I want to touch, and to love.”
She stood, numbed by the words, unable to stop the thought, He’s a robot, from repeating itself over and over in her mind. CR1515 possessed the likeness of a human, but he was undoubtedly made of hard metal. How could he touch?
“Will you be mine?” he asked.
“But …” Aurora’s voice faded.
“Those are my terms. If you won’t accept, then begone.”
“…Yes.” Her lower lip trembled, and she wondered if she should try to take back the word despite having said it.
A seam appeared down the center of CR1515’s chest, and Aurora watched disbelievingly as the metal parted and a man of flesh and blood stepped out, with golden skin that gleamed softly. She blushed and turned away, not daring to look at his completely nude form.
“You are shocked,” he intoned, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Your species is the greatest work of engineering to ever grace the universe, with your only major flaw being the softness of your bodies. I was created to utilize your strengths while correcting your weaknesses.”
“Are you actually human?” Aurora asked, then immediately felt stupid for the words. Of course he wasn’t, she chastised herself, but it was difficult to think clearly with a naked man standing next to her.
“I was born one, but ceased to be long ago.” His lips touched her ear. “Give yourself to me.”
“I’m betrothed.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “If you want someone to love, then it should be easy to find …”
“I want you.” CR1515’s fingers lightly brushed her cheek as he turned her around. The undeniably masculine part of him was pressed against her, and she found herself flushing as her heart quickened. “No one else.” He took the end of her long braid and pulled out the tie, then worked his fingers through her hair to loosen it, so that strands flowed freely around her.
“But …”
“You’re running out of time.” His hands found the zipper in the back of her skirt, and once it was undone the fabric readily slipped down to the floor. “You have only 32 minutes until sunrise.”
“But, Talon …” she protested weakly as CR1515 removed her blouse over her head and tossed it aside.
“Then I will stand back, and watch as your kind dies.” Her bra came off next, and he paused to place a hand over one of her exposed breasts. Aurora shivered as goosebumps prickled her skin.
“This isn’t fair.” Tears slipped from her eyes.
“No. It isn’t.” Finally, her panties were stripped from her, leaving her as completely naked as CR1515 was. He held her firmly against him, skin touching skin, as he trailed his fingers along her back and around the curves of her body, tasting her mouth with his own. He picked her up and carried her to another room, where he placed her down on a soft bed and levied himself over her.
“Unlike your species,” he whispered, “I will never take this bliss for granted.”
…
…
Finished, he kissed her then whispered, “I wish I could linger, but I have precisely 15 minutes to destroy your menace. I will return to you shortly afterwards.”
The finality of his words hit hard. Before he disappeared through the door, Aurora sat up and called out, “I’m never going home again, am I.”
He paused. “No. Never again.”
She sank down into the pillows and pulled the blankets around herself, no longer possessing the energy to react. With a heavy breath, she closed her eyes and let the events of the last 24 hours press her down into a deep sleep.
I wrote this a few months ago as part of The Scion Suit, but I’ve decided that I won’t be using this scene in the final version after all.
Hartmann sat at the bar, his hand lax around an untouched glass of scotch. A woman sat next to him, chittering nonstop, although he wasn’t listening to a word that she was saying. He was staring at her lips, studying the neatly applied red lipstick with a crisp outline and a perfect cupid’s bow, and his gaze had the woman giddy.
Carol’s lips had been pale and dry. She had been too shocked to react the moment his mouth touched hers, but he had expected that – Carol was the sort who hadn’t kissed anyone in years … if she had ever kissed anyone at all. He had taken his time and moved slowly to keep from overwhelming her, feeling the change in her breath as her eyes had closed and her chin lifted up.
Afterwards, Hartmann had told himself to stop pursuing Carol, before she damaged his ability to touch another woman. He had rounded up a couple of his guys to head out for a night of fun, but now that he was there, he found that he couldn’t engage. He couldn’t stop thinking of Carol.
Her lips had been vulnerable and responsive. Somehow, with very little movement, they had begged him not to stop, and he knew that Carol hadn’t been internally counting down the seconds till she could move on to the next step. He had felt wanted.
The woman sitting next to him, with the perfect lipstick and low-cut top didn’t want him. To her, he was no different from any other man, and if he didn’t pick her up, then someone else would. The cheap, meaningless pleasure that she offered held no appeal in contrast to what he had tasted with Carol.
She stopped talking and leaned close to him with her eyes half closed, and Hartmann couldn’t stop himself from jerking back with a disgusted look on his face. The woman snatched up her purse as she cussed at him, then stormed away, and he finally took a gulp of his drink.
Sergeant Brown sat down next to him in the woman’s empty spot, ordered two more drinks, then studied Hartmann for a moment before asking, “What’s up man? I’ve never seen you so far out of the game.”
Hartmann remained silent, but finished his scotch and set the glass back on the bar, where he traced the circle of the rim with his fingertip, remaining deep within his thoughts.
“If you keep bombing this badly, I’m gonna start thinking that you’re hung up on some bitch,” Brown added after a moment.
Hartmann didn’t really want to talk about it, but the idea of Carol being referred to as ‘some bitch’ galled him – a lot more than he’d expected it to. He glanced over at Brown with a scowl, then back at his glass. “She’s not a bitch,” he muttered quietly. “That’s the problem.”
“Oh come on, man,” Brown snorted derisively. “That just means you’re the one getting played.”
“Nah. She’s way too pathetic for that.” Hartmann couldn’t stop the small smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth. Despite his choice of words, he didn’t intend it as an insult – it was something about Carol that made her irresistibly endearing to him. In the moments when he wondered how she had managed to survive on her own in her former life, he also deeply wanted to be there for her in the future.
“Hell, I don’t believe you.” Brown waved his hand dismissively. “Women only care about themselves, money, and orgasms.”
That made Hartmann laugh. “This one is different, and now I’ve got to prove that I’m not full of shit.”
Brown drained his glass and set it down as he asked, “To me, or to you?”
“Both,” Hartmann replied, then signaled the bartender over for a refill.
When I was a teenager, my mom took me to her hairstylist for a complete makeover. She braided up my hair, chopped off a full foot, then proceeded to push me into one of the most awkward stages of my teenagehood.
I’ve always been a “wash ‘n go” sort of girl. Never really could get into the habit of using blow dryers, let alone curling irons. Yet I gave that new hairstyle an honest shot, because all of the adult women around me kept going on about how “mature” it made me look, and I was scared of standing up against people back then.
I hated that hair cut. Loathed it. There isn’t a single picture of me smiling with that stupid style. I eventually drifted back to “wash ‘n go,” because that’s my fundamental personality type.
We’re talking about two decades ago here, so I can’t remember the specifics, but I do recall feeling bombarded with criticism from the hairstylist. She went on and on about split ends and breakage, then proceeded to donate my hair to Locks of Love … *eyeroll* The stylist was bad enough I remember asking my mom about it afterwards, and she told me that it was best to ignore the criticism.
But it still bothered me. It bothered me badly enough that I switched over to going to the local college for haircuts, then eventually started doing it myself. When I turned 30, I vowed to never cut my hair again, and I’ve been much happier with my appearance ever since.
I’ve been married for over a decade now. My husband likes to help brush and braid my hair when we get ready for bed, and he always praises how silky and shiny my hair is. Sometimes he even recites poetry. He doesn’t see the split ends or the wispy bits that stick out awkwardly, even though he’s perfectly aware of the horrible things that happen to my hair in the cause of motherhood. He sees the beauty, not the flaws.
That matters far more than the nitpicking opinions of near strangers.
Somehow I’ve managed to write over 10,000 words for CR1515, despite feeling tired and busy with the gazillion things that always happen at once, and I still haven’t found the proper flow for the story. Not 100% settled in to it yet.
I can’t help but wonder if I should dial back on the philosophical ranting and put in the effort to submarine it more, but it probably doesn’t matter. People can be shockingly oblivious to what’s right underneath their noses, so I might as well slap a fancy border on it and proudly display it.
The fun part about the Aurora/CR1515 pairing is that they argue A LOT more than any of my other main couples. The fireworks are a blast to write (har har), which is probably how I’ve managed to do as much as I have, despite being excessively busy/tired with a gazillion things. We have stubborn pride going up against unyielding stances, in a scrumptiously confined space. What’s not to love?
By Autumn Rain 