Knitted wardrobe for the hand-painted doll my mom made me when I was 3
Mar. 20th, 2026 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cimoreneIt's possible there will be a toddler in the family I could give her to in the next few years. But in the meantime I felt sad about her, dusty and poorly dressed, so I examined her and knitted her a little outfit.
The doll needs washed as well, but I want to wait for summer. Her body is light pink cotton that has gotten rather grimy, but her face isn't machine washable. My mom says I can take off her head and wash the body in the washing machine; and I wouldn't want to do that until it's warm outside, and sunny, so it would dry as quickly as possible. The face definitely needs washed too, so I'm going to have to try to spot wash it.
All three of these wee garments took me only about 6 days to make, and they're made of leftover scraps (the striped shirt and the yellow cardigan) and a bit of cheap sock yarn (the jungle green pants). But I got that feeling of excited accomplishment with a finished project three times! They have the details of bigger garments, and they're so cute and tiny, even more so than making sweaters for small children.
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“ – only to sit – ” (Act II)
Mar. 20th, 2026 12:24 pmcityofroses_feed1510, says the scrap of paper in her hand, and 201. Across the street a small sign elegantly plain over demure glass doors says 1510– the Hawthorne. “Huh,” says Ettie, in her black shorts, her cropped blue sweater.
The doors are locked. A small black speaker on the wall beside them, and a keypad, she presses 2, then 0, then 1. The pound key, after a moment. A click, and the timbre of the stillness shifts, opens with a faint hiss. The loud burr of something ringing, then another click. That hiss still tugs the air. “Hello?” she says. “Starling? It’s, ah, Stephanie. Étienne Limoges?” A truck sighs down the side street, chasing its morning shadow. “Hello?” she says.
A beep, and the latch of the glass doors disengages with a thunk.
Up a switchbacked flight of stairs to a courtyard mezzanine, and more doors of demurely clouded glass, a bicycle hung upright, a rainbowed parasol furled against an unlit grill. The door at the end, opening slowly as she approaches, has the numerals 201 set in the brick beside it. The woman stood there wears a blackly simple maillot, trimmed in lurid pink, her dark hair pixie-cut. “Starling?” says Ettie. “I would’ve called,” but the woman’s turning away. “Can I come in?”
Past an unused coat closet an emptily spotless kitchen, bamboo and stainless steel. A sturdy pole’s been bolted floor to the low ceiling’s edge. Ettie steps around it into an open space that leaps two storeys up or more, the front wall unbroken glass that looks out over the street below. In the sunlight a couple of sleekly angular chairs, and sat to the left a thick-set woman in a white lab coat, black leather satchel on the floor by her sensible shoes, and to the right a young man, shirtsleeves gartered, scissors and thread-hanks and papers of pins tucked in the bib of his leather apron. A beat thumps quietly somewhere, and an airy drone of pipes, a crooning monotone, these are your broken arms, all a the legs a Irish kings, these three sad things. “Starling?” says Ettie.
stuff
Mar. 19th, 2026 01:12 pmumboI am making progress on my BuckTommy Bang fic, though! I'm currently working on chapter 3 and have reached 7645 words. I'm also feeling the need for some cheerleading-type beta. I want some feedback on what I've already written!
I really do need to find some bucktommy icons. Or some LFJ icons. He was so good as Park the Shark! And there remains hope that he will show up in 911 again, perhaps as soon as tonight.
Oh hey, I just found one and uploaded it, yay. Except it's not letting me pick it. Maybe I will need to edit the post, because you all need to see the glory that was Tommy kissing Buck into his bisexual awakening!
Weekly reading meme for March 18 2026
Mar. 18th, 2026 08:06 pmkitewithfishWhat I've Read
After the Storm by perennial - This beautiful fic is Don John and Hero from Much Ado About Nothing, in an alternate universe where John revenges himself on Claudio by marrying Hero. Long and slow, this fic look at who John might be if given enough rope, and who Hero might be if she didn't have to marry that credulous shithead.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/31038242
Swordheart by T. Kingfisher A sweet romance, a little too long. Doing some lifting to set up the following books in the series.
The Grief of Stones by Katherine Addison - A reread for me for xing bookclub!
What I'm Reading Now
The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova - This is fine? Not sure if I am reaching for the orientalism or if the book is just doing that, but the key problems are repetition and repetition. 700 pages of, Dracula is around still and he's a dick.
What I'll Read Next
My Real Children Jo walton
Magical Resonance
Mar. 18th, 2026 02:21 pmkeiramarcos_feed“ – only to sit – ” (Act I)
Mar. 18th, 2026 12:24 pmcityofroses_feed“He’s awake.”
Pewter beads at the ends of his mustaches clacking thump against his shoulder as Pyrocles turns, blue suit shining, away from the sword thrust upright in the middle of the room, floor charred in a circle neatly all about, toward Robin Goodfellow all in black in the archway under the stairs, and brusquely past him into a dark hall papered with overlapped labels from wine bottles, beer bottles, bottles of bitters and liqueurs, past the white door hung with a sign that says Employees Must Wash Hands, past three men sat upon the floor, heads drooped, lolled back, hands in laps or laid on the knees of ragged trousers streaked with drying paste, over and between their outstretched legs to where a puddle of light’s seeped past the jamb of a second door, pushing it open, stepping into a small room lined with books, and more books stacked on a couple of wing chairs, and the narrow tables to either side, “Becker?” says Pyrocles. “Are you within?”
Becker’s head appears above the high back of an oxblood leather sofa, what’s left of his hair slicked back, cheeks hatched with stubble. “I just,” he says, “I’m sorry. Woke up.” His shirt of berry-colored plaid unbuttoned, dark hair sparse about his clavicle. He pulls it closed, looks down, about, “I can’t find my phone.”
Pyrocles steps close, holding something out, “I kept it safe for you,” he says.
“Safe,” says Becker, sharply, taking the phone. “And you are?” But then he looks away from Pyrocles’ pale eyes, “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m a little, disoriented. I’m not– sure? Where I, am, or how I got. Here.”
“You’ve forgotten,” says Pyrocles.
Wednesday Reading Meme
Mar. 18th, 2026 09:18 amsinealaNothing. Still have not attempted books. Currently getting over a migraine. I have to say, if I am now down to one migraine a week (which would be great, actually) I don't see why it has to be on Comics Wednesday two weeks in a row so that all my comics reviews are ass because I am clearly having difficulty comprehending comics.
Perhaps I could wait until Thursday to read them? No. It must be Wednesday. Otherwise the internet will spoil me.
What I'm Reading Now
Comics Wednesday!
( Captain America #8, Sorcerer Supreme #4, Ultimate Wolverine #15, Ultimates #22 )
What I'm Reading Next
Look, I'd be happy if I just got to read a book ever again.
