Poetry in stitches yarn kits

Abby put up her posters around camp the night before. One at the entrance of the arena, forge, medic cabin, armory, and a few other strategic places. She had planned on making a scarf for herself, but then she had the idea to invite other people, so she signed up to host it as an activity. Maybe she could make a few new friends this way, too.
Join me in the arts and crafts cabin for knitting lessons on Tuesday at 12:45pm. Make your own scarf, hat, or blanket! Snacks and drinks will be provided!
Abby had learned pretty quickly that the key to getting stuff from the camp store was to just be polite and ask nicely. Which was good, because she didn't have any drachmas whatsoever. Maybe she should sign up for a job sometime. She hadn't left camp at all since she'd arrived nearly a month ago. On a job, she'd be able to get out for a bit and maybe even make a friend.
The hour before the lesson was set to start, she gathered up baskets of yarn and knitting needles from around the arts and crafts cabin and set them on each table. Next came the snacks. Chips, pretzels, and cheese puffs, along with bottles of water and soda to wash them down. When other kids started to show up, she began showing them how to make their first stitches.
"You wrap it around the needle like this," she said, demonstrating with her own. "To make the stitch, you interlock them like this."
Before long, the kids that had showed up were making their first few rows of stitches. Abby felt proud that she had come this far, that she could teach others and have them be successful. She grabbed a bag of chips from the table and munched on them as she worked on her own scarf. It would have a bright orange base with the phases of the moon in the center, done in black. The full moon, half moons, quarter moons, and crescent moons would extend out from the middle. It was a bit of a complex idea, especially for knitting, but she was excited to see how it would turn out.
"Don't hesitate to ask if you have questions," she said to the room at large.

Hi! I'm following the mohair tie top tutorial and at the 22 minute mark in this video she says chain 2 and dc for row two but does not specify if it's supposed to be in the first or second stitch. I also cannot seem to tell which stitch it is from looking at the video because of the fuzzy mohair yarn. Because this video is over a year old, she hasn't responded to the comment asking which stitch so I was wondering if anyone can help me figure out where to dc into at the start of each row to keep the rows even. I always have issues maintaining even rows with equal number of stitches and would appreciate any help. Thank you!

Hi! I'm following the mohair tie top tutorial and at the 22 minute mark in this video she says chain 2 and dc for row two but does not specify if it's supposed to be in the first or second stitch. I also cannot seem to tell which stitch it is from looking at the video because of the fuzzy mohair yarn. Because this video is over a year old, she hasn't responded to the comment asking which stitch so I was wondering if anyone can help me figure out where to dc into at the start of each row to keep the rows even. I always have issues maintaining even rows with equal number of stitches and would appreciate any help. Thank you!

Whats up my dudes, we are back at it with another chapter for you all. We are getting the swing of things and have another chapter or two to start the main plot fully, we are just getting to know our leads for now. I hope you enjoy
Lets get this bread
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The movement from the nightclub to Stitch’s clinic was grueling. Typically lugging a passed-out HVI or some other sod halfway across the city's district would not be a challenge. With his cybernetics, Conor was in decent enough shape and could sprint ten kilometers in full battle rattle without breaking a sweat, but Conor had pushed himself and didn’t need to wax a few Voodal in his way.
Conor had heard that Kurlatra were dense, but his assumptions about how heavy they were came nowhere close to the reality of picking one up.
Whatever this woman's name was, she likely weighed north of eighty kilograms. It was a shock because she was a meter and a half tall at most. For Urka’s sake, Conor only weighed one hundred and fifty kilograms despite being two meters tall and filled to the brim with wires.
He thought a bit about the woman's build and realized why she must weigh so much. She had hips and legs that could crush a man's skull. Along with a pair of tits just big enough that they would overflow from your hands.
Conner was made all the more well aware of those traits as he adjusted her to ensure he would not drop the little lass. Her fatty chest and plump thighs would try to swallow his hip each time he did. No sentient this small had any right being heavier than his entire breacher kit, explosives, anti-rifle armor, and all.
If not for Brakul expecting this rosey scag to be delivered to Stitch’s place, Conor would have lugged her to his safe house, which was far closer. But no, he had another job and order to follow.
The only shining light on this impromptu extraction was that the Voodal did not follow him. He had been worried about that last ganger he had shot; they had only eaten one round through the midchest. At the time, it looked like it might not have been a heart shot, and since he was picking this bimbo up at the time, he did not have a chance to ensure they were put down permanently.
Conor took a deep breath as he rounded the corner into a dirty alleyway, leaving the bustling thoroughfare behind. Thankfully, the residents of Heavalun knew better than to mess with him or anyone else who regularly did mercenary work, especially when they were carrying a body—alive or not.
Those who stopped his type tended not to live long, so he was ignored other than a few passing glances.
After traveling a few meters into the alleyway, Conor stopped and tucked behind a dumpster. His feet squelched in a puddle of rank trash water leaking from the impromptu cover. While Conor was reasonably sure no one had followed him, a quick double-check was always good for his skin.
Conor did not want to bring trouble to Stitch’s place. He did not have the slightest idea where he would find another techy who could synthesize the cocktail of stimulants Stitch made to keep his broken body held together. Pissing the tech head off was not high on his priority list.
Over the next ten minutes, the only thing his thermal vision picked up between him and the main road was a few Zlit rats scurrying atop discarded food. Their fleshy tendrils groped the garbage and pulled it into maws of razor-sharp teeth.
The sight of them sent a shiver down his spine. Those foul little mammals were high on his list of hated creatures, having been bitten by them more than once since he was a kid slinking around the gutters of Heavalun.
Pushing those memories away, Conor traveled deeper and rounded a blind corner. The sounds of the crowd's chatter entirely vanished as he entered the backstreet where Stitch’s clinic was nestled.
The rest of the journey was only a few hundred meters and only required Conor to sidestep some used needles and shit; He also had to kick one homeless bum who tried to grab the girl out of the cover of his jacket. Usually, he would have just shot the piece of hreck shit, but with his hands full, a swift boot to the jaw got the message across.
With the bum limping away, broken jaw clutched in pain, Conor hammered on the metal door; its frame and the neon sign to its side quivered under his brute strength. Then began the worst part of dealing with Stitch, waiting for the asshole to open the door.
Conor waited until ten minutes had passed and received no answer. Then he punched the door harder, his metal hand denting the surface. Several seconds later, a heavily synthesized voice echoed out of the speakers hidden around the area—speakers that Conor had never been able to locate, no matter how fervently he tried.
“What do you want, Conor?” Stitch questioned. “Did you break more of your wiring?”
Conor sighed heavily, knowing Stitch had this entire block wired with multispectrum cameras and could see him a kilometer out. If this were a visit for his wiring, Stitch would know. The man was just being paranoid and wanted Conor to state his business.
“I got a girl I need you to check up on,” Conor said, pushing his jacket slightly open and letting the girl's ref scales shine.
“What another hooker pass out on a bad trip?” Stitch chuckled cruelly. “This is the fourth this month; you are getting soft merc.”
Rolling his eyes, Conor could admit he was softer than most of the other mercenaries and gangsters in the city's neutral sections. Having seen his fair share of how bad this city can be, Conor did his best not to fuck over those who were just down on bad times and were not trying to cause him issues.
Life was arduous enough for them. So he gave back by lugging hookers and junkies to the nearest tech head and paying for their treatment or the closest Zential clinic. The Zentials were more than willing to treat the downtrodden for free, unlike the other medical services in Heavalun—stitch included.
He considered it his way of giving back and maybe finding Urka's good grace. Perhaps the god might forgive him for being a general piece of hreck shit if he continued to until he did. But he would not know until he finally kicked the bucket.
His intervention was a drop of clean water in the ocean of venom in this city. The other locals were more than willing to pick those he aided clean in minutes. They might as well be a swarm of bealit beatles eating carrion with how ravenous they were.
“It ain’t that. Just open the damn door,” Conor growled, punching the door again.
“Hold on, you greased-up cyborg,” Stitch frantically complained, worried that Conor would break his door again.
Conor smirked, glad the strange form of tolerance he and Stitch had built over the years was still strong. At this point, it was their modus operandi. Neither hated the other; no, they respected one another's role in this shithole.
Both toles put them in harm's way and brought them respect and infamy.
However, Conor found the way the denizens of Heavalun treated them funny. If you asked the average COS or GU citizen, who was more brutal: a mercenary with a pension for hyper-violence and little regard for collateral damage—-or a skeletal Itelv doctor who regularly performs life-saving surgery? They would choose Conor ten out of ten times. They did not know Stitch like Conor, Brakul, or most of the people in this city section.
They would tell you the truth of the good doctor.
They would weave you a tale of a greedy, crit-pinching asshole and that Stitch was the type of man who would stitch up for pay but would just as quickly harvest your organs for sale, or Urka forbid he would stick some experimental tech inside you and wait for your inevitable death to retrieve his property.
The door at long last opened with a vile hiss, and a gangly grey-skinned hand forced it open.
Stitch was just about as tall as Conor. But his thin grey limbs made him look one stiff breeze away from taking flight, with only his heavy artificial spider-like legs keeping him firmly on the planet.
Draped over his pencil-thin neck was a once-white apron. After years of use, it was stained with blood, oil, and hydraulic fluid.
“If she ain't one of your precious hookers, put her on the table. I will get my tool ready,” Stitch hissed, jamming his thumb over a shoulder.
“I ain’t selling this one to you either. Girlie got tagged by visage, and I need yah to treat her,” Conor replied, pushing past and laying the blonde on the recovery bed.
“You said she ain’t some hooker,” Stitch complained following, having gotten tired of Conor no longer bringing him fresh meat to sell.
Once Conor turned around and was about to explain the situation, Stitch pressed a bony finger into Conor's chest. “I told you, I'm selling the next one. She is it,”
“Can it doc. She is a client,” Conor replied. “Or are you going to explain to Brakul why you cut her up?”
Stitch clicked his tongue but did not try to move closer. His glassy, verdant eyes pulled Conor and the girl apart as he weighed the pros and cons of allying with Conor and Brakul another time.
“What is in it for me?” Stitch questioned, tapping a finger on a scalpel attached to his tool belt.
Conor sighed, realizing he should have expected this question, but he was not the broker of deals. That was Brakul’s schtick, and he was running late.
“You can take her jewelry and any credsticks you find on her. Alright?” Conor replied, knowing Brakul likely would have made a similar deal.
Stitch nodded and slinked closer to the woman. He lifted the necklace from her chest and carefully examined the jewels with a prudish eye any good businessman should have. After Stitch activated his magnified eyes, his cornea glowed gold, letting him see the atoms of the shiny trinket.
The doctor grinned cruelly, letting his crystalline teeth show proudly. The sight was unsettling and made Conor grip his pistol, fearing the doctor would flip his shit and decide it was not enough payment and try to cut the girl up.
But he did not start to slice her skin open. Instead, he sniggered nearly uncontrollably for a few moments, then spoke. “Yes, yes, yes. This will do just fine,” He sneered.
Conor was unsure what the jewels were, but they must be worth far more than he initially thought. For Urka's sake, Stitch was drooling on the necklace and the passed-out girl's chest.
“Good. So you will take care of her?” Conor questioned, needing to hear an assured answer.
Quickly slipping the jewelry into his pocket, Stitch looked back at Conor, his demeanor having done a complete one-eighty. “Of course, I always have room for paying customers.”
“Oh sweet, Conor, you handled the deal,” Brakul said, having just stepped in through the doors.
Why Brakul was allowed unfettered access to Stitch’s clinic and Conor was not something Conor had wondered for years but had accepted it as something to do with their role in the duo.
“Yeah, and he will watch the client. But we had yet to lay out the finer details,” Conor explained.
“Ah, no issue, I can take it from here,” Brakul replied.
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so what did you think? a decent chapter or total trash? either way I wanna know. I will see you all in the comments. please don't forget to comment and updoot.
your baker
-Pirate
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Welcome to Reading The Big Book of Cyberpunk!
Each week we (u/FarragutCircle and u/fanny_bertram) will be reading 5-ish stories from Jared Shurin’s The Big Book of Cyberpunk, which includes a curated selection of cyberpunk stories written from 1950 to 2022! We’ll include synopses of the stories along with links to any legally available online versions we can find. Feel free to read along with us or just stop by and hear our thoughts about some cyberpunk stories to decide if any of them sound interesting to you.
Every once in a while, we reach out to people who have more insight, due to being fans of the author or have some additional context for the story. (Or we just tricked them into it.) So please welcome u/RuinEleint who will be sharing their thoughts on "The Yuletide Cyberpunk Yarn, or Christmas_Eve-117.DIR" by Victor Pelevin!
“Deep Eddy” by Bruce Sterling (published 1993; also available in his collection Ascendancies: The Best of Bruce Sterling)
Deep Eddy is acting as a data courier to the Cultural Critic in Düsseldorf, right as the city goes through a Wende (a sort of anarchist “Purge”).

• Farragut’s thoughts: We’ve read Sterling before in Science Fiction. Eddy is a misguided libertarian creep who won’t stop hitting on his German bodyguard and is too dumb to understand the philosophical points that the Cultural Critic is making (for that matter, I’m too dumb to understand, too). He survives his time in Germany, but has learned nothing of value for his punk attitude. What’s the point of rebelling if you don’t understand why? The naivete and creepiness were a little too much for me.
  
• fanny’s thoughts: This did not work for me. Eddy is creepy and annoying. He keeps hitting on the bodyguard and she makes it VERY clear she is only there in a professional context. Eddy also seems to generally not have any clue what he is doing. He is libertarian and against something but no one seems to know what. He doesn't even seem to know what he delivered to the Cultural Critic.
  

“The Yuletide Cyberpunk Yarn, or Christmas_Eve-117.DIR” by Victor Pelevin (1996, translated from Russian by Alex Shvartsman)
A corrupt mayor’s computer is infected by a virus that causes chaos in Russia.

• Special Guest Ruin: This was a fascinating story to read. The way the narrative segued from a discussion on poetry to a darkly comedic look at a Russian city was remarkable. The author seems to like to start or lead with a theme or themes which seem to be only tangentially related to each other such as for example the name of the computer virus, or Gerasimov and his dog. But both elements circle back into the story and are crucial to its structure. As for the content of the story itself, I amused myself by imagining the events as being a movie that blended the stylistic elements of Tarantino and Wes Anderson. So we have brutal, bloody violence in increasingly absurd settings and the way it is all described makes it easy to imagine it all taking place amidst the highly stylized sets and characters we would expect in a Wes Anderson movie. Overall, I really enjoyed this story.
  
• Farragut: We’ve read Pelevin before in Modern Fantasy. First of all, this is a fantastic title for a story, period. Second of all, I just enjoyed Pelevin’s style here (via Shvartsman’s translation), with an omniscient narrator telling us about a completely ridiculous situation. It gets a little cagey with the identity of the perpetrator and the ending, but I’m very curious as to how darkly I should read it (now that I think about it, it’s directly connected to the original, so I should read it very darkly indeed). Shvartsman’s occasional footnotes were very helpful, however, especially with the context surrounding Gerasim(ov) and Mumu.
  
• fanny: Ruin's review is so good, I am not sure what to add. The style of this story fit the elements so well. It starts with a poem whose themes carry through the story. The footnotes were a really great addition and helped contextualize. The narrator keeps upping the ridiculousness until we get to the end and everything gets wrapped up.
  

“Wonderama” by Bef (1998, translated from Spanish by the author)
Lalo (or is it Eduardo?) wakes up every day in the most awesome life in 1974, but it’s revealed to be a lie and ends tragically.

• Farragut: Bef is a Mexican SF writer, a crime writer, and a graphic novelist, and honestly his whole bibliography sounds cool as heck. Told in a series of diary entries with some small interruptions, we follow a kid whose life is like a Mexican kid’s sugar-fueled dream. The reason for its inclusion in this thematic section of the anthology becomes clear however, and I yelled, “Noooo!” at the ending. Sigh. It’s very good!
  
• fanny: I am a sucker for diary entry style stories and this was no exception. Lalo’s life seems almost perfect, but it feels so off. The story feels progressively more off until we start to question everything. Also, yelled “Nooo!” at the ending. Very good. Absolutely loved.
  

“comp.basilisk FAQ” by David Langford (1999) (link to story)
A FAQ-style story that clearly describes a bizarre future where images on the web and TV are banned due to the risk of death.

• Farragut: Langford is famous for having the most Hugo wins (29), mostly for the Fan Writer category, but also Short Story (not this one) and Best Related Work (not this one either). This is a delightful story that made me think of it as a precursor to qntm’s later story “Lena” from Week 5 (though obviously only in general form). Apparently I love the faux-nonfiction style where some of the horror and plot is between the lines. The final FAQ about Microsoft was darkly funny.
  
• fanny: This was fun and very short. The FAQs related to basilisk and writing were great. It goes between funny, dark humor, and just dark. I liked the commentary on technology and software. I also really appreciate the standard response answers explaining they should post someone else. This is something I deal with often and this was great.
  

“Spider's Nest” by Myra Çakan (2004, translated from German by Jim Young; also available in the anthology The Apex Book of World SF 3 edited by Lavie Tidhar)
Spider, uh, does something? Is looking for drugs, maybe? But something else happens instead?

• Farragut: Çakan is a German writer from Hamburg, and after reading this story, I’d say Shurin made hamburger out of me, too. The main thing I got out of this story was that Spider really wanted something, maybe. I thought it was drugs, but he got angry at his dealer and then got super weird with his friend’s girlfriend? And then there was a Silver Spider, who wasn’t him, but maybe he plugged himself in to replace her? What is happening?
  
• fanny: Spider definitely wanted drugs from his dealer, Ant. I think. Ant got annoyed at something then Spider got into a voyeur situation (maybe). There is a Silver Spider in his dreams that makes him feel better. I couldn't tell if this was dream or drug induced or technology induced. The end is super weird and makes even less sense than the story. Spider might have done a murder on himself? I have been confused before in this anthology, but not to this level.
  

That’s it for this week! Check back the same time next week where we’ll be reading and discussing "The Last American" by John Kessel, "Earth Hour" by Ken MacLeod, "Violation of the TrueNet Security Act" by Taiyo Fujii, "Twelve Minutes to Vinh Quang" by T. R. Napper, and "Operation Daniel" by Khalid Kaki.
Also posted on Bochord Online.

So I (34f) am autistic, just to get that out there as to why I'm not sure if I would be TA or not (situations like this for me are... Awkward), and I am really heavily craft oriented (for example, I make my own knitting and crochet patterns, dye and spin my own yarn, and work with polymer clay, too).
This is relevant because my cousin's husband (40m, we'll call him Gary) has said that he will make the things I need. To be specific, I've asked for three things: for the inside of a knitting implement to be sanded down as it was catching and damaging my yarn (requested two years ago), a pair of hackle (wool) combs (requested last September), and top whorl drop spindles (getting on for a month ago now) made in a particular way so I can make them nice with polymer clay and sell them on (I have made it clear that I would be more than happy to pay for everything, too).
None of them have been done. And when I asked him to make the spindles originally, he immediately decided he was going to make them out of aluminum because HE thought that would be better, even though I stated that I wanted them made out of wood.
Here's the thing: I live clear across the other side of town to most of my family. My gran and great aunt, who live next door to each other and are close to him and my cousin, regularly ask him to do jobs that actually do get done. I just kinda feel... Forgotten, I guess.
I should also say that they have a son who is severely on the spectrum. He needs a lot of help and care and I can understand that he comes first, but then I see other people's more recent jobs being completed regardless, so... Yeah.
So, context provided (hopefully), here's my question: WIBTA if I went onto Facebook, in the local groups that he and the rest of my family are also in, and asked if there was anyone local who's willing to help me? I'm tired of waiting for jobs to be done when others decide they will be (I.e. Never), and I need these things done. I've given up on the knitting implement completely at this point, but the combs and spindles are things I need so I can try and sell my handspun wool/beginner's spinning kits, so I can't give up on those.

Hi! I am knitting the following pattern in size 6 for my niece. https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/petit-lobelie
I am having trouble understanding the following two rows (the lace bottom):
R1 (RS): k2, *k1, slip last st from right needle to left needle, pass next 4 sts of left needle over this st, double yo on left needle, k1, M1L, k1*, repeat from * to * to end.
R2 (WS): p2, *p1, [(p1, k1) 3 times, p1] in the double yo, p2*, repeat from * to * to end.
For R1, I assumed the double yarn over on left needle to be a typo. I did the following: *k1, slip last st from right needle to left needle, pass next 4 sts of left needle over this st, pass slipped stitch back to right needle, double yo on right needle, k1, M1L, k1*
This results in a double yarn over ever 4 knit stitches.
However, for the life of me, I can not understand R2 p1, [(p1, k1) 3 times, p1] in the double yo, p2
What am I missing?
Thank you!

kny au fanfic idea
(characters not included: zenitsu, tanjiro, nezuko) (zenitsu has been replaced with genya, all my homies love genya) (i think if i showed this note to a psychologist id be diagnosed with yippee on the spot :/)
follows the story of a young girl who runs away from home after she is turned into a demon by her crazed scientist/doctor of a father, mauling and eating her blind younger brother in the process of her transformation during the sengoku period. after waking up in the taisho era after sleeping for 512 years. later she meets giyuu after getting deja vu from recognizing his silhouette as a mysterious swordsman who took her in. after she questions him about what its like to be a demon slayer, she declares she wants to become a demon slayer as well. he gives her an oni mask to ward off evil spirits that may try to sway her off the path of good, and wishes her the best of luck during her travels.
Slayer’s Corps. The corps is recognized by the government and is treated like secret service work. the government is often behind the main funding aside from the Ubuyashiki Household. the government and the ubuyashiki household are working together behind the scenes to locate and research the blue spider lily and its properties utilising spies to find any information available.
demon slayers are typically trained by specialized trainer slayers in groups. however if certain slayers are of vip status or acquire special permission from higher ups in the corps they are allowed to obtain special private training from registered hashiras. Other exceptions are if a hashira chooses a tsuguko which is a pupil whos purpose is to take over their masters title of hashira and only be with them on major missions.
Every four or five months slayers of each respective demon slayer rank is gathered to test their strength to see if they qualify to rank up in the corps. This is determined by a mutual three round duel between two slayers. One slayer being of higher level, the other being a lower level. If the higher level slayer wins, no changes are made between the two slayers. If the lower level slayer wins the slayers ranks are swapped. If by any chance there is a tie, the lower ranked slayer will rank up while the higher level slayer will remain stagnant. Middle level slayers are determined to duel with a lower or higher level slayer depending on the amount of demons killed. this number of demon kills is tallied and counted by each demon slayers kasugai crow. when a slayer reaches a certain rank they are given the option to fight a hashira to obtain their rank. this is entirely optional however. if one fails at their attempt to defeat a hashira there is a minimum one year grace period between each challenge. if they win they will swap places with the hashira if all spots are taken. (ten in total)
as well as the physical test, hashiras are a part of the judicial and legal system of the corps and assist in making decisions along with the Ubiyashikis. therefore they must be knowledgeable about slayer history and lawmaking. this knowledge is tested in an exam that is graded harshly and score below 90% is a fail meaning that slayer must complete the test a month later until they pass or give up trying. the test consists of 125 questions and has similar properties to that of an iq test. the only exception is if a slayer is appointed to the hashira level by the Ubuyashikis directly (i.e. Muichiro). Once the test has been passed only then are lower ranked demon slayers allowed to challenge a hashira for their place if need be.
All hashiras are accompanied by at least four high level demon slayers at all times. These high level demon slayers live and train with their accompanying hashira(s). Upwards of two selected juniolow level demon slayers by the Ubuyashiki Household or the hashira may accompany said high level team to better learn the means of teamwork and/or familiarize themselves with mission when they become more veteraned slayers. These later more experienced slayers are more trusted and capable with being let on missions on their own with the assistance of close allies of their choosing. Or they can stay with their assigned hashira once at a higher level. if the assigned hashira dies the associating slayers will branch off with other hashiras or start tight nit non-hashira squads of their own.
due to the dwindling number of slayers passing the entrance test per year, younger less experienced slayers are becoming more valuable to the corps. such as if up to ten lower level slayers end up KIA a hashira squad will be brought in as back up. this however drastically increases the work flow of the hashiras and their squad mates. this heightened stress and work load causes higher risk of injury and exhaustion when in already constant threat of being bombarded or found by one or more very powerful demons at all times.
the only way for a demon slayer to retire is through death. if a hashira lives beyond the age of 50, and have the ability to train new slayers, that hashira will still be fully registered however they are placed on the back burner and can be called to full time duty. such as if a spot is empty or if the corps is in the midst of a large scale fight and needs backup. in order for a veteran to be brought back into the corps full time they must prove they are still able to fight such as being able bodied, mentally stable(???), etc. this can be completed by completing the mandated training needed to become a certified demon slayer.
if a hashira has a successor of their breathing technique (calling it a style has always been a bit weird to me) and becomes a hashira that previous hashira will be given the royalties same to that of a veteran hashira no matter the age/age gap. however if said successor dies, the predecessor must retake their place as a hashira in their stead. (etc. rengoku dies, his father goes back on the job)
nichirin blades that are used throughout the demon slayer corps are made of a special type of magma forged from Mount Unzen, which is infused with the sun due to only being able to be harvested during the day. this material is unable to be scratched and can last forever if handled with care and expertise.
wisteria flowers are a type of flower commonly used in medicines and antioxidants because of its soothing properties making it very common in products such as sleep medicine and vitamin supplements in low enough doses. it is also very volatile to demons. however in order to cause enough damage to a demon to slow it down with wisteria one would need an incredibly high amount of it on hand possibly a third of a full grown trees worth. however because of its drowsing properties even a human become weakened by wisterias affects and can cause permanent physical damage if in close enough vicinity for a prolonged amount of time. this can cause someone to lose physical strength which can be life or death for a demon slayer. fortunately humans are stronger to the affects of wisteria than demons. demons slayers are also taught to cover their tracks from being followed by demons with a small bag of wisteria tied to their person at all times which even in small amounts block the senses of any nearby demon and deter them. (dosage suggests intaking wisteria)
demon slayer uniforms are traditionally unisex and are made of thin fibres of the same material as the nichirin blades in order to prevent normal melee low level demon attacks from reacher a slayers skin such as scratches and bites. however this black material is also quite weighted when worn as clothing making movement in the uniform harder as well as uncomfortable to wear in warmer seasons. because the fabric is so dense the edges of the cloth need to be stitched with very heavy fabric to prevent unraveling from the stress meaning they are to be repaired up to three times per year when worn reularly. these uniforms are corps mandated and are not to be customized through mediums such as dyes, bleaches, hemming, cropping, or tearing. damaging the material in ways such as these makes the nichirin fabric less effective allowing more harm to come to the wearer in combat. however customization such as sewing, embroidery, and accessories are allowed as they do not take away from the properties of the nichirin fabric. kyahans (the leg warmer-like things) are to close the gap between the hakama (pants) and the legs to reduce ripping at the seams and stop any demons attacks from below to get under the hakama leg and damage the slayer or trip them as well as improve overall mobility on foot. the only times a slayer can be out of uniform is when in company of a wisteria house or on an espionage mission which are given directly from the Ubuyashikis.
in order to prevent high level personnel such as hashira from being identified by demons of espionage by unique physical characteristics they all each recieve a black cloak to cover themselves with when in highly densed areas.
as japan embraces a more western identity throughout the taisho era, the ubuyashiki household implemented a western judicial system in the decision making with the head of the ubuyashiki clan acting as the judge l and the hashiras acting as the defending and accusatory parties as well as jury. all hashiras will make a statement to either defend the person on trial or go against them. copies of testimonies and eye witness cases are also given to the hashiras and a brief statement of the case is given to the head of the ubuyashiki clan.
once a slayer passes final selection to become a demon slayer they obtain a kasuguy crow and a slayer pack which includes small nichirin sword refills, rope, and a basic first aid kit from the corps. they are then assigned one of many nichirin sword smiths and will
Breathing Techniques and Forms breathing techniques use different stances for activation in order to assist with more oxygen going to the places needed to perform each technique.
thunder breathing needs more oxygen in the legs in order to perform high speeds attacks. water breathing needs more oxygen in the brain in order to make weightless, exact, and fluid movements.
this necessary oxygen transfering is slightly altered by those who make new styles based on existing styles.
because there is less oxygen going to the rest of the body it takes serious practice for someone to be able to last more than 10 minutes without collapsing.
before a demon slayer learns a breathing technique they must master total concentration breathing from the training of a teacher. once the slayer has mastered tcb only then are they allowed to be taught techniques to further enhance their skills unless given a pardon for special reasons. breathing styles are taught after the entrance test to become a demon slayer from higher up demon slayers and hashiras. after the entrance exams slayers are heavily encouraged to learn a breathing technique however it is not mandatory
Main/Secondary Character Names and Personalities (given names are put before family names so i dont confuse my little baby english brain)
OC: Etsuko Onimane (Kanji: 悦子 鬼真似) Yōko Kobayawaka (Kanji: 洋子 小早川)
(put backstory here). wears baggy clothes to hide from the sun when travelling during the day. due to her unable to form calluses on her hands to grip her swords because of her demonhood she resorts to gloves which also help futher hide her skin from contact with the sun. she also has to stress about the fear of any slayer possibly killing her in a misunderstanding. because she is a different kind of demon she doesnt burn in the sun but rather melts. this is an extremely gruesome process.
Genya Shinazugawa
Genya strives to become a strong slayer like his older brother Sanemi to make him proud and finally acknowledge him. this character is untrusting of others as a front to avoid being hurt as well as being abrasive and unwelcoming. due to his family being killed by his demon-turned mother he will have severe difficulties befriending/trusting etsuko. by consuming demons he is able to have superhuman senses much like that of a demon and copy the demons blood demon art. the more flesh of demons he consumes the stronger he becomes. however this means it is easier for him to lose control and can not step into sunlight as long as he has demonic abilities. if he eats more than one demon he gains more than one bda however it weakens all current bda’s in genyas system by the amount of bda’s (2 bda’s weakens them both by 50%). because of his ability to consume and harness the power of demons he is unable to perform breathing techniques. had he never have consumed demons in the first place he would be able to but no longer can.
Inosuke Hashibira
Raised by upper moon two, doma, he is a wild child who decides to become a demon slayer out of his want to have fun and become strong like doma unaware of his adopted/step-father’s identity and his connection to inosukes mother. This character often runs head first into confrontation whilst completely ignoring his own well being in the process sometimes causing missions to temporarily go off track because of his tendency for trail blazing and not following orders from his superiors, possibly at risk of his termination from the corps if his actions continue. doma is aware of inosukes actions however is not threatened by him working with the Slayers Corps. he is infact rather encouraging of him to get stronger knowing inosuke could never defeat him on his own nor his own accord and does not perceive him as a threat. this character does not see etsuko as a threat because of her demeanor and unlikeness to any other demon. this character also doesnt know doma is a demon.
Supporting Cast Akaza, Shinjuro, rest of characters
all explained in a separate document
Demons/Antagonists Muzan, Akaza, etc.
All demons are under the cruel and watchful eye of muzan kibutsuji as if they were to ever falter and sway from his will or be deemed useless he will dispose of them himself indiscriminately whether they were an uppermoon or not.
the fourteen strongest demons under muzans rule are called the kizuki with the weakest eight being called the lower rank kizuki and the strongest six being the upper rank kizuki.
due to the existence of muzans cells in each demons body and with muzan being unable to be in the sun, no demon has been able to withstand/conquer the sun.
certain moon phases effect demons strength and abilities. during a solar eclipse demons are able to stand in the day without getting burnt but only for a handful of minutes. super moons increase the overall strength of demons as well as their blood demon art abilities. blood moons/lunar eclipses work very similarly to super moons but to a much more extreme degree. this also means that demon attacks are more frequent during winter months and the opposite in the summer months
demons
ranking system for moon phases:
Demon King - Blood Moon Upper One - Upper Full Moon Upper Two - Upper Waxing G. Moon Upper Three - Upper Quarter Moon Upper Four - Upper Waxing Crescent Moon Upper Five - Upper Waning Moon Upper Six - Upper New Moon Lower One - Lower Full Moon etc…
please tell me if i should add or take away anything so far. please keep in mind this blueprint is a wip.

Inspired by a writing prompt. I figured I'd take a crack at a fantasy litRPG. If you like it, and if you like more frequent, shorter chapters, thenet me know. I mostly use this as a second account to try out ideas.
I woke up with a pounding headache, as if I had been beaten over the head with a mallet. The first thing I noticed was the smell of mildew and dust assaulting my senses, and the dim light cast down by a single, rusted chandelier swinging gently side to side. There was no noise, no signs of life, but plenty of inhabitation: stained cots and bunks, dirty dishes strewn about, and an old longsword leaning on some lockers placed next to the only exit in the room. I stood up and groaned as I stretched and popped my back, a disgruntled growl escaping my thin lips. I didn't usually growl like that... Did I growl like that? I had no idea. It was all fuzzy, and I couldn't really make out who I was, where I was from, or even a name. At points I could almost imagine something, a name starting with an M, but it dissipated as fast as I had imagined it, as if it was being kept from me.
I thumped my scaly tail against the floor in agitation as I looked around some more. There was nothing that really made this place stand out from some poorly-kept cellar or prison cell. The more I noticed, however, the more I was starting to believe that I was in the latter: there were no glass dishes, merely wooden bowls and pewter utensils, and the cots seemed to have been used by many. No food, no furniture beyond that, just a bucket in the corner that I really didn't want to inspect and some lockers that could have contained anything. The door was a heavy iron rectangle with a barred semicircular window from which no light appeared to escape from, and beyond that was unknown. I was alone here, utterly alone.
I walked up to the door and attempted to open it, but there was no handle or wheel to interact with, nor was there anything else that could feasibly open it. I slammed my broad shoulder against it, only to hiss in pain as my shoulder ached. The door did not budge. I tried again, with a shout, and while the door did not budge the room seemed to shake just a little, as if I had some kind of immense strength. Something from the lockers fell down and hit the floor, shattering and causing me to jump. I spun around, claws extended (claws?) and growled at whatever made that noise, only to see what remained of a mirror that I knew hadn't been on the lockers before scattered across the ground.
I grumbled and sighed, walking over to clean it up so as to not step in it later like a fool when I suddenly saw my reflection… if it was even mine to begin with. I wasn't what I was supposed to be, although I didn't know exactly what I was supposed to be, but I knew that it wasn't this. My skin was made of thick, silver scales and my eyes were a bright deep marine blue through with pitch black slits in the center. My pointed maw was filled with razor-sharp teeth, and my head was adorned with long and curly horns. I also realized I was wearing nothing but a pair of linen undergarments, which was a bit annoying.
Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. This wasn't the person I was supposed to be, I knew that, but I also couldn't remember who I was before and that scared me even more. All that was left of my identity was my apprehension, my reflection, and the constraints of this room.
I gulped and turned back to the door, eyes darting to and fro. Then, as I placed my hand on the wall next to the door absentmindedly to balance myself as I could feel my head spin. Then I felt it; a piece of paper stuck to the wall with a simple dagger. Now I really knew that the paper or the knife hadn't been there before, and all these little details were starting to freak me out. I yanked the knife out of the wall and held the paper in my head. Before I could even read the note, the small hole in the wall quickly closed up as if the whole room was alive, which it absolutely could have been for all I knew. I turned back to the note and read it, eager to see what it said.
Don't open the door.
That's all it said: No name, no location, and no explanation or details. Just this vague warning. I sighed and set it down before staring at the door again, perplexed. Nothing about it changed.
Then I looked at the note again, hoping to see some kind of change, maybe some kind of guidance. To my surprise, it did.
Open the locker.
Now I knew that I wasn't imagining things: this place was changing, and maybe it was responding to my psyche. It wasn't the craziest idea. Where am I? I thought, hoping to try and direct my thoughts towards the note. I looked back down and noticed a minor change.
The Labyrinth. Open the locker.
The Labyrinth? What the hell did that mean? What labyrinth? That didn't answer any questions I had. Where is the labyrinth?
It is here. Open the locker.
Okay, so the note was a smartass, that was good to know. I let out a resigned sigh and stepped over to the grimy lockers next to the door, the pair of them stuck together with rust and other grime. This whole room made me feel dirtier than it had any right to, especially with the cool, damp stone floor somehow feeling sticky against my raptorial feet. With enough force and a frustrated grunt, I yanked the first locker open, revealing something I hadn't expected: clothing. Carefully and intentionally folded clothing. I quickly began pulling it all out, and organizing the haul. There was a wool undershirt, a patched gambeson, stitched leather trousers, socks and hose, and worn rawhide boots. That's what excited me the most: the cold and the dampness of the room was starting to seep into my bones and I wanted something to cover up with immediately. I set down the note on top of the locker and quickly dressed, then searched the other locker.
In the other was more useful supplies, but of a different nature: a large traveling pack, a faded breastplate, a plain bronze necklace, a hide-covered heater shield, a short bow along with a leather quiver of barbed arrows, and a flanged mace. There was also the longsword next to the lockers, which I would be keeping: it'd rust away here if I didn't take it. Inside the sack was some carefully packed rations, mainly of salt pork, hardtack, a quart of cheap ale, a tin of lard, a big slice of hard cheese, and some dried apple. It wasn't anything to write home about, but it was good and that was much better than the alternative. There was also a bedroll attached to the bottom, and a little mess kit hanging from the side, stored in a leather tub.
I dressed fully and strapped on the armor before consulting the note again. Why am I here?
To be tested.
I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all. I didn't feel like being tested. Why am I being tested?
It has been written.
That didn't explain anything. I simply balled my free fist, my new claws digging into my scaly palm. What now.
Open the door.
“But I… can't,” I spoke as I turned around to the sealed door, only to find that it had changed, revealing a metal pressure wheel I needed to spin to unlock it. The barred window was still pitch black, but it was a start. I quickly jogged over and gripped the wheel, easily opening it and revealing a hall that was pitch black. After a few seconds, wall sconces lit up in rows down the hall ominously, as if beckoning me further. I lifted up the note to consult it again, but it felt weightier in my hands, as if it too had changed. When I looked at it, it had transformed into a thick, leather bound notebook, and attached to the front was an ink quill for writing. I opened the book and looked at our entire conversation, including my thoughts, inscribed within the first few pages in elegant cursive, all the handwriting identical. I lifted the quill and gulped before writing one last question.
What will happen to me?
My handwriting was identical to the rest. In seconds, the notebook responded, my hand moving without my control or consent and scribbling down a response in my exact same handwriting.
You will be tested. Do not fail.

I have searched quite extensively for which tool kit to buy and came to the conclusion that I should avoid these premade kits. I visited Tandy and my cart made it up to 250-300 euros. Probably because I have no clue what I specifically need. Since I live in Greece, I can't seem to find local good deals and affordable shipping. I have seen WUTA mentioned a couple of times that is of decent quality and was thinking of purchasing a couple of items from their Aliexpress shop.
What I want to try and create is notebook covers a la Traveler's Notebook style but with ISO dimensions like A5 and A6. Both in notepad but also notebook format. In order to avoid buying more stuff than I need to begin with I have consulted the FAQ but for this kind of project what kind of tools are must haves (specifically stitching chisel types, needle sizes etc) and if you know of a place to get most of them together for combined shipping that would be great.

I have been doing this wooble crochet kit. First time I have ever done crochet. It has all gone really well but now that I am on row 14 and doing decreases, I can never tell which stitch has already been used in my decrease stitch resulting in me never having enough v’s or there always being another stitch left in my pattern. Can anyone maybe help?

Took one for the team and ordered some kit from Montella cycling. Prices were decently low but not so cheap it raised a red flag on quality, though it clearly should have.
Super thin material on the shorts and jerseys and the stitching on both sets of bibs I ordered began to rip after less than 20 wears each. Jerseys are pretty much the same quality but with less stress on them they seem to be holding up slightly better.
In the end these were some of the most expensive cycling clothes I've ever bought when looking at how much use per dollar I got out of them. I just binned both sets of bibs, prompting this post, because my ass would literally be hanging out of them if I wore them again and that's a horror-show no one needs.
Spend a little more somewhere else for much greater value.