u/BlindBard21

Hello all,

I am curious about something. I've recently decided to try and make a blanket using the C2C JAYG (join as you go) method. However, unlike the tutorials, I've decided not to switch colors for the squares (at least for now) since I'm totally blind and just getting used to the technique.

On to my question: if I'm using the same color, do I still need to cut the yarn and start ina different corner from the corner I ended on? If so, when I cut the yarn, does it matter which corner I start with?

I would appreciate any advice you can give!

Hello all!

It’s great to be here. I thought I would give an intro about myself before posting my plot here. I’m a 25-year-old female, and I love roleplays having to do with Medieval and Fantasy stories! I suppose that comes from my love for Lord of the Rings, as well as the fact that I listen to and play a lot of Celtic folk music and have read a lot of mythology.

Fun fact: I am an avid crocheter and fiber arts enthusiast!

Anyway, I’m looking for someone who’s interested in playing a male character for this plot that I have. It’s rather open-ended, so we can work out any details or change anything. I would like my partner to write in third person as that’s what I primarily write in for roleplays, as well as be able to write multiple paragraphs; no exceptions. Here is the plot:

Princess Muireann was not like other princesses. She learned what was expected of her: sewing, art, proper dress. Still, she refused to be confined to it. Against her parents’ wishes, she found herself drawn to combat. Tradition be damned.

The commander of the knights (y/c) was one of her closest friends. They were so close that others often said they would make a wonderful couple. Muireann knew better. If it ever came to that, her parents would never allow it, and worse, they might send him away. They spoke often, sometimes for hours, about everything and nothing. Yet there was one thing she never told him. She had been training to fight.

In secret, she practiced relentlessly, going so far as to disguise herself and blend in among the knights when she could. It was dangerous, and if discovered, it would not be forgiven. She accepted that risk.

War had come from a distant kingdom, and the air itself felt heavy with it.

That morning, the sky hung low with clouds as the knights gathered before dawn. Armor clinked, horses shifted restlessly, and a quiet tension moved through the ranks. Muireann slipped away from the castle unnoticed, clad in borrowed armor that weighed on her shoulders. Her heart pounded, not only from fear, but from anticipation. This was her chance to prove herself.

Mounted on her prized mare, she kept her distance. Her helm concealed her identity as she watched y/c among the knights. Steady. Commanding. Unaware. The order was given, and they rode.

The clash came fast and without mercy. Steel rang against steel, sharp and deafening. Muireann forced herself forward, meeting her first opponent with a strike that jarred her arms. She fought as she had trained, quick and controlled, but this was no practice. Every movement mattered. Every mistake could cost her.

She pressed on, striking, blocking, cutting through the chaos. Not perfect, but holding her own.

Through the shifting mass of bodies, she caught sight of y/c, fighting fiercely. For a moment, relief flickered. Then it vanished. An enemy soldier slipped behind him, unnoticed.

“No!” she thought. “I won’t let you!”

But she was too far.

The blow landed, and he fell.

Something in her snapped. She drove her horse forward without hesitation, closing the distance fast. Their blades collided with a jolt that rattled through her entire body. The fight was close and brutal, leaving no room for error. She pressed harder, fueled by adrenaline and anger, until she finally knocked the weapon from his hand and brought him down.

She didn’t stop to think.

Dismounting quickly, she rushed to y/c’s side. Blood stained his armor, a deep gash marking where the strike had landed. He wasn’t moving.

“Stay with me…” she murmured.

Working quickly, she sheathed her weapon and hauled him onto her mare, struggling under his weight. She caught the attention of a nearby knight and motioned sharply.

“Cover us!” she called, lowering and roughening her voice.

They rode hard from the battlefield.

By the time she reached the stables, her hands were slick with blood. His blood. She tied off her horse and pulled him down into her arms, nearly stumbling before forcing herself forward. There was no time to hesitate.

Through hidden passages she knew well, she carried him to his quarters. With a sharp kick, she forced the door open and laid him carefully on the bed.

Then she ran.

Moments later, she returned with cloth, water, and whatever ointments she could gather. Her hands trembled as she worked, pressing cloth to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. The sight made her stomach turn, but she didn’t stop.

“Come on… come on…”

She cleaned and dressed the wound as best she could, her movements urgent but careful. Blood was everywhere: the floor… her hands… his armor…

Her vision blurred as tears welled, but she blinked them back.

“Please… you mustn’t die on me…”

If you’re interested, please feel free to reach out with an intro about yourself, and the word “Lothlorien” just so I know you read this entire post!

Hello all! I am a 25-year-old female roleplayer who is seeking a male roleplayer to roleplay this with. I am an advanced-literate writer and write in third person, and am hoping to find a similar partner. For this I am wanting this to be a slow-burn romance that is going to be story-based.

Plot:

Princess Muireann was not like other princesses. She learned what was expected of her: sewing, art, proper dress. Still, she refused to be confined to it. Against her parents’ wishes, she found herself drawn to combat. Tradition be damned.

The commander of the knights (y/c) was one of her closest friends. They were so close that others often said they would make a wonderful couple. Muireann knew better. If it ever came to that, her parents would never allow it, and worse, they might send him away. They spoke often, sometimes for hours, about everything and nothing. Yet there was one thing she never told him. She had been training to fight.

In secret, she practiced relentlessly, going so far as to disguise herself and blend in among the knights when she could. It was dangerous, and if discovered, it would not be forgiven. She accepted that risk.

War had come from a distant kingdom, and the air itself felt heavy with it.

That morning, the sky hung low with clouds as the knights gathered before dawn. Armor clinked, horses shifted restlessly, and a quiet tension moved through the ranks. Muireann slipped away from the castle unnoticed, clad in borrowed armor that weighed on her shoulders. Her heart pounded, not only from fear, but from anticipation. This was her chance to prove herself.

Mounted on her prized mare, she kept her distance. Her helm concealed her identity as she watched y/c among the knights. Steady. Commanding. Unaware. The order was given, and they rode.

The clash came fast and without mercy. Steel rang against steel, sharp and deafening. Muireann forced herself forward, meeting her first opponent with a strike that jarred her arms. She fought as she had trained, quick and controlled, but this was no practice. Every movement mattered. Every mistake could cost her.

She pressed on, striking, blocking, cutting through the chaos. Not perfect, but holding her own.

Through the shifting mass of bodies, she caught sight of y/c, fighting fiercely. For a moment, relief flickered. Then it vanished. An enemy soldier slipped behind him, unnoticed.

“No!” she thought. “I won’t let you!”

But she was too far.

The blow landed, and he fell.

Something in her snapped. She drove her horse forward without hesitation, closing the distance fast. Their blades collided with a jolt that rattled through her entire body. The fight was close and brutal, leaving no room for error. She pressed harder, fueled by adrenaline and anger, until she finally knocked the weapon from his hand and brought him down.

She didn’t stop to think.

Dismounting quickly, she rushed to y/c’s side. Blood stained his armor, a deep gash marking where the strike had landed. He wasn’t moving.

“Stay with me…” she murmured.

Working quickly, she sheathed her weapon and hauled him onto her mare, struggling under his weight. She caught the attention of a nearby knight and motioned sharply.

“Cover us!” she called, lowering and roughening her voice.

They rode hard from the battlefield.

By the time she reached the stables, her hands were slick with blood. His blood. She tied off her horse and pulled him down into her arms, nearly stumbling before forcing herself forward. There was no time to hesitate.

Through hidden passages she knew well, she carried him to his quarters. With a sharp kick, she forced the door open and laid him carefully on the bed.

Then she ran.

Moments later, she returned with cloth, water, and whatever ointments she could gather. Her hands trembled as she worked, pressing cloth to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. The sight made her stomach turn, but she didn’t stop.

“Come on… come on…”

She cleaned and dressed the wound as best she could, her movements urgent but careful. Blood was everywhere: the floor… her hands… his armor…

Her vision blurred as tears welled, but she blinked them back.

“Please… you mustn’t die on me…”

If you’ve read this far and are interested, please comment down below with the word:

Lothlorien