#but I also want to finish this quilt

[tj-crochets]

Another row sewn on the progress pride quilt!

Starting a new post because I don’t want to go find the old one lol

[sheliesshattered]

It's been almost two weeks since my last sewing update, but I have been making progress on a couple different projects, thankfully. I mentioned in my last post that I was hesitant to cut into a king-sized 100% linen bedsheet that I've been hoarding for 10+ years. I knew I wanted to make an apron, but I also knew that it wouldn't take up anywhere near the whole sheet, and I had the thought that I might be able to get two projects out of this one sheet (and the remnants of the matching fitted sheet) if I was careful about how I cut out all my pieces. Possibly a gathered tiered skirt/petticoat, along with the apron.

I measured the two long sides of the flat sheet that had identical ~1.25" deep hems, and I found that each side was 112" or just over 3 yards long, not counting the top and bottom hems. That meant if I did side seams, I could get a 6 yard wide bottom tier for the skirt and not have to do a hem at all, just use what was already there. Not the widest hemline on this kind of skirt (I have a purchased skirt with a 25 yard hem, and years ago I made a 26 yard tiered skirt out of muslin), but with this heavy weight linen it felt like 6 yards at the hem would be plenty.

Gathered tiered skirts are really just rectangles and a bit of simple math. Since the sheet's side hem determined the size of the lowest tier at 224", I figured I would do 2-to-1 gathers and make the next tier up 112" wide, and the third tier up 56" wide. A fourth tier at that 2-to-1 gathering ratio would have been only 27" wide, which wouldn't have fit over my hips, so the skirt would have 3 tiers.

I'm a short girl at not quite 5'2" and I like to wear my skirts pretty low on my hips for spoonie comfort issues, so after measuring a purchased skirt whose length I like, I decided that between 30" and 33" inches in total length would be ideal. With three tiers that length could easily be divided into tiers that are each 10"-11" tall. I added a half inch for seam allowance (but no hem allowance on the lowest tier, since I was re-using the existing hem) to get the exact measurements for each of the pieces I needed for the skirt.

I was able to tear most of my pieces, since the linen bedsheet was nicely on the grain and tore relatively cleanly, thus saving my hands from cutting all those long pieces. I had meant to cut the top tier at 14" tall so that I'd have room to turn under a nice thick waistband too -- and then I totally forgot and cut it at 12" just like the middle tier, lol. I was able to get one of the middle tier pieces and both of the top tier pieces out of the remains of the matching fitted sheet, so I only needed one middle and two bottom tiers from the flat sheet. That left me with plenty of flat sheet left over for the apron, but I'll talk more about that in my next sewing post.

With my pieces all cut out, it was time to start the most annoying part of making a gathered tiered skirt: gathering all those tiers. I'm trying to sew with cotton thread more often these days, but for the gathers I switched back to polyester thread just for the strength. For the two bottom tier and two middle tier pieces I ran two lines of gathering stitches along the top edge, placed pins to divide each panel into quarters, and got to gathering and pinning.

With tiered skirts I really prefer to work from the bottom up, so that I'm always attaching a gathered piece to a completely flat piece of fabric, and save side seams for last. So the bottom tier pieces got gathered up and attached to the middle tier pieces, then the middle tier got gathered up sewn to the top tier.

Since I accidentally cut my top tier pieces shorter than I'd meant to, I did play around with adding a separate waistband for the top tier to be gathered onto. But I couldn't do a full 2-to-1 gather if I wanted the waistband to pull on over my hips, and the waistband made the proportions look weird, like the top tier was too long. So I ended up cutting the waistband off after I sewed it and actually shortening the top tier even a little bit more. After turning under the top edge to enclose the raw ripped edge and then turning under 3cm (~1.2") for a waistband casing, that top tier ended up being about 9" tall, and the proportions of that look much better for some reason.

Before I sewed the side seams, I decided that this skirt needs to have pockets, of course. I knew I was planning to do French seams to protect the raw edges against unraveling, so I put the pockets in with a French seam as well.

With the pockets in place, the next step was to do the side seams (including the pocket bags), being careful to match up the height of the hem and each of the tiers so everything was nice and clean and square. Then I was able to turn under that waistband casing and sew it in place -- my original plan had been put in three separate channels for narrow elastic that would result in a bit of a faux-cartridge pleating look, but actually getting the elastic strung through there turned out to be more of a pain than it was worth, so I ended up picking that out and just using a single 1" wide elastic band in the waistband casing instead.

And with that, the skirt was technically wearable, and with some fabrics I might have been happy to leave it there. But the raw ripped edges at the seams between each of the tiers worried me. I've had well-loved sewing projects just shred after many wears and washes because I left the seams unfinished, figuring I would be the only one to see the inside. Ideally I want this skirt to be in my rotation for years and years, so I decided to make the effort to finish those seams too.

My original plan had been to cover the raw edges inside with 3/4" herringbone twill tape. For some reason I was convinced that I had a bunch of it left over from a Wasteland Weekend project from 2018, only to discover that I actually only had ~3 yards left. So rather than ordering more and waiting for it to arrive (and then inevitably having some of that left over too), I decided to just make some 3/4" tape from the linen sheet itself. Since this whole skirt is rectangles on-grain and the tape wouldn't have to go around any curves, I made the tape from on-grain rectangles too, rather than bothering with proper bias tape.

With the hem and the waistband already cleanly finished, I just needed tape to cover the ~3 yard seam between the bottom and middle tier and the ~1.5 yard seam between the middle and top tier. I tore nice straight strips, trimmed off the frayed edges, and ironed the raw edges under to give me that 3/4" width. It's three layers thick in the middle but only 2 layers thick on the sides, since it isn't a proper double-fold tape.

Then it was just an issue of pinning it over the raw edges inside the skirt -- first from the inside in roughly the right place and then from the outside to make sure it lined up with the seam well.

I stitched-in-the-ditch from the outside right where the gathers met the next tier up, and then went back and did another line of stitching just slightly up from that, using the width of my machine foot (~1cm) as a guide. That covered all the raw edges inside and reinforced the seam, and gave it a nice neat appearance from the outside.

It also had the added benefit of behaving almost like cording on a corded petticoat -- the gathered seems have a lot more body and stiffness now than they did before, which gives the finished skirt a really lovely lofty structure.

The whole skirt ended up being about 31" long, right in that 30"-33" length I had originally aimed for, and when I wear it low on my hips where it's most comfortable, it just brushes the tops of my feet.

My plan is to wear this mostly under other long skirts and dresses, more as a petticoat than a skirt on its own (tho it is heavy enough and neat enough to be worn on its own, if I want). That lofty structure from the seam finishes adds a lot of floof to my other long skirts, just barely peeking out the bottom of the purchased green skirt I originally measured to figure out the length for this one, and hiding completely under my purchased 25 yard burgundy skirt but giving it enough extra volume that it doesn't drag on the ground quite so badly.

As the colder weather sets in I'm sure this will get a lot of wear under skirts and dresses (including the several dresses I'm still planning to sew in the next couple months!), but even now in the last heat of summer it's quite comfortable to wear, since it's linen. Jack commented that it seemed like a lot of work for a skirt that won't be seen (and it did manage to remind me how much I dislike gathering long lengths of fabric), but as long as it's functional and gets used often, I feel like all the effort was worth it.

While I was putting this together, I also cut out and started assembling the apron project from the same bedsheet. Even with all those pieces cut out, I still have enough linen left over for at least one more, maybe two more projects. Next up I'm going to get to all the finishings on the apron (which will be getting its own post once it's done) and keep trucking along on the handsewn eyelets for the Lengberg Castle Bra-thing. And once those two are done, I think I just might be ready to finally start on all the dresses I want to make with my new fabric.

[pearl-kite]

A resolution, I guess: a few Christmases back I got a kit for this lap-sized fox quilt and I've FINALLY got everything cut, minus a few one-inch squares that went missing in the meantime.

I'm going to rearrange things so I can stop using the sewing machine table as a side table and actually piece this fucking thing together.

It's so cute, some of the fabric even has foxes, so you can make your fox faces out of foxes in case 42 fox blocks aren't enough

[to-the-fishies]

Y’ALL.  I have finished my 7th quilt!

[onbearfeet]

A conversation at a wedding, beside the gifts table. There is a large box wrapped in violently purple paper sitting beside the table.

Guest: That's a big box. Wonder what's in it.

Me: A custom handmade quilt on an oak quilt rack.

Guest: Really?

Me: Yup. Wanna see?

Guest: Sure.

Me: *shows pics on my phone*

Guest: Wow. You made that?

Me: Yep. Finished it last night.

Guest: That's amazing. Very purple.

Me: Yeah, (bride) asked for that.

Guest: Oh, she knows about it?

Me: I worked with her on the design. But she hasn't seen the finished quilt yet. It's a surprise.

Guest: So you take commissions? Could you make one in, say, two weeks?

Me: That depends. Do you have ten thousand dollars?

Guest: What.

Me: Materials, labor, overtime to make that deadline--yeah, it would start at 10K. Might be higher if you wanted expensive materials or some really fancy technique.

Guest: That's a lot of money!

Me: It is.

Guest: Did you charge (bride) that much?

Me: No. Hers is a gift.

Guest: A ten thousand dollar gift?

Me: Well, to the extent that I am part of a quilting tradition at all, the tradition I'm part of is that quilts can ONLY be given as gifts. Anyone who could casually afford to pay for the amount of work involved in a quilt is probably not someone to be trusted with art.

Guest: Art?

Me: ART.

Guest: ...

Me: I also made her a nice satin dressing gown, which she wore for hair and makeup earlier.

Guest: Is that art, too?

Me: I mean, it's got pockets.

[darkmoonkestrel]

daily kestrel 87:

Thanksgiving with Paige's family was great! Sav had to go to work early this morning so we stopped by Starbies on our way to her parent's house to see her and then we hung out there for a while with her parents and Zane, watching the parade and doing food prep/packing/cleaning. mom & dad went to pick up the rest of the stuff that they ordered for catering, and we hung out with Zane for the tail end of the parade and talked about his plans for the future, which apparently include cinematography, so that was cool

Paige and I got ready and headed to Mamaw's, and it was an absolutely beautiful drive. her cousins were already there, and we chilled there for a while and watched the dog show while Mom and Mamaw did more cooking/prep and dad looked at the house inspection report. Paige and I took the pre-thanksgiving dinner smoking (vaping) walk, the parents made mimosas in the middle of the day, Lily and I played Mario Kart and then walked outside to watch her brother & dad play football and talked some, she's a pretty great kid

we headed over to the fellowship hall of the church and Lily set up her bracelet making kit, I joined her and made a PPJ bracelet, and then it was food time. we had plenty of amazing food, including several bomb ass desserts and some of Nathan's dad's homemade BBQ sauce (even though that BBQ didn't need it) - the only thing the dinner was missing was deviled eggs, and Paige said she may make me some this week bc I was really looking forward to them, so that will satisfy the hole in my heart. overall a much better thanksgiving than last year, although I still missed my family and Peyton

Paige and I played spot the Christmas lights on the way to stop by her parent's house to move the VHS tapes into the guest room and let the dogs outside, and then we got on the road home. I've been to Bucees entirely too much in the last week or so, but I got another icee and mamba sours and some more of the spicy crackers. we were able to take the expressway home, and listened to another ep of Distractible between conversations about high school grievances with teachers and peers, and now we are safely home with the car unloaded and Peyton's to go plate (and Brunswick stew and grape salad) in the fridge. Paige got the storage unit rented, and we may go by tomorrow to take a few things and get them out of the way before Nathan comes on Sunday to help us move some of the bigger furniture. Peyton will be coming home tomorrow morning, so it will be a packing day of extreme proportions

[navybluetriangles]

.

[wickedhawtwexler]

i think creatives deserve regular paid sabbaticals from our day jobs so we can make things

[tj-crochets]

Another woodland flannel baby quilt! This one took a little less than four hours from start to finish, including ironing and cutting out the pieces

[sheliesshattered]

sewing the first ~5' long over-bust seam to attach the new center front panel to the existing dress: smooth, stress-free, perfect result, required a mildly obnoxious number of pins but otherwise a dream

re-sewing the ~1/2" I accidentally unpicked between one of the center back panels and a side back panel: I have given up after trying to sew it no less than five times, after the fabric managed to misbehave in at least five completely different ways

[explorevenus]

my soul to keep ♡ vampire!leon kennedy x virgin!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: romantic vampire leon, virgin/innocent f!reader, leon turns reader into a vampire, some religious allegory, bloodplay (obviously), gravedigging, some gory descriptions but not a whole lot, one instance of overeating (reader's learning, leave her alone </3), manipulation kinda, praise, fingering, p in v, creampie

description: leon creeps into your village at night for a quick drink, only to find himself infatuated with an angel like you. it's a good thing he possesses the means to preserve you for himself.

a/n: yes this is the vampire leon fic i started like a year ago don't look at me <33 i'm just proud of myself for getting it finished before halloween this year AAAAAAAA

divider by @saradika-graphics !!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

The last time Leon remembered feeling this alive, well… he was still living, and that was a long time ago. When lonely and undead as long as Leon has been, it can be difficult to show restraint upon first contact with anything that evokes such emotion. 

But he did, for a while. You were just too cute, he thought as he stood over your slumbering body that first night. It wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of, but a light hunting season for him meant starvation through the winter, and he didn’t have much choice but to go wandering into the nearby little village for a quick bite to eat. 

Until he found you. 

You looked like a cherub sleeping there in your plush little bed, buried beneath a quilt he could only assume you made yourself. Precious, fragile. You looked especially fragile. 

And humans are so fragile, he thought. You smelled so sweet, it made his teeth ache just standing there staring at you without acting upon his festering need to sate his appetite, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to scare you, or worse, lose control of himself and kill you. 

He wandered silently around your little cottage in hopes of learning more about you. It was tidy but lived in, well-kept in a way that made him think you were probably a good homemaker. Your old leather boots sat by the door, dirtied by years of garden work and general wear. There was a little handmade ceramic candle holder on your bedside table, the candle in it burned nearly down to the base, and he wondered if maybe you’d held onto it because the piece was sentimental to you. Carefully arranged bouquets of flowers were strung together and hung up above the cracked window, likely to dry them out and preserve them. 

And suddenly he realized that maybe he would like to preserve a flower for himself. 

He couldn’t allow himself to feed from anyone in your village that night. If word spread around about a vicious animal attack or some other form of brutality, it would only hinder his ability to ultimately get to you, and he couldn’t risk that. Weak and delirious and ravenously hungry as he was, Leon forced himself to bid you adieu and stalk off into the night, back to his crumbling old castle in the middle of the woods… but not before leaving you a gift. 

His gift. The gift.

Your lips parted in a dreamy sigh as you slept, rolling over onto your back. He admired your face for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore— if he didn’t leave now, you were going to become dinner, and he couldn’t have that. Hastily, he bit down on the meat of his palm and squeezed, watching as his old crimson blood bubbled up to the surface, and then he held it up over you.

Drip. Right between your rosy, plush lips. Even in your slumber your face scrunched up at the foreign taste, your heavy arm coming up to swipe at yourself like you were just trying to get your hair out of your eyes.

And just like that, he was gone, having taken his leave through the very same open window that gave him the idea. 

He wasn’t a monster, of course. He kept an eye on you as you experienced the very same pain he felt decades ago. 

The next day, you woke up later than usual feeling quite lousy. Your whole body was sore and weighty and, reasonably enough, you chalked it up to poor form while tending your garden the day before. It was an easy mistake to make from time to time, after all. But as the day dragged on, you only felt worse, so you retired to bed right after supper that evening. 

The day after that, you woke up in the early afternoon feeling awful. Your head was screaming with a migraine and your heart was beating slow and hard in your chest. You were sweating and shaking and could barely even open your eyes because the light hurt so bad. A friend stopped in to check on you after noticing how late of a start to the day you were getting, and almost as soon as she stepped in the door, she was rushing back out to the apothecary, begging the village healer to come check on you. 

The village healer loaded you up with tricks and tinctures and anything she could think of to break your fever or at least ease your pain. Dried herbs and poppyseeds and fungus ground up in the mortar and pestle, the paste slathered under your nose, on the bottoms of your feet, steeped into tea that was too hot for you to drink. None of it worked. At a loss for advice to give, the village healer urged you to drink plenty of water and rest, and to quarantine yourself. Couldn’t risk passing whatever you had to the rest of the community. 

You woke up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and didn’t even have time to throw your quilt aside as you doubled over the side of your bed and vomited. This continued for a few moments until you could barely breathe, tears dripping from your eyes as your face reddened with strain and you inwardly resented yourself, knowing you would have to drag your sick body out of bed to clean up the mess you’d just made. You struck a match and lit the candle at your bedside and hesitantly peered down to survey the damage, only to be met with the image of your beautiful wooden floors drenched in blood. Reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand yielded the same result. 

As you stared at your own blood in horror, Leon stared at you in adoration from the other side of the window. For a moment your bleary eyes caught on the glass and he wondered if you saw him, but if you did, you didn’t react. 

Even at a distance he could hear your heartbeat continuing to weaken. Soon enough you would be just like him, a beautiful preserved flower, and better yet, you couldn’t be harmed. You wouldn’t change, you wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t die.

Although your village certainly thought you did. It was a dreary, overcast day when the village healer decided to stop in and check on you, only to find you completely lifeless and splattered with blood where you laid. She had to be the one to break it to your family that you had lost your battle with whatever illness plagued you. Leon watched from the shadows as your father lifted your limp, blood-soaked body from your bed and held you close, sobbing, hesitating to admit to himself that you were gone.

By the end of the afternoon, as the sun went down and the drizzling rain refused to let up, the entire village was standing over your grave, watching you get lowered into the soft, soggy ground. 

Once everyone had paid their respects, Leon watched them all retreat to share a drink in your honor, hushed whispers revealing just how unsettled everyone was by your untimely demise. You were so young, they said, so bright and healthy and undeserving of your fate. They wondered what it meant for themselves, and only Leon knew it didn’t mean anything at all. Your illness wasn’t going to spread because he had what he wanted now, and that was you. 

As soon as the final candle was blown out for the night, Leon took a shovel from your garden and began to dig, the metal piercing easily through the soaked earth until it revealed the handmade box you’d been laid to rest in. He popped the top off and looked at you, your arms still crossed delicately over your chest with a beaded rosary tucked beneath your palms, a pale flower in your hair. Your family didn’t need to know they’d be spending the rest of their lives praying over an empty coffin in the ground. 

Leon scooped you up into his arms, cleaned up after himself and set off into the woods with you clutched to his chest like a princess.

It was a few days before you finally roused. Leon had barely taken his eyes off of you the entire time you slept, and admittedly, he was a bit grateful it had taken you so long, for your own sake. He watched over you and cared for you as the last of your body heat drained out and your fangs descended behind your lips. From what he remembered, that was the most painful part of the transformation, and you were lucky to have slept through the worst of it. 

When your eyes finally shot open, he could barely contain his excitement. In one swift movement you sat up on the couch, bringing one hand up to clutch at your pounding head, the other massaging your sore jaw as your worried eyes darted around the room to drink in your surroundings. Then and only then did your gaze finally land on Leon. 

The fright and confusion on your face were evident. He knew you would have a lot of questions, and he was prepared to answer them. 

“There you are, darling,” he greeted you warmly, the first words he’d ever spoken to you. “How are you feeling?”

"W-Where am I?" You rasped, throat sore and shot from vomiting up blood the other day. Once your new condition fully set in, you would heal, but for now you were still a touch miserable. "Who are you?"

“I’m Leon,” he was gentle in introducing himself, taking your cold, shaking hand in his own so he could brush a polite kiss over your knuckles, “and this is your new home.” 

You blinked slowly at him, brows furrowed as you mulled over what he meant, and you came up short. Tears welled up in your bloodshot eyes and you hesitated for a moment before asking him a question you were afraid to know the answer to; “Am I… Did I die?” 

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that at first. He imagined that question being posed much later in the conversation, so it sort of caught him off guard. He took a breath and then replied gently, “Something like that, yes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the couch so he could get on your level, his cold, pale fingers tracing gently over your lifeless skin. “You’re safe, your family is safe, your village is safe. I’m just here to take care of you, my beloved, to guide you in this tricky space between life and death. Do you trust me?” 

Strangely enough, you did-- or, rather, you felt compelled to. 

But that didn’t make the implications of your condition any easier on you. You were such a frightened little lamb, your cheeks hollowing and your eyes glowing like rubies and your skin tone taking on more and more of a pallid quality by the day as you refused to feed. He knew you would have some difficulty with this at first— after all, you were just far too sweet to kill anything— but he also knew you would only become weaker and more agitated if you continued to starve, and perhaps more grim, you would remain stuck in this odd limbo between death and vampirism. 

He tried everything he could think of. You wouldn’t drink animal blood, from the body or in a glass, and you certainly refused human blood in either form too. Every time he broached the topic of sating your hunger you would cower away from him and shake your head, eyes screwed shut as you continued to deny the reality of your situation. Starvation brought forth only misery, that much Leon knew, misery and longing and weakness and worse, everything he didn’t want for you. 

For two weeks you pushed back on the topic, insisting that if you couldn’t truly die, you would rather starve than take the life of another. As much as it pained him to see you this way, Leon appreciated that you could be so stubborn about your morals. He just wished it wouldn’t come at the cost of your own well-being.

He left you at the castle one night to go hunting himself. It wasn’t often he’d stumble into humans in these woods, especially during the winter, but he hoped he would get lucky for himself anyway. Leon burned a few hours stalking through the trees and all he had to show for it when he returned home was a few small animals that wouldn't last him more than two light meals, but it was better than nothing, he thought.

Then he stepped through the creaking castle doors and his nose perked up to the familiar rich scent of human blood-- thick and heady in the air, cloyingly sweet and indulgent. Intoxicated by it for the moment, it didn’t really dawn on him immediately what that meant… until he followed the scent from the foyer to the living room and found you. 

You were on your knees in front of the fireplace, hunched over the writhing body of the village healer, her eyes wide and glassy as she choked out gurgled sounds of agony and clawed weakly at you to let her go. You didn’t even seem to notice Leon as he entered the room, a concerned grimace on his face, though it was accompanied by a tangible sense of relief that you were finally feeding. 

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, causing you to blink with confusion and look up at him through your lashes, the poor village healer’s carotid still clenched tightly between your teeth. “Easy now, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Your brows furrowed and you bit down a little bit harder, siphoning out a few final greedy gulps from the woman before dropping her from your grasp, your eyes still trained on Leon as her weak body flopped limply to the floor. His eyes softened with empathy as he looked you over, gore dribbling down your chin and the front of your white dress, your stomach puffy like an engorged tick. Now that you weren’t feeding anymore it would seem you made the same realization he had, the fog of desire clearing in your brain to make room for the shame and discomfort. With a soft whimper, you reached for him with both arms outstretched, but otherwise didn’t move. 

Leon gave you a nod of understanding before scooping you up into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carried you out of the parlor. “My poor baby,” he sighed softly, “It gets easier, I promise. I’m so proud of you.” 

He ran a hot bath for you and left you to soak for a while as he got to work cleaning up the mess you’d made. The village healer was barely clinging to what remained of her life, and while he was extremely tempted to nurse her back to health and keep her around to continue feeding on, he knew it would hurt you. He could already tell you hated yourself for victimizing her in the first place, the very same woman who’d tried so hard to save your life just weeks ago and who was responsible for ensuring the health of the entire village, which included your friends and family. 

So he mopped up the blood, bottled what he could and wrapped her wounds to the best of his ability before compelling her to forget, dumping her just at the edge of the trees outside the village so someone would find her in the morning.

When he returned again, tired and dirtied from hauling an unconscious woman through the woods on your behalf, you were still relaxing in the tub. The water was tinted pink from all the blood and you still looked a bit swollen in the middle, but the color was returning to your skin and the expression on your face was one of such complete exhaustion that he wasn’t sure if you were actually conscious at first, until your gaze fluttered up to meet his. 

Leon let out a deep, sweet sigh, sitting on the bench beside the porcelain clawfoot bath as he took your hand in his and whispered, “What am I going to do with you, huh?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you said just as quietly, bottom lip quivering as you continued to drift back down from your blood-induced daze. “I d-didn’t want to h-hurt her…” 

“Shh, shh, I know, darling,” his other hand came forward to pet gently through your wet hair. “She’s going to be alright, I made sure of that. But this can’t happen again, okay? I’ll help you get control of your urges, I promise, but you have to listen to me.” 

You were nodding along as he spoke, clutching his hand and shivering in the hot bath. Even transformed you were still fragile. Leon wanted nothing more than to care for you like the fine china you were.

It was fun watching you learn how to walk, so to speak. You were like a baby deer, taking careful steps and looking back at him for reassurance after each one, like his guidance was all you could think to cling to. While your gingerly approach to things was incredibly endearing, he loved watching you grow to love your new abilities with an innocent sense of excitement that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not in himself or in anyone else, really. 

You’d taken to exploring the rafters and the view of things from the ceiling, leaving the candles in your room unlit all night just so you could bask in how odd and cool it felt to see so well in the dark. It scared the moonlight out of him every time, when he would scour every inch of the castle in search of you just to find you perched criss-cross on the ceiling, lost in a lengthy novel in a pitch black room. 

But he would never scold you, never tell you ‘no.’ In his mind that was a very important lesson for you to learn, one that would open you up to endless possibilities and happiness in an otherwise bleak state of consciousness. 

So, when your small voice chimed in from the parlor ceiling one night and startled him more than he’d like to admit, and you asked him a deceptively simple question– “What now?”-- he knew exactly how he wanted to respond. 

“Indulge,” he said just as simply, sitting calmly down on the chaise lounge to look up at you, hanging from the rafters by your knees. “Let me ask you this. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You took pause, humming in thought for a moment. All your life you were never much of a forward thinker because you didn't really have to be. You lived your little old life moment by moment, taking extra special care to appreciate the here and now. You had good friends, a loving family, a beautiful community, food on your plate and a warm bed to return home to every night. That didn’t leave you wanting for much.

Finally, you spoke shyly, "I guess I always wanted to fall in love."

It was so quiet, if he was still human, he wouldn’t have heard you. But he wasn’t, and he did. The corner of his lip tugged up into an endeared and somewhat amused expression, baring the sharp edge of his right canine. 

Leon adjusted his posture, sinking back into the couch to gaze up at you, trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking between your legs where your upside-down position left your skirt flipped up nearly to your waist. He cleared his throat softly and cooed, “You poor thing, you’ve never loved before?” 

Your face burned and you avoided his eyes, stretching your arms out toward the floor just to give yourself something to do. “N-No,” you began, smoothing your skirt out over your thighs just to watch it ride up again. With a short huff of breath you pulled yourself back up into a normal sitting position on the rafters, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just never had the chance.” 

“What, not enough fish in your little pond?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow at you. 

You laughed, appreciating the way he eased the tension, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “I mean, yeah, the dating pool made for a better puddle.” 

“I figured as much.” 

A comfortable silence blanketed over the parlor, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace. You swung your feet idly back and forth, watching the warm flame as you asked aloud, “So… What does it feel like, then?” 

“What does what feel like?” He responded, but he knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it. 

“Y’know…” You kicked your frilly socked feet, “Love?” 

“Well, sweetheart, that’s quite a broad question,” Leon began, patting the space next to him in an attempt to beckon you down from the rafters, and to his delight, the gesture succeeded. You dropped gracefully to the ground and fixed your skirt before curling up beside him on the other side of the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you. You couldn’t possibly be more adorable if you tried.

As you situated yourself at his side, he continued, “There are many different kinds of love. You love your family, and you love your friends, but you don’t love your family in the same way you love your friends, and vice versa. Correct?"

He watched your expression for a moment to ensure you were following along, and surely enough, you were. Your posture was relaxed but you remained dutifully at attention, just like a good little doll should.

Leon felt a pang of pride when you nodded.

“It’s the same thing, just a different kind of love. I’m not sure I know how to describe it, really,” he said, tracing his fingertips along your knee casually. “But I could show you?” 

“Show me?” Your head tilted with that innocent curiosity he loved so much about you, and his heart melted all over again. “Show me how?” 

He said something lowly and it took you a second to register it because right after, he took your chin in his hand and drew you in for a kiss. Only after your lips collided did your brain recognize his words as, ‘Like this.’ 

With one hand cradling the back of your head and the other still tracing little shapes on your leg, Leon’s embrace felt all-consuming and overwhelmingly safe. Through it all, you really did trust him. Your fangs knocked together as he pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, making your head spin and your brows furrow in concentration. It felt incredible, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, but the nerves kept you tense and you couldn’t help but fear you were doing a poor job. 

So you let him lead. You resigned yourself to the feeling of his cold lips on your own and his tongue exploring your waiting mouth, his broad hands keeping you pressed against him and feeling slowly up the length of your thigh. His touch made you shiver and tingle in unfamiliar but exhilarating ways and when he eventually pulled away, you were left panting for breath and wanting for more. 

He watched your face in an attempt to gauge how you were feeling, and it was evident you enjoyed it. Leon felt a rush knowing he had effectively just turned a new leaf in your training. 

You had finally learned to walk. Now it was time for you to sprint. 

Leon brushed your hair away from your shoulder, baring your neck to him. He’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to sink his teeth into you. He wished he could have tasted you fresh, when you were still living, but he would settle for the alternative, and truthfully, it didn't even feel like settling. Especially not when your syrupy sweet blood hit his tongue and pulled a deep, guttural moan from the core of him, his pearlescent eyes rolling back in a display of momentarily mindless rapture. It was unexpectedly hot to see him react to you in such a way. No one had ever expressed such intense need for you, and you were so hung up on it that you barely noticed your thighs subtly shifting together.

But Leon was observant as ever, of course, the movement in no way making it past his keen attention-- you were too precious, too virginal for your own good. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to tear you apart piece by piece and savor you like holy communion, to pump your undead heart with his own two hands until the end of time, his beautiful baby, his fragile little doll, his corpse bride, his darling and beloved consort.

You were both gasping for breath as he pulled away from your throat, remnants of your tart cherry blood smudged around his pallid lips. Blessed be the gift of undeath, Leon thought to himself, for it granted him the ability to feed from you without consequence-- and vice versa-- to strengthen your bond in the most intimate way imaginable time and time and time again. It still made you dizzy, of course, light and a bit tingly all over, but Leon didn't see that as a bad thing, and as it stood, you didn't seem to either. 

He was just trying to come up with a smooth way to tempt you into tasting his own blood, but found himself pleasantly surprised by your initiative. 

"Can I try?" You practically purred, your sweet voice all hushed and breathy as your dainty little hand crept up his shoulder, palm coming to rest at the leftmost side of his strong neck. 

As you caressed the pad of your thumb over the icy expanse of his skin, you couldn't help but notice the faint, scarred over marks that were dotted about, barely-there dips and craters telling a story that suggested decades of indulgence like this, decades of past lovers, and your heart inexplicably clenched in your chest. Suddenly you were overtaken with the desire to leave your own mark there, much more prominent and recent than any of those faded old others. 

Leon was quick to give you his consent, of course, and that was all it took for your mind to snap into a completely different mode of function. The highest points of your mouth were flooding with saliva and the lowest points were pooling with it, slicking your puffy lips as your tongue fell forward to drag a deep, wanton lick up the length of his cold carotid. Then, as anticipated, you helped yourself to a healthy bite of him. 

And just like that, you had discovered a new infatuation, as he knew you would. You were bonding yourselves to one another in real time, creating a connection that not even true death could break. 

You nearly went weak with how overwhelming it felt, like drinking down pure heaven, hardly even noticing you were moving for a moment as you crawled mindlessly into his lap to straddle him, grinding deep and slow. The pheromones in his sap made your head spin, bringing about the kind of spontaneous sensuality that you'd only ever felt after one too many glasses of mead, the kind that loosened your bones and tinged at your cheeks, the kind that called warmth to bloom at the pit of your stomach. 

The flavor of him was coppery and rich, but balanced, a bit dull from undeath but otherwise magnificent. That it was faint only made you want for more. 

"Easy, easy," Leon grunted quietly in your ear, reaching a hand up to card through your hair at the back of your head. "Don't drink too fast, little princess... just breathe..."

But it would seem you weren't really listening to him, and that needed to change. Thankfully, Leon knew just the way to grasp your attention. 

Letting one arm slip between your two bodies, he wedged his hand down, down, down, until it dipped beneath your skirt to close his palm over the sticky cotton of your panties. That you were already leaking through the fabric like a busted faucet was perfect. You were an absolutely perfect little untouched virgin, and thanks to him, your body would remain that way forever, ripe for his plucking.

Bringing down some pressure on your clit with the base of his palm, testing your reaction, he reveled in the way you whimpered on his throat and unlatched to finally suck in a breath, rutting to meet his attention without a second thought, so easily captivated by such slight stimulation. He couldn't wait to show you more, but he'd need to work you open first. He didn't want your first time to be painful, after all. 

Leon took you at the waist and moved to put you on your back, hovering above your spread out form on the chaise lounge and pinning you there in the most delicate way possible. Every bit of that attention to detail paid off. 

"My precious doll... my most delicate princess," he sighed reverently, stooping low to breathe you in at the neck again, laving his tongue over the bite he'd left just moments ago. "This is what true love feels like, and I wish to share it with you for eternity..." 

He let you ponder that as he continued, working you carefully out of your clothes, finding it cute how you seemed to shift and arch along with him to help him get you naked, like you just couldn't wait. In your pretty doe eyes, your undead life had just begun. 

It was a bit strange at first, feeling his finger sink into you, but it wasn't long before Leon was seeking out your soft spots and doing an excellent job of it, no less. He curled and pumped one finger carefully in you until he was sure you were comfortable, until he felt any remaining tension in your muscles melt away, and then he introduced a second. You were so wet and so absorbed by the feeling of it all that you almost didn't notice at first, but that delicious stretch was impossible to miss. 

"O-Oh," you quivered, head falling back against the plush velvet beneath you as you bucked into his hand. 

With an appreciative hum, Leon allowed himself to become a little less careful with his ministrations, watching your reactions with interest as he worked you open on his fingers, his infatuation with you growing more and more with every moan and whine, every flutter of your silky walls. 

"There you go, little one," he cooed, "you like that, don't you?"

Your response was barely more than an airy nod, but it delighted him anyway. How could it not? You were just too sweet for words, too cute to handle. You could've done or said anything in that moment and he would have adored it all the same. 

Nipping playfully at your throat, fingers still pumping dutifully in and out of your drippy cunt, his lips trailed up to your ear so he could ask in a sultry whisper, "Think you can take more?"

The next several seconds were a blur of impassioned movement, each of you weaving around one another to shed the elder vampire of his own ensemble, revealing his carved marble frame piece-by-piece. You were amazed by the strength in his shoulders, how smooth and soft his skin was from being kept away from the sun for so long, the dark blonde trail of hair that disappeared below his belt, only for its path to be revealed upon the long-awaited removal of his trousers. 

Leon's cock was painfully hard, tip flushed red and weeping with milky beads of precum as he freed himself from his confines at last. He felt the intense need to give it a few strokes with how pent up he was at this point, but he didn't see a point in wasting any time pleasuring himself when you were right there, skirt hiked up to your waist while you laid there panting and leaking your arousal all over his nice furniture. With a pout that pretty, it would be a disservice not to fuck you until you cried. 

He angled your hips with one hand and lined himself up with the other, pushing in slowly. Your expression screwed tight for a short moment as the swollen head of him caught at your hole, an opportune moment of distraction for him to sink in deeper, stretching you out until he hit the root, drawing a shocked cry from your throat that gave way to a pleasured whine just as quickly as it came. 

So he began to move, wanting to draw out that gorgeous sound for as long as you would allow him to hear it. Your cunt was so fucking tight, pulsing and squeezing around his shaft like you were made for it, made for him, delivered to him by fate so that he might just get to fuck you like this forever and ever, and in that moment, he knew he made the right choice in sharing his gift with you. For the first time in recent memory, the future felt bright. 

"L... L-Leon..." You babbled, hooking one leg over his hip for purchase just to find out it allowed him to prod that much deeper. You went boneless at the feeling, finding strength only in your ability to claw at his shoulders for dear life, the faint scent of his blood lingering in the air and making your head spin. "Feels... g-good... so good... don't stop..." 

He wouldn't dream of it. 

Fingertips printing into your thighs, he pulled your legs up to rest over his shoulders instead, driving you down into the soft couch in a firm mating press. You were nose to nose, needy lips catching and fangs clacking between filthy words and gasps for breath as you felt his presence envelope you fully. Leon was in you, on you, around you...

Leon was your home now. Leon was where you laid to rest. 

For the first time in your undead life, you felt your body licking with heat, temperature rising steadily at the pit of you and threatening to hit a fever pitch. Every inch of him lit you up from the inside. 

"Oh, my baby," he groaned, letting go of you with one hand just to swipe his silvery blonde hair away from his face so he could gaze at you like a work of art. "You're getting close, aren't you? Squeezing me so tight like that..."

"Yeah," you whined, even though you weren't fully sure what it even felt like to be close. You weren't dumb, you knew what orgasms were, you'd just never had one yourself, and as such, you had no basis for comparison. 

Leon aimed to fix that, to make damn sure you familiarized yourself with the feeling over the course of your shared eternity. 

His thrusts picked up with renewed vigor, the legs of the old chaise lounge scratching against the hardwood floors with every push forward, and he didn't even care. Everything else about life felt so worthless in comparison to you, the new center of his universe. The whole entire house could collapse and he would still be content, so long as he had you. 

And every time he remembered that he did have you, that you were here with him right now, squirming and rutting on his cock so beautifully, that he was all you had... it just drove him that much crazier, made him that much more determined to make your first time one you would never forget. He couldn't be happier to spend the entire rest of his endless life topping the last performance. 

You were losing your grip, struggling to keep your eyes open and eventually sinking your itching fangs into what you could reach of his throat just to push yourself a little higher, a little closer. The flavor alone made you purr against his skin, jaw clenching tighter, and the delicious sting of it was pushing him forward too. Now his biggest concern wasn't just making sure you came, but making sure that you came first. 

So he withheld, even as his balls drew up tight and ached to release, focusing instead on getting you there. 

"Don't be shy, princess, I've got you," Leon moaned into your ear, "let it happen... just let it happen..." 

Tears pricked at your eyes, the overabundance of stimulation rendering you down into a tearful little puddle, but it wasn't until he spoke up to encourage you that you realized you really were holding back, stalling yourself at the precipice like it was wrong to let go.

But it wasn't wrong. It was divine. It was indulgent.

Sucking back a mouthful of his blood, you unlatched from Leon's neck just to press your forehead against his own, your jaw stuck open in stilted whines and gasps for breath as that molten heat in your belly finally boiled over, and you discovered exactly what it was you were close to. 

Your spine drew up into an arch, toes curling over his shoulders as you came on his length with a cry, thighs trembling with strain. Leon had never been baptized before, but it felt like he was just now. He'd never felt so close to God as he allowed himself to finish deep inside your perfect pussy. 

You collapsed together in the afterglow, the parlor going quiet again as you both caught your breath and your bearings, a heaping pile of mess on velvet.

"Leon," you whispered, kissing some of the excess blood away from his cold skin as you innocently and earnestly admitted, "I... I think I love you." 

He cracked a fond smile at this, if only because he knew you would catch up in time. After all, you still had much to learn, and he didn't want to overwhelm you more than he already had for one evening. 

"I love you too, little one."

[sleepnoises]

🥺 I love this addition so much! Thank you! I don't have anything smart to say so I will just share one of the quilted maps of Linda Gass as a little snack to go with your interesting words

Urban Power vs. San Lorenzo Creek – What’s Next? (2019)

I've started quilting my quilt and I thought it would be fun to approximately quilt in the shape of major roads (thanks yarrow for suggesting this in april) but now I want to quilt it more densely and feel locked into the road thing as 1) it is a sin to lie 2) as i am learning, Boston has an infinite number of roads

I will actually probably do leafs or vines or so on but wanted to share my road conundrum

Additional planning materials:

[ashblooddragons]

My Tears Ricochet

This was requested by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored I know it isn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it none the less

Summary: You and Daemon are in a failing marriage, whispers follow you everywhere you go. Whispers that speak of his infidelity. And when you confront him of these rumors will it end everything or will it bring you back together.

Word Count: 2461

Warnings: inner turmoil, rumors of Daemon cheating (though he never did), argument, marital problems, angst, tell me if I missed anything

My nails dig into my palms as whispers and glances are thrown my way. 

It started when my husband and I, the Prince Daemon, got into our first quarrel that led us down this road. 

It was over something so small, well at least in his eyes. He had spilled wine on my dress with no idea how expensive it was. 

The silks had been made by the finest fabric maker in Myr, and that alone made the dress absurdly expensive, and then on top of that, it was a gorgeous light purple with diamonds, sapphires, and pearls sewn into the bodice and the embroidery was pure gold thread. 

I could have forgiven him, it was a mistake and everyone makes those. But when my dear, dear husband laughed at the irreversible stain, I saw red. And on top of all this, the dress had been a gift from my Father for my nameday. So to hear my husband laugh at such a mistake, and then roll his eyes when I explained my frustration, I was less than pleased. 

But I should have known that was only the beginning. That the dress was only the beginning of the end. 

I should have known that instead of trying to work on our marriage, he would instead decide to warm the bed of his niece. Nor should I be surprised she would let him, for if she can birth two bastards and claim them to be my brothers, then why wouldn't she let another man other than her Strong join her? 

I can handle the glances, the whispers, but when I see people start laughing under their breath is when I've had enough. I pick up the skirt of my dress and rush up the stairs towards my shared chambers with Daemon. Not fast enough for the court to have their laughs and know they hurt me, but also not slow enough not to make a point. 

When I enter our chambers I find it the way it's been for at least a moon. The bed is only slightly used on the left side, and the blue velvet settee with a thin quilt and two plush pillows. I know that even though he sleeps here at night he still has plenty of time to visit a whore or his darling niece. 

“My Lady.” I hear my son's Nursemaid say as she gives a clumsy bow as she holds my little boy. 

“Hello Dahlia.” I say to the mousy girl. Her hair is a dull red almost seeming brown in certain lights. Her face is pudgy with freckles spotting all over her face and arms. But what makes her stand out is her eyes, the most beautiful sage green. You could almost smell the scent of bark and foliage when you look at them. 

“The little Prince has just finished his feed if you wish to hold him?” She asks when Daelor starts to whimper and squirm in her arms. 

Always a Mama's boy. I think, taking my son into my arms. 

He is such a sweet little thing, only six moons old and yet already knows who his favorite is. Though I have heard that Targaryen boys tend to prefer their Mothers. 

I take in his sweet cherubic cheeks that have a slight rosy tint to them. His soft silver curls that are untameable though I would never want to. But most of all his eyes, a soft periwinkle that matches my own. Everything about his coloring from skin, hair, and eyes shows that he is mine. But his features are of his Father's. From the strong straight nose, to his brow that always seems like he's ready to scold you. It is clear he is mine and my husband's son. Not even Rhaenyra can try and deny that. And she has only to try and protect her sons. 

I hear the faint creak of the door open followed by the soft steps of Dahlia leaving me so I may spend time with my little boy. 

“Nine moons you were in me, and yet you are practically a clone of your Father.” I jest as he moves to touch my hair.

I figured out quickly why most mothers have their hair pulled up tight and out of their babes reach, for though they are small they have grips that rival the greatest and strongest knights.

He starts babbling, looking around the room and pointing at things. It almost seems like he's telling me about his day.

“Oh, well that all sounds wonderful.” I say to which he nods, resting his head against my chest. 

“What sounds wonderful?” I hear from behind me. There is no denying who the voice belongs to. The deepness missed with amusement only matches one man. 

My husband. 

“Our son was just telling me about his day, that is all.” I respond, turning around watching as he undoes his jerkin sliding it off so only the rich red undershirt is left. 

He gives me a strange look before looking at our son and a joyful smile plasters itself on his lips. 

“I do not think that is true, my wife, the boy can't even say Mama or Papa.” He jests but his words sting. 

He never called me ‘Wife' until two moons ago when everything started falling apart. There wasn't a night where we didn't have a screaming match only for it to end in cold silence as the other slept across the room. 

I wish I could say that's when the whispers of him visiting brothels or his niece started, it would make more sense. But sadly it isn't, two moons, it was two moons after our son was born when they started. And that's when the whispers started who knows when he truly started warming others beds. I always knew my husband had a high appetite, I myself was his meal of choice, but I never thought he would be so cruel as to find others so soon after our son's birth. That he couldn't wait a couple moons for me to heal. 

Though I suppose I should've known. Everyone warned me, even ladies I had never spoken to had said he would only pump a babe into me and then find another. I didn't believe them, and when his desire for me only grew as my belly swelled I knew they were wrong. But that joy soon came crashing down like a freezing bucket of ice water.

I'm brought back to the present when I feel a tug on my arm. I turn to see my Husband reaching for our son taking him from my arms. I know he is only being a father but I can't help the rage that fills my belly. He's embarrassed me after Daelor's birth, and yet he has the audacity to take him from me? I was the one who screamed and bled for a day and a half, I was the one who was ripped apart to bring the son he so desired only for him to rip my heart from my chest and stomp on it. 

All the pretty words, all the words of adoration, all the ‘I love you's’. I should have known, why didn't I know? 

“Where were you? I went to the training yard but you weren't there, was that not where you told me you would be at this hour?” I ask with such venom I see him almost flinch. 

“I was, though I had to cut my training short, I was needed in the city.” He responds with a nonchalant shrug before setting our son down on the floor by his toys. 

Now he won't even try to deny his visits to the brothel? Is this truly what has become of our marriage? I think as a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Though he would never know of it for his attention is on our son and not me, never me. 

“Of course.” I whisper before moving towards our, no, my bed and picking up my book from the side table. 

I can feel him staring at me, feel the way he assesses me. But I don't react, I refuse to. But his words are what makes me finally look at him in shock. 

“I don't know when things changed, or why, but I want to work on us. Why won't you let me?” 

I look down at my heralds for a moment, I need to decide if now is the time to confront him on his affairs. When I look up at him again, seeing the confusion and hurt across his face I know I must. 

“You act as if you didn't do this, as if you didn't run off to your niece or some whore. How long did it take you? A week mayhaps the very day our son was born.” I demand as tears threaten to fall but I refuse to let him know how much he's hurt me, how many tears I have shed because of him. 

He doesn't say anything, only picks up our son and opens the door whispering to the guard and then waits. I know what he's doing, he's calling for Dahlia, Daelor doesn't need to hear our screaming matches. 

It feels like only seconds but at the same time millennia until Dahlia has Daelor and walks away towards the gardens. 

Tis the farthest place from our chambers, he shouldn't hear us from there. 

I watch as Daemon shuts the door with a soft click. He doesn't turn to look at me, only looking at his hands with utter defeat. 

This is it, the moment our marriage will finally break completely. No more sweet words or soft touches, no more vows of devotion or I love you. The bridge will finally crash and burn into nothing but soot. I think as he finally turns to look at me. 

“And who had put such rumors in your head? Why would I go to a brothel? Why would I visit my niece? You know how I hate what she has done to the Targaryen name and yet you think I will follow her into bed? Do you truly think I have no restraint?” He asks, pain filling each word, as more tears begin to rim his eyes. 

I stand from my spot on the bed moving towards him. “Do not play me for a fool, Daemon! Everyone knows, they whisper it with each step I take. I can't leave these chambers without lords and ladies laughing and whispering behind my back. So do not play the victim, you have even admitted to going to a brothel! And your Niece has made sly comments here and there of how--how you will not desire me anymore.” I scream tears rolling down my cheeks. There is no hiding my pain anymore. I have bottled this up for too long, six moons is too long to hold this burden. 

He only stares at me before a curse leaves his lips. “I don't know what Rhaenyra has said to you, or the court but it is a lie. And when did I ever admit to going to a brothel?” He demands stepping closer. One more step from either of us and our chests would meet. 

“You said you went into the city, why not tell me? The only clear answer is you are hiding something.” I all but sob out, I know I must look like a hysterical mess right now but I can't find any reason to care. 

He freezes seeing all my hurt, every stab to the heart now open for him to pick apart and destroy me more. 

He sighs and looks down at his jerkin and I already know what is going to happen. He will slip it back on and leave to clear his head only to come back smelling of soot and wine. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I was trying to do something nice.” He says picking up his jerkin but instead of putting it on he reaches into one of the pockets pulling out a small box and something with a chain. 

“I thought– I thought maybe I could show I cared if my words didn't. You hardly let me touch you now, I can't speak without you becoming quiet and withdrawn. So I thought A gift might help mend things. But I see now it only fueled your mistrust.” He says as he clutches the gifts so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

I think about his words over in my mind, trying to find when it all changed for us. We used to be so perfect, we used to be inseparable. There were many at court who were jealous of the devotion my husband showed me. So when did we fall apart? 

I step forward taking his hand in mine before gently opening his hand. Inside is a gorgeous necklace, diamonds encrust each and every part but what holds my attention are the two dragons. One made of ruby and the other made of sapphire. 

Our mounts, Caraxes and Nightfyre. I think with a smile as I touch the intricately carved stones. 

“It's lovely Daemon, I love it.” I say looking up at him. I can see a faint smile Grace his lips before he opens the little box. 

Inside are matching earrings, a diamond on top and then our mounts made of stone warped around each other. Just like the necklace. 

“They are both lovely gifts.” I say tears slowly rolling down my face instead of the fast sobs. 

“I want to work on us, I want us to be together again. Not just in a room, but in our hearts. And if that means leaving the Red Keep, leaving my brother and family behind. I will, because I would rather have you and our little family than any of this.” He says, wiping my tears. 

I see now that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that maybe, just maybe we can be us again. That we can be in love once more. 

So all I can do is nod, as I hug him for what feels like the first time in ages. And he hugs me back. 

I know it's going to be a long road ahead, but now I feel like I'm not alone anymore.

“You still have a lot of explaining to do. And so do I, I suppose.” I say into his chest. 

I feel his chest rumble with laughter as he strokes my hair. “Then it's a good thing we have all the time in the world.” He responds and for some reason, at this moment, I've never felt more loved.

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @baybaybear1 @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Country Rose 2

Warnings: age gap, power dynamics, creep behaviour, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

It's like a movie. The fields of tall corn and swaying wheat, the cows in the distance, the sky swirling in shades of pastel blue. It's a rustic portrait of a bygone time. You lose yourself in the serenity of it, swept away in a daydream despite the tickle in your nose.  

It isn't until the truck jerks to a stop and Clark cranks the gears into park that you return to earth. He grabs his hat from the dash and puts it on, shading his eyes from the sun as he gets out. 

You look out the windshield and close your dry eyes, trying to find an ounce of moisture. He comes around your side but you have your door open before he can get there. You hop down from the height as Clark retrieves your bag from the back. 

"Ma will be happy to meet you. She's been excited," he says as he waves you towards the porch of the farmhouse. 

"Oh wow," you gape up at the double storey house in awe. "This place is huge." 

"Too big for just us," he agrees. You tramp up the steps and to the door, hesitating as you get ahead of yourself. He reaches by you to pill back the screen door, "go on." 

You enter and look around. He puts your bag on the wooden bench as you sidle towards the wall. He removes his hat and puts it on a hook next to a stained flannel. 

"It's a farmhouse, you can keep your shoes on," he directs, "hey ma," he calls over your head as he points you past the staircase. "Back." 

You head down towards the open archway and step into a spacious kitchen finished in walnut and brass. A woman stands at the island, shucking cobs of corn. She smiles at your entrance and drops her handful. 

"She's here," she bleats and scurries around the counter. She's frail despite her energy, "oh, lovely." 

You're put off as she hugs you and you stand stalk still as you let her. She then embraces her son as he clears his throat. She backs off, smoothing her steely hair with knobby fingers. 

"My mother, Martha," Clark introduces as she touches her hip and backs up to the island. She leans on it subtly, "ma--" 

"Oh, I know," she trills your name, "it's so nice to finally meet you." 

"Uh, yeah, er, thanks," you sway nervously. You didn't realise it was such a big deal. 

"I'm gonna get her settled, you need anything?" Clark intones as he hovers close behind you. 

"Everything is perfect, honey, everything," she beams at you, "now everyone's here." 

You smile sheepishly and peek back at Clark. He beckons you after him as he leads you back down the hall. He has you go upstairs first and the stairs creak beneath him as he grabs your bag and follows. 

"Just down this way," he points you to the right. 

You take his direction down to a room near the end. You push inside and and he puts your bag in the wooden chair near the door. Everything is so pretty and tidy. A plaid quilt is draped at the end of a neatly made bed and there's a carved wardrobe against one wall. The rug matches the curtains and a table with a vase of flowers stands near the window. 

"Oh, it's cute." 

"Ma wanted everything ready for you," Clark says, "she gets lonely when I'm off working." 

"Uh, yeah," you stop by the bed and turn back to him, "so I'm going to be helping her?" 

"Sure, yep," he hooks a finger in a loop on his jeans, "she's had some difficulties since pa passed. She's not as... fit as she once was but she's stubborn. You can help her with the cleaning and cooking. Make sure she takes breaks," he explains as he frees his thumb and combs back his hair. "She does the listen to me and I can't keep an eye on her all the time." 

"I'm sorry, that must be hard," you frown. 

"Not to worry, there's another field hand. I just figured we could use someone in the house since Lenny left." 

"Right," you try to smile, "well, this is so nice and thank you for picking me up. I was a bit nervous." 

"Nervous?" He wonders as his cheek dimples. 

"It's a bit desolate out here," you chuckle, "when I got off the train I thought maybe it was the wrong place." 

"Ah, yes, it's a bit... lonely but it's peaceful," he says, "I'll let you get unpacked then and maybe after you can check in on ma? I don't want her doing all that alone." 

"Sure," you bounce, frenetic after so long sitting. 

He grins at your buzzing energy and backs up, "let me know if you need anything." 

"I'm good," you assure him. 

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter seven: In which March 7th joins the crew and asks why you have special privileges

Warnings: possibly ooc

You never expected to stumble upon the frozen chunk of ice that contained a familiar someone that you knew would become March 7th. She laid there, under the layers of unforgiving ice, naked and asleep.

For a brief moment, you wondered if you could just leave the ice to melt on its own, but shrugged the last minute and decided against it.

It was easy to just clip the ice out of existence and get the girl to safety, draping her in a comfortable quilt to protect her dignity and to keep her warm— you noticed she felt surprisingly soft for a girl frozen for god knows how long.

No one questioned you when you brought her in to the express and took her to your room, having known you long enough to trust you.

“She’s stabilizing.” Himeko told you as she finished examining her. “She’ll probably wake up in a few hours more or less.”

“That’s good.” You said as you observed the girl’s sleeping body, now dressed in some loose, soft colored nightgown that covered her entire figure.

“Where did you find her?” Himeko asked.

“Inside a block of ice.” You replied. “Eternal ice, specifically. Interesting, right?”

“Indeed it is…” She trailed off. “Any estimate of how long she’s been trapped in there?” She asked as she wasn’t there to observe the ice to know a timeline— it’s a miracle in itself that this girl was still alive after such a dangerous situation. She wasn’t a corpse, she didn’t bloat, didn’t bruise, and no signs of frostbite at all.

“Probably a long while. I haven’t seen eternal ice for a good few decades since I was born.” You answered, deliberately leaving out the detail that it was on the Aeon Fuli that you’ve seen traces of it last. It wasn’t your place to divulge that, and you too didn’t know the full story.

“Where’s Welt?” You inquired, changing the topic.

“He’s currently making some arrangements with Herta for our next stop.” Himeko replied. “Oh.. that reminds me,” she paused, as if uncertain. “I received a message from the IPC in regards to you— well, not quite. It’s your wanted poster.”

“Took them eight years to air out my dirty laundry outside two galaxies?” You frowned. “Lame.”

“Since when did you find out about this?” She looked at you with an incredulous look, remembering that your bounty was exactly a whopping 69 million credits. (Nice)

“I have no idea why they’re airing it this late here but I found out about it during my trip in a galaxy with a friend— I got famous there for killing IPC personnel using chairs.” You confessed with a casual shrug, you don’t miss the way she seemed taken aback, as if that was beneath you. Could she do anything about it?

No, not really. Because aside from you being basically this place’s patron deity since you vored the original one on accident, Himeko was just that kind of person. The kind who would just… get it.

“Also, it wasn’t unwarranted.” You sighed, throwing your hands up like that white, scuffled combination of a cat and a monkey to emphasize your exasperation. “They attacked me first. Walked around some old bar like they owned the place and tried to shoot me while I was trying to cheer on my friend.”

Himeko nodded. “I see.” She had enough common sense to figure out that people were basically asking for it— she’s however thankful that you’re at least not as destructive as she initially thought you would be.

She’s of course, wrong. But she doesn’t know that yet.

Emphasis on yet, because killing corporate employees with a chair wasn’t exactly the worst thing you did using a human projection. Does she have to know about what you did to Gopher Wood a few years ago while pretending you were just some bellboy in Penacony? No she doesn’t.

She didn’t need to know about the town you accidentally turned into Yharnam 2.0 around six years ago in some distant galaxy either. Granted, what transpired there wasn’t exactly your fault, but merely a result of people trying to foolishly communicate with your Aeon form without a transmission.

And thus, they were free of their ignorance. The exchange was that all of them went insane from gaining the “insight” needed to see you, observe you.

Himeko doesn’t need to know any of those things, or the sense of regret you felt by not being able to help them in the way they needed.

In the midst of your surprisingly quiet conversation, the unconscious girl woke up, and your face is the first thing she sees.

“Hello.” You smiled, gently taking her hand with your own. “Finally awake huh? You’ve been asleep awhile.” You said.

“H-hi.” Her response is weak, groggy. Himeko is quick to help her drink water for her parched throat, in which the girl accepts with little complaint. She almost coughs and you patted her back gently to ease her, telling her to slow down as she doesn’t let go of your hand along the way.

“Himeko, can you please get Pompom? She needs some soup.” It felt strange for you to be ordering her around with you easily forgetting you are technically the highest person in the train.

“I’ll get her something easy on the stomach, don’t worry.” Himeko merely smiled at you, complying with what you told her as you stayed with the girl.

“So, how’d you get in that ice?” You asked after a few moments, of course you already knew the answer, but you still let it out anyway.

“I… don’t know.” She told you. “Who are you?” Himeko said she’s stable— well, physically. You’re not sure how she is mentally.

“A stranger for now.” You smiled. “You should rest, you’re not exactly ready to get up just yet.” She nodded wordlessly at your words, and laid back down.

It doesn’t take her long to sleep.

“Welcome aboard, March 7th.”

——————

“Himeko, why does [Name] get to get out without contacting us for weeks but me and Dan Heng have to inform you of our whereabouts?”

Himeko paused with calibrating the navigation system as March put on the question.

“Well… despite how they look, they’re one of the senior members of the crew.” She began. “Don’t worry, they know their way back no matter where they are and where we will go.”

It’s a vague answer and March can tell, though, she doesn’t pry any further. You’ve been around in the express for longer than her or Dan Heng, so she chalked it up to you being the more experienced lot.

“Where are they right now though?” She pondered, and Himeko chuckled.

“Seems that someone is worried.” There is mirth in the navigator’s voice, March pouted in response.

“They’re all alone, of course I’m a little worried.” She said.

“I see. Not to worry, they’re fine, they’re just on another planet right now visiting a place.”

“Sigonia… IV?” Himeko pressed on the panel to show the state of the planet, and March almost blanched. “Wow, it’s…. dry… in there.”

“It’s a desert planet. [Name] was there before, they’re just finishing up in establishing a space anchor so we can head there whenever we’d like.” Himeko explained. “It was added recently to our navigation system around 12 or 13 years ago, and it’s inhabited mainly by two clans. You can ask Mr.Yang or Dan Heng if you’d like to know more about the planet. [Name]’s taken a liking to it.”

“Okay… what are other places that [Name] likes?” She’s curious now, despite having travelled with them for over four months, there wasn’t much that she knew about the mysterious astral express member at all.

“There is another place… they attended the university of Veritas Prime for a while before they quit because they got bored.” Himeko lightly laughed, recalling the memory of you going back to the train after spending a good portion of a year in the university, with you rather childishly stating you’re dropping out because you hated writing a thesis.

“Mr. Yang told me about that place once.. apparently it’s super prestigious.. and [Name] just quit because they got… bored?” Frankly, March was a little.. in disbelief.

While she couldn’t remember her past, she had enough common sense to know that academies like that simply aren’t places where you could just.. dip without a single regard.

But unfortunately, you were… well, you.

“That’s not.. really all there is to the story, even I’m not sure what actually happened, but it’s better for us not to question [Name]’s choices.” Himeko sighed, shaking her head.

“Okay…. Are there any other places that they like aside from a school and a desert planet?”

“I’m… not sure.” Now even Himeko was wondering what you actually liked aside from the things they already know. “I think they mentioned a tavern at one point. Though it’s not exactly one for a vacation spot.”

“What do you mean?” March tilted her head, curious.

“Let’s just say that it’s the kind where bounty hunters often linger around, at least that’s what they told me.” Himeko said without missing a beat, March shivered. “It’s alright, they said most of the people there are well acquainted with them.” She laughed lightly.

“That’s not exactly helping.” March sweatdropped.

“Oh! Looks like they’re done properly establishing the anchor.” Himeko chimed, Sigonia IV finally having a proper route for the express members to properly jump into.

March frowned, her questions haven’t yet been answered. What she got were vague, not pointing to anything personal about you.

Perhaps another day then. Or maybe when she’s braver, she’d ask you herself.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, part VIII (HERE), Part IX…..

Interlude: one, two…..

Special chapter: link

That’s a wrap for the long awaited chapter 7– I know we didn’t have much of the reader acting here, but I also want to explore the POV of other people and how they perceive you because I think it’s important—

I promise you’ll see the reader in action in the chapter that follows this :))

[zepskies]

This is more of a Sam and Dean request than a reader and Dean request but what about Sam having a crush on Dean's gf? How would he react to that, I am honestly CRAVING angst and this is the angstiest, is that a word, thing I could think of, I am so sorry if you don't like angst or this makes you uncomfortable!!!

Oh my God. You killed me with this one, hun. 😫😫 I have another SB imagine coming next week, but I thought I'd put out this one for Dean to break it up a bit.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,500

Imagine: You are Dean's one exception.

Sam knows it's wrong.

You're smart, with a degree in history that aids them well on hunts.

You're sharp, with a smart mouth that rivals Dean's (and keeps him on his toes).

But you're also kind. You take care of him and Dean with all the feminine grace and care they've never had in their lives.

Sam realizes it when he's up until 3 a.m. in the bunker's War Room. He's sat at the table, researching, eyes bleary, hands cramping from turning pages. And he finds a mug of hot tea sliding next to his idle hand on the table.

You're there with a smile and a hand on his shoulder. "Workin' hard or hardly working?"

Sam clears his throat and nods, chuckles a little. "I'm good." He eyes the mug. "Thanks, though I might need something stronger."

You eye him with gentle reproach. "Nope. Green tea is better for you this late at night. You really should go to sleep, Sam."

Sam tacitly agrees, but only because he can feel the warmth of your hand through his clothing, and it makes his face warmer than the tea. He watches you walk away, notices the curve of your ass in those little shorts. He can imagine your warm hands on his body, caressing him. He can imagine letting his lips graze your skin, exploring you, then devouring you.

And that's when his thoughts stutter to a halt. Sam inwardly cringes.

Despite his sleep-deprived brain, he's reminded that you're traveling down the hall to the room you share with his brother, and for Sam, it's nothing short of torture.

Because he realizes then that he isn't just fond of you. He doesn't love you like an older brother, or even a quasi-brother-in-law. He wants you.

Again, Sam knows it's wrong...but he can't help it. It's one of the saddest cliches in the fucking book. You're his brother's girl, and he wants you for himself.

And it's getting harder to hide it from Dean. They know each other too well -- a result of having no one but each other, but more practically, having lived in such close quarters for so long before they discovered the bunker.

When Sam gets hurt on a hunt, the cut is at a bad angle. He can't quite reach, so you dutifully come around and gently move his hand out of the way to do the stitch yourself. You tsk at him in playful disappointment. "I swear, it's a wonder you and Dean aren't walking patchwork quilts at this point."

Sam chuckles through his nose, wincing when the movement pulls on the stitch. You shoot him a stern look. "Stop moving."

"You're the one making me laugh!" he says, smiling incredulously.

"I don't accept excuses," you retort. "Keep still, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam says, his breath hitching for a different reason as he feels your soft hands along his side. He plays it off as pain. "Sorry," you murmur more sincerely. He tells you it's okay. His gaze flicks up, unconsciously finding Dean's face across the room.

He's just finished cleaning a cut on his hand. But he's been watching; Sam can tell. Dean's too perceptive not to notice Sam's discomfort. He probably even knows why. Sam can see a glint of it in Dean's eyes, the stoic front of his face.

"There we go!" you say in satisfaction, and you pat Sam's bare arm. He gives you a wan smile. "Thanks."

"You done, sweetheart?" Dean asks. You get up from your seat by Sam. "What do you need?" you ask.

"You. Come 'ere," he says with a smile, giving you a beckoning finger. "I felt that knot on the back of your head earlier. Think you're slick?"

You huff, but you also smile, in the way you only do for Dean. Sam watches you get up and go to Dean, who touches your cheek, stroking with a thumb first. Then he parts your hair to inspect the back of your head, and you wince a bit. You did fall pretty hard, now that Sam thinks of it. He frowns.

Dean lets out a deep breath. "You've got a nasty bump. You're taking it easy tonight, got it?"

"Yeah? Gonna help me relax?" you whisper. But Sam still hears you, because apparently no one taught you how the hell to whisper.

Dean smirks. "Watch it. I'll think you're flirting with me."

You give him a coy smile as your hand travels up his chest, between the open edges of his plaid shirt, then all the way down, to tease at his belt. "Believe me, when I do, you'll be the first one to know."

Dean's smirk deepens, but his eyes are softer. He closes a hand around yours and brings it to his lips. You lean up and request, wordlessly, for a kiss. Dean obliges you, capturing your lips with a soft kiss.

He eventually breaks from you, only to press his lips to your forehead next, closing his eyes with a sigh. He doesn't like it when you try to hide your injuries from him. You just don't want him to worry so much.

You smile and rest against his chest afterwards. It's clear as day what your heart holds.

It's hard for Sam to watch. His throat constricts, but he takes pains to avert his gaze.

He's so full to the brim with this that he sees no other recourse. He catches Dean alone in the kitchen and tries to make a confession. "Dean, we need to talk."

"Can it wait 'til I'm done?" Dean's plating up some stovetop mac and cheese -- your favorite.

"You're done cooking," Sam points out. Dean looks up at him. "We're doing a little dinner in bed situation. I made her promise to take it easy."

Sam admires the way Dean takes care of you. He really does. But it's also like a small oyster knife twisting in his gut. "Good. I'm glad," is all he says. "Yeah, we can talk later."

"Later" doesn't come for a long time. Weeks, in fact. But every time he tries to broach the problem, Dean finds a way to wiggle out of having the conversation. Always a distraction. A hunt. A fire you almost started in the kitchen. Being "in the middle" of something -- something in the bedroom that you insist needs Dean's immediate attention. Sam gives up for a while after that.

But Winchesters are nothing if not goddamn stubborn. Sam finally catches Dean alone in his room for once. You've gone to the grocery store, leaving the brothers alone in the bunker, but not for long, so Sam needs this chance.

"Dean, can we talk?"

Dean looks up at his brother from where he sits on the edge of his bed. He taps his knee, releases a breath. They both know what this is.

"Are you gonna do more than talk?" Dean asks. It's not what Sam expects. "What?"

"Whatever's on your mind, are you ever gonna do something about it?" Dean asks.

Sam stares back at his brother. He thinks. Hard. He's flipped back and forth for months. If he tells you how he feels, it's over. Things will never be the same between the three of you. It'll confuse you. It might even hurt you. It'll hurt Dean. Sam loves you both, if in very different ways.

So Sam is a bit deflated when he raises his resigned gaze and meets his brother's. "No."

After a moment, Dean nods. "Then we've got nothing to talk about."

But... Sam wants not to want you. Not to love you. Deep, deep down, a large chunk of him feels that he shouldn't have to hide himself. That you have a right to know the depths of what he feels, and what he feels for you.

"I see you're not convinced," Dean says dryly. Sam is silent, until Dean sighs and beckons him over. Sam obliges and sits down next to his older brother, the man he's looked up to (at least metaphorically) his whole life.

"I'd give my life for you. You know that. Right, Sammy?" Dean says. "If I couldn't tear the world apart, I'd lay myself out flat."

Sam sighs. "Dean..." Of fucking course he knows that. Dean already had given his life for him once. Remembering that only adds to Sam's guilt.

Dean meets Sam's gaze directly then. "But this is where I draw the line. She's my line," he says. His face is almost stoic, but his eyes are filled with unyielding fire. "I'm not layin' down on that. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Sam's heart clenches with every kind of pain, but he's also never respected his brother more. He nods. "I get it."

"No, you really fucking don't," Dean says. He's more than serious. "I mean it, Sam. I'll break your damn nose."

After a long moment, Sam nods. He knew Dean loved you. Of course he did. But this is the first time Sam truly understands how deeply. How completely. It's more than jealousy can fathom.

Sam realizes then that he lost, even before he began.

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 I got way deeper into this than I expected to. Poor Sam. 😭 But I hope this scratched your angsty itch, my dear!

Read the Sequel

Here's the requested sequel to this: Sam crosses the line.

Also, if you want to read the reverse of this (Dean is in love with Sam's girlfriend): Dean gives you an impossible choice.

Dean Winchester Imagines

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