#butterfly shawl

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I saw your epic buterfly shawl patern. Do you have a raverly listing too or just the etsy shop?

Just checked Ravelry and didn't see the pattern under "Butterfly Shawl," "1970s Shawl," and "Vintage Shawl," and came up with no link; so etsy is definitely what I've got.

[neechees]

[image description: a digital art rendered in a semi realism style depicting a brown skinned, fancy shawl pow wow dancer. they sit down with their left knee propped up and their left arm resting on their knee. They have dark blue, black, and yellow colored regalia. They wear thin blue hair wraps around their braids, a yellow beaded choker, a yellow beaded headband, and blue beaded earrings with yellow accents. Their under dress has medium sleeves and is a shiny, dark fabric that glitters blue and purple in the light. a yellow shawl with a multicolored heart design rests on their right leg, with black fringes. a circular cropped image of an eastern tiger swallowtail resting on green leaves is overlaid next to the fancy shawl dancer, who's regalia and beadwork designs mimic the butterfly wings. end image description.]

"send me a butterfly or moth species and I'll draw a fancy shawl dancer inspired by it" art request series is back up & open again!

Eastern Tiger swallowtail fancy dancer for @crowtoed!

[anonymouse-is-here]

Dekho maine kya kya banaya🙈✨

[lilianzenzi]

Tonight’s project is a colorwork sweater with mods to the original pattern for size and shape. Wish me luck. Catching up on Heaven Official’s Blessing season 2 in the background.

[tyrhinosaurus]

Its show drop off day here, so we had a very late night getting ready. She's definitely not finished lmao, but bound off! I even got a light block in, my first time blocking anything. Haven't sewn all the ends in but that's okay

She's bigger than I thought and I'm so so happy with her :)

[leiyahime]

gothic butterfly shawl progress

Crocheted 2½ rows this evening and remembered to take a picture.

Pattern from wilmade

[kikiknits]

About to try to make one of the hardest things I’ll attempt.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Okay, I did end up redoing the circles, but only after I finished the three large medallions. Next step is 4 medium medallions, and then you start to lay it out and sew it together.

By the way, the pattern wisely mentions you do NOT want to sew this beast together using chenille. You want to use sewing thread. Chenille will unravel if you look at it funny; trust me I have learned the hard way.

By the way, Sean mocking me the other day was because I realized I'd misread the yarn needs and had to order more chenille for this project:

Can you believe this shit.

Anyway, to more medallions! I'm working them in chunks. Since the 4 medium medallions require the same center and fasten off, I'm doing that part first, then moving to the next color and doing that all at once.

Forgot to mention earlier: I'm using Hobbii Toucan Sprinkle. I've got 5 skeins for Color A, 1 skein for Color B, 4 skeins for Color C, and (when it gets here), 4 skeins for Color D. If I need more, it'll be noted as I work.

IT BEGINS

(Pattern for sale here)

[neechees]

common windmill butterfly?

[image description: semi realistic digital drawing of a pale person with black hair in fancy shawl regalia, standing with a light smile. Their shawl is pink satin with two black ribbons sewn all along at the bottom of the hem, and white fringes. A white laminated paper titled "Red Thunderbird Pow wow" and the number "858" printed in the center of it is pinned to the shawl. The dancer's hair is wrapped in pink hair wraps and tied at the ends with pink shell, and black ferret fur dangling at the end of it. Their underdress is also pink satin, and their waist is covered with a black leather mirror belt, and the front half of the vest sits in front of their chest. The vest, moccasins, choker, and leggings have a design mimics the pattern of the butterfly wings. They wear a black eagle feather behind their head. end description.]

(send me a butterfly or moth species and I'll draw a fancy shawl dancer inspired by it)

[druidofsuburbs]

Wear something stunning, darling. 🦋🎭💃

[captaincrochet]

[pathologicalreid]

and it feels like home | s.r.

in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: could be angst if you know what's coming next, jareau!reader, down bad!spencer, yearning, reader feels unlovable, spencer drinks champagne, reader does not drink, reader is shorter than spencer, reader wears a dress and heels word count: 1.93k a/n: and just like that, margovember is over (i have one more request for it technically but it's an episode rewrite so that'll take me longer to write). i was in need of some good yearning - this covers a request for their first kiss and for a fic with francesca by hozier levels of yearning.

You allowed yourself to be led away from the party. The past twenty-four hours had been amassed of you running around like a headless chicken, trying to put together your sister’s one-step-below shotgun wedding. Now that the party was in full swing, you willingly followed Spencer through the garden, a few remaining speeches going on in the background as the two of you rounded a corner, out of sight of party guests. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were leading me away from everyone to kill me,” you said offhandedly, adjusting the way your shawl fell over your shoulders.

Instead of looking up at Spencer, your eyes homed in on the way he was holding your hand as if he were about to lift it and press a kiss to your knuckles. Butterflies flurried in your stomach at the thought, but you quickly dewinged them, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Something was wrong with Spencer; you could see it in the way he was shaking his hands. It looked like he was trying to get excess water off of them or if there was energy trying to exit via his fingertips. You were worried about him, sometimes he fidgeted when he was craving—though you’d only seen him in that state once before and you couldn’t ascertain what would have triggered him.

“I have to talk to you,” he repeated the same words that he’d told you when he first took your hand back at the gazebo. He had to be preparing to tell you something awful, you could tell from the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you finally glanced up at him. Deep brown irises flittered around, noticing each small detail that you and Dave had plotted out, but he never noticed you.

The blue dress that you had picked out to go well with the flowers and your hair was previously pinned to perfection but had since fallen out while you tried to sort out a last-minute issue with the caterers, but he didn’t seem to take mind of any of it. For better or for worse, you supposed. “What do you need, Spence?” You asked him, cocking your head and trying not to notice the twinkle in his eye when you called him ‘Spence.’ You promised yourself months ago that you’d stop waiting for someone who would never want you back.

You just couldn’t seem to get away from Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that you saw yourself as undesirable, but a small part of yourself was under the impression that if he hadn’t made a move yet, it was never going to happen. He knew too much about you; he’d been the one to pick you up off of the floor when your last relationship fell apart. You wondered if he felt the same way, recalling the night you spent on his bathroom floor because you were terrified of finding a needle in his vein.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Spencer finally spoke, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at you nervously. You eyed him curiously, the question faintly reminiscent of something a man would ask you if he were making small talk.

Foolishly, you had thought that you and Spencer had been well past small talk at this point, “No,” you answered, dragging out the vowel. “You already knew that, though,” You had talked to him about it last night when the subject of weddings came up, naturally.

He nodded in confirmation, “Right, yeah. Yes, I just needed to make sure before I started this conversation.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder as if he were being watched, or maybe he wanted to make sure no one saw the two of you in close vicinity.

You squinted at him, trying to get a feel for what he wanted to talk about without outwardly profiling him. “What conversation?” You asked, feeling like you were enveloped in a spiraling line of questioning—like you’d never get a straightforward answer.

“Do you remember this time last year? We’d just finished that sex trafficking case, and we were finishing paperwork late in the office, and you asked me if I’d ever been in love,” he said, panting like he was running a marathon. “I told you no, and at the time that was the truth. However, the circumstances have changed.”

Your stomach flipped, surging well past butterflies at this point as your face warmed—what was he trying to say?

He finally dropped your hand, resorting to placing each of his hands on your waist, stopping you from pulling away. Spencer felt impossibly close to you, even though the two of you had irrefutably been closer together, but not even an embrace would match up with the look he was giving you now. “I couldn’t let myself love you, not while you were in a relationship. It felt cruel to me, and it felt cruel to you because you had a boyfriend. It feels like we’ve already lived a lifetime together when we’ve never truly been together,” he told you, gently squeezing your waist as he spoke animatedly.

Instinctively, you took a step back from him, your breathing faltered slightly when you saw hurt flash in his eyes, “Why?” Your voice was no more than a breath, an appalled, exasperated breath. “Why here? Why now, Spence? We’re at my sister’s wedding,” you placed a hand on your chest “Please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Spencer was shaking his head before you’d even finished speaking, “No, it has to be now. I need to do this now,” desperation crept into his tone as he stepped forward, practically caging you against the siding of Rossi’s mansion.

You didn’t feel trapped, though, even with Spencer’s arms on either side of you, he was still Spencer. “Why now, Spence?” You peered up at him through your mascara-covered lashes. Maybe this was a consequence of his environment, surrounded by an evening that was sure to involve declarations of love, so he elected to make one of his own with you as a victim.

“Because I thought you were in that building,” he said exasperatedly, wide brown eyes watching you as if the answer had been completely obvious the entire time.

Realization dawned over you as you recalled the events from a few days ago: the bank robbery turned explosion that somehow ended in a marriage proposal. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you eyed Spencer curiously, “You thought I’d gotten hurt.”

Spencer sighed, “I thought you were dead.” His eyes were trained on yours like there was nothing else in the world for him to look at, “For a moment, I lived my worst nightmare because I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I was stuck in Quantico with no way to reach you.”

Everything about the explosion was hazy, everyone was shouting for someone else, and you thought you’d imagined someone calling your name. You’d convinced yourself you were hearing things, some sort of after effect of the blast, but Spencer had been looking for you. “Spence,” you whispered, unable to gather the words you were so desperately searching for.

He shrugged helplessly, “I can’t go another day without telling you I love you.”

You felt like you were being stabbed in the chest repeatedly, unsure if you were on the verge of laughter or tears. “You never showed… I didn’t think—”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who I have a hard time reading, and I thought… I thought that if I waited for you someday, you’d realize that you love me too. I sat and I waited, and I helped you get over your ex and I am so grateful for you and your friendship, but it’s not enough for me,” he told you, no longer panting. This was Spencer completely levelheaded, emphatically declaring his love for you. “I need more of you and I can’t wait any longer.”

Eventually, the jig would be up. Someone would jump out from the bushes, and they’d let you know that you were indeed being Punk’d, but right now you were just looking into the eyes of someone who loved you. It would seem that no one else had ever truly loved you before, because the look Spencer was giving you could only be defined as love, yet it was unfamiliar to you. “You love me?” You asked, your voice no more than a whisper.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you, “I love you in ways that no one has ever loved anyone before, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” you breathed, eyes studying his expression for any hint of regret.

“Would you allow me that?” He stepped away, dropping his arms at his side, “I know I cornered you tonight, and it’s perfectly fine if you don’t have an answer for me tonight, but I’d wait years for you if that’s what it took.”

You were shaking your head as you took the opportunity to step toward him, propping yourself up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, the picture-perfect moment for the two of you. Perhaps you startled him at first because it took him a moment to wrap his arms around you, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he pulled your body flush with his.

His lips tasted like champagne, and the soft tinge of the alcohol on your mouth only served to intoxicate you further, even though you yourself didn’t drink from a flute.

The universe had a funny way of working in your favor, and this time, it had given you your first meeting with Spencer almost four years ago. You had nearly two years of friendship under your belt now, which is why it was so easy for you to pull away from him slightly, grinning against his lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Spencer kissed you again, moving one of his hands to gently cup your jaw, moving his velvet soft lips against yours with purpose and care. Your arms were thrown over his shoulders, elbows crossing at the nape of your neck to support you. You’d have to get used to the height difference, and you’re sure you will.

“Hey, Y/N,” Someone called out, and the two of you bolted away from each other like opposite charges, “I think it’s about time to cut the cake, your— Oh.”  

It seems the two of you did not move fast enough, for you were now faced with Emily and her knowing gaze. Your eyes flickered over to Spencer just briefly before you looked back at Emily, “Okay,” you responded to her, your voice hoarse, “I’ll let the caterers know.” You started your trudge to the backyard, picking up your feet so your heels wouldn’t dig into the grass. “Are you coming?” You turned and faced Spencer; a watercolor pink brushed across his cheeks.

“I’ll be right there,” he answered, giving you a soft, patented Spencer smile.

You looked nervously over at Emily, dreading the fact that this thing between you and Spencer was barely fledgling and the team was already going to be aware. “You know,” she started, and you braced yourself for the teasing, “London’s a pretty good place to keep a secret.”

Mouthing a thank you to her, the two of you stepped forward, turning around only when Spencer called out your name one last time, “Save me a dance?”

You laughed slightly at the dopey grin he bore on his face before nodding, “For you? Always.”  

[misguidedasgardian]

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA II.

II. Floating Jasmines

Summary: He did want to marry you, did he not? 

Warnings: Use of she/her pronouns, reader has hair, Ancient Rome accuracies and inaccuracies, animal slaughter for ritualistic purposes, arranged marriages, age difference (Marcus is late forties reader is 20), cursing, reader gets waxed and takes a milk bath, use of historic characters that don’t belong on this timeline, mentions of consumations, one sided fluff and ANGST a bit in the end, MIGHT MISS SOME WARNINGS

Due to topics discussed and future warnings…

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: I feel like the first chapter was a bit rushed, but I hope that I can find a “pace” I’m comfortable with! I hope you like it! I feel like this chapter is very descriptive, but I wanted to set a tone… hope I did justice to all those rituals and all! I didn't check this so sorry for any mistakes, I was so exited!

This fic was inspired by the coolest @stylesispunk's "Soldier in the armour"

You caressed your mare’s coat with delicacy, Marcus has gifted her to you tamed already, so you rode her constantly. He had said it came from his own stables up North where he had a villa.

One of the few things he had said to you.

You did not understand, he was supposed to want to marry you, then why after the betrothal he never even spoke to you again?

He found you with Lucius in the garden, but it haden’t mean anything, you were steps apart, it was nothing, just a few parting words to the one you had wanted to marry. 

He led you back to the celebration that night, and he had remained at your side until he left you and your mother in your villa, and then he retired for his.

You never saw him again

It’s been three months. 

Your mother had explained that he left to take care of some things, you knew that winter was coming and as General and as owner of villas and country he needed to care for his estates, especially since he was to be wed. 

But the temperatures were lowering and your doubts were ever higher.

Was he angry at you? That he found you alone with a man? Was he doubting his decision?

Have you done something wrong?

“Amica mea”, called your mother, you turned, letting a soldier take your horse back to the stables. “Did you have a pleasant ride?”, wasn't a long one, as you had not much space to go, especially alone…

“It was mother”, you said softly, you both entered back to the villa

You removed the shawl you had placed around you, it was getting cold, you had to put on wool socks now, and closed shoes, and a thicker tunic under your stola.

You were entering winter, it had been three months since your betrothal. 

Every day you grow more anxious.

Your mother assured you that everything was alright, and you still kept your ring in your finger 

“Actually, Marcus has returned to Rome”, she said softly, “he is to remain here until after you are married, and until the Emperors decide on who they are going to appoint as consuls”, she said softly, your wedding, as the appointment of the consuls were to happen in the first weeks into Ianuarii 

You didn’t know where he went, you knew he wasn’t on campaign, so he must have been in his villa in the country, but it didn’t matter to you.

“Mother, did I do something wrong?”, you asked her for the tenth time, “for him not wanting to see me?”, you asked her then

“Darling I swear you did nothing wrong”, she assured you, “he had business to take care of”, you were not convinced, not really, and she could sense that, “there’s more, he is coming at sundown, he just arrived back to Rome and he wanted to see you”, she said excitedly

“Really?”, you asked her, hope returning to your features

“Yes, my dear”, she said, smiling softly. “so go get ready”, with a smile, you did as she requested, putting on your most beautiful stola. Your mood had lifted completely at the news. 

At the prospect of him wanting to see you, made your stomach filled with butterflies, and you found yourself excited. 

If Marcus was the man you had to marry, you were going to make the best of it, you were determined to be a good wife to him, and make him proud, and do your marital duties. 

And soon he was there, entering your home with a soft smile on his lips, and those kind eyes you discovered you liked so much. 

From the first time he had come to your home to now, there was a whole sea of difference. He seemed relaxed, his eyes were shiny and his smile sincere, or at least, it looked like it.

He brought you an amphora filled with delicious wine.

Your mother, after eating with you in the triclinium, excused herself and left you both alone with a knowing smirk on her lips

You were incredibly nervous, but… his gentle demeanor helped you ease a bit

“I wanted you to know”, he started, “that I left to settle some business in my states, it was the harvest and I wanted to oversee it”, he explained softly

“Is your state… big?”, you didn't know how to follow up to what he had told you, he only chuckled

“Not much, but we have many apple trees, and pears, some olives”, you smiled at that, “is a villa in the edge of a lake, it is quite beautiful”

“Sounds incredible”, you said with an excited smile 

“I wanted a place to have solace after my campaigns”, he explained

“Are they going to send you out there again… after we are married?”, you asked him

“I should think so, yes”, he murmured with a soft smile, “there are always revolts and uprisings, we need to oversee our territories, care for our subjects”

“I know they are important, though… I hope they feel brief”, you said with an apologetic smile, he looked at your face and smiled kindly at you, making your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

You had to admit the subject really interested you, about geography, and culture. Well, also battles as well, the strategies, the ones already fought and how they happened, and you were marrying a General, that is what most excited you, you were going to be able to ask him about his campaigns and about the battles he had fought, you felt so emboldened, you went ahead and ask him… 

“I wanted to ask you, who was the most difficult enemy you ever faced on the battlefield?”, you asked him, he took a sip of his cup of wine and left it on the table in the middle of the Triclinium

“I do not wish to bore you with tales of wars, my lady”, he said softly, and your smile dropped. You should tell him that you wouldn’t be bored, but you didn’t press on it. “How do you find your new mount?”, he asked after an uncomfortable silence, the previous soft atmosphere now destroyed

“Luna is so calm, and sweet”, you said then, “thank you”

“You named her Luna?”, he asked

“She is silvery as the moon”, you explained gently. 

“It’s a beautiful name”, he assured you, “and I’m glad, I made sure she had a good temperament, I would never put you at risk, my lady”, he assured you. And that made your heart beat fast in your chest, and your cheeks heat up

“Thank you”, you say shyly, he smiled at you then. But as he seemed to truly gaze at you, he got serious all of a sudden.

“This might be what you asked the Gods for”, he started, and you felt your cheeks heated, was it really that obvious? although you were trying your best to not show it, “but I promise to keep you safe, and to care for you”

“And I promise to be a dutiful wife”, you said, over excitedly, you must have looked so childish. His face turned serious, and you could swear you saw a glint of sadness in his eyes, but it was probably your imagination. 

He might be rough around the edges a bit, but he was joust, and generous, and caring. You beamed at him again, and for the first time since this whole thing started, you found yourself wanting to marry him.

Your mother didn't show up again, and Marcus left shortly after, and when he was in the threshold, in the Atrium, he grabbed both your hands, leaned in, and kissed you on the edge of your mouth.

You saw you could see stars even if you were inside, and he left you with tingles all over your body and promises that soon you were going to get married, with no setbacks

The day of your marriage ceremony, it was so cold, you only managed to get out of bed because you knew that today you were getting married to Marcus. 

You knew what you had to do, you had been taught all the rituals, all the processions.

As your eyes trailed around your room, that was kissed by the first rays of the morning sun. You started to see small remnants of your life, today, you were going to marry a man and leave your home, to go and live with him.

Today, you were going to leave your girlhood behind.

You raised from your bed and grabbed a little doll that was on a wooden shelf in the corner. You were old enough to have gotten rid of it quite a few years back, but you didn’t have the heart to. It was a little dolly made with articulated wooden limbs and dressed in a tunic. 

You smiled at it, and put it inside a beautifully carved wooden chest, as you did the rest of your personal artifacts that you were not going to take into your new married life.

“To Venus”, you whispered. 

Once you were done, you turned around and found your mother looking at you from the door, with a sad smile on her face.

“My only daughter”, she whispered, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “You are leaving too”, she said, you smiled at her and hugged her tightly. She caressed your hair and kissed the side of your face, “but this is for your safety”

You found that odd, but it was such a heartfelt moment, you didn’t think more about that. 

“But this is a happy day”, she said, releasing you and smiling through her tears. 

“Yes it is”, you said happily 

“Ah!”, you screamed, “Fatue!”

“I’m sorry Domina”, the maid said apologetically. You knew the sweet maid wasn’t at fault, but… it hurt nonetheless, “just a little more”, she said with a weird smile, as she raised your arm to access the tiny hairs in your armpits. 

“It hurts”, you whined childishly

“I know”, she placed the warm thick substance, she waited a few minutes, and then she pulled, making you whine. It all had to go… 

For your wedding night. 

“We prepared a milk bath”, she said as if that was going to be of any comfort, “to soothe your skin”, you looked at her, frowning, she tended to…

“Au!” ...take you by surprise. 

Once the torture was done, you were led to the indoor bath. As she had said, it was filled with goat milk, and soft and aromatic essences. Your maids fixed your hair up, so it wouldn’t get dipped in the liquid, and then abandoned you, you undressed, dropped your thin tunic into the floor, and slipped in the beautifully tiled space, she was right, it was soothing on your skin. 

MIlk baths were not strange, but rather, a delicacy, only being done in the most special of circumstances, like your wedding day, for example. 

You enjoyed the peace and quiet of the secluded place, as you faintly heard all the servants and maids walking all around, surely preparing for sundown, the ceremony was going to take place in your home, as it was customary. 

In the midst of all the flowers floating in the milk bath, you found a beautiful jasmine, your favorite, you grabbed it, making more ripples in the quiet you had created, you took it to your nose, letting the sweet smell soothe you.

You didn't know where it came from, as it was winter, so you took it as a sign from Juno herself, the goddess of marriage, then, you rubbed it against your neck, you really hoped its sweet smell would cling into your skin for today.

You smiled, you felt dreamy, thinking about what exciting things are to come. 

Time seemed to fly by you, your mind blinded by a soft mist, and before you knew it, your hair was being fixed in six braids, you were looking at yourself in the mirror, a large polished piece of copper. You had been dressed in the softest fabric you had ever felt, thin, sheer too, you could see your most intimate bits, but it wasn't less beautiful, delicate, soft and sewed with gold, and then, they placed a beautiful white tunic above it. All white and sewed with golden as well, it fell loosely to your feet, but it clinged to the just right places in your body. 

Your mother came into your rooms then, and they finished fixing your hair, she brought what looked like a golden rope in her hands.

But you knew what it was.

You believed it was pride you saw in her eyes, as they passed the golden rope around your waist, and then tied it in the traditional way. 

“I’m so proud of you”, she said with a wide smile

“I love you mother”, you said happily, she leaned in and kissed your cheek, and then she hugged you tightly

“You are going to be happy with him, I know you will”, she murmured 

“I really think I can”, you said with a wide smile 

And when you were all ready, with the crimson red veil placed upon your head, you were left alone in your rooms, waiting for the right moment for your entrance. 

You were supposed to be escorted by your handmaidens, but just now you realized that the only friend you had was Cecilia, and right now she was in Sicily with her husband…. so you found yourself alone.

“Do you need anything, domina?”, asked Alba, the lovely maid who had been by your side all day, and for years back

“I’m a bit nervous”, she smiled, she nodded, and brought back a trail with what recognized was a small amphora

“A bit of mulsum”, she said, “that will comfort you”, she said with a soft smile

She was right, the wine did help you relax your nerves, especially when you heard people arriving at your home. Finally everything fell on you, the reality. You were going to marry a man, this very night you were going to leave your home to never return, and you were going to live in a foreign place, you had never been to Marcus’ home, you didn't know where you going to end up this very night, you did know though, you had to consummate the marriage. 

You knew what was going to happen, you were a Roman woman, you were raised in knowledge of pleasure, war, wisdom, passion, love, and many others. Tales of Conquerors driven by mythical love and a passion that conquered empires and transcended thousands of years…

Would that kind be the kind of love you’ll have with Marcus?

You had barely a cup of wine with honey, it managed to soothe you to a certain point… but you couldn’t have more or it was going to cloud the rest of your senses, so you started fidgeting with your fingers. 

You started to feel uncomfortable, your scalp began to itch under the veil and your tight braids, the cold winter air began blowing through the window, but your hands were sweating and your breathing was becoming rasher.

You went to the window to have some fresh air, but you found that the garden was, well, not blooming, again, it was the middle of the winter. But as the sun was hiding in the horizon, the air got colder by the second. So you took long breaths and then you came back to sit on the bed.

You didn’t even got to before the door opened, and Alba came back 

“It’s time”, she said with an excited smile

You wanted to throw up as you were so nervous. She came and grabbed your hand, and led you out of your rooms. The ceremony had been prepared in the main atrium of your house, the most propitious space for that gathering of people. 

They were all there, they had lit fires all over the space, and everything looked so magical and mythical, even though that was the same atrium you saw everyday 

Your mother received you at the threshold and led you towards the small altar they had set for the occasion. You were so nervous your legs were shaking, but they still held you upright. 

Marcus was standing in front of a woman you could only guess was the matron of honor, right behind the altar

The ceremony was led by a woman you didn't recognize, but the Protuba, the matron of honor, was supposed to be a woman who had been married once, and still was living with her husband, so it couldn’t be your mother as she was a widow.

You looked around and found mostly men present in the ceremony, but that wasn’t odd either, there was supposed to be at least ten of them, then you looked at Marcus. He was looking at your mother, you couldn’t quite identify the feeling behind those eyes… it seemed like he was asking for some sort of permission, your mother met his eyes with decision, you looked back at Marcus and he seemed to nod.

And then he turned to you, his eyes fixed. 

“You stand as Venus in front of me”, he said softly, your cheeks heated 

“That would make you Mars then”, you murmured. He smirked 

“Let’s begin”, said the woman loudly, it all got so quiet, you could hear a single straw fall into the marble floor. You took a long breath. She presented a long scroll, the contract to your marriage, the details of which you did not know, it had been made between them both with your mother. 

“We are here free, of your own wills, to join in matrimony”, you both nodded, he was first, to sign the paper, you followed, scribbling your name shakily. Once that was done, you stood right in front of the other again. 

You both looked at the matron, she then looked at you and nodded, so you turned back to Marcus and smiled at him, taking a long breath. 

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia”, you said shakily, now you understood your friend, the way of the words constricting your throat

“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius”, he said firmly, with a strength and conviction you envied. 

“Now, the concordia”, it wasn’t without cause that the wedding ceremony was often called ‘the joining of hands’, you tried to wipe the sweetness of your hand in your dress but didn’t get to as the Matron grabbed it rather roughly, and Marcus’, and joined them together, his hand was so big, rough though, but warm, so warm, as you yours, you held your breath as his warmth in this winter night made you warm too. 

“With the concordia, you are agreeing that a mutual affection made by the Gods themselves has bonded you”, she said, “Where she is woman, you are man, this is the will of the gods”, then came your least favorite part, the sacrifice to Juno.

They brought forth a big piglet, and you looked away as someone slaughtered it, its cries ringing in your ears. You were brought back to the present when you felt a caress in the back of your hand, you realized it was Marcus’ thumb, caressing it, as he saw your distress.

You smiled at him widely

You took the time to gaze upon your now husband, he looked so handsome, dressed in perfect white, golden laurels sewed into the fabric, his beautiful dark locks combed backwards, and a pleased smile on his face, he looked like he just received laurels back from his campaign. You even saw little wrinkles that were born in the outer edges of his eyes, but that made him look even more handsome if that was even possible, and that nose… 

He turned towards you and found you gawking, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, you believed you were going to faint. 

When he placed his big warm hand on your lower back to meet your guests, -which you completely forgot they existed-, you believed you could swoon, his touch comforting and soothing, he then turned to you and smiled. He seemed to search for something in your eyes, and you hoped you could see the devotion within them.

You married one of the most important generals of Rome, a handsome man and you truly thought you’d be the happiest woman alive.

The feast began right after, and you realised your mother had gone all out, dancers in the pools of the two atriums, more servants than guests walked around offering food and wine. Cheerful music was playing, and all the guests had dispersed and were talking in loud conversations. You believed you could put together an older  empire than Rome if you summed their ages together. 

You had no people of your own, as Lucius and his friends were not here. His father was, and you guessed he didn’t want to see you get married to Marcus. His friends were here though, all men dedicated to war, pretors, some other generals. Some of their wives were about your age, but you didn’t recognize them.

Some even giggled in corners after looking thoroughly at you.

You tried to eat, but your stomach was in knots. You tried to drink, and you managed, water though, not wine, you didn't want to. As Marcus chatted with his fellow man of arms, you as much as clung to your mother’s skirt as she indeed was talking with the wives of men of the Senate. 

Sooner rather than later, a comitive came from what was once your rooms, carrying coffers filled with your belongings, one of them held, you guessed the golden one, carrying what you guessed was your dowry. 

Now you truly clung to your mother, as the time to leave your home for your husband’s had come.

“Don’t be sad my beautiful girl”, she whispered against the top of your head, “you’ll be just fine, and this will always be your home”

“I’m scared mother”, you whispered.

“You will be alright”, she said, “I promise you”, you nodded, surprised to realise you were crying. 

Marcus came to your side, grabbing your hand softly, releasing you from your mother’s arms. He had to struggle, you weren’t embarrassed to admit, but you released her and clung into his arm instead.

You left your home, your villa, and you both led the procession to Marcus’ villa, that you didn’t even know where it was.

This could be a long walk or a short one, you didn’t quite know.

It was already pitch black, being late and winter, but the torches taken by the people who were following you lit the night. 

It was cold, and your clothing was thin, but you held onto the arm of Marcus. He stood deadly silent, and you couldn’t find the words either. 

When you finally arrived at the gates of Marcus’ villa, your feet ached, it was in the very center of Rome, near the curia, it was… big. Your mother had not come, but a group of people you had known your entire life was there, looking expectantly at the both of you.

You gasped as you felt Marcus’ thick arms raise you from the ground, taking you in his arms. 

He left all of them behind with no words spoken and he entered his home with you in his arms, you heard the cheers and lude remarks, and then the gates closed behind you, as you grabbed onto Marcus’ neck. His body was warm against you, cold from the walk. 

He released you at the atrium. 

He directed you towards a table where two copper bains stood, and you know what follows.

Marcus used two small stones that sparked a fire that burned a few twigs and moss. The Other basin had water in it. So Marcus was indeed a traditional man, a religious man even. 

“Touch the water first”, he whispered in your ear, making you tingle, “so you won’t burn”, he suggested, you smiled nervously, and slipped your hand inside the copper basin, then as it was wet, you placed it above the fire. When you felt the sting, you removed it. The small rite was supposed to purify you and your new home, your new family home. 

You then realised you were very much alone with him, for the second time, and now… he was your husband.

The air was thick with expectancy, and your nervousness. 

But he had been so gentle… that gentleness was going to translate into your intimacy as a marriage, right?.

“Well, this is my home”, he said. You looked around and you found it comfortable, and… quite new, if there was such a thing in Rome.

Your home was ancient, as the Palatine hill, some say it was made by Romulus and Remus themselves after they founded Rome.

But Marcus’ was perfect, the pillars white and straight, the tiles unscathed by the passing of time, the pools were clean and with fresh water. Not like the ones at your villa which even had water lilies in them, and your pillars looked more like stone than marble, with wallflowers clinging to them. These walls lacked the paintings that decorated yours.

If you and Marcus weren’t there, there was no other trace of life. 

But it was beautiful nonetheless, and this was your house now too.

“As my wife”, he started, “you can do as you please with this home”, he said, the warmth that decorated his features at the ceremony now were lacking, now he seemed like he was sad. 

“Thank you Marcus, you are so kind”, you offered with a soft smile

“This way”, he said, with a thick arm pointed at a hallway. 

This was it, the root of all nervousness, you were going to consummate the marriage, you were going to… take him… 

 You arrived in his rooms, he entered in front of you, and you played with your fingers nervously. You prayed to Juno a week before, for him to be gentle and kind with you, to hold you with passion and devotion alike. That she blesses you with children. And the thought alone was enough to make you less nervous.

Maybe this was the day you were going to start your family. 

But he didn’t move. 

He rubbed his face with his hands, as he was exasperated, his back was to you, and he stood still, unmoving, hiding himself from you. 

Did you have to do something? 

He finally seemed to come to his senses, as he revealed his face and turned, but still not to you. You looked at yourself, begging the gods for wisdom in this… strange time… you then remembered the golden belt around your waist. 

And it finally dawned on you, maybe he needed a little push

“The husband is supposed to take this off…”, you trailed, playing with the fabric nervously. It was braided beautifully, it was customary to be made of wool, but you, being Lucilla's daughter, and granddaughter to an emperor, they had woven it out of golden silk just for you. 

It was the most beautiful knot of Hercules you had seen, and you were wearing it today on your wedding day, where your husband was supposed to untie it, before he claimed you in the marital bed for the first time. 

“I won’t”, he said simply, looking over his shoulder, to finally turn on his feet to look at you. His right hand grabbed his left wrist in front of him, as he stood still and solemn, and he was standing in front of his superior, or the emperor's themselves, “I will not touch you”, you didn’t seem to understand as you stood there, frozen in front of him

“But you are my husband”, you offered weakly. Of all the scenarios you played in your mind, you never thought this was the way it was going to go. You’d think he was going to be too eager, maybe too rough, too impatient, but never this… unless… “have I done something wrong?”, you asked, your voice broke at the very last word, and it was worse as he seemed to look at you with pity, “did I do something to displease you?”, you asked shakily

“You did nothing wrong”, he said, so simply, but his voice sounded too serious, too cold

“But…”

“It was a long day, we both could use some rest”, he said, his eyes soft at this, as he was begging you. He came to you, cradled your face in his big hands and kissed your forehead, and then he left you alone in the room.

Your heart shattered inside your chest as you sat on the edge of the bed, you grabbed into the fabric tightly. You were seized by an awful feeling that you didn’t even recognize at first, your chest ached, as bitter tears down your cheeks.

“But I did everything right”, you whispered

MASTERLIST

PCN: So the angst begins MUAHAHA

I thought the word "domina" was said by slaves to their "owners" but apparently not... it means "Lady or Mistress" use to call ladies of "status" so yeahhhh

Taglist: @orcasoul @peelieblue @raynetargaryan2 @thereallchristine @sesdeuxyeux

[solarpunkani]

[Image ID: #pics when its done ya? sounds awesome!]

Oh I 100% will!

I'd offer to share the pattern, but since I haven't technically tried it yet I have no idea if the butterfly stitch pattern lines up with the cloak in a nice way

But to give a visual I wanna make a cloak like this one

But full length (so down to around my ankles or at least my knees) in green, with this pattern

Happening along the length of it after I extend it to the width I want

Fingers crossed

Not to say I'm cooking but I might be cooking

(Note: in this context, 'cooking' refers to 'combining 2 crochet patterns to make a cooler pattern, ie a hooded cloak consisting of butterfly stitches)

[leiyahime]

Goth Butterfly Shawl - Comlete!

Pattern is from here. I found the pattern for the border in a 30 year old book at work.

It took me about 14 months (with about 6 months break in between because I procastinated looking for mistakes) but I think it's totally worth it.

[rebelfell]

They're baaaaaaaaack… (she said, as though they ever leave her brain) 18+, MDNI 3.2k

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson

cw: a little angst to keep happily ever after interesting

continued from here, index here

Eddie sort of hates these faculty parties.

He likes the ones you throw. At the house, with the professors from your department you actually like. Everyone sits on the patio looking out at the garden, all of them ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the dreamy space Eddie has painstakingly curated—the ivy that climbs the fence; the plentiful plants and flowers that attract bees and butterflies; the willow tree that shades the hammock; the stone pavers leading to it from the patio and fire pit.

Honestly, your backyard is his masterpiece.

You light the tiki torches to keep the bugs at bay and the string lights flicker on when it gets dark. Music trickles outside through the speakers you pushed up to the open window and Eddie pokes his head out when he comes home from work, waving at your guests who titter excitedly.

It’s mostly older women, lots of heads of pure silver and white. Thick-framed glasses on beaded chains; velvet shawls with long fringe that drape off their shoulders; funky patterned skirts that swish around their legs; enamel bangles that clack together when they talk with their hands.

He comes back out once he’s showered and changed his clothes, bringing with him a new bottle of wine to replace the one you’ve already finished. He refills all their glasses and you crane your neck back for a kiss when he gets around to you. Both of you smile into it as the ladies start clucking and squawking excitedly, galvanized like a gaggle of middle schoolers.

Eddie knows they like to tease you about him, calling him your ‘boy-toy.’

Not so secretly, he loves it.

It was always casual and relaxed. They’d insist Eddie join them and everyone would chatter with ease into the evening. And by the time they found the bottom of that second bottle and the record you put on had ended, at least one of them would catch Eddie’s eye and mime playing guitar until he went inside to fetch his old acoustic and serenade the group with old standards.

Then, after they all went home, you tumbled into bed so blissfully tipsy you’d just kiss and kiss and kiss until you were so tired you nearly fell asleep still wearing your clothes on top of the covers.

Those nights he liked. Not like these.

These mixer things weren’t explicitly mandatory, but it was deeply frowned upon for you to miss them. They didn’t happen all that often, usually spaced out just far enough that Eddie had time to forget what a pain in his ass they were. And it wasn’t like you made him go, he just didn’t like to relinquish a night with you so easily. So 9 times out of 10, he opted in of his own accord.

All the departments came together in a big hall that was somehow drafty and stuffy all at once, and it only got stuffier the longer some of these blowhards prattled on about nothing.

And no one said a single word to Eddie all night.

It reminded him of those rarified times that he’d stumbled into a pep rally, either purelyby accident or because of an admittedly ill-advised crush on a certain cheerleader. Even without doing much of anything, without saying a word, they all looked down their noses like he just didn’t belong.

Nobody recognized him outside of his coveralls, headphones, and aviators. In his sport coat and glasses with his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, he felt a little like Clark Kent. And he tried to act like he was supposed to be there, but it was near impossible without you by his side.

You had been, at the start of the evening. But everyone seemed to want a piece of you tonight... None more so than professor Dickus Maximus.

He was a classics professor, specializing in Ancient Rome. He had a strong, square jaw dusted with greying scruff and a head of tousled, swoopy curls—dark and streaked intermittently with wisps of white. His upper lip was topped by a dense mustache that only made his stupid Disney prince smile all the more roguish and disarming.

Eddie had only interacted with him once, but it was enough to seal his disdain.

The days he worked on campus, he always took his lunch break during your office hours so he could eat with you while you worked. Your office was small, but it had a big window that let in lots of light in the afternoon. Once he’d wolfed down whatever food he brought, Eddie stretched out on your loveseat and more often than not took a little nap in the sun like an overgrown cat.

He’d just started to kick his feet up when there was a knock at the door and whoever was on the other side had started to push it open before you even told them to come in.

Eddie jumped up, feeling his cheeks beginning to flush with heat. But you’d hardly looked up from the papers strewn across your desk before you were smiling at the guy standing in your office.

You greeted him with more familiarity than Eddie had seen you use with some other colleagues, a warmth in your smile and voice he couldn’t help but notice. It made his shoulders stiffen as he straightened his back and his stance widened, trying to take up more space in the room.

You noticed, but gave it no acknowledgement beyond a brief wrinkling of your brow.

“Marc, this is Eddie, my b—”

“Ah, yes. The new groundskeeper, right? I’ve seen you around. Marc Acacius, nice to meet you.”

Extending a large hand, Marc took his eyes off you for the first time since he came into the room. “Yeah,” Eddie answered, his voice as tight as his grip when they shook, “that’s me.”

With a quick smile, he dropped Eddie’s hand and his gaze swept right back to you. “Just checking if you’re coming tonight. Ramsey wants a head count, he’s convinced we need more food.”

“I’ll be there,” you nodded, “but I’m not eating if he’s pushing his daughter’s catering again.”

Marc let out a deep and hearty laugh at that, tipping back and putting his whole body into it, even though it barely constituted a joke. When he straightened, his eyes cut to the side once more.

“Just an informal little get-together,” he explained, shooting a sardonic smile in Eddie’s direction. “They’re exceedingly dull, but we try to make the most of them,” he added, eyes twinkling when they landed back on you in a way that made Eddie’s blood bubble in his veins.

“I’ll see you later, then,” you told Marc, smile shrinking when you saw the look on Eddie’s face.

That big, stupid hand of his raised once again in a broad wave as he turned to go, only to stop and look back over at Eddie, snapping his fingers.

“You know, there’s some shrubberies over by our building that need some cleaning up,” he said. “Think we could get that taken care of, chief?”

The way he asked wasn’t overtly condescending. It practically passed for congenial. But it made Eddie feel like his coveralls were full of fire ants. His neck burned hot with scorn and he could feel his chest puffing up as he crossed his arms in front of it and glared back at him.

“Sure,” he answered sharply, teeth grinding behind the word. “On it.”

Marc just smirked and tossed you another wave before disappearing down the hall. Eddie kicked the door closed behind him, wishing he could have slammed it.

“What a tool,” he groused.

“He can be,” you agreed. “I guess teaching about narcissistic, bloodthirsty Roman emperors driven insane by syphilis makes him look a lot better.”

Your attempt at joking fell flat, the words coming out too tight as you stood from your desk chair. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, a long pause making the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand up and blood rush in his ears.

“But, uhh…just in the interest of full disclosure… we kind of had a thing.”

“A th—” Eddie sputtered as he whipped his head back around,  “What kind of thing?”

You shrugged, staring down at the papers on your desk as you started to shuffle them together.

“We used to go for drinks after work. Sometimes it lead to more, but it wasn’t anything serious.”

“So you’ve…you guys have…”

Eddie didn’t need to finish asking before the look on your face gave him his answer. 

“Well…yeah. But again, it wasn’t—”

“Was he good?” Eddie snapped. Was he better than me? his brain feels like screaming.

You paused at your filing cabinet, the folder in your hand hovering above its space in the drawer.

“Is that really what you want to ask?” you replied.

Eddie’s jaw ticked, but he inhaled the deepest breath he could manage through flaring nostrils. “No,” he finally answered. Still stilted, but a little more calm now. “I just don’t…why him?”

Just asking made his skin feel itchy. That guy was such the total opposite of everything Eddie thought you would be interested in. He was so self-involved and self-important—so much so that it edged into being pompous. Smarmy, even. He looked like he wore tweed those jackets with patches on the elbows, and he smelled like the cologne samples Eddie used to rip out of Wayne’s old man magazines—stuff like sandalwood and frankincense and other shit from the bible.

But then maybe Eddie didn’t want to see all of the things you had in common. Same profession, more than likely similar interests. Similar incomes. Similar levels of intelligence. And while he was older than you, your ages were a hell of a lot closer than yours and Eddie’s were.

He was nothing like Eddie…or maybe Eddie was nothing like him.

You sighed a little sadly as you came around your desk. You didn’t reach for him, sitting against the edge instead so he had the space to come to you if he wanted to. And he did, but not yet.

“Does it matter?” you asked. “Weren’t you with other people while we were…you know.”

Eddie didn’t answer. He could only look at his boots guiltily. Neither of you liked to think about that awful gap in your story; that time when you didn’t know what he was doing or spending his time. When he didn't know whether you were thinking of him, or if he vacated your mind.

He hated it, honestly.

This was so not how he saw this afternoon going. He had spent most of his day looking forward to seeing you, distracting himself from the drudgery of spreading sod by thinking about that tight little pencil skirt you laid out last night to wear to work today. He’d pictured himself bunching it around your hips after he sat you on your desk and hauled your ass right up to the edge.

Wondering if he got you worked up enough you’d be willing to blow off the rest of your classes.

He was only just now seeing you in it fully and it was doing things to his brain, even mid-spiral. But now he couldn’t help but let the image of Marc’s stupid handsome face leak into his fantasy.

Fuck, what if you’d hooked up with him in your office? What if your little loveseat earned its name from him bending you over it? What if he’d gotten on his knees for you and made you cum all over your own desk? What if Eddie had tried it and all you could do was think of him?

You cleared your throat, surprising Eddie when you held out your hand for him to take. His arm felt like lead, but he still lifted it and let you curl your fingers around his, giving a gentle tug.

“I think maybe we should talk about this later? After you’ve had a minute?”

Eddie was still sulking, but he nodded as he moved closer. “Yeah,” he said. “That’d be good.”

That fight was ages ago. About as ancient as the stuff on Marc’s syllabus.

You’d blown off the party entirely and met Eddie back at his apartment instead. He was calmer by then, especially after taking a machete to those shrubberies and pretending they were Marc’s face. And he got your reasoning that you didn’t intend for him to find out like that, you just didn’t want to lie or hide anything from him. Ever.

Which he had to admit was nice to hear.

But not as nice as hearing that it literally meant nothing to you. That the only reason you even entertained the idea was because you knew implicitly it would never turn into more.

And then you’d made up by letting him finally see you in that pencil skirt and nothing else.

Still, ancient as it was, Eddie couldn’t help but feel like he’d been plopped right back into that day, right back into those same feelings just seeing the two of you standing together.

He closes his fist around the napkin in his hand, smashing the dry and flavorless cookie he’d been nibbling on the past hour, and flung it in the trash on his way over to you. Your eyes meet his as he swoops in, smoothing his hand up your back to rest just below the nape of your neck.

Subtle enough that it’s not tacky, but still obvious enough to be sure Marc sees.

“Getting kind of late,” Eddie hums from behind you, not even looking at the man he’s interrupted. Your glossed lips spread in a shiny smile, easily reading the level stare he’s giving you.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you nod.

You drain the last swallow of wine from the tiny plastic cup in your hand and place it down on the emptied refreshments table, barely waving goodbye to Marc as Eddie pulls you away. He slides his hand down your spine until it settles at the small of your back and he guides you forward, glaring over his shoulder back at Marc one final time just to make sure that he’s watching.

Their eyes meet and Eddie seethes.

That’s right, motherfucker, he thinks. Mine.

Campus is eerily quiet, your footsteps on the sidewalk echoing as you pass under the lights lining the path. The air has a chill bite that does little to temper the burn rising in Eddie’s cheeks.

“Thanks for saving me,” you coo as you’re making your way to the staff parking lot. “I would have been bored to tears if you hadn’t come.”

“Doubt it,” Eddie mutters under his breath before he can stop himself.

“What do you mean?” you ask, a little sadly.

He just shrugs, his shoulders bristling as he shoves his fists deep in his jacket pockets. It’s brown suede, lighter and thinner than his leather jacket. He loves it because you bought it for him, but he almost wishes he was in the other one.

It felt weightier, more impenetrable.

More like armor.

“Nothing,” Eddie grumbles. “I just don’t get why he has to be all over you like that.”

Without realizing it, his feet start to speed up, like he’s trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and this night, and you find yourself trailing behind as you ask, “Who?”

“Fuckin’ Marc,” Eddie sneers.

He doesn’t recognize the voice coming out of him, all snippy and pissy. That’s not how he talks to you. It’s not how he ever wants to talk to you. So why the fuck is that what he’s doing?

“Hey,” you say, taking his elbow and pulling on it so he’s back in step with you. His fists squeeze tighter inside of his pockets, but his gait slows. “What’s going on here? Are you really mad?”

Yes, Eddie thought bitterly.

“No,” he replies with a frown.

A puff of air pushes out through your nose in a snort. “Oh, well, that was convincing.”

In spite of himself, Eddie can’t help the corner of his mouth twitching up into a tiny smile. You slip your hand through his arm, fingers curling around his bicep to stop him and turn him towards you.

“M’sorry,” he mutters, looking at his feet. “I know you said it didn’t mean anything, I just…”

Eddie exhales sharply, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Finally, he looks up to find himself staring into your eyes. They’re trained on his face, patient and waiting.

“I fucking hate him. I hate seeing you with him, I hate thinking about you with him—I hate him.”

“Oh, Eddie…”

He’d heard his name sighed in exasperation a lot. Teachers sick of homework turned in smudged and torn, even if all the work was correct. His friends when he made a big bad too challenging, keeping them from moving on in the campaign. Wayne finding the ashtray overflowing with butts after he had reminded Eddie to empty it. Girls—cheerleaders—when he asked if he could take them out on a real date instead of subsisting on shadowy, clandestine hook-ups inside his van.

But that’s not the way you say it.

There’s too much fondness in your voice, too much care for him in your soft eyes, your touch too gentle as you reach out a hand to cradle his jaw. He flinches microscopically at your touch. Burning cheek numbed by the wind getting warmed back up by the heart of your palm.

He doesn’t realize until you touch him that he was shaking. Shivering, either from the cold or from the rush of adrenaline he got from finally getting to say how much he despised that guy.

Except now that he’s said it out loud…he doesn’t think this has anything to do with Marc after all.

He inhales slowly and lets out a big breath. Your thumb strokes his stubble, your eyes drawn to the miniscule number of grays that shine silver under the street light as you’re brushing them.

“I don’t mind that you were with him,” he admits at last. “But I hate that you weren’t with me.”

Eyes shining with the beginning of tears, he looks into yours and finds them in the same state. You blink furiously fast, trying to clear them and clamber to throw your arms around him.

Wrapped tight around his neck, hugging him as close as you can so you can whisper in his ear,

“I hate that I wasn’t with you, too.”

The two of you stand there for a long moment, curled around one another’s bodies as you sway gently. Eddie imagines the song you’re dancing to in his head; one you introduced him to and loved to put on whenever he was having a bad day, or just feeling a little combative.

It grounds him. Brings him back to the thing that matters, the only one that does. You and him.

And you tell him the same thing you’d told him the night of that fight. In the same solid, affirming tone that silenced all the unkind thoughts about himself flying around inside Eddie’s head.

“He’s not you,” you whisper, giving him another tight squeeze. “Not even close.”

prev┃

I wanted to keep the song referenced vague, but this is what I hear when I think of them. Not at all influenced by severance taking over my brain permanently, nope, nuh-uh, neeeeever

@cryingglightningg @saramelaniemoon @tlclick73 @winchester-angel @nope-thanks

@bastardstevie @skyfullofsong123 @mmmunson @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @micheledawn1975

@alastorssimp @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @maskofmirrors @darknesseddiem @comeonatmebruh

@aurora-austen @mrsjellymunson @yujyujj @ilovetaquitossmmmm @cranberry-moth