#continuous granny square

[sardinemasc]

finished object time!!!! :]

i made this continuous granny square blanket using about 3 lion brand mandala cakes (i believe in the colorways dragon, kraken, and sphinx, except i cut out the red of sphinx). was a lovely project for sitting and watching movies (nausicaä of the valley of the wind, star trek: the motion picture, and star trek II: the wrath of khan) and mindlessly crocheting :)

it's a bit smaller than i hoped (3'x3') but it's a great lap blanket and accent on my bed!! i've already started another continous granny square blanket, but just using stash yarn and changing color every row.

i loved watching the colors flow in this, even though they get a bit choppy by the end. i love the little quirks in this blanket so much, was very fun and comforting to work on :) plus it's a nice light weight for springtime!!

[ID:

Five photos of a crocheted continuous granny square blanket. The yarn colors blend into each other as the blanket grows. The colors consist of brown, greens, blues, teals, and yellows. Four photos are of the blanket folded, and one is me holding it up full-size. ]

[robinsnest2111]

back at it again, knitting the night away 🧶

[im-illegal]

.

[thesewildreams]

Started on this blanket last week, and I'm so happy with how it's working up!

There are two squares I really want to unfasten and replace, but I'm trying hard to forget about them. Also trying to forget about all the ends on the reverse side that I'll need weave in at the end OMG.

Not sure what kind of border or what color to use for it, but there are still a lot of squares to make, so I've got some time to figure it out.

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Three

Lines are beginning to blur between you and Anakin.

◂ chapter two ▸ chapter four

rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.2k | read on ao3

warnings: alcohol, age-gaps, body image insecurities (anakin), sexual fantasies/content, swearing, a little bit of mean anakin

“Tell me everything! Is he everything you thought he’d be? Totally dreamy? All stoic and boss-like? Oh, what does he smell like? Expensive?” 

Your best friend has barely taken off her shoes before bombarding you with questions about your first day working for Anakin Skywalker. You give her a welcoming hug before taking her hand and leading her into the living room. “Come on, I’ve already opened a bottle of wine.” 

Two empty glasses stand next to a middle-shelf Pinot Gris on your coffee table. Sabine takes it upon herself to pour the wine and pulls the granny square blanket from the back of your couch over her lap. She looks like she’s settling in for a bedtime story. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Lay it on me.” 

You situate yourself on the opposite end of the couch and slip your legs under the blanket. You take a small sip of wine before attempting to answer any of Sabine’s questions. Your first day at Skywalker Enterprises went by in a blur. Meeting your boss was not at all how you imagined it would go. It was all so clumsy. Anakin seemed more like an embarrassed school boy than the confident CEO you were expecting. He looked like he saw a ghost when he saw you sitting behind your desk. And then, in the car on the way to his house, he addressed your butt. 

“Let me know if your butt gets too toasty,” he said. It was so incredibly adorable because you could tell he let a little bit of his guard down when he said it. Obviously, he didn’t mean to. Because no sensible boss should talk about his assistant’s butt. Especially not when you’ve only just met each other. You found it endearing. 

But then, after the initial awkwardness faded and you continued talking to each other throughout the day, there was a sense of familiarity about him. The structure of his sentences when he spoke reminded you of someone. You’re just not sure who. 

“He’s not really what I thought he’d be like.”

“How so?” Sabine asks. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, unable to explain the stirring of feelings and emotions in your chest. “He’s… he was sort of awkward when we first met. Like, stuttering and fumbling over his words. Almost as if I made him nervous.” 

Sabine nods slowly with her eyes narrowed. “Go on…” 

“Well, that’s crazy, right? The fact that I could’ve made him nervous?” 

“Not necessarily. Look at you. You didn’t have a successful OnlyFans page for nothing.” 

“Yeah, but he’s in his forties,” you emphasize. You remind yourself of his age nearly every minute to remember how inappropriate it is to be attracted to your boss. Applying for the job was such a bad idea. What made you think you wouldn’t be attracted to him when you saw him in person? Your cheeks get hot as you think about him rounding the car to open your door once you got back to the office after dropping off his son’s pants at school. It was just a common courtesy, not a sign of interest. But damn, was it nice to be on the reciprocating end of something gentlemanly.

“And he’s a dad! I shouldn’t be making dads nervous,” you add. “I mean, I saw a picture of his wife at his house. She was stunning. Stunning, Sabine. High cheekbones, a nice straight nose, a gorgeous smile…” 

“Wait, he’s married?!” Sabine sets down her glass. 

“Widowed.” 

“Oh,” Sabine says sadly. Then her eyebrows perk up. “Oh.” 

“Don’t,” you hold up your finger. “Don’t give me that look. He’s my boss.” 

“But you like him,” Sabine sings. “And from what it sounds like, he likes you too.” 

You cannot let Sabine put the idea of Anakin Skywalker, engineering millionaire, having a measly little crush on you. Because it’s absolutely absurd. He’s him and you’re… you’re just a girl who was uploading videos of herself masturbating for money just last week. Not that there is anything wrong with sex work. It’s empowered you in so many ways, but it was time to find something a bit more steady and reliable. And less physically taxing, to be perfectly honest. 

“Sabine, be serious. I-” your phone pings with a distinct tone that makes you pause. 

New Message from Skyguy81 

“Oh, my God,” you say. 

“What?” Sabine asks. 

“It’s Sky,” you answer her while opening the message.

Sabine eagerly crawls on top of you to peer at your screen. “Sky as in Rich Guy Sky? Did you upload a new video or something? What did he say?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I haven’t uploaded anything since last Thursday. Get off of me so I can read his message.” 

Sabine retreats to her side of the couch as you begin reading to her. 

“I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.” Your tongue feels like sandpaper and your heart is in the bottom of your throat. 

“Oh, shit!” Sabine exclaims. “You’ve got this boy whipped! Honestly, you should just keep making videos for him. He was your best tipper, anyway.” 

“He’s never… he’s never messaged me out of the blue before.” You chug down the last of your wine, thinking you may need some liquid courage for whatever conversation is about to unfold between you and Sky. 

“He wants you,” Sabine says simply. “Make it happen.” 

“I can’t just meet up with someone from OnlyFans. It’s an episode of Dateline waiting to happen.” 

Sabine rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so cynical.” 

“I’m not being cynical, I’m being logical,” you counter. You’d be foolish to risk your life by meeting up with Skyguy81. No matter how nice and genuine he seems over private messages. No matter how much money he has tipped you. There is no guarantee he’s not absolutely creepy and going to kidnap you.

Okay, so maybe you watch too much true crime. That’s why you have to balance it out with The Great British Bake Off. 

“I don’t know. I’m just saying,” Sabine finishes her wine, “you never know. He could be the love of your life.” 

You’re quiet as you contemplate the love of your life. Sabine is the romantic. You’re the realist. You have a hard time believing there’s one person in the world who you’re destined to be with. How do you explain Anakin losing his wife? Was she the love of his life? Is he not supposed to move on and potentially find happiness with someone else? None of it makes sense to you and it’s quite possibly because you’ve never been in love. 

And the image of the person who you might like the opportunity to love is entirely unavailable. 

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.

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It’s times like tonight when Anakin wishes he didn’t raise such inquisitive, curious children. Leia is simply chock-full of questions about her dad’s new assistant. When do they get to meet her? Soon. Is she old like Auntie Dorothy? No. Does she like vintage Disney movies? (Anything before 2010 is “vintage” to Leia). I don’t know. 

Luke, on the other hand, was very disappointed to learn that you were in the car while his dad dropped off a new pair of pants. “You made her wait in the car like a dog?” 

Anakin snorts. “I wouldn’t quite say like a dog, Luke. I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Did you at least roll down the window? So she could have fresh air?” Leia joins in on the comical idea of their dad leaving his assistant in his car like a pet. 

“That’s enough out of you two,” Anakin says through a grin. These 9 year olds, man. What is he going to do with them? 

Luke and Leia nod, going back to stabbing their dumplings with their chopsticks. 

“I have one last question.” Leia watches her dumpling precariously dangle on the edge of her chopstick. 

“What is that, princess?” Anakin asks.   

“Is she pretty?” 

Anakin’s pulse is going to burst. It’s a simple question- one that always seems to be on the tip of Leia’s tongue. She wants a woman figure in her life. Soon, she’ll be at the age that is easier to navigate with a maternal presence. Anakin is really not equipped to talk her through menstrual cycles. 

But it’s the nature of who his new assistant is that makes him feel so exposed. He can’t very well tell his children you’re the most beautiful woman he’s seen since his wife. And he definitely can’t tell them that you’ve been in his life not since this morning, but since three years ago when he downloaded OnlyFans. 

Anakin cleans the corners of his mouth with his napkin while he formulates an appropriate response. He’s kept his answers short and simple because if he thinks about you for too long, your figure seeps into his vision, your voice burns in his ears, and he’s unable to focus. 

He feels like such a sleaze for getting hard just by thinking about you. You are so much more than a sexual object. And trust him, he can’t wait to learn about all that makes you you. But morals be damned. He wants you desperately. 

“Yes, Leia. She’s quite pretty,” Anakin finally answers. 

Leia can’t help but dance excitedly in her seat. “I can’t wait to meet her.” 

“I could’ve met her today,” Luke mumbles. “If Dad hadn’t locked her up in the car.” 

Anakin is laughing now. “I have a feeling you are going to be bringing this up for a while.” 

After dinner, the kids clear the dishes and load what they can into the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Anakin does something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. 

.

.

.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.

Now being 10 pm, it’s been 3 hours since Anakin— or rather, Skyguy81— sent you that message. 

And you still haven’t replied. But you read it. 

And the fact that you’ve read the message but decided not to reply makes Anakin feel so incredibly foolish. What was he thinking? What was he expecting from you? More meaningless flirting? 

Except now it’s not meaningless for him. He’s not sure if it was ever meaningless. But now that he knows who the woman behind HoneySuckle is, it’s completely different. You have a name— which he had to look up in employment records because he’s convinced he actually blacked out when you introduced yourself. You have passions and interests, favorite snacks, and a go-to karaoke song. He wants to know it all. 

And even though he’s going to see you tomorrow, he couldn’t resist the urge to message you on OnlyFans. But since you’ve opted not to reply to him, he’s now wallowing like a teenage boy. 

Ridiculous. He’s better than this, goddamnit! 

Finally deciding to stop staring at his phone, Anakin strips down to take a shower. It’s hard for him not to feel disappointed when he looks at himself in the mirror. Arguably, he’s still in great shape. He lifts weights at the gym at least twice a week, sometimes three if he has the time. He doesn’t have a beer belly, which he considers an accomplishment at his age. But he does have some extra fat around his love handles. He has sun spots on his shoulders from the countless pool days when the twins were younger. And then there are the undeniable lines around his eyes, which are incredibly prominent when he smiles. 

Anakin has never felt particularly insecure about his image before. He’s accepted that his body is not the same 20 year old body it once was. But there’s a new nagging insecurity in the back of his mind.

Is it good enough for you? 

Anakin turns on the water in the shower, needing to wash away all delusions of you and him ever getting together. As soon as he steps one foot on the tile, his phone buzzes. He grabs his phone off of the counter and his heart rate immediately ticks up. 

Hi Sky, I’m sorry for the delay. I had a friend over. Here’s a special little something for you ;) 

Attached is a picture of you on your bed, sitting on your heels with the thin straps of your panties pulled over your hips. You’re lifting an oversized t-shirt above your breasts, which also expertly hides your face. Right. Because you don’t know that he knows who you are. 

Still, the picture was worth the wait. It’s almost embarrassing the way his cock is already standing upright, the tip pressing against his lower abdomen. He focuses on your hard nipples, picturing himself enclosing his mouth around one of your mounds. He’s rolling his tongue over your bud while massaging your other breast. Your hands are in his hair and you’re anything but silent. You’re moaning his name, begging for more, whining for him to put his cock inside of you. 

Anakin is too preoccupied to even reply to you. He gets himself under the steady stream of hot water and grabs the base of his length. Now he’s picturing you on top of him, tits bouncing in his face while you fuck yourself on his cock. 

“Mmm, yes! Anakin, please. Feels so good.” 

Your hands are pressed against his strong chest for support. He loves you like this— in control but still pathetically needy for his dick. “How much do you love it?” he asks. “Tell me how much you love this cock inside of you.” 

You throw your head back when he slaps both of your ass cheeks. He grabs onto your flesh firmly and your cunt clamps around him while you proclaim it to be the best feeling in the world. “I love it so much, Ani. Nobody's cock feels as good as yours.” 

“Damn right,” Anakin grits. He holds your chin with a strong hand, forcing you to look at him. “This pussy is mine. You understand that?” 

“Yes, sir,” you moan as Anakin bucks his hips up, hitting deep inside of you. “Only yours.” 

“Yes, sir,” huh? That’s a new kink unlocked. Anakin presses a palm on the shower wall to steady himself as he cums. It’s anything from pretty. It happens suddenly and quickly, thanks to the vivid images he was creating in his mind. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning too loudly. But your name is rolling off of his tongue effortlessly. As if it’s always been in the recesses of his mind, just waiting to be said intimately and passionately. 

He tries to list off the hundreds of reasons why he should never utter your name in a less than professional manner while shampooing his hair. 

You’re his assistant.

You’re significantly younger than him. 

The power imbalance (see 1 and 2). 

That’s all he can come up with for now and it’s enough. Nothing good will come out of pining for you and fantasizing about you. It still doesn’t stop him from messaging you back after he gets out of the shower and settles in bed. 

Now I feel guilty for not responding sooner. Thank you for the spectacular photo. It is unfortunate that I had to take matters into my own, ahem, hands. I would have much preferred to have your help. 

You flatter me, Sky. Do I really get you that worked up? 

Impossibly so. 

When you said you thought about me at work… What exactly did you mean? 

To be perfectly blunt, you were bent over a desk with your skirt pushed over your ass. I was fucking you well and hard, with my name being the only thing falling from your pretty lips. 

Anakin lets out a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why does he keep putting himself in situations that result in an erection? He just needs to have a good fuck. Get it out of his system. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. But under no circumstances will it be with you. 

I think I’d like that very much. 

Goddamnit. Anakin needs to stop while he’s ahead. While he’s not succumbing to jerking off for a second time tonight. This was a disastrous idea. Because now when he sees you at work tomorrow, he’s going to think about how you would like for him to fuck you over your desk. Except you don’t actually know that it’s him who wants to fuck you over your desk. 

Maybe in another life. 

Anakin leaves it at that. He puts his phone on do not disturb and attempts to get some reading in before going to sleep. He also prays for G-rated dreams. 

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.

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The morning fog of late November in Northern California is still hanging in the air when you get to work at 8 am. Anakin won’t be in until he drops off Luke and Leia which means he should arrive around the same time he did yesterday. It gives you an hour to go through voicemails, reply to emails, and brew a pot of coffee in the breakroom. 

Ben Kenobi arrives shortly after you, sharply dressed in dark blue slacks, caramel leather Oxfords, and a white collared shirt with small polka dots that match the color of his pants. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kenobi,” you greet.  

“Please, call me Ben. No need for formalities around here,” Ben replies. “You’ll soon see we operate very much like a family. There will be shouting and likely some name calling, but it’s all in the name of love for engineering and innovation.” 

“Got it,” you nod. “It’s just that Dorothy always called Mr. Skywalker by, well, Mr. Skywalker. And yesterday he didn’t tell me to call him otherwise.” 

Ben strokes his nicely groomed beard. “Interesting. Well, I suppose you can continue to address him as such until he tells you to call him Anakin. Which I’m sure he’ll do this morning when he gets in. Have you brewed the coffee yet?” 

“Not yet.” you stand. “I wanted to check messages first, but coffee is next on the list.” 

“Excellent.” Ben follows you into the breakroom. “How are you enjoying your time here?” 

“Well, it’s only been a day,” you remind him with a light lilt to your voice. “But it’s been good! Everyone I’ve met is super friendly.” 

Ben leans back against the counter, crossing his ankles and arms over his chest. “And you and Anakin? You two getting along? He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” 

You nearly spill the coffee grounds as you bring the spoon up from the container to the machine. “No!” you say a little too loudly. “I mean, no. He’s been very nice. Quiet, but nice.” 

“Anakin? Quiet?” Ben almost laughs. “I’ve never heard that word used to describe Anakin before.” 

“Oh.” you continue scooping grounds into the machine. How many spoonfuls are you supposed to put in? You’ve lost count. Maybe two more for good measure. You’d rather make the coffee too strong than too weak. Nothing is worse than weak coffee. “Maybe I caught him on an off day. He did seem a little weird when he brought me to his house. And then I sort of told him off in the car…” 

This gets Ben away from the counter and walking over to you. “You did what?” 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t tell him off per se. I just asked him to give me a chance. It seemed like he’d already made a decision about me and we’d only known each other for a couple of hours.” 

“Good for you,” Ben replies. “Anakin is headstrong but he can be reasoned with. If the reason is worth being reasoned over.” 

“Am I?” you ask. “Worth being reasoned over?” 

Ben appears to give you a once over and then nods once. “Yes, I’d say so.” 

“Thanks…” you say with uncertainty. Ben takes himself and his briefcase to his office, which is the next door over from Anakin’s. He leaves you alone in the breakroom with a dozen questions. Was Ben assessing your appearance? Surely not for himself. He’s insanely in love with his wife— the mayor. Then who for? Anakin? No. No way. 

The coffee has begun to brew— the nutty notes of Philz Philtered Soul bringing you back to your college days. There’s one in walking distance from campus and you and Sabine spent every finals week there chugging back Mint Mojitos and Mocha Tesoras. 

Those days were not that long ago for you. For Anakin, on the other hand… 

You shake your head, effectively shaking thoughts of Anakin taking any interest in you away. And why would he have an interest in you? He’s bound to have a list of more age-appropriate women he can bring home to his children. 

Stop thinking about it. 

But it’s so damn hard not to. A forbidden office romance with your boss who’s 20 years your senior? Yeah, it’s cliché and sort of sounds like the plot to a porno but it’s sort of fun, too. As long as you keep yourself in check, what’s the harm in pretending like he’s secretly in love with you and wants to take you home? 

.

.

.

When Anakin gets into the office, he doesn’t even greet you before saying, “Call Rose. Tell her to come as soon as possible.” 

So much for him being nice yesterday. Now he won’t even look at you. “Who’s Rose? What- what is the appointment for?” 

“You don’t need to know what it’s for,” Anakin snaps. “Just find Rose in your little phone book, call her, and tell her I need to see her immediately.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you say while thumbing through the contacts Dorothy left behind for you. Without another word, Anakin goes into his office and slams the door. 

What the hell was that about? That was once again another awkward morning of Anakin slamming his office door after talking to you. You thought you left work on good terms yesterday. What changed? 

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.

.

Rose Montgomery arrives 47 minutes after you call her. You hear her Louboutins clicking on the floor before you see her. Your eyes trail up from her long legs to her slim waist and perky boobs until you reach her face. Good Lord. She is strikingly beautiful. Her fiery red hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders. As she walks closer to your desk, you are drawn to her perfectly round green eyes. She’s like the real-deal Jolene from Dolly Parton’s hit song. Seriously, did she grow up being called Jolene solely based on her looks? 

“Aw, look at you,” Rose smiles down at you. “You must be the new Dorothy.” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Aren’t you just the most adorable thing.” 

Uh… What the hell are you supposed to say to that? “I’ll let Mr. Skywalker know you’re here.” 

“No need,” Rose informs. “I’ll let myself in.” She begins to walk away with an extra sway to her hips. You want to hate her but she’s got such an air of confidence that you actually want to be a little more like her. 

“Oh, um, actually I’m not sure about that,” you come out from behind your desk. “He seems to be in a mood so I don’t want you barging in his office to make it worse.” 

Rose turns on her heels and purses her lips. “Actually, sweetheart, I’ve known him longer than you and this isn’t my first ‘appointment’ with him. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go make his mood a little better.” 

Okay. Now you hate her. With that, Rose leaves you standing outside of Anakin’s office with a dumbfounded look on your face. Is that… is she… a booty call? 

All of the insinuations are there; from the air quotes around “appointment” to the way she said she’ll make Anakin’s mood better. Coupled with her outstanding looks, you’ve decided that Rose Montgomery is a friend with benefits of Anakin Skywalker. You trudge back to your desk and do your absolute best not to think about what’s happening behind your boss’s door. 

.

.

.

At the sound of his door opening, Anakin quickly closes his computer tab and turns off the monitor. He pulls his headphones off of his head and puts them in the drawer. 

Rose is none the wiser as she drops her Birkin bag on the table beside the chaise. “Ugh, who is that child you have sitting behind Dorothy’s desk?” 

“My new assistant,” Anakin answers through a dry throat. Rose sits herself on his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She begins playing with the ends of his curls, which normally, he would enjoy. But he really just wants to get this over with. He draws down the zipper of her black dress while she kisses along his jaw. 

“She seems incompetent,” Rose says between kisses. “What is she? Like, 15?” 

Anakin twirls Rose’s hair around his fist and yanks her face away from his. This makes her gasp with pleasure, and despite his annoyance, he loves the reaction he gets from her. “I didn’t fucking ask you here for your opinion on her. Do not talk about her again. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Rose breathes. “Where do you want me?” 

“On your knees.”

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.

.

When Rose leaves Anakin’s office, you can absolutely tell she and Anakin had sex. Did she even bother looking in the mirror or her phone camera before coming out? She avoids looking in your direction at all costs and knowing how awkward those walks of shame can be after a one night stand, you decide not to watch her walk to the elevator. 

You busy yourself in a filing cabinet until you hear Anakin’s door open again. You tell yourself not to look up because if you look up at him you might actually burst into tears. Which makes absolutely no sense to you but you feel that stinging in your nose and you’re trying to think of the time you got Panini because at least those were happy tears. 

Anakin says your name. 

Damnit. Get it together. You take a deep breath and plaster on a smile. At least he doesn’t look like he just had sex. His hair is combed back the same way it was when he walked in and his clothes are wrinkle free. “Yes, Mr. Skywalker?” 

“Would you like to go get lunch?” 

It’s only 10:45 but of course, he’d be hungry after having sex. “Oh, sure. What can I get you?” 

“I meant me.” 

You furrow your brows together. “Sorry?” 

“I mean us. You and me, together. Fuck,”  Anakin mumbles that last part. It’s like he loses the part of his brain that forms proper sentences when he looks at you. Think back to the car, Anakin. Things weren’t so bad in the car. Wait, yes they were. He told you to tell him if your butt got too toasty. 

You can’t help but smile as you start to see the Anakin who let his guard down in the car. He’s nothing like the Anakin who walked into the office this morning. “You want me to get lunch with you?” 

“Yes. If you would like.” 

You grab your thrifted black leather bag and your coat off of the back of your chair. “I think I’d like that very much.” 

I think I’d like that very much. 

That is the second time you’ve said that to Anakin. 

On the drive to the farm to table restaurant he suggested, he thinks about telling you the truth. That he’s Skyguy81 and you’ve been messaging each other for three years. Oh, and that he’s seen you naked. 

He weighs all of the pros and cons and all of the ways the situation could play out if he tells you. He decides the only way it’s going to end is with you quitting and never wanting to see him again. Telling you who he is is out of the question. 

Your face is buried in the menu, effectively blocking you from looking at Anakin. Your nerves are irritably on fire as you sit knee to knee with your boss. You go out to lunch with someone to talk. To get to know them. But you have no idea what to talk about with him. Either he’s super blunt or incredibly awkward and you don’t know what to make of it. 

Could Sabine be right? Does he have a crush on you? Do men in their forties even get crushes? 

“You are awfully quiet behind there,” Anakin finally says. “Are you hiding from me?” 

You slam your menu down nervously. “What? Oh, no. Just… looking at all of the options.” 

“I’m kidding,” Anakin chuckles. “If it helps, Leia likes the poke rice bowl. Luke likes the flatbread with artichokes. And I normally just get a burger.” 

“Wow, a 9 year old who likes poke? You’ve got some interesting kids.” 

“You have no idea,” Anakin replies bashfully. He really calms down when he talks about his kids. Maybe that’s your key to him. Keep him talking about his kids. 

“Well, I think I’ll try Leia’s favorite. Do your kids enjoy trying different types of food?” 

Anakin gives you a noncommittal shrug. “I suppose so. I didn’t raise them to be picky eaters. They eat what I eat. We had dumplings last night. They’re shit at using chopsticks but it makes for an entertaining meal.” 

You laugh along with him, feeling yourself relax the more you see Anakin relax. “I love dumplings!” 

“Yeah? We’ll have to have you over some time for dumplings, then.” Anakin doesn’t even realize what he’s saying until it’s hanging between you, awaiting your response. 

“That would be nice,” you admit. “I can’t wait to meet them. Of course, you know… if they even want to meet me.” 

“Are you kidding? Luke almost threw a fit over me leaving you in the car yesterday. And Leia… well, Leia gets excited about any new woman in my life. I mean, not that you’re my new woman, just you know, in terms of you being Dorothy’s replacement and-” 

You place your hand over Anakin’s without a second thought. And it’s more than just skin on skin. It’s electric. You resist the urge to pull away because the overwhelming feeling almost keeps you from saying: “It’s fine, Mr. Skywalker. I get what you mean.” 

Anakin is looking down at your hands and you wonder if he feels it too. Or if it’s entirely inappropriate to put your hand on his and he’s going to go back to being standoffish. You remove your hand from his and sit on it. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Anakin murmurs. “Mr. Skywalker. I would much prefer you to call me Anakin.” 

You look up at him timidly. He’s being sincere. One corner of his lips are quirked up to form a sideways smile and your heart— your stupid, stupid heart adores it.  Perhaps there is harm in pretending like your boss is in love with you. Perhaps keeping yourself in check is going to be a lot more difficult than you thought. Because now that you’re on a first name basis with Anakin Skywalker, you fear simply being his assistant is not going to be enough.

◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter four (coming soon)

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 2 -Feet on the ground

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

No specific warnings in this one (apart from Biker!Bucky of course). Some brief references to grief. Sorry it's on the shorter side, just need to set up our story. Thanks to all who have reblogged/commented, it means a lot!

You sipped your drink as you told Bucky all about granny and moving into her house. He nodded solemnly as he leaned on the bar and listened intently, the depth of his attention surprising you. You didn’t expect him to be so easy to talk to. Behind you, Wanda and Vis were very obviously pretending to be chatting, while clearly eavesdropping on your conversation.

“Oh yeah, she was a nice lady. I’m sorry for your loss,” Bucky told you with sincerity after you’d finish the whole tale. “She was a tough old gal”.

“Uh, thanks,” you replied quietly, not realising until now what an emotional gut punch it still was to talk about her. “And yeah…she was”.

You cleared your throat and changed the subject. You cocked an eyebrow and looked at him curiously.

“So…what’s your deal?”

He grinned, “What’d you mean?”

“You know,” you pointed to his kutte, “all this. You’re one of the top guys, I guess? I’m sorry, I don’t really know the lingo…”

“I’m the President” he smirked and pointed to one of his patches, clearly a little amused by your ignorance.

You peered over at the fabric square. “Mm. So, what, you drive around town on your bikes causing mayhem and throwing darts at women’s butts?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he laughed. “But mostly we’re here, or at the auto shop across town”.

“Busy, busy” you teased. “I’m sure its all legitimate and above board…”

He winked. God, what a dangerous wink. You instinctively knew that wink had ruined lives.

You both exchanged a small smile.

“You’re not afraid of me, huh?” Bucky teased.

“Should I be?” you boldly shot back.

He grinned. “No. But a lot of people are”.

“Well…your aesthetics aren’t super warm and fuzzy”.

“No…guess not”.

You continued to sip your drink as you tried to fight off the nagging voice telling you to back off. God only knows what he gets up to when he’s not at the bar or fixing cars or at whatever other business fronts they had. You didn’t need another dangerous, no-good man in your life…You were only supposed to sort the house out, live quietly for a little while and then leave. Not get embroiled with the locals, and certainly not with the President of a probably criminal motorcycle club…

…and yet…

“So…you working while you’re staying here?” he asked curiously.

“Mm. Maybe. I have some savings. And thankfully the mortgage at my grandmother’s place is paid off, so at least that’s one less thing. But I might get something part time to keep the lights on”.

Bucky smirked and held his arm up to the bar behind you. “Work here”.

You laughed. “What? Yeah, good one…”

“I’m serious. You need extra cash. We apparently need some help here after you tore my poor bartender apart. So why not? Sounds like you have some experience…”

“I do yeah…but…”

“But what?” he asked, a hint of interrogation in his voice.

“Well, I was thinking more like a coffee shop or delivering pamphlets or something. Not working nights with drunks…”

“Oh, but we’re friendly drunks. Plus, the regulars tip well,” he pushed. “You can spend the days working on the house and then do a few evenings here until you move on. It’s perfect”.

You frowned. It was pretty perfect, actually. You thought about protesting, but as you looked back at Bucky’s expression you immediately understood that this was someone who was very used to getting his own way.

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?” you asked.

“Nope” he responded, popping the ‘p’ and shaking his head.

You sighed, chewing your lip with hesitation.

“Will your club mind? I mean…they don’t know me. All they know is I yelled at one of them”.

“Eh. Everyone yells at Parker”, he shrugged. “You’ll fit right in”.

You frowned, then looked back at him suspiciously.

“But…Why are you doing this? You barely know me. I might be a serial killer for all you know…”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve met a lot of bad guys in my time, Sugar, and trust me, you get pretty good at figuring people out. Plus, I get it, grief is tough, and your grandmother lived here all her life and was a big part of the community. And you’re her family. We do look out for one another here; this is our home after all”.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that answer. Your sceptical side half believed he just wanted to get in your pants, but he sounded sincere regardless.

You looked over at his group who were laughing and drinking jovially, then across the room at the wide range of clientele. You’d certainly had worked at worse places.

Sighing, you turned back to Bucky. “Well…fine. Let’s do it. But I’m not wearing booty shorts or anything ridiculous for a uniform”.

This coaxed a belly laugh from him. “No…only the male bartenders wear those,” he quipped. “Jeans and tees are fine. Maybe a flannel if you really wanna mix it up”.

You nodded. “Okay, I can do that”.

He smiled back at you sweetly, but a hint of something edgier lay beneath. The way he eyed you made you feel…exposed. Like you were a doe caught in the crosshairs. It wasn’t unpleasant, no, in fact it made your lower belly surge, sending a wave of butterflies through you.

“Welcome aboard, Sugar” he grinned.

You smiled back, once again knowing full well you were treading into dangerous territory...but unable to stop yourself.

[stardewvalleybut-i-draw]

Humming a tune (writing)

Evelyn notices the farmers both seem to sometimes hum to themselves SO she decides to approach the male farmer and ask what tune he's humming in order to get to know him better.

Word count: 1,378 words (so medium I guess)

Characters: Evelyn and Mask Farmer.

Vibe: nice and wholesome moments :) I'm not really experienced in writing but I'll do my best to make it coherent, enjoy! :D and with pictures!

A lovely spring and sunny day welcomed the valley. Evelyn tends to the town square flowers, putting care and attention to each one.

It's the town's flowers after all. The people in the valley need to be represented properly!

It was nice to be out in the center of the town square on days like this. It allowed her to greet anyone who went through, give them a big warm smile, and catch up about what was happening that day. It was also nice to be able to bathe in the sun's warmth and reminisce on the past and how the valley had changed over the years. In came the male farmer with focused eyes, dedicated to a goal in his mind, ignoring everything around him. She could tell he was passing even with her bad vision by the sound of his fast and heavy footsteps, always in a rush. Both the farmers often cross here in the mornings, although Evelyn really only saw the sister out. Both would look at the bulletin board outside of Pierre's shop, check the calendars, and go on with their daily routine but only she would talk to Evelyn and the other townspeople. "Perhaps he's shy," Evelyn thought seeing him walk to the Help Wanted board. He greeted her once when they both first arrived in Pelican Town and he hasn't talked to her since then...or anyone besides for transactional reasons it seemed. Evelyn's face grew sad at the thought. The poor boy was ignored by everyone or treated as an anomaly to be feared and avoided. It didn't seem to bother the farmer but her heart could not let it be. "The flowers can be tended later, it was about time someone bothered to try and have a nice conversation with him" Evelyn thought. She began to walk towards the farmer who was still reading the Help Wanted note and noticed he was humming something. Thinking about it now, the farmers both tend to hum a tune to themselves. It's almost never the same song and seems to change throughout the seasons. "Excuse me, dear" she asked beside the farmer "May I ask what tune you are humming?"

The Farmer jolts in shock and turns towards her. "Oh I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to startle you." Evelyn says apologetically "I was just curious about the songs you hum to yourself, they sound very nice, was it a band back in the city?" He was really expecting anyone to talk to him today so Evelyn's Interruption took him back a bit. He also had a lot to do but her soft genuine smile guilt tripped him to take the time to answer her. "The song doesn't exist." The farmer stated bluntly "Oh"

Not the answer Evelyn was expecting. She had sworn she heard both the farmers hum the same tune.

Very curious she continued "So did you come up with the tune?" "No" the Farmer responds "I hear them In my head." Evelyn's confused expression let him know it made no sense to her but he couldn't really find another way to explain it besides being direct and honest. Maybe he should have lied, he thought. His sister did all the time to explain weird things like this but her genuine curiosity stopped him from lying to her face. Could he really lie to sweet little granny Evelyn? Evelyn saw the farmer's face slightly turn from her in shame. She didn't really understand the answer but she didn't want him to feel ashamed of his response so she softly said "It's ok. I don't need to understand it, do you like the songs? The farmer nods.

"Oh, that's nice to hear, I assume the song changes through the season? do you hear it all the time?" "Yeah..." he responds. She could tell the Farmer was starting to get uncomfortable with her questions so she tried to ease his nerves. "You know...your grandpa used to do the same thing too" The farmer looks at her in surprise "It's true!" she exclaims Evelyn begins to walk to the town flowers gesturing for the farmer to follow. The farmer does so.

"When he used to run the farm, he would whistle songs to himself while he worked" Evelyn reminisced. "Your grandpa used to say he would hear the valley singing to him, he would call it a superpower! Not many of us understood what he meant but by the sounds of it, I guess it was passed down to you"

The farmer smiles and chuckles at the idea. Their Grandpa did used to whistle a lot on the farm. It was only a faint memory since both he and his sister were so young when they used to visit. In a sense, the valley was singing to them.

"If it's not too much, could you hum a bit of the song you hear?" she asked The farmer paused for a second. He looked slightly at the sky and listened. He did his best to match the tune but it was difficult when there was more than one instrument to hum in his head.

Evelyn listened internally and cheered for the farmer once he had stopped. She could tell he was embarrassed by it but genuinely flattered. "You have a very lovely voice dear, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, oh!-" she interrupted herself. "I heard there was a band in town, maybe you should join, I think you would make a lovely addition!" He knew she was talking about Sam's band but he hadn't really talked to the guy... or anyone in that band. Sometimes he saw Abigail up in the mountains or Sebastian taking a smoke break but never really paid them any attention. He never needed to. Evelyn begins to tend to the flowers as she speaks. "You don't need to if you don't want to. I can tell you don't like to talk much, I don't want to pressure you."

She pauses.

"but I can tell you like to listen" The farmer had never really thought about it that way before... but when you don't say much, the only other choice is to listen to the world around you. "I know not many of us can understand you and I've noticed others treat you differently because of that" Evelyn gently places her hands on top of the farmer's hand. "-but I don't want you to feel like you're not part of the town. You will always be welcomed here...no matter how odd you are"

The farmer softly smiled to Evelyn. "Well," Evelyn exclaimed. "I don't want to hold your day up much longer but If you ever want to talk more about your grandpa or just to hear an old lady ramble about the past, I'm always here for you" The farmer is quiet for a second, taking in her words. "Thank you." He says. "Ohhh, no need to thank me, I haven't done anything, sweetie" She replied but the farmer quickly responded. "You did." Evelyn curiously looked at him confused. "You talked to me."

Evelin's heart was touched beyond words as the farmer leaned down to hug her. She squeezed as hard as her weak arms would allow and stayed there for as long as he needed. But the farmer quickly got up, smiled, and began to walk to the mines. They waved each other goodbye and moved on with their days. The warm moment being over just like that. As the farmer walked up the mountain he began to think. It was only a small moment. It had never really bothered him that the town viewed him as a cryptid. He often reveled in being odd, weird, and feared. He didn't have much of an interest in getting to know anyone. But Granny Evelyn had warmed his heart. Maybe he didn't need to be so cold to everyone. Maybe he should stop by and chat before heading to the mines. It's not like the caves are going anywhere. Maybe... ...he'll stop by and get some cookies :)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Uni Love II

Deyna Castellanos x Reader

Summary: You'll follow Deyna anywhere

It was a no-brainer, really.

To follow Deyna from America to Spain. You didn't have roots firmly planted in America anyway, more than happy to disappear across the world with her.

You roll your eyes as girls tumble into your apartment, organised chaos as they strip off their shoes and jackets. You've got a patient file on your lap, jotting down the last of your notes before you slam it shut and place it in your filing cabinet.

"Hola, y/n!" Laia cries as she vaults over the back of the sofa.

You roll your eyes again as you slap her feet off the coffee table and then turn to slap at Elena as she takes a sip from your water. "You are too comfortable in this house!" You declare but they ignore you, fighting over the remote as you make your way to the kitchen.

You lean against the fridge, arms crossed over your chest. "Your teammates are children."

Deyna smiles at you, crossing the space and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "But you love them anyway?"

"I love you," You reply," I can tolerate them." You open the fridge. "And I'm not cooking for them. If they want food, they've got to order it."

Deyna nods, yelling out your orders to the rest of the girls in your lounge. "How was work?"

"Long, boring." You shrug. "The usual. I had a teenager come in today looking for antibiotics to treat an STI." You groan. "And then an old granny who definitely is hooking up with the twenty-year old carer that brought her in."

Deyna winces at you weary tone and pulls you into a hug, letting you rest your head against her shoulder. You slump against her and close your eyes, content to sway back and forth in her arms.

"Oi! Lovebirds!" The voice of Laia cuts through your relaxed bubble. "Can we order sushi?"

"You brought her home," You say into Deyna's shoulder," You talk to her."

"She's not a dog."

"No? One of those yappy terriers? Barks when you're eating dinner? Squares up to the bigger dogs?"

You can hear Laia stamp her foot from where she's waiting for your answer in the doorway. "I'm right here!"

You pull yourself out of Deyna's embrace and run a hand over your face. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"No!"

"No sushi for you." You kiss Deyna's cheek and brush past Laia back to the lounge.

"But! y/n! That's not fair!"

●～●～●～●～

Trading sunny Spain for rainy England had also been a no brainer.

England was always hunting for doctors so getting a job was easy enough and Deyna settling in at City was even easier.

"Don't touch that!" You snap, firmly placing the ice pack back onto Deyna's swollen ankle, having taken a nasty fall at training.

"It's fine!" Deyna whines, trying once again to remove it. "It's cold!"

"It's meant to be cold!" You whirl around to tuck Laia back into the blankets. "You! Stay still!"

"y/n," She whines too but you silence her with a look. She'd come bursting into your home with the chill and you'd immediately tucked her into a seat with a blanket.

"No!"

You glance around the room, happy that your two patients are doing as you say before falling back on the sofa and grabbing the remote, flicking away from the football game playing.

Laia whines at that too but Deyna doesn't. Instead, she leans her head on your shoulder and places a placating kiss on your neck. You lean into her body too, arm moving to wrap around her shoulders as Laia continues complaining.

"Do we have to keep letting her in?" You ask softly as Laia gets tangled in the blankets as she tries to free herself.

Deyna grins at you. "She'll just bang on the door until we let her in again."

You groan, loudly before returning Deyna's smile. "How's your ankle? Feeling better?"

"Freezing."

You roll your eyes. "But better?"

Deyna rolls her eyes too. "Yeah," She admits finally," It does."

You cup your ear and give her a teasing grin. "What was that? Sorry, I can't quite hear you?"

She sighs, loud and drawn out. "Thank you for your unsolicited medical advice."

You flick her ear. "I'm a doctor. You have the pleasure of getting unsolicited medical advice every day."

She rubs her ear but still presses kisses to your lips. You grin at her, surging forward to slip your tongue into her mouth. She kisses back, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Your front door slams open though and you break away, catching Laia's eye (who looks suitably horrified at having seen you and Deyna kissing like that) before turning to look down the hall.

Leila's there - another one of the strays that Deyna's picked up along the way - and you have to suppress a scream of annoyance when you catch the bruise forming along her cheekbone.

"It was an accident!"

[pisaracraft]

The first add-on to my granny square backpack is nearly finished!

The plan is that it could be affixed to either to the top or bottom of the pack by shoulder straps, but I haven't figured out HOW I do that yet, so brainstorming continues 😂

I was thinking of lining it with some dark colored muslin or similar fabric, so on an overnight trip I can flip the bag inside out, and use it as a pillow :D

[starchaserwrites]

@jegulus-microfic / march 14: choice / word count: 558

Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its gut, throw it off a cliff... it repeats over and over in his mind. 

Four chains, three double crochet, three chains, repeat four times...

The first few times Pandora tried to teach him how to crochet were a total failure. The wool got tangled, the stitches were either too loose or too tight and picking up the crochet hook was a problem on its own. But since he learned to crochet, Regulus takes his knitting wherever he goes. 

Today in particular, he has taken it upon himself to bring extra balls of wool, as he intends to be productive in the nearly three hours it will take him to travel by train from Liverpool to London to visit his estranged brother after nearly five years. And no, of course Regulus isn't nervous. That he's gripping his crochet needle tighter than necessary and knitting furiously has nothing to do with it. He doesn't even notice when the seat next to him is taken. 

One, two, three... nine double crochets, his hands move skilfully creating new rows.

He has been trying to finish this tote bag for an eternity and... What the hell is that?

There are no mistakes in knitting, only design variations, the voice of his best friend echoes in his head.

Well, clearly Regulus made a mistake several rows back that's making his granny square look more like a rectangle, and there is no way to make it look intentional. With a huff, he has no choice but to start pulling the wool to undo his failed progress.

"No!" an urgent voice protests from his right side, leaving him confused.

Regulus turns his head slowly, scowling and ready for a confrontation, which is quickly forgotten when a pair of warm, honey-brown eyes open wide and stare back at him. Regulus frowns even more deeply.

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to intrude, but it's just that you were doing something beautiful and you took it apart so fast I couldn't help myself and-" the man continues speaking hurriedly but Regulus is more focused on the way a lone curl of brown hair covers part of his forehead, and his hands itch eagerly to touch it to find out if it's as soft as it looks. 

"Yeah, never mind," is all the answer he gives before resuming his knitting slightly flushed.

Three chains, three double crochets-

"Where did you learn how to do that? I mean, crocheting. It's really cool, you got me hooked, you know what I mean?"

Regulus stares at him for a long moment refusing to let the ridiculous phrase have any effect on him. 

The right corner of his lips betrays him and rises against his will.

"My name is James. Oh, and I need your surname to know-" Regulus merely covers James' mouth with one hand and his own face with the other.

"We'll see about the last name. I'm Regulus, and please stop saying all those embarrassing things."

It's safe to say that Regulus invested his nearly three hour journey very well getting to know this now not-longer-stranger... but once again he didn't finish the bag. 

And well, big is their surprise when they find out that they are going to the same place to see the same person, but that's a different story.

In case you are wondering about the crocheting chant

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

Comfi Cardi update & completed project! Went on a bit of a journey with this one, which I'll explain under the cut XD Before I get into that I thought it would be fun to share Naturally Perfect Grace (formerly Camryn) alongside one of my favorite Rainbow High makeovers, since they share a very similar color palette (I used the same crochet thread for the edging on the cardi and the main body of Coco's skirt).

The fibers used for the cardi are Elite Shawl Glitz (discontinued) from Ice Yarns; and Lizbeth Size 10 crochet thread in 122-Caribbean.

So. I started off following the Comfi Cardi tutorial using the yarn weight and hook size indicated to make a garment for American Girl dolls. What quickly became apparent was that this piece was going to be MUCH too large for the doll I intended to wear it. Although Naturally Perfect and American Girl dolls are both 18 inches tall, their body types are quite different. I was aware of this, but as I do not own and have never handled an AG I had no clear idea of just how great the difference was until I began this project.

Nevertheless I continued to work my way through the various sections, both to familiarize myself with the process and to create a visual aid to refer to on my next attempt. I stopped just short of the finishing stages (sewing the sides and adding the ribbing) for easier reference, though I did work a row of the ribbing stitch on one of the cuffs and sew down the side to try it on the doll and make sure I understood the directions before pulling it out again (no reason to leave the yarn attached and trailing about).

The other reason for finishing the main work on this piece is simply that I hope sometime in the near future to acquire an appropriately sized doll to wear it! If not AG then Our Generation or similar. At that point I can circle back and complete it.

Once I had worked through the pattern-as-given I had the guidelines I needed to start over and create a piece custom fit to my doll. I switched from a light(3) to a fine(2) weight yarn, and went down to a B-2mm hook. Checking against the doll as I went I ended up reducing the main granny square from 11 rounds to 9, then adjusted the front panel and sleeve lengths accordingly.

For the cuffs and edging, instead of ribbing I opted for something more in line with my personal aesthetic, and chose a couple of simple lace stitches that would adapt easily to this scale and allow me to incorporate some beadwork and a button. These beads were leftover from jewelry I made in the late 90s and have been knocking around my stash ever since; it was particularly satisfying to almost use them up on a piece intended for my tiny doppelganger XD I'll probably incorporate the few that remain into one of her necklaces.

And that's it! I'm looking forward to doing this again for my other Naturally Perfect girl, after I complete her skirt. For simplicity's sake I'm going to repeat the same layout with different yarn/beads/thread. After that I might try scaling it down even further for my 14 inch dolls, but knowing my tendency to get distracted I don't want to plan too much in advance.

Big thanks again to @joshybearhuggies for sharing such a clear, well-paced, easy to follow tutorial! Over the past 15 or so years I've gathered my crochet techniques from books, written patterns, and stitch diagrams, but video instruction is an area I haven't ventured into much. This project was such pleasant experience I'm definitely going to be on the lookout for similar content in the future.

[xxravewavexx]

I need advice

Hello crochet community,

I've been crocheting for a while, made a few projects and it's been fantastic, but there is one slight problem: Due to a potholder project I had to use cotton yarn so the potholders don't melt when used. I fell in love with cotton yarn, so easy and comfortable. I adore it so much more that acrylic yarn. The problem is: I have every colour of the rainbow in acrylic yarn. And I love cotton yarn so much that I don't want to work with acrylic yarn anymore.... What do I do with all of these balls of yarn? I could continue making granny squares with them and make a blanket but I dont like the texture of the yarn anymore. Is there like a place that you can bring slightly used skeins of yarn to? I don't wanna throw them away. I could put them in a box outside with a "for free" sign on it... but I don't know.. Does anyone have any idea what I could do with them? Thanks alot!

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Grannies - Part 4 (Finale)

Summary: Gordon's committed to the bit. The bit just happens to be an obnoxious amount of granny squares.

A/N- In the finale: warning for a bit of whump. Whole lotta love though. Words for this part come to 2K.

Part 1 here | Part 2 here | Part 3 here | AO3

Thank yous: craftyfam, patient readers, my yarn stash for inspiration, Kat for the read through and assuring me this was post ready. FFXIV I can't thank you because you are a menace and a distraction no matter how much I love you.

*****

Part 4: Finale

Because Gordon never goes half-assed into anything, Virgil is still finding granny squares. 

He has to keep reminding himself that he appreciates Gordon’s dedication. He actually relies on this part of his brother’s character. Frequently, in fact. 

But as he pries a stray granny square out of his sock drawer and tosses it into the project basket housing its companions, Virgil has to roll his eyes. Fondly of course. In the project management world, they call this scope creep - with no real end in sight, the project keeps getting bigger and more involved, and it’s all too easy for it to just keep living on indefinitely. But then, Gordon is one big Scope Creep anyway since he was never one for boundaries in the first place. 

His definition of an appropriate time to stop was very different from Virgil’s. 

At this point, the new square isn’t anything Virgil hasn’t seen before. He knows by now what to expect from Gordon’s work. And, honestly, it’s just like Gordon to somehow manage to desensitize Virgil away from everything he knows about color theory, however briefly. So, neither the presence of the piece of fabric nor the color combination provides any shock value anymore. 

What it does do is remind him that he’s got his own project balancing to do. That of actually… you know… finishing the damn thing. And figuring out what to do with the rest of the squares, he reminds himself as he slides on his socks and laces up his boots for the day. 

The newest acquisition - two rounds of golden yellow followed by two rounds of aubergine purple and a final in white - doesn’t look as visually discordant alongside its peers, the scrambled rainbow they are.  They are all the ones that didn’t make the cut for Gordon’s afghan, the  squares Virgil keeps finding anew, and inevitably the future ones Gordon will continue to make until he receives another lightning strike of an idea.

Right beside it is a second project basket. Gordon likes a big blanket, so enough squares to fit a king sized bed are already packed up and labeled in their sequential order. As he’s had time, Virgil has started sewing them together based on the design Scott helped with. There’s enough space still for him to store the bolt of fabric John helped him find too, once it finally arrives. 

Virgil’s grateful for their help, and their part in the project has made it just that bit more special. He hopes Gordon feels that way too. It took Scott reminding him that it wasn’t his own aesthetic he was trying to please for the design to come together. Otherwise, Virgil has no doubt what he would’ve designed would’ve been lesser for his own misery trying to force order into chaos. 

Somehow, with the power of math, Scott’s perspective on patterns and probability and randomization had been just the ticket. Gordon also probably hadn’t realized just how many squares he’d made that started with the shade of yellow or orange or his typical bright shades. Just that little bit of consistency was all he and Scott needed to figure the rest out as they laid out the squares. It wasn’t a pattern, a fade, or even entirely randomized. But a couple edits later, they had the final layout, the squares numbered, and Virgil had gotten to work joining his own granny stitches into his brother’s work in the only color Gordon considered “neutral” - yellow. 

Unable to resist the smile it brings, Virgil tugs the blanket out of the basket and unfolds the two rows he’s finished, with the third halfway complete. It doesn’t bother him that his connecting yarn is still live - the hook has his last loop stabbed into the working skein, and even if it does come unraveled a little, crochet is not so difficult to start again. 

It had taken a few tries to find the right hook to help him match Gordon’s stitches. Even though Virgil taught him a few years ago, no two makers’ work was exactly alike. And Gordon was as carefree with his gauge as he was in the rest of his life. 

Excitement thrums through him; it’s morning, the birds are chirping, and he’s feeling motivated and productive. The crochet work is soft in his hands, the next square in the sequence visible in the project basket below but hiding the rest of the queue for the third row. It’s the perfect day to grab some coffee, hide away in his studio for a few hours, and let the project surprise him. 

That’s the way a WIP should work: it should inspire along the way. 

Virgil has just thrown a towel over the basket to make it seem like it could be laundry - just in case he runs into a wayward squid - when the alarm in his room sounds and John’s voice comes over comms. 

They have a rescue. 

~*~

Virgil awakes to the smell of antiseptic and the uncomfortable feeling that his mouth tastes like cotton. 

Something about that makes him want to giggle, except he can’t actually do that. 

“Easy, Virg.” Hands, soothing, graze his hairline. “They’ve got you on the good stuff.”

He can tell. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet to know if he’s in a hospital or the infirmary, nor does he know what happened to land him there.

Based on the cotton in his throat and in his head and in his lungs, maybe he ate Gordon’s blanket. 

The giggle turns into a groan. 

“You’re okay now. Rest, Virgil.” 

Since the voice is Scott, he does so.

~*~

The next time he remembers waking, he’s in the infirmary on the island. Again, this he knows not because he’s opened his eyes to figure it out, but because his senses tell him so. Only one brother knows sea shanties enough to be familiar with that one and, if Gordon is here humming it, they’re both definitely not in a hospital.

The words he wants to say trudge through the molasses on their way out.

“Wha’ happ’n?” 

“Virgil!” It’s surprise, and excitement, and relief all rolled into one, but Gordon has the good sense to keep his voice low once the original shock of him waking settles.  

Gordon knows the drill well, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes the blinds and scoops some ice chips into a cup. Virgil’s grateful for the gentle way he moves about the room; he can hear him shuffling around, dictating as he goes. By the time Gordon returns with the cup of blessed relief for the feeling in his esophagus, Virgil has managed to tearily blink his eyes half-open. 

Beneath his brother’s brushed fringe hides a bruise the size of a fist, purpling so harshly at his hairline that Virgil ignores the ice chip Gordon offers him in favor of reaching up to check the injury out for himself. Immediately, his body protests the movement, and Gordon urges him to lower his arm back to the support of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe don’t try that?” Gordon waves him off. “I’m fine. What do you remember?” 

Through the pain in his lower half and the color of Gordon’s face, the memories of the rescue come back clearer. Unfortunately, of all things, they’d been called out to a mudslide. He’d checked Gordon out in the field, he remembers. A panicked civilian with a wayward right hook while Gordon was calming his husband. The man had been incredibly apologetic, and Gordon assured him no harm was done, but Virgil pulled him off duty as a concussion risk and left him in Two with  Grandma talking to him.

Then, when Virgil went after a lifesign in a toppling two-story… 

“A house hit me.” 

“Well, more mud than house. You’re ok though. You were buried from the waist up. Had some compartment syndrome. Everything you’re feeling - or not - is temporary.”  

“You came to get me.” Virgil could argue that grounded meant grounded, that Gordon should never’ve gone after him in such dangerous conditions, that he’s the big brother and Gordon’s the little one and he should keep himself safe when he’s told to do so. But there’s a challenge in his little brother’s warm honey eyes already, and he remembers faintly words spoken in worry and fear, assurances that tighten in a coil around his heart.

“I did. There wasn’t anyone else.”  

He owes Gordon everything.

Virgil hums, “Thank you.”

Between the pain medication and water soothing the grittiness in his throat, he feels more aware by the minute and ready to try sitting up for a time. Gordon helps him settle a few pillows into position and raises the head of the infirmary bed to the appropriate level. He’s got to let Scott know he’s awake - and Grandma -  Gordon tells him. Before either of them decide to have scolded Squid for dinner. 

Virgil doesn’t have the energy to chuckle, but it does as he knows Gordon intended: leave him with a smile for the few moments Gordon needs to step away to communicate Virgil’s situation. 

His heart is music, his soul is color. Where sound is oversaturated with the wisps and hums of machinery tracking his vitals, his heartbeat in rhythm, color becomes his touchstone. Outside the window will be the cerulean of the sky and sea. Green, which he thinks in its most basic form because it’s every combination of the hue throughout the robust plant-life of their Island. Dandelion yellow - the sun and safety and Gordon’s baldric. 

Past the shut blinds, it’s all just a sliver. More prominently, there’s just white and infirmary clean grey.  He has to blink away the dullness, as he tears his gaze away from the window and finally musters the strength to glance at himself and especially at his lower half past the pain where Gordon promised his lack of feeling, muted through painkillers, was temporary. 

Color, so much of it that it’s blinding, greets him with the neon of signage amidst the Las Vegas cityscape and the celebration of the New York Pride parade they attend each year. The blanket draped across his lap is authentic Gordon through and through, in familiar squares assembled in a chaos true to their variety. No rhyme, no reason. 

So much care. 

“Grandma will be in shortly.” Gordon plops into the chair at his side, wiggling in the armchair to reacquire the work he’d placed on the seat cushion. He catches him looking, wide-eyed. “It’s not your project, promise. Though I did bring it in for you to work on when you’re feeling better. It’s over by the holoscreen whenever you want me to bring it over. You’ll be here for a bit healing, so I figured…” He shrugs, trailing off. 

“Gordon?” He slides his fingers between the stitches and curls them gratefully into soft, comforting colors. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m - uh -” Gordon flushes in dim light. “I’m weaving in my ends finally,” he admits, holding up the darning needle. “Sorry if you had another idea for the squares, but once I finished putting yours together, I realized we had enough still to donate some more blankets and those really should be finished.” Gordon weaves a red tail end back and forth between the strands the way Virgil taught him, and the way their mom taught Virgil. “I really did go a little overboard on granny squares didn’t I? I just figured it would be okay for me to help you along. So you could finish what you were working on. Was that ok?”

“More than.” 

It also tells him a significant amount about how serious his injuries were and how long he might have been out of commission, if Gordon’s found the time to finish as much as he has. The concern for what he’s put his family through spikes his heartbeat again, and his younger brother glances up to check on him, the monitors, back at him.

Virgil gives him a weary smile, tugging the blanket further up his chest. “I’m ok,” he assures him. “Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t do it again,” he admonishes, shaking his head.

Neither of them can promise the other, not in their line of work, and they both know it. 

The words go unspoken, but they are woven delicately in the strands of their gifts to each other. Virgil feels the care against his skin, in colors that chase away greys, and soft cotton that sifts fear and worry out through openwork patterning. And when Grandma finally makes her way in to check in on him, his heart is so full with the chance he’s been given, the support he’s always had by the people he cares for, that the love hits him with a wave of exhaustion. 

Into sleep he falls, deeply into dreamless rest by the time Grandma finishes her checks and  Gordon tucks him in with a thankful salute to the stars above.

The End

[smallpotatoknitwear]

The Valentine's Day Gradient Heartigan!

Wow, that's a bit of a mouthful, huh!? As I continue my quest to make sweaters for all of my favorite holidays, I'm so excited to have finished my Valentine's Day cardigan--partly because Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday, and partly cos this sweater came out so frickin' cute!!! Click on the keep reading link below for all the details on how I made it!

Items used:

Red Heart Super Saver in Burgundy (red). I used just under three skeins for all of the squares and joining the sweater.

Caron Colorama Halo in Cranberry Frost. I used less than a full O'Go donut for all of the hearts, so I think you should be able to use a single cake for them if you want to make your own version of this sweater, and I used part of a second donut for the ribbing--so even if you don't get all of your hearts out of one cake, if you have a second to do the ribbing as well you'll be all set!

Even though the Colorama Halo is listed as a bulky yarn, it's really a worsted thickness, so I used a US size I/5.5MM hook for the entire project, including the ribbed border.

I used the pattern for the Little Heart Square by Raffamusa Designs for the squares, and added an extra row of double crochet around the outside (with 2DC, ch2, 2DC in each corner). I used a total of 60 squares for the sweater.

This sweater is, at its core, just a basic granny square cardigan, meaning that I built it by measuring another sweater that I like the fit of (this one, if you're wondering), making a single square, measuring it, and figuring out how many squares I needed for each section of the sweater to get measurements as close as possible to the model sweater. That may sound a little confusing or even daunting, but it's really not as hard as it sounds! Let's break it down a little further, piece by piece.

To start, here are some measurements:

Each heart square is 5x5 inches, and I blocked each one to make sure my measurements would be consistent and that my squares would have nice, even sides.

On my model sweater, the sleeves are 18 inches around and 15 inches long. So, with 5x5 in. squares, I made 4x3 square tubes, so that my sleeves measured a total of 20x15 inches.

On my model sweater, my front panels were 10x20 inches, so I made two 2x4 panels.

On my model sweater, my back panel was 26x20 inches, so I made a 5x4 panel.

I used a total of 60 squares for all of these panels.

To get the gradient, I made all of my hearts in order through a skein of Caron Colorama Halo yarn (technically I was using one of the O'Go donuts they were originally released in, not one of the cakes that yarn is available in now, but there was a good amount leftover, so I think you'd be able to make a sweater approximately the same size with a cake of the yarn, even thought the yardage is different). Once I had added the red border around each square and blocked it, I laid them out on a table starting with the top left corner of the back panel and working in a spiral from that corner, across the back, across the top of the right sleeve, over both front panels, and across the top of the left sleeve before moving down. Then, I used stitch markers and safety pins to attach the corners of the squares together in each panel so that I wouldn't mess up the gradient as I moved them to attach everything.

Once all of my panels were finished using flat slip stitch seams, I seamed the fronts to the back at the shoulders and sides, made the sleeves into tubes, and attached them to the armholes in the "vest" made from the fronts and backs. Then, I used a second skein of the Colorama Halo to add ribbing to the front and bottom, using a 6-stitch SC FLO rib worked directly into the edge of the garment and beginning in the front right corner of the sweater. I was able to make the front and bottom ribbing all one piece by just turning a corner in the last row of the front ribbing (the left bottom corner) and working along the bottom. For the sleeves, I started with the same color red I used to finish the squares and seam them together, and worked a row of double crochet (I decided I wanted the sleeves just a hair longer, for a slightly more dramatic poof), then worked two rows of *SC1, DEC1* before breaking the red yarn and attaching the pink. I did a 12-stitch SC FLO rib around the ends of the sleeves to create the cuffs.

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Say It With Flowers

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 1, 191

Summary: your relationship with Dieter explained through the language of flowers

My entry for Jett’s Flora and Fauna challenge!

Warnings: hints to abusive past, lots of adorable fluffy stuff, so many flowers!

Check out masterlist here

The applause was triumphant, even from the safety of backstage where you were currently hiding. It was better to stay far away from the wings in case Dieter felt the need to pull you on stage. The relationship was still new, so you didn’t want to be subjected to questions by the interviewer.

You gave a little wave as he almost ran up to you. “Hey, honey cakes.”

He moved to kiss you but then noticed the throng of people. Opening the door to his dressing room, he gestured you inside.

“My girlfriend will take off my makeup,” he shut the door behind him. “And anything else you want.”

You smiled off his flirtations as you were distracted by all the colourful bouquets spread around the room.

“That’s a lot of flowers. Are you going to take them all home?”

“Oh, no, they’ll be sent to old folks’ homes.”

“Really?”

“My abuela always loved getting flowers so I’d like to make some other abuelas happy.”

“The more I learn about you Dieter,” you wrapped your arms around him. “The more I fall in love with you.”

He tried to hide his blush, “Do you want any before they go? I know Valentines is a bad time for flowers, but is flowers in general going to trigger you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really been given flowers in earnest. It was always this thing which I now know is called love bombing.”

Dieter sighed in sympathy, “Oh yeah, that’s happened to me often. It was always with some trinket and a big fancy bunch of flowers.”

“I only ever got the saddest bunch from the petrol station.”

“He couldn’t even put in the effort? What sort of flowers did he get you?”

“I don’t know the names of flowers,” you looked around and pointed to some that looked familiar. “Those ones I think.”

“Yellow carnations?” he sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Oh, those are a bad sign.”

“They are?”

“Yeah, in floriography they mean disappointment.”

“What-a-what-graphy?”

“Floriography. Have you seen my film As the Petals Fall?” you shook your head. “Me neither. All I remember from the film was the floriography, or the meaning of flowers.”

“Was it a romance?”

“There was a dead body, so I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I may watch that. So you wouldn’t give me those?”

“Fuck no, I’d only give you flowers with a positive message,” he moved over to a bouquet and pulled out some small white flowers. “This is baby’s breath, it’s usually a filler for bouquets but it means everlasting love which I hope we’ll have.”

“Well, if you’re the ones giving me these, I might grow to like flowers.”

*****

And you did.

He would always leave you a single flower but with this singularity came a meaning that was so deep and profound. As your smile reminded him of sunshine he offered you a yellow tulip. After the first time the two of you made love, he gave you blossoms of the sweet pea as it meant blissful pleasure and thanks for a lovely time. He expressed his continued passion for you through a red tulip. Whenever he was away, you knew he was missing you as he’d send a pink camelia meaning he was longing for you, or the red carnation meant his heart was aching for you.

Christmas gave him the excuse to get out the mistletoe, not just because it was a romantically cheesy tradition, but it meant love and friendship.

Once he rediscovered his love for yarn craft, he would crochet anything with flowers so his messages of love could have a more permanent medium. He mostly made granny squares with daisies or roses, the classic expressions of love and now you wore them as a cardigan or carried it as a tote bag.

When you moved in, he gave you a sprig of small holly blossoms as they symbolised domestic happiness, it was hard to find but he found the small white blossoms. He gave you a carnation for your first anniversary and then again for your first wedding anniversary.

“Now, the rose,” he held out the single flower to you. “A red rose is a symbol of love. A single rose means love at first sight, two means love and affection.”

“So the more you add, the more you love me?”

“Well, 15 means sorry, so go with 12 or 24.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “All those flowers you gave me on Valentine’s…”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure someone got a better use out of them.”

*****

And he continued to pass on his knowledge.

Clara gasped at the display of colour. “Wow! So much colour!”

“I know, we have a lot of choice. Now,” he kneeled down. “Do you know why I get flowers for mummy?”

“Cause they pretty and she pretty?”

He couldn’t help but smile, “That’s exactly right. But also, every flower has a special meaning to them, like a secret code.”

“A secret code?” he nodded, and she clapped her hands in excitement.

He picked her up and proceeded to point of various flowers. “Red roses mean ‘I love you’, pink carnation means ‘I’ll never forget you’ and yellow pansy means ‘thinking of you’.”

“Audrey two: I eat you!”

“I don’t think they have any of those today,” she pouted so he continued to explain every flower and its meaning.

*****

“Honey cakes, we’re home!”

Dieter took off his crocs and Clara followed taking off her little crocs. You almost couldn’t see her behind the huge bouquet of flowers she was carrying.

“Oh wow pumpkin, look at all those flowers!” you managed to take the petaled gift from her before she fell over from the weight.

“Wait, secret code!”

“Did daddy teach you?”

“Every flower!”

She almost jumped up on the couch as she was eager to tell you what she had learned. She couldn’t remember the names of the flowers, but she remembered their meaning.

Pointing at each one in the bouquet, she recited, “I love you; I love you; I love you!”

“That’s a lot of ‘I love you’s’!”

“I love you lots, mummy.”

“I love you lots, pumpkin!”

“Now cupcake,” Dieter reached into his crocheted tote bag. “I have a flower for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes,” she reached out for the single white flower, wrapped so lovingly. “This pink rose means happiness because you and mummy both make me happy.”

She hugged it close, giggled out a blush and ran off to show her toys.

“She’s going to love getting flowers.” You got out a vase and started filling it with water. Dieter got something else out of his bag and hid it behind his back.

“Dieter, I don’t think I could fit anymore flowers in this vase.”

“Oh, I don’t have a flower for you.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “Is there a secret language for cheese?”

“Cheese? I don’t think so, why?”

“Well,” he held out a small wheel of cheese to you. “I couldn’t find a flower that says ‘I love you to the moon and back’ so I decided to say it with cheese.”

Lovingly tagging @morallyinept @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl @cupcakehp @gswizzsstuff

[iantimony]

duesday

listening: idk, stuff on my phone on shuffle. some more coral bones youthemism i guess. friends at the table sangfielle, episode 3; i might not actually relisten to the rest of the arcs i already did and just skim the transcripts.

no children (ska remix) by sad snack: im back in my ska era. really funny song to have an upbeat ska tone.

the mountain goats deserters fan album: have not listened to the whole album yet but god, what a cool and unique thing that i don't think could really exist for most other bands. Five Fucking Hours

reading: Polynesian Tattooing Tools, linked from Fairhaven comic

why gen z is obsessed with point-and-shoot digital cameras: it's funny because a few months ago i was considering getting a cheap point-and-shoot to fuck around with. looks like i am not the only one who was thinkin about it.

i'm working my way through le guin's 'the left hand of darkness'! i bounced off it the first time i tried reading it a few years ago but last year i read a le guin short story anthology that had some stories set on karhide and i think that gave me a good enough primer on the world/her writing style to get it to stick this time. i'm enjoying it! it's a good book!

watching: mina le - booktok & the hotgirlification of reading: some good background video for crochet etc. bernadette banner - hand sewing regency stays should be quick...right?: oughhhhh so pretty. bernadette banner - this regency court gown is probably my favorite project ever: i won't lie i got a little misty-eyed at the artisans getting to sign their names on the robe.

rewatched the gay and wondrous life of caleb gallo. i forgot how good it is, it really holds up and is still funny

also, continued doctor who watch/rewatch. i'm ngl i think the way rory and amy were shoved off screen was...really stupid. "he can't go back to that specific year in ny :(" ok, before amy gets zapped back you just go "yo go to new jersey in a few days" and go pick them up. really silly imo

playing: fallow. did buy miserichord, omori, and slay the princess in the steam summer sale. i have signalis, voyager 19, and a short hike in my cart as we speak. more games that i haven't played to feed the steam library let's goooo

making: crocheted some granny squares.

pattern for the yellow one is this lantana square...if anyone has any interesting looking granny square patterns that would be good in one solid color send em my way!

thinking of getting this pattern too.

i realized this past week that my urge to Make has been very stale and derivative the past few years, if that makes sense. like i don't feel Creative, i see something and mimic it - i do paintings based on photos i took, i follow knitting patterns, i come across something ceramic and decide to make one of my own, i find reference images to copy. but no actual, like, Inventing on my own end. i think that's why i haven't done a lot of fanart or fanfiction as well, just no ideas. i know that's just part of the cycle of creativity and i'm just in a "hunter-gatherer" period of amassing skills and references but idk. i'm tired of it. i want to create more meaningful things but i have no actual ideas, the well feels dry, and i'm not sure how to fix that.

eating: fallow

misc: stares at my mom and brother doing politics doomerism re: supereme court ruling in the family group chat. looks away. chants 'nothing ever happens' to myself like a mantra.