#i only bought. one thing of yarn

[milkweedman]

I hate being responsible in yarn stores. Unfair

[depoteka]

started making a beret and ran out of yarn something like 6 rounds before the end ffs

[onrainynights]

also im into crochet now!!

I made pigs!!

[rhysintherain]

Okay, who had "Rhys buys a big, complicated piece of equipment they may or may not actually finish a project on in the next 2 years" for their 2023 Tumblr fibre arts bingo?

Because I just bought a 24" table loom lol.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go hand carve some shuttles from my cedar kindling supply, since I spent all my money on a loom and can't afford tools...

[twentysidednerd]

while hawaiian shirts still give me massive amounts of gender euphoria, i fear cargo pants are slowly creeping up towards that number one spot because i just bought my first pair today and this is legitimately the sexiest i‘ve felt in so long

i haven’t combined them with the hawaiian shirts yet but when i do, it’s all over for you fuckers /lhj

[jonny-b-meowborn]

The urge to crochet all of my favorite characters to literally keep them in my pocket and carry around

[cosmicrhetoric]

mohair yarn is so soft 💕🥰💖💕 also i think there's something wrong with me

[carmelves]

I feel like Sylus would be the perfect partner for someone with a million hobbies

You want to learn archery? Good, you can never be proficient in too many weapons. He has a couple of different bows lying around in his armories, pick out the one you like best

Ballroom dancing? Buckle up, because he's coming with you and he's taking it seriously. The two of you will be dancing circles around everyone else in your class. (You might have to lead though, because he can’t stay on beat to save his life)

Piano? A keyboard is already on the way to your apartment, and he's hired the best tutor money can buy. He's also gotten a piano for his place, just in case you want to practice while you’re staying over. (Spoilers: you never manage to practice much at his place. It always seems to end with you bent over the piano… Good thing he bought a sturdy model)

Oh, you want to try boxing? Here’s a meticulously planned training regime for you to follow, including warmups, stretching, and rest days. He’ll be doing the teaching himself: only the best for you, after all.

Traveling? We already know he enjoys travel and does so often, so wherever you want to go, he’ll be right there with you. He’s happy to sit back and let you do the planning, enjoying how enthusiastic you are about researching destinations and drawing up timetables, but if you want to just enjoy some relaxation he’ll handle all the details, don’t you worry about a thing.

You want to… raise sheep? Sure, why not. He has a property out in the country he doesn’t use often, might as well turn it into something useful. Get as many sheep as you want. Some ducks too, while you’re at it, since you can’t stop talking about how cute they are. Hell, you might as well turn it into a whole farm. Don’t worry about taking care of it when you’re busy: he’ll find someone trustworthy to do the hard stuff. (and he’ll absolutely wear the first sweater you knit from your handspun yarn. Stop saying it’s lumpy, it’s cozy. Perfect to wear while cuddling with you.)

[archangeldyke-all]

Reader who crochets? And she makes these special sweaters with the left sleeve cut out for Sev’s arm?? Omg

-🥨

ANON did u see logan @sevikasenby 's crochet tapestry of our wife!?!?? THE TALENT IS BEYOND

men and minors dni

there's a superstition in the knitting/crocheting community called 'the sweater curse.' the idea is basically that when you hand make a prospective romantic partner a sweater, you doom the relationship to fail.

you've read countless horror stories on crocheting forums about relationships going up in flames once a sweater is gifted.

'she called the sweater ugly after i spent a month on it.'

'he thought a hand-made sweater was too intimate and i was moving too fast.'

'they left with no explanation the same day i bought the yarn for their sweater.'

you've seen it all.

you know that the curse is something to fear. and you really don't want to lose sevika. but she's stubborn.

sevika thinks the fact that you crochet is so. fucking. cool.

most people think it's a grandma hobby.

sevika thinks it's the most impressive thing in the world. you can make anything. she's watched you knit blankets, sweaters, tops and socks. little stuffies for the neighbor kid next door, hats for your friends' birthdays. mug cozies, coasters, pillow cases and dog clothes-- she's seen you make it all.

and she's dying to have you make her something.

"don't you love me?" sevika whines one night as she cuddles in bed beside you while you crochet a scarf.

"can't stand you, actually." you grunt, already knowing what she's about to bother you about. she huffs.

"you don't understand baby. i was sooo cold at work today-- freezing, really-- and it's not like i can go buy a sweater 'cause of my ar--"

"you're so fucking annoying." you groan. sevika chuckles.

"is it so bad to want to show off my baby's work?" she asks. you huff, shaking your head.

"it is when it means we'll break up!"

she wears you down over time.

you start crocheting her little things, wanting her to feel loved but not wanting to subject the two of you to the curse.

you crochet her a little keychain charm on your anniversary; a hat for winter solstice. in the spring, you make her a few new scrunchies for her half-ponytails.

for her birthday, you give her the first big crochet project you've made for her: a purple poncho in a thick, warm yarn, perfect for the colder windy days when her thin red poncho isn't enough.

she cries when you show it to her. (she nearly gets heat stroke a week later when she tries to wear her new winter poncho on a blazing hot day.)

when you propose to her (kneeling in front of her where she sits on the couch kissing her hands, metal and flesh alike, as you bat your eyelashes at her,) sevika doesn't even let you finish the question before she's pulling you off the ground and into her lap, kissing you breathless, and pulling away with a sob. "yes!"

"you didn't even let me ask!" you laugh. sevika kisses you again.

"you have to crochet me a sweater now. make it white, i'll wear it to our wedding." she cries.

you don't do that. (though you do crochet the neck tie she wears on your big day.)

you wait until you've been married for a year, until you're settled in married life and comfortable, until sevika's not expecting it anymore.

and then, on the night of your first wedding anniversary, you give sevika her first sweater.

it's the most intricate thing you've ever made. the cable crochet pattern you used was complex and time consuming, but it looks fucking gorgeous. beautiful royal purple-- her favorite color-- her exact measurements, and sleevless on the left side.

sevika wears the sweater everywhere. all the time. whenever she can.

you only planned on making her the one, but her reaction (and the wear and tear the sweater receives from being worn by the scary woman of zaun) inspires you.

you knit her a new sweater, every year, for the rest of your lives.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[rimeswithpurple]

Thank you @that-disabled-princess and @monbons for the tags! All of those anatomy studies that no one got to see last week, have culminated in actually starting my artwork for EGF. I'm so honored that @monbons asked me to collaborate with her! She's been the best cheerleader and I love that we get to go on this smutty journey together. This is probably the only sfw image to share

I guess this is more of a finished object than a WIP, but I really wanted to share my finished shawl! It was a really fun knit and I think I would definitely make another. One thing I've learned with knitting is that sometimes it's about the journey and not the destination. I realized about halfway through that this wasn't meant for me because I kept thinking that @monbons was gonna love it

My current WIP is the Nebula by Andrea Mowry in Hedgehog Fibres Tweedy. I'm in a rush to stash bust as much as possible in preparation for the LA Yarn Crawl (there hasn't been an announcement as to the dates, but it's usually in the Spring). I try to go hard at these events because I love yarn shops and I want them to stick around and I'm lucky enough to be able to support these businesses. If I can get to one more sweater after this, I'll have used all of the yarn I bought last year!

Hellos and high fives below!

@talentpiper11 @messofthejess @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @thewholelemon @larkral @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @fiend-for-culture @cosmicalart @mooncello @cutestkilla @noblecorgi @iamamythologicalcreature @best--dress @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs @whatevertheweather @rbkzz @ebbpettier @cccloudsss @theimpossibledemon @katatsumuli @orange-peony @hushed-chorus @fatalfangirl @ic3-que3n @palimpsessed @martsonmars @aristocratic-otter @shrekgogurt @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @raenestee @skeedelvee @lovelyladzzzz @lovelettersto-mars

[forgingtheblade]

DID YOU KNOW THAT MINECRAFT HAS LOOMS???, aka, THE WEAVING WRITEUP

part 1: prep work—did you know how much you have to do before even touching a loom? me either

part 2 part 3

all the way back in october of last year, I was in a weaving class and was tasked with conceptualizing a project for my final using some of the techniques we had been learning through the semester. being the person i am, my immediate first thought was what if i recreated a minecraft banner on a real floor loom? wouldn’t that be fucking cool?

thus was borne what eventually spiraled into this project!

i figured out how wide i wanted it to be, what weight of yarn i wanted to use, and did all of the weaving math to figure out exactly how much yardage i’d need. i took that to a local weaver’s studio who was selling yarn, and came looking for just about any undyed wool she had to offer.

i specifically wanted wool because, well, that’s what the minecraft weavings are made of!

i remember digging through stacks upon stacks of old cones of yarn before finding a couple bags of a caked wool yarn that was, admittedly pretty rough. after using a tool not unlike this one, we figured it was roughly 3000 yards of yarn, and i bought the lot for about 30 bucks.

photo courtesy of Miekle’s Fiber Arts

this thing is so nifty btw, you cut a specific length of yarn and figure out where it balances which is then multiplied by something to figure out the yardage—i’ve only used one this one time, but i think they’re cool!

after getting this yarn came the question of getting the colors i wanted. i’m very lucky to be studying at an institution that grows our own indigo plants, and ferments those plants into our own living indigo vats, so I thought it would be a travesty to not take advantage of the utterly beautiful blues that vat produces.

i divided up my yarns based on how long i needed each of my warp sections to be using a yarn winder measuring to roughly one yard per rotation to make skeins of the right length.

after running some test swatches i figured out how long to dip each skein into the indigo vat for to achieve the colors i wanted, and i wish i knew exactly how i did it but i don’t think i wrote it down anywhere, and its been , yknow, almost a year.

afterwards i had to turn those skeins back into cakes and let me just tell you.

i forgot to use a swift on the first one. i did not forget again.

untangling that first dark blue skein was a multi hour endeavor.

photo courtesy of . an amazon listing

this is a swift and a ball winder. the swift holds the big loop of yarn that is the skein taut and spins freely while you crank the ball winder to make those super orderly and useable cakes. without the swift, trying to wind a cake turns a nice skein of yarn into a nightmare tangle. it was not fun

ALL THAT ASIDE. after successfully detangling and caking my yarn, it was time to wind my warp on a warping board!

a warping board is used to measure out how long your threads running vertically through the loom are going to be. your warp, as it were. because i knew i wanted to weave two banners, and i wanted them to be about a yard long each, plus accounting for tying on to the loom, waste material at the start and end, and leaving a long enough gap between them to create tassels, i started with a three and a half yard long warp. each cross back and forth the board is about a yard of length.

only once i had used the warping board to measure out all 200 threads of width i was putting on the loom was i able to actually start tying the yarn on to the loom and threading it—but this post is already long enough as is, so that will be the next thing I post about!

stay tuned for prepping the loom and weaving the banners :3 here’s a little sneak peek

[idyllic-affections]

i feel like alhaithams child would like the arts. they’d be smart and intelligent and everything but they’d also love the arts. that’s what got alhaitham to question the sages in the first place, seeing his child’s emerald eyes light up when they are creative (and uncle kaveh giving them tips on art), he has to wonder what is so BAD about art. trying to hid his child’s talent breaks him more than words could ever explain and even though it’s for their safety, he feels like he’s being the worst father in the world. however, the secret meetings with nilou for dance, the art lessons with kaveh, and him sneaking yarns, fabrics, threads, and art supplies are ways for them to explore art until something changes. and if anyone asks him why his clothes have embroidered green on them, he says he bought it from another region even though it breaks his heart to not brag about how talented his child is.

(sorry if this is all over the place, my brain just couldn’t stop thinking about this  scenario)

suffocation.

summary. alhaitham can't understand what the issue with the arts is.

trigger & content warnings. alhaitham feels like a bad dad :((

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. slight angst, reverse comfort. dad!alhaitham & reader, implied kaveh & reader, implied nilou & reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader. this post is an expansion of scholarly lineage.

author's thoughts. teehee.... soft angst for you all, in preparation for the worse things i have planned <3

Alhaitham truly, wholeheartedly has failed to understand what it is about the arts that has the Sages so disturbed.

He really wasn't the type to needlessly question them. In his eyes, it was more trouble than it was worth. Being unnecessarily difficult would only bring trouble to himself and his household. Their stance on the arts didn't affect him, it didn't seem to affect Kaveh all that badly, but [Name]...

It affected his child.

Too young to voice their opinion in a way that was safe and effective like Kaveh did, yet also too old to remain blissfully unaware of how stifling the world truly was. The Sages' stance on anything even remotely creative affected his child very deeply, because they were very aware of it, yet could not do anything to combat it.

And his child—Gods, he swore they were a talent to be beheld. From Kaveh always, always ranting to him about how skilled they were and how they had so much potential to be one of the greatest minds in Sumeru both academically and artistically (Alhaitham can't really tell if Kaveh is exaggerating or not, but he wouldn't put it past his child to be so brilliant), to Nilou gushing to him about how she just adored getting to teach them and how quick they learned... he couldn't help but begin to wonder. To question.

What right did the Sages have to suppress the artistic side of Sumeru?

What right did they have to suppress his child's brilliance? His child's, of all people's. He was appalled at the thought, really. He was offended on their behalf, though he did not let it show.

When his coat went missing, he didn't think much of it. He'd assumed it was Kaveh's doing at first—it wouldn't be the first time the Architect left in a hurry and took the wrong things with him—but his theory was disproven in a few mere hours.

His child soon returned his coat to him with an excited smile.

He was quick to notice the vaguely glimmery shine of green thread, embroidered skillfully along the edges, and—

And his heart broke apart in his chest. He knew he wouldn't be able to boast, to tell his curious coworkers that the embroidery was his child's beautiful work. It would get him in trouble. It would get them in trouble.

What kind of father was he, cruelly hiding his child's talent from the world? What kind of father was he? What kind of father would fail so horribly, as he was now, to uplift his child? Circumstance be damned.

What kind of father was he to be behaving this way?

Somehow, they seemed to read his mind.

"It's not really your fault, baba," they told him. "Anyway, I didn't embroider it for praise. I embroidered it because I thought it would look nice on you."

His coat was gingerly discarded off to the side, and his arms were around his child before they could even process what had happened.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[calaisreno]

His Favourite Jumper

Sherlock can be careless, but he always tries to make things right.

1627 words / Prompt: Eavesdropping

“What’s this?” Mrs Hudson frowns at what he’s showing her. “John’s jumper?”

“John’s favourite jumper. I need to fix it.”

She takes it in her hands and assesses the damage. It’s a nice jumper, all worsted, cabled up the front, the sleeves set in with steeks. Certainly hand knit by someone who knew what she was doing. She assumes it’s a she; there aren’t many men she knows with the patience to knit.

“What did you do to it?”

“The flat was chilly, so I was wearing it. Borrowed it. John wasn’t home. I was doing an experiment and spilled acid on it. I’ll need matching yarn, I assume. And knitting needles.”

The holes are extensive, she notes, and even a good darner would find it hard to repair such extensive damage. Still frowning, she looks up at him. “Do you know how to knit?”

“Well, no. But knitting is just interlocking loops. How hard can it be?”

She stifles a snort. The poor boy is distressed, but determined to fix what he’s ruined. No one should despise a novice effort, but…

“Sherlock, love, these are a lot of holes, and matching the colour and type of the wool is a bit harder than you might think. Even if you could find a match, even you could darn them all, it’s not going to be like new. He’ll be able to tell.”

His face falls a bit. “But he can’t know I’ve ruined it. And he’ll notice it’s gone.”

“You might buy him a new one.”

“This one was hand-made by his grandmother. It won’t be the same.”

 Nothing is the same, she wants to say. Sometimes we have to let go of things. 

But he’s looking at her so hopefully, and it’s a shame to crush that kind of hope. It’s obvious what’s happening. He’s been in love with John since they moved in together. Sherlock can be careless, but that’s because he’s heedless in his enthusiasm. This isn’t the first jumper he’s ruined, and that’s surely part of his worry. John does have a temper. 

“Just tell him. He’ll forgive you.”

“He’s always forgiving me, and I just keep ruining things. Please, Mrs Hudson. Won’t you show me how?”

Now his eyes shine with tears that threaten to fall.

She gives him a darning lesson. 

John notices the jumper is missing. She sees him going through the laundry, looking for it, and then through the bins. 

When he asks, she plays the innocent, asking him when he last wore it, whether he might have taken it off and left it somewhere. He shakes his head.

She’s watching an old movie late one night when Sherlock brings his work down to her. 

“It looks awful,” he says, slumping on her sofa. “I can’t give it to him like this.”

“I think you’re underestimating him, love. He’s not going to leave because you ruined his jumper.”

“This is not the only thing I’ve ruined,” Sherlock replies. “I broke his mug, I lost his charging cord, and I accidentally set his book on fire. It was only a paperback, but still. He must think I’m trying to drive him out.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Sherlock’s face is pleading. “Please, Mrs Hudson. You must show me how to knit.”

“Knitting a jumper takes time.”

“How long, would you estimate?”

“Well, there’s the size. It’s not a large one, so that’s all right, and it’s a thicker yarn. Made in the round, so there won’t be much stitching up. But you’re a novice, and that adds hours. I would say… forty hours, minimum.”

“A week, then?”

“When will you find forty hours in your week to work on it?”

“John goes to bed earlier than I do, and he’s at work most days. I’ll sleep when he’s home, so I can work on it when he’s gone or asleep.”

She gives him a knitting lesson.

A skilled eavesdropper, she overhears their conversation, John asking, Sherlock giving a shrug and suggesting that if he had indexed his jumpers, maybe he wouldn’t have misplaced it. 

At night, Sherlock comes down for instruction. She shows him how to make ribbing around the bottom and cables as he travels up the body. He has good dexterity and makes quick progress.  

“He’s bought himself a new jumper,” he informs her. “Very cheap. Obviously machine-made. And the yarn is plastic!”

“Acrylic,” she says. “It has the advantage of laundering well. No shrinkage.”

“I hate it,” Sherlock replies. “But mine looks uneven. I’m not happy.”

“You have to check your gauge. You’re new to this, so it’s probably changed as you’ve become more proficient.” 

She pulls out her gauge ruler and shows him. “See? It’s narrowing. Your stitches are getting tighter.”

“How do I fix it?”

“You can either switch to larger needles, or you can recalculate, unravel, and start over. Either way, you’ll need to pull out a few rows.”

He presses his fingers against his forehead. “This is going to take years!”

“Not years.” She pats his hand. “You’ve got the hang of it. Even experienced knitters have to pull out days of work sometimes. It’s worth it to get a jumper that looks good.”

He gives a heartfelt sigh, slides the jumper off the needles, and begins pulling the stitches out.

She admires his determination. It takes him weeks to work his way to the armholes, and then she shows him how to do a steek where he will attach the needles for the sleeves. As his consulting business picks up, the weeks turn into months. 

At Christmas, John wears a dark blue jumper with an Icelandic yoke of red and white. She admires it; he smiles and tells her his grandmother made it for him. Sherlock’s eyes are on him, every time John isn’t looking. It’s not the jumper he’s admiring.

The jumper is set aside after Moriarty steals the Crown Jewels, hacks into the Bank of England, and breaks into Pentonville Prison. 

Sherlock bows out of John’s birthday, claiming he has a ‘thing.’ When she comes up to check on him, he’s finished one sleeve, ready to start the other.

She can see John is hurt that Sherlock skipped his birthday. He didn’t even get him a card. He says nothing, but the way he looks at Sherlock makes her certain; he’s in love with his flatmate.

Afterwards, an awful silence fills the flat. She can hear the floorboards creak a bit as John paces back and forth. There’s no violin to soothe him to sleep. 

It’s days before she can bear opening the door of his room, but she knows she has to put things in boxes. His brother has promised to continue paying the rent until he can collect his things. But it’s heartbreaking, looking at all the familiar clutter. She has to tidy up.

There are clothes scattered on the floor, and she gathers them for the wash. She goes through his drawers, tallying how many boxes she’ll need. In the wardrobe, all his suits and shirts hang in dry cleaner’s bags. 

As she prepares to close the wardrobe door, she spots a file box with a label reading: Experiment. Do not open!

She opens it, of course. Can’t have experiments biding their time in the wardrobe. He always had odd ideas about what was acceptable. 

Inside, she finds the jumper. He worked on it for more than a year, and it’s nearly done, just the bottom half of the second sleeve left, and he’s tidied up the ends on the inside already.

It’s a good piece of work, she decides. A long apology for something John would surely have forgiven. It’s love unspoken, words he could never say.

Such a shame, she thinks. 

That evening, she finishes the second sleeve, weaves in the final ends. It needs hand washing and blocking, so she takes on those tasks as well.  

When it’s done, it looks perfect. If she were judgemental, she would say it’s even better than the original. She folds it and wraps it in tissue paper, places it inside a Marks & Spencer shopping bag. 

John Watson is going to get his apology, even if it’s long overdue.

She finds the dismal little flat where he’s living now. Moving out hasn’t made him any happier, she can see when he opens the door. 

“Mrs Hudson,” he says, apologetic. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine, John. I’ve brought you something.”

He opens the bag, reaches in. Frowning, he pulls out the jumper. 

“This,” he says, practically speechless. “It’s beautiful. It’s almost like the one…”

“The one Sherlock ruined,” she finishes. “He was so distraught over that, John. He was afraid you wouldn’t forgive him.”

“And�� you made this… to replace it.” He’s feeling the wool, an incredulous smile on his face. “Mrs Hudson, this is beautiful.”

“No, love.” She smiles, the tears starting to fill her eyes. “He made it.”

For a moment he just gazes, not comprehending. “Sherlock? He made this?”

“For you. He ruined the other— it was an accident. You know him, so careless when he got caught up in things. And he wanted to make it right, so you’d forgive him. He didn’t know how, so I taught him. He did it all himself.”

He buries his face in the jumper. She can see his shoulders shaking.

“There, love. He had it nearly done, and was intending to give it to you, before… well, I know he’d want you to have it now.” She pats his shoulder. “He really loved you, John. I hope you know that. He worked on this for over a year, right up to the end. He loved you.”

Weeping, John raises his face. “I loved him too. And I forgive him.”

@lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl

A knitter of jumpers myself, I imagine that Sherlock would enjoy the mathematical aspects of the craft. 🧶 💕

[chillinglyadventurous]

You’re Losing Me

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her

Collab with @ford-pines-lover

Word Count: 2,024

Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

You’d battled with yourself for hours. Should you leave or should you stay? Your heart begging you not to leave him. You loved Ford for years. You’d loved him for so long. He was all you knew anymore. You weren’t happy, but you knew what to expect. Your mind, however, was overriding your aching heart. You had to leave. This wasn’t a healthy relationship. Hell, there was no relationship. Not anymore.

The room felt heavy and weighed down. Every ‘I love you’ that was ever uttered in this room was echoing off the walls. Hopes unfulfilled and love that hard worn impossibly thin mocked you. Were you really about to throw away the last ten years of your life?

You gave a breathless sigh as you stared down at the half-packed suitcase on the bed. Half-empty. Even your luggage laughed at you, pathetic. You just couldn’t decide. You’d packed and unpacked your bag about a dozen times. Even now, all you wanted to do was empty it again, fold your clothes, and put them back where they belonged. You couldn’t leave him. With every sweater or pair of underwear you packed, the good memories came flooding back. Every sweet thing he’d ever done for you washed over you, begging you to stay. But, you realized your heart was just playing tricks on you, taking over with each faltering thought. You deserved better than this.

With a sigh, you slipped your favorite sweater out of your bag and held it close to your chest. How many times had you found yourself curled up with this sweater, his sweater, while you waited for him to come to bed, hoping to hear his footsteps coming down the hall? Each strand of yarn held memories, the good and bad. You remembered him handing you this very sweater on a cold night, wanting you to keep warm. You remembered crying into the collar when he’d left without a word to explore.

Setting the sweater back down, you rubbed your eyes, trying to fight back the tears stinging your eyes. You’d cried too many tears over him already. You couldn’t let anymore fall. Despite the ache in your chest, a dull pain, you didn’t want to leave like that, crying. You were doing what was best for you. You wanted to leave knowing you were thinking over yourself for once. You were walking about because you deserved better than half-hearted affection and quiet resentment. You deserved someone who would love you.

You went back to the dresser, folding up more of your clothes. With each article you pulled over, memories came in. Everything was linked to him. There were outfits you wore on dates, lazy mornings wrapped in his arms.

You left one thing in your dresser, knowing you’d never wear it. The silk slip was offensive, emerald green. You traced the black lace with your fingers. You’d bought it for your ninth anniversary, something you had thought would catch his eye and pull him away from his work. It didn’t. You didn’t care that, someday, you’d have someone who would appreciate your efforts, worship you in such a beautiful thing. No, it was cursed and it was his problem now. Maybe he’d find it and realize what he lost.

You emptied out every drawer and the closet. Standing at the nightstand, you contemplated taking the framed Polaroid there. Graduation. Ford’s arms were thrown around you, both in your cap and gown. The tiny diamond on your finger glinting in the sunlight as he kissed you hard. You’d forgotten he asked you to marry him. So much had changed since then. You hadn’t worn that ring in years. It was somewhere in that room. You didn’t know where and you didn’t care enough to look for it. He could keep that too.

Despite your better judgment, you threw the small frame into your bag. In truth, it was a keepsake. You still loved him. You wanted to remember him. Still, you hoped this would scare him enough into changing. Maybe he’d call you in a panic, crying, begging you to come home with promises that he’d change. You rationalized it as a reminder of what you didn’t want to go through again, but, deep down, you knew you’d never be able to give him up.

You zipped up your suitcase and headed out the door. This was it. There was nothing else left to do. If you stayed, you’d only be hurting yourself and you’d done that enough.

I’m getting tired even for a phoenix, always rising from the ashes

You hadn’t gotten far when your car phone rang. You knew it was Ford. He was the only one who had the number. He was the only one who ever called, so, you let it ring. It rang and it rang. You had already made your decision, already put so much distance behind you, so why was it so hard to ignore him? Why did hearing his voice feel like everything you’d wanted and feared at the same time?

“Hello?” You finally whispered, voice barely above a breath.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could hear him exhale shakily. “Please, come back,” his voice cracked, rough around the edges in a way that you’d never heard before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to hold firm. “Stanford, I can’t keep doing this. I told you, I need more. I can’t keep standing on the sidelines, waiting for you to notice me.”

“I know,” he replied, a quiet desperation in his tone that caught you off guard. “I know I’ve put you second to my work and I hate that it’s come to this, but, please, just come home. I’ll make this right. I swear it.”

You wanted to believe him, but after so many broken promises, it was hard to let hope grow again. “I mean it. If I come back, things have to change.”

“They will,” he promised, the conviction in his voice so strong it tugged at something deep inside you. “Please, just give me this chance. Come home.”

Against the whisper of doubt in your mind, you turned back. The drive home felt surreal, every mile bringing you closer to him, to the life you’d almost left behind. How could you be so stupid? How could you give up the best thing that ever happened to you?

When you opened the front door, Ford was waiting, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. There were dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, but his gaze held something you hadn’t seen in years. Full and unwavering attention.

He didn’t say anything, just reached for you, pulling you close, as though he were afraid you’d slip away if he let go. For a moment, just being there, held by him, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

In the days that followed, Ford kept his promises. He would set aside his work to spend time with you, listening intently to everything you said, his eyes warm and focused, as if rediscovering what he’d nearly lost. Each morning, he’d greet you with coffee and a kiss, taking a few extra moments to linger, his hand gently tracing the lines of your face. He even pulled back from some of his more intense projects, choosing to leave the lab earlier, allowing himself to be with you in ways he hadn’t in so long.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you had Ford to yourself. The two of you would share quiet, easy dinners, laughing together over silly memories. Finally, he was the man you met in college again. He’d pull you close at night, his hand slipping into yours, murmuring soft praises into your hair. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe this was real, that he’d finally chosen you.

Weeks passed and he stayed true to his word, keeping that fragile spark of hope alive. Ford seemed more at ease. You’d catch him smiling over his morning coffee, a relaxed grin on his face that warmed your heart. He made time for you in ways that felt new and precious, taking you on little outings, finding new ways to bring you into his world.

But, as time went on, his old habits started to creep back. Just little things at first, lingering in his study a bit longer than planned, muttering about a project or theory instead of letting you finish the story you were telling. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that this was just who he was, that a few hours here or there wouldn’t matter. After all, he’d proven he was willing to put you first. Surely, he could balance both, right?

Except the late nights began to stretch longer. His attention started to drift more and more. One evening, you sat beside him on the couch, recounting a funny story from your day, only to realize he was staring at the wall, eyes unfocused, his mind somewhere else entirely. You stopped mid-sentence, waiting for him to notice, hoping he’d snap back to you. Minutes passed and he didn’t say a word, lost in a world far removed from your own. Finally, he seemed to shake himself out of it, glancing at you with a forced smile.

“Sorry, darling. I was just thinking about something.” He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing into his study.

Mendin’ all her gashes, you might just have dealt the final blow

You sat there alone, the warmth of his brief touch fading quickly, leaving a familiar chill in its place. You tried to ignore the pang of doubt, but it settled heavily, spreading like ice through your veins. The pattern was returning and, this time, it hurt even more because you’d thought things were finally different.

The days blurred together, Ford slipping back into his old habits, barely noticing when you reached out to him. Each night, he’d come to bed a little later, mumbling promises that he’d make time for you tomorrow, but tomorrow never came.

One evening, after a particularly long night of waiting, you walked to his study, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him, his back to you, hunched over his notes. You cleared your throat, trying to get his attention.

“Ford?”

He didn’t turn around, didn’t even flinch. “Just a minute, dear. I’m almost done.”

You knew he wasn’t. This was exactly where you’d been before, caught in the shadow of his work, waiting for scraps of his time. You stood there, watching him, a sinking feeling in your chest as he continued to scribble notes, muttering to himself about theories and experiments. The ache in your heart deepened, spreading until it became a steady, numbing truth. He had meant well. He’d truly tried, maybe even believed he could change, but Ford was a man consumed by his work.

The realization hit you all at once. You couldn’t live like this, couldn’t keep waiting for him to come back, to choose you, when he was always going to drift away again. With a quiet breath, you straightened, your heart steady as you turned back to the door. This time, there were no tears, no lingering hope. You weren’t angry or hurt. You just needed to move on. There was nothing left.

You promised yourself there wouldn’t be anymore chances. You told him there wouldn’t be anymore. You warned him and you, unlike him, were going to make good on your promise. You walked quietly to the bedroom and packed a small bag, taking only what you needed. No dramatic exits, no last words. You’d made your peace.

You closed the door behind you, the air felt different, lighter, as if you were finally free. For the first time, you were truly walking away, carrying with you a quiet strength and a promise you’d made to yourself long ago: you would rise again, this time for yourself, and build a life where you were fully seen, fully loved, no matter how long it took.

[fantasyandshit]

My high lady

Type:One shot

Pairing: Eris x reader

Summary: Eris makes mistakes, causing a fight between his mate and himself- how will he win her over and bring her back home?

Warnings- Oral (f receiving) smut p in v, fighting

MDNI

“You know what! Fuck you Eris! I’m going to stay with my brother. Sort yourself out!”

I stomp through the room and out to the balcony, calling out to Rhysand that I would be coming.

‘Rhys’

‘Yn! What is it?’

‘I’m coming to stay in the night court for a bit-is that ok?’

‘Yes, of course yes- we all miss you, your brother will be ecstatic!’

‘Well then I’m on my way now-I’ll be there soon’

‘Can’t wait to see you’

Eris hadn’t moved from where he stood as my wings flared out- I look back one last time, “contact me once you’ve figured yourself out. But not before then.”

“Goodbye Eris.”

And with that I shut down my side of the bond and take off into the early morning skies. Out of the corner of my eye I swear i see my mate move but he doesn’t come after me or call for me past a singular step.

———

“Hey little sister!” Cassian pulls me into a bone crushing hug, spinning me around and burying his head in my neck.

I laugh as he sets me down, “Hey big bro.” Looking past my brother I see his mate and we moved to hug- Nesta had never been a hugger but we had become close, sisters in a sense. I mean we were technically sisters in law. “Hey sis.”

“Hey girl. Oh remind me, I have a few new books for you.”

I smile as we make our way to the dining room and get greetings and hugs out of the way. Sitting down to eat.

“So what did Eris do?”

I choke a bit at Mor’s question, “He decided to be a prick.” My family’s eyebrows raised, looking for more information, “He just keeps undermining me and acting as if he didn’t declare me high lady of autumn, like my opinion and rule mean nothing to him.”

“He did what?” My brother looked angry, more angry than even I was

“Cass it’s- it’s fine. I blew up and he knows not to come after me till he sorted his own shit out.”

My brother simply glares at his potatoes, sliding his fork around in his plate as Mor tries to strike up other conversation.

———

It had been two weeks TWO WEEKS since our fight and nothing- I mean I excoriated for him to do something, even send something down the bond but nothing. I was beginning to think he simply didn’t care. Didn’t want me back. Cassi and anger only grew with mine as time went on.

———

“Fuck!” Eris’ fist slamms the table, breaking it nearly in half. “What have I done?”

Eris’ mind reeled, he didn’t know what was wrong with him but looking back and seeing all he had done to his mate, his wife, the ruler of his court- it killed him. He had to fix this. Fast. But he just didn’t know what to do.

So after two weeks of letting her have some time away from him, sure she didn’t want him, he went out to her favorite shops, buying her flowers and sweet treats, some more yarn for her crochet project, that painting she’d seen and desperately wanted, a new blanket and that dress she eyed in the store window, he bought her more books she had mentioned and her favorite tea and coffee. Quickly winnowing home and setting things together in a massive basket display on the bed, he strode over to his desk, writing a long, long note- apologizing and expressing his love and all the ways he’d fix it and more. Finally, he closed it, signed it, and set it in the middle of the bed. Sure this may have been seen as overboard but not to him, never to him, his mate was worth anything and everything, he’d burn the world down for her any time of any day.

Quickly, he fixed his hair, shaving the stubble that had grown over the past 14 days, he changed, spraying on your favorite cologne and sent a message through the bond.

‘I’m on my way. I have so many things to say to you- and I plan to beg at your feet for your forgiveness.’ And with that- he was off, winnowing to the night court.

———

‘I’m on my way. I have so many things to say to you-and I plan to beg at your feet for your forgiveness.’

I jolt at the sudden, first sign of anything from Eris’ side of the bond, his words were filled with emotion as it came through to me and I know. I knew he spoke only the truth. I quickly make my way up to my room, freshening up and looking in the mirror, “you’ve got this.” I whisper it so low I almost don’t hear it.

As I walk back to my room I’m spooked yet again by my mate standing in the middle of he room, intense eyes meeting mine. “Hello again love.”

“Hello.”

“I- I don’t even know where to start with this. I’m more sorry than words exist to describe the feeling, it’s- darling I look back and realize all of done and apologies don’t even begin to cover my remorse, the utter disgust I feel when I think of what I’ve done, when I look in the mirror knowing I’ve hurt you my love. I hope you know that you- you are my world, my life and after you are my everything. I cannot begin to explain what I’ve done because there, there is no excuse for the utter miss treatment and horrid behavior.” He moves closer, I just barely stop the gasp threatening to leave me as he drops to his knees and stares up at me. “I will never undermine you again- your ideas, your opinions they are the only thing that matters, the only ones in this world I care to listen too. You are the high lady of autumn and I will start treating you as such. As the amazing, powerful woman you are.” He scorched closer, his hands going to my thighs. “Yn I am- I will worship you, I will kiss your feet and the land you walk on if I must to prove to you how regretful I am, to show you how much you truly mean to me.” His lips meet my thighs softly as he maintains eye contact.

“Eris. I love you.” I pull him up by his hands, keeping them in my grasp. “I understand the stress we’ve all been under and while your behavior was not ok but I forgive you. I love you and we will move past this as long as you keep your word and I know you will my love.”

A dopey smile appears on his face as he grabs mine, silently asking for permission, which I grant and he swiftly leans down, meeting my lips in his, a tender kiss being pulled from the both of us. “I love you.” He whispers into my mouth. As we pull away, my mate speaks again, “I have a surprise at home, may I bring you to it, back home.”

“Yes my love.”

———

After saying goodbye to everyone, Eris being threatened by each of them, we winnow back to autumn, back home. As we appear in our bed chambers, I’m unable to hold in this gasp as I see the bed. “Eris you-you didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes I did. Now go look at your gifts love.” After looking through everything, nearly crying as I stroke the silk that’s just as soft as I imaged as I stared at it in the hop window. I look back to Eris, the small smile on his face making me light up as I bound over to him and pull him into another kiss.

My hands find his hair, twisting into it, giving it a small tug as his hands find my waist and a small growl leashes his lips. I’m pushed up against the door, his lips leaving mine to find my jawline, then my neck, then as my dress gets in the way, he rips it- another gasp leaves me as he does so, his lips trailing down my body, sucking marks as he works his way down. “I told you I would be on my knees before you- I’m keeping that.” He lowers to his knees, lips never breaking contact from my skin longer than needed to move to a new spot. His hands grapple at the back of my thighs as his tongue strokes me through my already soaked panties. He yet again- tears them with a growl before his lips land on my sensitive bud.

Eris nips the sensitive skin, sucking my bud into his mouth, in between his teeth before soothing the area with his tongue. His moth continues working my clit, small gasps and moans leaving me as my hands tug on his hair, hips rocking forward. I notice him rocking his hips, desperately trying to humo the floor the best he could causing a giggle to fall from my lips.

A small shriek leaves me as his tongue dives between my folds, my pussy clenching as he tastes all of me. Not long after I cum, my juices spraying his tongue and face. He stands and licks his lips, whipping his check with a finger before bringing it to my mouth, shoving it in between my lips. I suck his fingers, my tongue swirling it, looking at my mate through my lashes as I do so. I release his finger with a pop as he pushes me to our sofa- our bed currently occupied.

Eris’ clothes are shucked off quickly as he continues to suck on my neck, his hand working his dick for a moment before gliding it along my pussy lips. “Just put it in.” I growl, he smirks as he pushes in, to the hilt with one deep thrust. I nearly scream as he groans, beginning to move in and out at a fast but deep pace, utterly devastating. Sweat beads on his shoulder, dripping down his chest slowly. I push myself to my hands, licking up the small bit of moisture as he continues bullying in to me. Muttering praise and love into my ear in between groans.

“Eris I-I-“

“I know love.” He rocks me back and forth slightly, “cum for me. Cum for me my mate.” I cum with a shout, my pussy clenching around his cock in a death grip as white flashes in my vision and my body convulses, shortly after this his own release hits, thick streams of white cum coating my gummy walls.

Eris slowly pulls out with a hiss, turning to our bathroom before returning with a wet rag, carefully cleaning me up, placing tender kisses to my skin as he goes. “I love you.” He brushes my hair behind my ear before magicing the items on our bed away and laying me down, my eyes blinking groggily, a small smile spreading across our faces.

My mate lays beside me, “I love you too.” I curl into his warm chest, my eyes sliding shut as I fall into a peaceful sleep, his hands rubbing small circles across my back. “Sleep good my mate.”

———

Ok ok here it is- I’m so so sorry for how long it took but I hope it’s good!

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

What if you wanted to knit but your body said "arthritis induced depressive episode ONLY" t-t

In my state of Not Knitting I've mostly been playing bideo wames but also decided to indulge in my favourite past time of reading multi million word Korean webnovels. One of said webnovels features a metric fuck ton of Hot Pink Yarn. And a man I'm very normal about knitting things for a man he's very normal about. Including a cardigan.

Do I in any way need a hot pink cardigan knit specifically to mimic the one from the novel? Absolutely not. But I Want It. (Also I've been wanting to knit a cardigan for like a year now and keep changing my mind)

In the novel, the yarn used is from a monster sheep that's later dyed hot pink. I'm not willing to use real wool for this, so instead I'm going with acrylic and got some of Hobbii's Fluffy Day in Deep Pink. Which is just an eye watering colour (canonically the hot pink yarn is painful to behold) and comes personally recommended from a friend of mine. I also got a roll of a glitter thread also sold through Hobbii in pink. Both to make the overall cardigan more obnoxious but also to give it more of a "this is wool from a monster sheep" and not just acrylic yarn.

As for the actual cardigan, it's described as a "Handmade Hot Pink Long Cardigan" "roomy and had big pockets" "(while a wip) an elaborate knitting pattern". There's enough wiggle room I can do basically anything I want with this. But my brain has latched on to the word "elaborate" and won't let go. So as soon as I get my hands on The Yarn, I'm going to swatch for this cardigan pattern published by Vogue Knitting.

It's quite possible this yarn does Not work for that pattern but I want to try it anyway just to suffer. And if it does work, I'll have to grade up the pattern, and potentially make changes to the length of the cardigan (I bought quite a bit more yarn than I thought I'd need just in case). But this pattern just Feels Right, the guy who knits is constantly wearing designer clothes so knitting an actual designer pattern is perfectly in theme. I've also been informed that the Fluffy Day yarn is incredibly warm so having a bit of open work would help with heat regulation.

If I complete this cardigan within the next ten years and have extra yarn left over I'll be sure to knit the matching hat (including a pom-pom), scarf long enough for several people to use, and fingerless gloves. All in hot pink so bright it's probably going to give me several headaches. Read S-Classes I Raised it's so good it'ssogood