#i only bought. one thing of yarn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rogueddie · 2 years ago

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Steve realizes that he's been spending too much time with the kids families when he gets home, realizing that he'd bought supplies for knitting. It's something that Claudia and, recently, Joyce have been getting into. They would rope Steve into joining them whenever he time there.

But it's nice. He likes knitting. He likes the repetitively and how easy it is to simply... stop. Stop worrying, stop pacing, stop thinking. Stop being so afraid.

It's hard to be scared of beasts in the walls when he looks down and finds a badly knitted sock in his lap. It looks too silly.

The longer he spends on it though, the better he gets. It's not long until he's knitting things nice enough that he feels confident enough to wear them outside the house. And no one bats an eye.

Robin even steals some of his scarves- until she learns that he knit them and then she starts making demands. Which he's happy to fulfil. Seeing her light up when he hands her the scarf and gloves, in the exactly color and pattern she'd asked for, is more than worth it.

That Christmas, his new knitting skills save the day. He had to set himself a very strict budget for the presents. He's trying to save as much as he can, with Robin and Eddie, so they can move into a little house they have their eyes on.

He blows the entire budget on the kids.

So, with the help of Robin, he tries to think of the best things to knit for the adults.

Robin asks him to make them matching scarves and gloves. She knows that Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle will want matching things too, which solves what to get them. As well as Joyce and Hopper- though, Steve isn't sure how those will go down.

The other parents are easy. He's spoken to them, been in their homes enough, to know the patterns and colors they favor.

By the time he finishes knitting everyone their things... he's still not sure what to knit for Eddie. All he has is the black yarn he got and some of the maroon and dark green left over from the other projects.

"He'll be happy you got him anything at all," Robin teases. "You know that. You just want it to be perfect because-"

"He's my friend! Ok? I just want to get him something nice for Christmas."

"And that's all there is to it?"

"Yes!"

"Mhm," Robin smirks, slowly walking backwards towards the door, raising an eyebrow at him. "I totally believe you."

Even though Robin hadn't been any help with thinking of any good ideas, he's sure that he's only thinking of worse ones without her. It doesn't help that, the longer he sits and tries to think, the more ideas they came up with together he forgets.

In the end, he settles for a gothic version of a Christmas sweater. He tries to make it as detailed as he can- knitting in snowflakes and zig zags, the hellfire devil head instead of a reindeer and little Christmas trees along the bottom hem.

He shoves it into the little Christmas bag he got for it, taping the top shut before he can doubt himself. He tucks it away, pointedly avoiding so much as glancing at it.

It's a relief when, a few days later, Christmas comes around.

Most of them bounce between the Wheelers and the Byers homes. The kids all spend most of the day at the Wheelers, gathering all their presents with them. Dustin helps Steve bring the presents from him, Robin and Claudia inside.

He stops at the Byers, where most of the adults are gathered. Joyce and Nancy both try to convince him to change his mind, to stay for dinner, as he drops their presents off. But, as he reminds them, he promised Robin he'd spend Christmas dinner with her.

She's sat on the trailer steps with Eddie when Steve pulls up.

"You're late!" Eddie yells as Steve opens the trunk, grabbing the last three presents. "Have you no consideration for the peasants?!"

"Shut up," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He gently kicks him. "Move."

Eddie throws himself off the steps, onto the floor. "Ah! Rob, he's bullying me!"

"Good." Robin stands up, opening the door and waving Steve inside. She raises an eyebrow at Eddie. "Get up, I'm hungry."

"Fine!" Eddie says, scrambling to his feet. "You're all so mean to me."

Wayne clears his throat. He's stood by the kitchen, leaning with his arms crossed, watching them with an amused grin. "You kids ready to eat now or do you want to do presents first?"

"Food," they all say in sync.

The dinner is amazing, something Steve and Robin both keep telling Wayne. Whenever the conversation pauses, they have a little kick-fight on who gets to speak up that time.

Wayne jokingly asks Eddie why he's never so complimentary about his cooking, which earns him an eye roll.

"You don't need the ego boost, old man."

Wayne gets him in a loose headlock when he stands up, ruffling his hair, before quickly grabbing the plates that Steve tries to collect.

"No, no, no. You kids get started opening your presents, I've got these."

Robin drags him along, into the living room, by the collar of his polo when he tries to offer help. Eddie helps, grabbing his forearm. Steve grumbles the whole time, folding his arms when they push him down, onto the sofa.

"Ladies first," Eddie throws a present at Robin, nearly hitting her in the face. He grins widely when she flips him off.

He insists that, once Robin opens all of her presents, Steve has to open his. Then Wayne. And, once they've all opened theirs, Eddie claps his hands together at the remaining presents.

"Perfect. All for me." He grins, grabbing Steves first. He almost rips the bag with how hard he pulls at the tape.

"We have scissors," Robin waves them at him.

He bats them away, digging the sweater out of the bag. "Oooh, gothic Christmas, very-" he stops when he turns it over, staring at the front for a moment. "Is... is this, like, custom made?"

"Yeah, sort of," Steve says, shrugging. He offers a smile when Eddie looks up at him, looking almost... awed.

"He made it himself," Robin says. "He's gotten into knitting."

"You knit this? Yourself? Stevie, what the hell! This is amazing!" He quickly shrugs off his jacket so he can put the sweater on. "I'm never taking this off. Fuck, I could kiss you."

"Save it for the bedroom," Wayne quickly says, holding a hand up. "Some of us here don't want to see all that PDA."

Robin snickers. "Yeah, have some decency for the rest of us."

"Ha ha," Eddie deadpans. "You're both hilarious."

"Seriously though, son," Wayne puts a hand on his shoulder. "You know I'll support and love you no matter what, but I'd hate to see you and a girl getting like that just as much."

"What?" Eddie frowns, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Wayne glances between him and Steve. "You and your boy."

"Holy shit," Robin whispers. "I knew it wasn't just me."

"I'm, uh..." Steve eventually speaks up, once it's clear that Eddie isn't going to say anything, simply continuing to gape at Wayne. "I'm not his boy."

"What?" Wayne turns to Eddie with narrowed eyes. "You ain't asked him out yet? How many dates have you been on and you still ain't-"

"We're not dating," Eddie hisses. "I've told you this, like, seventy times!"

"This is amazing," Robin whispers, eyes darting between the two as they continue arguing back and forth. "Stevie, you owe me money."

Steve groans, slouching as low as he can, covering his red face with both hands.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #christma22k

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calaisreno · 6 months ago

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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. 🧶 💕

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #his favourite jumper

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chillinglyadventurous · 5 days ago

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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.

#Spotify #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #a playlist of fics #chillinglyadventurous and ford pines lover

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fantasyandshit · 7 months ago

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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!

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #elain archeron #elain x reader #feyre archeron #feyre x reader #nesta x reader #nesta archeron #cassian x reader #cassian #rhysand x reader #rhysand #eris vanserra #eris x reader #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader

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journeyman-tier-fibercraft · 8 days ago

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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

#yes i AM hyperfocusing on random shit to ignore current events. i do not want to think about it #is there anything more accurate about being a knitter than getting yarn from someone. and going “i knit you thing with this???”#like the Giving of the Hot Pink Yarn was clearly to fuck with the other guy. but then that guy started making the first guy stuff #but the first guy just unironically uses all of it?? he's like “this is so ugly” and then he puts it on and goes :3 teehee comfy #he even used the hat to carry the other guy in when he was unconscious bc he wanted something comfy (it makes sense in context he was smol)#i'm SO normal about these two dudes and their weird courtship.#i want that morally questionable old man and the looks like a cinnamon roll will kill you twink to be happy

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lemonsprite · 3 months ago

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Hello can I ask for BG3 Halsin x reader?

Usually people depict the reader as ageless but I was wondering if you can do anything with a reader that's also up in their 300s? They could probably relate on many thing that come with a long lifespan and stuff

Thanks and have a nice day (I know this is like probably brainless time from me but the summer heat is getting me my brain left me)

Thank you guys for all the Halsin ideas I luv my bear husband TT

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 || 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Halsin can’t remember the last time he’s met someone like you

Word Count:

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!!! nothing!! Just pure silliness

A/N: I had SUCH bad writers block with this one so I apologize if it’s actual doodoo TT but I love writing the bg3 party dynamic sm ugh

Halsin was used to being a pile of dust when compared to all his friends and companions. Despite only being in the middle stages of his life for an elf, he’d lived much longer than those around him.

Part of that knowledge made his heart ache in a weird bittersweet mixture of emotions. Living as long as he did caused him to see the rise of fall of friends and lovers and there was nothing he could do about it. It seemed like a cycle he was doomed too, one that would unfold the same as always.

Halsin knew almost no elves the same absurdly old age as him.

“Karlach I don’t think the camp really needs another cantaloue… we haven’t even finished the other two Wyll bought three days ago…” chided Halsin, placing a hand on top of Karlach’s and slowly guiding the round fruit in her hands back into the market stall.

“Yeah but mate, what’s gonna happen when shadowheart gets her midnight cravings and eats both cantaloupes in one night?” Pouted Karlach, gripping tightly to the fruit. “What will I eat then…? If you think about it… this purchase is just a tactical strategy…”

Halsin gave her a look, one he was all too familiar with when dealing with those much younger and less wise than him.

Karlach sighed and dropped the cantaloupe, making her way to another stall that sold hand made yarn woven weapon sheaths. (Not the best in terms of practicality but very aesthetically pleasing)

“Do you have this in a size Large?” Asked a voice and before Halsin could catch himself, he found his gaze landing on the stranger beside him. Also an elf from what he could tell with their pointed ears.

“The smithy by the Rivington general store sells the same armour for a cheaper price.” Suggested Halsin, moving slightly closer to the new bystander.

“I could…” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Show you the way if you need?”

Halsin had no idea what he was doing. One second, the elf was scolding Karlach and the next he was flirting with a complete stranger. Something in your eyes, the way you held yourself made him want to know you better, hear you speak his name.

“That would be nice…” you smiled, politely putting the not purchased armour back on the market stand and turning to Halsin.

A large crash resounded behind Halsin and he whipped around to find Karlach standing above a pile of shattered porcelain. Like a large dog unaware of how big she was.

“Hey you gotta pay for that!” Angrily shouted the storekeeper as he looked incredulously from Karlach to the shattered pottery.

“That one yours?” You asked, nodding your head in the direction of the destructive tiefling.

Halsin nodded, watching as Karlach tearfully handed over the little money she had.

“I’ve got nine of them back at camp.” He said wistfully, thinking back to the ruckus and chaos of camp.

“I’ve been on my own for awhile now…” you hummed, walking with Halsin as he began to lead you to the nearby smithy, Karlach jogging to reach up with the two of you.

“I’m Halsin.” He smiled. “And this is my friend Karlach.”

“Oh I know you! I spent a century with the emerald enclave, they spoke very highly of you.” You grinned, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your tunic as you walked.

Karlach smiled brightly, nodding her head eagerly. “You should see when he wildshapes! The bear is quite cute.”

“You were apart of the emerald enclave?” Halsin asked, pleasantly bemused as the city surroundings grew less and less frequent and more bursting countryside surrounded him.

“Not apart.” You explained, giving Halsin a sheepish smile. “Just lived with them a good while, even during that big battle with Ketheric Thorm back in the day, helped as much as I could.”

“I can’t remember the last time I’d met an elf who can recall such a time.” Halsin smiled gently. “Say… would you like to join us for dinner at our camp?”

Karlach gave Halsin a knowing smirk.

“That sounds amazing.” You grinned. “I’d love too.”

Despite the scene of utter chaos unfolding around him, Halsin couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from your thoughtful gaze.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were currently arm wrestling for dominance while Gale fought back Astarion, telling him dinner wasn’t quite ready yet.

Halsin had brought you to a quite hill nearby, overlooking all the drama as you two had a quite chat.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a dinner like this.” You quipped, causing the grass to rustle as you leaned back.

“Would you… want to stay…?” Halsin asked shyly, weirdly awkward for a man of his calibre. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, his usual confident and wise facade slowly melting. You made him feel like a dumb kid again, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“It would be nice to have someone older with a little more wisdom join the party… I don’t think me and Jaeheria can last another day…” he added with a soft laugh, joining you in the grass.

“Jaeheria’s here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen her in two hundred years.”

“You should stay.” He urged. “I also… just really want to know you better.”

Halsin gently placed his hand on top of yours in the grass, giving you enough time to pull away if you need.

“Yeah… yeah I’d like that.” You smiled, running your thumb over his knuckles and lifting your face to meet his rich hazel gaze.

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