#i should find another pattern to hand knit

[exculis]

i should really get into scarves. i like mindless projects. so of course im always wanting to make shit like hats. and socks. which requires thinking.

just thought 'man i wish i was knitting right now' then i remembered i have a wip in my bag right next to me. not that tho. i wish i was knitting something else.

[catboymeowmeow]

people are like 'oh folks that dont like red heart super saver yarn just havent updated their opinions in years' i mean. i get you i guess. i have some rhss blankets my aunt made me ages ago and theyre definitely worse quality than the stuff ive gotten within the last 5 years. but i have gotten new, from a retail store, modern red heart in the last 5 years and im still not impressed. ive felt better acrylics for comparable prices (Caron simply soft, for example)

and i think they updated their yarn again recently, bc my last project with red heart (where i was trying to use up all i had left cuz i had decided i didnt wanna buy red heart anymore) i ran out of yarn close to the end and had to buy more, and it was a different texture entirely. but ive also been to a store since and the red heart on the shelves DIDNT feel like that, so i dunno. either way, just not the brand for me.

i dont buy Caron anymore either but thats because it does NOT agree with my ball winder and always turns into a 7 or 8 hour detangling session, even if i try winding from a brand new unopened skein. Something about the twist i guess. (and ive tried winding it both directions. both turn into tangles.) but the texture of it was pretty nice.

I found that red heart pilled a lot after a wash and dry and that Caron split a lot while i was working with it. But at the end of the day if i had to buy one of them again id go caron, every time. every time.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

lionfish, seahorses, and dolphins, oh my! | f. odair

masterlist

anon's request: noo bc i've been thinking about this for a while (all the time) imagine the reader from district 8 who's with finnick always sewing random fish patterns into his clothes or any cloth-related items bc of his district!!!

warnings: just some cutesy fluff, very very mild suggestive themes

notes: i couldn't not write this request it's so cute. very rushed because i've got another fic in the works ;) stay tuned my beautiful readers <3

word count: 800

Finnick would always invite girlfriend!reader to District Four because this man has major attachment issues, so you practically live at his house and are both attached to the hip. And one day he would find this little lionfish embroidered onto the cuff of his favourite sweater, which oddly resembles the colour of his hair.

His first instinct would be to call out to you. "Sweetheart?"

And you would respond with a "Hm?" from another room in the house, sneakily sewing something onto another item of his clothing. He would be curiously inspecting the little creature that had taken up residence on his shirt as he padded through the house to your whereabouts.

Just as he entered the room you were in, he would begin, "Why is there a—"

He'd cut himself short as he looked up and saw you sitting comfortably in a lounge chair, legs tucked beneath your body, a soft, knitted blanket draped over your lap, and a sewing kit lying on the side table. In your hands were a pair of his pants.

One of his eyebrows raised. "You've got my pants."

You looked up to find him standing in the doorway. "I do," you replied.

He took a step closer. "And you're sewing them."

"I am."

Another step. "And there's a fish sewed onto my sweater..."

You simply smiled at him—an adorable proud little smile. God, you looked so cute he genuinely felt to urge to lean down and pinch your cheeks between his fingers, but then he remembered he was your boyfriend, not your grandmother.

"Not that I'm not in absolute awe of your sewing abilities but—" He chuckled, shaking his head— "why?"

You shrugged, piercing a sewing needle through the waistband of the pants in your lap. "You're from District Four; fishes are kind of your thing, are they not? Plus, it's pretty," you said, then your voice lowered to a soft murmur. "Like you."

His stomach fluttered and he almost giggled like a little girl at your words. Once he got close enough, he kneeled beside the chair you were sitting in, watching as your delicate fingers manoeuvred the needle and yarn into the outline of a seahorse. He smiled to himself.

"Do you think I should start weaving clothes for you? Considering your district's all about making clothes and stuff," he said with a smirk.

"Like a dress made out of netting? It wouldn't leave much to the imagination."

"You won't hear this mouth complaining," Finnick said, the image of you walking around the house clad in a black net dress overcoming his mind.

Your cheeks warmed with a horrible blush and you decided to focus your attention entirely on the seahorse in the effort to overcome the sudden lewd thoughts involving his mouth.

Finnick continued watching in amazement as you managed to turn a few colours of yarn into a beautiful seahorse on the waistband of his pants. He wondered how many other pieces of clothing of his you had managed to infiltrate with various sea creatures. When his eyes caught on a bright blob of colour on the underside of the shirt sleeve he was wearing, he smiled, knowing he had gotten his answer.

His gaze flickered back to you, observing the look of concentration on your face as you sewed—the gentle crinkle of your furrowed brows, the subtle curl of your lips, and every now and then, the small twitch of your nose like that of a bunny, the pink of your blush adding to the image.

He couldn't help but prop his folded arms on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his forearms as he shamelessly and blatantly admired the changes in your facial expressions. He noticed as your eyes began to occasionally flicker toward him, your attention increasingly beginning to drift.

A few minutes later, you exhaled a heavy sigh. "You're so distracting."

"You're so adorable," he replied almost dreamily.

There it was again. The humiliating pink flush of your cheeks.

He grinned, humming a quiet laugh as he rose to his feet to plant a kiss on the top of your head.

"Can I make one request?" he asked.

"Perhaps."

His eyes fell to the lionfish on the shirt in his hands, eyes sparkling with child-like joy. "Sew some of these onto your own clothes so we can match."

A wide smile stretched across your lips.

Within the next week, you and Finnick were a giggling mess, sporting matching sweatshirts embroidered with big blue dolphins, each one's blowhole featuring a small red heart just above.

[shitty-mechs-headcannons]

none of the mechanisms originaly knew what socks were, until tim joined the crew. for the first few centuries he wondered why everyone kept walking on aurora's cold floors barefoot while he did that in a pair of warm, hand-crocheted socks. finally, he thought to ask every crew member separately what the Fresh Hell is wrong with them and found that everyone had the same answer.

enraged and riddiculed, watching jonny wrap his feet in bandages like a little masochist he was for the thousandth time, he decides that he needs to put an end to it and make everyone socks. on one of the planets he Legally Obtains™ a few balls of the warmest, fluffiest yarn he could find and sets to work.

now see, the thing is tim isn't very good at crocheting, nor at knitting. so his first bath is a little shitty - some pairs have one sock a few rows too short, some colours don't line up like they should, some patterns look... wonky. but the rest of the crew is IN AWE. theyve never even THOUGHT that their feet could be this WARM and PROTECTED. and even though this became the reason he had to watch brian wear socks and sandals together... it makes his crew happy. so he just sits down and knits another batch of considerably less shitty socks.

(id love to write a fic for it. maybe i actually will)

the concept of all these idiots running around in boots with no socks is so terrifying actually what the fuck

-mod wil

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

Why Don't You Stay; We've Got Tonight II (Paul McCartney x Starr!Female!Reader NSFW)

Find Part One Here

A/N: Y'all asked, y'all shall receive. Thank you all again for the support; I love writing for every single one of you.

I would like to also personally thank my Brainstorming Buddy/ Editor @strawb3rri-le. the last three or four fics I've posted, including this one, would not have been possible had it not been for you, so I thank you from the literal bottom of my heart for being the Lennon to my McCartney in this writing journey. Here's to many more wonderful stories to come! <3

Summary: You and Paul get intimate after agreeing to be there for one another.

This is also inspired by Bob Seger's We've Got Tonight, so be sure to listen to that for your own listening/ reading pleasure!

WARNINGS: SMUT, please don't interact if you're under the age of 18, I'll call your mom. Fluffy unprotected sex (Wrap it before you Tap it amirite?) ANGST; this fic gets SAD midway through, mentions of cheating/ exes being stupid, but there is fluff in the end which makes it all better. Swearing is a given, maybe a few typos.

This one is rated 18+ or R, so tread with caution ONLY if you're of age please, I cannot stress that enough!!!

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I really am."

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

Paul was watching you from what little light was flooding through the window of his room. He could have asked you that question a hundred more times; but he just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

He opened his mouth to inquire yet again, but you stepped towards him, lips connecting with his to ease his worries. You felt his tension melt away slowly, hands drifting down to hold your waist as you placed one hand on his chest, the other resting on his shoulder.

You pulled away slightly to glance at his sweater, and Paul watched you intensely as your hand slid down the fabric painfully slow, your fingers dipping into every clothed muscle on his torso until they were toying with the hem at his hips.

"... This should go," you suggested in a hushed tone, and after a moment of letting the recommendation settle in both of your minds, Paul let go of you, pulling it up and off him with your help, and the sweater fell to the carpet with a soft thud.

When your hand returned to his chest, now bare, you examined just how toned he was. You had no clue someone of Paul's stature could be hiding such a body under simple knit sweaters and turtlenecks; but it was a pleasant surprise.

As your palm drifted around his skin, feeling the light hairs on his chest, his own fingers couldn't help but drag along the uppermost edge of your own pyjama top. His gentle touch left a trail of goosebumps on you, his eyes following his fingers as his hand slowed to a stop above your heart.

"And, perhaps this, as well...?" Paul asked rather innocently, eyes flitting back up to meet your own gaze. You nodded a little, watching as he ran his tongue against his bottom lip. "Lift up."

You raised your arms for him, and felt your top slide up and off you, his fingers grazing your sides gently as he removed it from your body. Paul held it in his hands for a moment, eyes drifting down a little to look at the sight before him. The top fell to the floor, along with his discarded sweater, and you both stared at each other for a moment.

Paul's eyelids lowered and he sighed at you, hands reaching out to hold you again. He cupped you at the base of your ribs, his thumbs drawing nonsensical patterns on the skin under your breasts as he closed the gap between you again. As your lips pressed together, Paul slowly walked you back to the edge of his bed, where you lowered yourself to sit when you felt the mattress against the back of your legs.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, finally pulling away to look at you again. His hands moved up carefully to cup your breasts, and you shut your eyes. He gauged your reaction to his touch, and feeling his thumbs run gently over your nipples made your head drop back. You whined a little, that familiar, yet longing feeling you hadn't experienced in a while was making itself known deep within you.

His hot breath was fanning against your skin, and Paul asked you in the most delicate tone, a simple, yet effective, "May I?" And all you could do was nod to him.

You whined again when Paul's lips made contact with your breast, his left hand kneading the other carefully as his right squeezed your side in affection. You slid your hands up through his hair, and you felt him moan against your left nipple as his other hand rolled your right one between his fingers.

You both had to try your best to keep on the quieter side since it was so late; and no one else should have known what you two were doing. Unfortunately, Paul's... handiwork... wasn't anything to be quiet about.

"Paul," you choked out, tilting your head up a little, and he removed his mouth from your nipple to look you right in the eyes.

"You like that?"

"Yes," you nodded your head rather frantically, spurring him to get right back to work, but switching sides, lips and tongue teasing your right breast as your left now gained the attention of his fingers.

Your knees fell away from one another as you tilted your head back again, breath ragged as Paul worked his magic. You felt his hand slide down your waist to drag along the band on your pyjama bottoms, but he was in no rush to tell you to take them off.

His hand actually continued to slide down to your thigh, and he squeezed you gently as you felt his tongue swirl around your nipple, and you rolled your hips against his body on reflex, choking out another whine as you tugged at his hair a little harder. He smiled with a pleasant hum before pulling his mouth away from your body.

You huffed at the cool air hitting your wet breasts, but he placed another warm kiss on your lips, one of his hands holding the back of your neck, and your discomfort faded away almost instantly. His other hand was still on your thigh, but slowly trailing back up to the waistband on your pyjama bottoms.

Paul deepened the kiss just for a moment as his finger hooked into the band. When you both separated again, he rested his forehead against yours, heavy eyes opening to look at you.

"Isn't it about time these go, too?" There was something so carnal about his words, yet they still held an abundant amount of respect for you, and your comfort; and, dear God, it turned you on so badly.

You didn't even respond to his question. You just removed your hands from his hair so you could support yourself from the mattress from your elbows, raising your hips off the bed a little so he could pull the rest of the clothes off your body. You watched as Paul did just that, your bottoms relinquished to the pile of clothes building off to the side, your legs not so spread apart anymore.

It looked as if he were in a trance, hands on your thighs as he examined your nude body in fascination. You watched him watch you, still propped up on your elbows, and you felt almost embarrassed under his gaze until he mumbled, fingers kneading into the tense muscles on your legs, "perfect. Absolutely perfect."

You blushed as he tenderly spread your legs open, unhurriedly, and he groaned at the sight of just how wet you were for him.

"Oh, Darling..."

Your face felt so hot, especially when you watched him lick those damned lips of his again.

"I want to taste you, you look so damn sweet." His thumbs continued to massage between your thighs, and you could feel yourself getting even wetter. You felt like you needed to return the favour.

"I... Did you want me to--"

"No," Paul interrupted lightly with a simple shake of his head. It was like he read your mind. "Keep moaning, keep pulling my hair. Those beautiful noises you're making have me feeling the best kind of way right now."

Every word he said contributed to enhancing the pit of arousal you were feeling within, and you were almost speechless. No one had ever spoken to you that way before, not even your ex, the one with whom you felt you shared your most intimate moments with. But after what had already happened in that room, between you and Paul, comparing them was out of the question.

You could feel his breath against your heat, your blood pumping loud in your ears.

"Paul, please..." you whispered, but he just stared at you, fingers still rubbing your thighs.

"Please what, Lovely?" You knew he was doing this on purpose, especially when he rested his head down onto your left leg to give you those alluring puppy-dog eyes.

"I can't give you what you what you want if you don't tell me what it is you need."

Your mouth formed a few shapes without you making a sound. You sighed, breath shaky as you gathered enough composure to groan, "I need your mouth. Please."

"Where?" Paul asked innocently. You were secretly loving the way he was teasing you, but on the other hand, you were beginning to feel desperate for his touch. His left hand reached up towards you, and a single finger rested against the skin between your breasts.

"Here?" He questioned softly, dark eyes watching you as you shook your head. He dragged his finger so painfully slow down your body, stopping at your abdomen to ask again.

"What about here?"

"Please," you were begging him at this point, but Paul continued to take his time, drawing his finger lower, and lower, until he was just above your folds.

"Just little lower," you pleaded to him desperately, and when you finally felt him pull his hand away to hold your thighs apart, you knew he was done playing games with you.

He gave you one more sultry look before dropping his head between your legs, tongue gently lapping away at your arousal, and you cried out his name. He opened his eyes to watch you react from his place as he continued rolling his tongue against you at an even pace.

You lowered your back to the bed, legs instinctively trying to squeeze together at the feeling of Paul's sweet mouth where you needed him most, but he continued to hold a firm grip on your thighs to keep them in place.

His beard scratched at your legs a little, but in the best kind of way. His nose bumped against your clit and your hands found their way back into his mess of locks again, tugging and driving him closer to you. He moaned against you, the vibrations shooting a chill up through your body.

He pulled away a little, mouth shining with your arousal, and his eyelashes lowered over his eyes as he mumbled, "Oh, my dear, you taste better than I ever dreamed you would."

Your heart was pounding against your ribcage, the idea of such a beautiful man dreaming about being between your legs and tasting you, and wanting this had you feeling some kind of way.

"Please, don't stop," you whined gently, and he responded with a quiet laugh.

"Oh, my sweet girl, I'm nowhere near being done with you yet. Don't you worry."

A mix of relief and lust rushed your emotions, and Paul's eyes continued to watch you as he let go of your right leg, hand coming up to his face before putting his middle finger in his mouth.

You stared in anticipation as he pulled his saliva-covered finger out from between his lips before plunging it right into you, and you cried out again, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes as you pushed your hips up against his hand.

It was Paul's turn to stare, and you felt him curl his finger inside of you before adding another and repeating the beckoning motion again, free hand pressing your hip down to keep you from moving so much.

"You okay, Lovely?" He asked in a low tone, watching as your body twitched and writhed with everything he did.

"Yes, keep going, Paulie," you whimpered, encouraging his hand to quicken before he dipped back down, lips wrapping around your nub, and all you could see were stars. Your hips rocked up again, and Paul released your waist a little to let you squirm around.

"Paulie, I'm gonna..." you stumbled over your words as you felt your orgasm nearing quickly, your hands balled into tight fists in his hair still. One more finger curl was all he had to do before you released all over them with a cry. You mumbled nonsensical speech as Paul pulled back a little and admired his achievement, your arousal dripping down his hand as he let you ride it out.

"That's it, do whatever makes you feel good, my angel." His praise was addicting, your eyes rolled back as you revelled in this state of euphoria. It wasn't long before your hips fell back onto the bed, and you sighed out when Paul removed his fingers from you.

You took a moment to fixate your gaze on him. His pupils were blown, staring at you in the face with his lips parted. You relieved some of the tightness in your fists so you weren't gripping his hair so hard, mumbling a whispered apology for being so harsh with that.

Paul responded to you, not with words, but by stalking up your body slowly, silently, as a predator would to its prey; and he pressed a kiss to your mouth, tongue pushing its way past your teeth so you could taste yourself.

You groaned, sitting up slowly as to not break the kiss. You reached down towards the belt wrapped around his hips, undoing it blindly and pulling it from the loops of his jeans. You needed him, and he was strained so tightly in those trousers, you knew it couldn't have been comfortable for him. You parted from the kiss, but keeping the distance close between you two.

"Are you positive you don't want me going down on you?" Your question seemed as innocent as if could have been, and Paul just smiled a little with another head shake.

"Baby girl, as long as you're getting off, so am I."

You hummed at his response. You hoped he wouldn't quit with the pet names. Your eyes glanced down to the jeans you were in the middle of taking care of, and Paul was already popping the button off them.

His eyes trailed back up to your face before he put his palm innocently over your heart, pushing you down onto your back again.

"Just lean back and relax, my sweet thing. You just stay there and look pretty while I take care of you. Make you feel good."

You watched him from your lying position as he moved to stand by the foot of the bed, dropping his jeans to the floor after wiping his hands off on them before he turned back to you. His stare didn't seem all that possessive and dark anymore like it had been during foreplay.

He was looking at you with a type of sincerity that brought warmth to your soul.

You were under a spell, unable to disengage from his stare, even when he climbed back onto the bed, and spread your legs apart again. He briefly looked away from you to position his cock properly, and you watched the concentration on his face morph into mild enjoyment as he circled the head around your pussy teasingly.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your legs crossed around his waist, and he looked up at you through his eyelashes. Those perfect pink lips of his parted, and he whispered to you with one more squeeze to your thigh, "are you ready?"

Your hands reached out for him, fingers clasping together at the back of his neck as you nodded your head. "I need you, Paul, Please."

"Don't worry, my Love. I'll give you exactly what you need."

And with an unhurried push of his hips, he was inside of you, and the most beautiful sound escaped his lips, in limbo between a moan and a whine, and the look on his face was blissful, eyes shut and mouth hanging open at the feeling of you.

You let out a deep, concentrated, pleasing sigh. It hadn't been forever since you last had sex, but it was definitely long enough. The stretch from his member filled you up in the greatest way; and Paul took it real slow for you.

"Fuck, you're so wet. So tight," he mumbled under his breath, exhaling deeply with every roll of his hips. His eyes drifted back open to watch your face, lowering his brow and whispering to you, "my Love, you promise to tell me if I'm ever hurting you?"

Your face flushed red at his words, and you nodded a little.

"Yes, Paulie. Absolutely." Your quiet response was uttered though little moans, a hint of emotion laced in your voice.

You were partial to that specific nickname. You felt you maybe liked it too much, but there was no denying that responding to it felt so right, and Paul, you felt, seemed to think regarding you that way was okay, as well. It made you feel like you were actually wanted, and you'd be lying if you didn't say you hadn't felt that way in a very long time.

Paul leaned down, arms on either side of your head as he kissed your lips, and you kissed back, fingers unclasping so you could once again run your nails along his scalp and through his hair. He groaned at the attention, rocking a little deeper now, and you pulled away from the kiss to whine at Paul's actions.

You arched your back as his movements sped up, and you could hear his breaths quickening as he settled on a steady pace. One of his hands slid in under your back to hold you closer, and he dropped his head into the cook of your neck.

He started placing kisses along the side of your throat, and then on your collarbone. "You have no idea... fuck... how long I've waited for you." He mumbled those words against your skin, and your conscience shot right awake from its besotted trance as you hyper-focussed on his words.

"I have been dreaming about this for so many nights... for so many years..."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Sure, you'd known Paul for a while, but never in your life did you think he was even remotely attracted, to you let alone actively fantasizing about the very moment you were both experiencing.

Your chest burned, intensely aware that as soon as this night was over, this feeling of togetherness, intimacy, and affection was going to die out like a candle flame, and you were going to be alone all over again. Your eyes were glassy with tears as you tried to draw Paul closer, opting to remove your fingers from his hair to wrap your arms around his body.

You began to push your hips back against Paul's, recieving a pleased hum from him. Your hands rubbed tenderly over the hot skin on his back as he continued to pour his heart out to you, breaking yours more with every word that left his mouth.

"My sweet Love; to think I've wanted you for so long... and now I have you. I'm the luckiest fucking guy in the world."

"Paul," you whimpered, head resting up against his shoulder as tears streamed down your cheeks from your eyes. You weren't entirely sure what came over you, but before you could even think, you were whispering to him, "please don't leave me."

"Never. My Love, I'll always be right here." His response was so effortless, and quick, and your ears seemed to be ringing again. He put his other hand at the back of your head, pulling you in closer as your bodies continued to rock together.

You could feel another orgasm nearing, and Paul must have known from the sounds coming from your mouth. He pulled his arm out from under your back to reach between the both of you, thumb toying with your clit as you cried out again, hips jerking harder and quicker against him, his own pace stuttering as he could feel the walls of your heat contracting against him.

"I-- I'm gonna..." you choked, and Paul rubbed between your legs even faster.

"Come undone, my Love," he encouraged weakly as he tried his best to keep going for you. You dropped your head back against the pillows and you cried out as another orgasm rushed you, more tears falling down your cheeks, as you returned to that feeling of ecstasy you were in only minutes before.

Paul leaned up, forehead and chest shining with sweat as he continued to pound into you, long hair matted against his skin as his pace fell apart, shuttering as he pulled out of you and came all over your stomach.

His head fell back, eyes falling shut as he called out your name, cum leaking out of him and all over you, but you were far from caring. His breaths were heavy as he gasped for air, and after a moment of allowing the both of you to come down from the high, he slumped back onto his arms, head rolling to the side so he could open his eyes and look at the mess he made of you.

"Oh, Love, I'm sorry about all that. Let me just..." Paul took another deep breath before rolling himself off the bed, wandering on wobbly legs towards the connected bathroom. You could hear the faucet running for a moment as you stared directly up at the ceiling, beginning to wake your body up with a little wiggle your toes.

That was, without any doubt, the best sex you'd had in your life. And as Paul returned to you, two damp cloths in-hand, you figured the intimacy was over; that you'd clean yourself up and be kicked out of the room.

But when he took a seat at the foot of the bed again, and he reached up to your tummy to wipe his ejaculation off your skin, you found yourself falling into another daze.

The cloth was warm, and Paul took his time sliding it over you to clean you up, not a single word coming from his mouth. When he felt he cleaned your stomach well enough, he reached for the other cloth, wiping the sweat gingerly off your neck, and chest.

Every move was calculated, and even when he moved to wipe up the mess between your legs, he was careful of how sensitive you were, free hand caressing your thigh while he remained largely focused on cleaning you up.

You felt the assault of tears burning your eyes again as you watched Paul tend to you, and when he looked up to your face and realized your expression, his own fell to one of worry.

"... you okay?"

You nodded your head weakly, that was until you felt him squeeze your leg again. Your bottom lip began to tremble, and your hands came up to your face as you sobbed into your palms.

"Hey, hey, Darling, what's the matter?"

Paul even sounded worried, climbing up the mattress to be closer to you. You curled up into a little ball on your side, and Paul put his hand on your arm, rubbing it up and down to comfort you.

"I... I..." you didn't want to tell Paul necessarily what you were feeling, because then that would have meant telling him you enjoyed him a little too much. More than you thought was maybe appropriate.

"Please talk to me, tell me what I can do to make this all better," he begged, and you took a while to respond to him.

"Hold me," you whimpered, and Paul, without another second passing, swept you up in his arms, cradling you as you sat in his naked lap. His right arm circled your back as his left coaxed your head onto his shoulder before he began stroking your hair.

Your arms lazily circled around him as you cried into his shoulder, and Paul pressed his lips into a line, tears of his own threatening to fall.

"Did hurt you? Did I do something wrong, Love?"

"Please don't think that," you choked back. "You did everything so right. And that's the problem."

Paul's eyebrows, which were knit together in frustration and confusion, began to relax at the realization of your words. You both knew you were going to have to elaborate a little more at one point, but Paul didn't pry. He just continued to stroke your hair and rock you, soothing you of your negative emotions.

You pulled your head away from the crook of his neck eventually, and you looked Paul in his sweet, doe eyes. "You're so kind. Too kind," you sniffled. "Half of me wants to actually listen to the words you said, but it hurts too much. After what he did to me..."

You thought back to your ex for a moment. That slimy, cheating bastard.

"I can't even pretend to believe someone would love me like that again, because he stripped me of all that trust."

Paul seemed a little hurt at your words, taking a moment to decide what he was going to say next.

"... You don't have to believe it now, but I know everything I said to you was the truth."

You felt your bottom lip quiver again, and he pulled his hand from the back of your head to cup your face.

"Everything. Even when you asked me not to leave. I can't be certain you were being serious about that, but I want you to know that I'm serious. I won't leave you if you don't want me to."

You couldn't help but tilt your head into his touch as your red eyes drifted closed. He placed a kiss on your temple, mumbling into your skin, "please believe me when I say I did have some doubts about all of this. But having you here, in my arms right now... I have never felt so sure about anything in my life. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again."

"But how can I be so sure?" Your question was barely above a whisper, and Paul held you tighter, and closer.

"You've occupied a special place in my heart for a long while, now. If anything were to try and hurt you, and I'm there to protect you, I'd be doing everything in my power to keep you safe."

You could feel Paul turn your head towards him, and you opened your eyes.

"I know our last relationships didn't end well. I know we're still hurting from the past... But you make me so happy. Like I have something worth living for, and can think about the future without wanting to look back at the pain I'm wanting to desperately leave behind."

You had more emotions stirring in your heart again, but they were ones that made you feel fuzzy inside.

"... Would it be so wrong of me to tell you I feel the same way about you?" You asked him carefully. You couldn't believe how poetic he could be just talking to you. He had all the right words to say at any given time.

"Absolutely not," he replied easily, one of the corners of his mouth twitching at the relief that the feeling was, in fact, mutual.

You reached up to cup his face, thumb drifting against his beard as he leaned in to kiss your mouth. And you let him. It wasn't to initiate anything, only to project affection unto you.

He pulled away after a moment, breathing a quiet "Please, Darling, stay with me, tonight."

You smiled sadly at his request, but you shook your head a little. "What about Rich? He's gonna find out everything." That was another nail in the coffin, Paul decided, he needed to pry out.

"Well, he's just going to have to deal with the fact that I need you," he responded matter-of-factly, and your heart ached at that.

"I don't think you have any idea just how long I've restrained myself from talking to you, let alone flirt or try anything with you. I used to care so much about what Ringo thought, but all that matters now is you."

Paul removed his hand from your cheek to caress yours holding his own face. He pulled your hand off so he could kiss your fingertips, smiling just a little to try and encourage one on your own face.

"It's just us now. No one else. Okay, my Love?"

All you could seem to do was nod your head, but that appeared to be enough for him. He gave you one more peck and a little hand squeeze before sighing. "Let's splash some water on your face and get us ready for bed, hm? I don't know about you, but the last ten minutes have been an absolute workout for me."

You blushed a little when Paul sent a wink your way, but you shifted off his lap and stood up, as did he. He took your hand in his again and guided you to the bathroom, and as you wet your face with the water under the faucet, he tossed the damp face cloths in the laundry bin next to the toilet.

His attention was back on you, and he tucked your hair back behind your ear, placing a kiss under your earlobe. You smiled a little at the gesture as you watched him through the mirror, turning the faucet off and dabbing your face dry with the towel on the counter. Paul settled another kiss at the crook of your neck, and then one on your shoulder.

"You feel any better?" He asked lowly, his words vibrating against your skin. You held back a chuckle by biting your bottom lip, setting the towel back down next to the sink.

"A little, yeah."

"As long as the answer isn't no, I can live with that." He smiled at your reflection, arms wrapping around your body as he kissed your shoulder one more time. You placed your hands overtop his, which were planted on your hips.

"C'mon, now," he whispered, one of his hands unraveling rom your body to drift to the small of your back and leading you back out into the bedroom. He left you briefly to pop the window open a little, and you climbed in under the covers, him following suit just a few seconds after.

You rolled to your side to look at Paul, and he did the same, propping up on his elbow and dropping his head in his hand, other arm reaching out so he could cup your face again. He looked so happy, having you so close to him. It was such a contrast to how you found him earlier that night, and the difference made you feel rather glad you were still awake at such a late hour.

"Thank you for everything tonight," he offered gently. "The drinks we shared, the dancing, the intimacy, for letting me confess everything to you, for staying... thank you for being you."

"Aww, why can't I say anything that romantic and poetic to you?" You whined a little, and Paul laughed gently, his hand drifting down to squeeze your arm lovingly.

"Y'know, there will be so much time in the future for you to woo me."

"If I can learn to be as quick on my feet as you, perhaps," you argued back playfully, shifting forward a little so you could curl up into Paul's chest. His hand dropped to your spine so he could pull you in a little closer, thumb rubbing gently against your skin.

"You'll get there, Lovely. Sweet dreams." You hummed a little as your eyes fell shut, the feeling of Paul's thumb caressing you, and the sound of the trees rustling in the wind outside, as well as the rise and fall of Paul's chest had you lulling to sleep in no time. He, on the other hand, remained awake for a long while, holding you close to him as if it were his only purpose in life.

He wasn't worried about anything anymore; not even about whether Ringo would find out about the both of you before either of you planned... Despite leaving the evidence of two alcohol glasses still sitting pretty on the coffee table in the den for him to find first thing that next morning.

Paul eventually fell asleep as well, arms enveloping you from the cool night air seeping in from the window leading outside. His heart was feeling fuller than it ever had before, and it was all because of you.

______________________________________

A/A/N: I hope this lived up to your expectations, I haven't written anything NSFW in YEARS, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Don't forget to like and comment, I love reading the comments on these :')

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[imagrindylow]

You're Cute When You Scream

Percy Weasley / f!Reader 4.6k Words Content Warnings: 18+ Explicit content; halloween scariness, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, cmnf Summary: You take Percy on a spooky surprise date, for which he thanks you very kindly. A/N: 🎃👻🦇 Happy Halloween 🎃👻🦇 ~~~~~

You kept the nature of your date with Percy that evening a surprise, knowing that if you were to give him the details beforehand, he would have had all sorts of amplifying questions which would have resulted in him trying to back his way out of it. He would have had excuses on reserve – a stack of paperwork that ought not wait through the weekend to be delved into, or meeting talking points that could use another once over before Monday. And you'd have let him off the hook, too, giving in to those pretty ocean blue eyes of his far more often than you probably should. 

You knew he didn’t like surprises, either. They were rarely ever good things, or at least, he had been conditioned to believe as much throughout his childhood. Growing up, Fred and George often charged into his room with various ‘surprises’ for him. After the second time they’d gifted him a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans – each pre-licked and put back into the box with all of the good flavors removed – he stopped getting his hopes up when offered surprises. You were hell bent on changing his outlook on them, though, and you were making good progress, too. He had, after all, agreed to go along with your mysterious plan, whatever it was, and he apparated to your home Saturday evening as you’d asked him to. 

Percy knocked and stood on the stairs outside of your flat waiting for you to come to the door, fidgeting with the sleeves of his cable knit jumper. It was well loved and comfy, thick and warm, practical for the mid fall weather. But (one of) the problems with surprise dates was that he couldn’t be certain that he was dressed appropriately for the occasion. This was inherently stressful to him. Percy would forget this worry the moment you answered the door, however, the enthusiastic way you pulled him into an embrace at your every meeting reinforced the idea that the fact he’d agreed to come was more important to you than what he was wearing.

“Don’t you look festive,” Percy said with a little grin as he pulled back from the hug, loosening his hold on you just enough to get a good look at what you had on, his hands holding your forearms and giving them an affectionate squeeze.

You were in a black cardigan with small jack-o'-lanterns knit into the pattern on both pockets. He thought it was cute, if not a bit hokey. It looked like something his mother would have made. Was it? The woman was always knitting.

“That’s what I was going for,” you said with a huff of amusement, eyeing him up as well. 

“Oh?” He quirked his brow, his lips pulling into a crooked little smile. You’d been going for festive. That was a clue. The two of you were doing something for Halloween. He should have known, honestly, he knew you loved the holiday. There were pumpkins on the stairs leading to your door and an autumn wreath gently rustled as you shut the door behind him as he stepped through the threshold. “Will you tell me where you’re taking me?”

“You’ll see~” you said, eyes sweeping over his face with a mischievous and knowing grin. He could try to flirt information out of you all he liked, but he’d only find out when you got there.

The two of you didn’t make it much further into your home than the front hall before you took both of Percy’s hands and gave them that tight squeeze you always gave him when you were preparing to apparate. 

“I’m ready if you are,” you said.

“Ready. Don’t go splinching us now,” he cautioned. You could have repeated the line along with him. You had heard it as many times as you had apparated him. 

“Have I ever?” 

“No you haven’t, but you know I have to say it.” 

You hummed, acknowledging his need to wish for your safe travels, and kept a tight hold of his hands. You closed your eyes and focused, envisioning in your mind a secluded dirt road that led to a farm that your parents had taken you to every year as a young girl, for an annual Halloween festival of sorts. The memory of the place was nostalgic, yet so very clear in your mind, even though you hadn’t attended the festival in many years now. 

The two of you vanished with a crack and reappeared on that dirt road, an intentionally lengthy walk from the farm, a route that your parents had shown you long ago, to ensure you'd all be able to safely apparete without being noticed by any muggles. Percy didn't know this, however, and once you both steadied yourselves on the dirt and gravel, he was visibly confused. 

“I still don’t know what you’re up to,” Percy said, taking in his surroundings. The road was carved through heavy woods, and he could see farm buildings in the distance. Pumpkin picking, perhaps? It was his best guess, based on what he could make from where you’d taken him.

“Come on,” you said, keeping hold of one of his hands as you began to lead him towards the farm.

The road you walked was quiet, the only sounds around you being the gentle wind through the red-orange leaves on the trees on either side of the road, and the crunch of loose stone under your feet as you made your way. 

As you two got closer, however, you could hear lively voices, laughter, and occasional high pitched shrieks. At that, Percy gave you a sidelong glance, before shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, letting out a little huff of amusement.

He was confident to make a guess at your destination, at this point. “It’s a festival. It’s a Halloween festival, isn't it? Haunted mazes, costumed actors, store bought decorations, right?” Your wide grin and bright eyes were the only confirmation he needed. “Silly girl, you are.”

Something about him calling you a silly girl made you shiver. You were positive that it was his tone and not the autumn temperature. 

“It will be fun!” you insisted. “I haven’t been in ages, and I loved going when I was little. I wanted to share it with you.”

Percy could appreciate that you wanted to share something from your childhood with him, and he could tell right away that this was important to you. Knowing as much made his chest warm, despite the cool breeze. You had a way of pulling his heartstrings like that. He typically found the concept of these muggle-esque celebrations a bit contrived, but he supposed he could see the allure, even if he had to squint.

“You’re right. It will be fun,” he agreed, giving your hand a squeeze. 

Rounding a bend in the road, the two of you made your way through the entry gates and to a small booth where, well prepared with muggle money, you paid for your admissions to the farm's attractions. 

“You thought this through, I’m impressed,” Percy quipped, taking in the various decorations surveying the grounds around them. 

“Of course I did. You’ve so little faith in me, I’m wounded,” you teased right back.

The farm was sprawling and crowded, mostly with families with small children in tow, which made Percy feel out of place even though the two of you were not the only childless young adults among the masses. Percy was overwhelmed with the sheer size of the place, signage on wooden posts pointing in every direction towards different activities – a haunted hayride, a haunted corn maze, a haunted trail. He was detecting a theme here, but that wasn’t even the half of it. There were food stands, games, and other activities, most of which consisted of farm equipment being temporarily repurposed for children's entertainment. Little-ones were climbing stacks of hay bales, and playing on large overturned tractor tires. The buildings full of animals were yet another draw for the crowds, and everything from the fence posts to the buildings themselves seemed to be buried in a layer of string lights and various orange, black and purple Halloween decorations. 

Despite both you and Percy  being in your mid twenties, your childlike sense of wonder for the goofiest of things never ceased to put a smile on his face, and it was ever present as you pulled him first towards the hayride. He was glad for your general zest for life – he’d have been cemented in place with trepidation without you to help navigate him through the busy festival.

“Let’s start here,” you said, and kept hold of his hand as the two of you got into the queue, waiting for the wagon to finish its previous run.

Percy had never been on a hayride before – let alone a haunted one – and he hadn’t known what to expect despite the name being so very clear. The two of you climbed up and sat on bales of hay, in the bed of a large wooden wagon being towed behind a farm tractor, shoulder to shoulder with others – families, couples. The ride pulled you away from the farm and into nearby woods, the dense tree cover making the already setting sun seem even more dim, and providing a more fitting backdrop for the ‘haunted’ attraction.

He had such a hard time biting his tongue as the tractor drove past the first set of decorations along the trail through the woods, and he only did so for the sake of the families with children seated in the vicinity. 

A toy tractor with a plastic skeleton affixed to it? Really? 

He huffed out a laugh and gave you a sidelong glance and a subtle shake of his head. You knew it was silly, but it made you smile, and despite his sardonic reactions to the various props, you knew he wasn’t hating this. It showed in the way he held your hand tight and in the fond look on his face as he watched you enjoy yourself.

The ride was bumpy and went on for another fifteen minutes, past wooden cutouts of witches and ghosts, more plastic skeletons, and even inflatable cauldrons and black cats. Target audience be damned, there was a grin plastered on your face when you and Percy hopped down from the wagon when it came to a halt at the edge of the farm to drop you all off and pick up a new load of passengers. 

You waited with baited breath for the commentary Percy had been holding back throughout the ride. You’d been dating him long enough to just know it was coming, the words were practically overflowing from him as he leaned in close to speak to you as you steered him towards the festival's food offerings.

“Where do muggles get their concept of what ghosts look like?” he remarked. “You know what ghosts look like, and that was just offensive.”  

“I’m guessing the organizers just didn’t want to frighten the children.” 

“Were you frightened as a child when you first met Sir Nicholas? Or the Bloody Baron?” Percy asked, as though the question would drive home an irrefutable point. 

“Very much so, actually,” you said with a huff of amusement, recalling yourself as a girl of just eleven, seeing the ghostly entrails of Sir Nicholas’ neck on display as he greeted you and the other new first years over dinner on your very first day as a Hogwarts student. You’d lost your appetite.

Percy hmphed.

“When you grow up with those wooden ghost standees, the real thing is actually quite jarring,” you said, smirking at his little pout. He hated being proved wrong, but you’d take every opportunity to do as much when his stony face went all soft and thoughtful when you did.

“Come on, I need a snack,” you told him, walking together through the crowds until you found yourselves on the other end of the farm where various food and drink stalls were set up all in a row.

Settled at a picnic table, each of you with a styrofoam cup full of hot chocolate and a toffee apple, you chatted idly while people watching, noting how now that the sun had fully set and darkness settled over the farm, there were far fewer young children about the place. Older kids, teenagers, and young adults like yourselves had crowded into the queues of the surrounding more spooky attractions. Purple and orange string lights wrapped around the fence posts twinkled in the darkness, and eerie music played from speakers hidden around the decorations, adding to the more mature nighttime atmosphere of the festival.

“We ought to do the corn maze next, now that it’s dark out,” you suggested before taking a careful bite from your toffee apple, looking across the table at Percy with a teasing smile. “Should be more spooky than the hayride.”

“As long as you don’t think you’ll get too scared,” Percy said with his little smirk. If he was honest, he found the idea of you getting freaked out by some teenage scare actor in the maze quite amusing. He hoped to see it so he could act as your white knight. 

“I think I’ll manage. But if you need to, you can hide behind me and I’ll protect you.” Wishful thinking, she knew, but it was so fun to pick on him. 

The two of you took your time, enjoying each other's banter while finishing up your treats before queuing up for the maze. You stood in front of Percy, letting him rest his chin on your head with his arms around your middle, enjoying the bit of affection which he typically kept behind closed doors. 

The queue moved slowly, with the workers staggering entry to the maze to keep it from getting overcrowded inside, but after a while, you reached the front of the line and a worker – a man wearing a crude werewolf mask and a flannel button down – handed you a flashlight and ushered the two of you inside.

“Don’t even say anything,” you said quietly with a playful nudge and a gesture back in the workers direction. If he’d thought the muggle depiction of ghosts was offensive, he’d surely think their rendition of werewolves was downright criminal. You’d have to agree with him there. 

Percy snickered at that. “You know me so well,” he quipped, offering you his arm to hold as you clicked on the flashlight and began to navigate the maze together. 

If you had told Percy about corn mazes beforehand, he’d have questioned what could possibly be so scary about a corn field that it could garner such a queue as a haunted attraction, but as he experienced it first hand, he came to understand on his own. It was dark, and the flickery orangy beam from the flashlight did relatively little to light your way. The tall corn stalks filtered the light from the lamp posts around the farm into long swaying shadows over the rows you walked, and the rustling of the dry husks at every turn had each of  you questioning if it was really only the crop you were hearing. 

Keeping track of each turn the two of you made so that you wouldn’t get turned around, Percy was focused as you walked hand in hand through the maze. He told you all about the ‘right hand rule’ for solving mazes, and said that although it wouldn’t be the fastest way out, he assured you that the two of you wouldn’t get lost. You walked stiffly, anticipation in every step but especially as you rounded corners, knowing that at some point or another you’d be bound to run into scare actors. You liked a good jump scare, the thrill of uncertainty, but it did make you nervous, and you knew this brand of Percy’s rambling was in an effort to distract you from said nerves. It was appreciated. 

As the two of you made your way further into the maze you had the uncanny feeling that you were being followed. You’d turned to look over your shoulder several times as you followed Percy’s lead, keeping a tight grip on his hand as he led you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were just missing catching a glimpse of someone, dark shadows and many path offshoots between the corn stalks giving plenty of opportunity for someone to hide just out of sight. 

Percy of course had the same feeling, but he seemed wholly unbothered. 

“You seem so tense, you know it’s just some kid who works here following us, just waiting for the perfect moment to hop out and say ‘boo,’” Percy said, as though his cool rationale of the situation made it less unnerving for you. 

“Well I wish they’d just do it already and get it over with.”

Percy tutted. “They’re going for suspense, and it’s clearly working on you,” he teased with a nudge of your shoulder and a squeeze of your hand. The way he looked down at you with that smirk of his, that playful gleam in his eyes, made you feel a bit better. 

But your conversation with Percy and the way he so easily distracted you also gave the scare actor, who had indeed been following mere paces behind the two of you, the perfect opportunity to strike. 

Getting in front of the two of you using a passage to your left that you’d passed right on by (staunchly following Percy’s strategy), a tall figure dressed as the most grotesque scarecrow imaginable stepped out from the shadows and onto the path just in front of you. 

The face of the figure was completely covered in a burlap sack affixed with rope to their neck, with distraught painted eyes and a bloody looking stitched over slash in the sack for a mouth. A far cry from the sheet ghosts and ill fitting rubber werewolf masks you’d encountered earlier, the scarecrow was truly something of a nightmare. 

There was no shouting “boo,” or saying anything for that matter. The figure hadn’t done anything besides simply appear in front of you, but you screamed, released both Percy’s hand and the flashlight, and darted startled in the opposite direction. Percy chuckled with an amused shake of his head and waved at the scare actor before picking up the flashlight and turning on his heels to search for you in the maze, calling out your name, unsure of the direction you’d ran. 

Your heart was racing, and a sense of both relief and embarrassment settled into your chest as you slowed your sprint and came to a stop in what you hoped was a truly vacant portion of the maze. That scarecrow had gotten you good. 

“Percy!” you cried out, turning around in place and trying to discern where his voice was coming from. “I’m over here!” 

“Where is over here?” Percy called, letting out a huff of laughter as he made another turn, still unable to find where you’d run off to amongst the rows of corn. “You shouldn’t have let go of my hand, you know!”

You groaned, not particularly needing to be scolded right now, even if you could tell from his voice that he was thoroughly amused with your reaction to the scare actor. “Gee, thanks! So helpful to be reminded of that after the fact!” you called out to him. You could hear him snickering and you jogged down the row you were in, towards the sound of his voice.

Finally, you could see the dull orange glow from his flashlight bouncing between the stalks of corn just a few rows over. “Stay where you are, I can see the flashlight!” 

“Alright, alright, come on then,” he said and waited for you, arms crossed. He could hear rustling and snapping of husks and suspected you were cheating and cutting through rows of corn rather than finding your way to him the fair way. 

His suspicions were confirmed when you climbed out from the corn stalks beside him, your hair getting caught in the leaves, and your cardigan with little bits of plant matter sticking to the yarn. Percy preened you, as you looked up at him with a satisfied little grin, glad to be back with your boyfriend. 

“Silly girl, and a cheat at that. You’re not supposed to plow through the rows like an erumpent,” he said as he pulled a bit of corn tassel from your hair. His hands settled on your waist after he brushed off your cardigan.

“Farm’s lucky I only pushed through a row or two and that I didn’t tear my way out of the maze entirely.”

Percy laughed, taking your hand once again and retracing his steps to get the two of you back on track to finish off the maze. 

“I suppose they are. You’re cute when you scream, you know? I’d like to take you back home and really give you something to scream about,” he teased.

Your face went red, cheeks heating up in the chilly evening breeze. You loved when Percy got brazen in the quiet moments when no one else could hear. “Maybe if we could ever find our way out of this maze.”

“Well… No one’s around. We could apparate out, yeah? If anyone hears the crack they’ll likely just assume it’s a sound effect.”

Percy was nothing if not thoroughly convincing.

Before giving him a chance to remind you not to splinch yourselves, you’d intertwined your fingers with his and in a whirring crack the flashlight clattered  flickering to the ground in the maze and you were standing on your front porch yet again, gripping each other a bit more tightly as each of you got your footing. Percy stepped forward against you, your back hitting your door and the back of your head cushioned by the wreath that hung there as he cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours, his knee between your legs keeping you in place.

You kissed him back, the sweet taste of toffee apples still on his tongue for you to enjoy. Through the clash of lips, you fiddled under your cardigan producing your wand from your hip, you unlocked your door, one of your hands twisting the knob open and the other gripping the loose fabric of his jumper as you led him backwards and into your flat. Large, lithe hands slid down your waist and gripped your hips, kneading the skin there and you felt your lower lip between his teeth before he pulled back from the kiss, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Percy Weasley catching his breath, dilated pupils with red, kiss swollen lips was always a damn sight, and you took the moment as he was collecting himself again to look him over like the artwork that he was. He chuckled softly under your intense gaze, it always shook him, the way you so clearly wanted him.

“Come on then, I trust I don’t have to help you find your way to the bedroom,” he said, ever confident with the way you looked at him like you’d eat him if you could. 

“No, no I think I know the way in this case, thank you though,” you said and grinned, turning your back to him as you pulled him by the hand to your room. He pulled the door closed behind you.

Percy always undressed you slowly, and tonight was no different. He took his time with each button on your cardigan, and laid it neatly over the back of an armchair in your room. (If he tossed it on the floor the yarn might snag on something and that wouldn’t do.) Your other clothing, however, was fair game, and he didn’t pay attention to where your undershirt ended up, he simply removed it before guiding your back to lay flat on your bed, and he took your legs in his hands as he pulled off your boots and tugged down your pants. 

He took an odd sort of pleasure in being fully clothed while you were nearly naked. He was calm and collected as you laid there in anticipation for a pleasure only he could bring you. It always made him feel powerful. He removed only his shoes before climbing over you on your bed (he was polite, after all) and his lips met your jaw with open mouth kisses while his hands roamed along your chest and slid behind your back to unclasp your bra. He guided your arms out of the garment before tossing it over his shoulder with a smirk. 

“Beautiful,” he said, his eyes roving your skin. His fingers slid under the elastic of your panties and he pulled them down and off before continuing. “The way you were calling out my name when you’d gotten yourself lost in that maze… I want to hear it again. This time you’ll be lost in me.” He took off his glasses and set them on your bedside table.

You hummed and nodded, sinking into the blankets beneath you as Percy kissed along your navel before parting your legs and dipping his head between your thighs, drawing expletives from your lips as his tongue ran along your heat. Your fingers delved into his tousle of curls, giving them an appreciative tug as you flex your hips against his mouth, but you weren’t crying out for him just yet.

Meticulously, he worked you over with his tongue until your thighs trembled against his face and your back arched up from the mattress, your fingers digging into your bedding,  trying to stay grounded as he sunk two fingers into your core. Beckoning you closer to the edge with the curl of his digits,  your mouth hung open and those pretty, breathy whines flowed from your lips, you were truly getting lost in him and the hot pleasure he was bringing upon you. You held off for as long as you could, wanting to take every last second of paradise he was offering you before you finally obliged him, calling out his name as that pleasure crested and you came for him. He pulled his face away, raising himself on his elbows so he could get a good look at your face, his fingers still working you through it until your hand met his wrist with a tug and a breathy cry.

“Had enough, then?” he asked you, his voice soft and even as you trembled after coming apart. He crawled up your mattress and laid down alongside you, his arm laying over your stomach, giving your side a loving little squeeze. The soft wool of his jumper tickled against your bare skin.

“More than enough, for now,” you said and nodded, body finally starting to calm down but your breath still shuddered. 

“Mm, I’m glad,” he murmured and leaned in to kiss your face. He’d do his best to ignore the aching want in his trousers for now, wanting these precious moments to be all about you. He’d get his in the morning.

You soaked in his gentle affections while you finished coming down, tired now and ready for sleep. You turned to your side to face him, and nuzzled your nose to his with a satisfied grin. “I’d have brought you to a Halloween fair years ago if I had known that would be my thanks.”

[archetypal-archivist]

A Little World of Our Own- P. 1

Your eyes blink open, haze clouding your vision for a minute before consciousness reasserts itself and you awaken for real. It takes a moment longer for you to register the roughness of the sheets under your hands and the warmth trapping you as you lie in what must be your bed.

It's sticky and hot and you must have been lying here a long time, so you sit up, sore body punishing you for your choice. A glance around the room tells you little more, with stone and mortar walls, rough-hewn board floors, and a scattering of oil lamps across the mantle, larder, and the small table by your bedside. You find a clay mug of water there and you drain it immediately, suddenly parched.

Where... where are you? Another glance at the room and it hits that there really isn't much beyond this one room. The only door you can see seems to be the one outside and from your bed you spy a small stove and all the various bits and bobs that indicate that this is a space well lived-in, intended for every form of living. A cast off knitting project even peers at you from a bag hanging off your wardrobe, one stocking long since finished, the other halfway there.

Have you truly been living here long? This must be your bed, you wouldn't be sleeping in it if it weren't, but try as you might, you can't recall knowing how to knit, or cooking at the stove, or lighting all the lamps. You pause, breath catching in your throat.

You're not sure you remember your name.

How can this be your house if you don't even know your name? Your hands fist in the rough-spun cotton as you come to terms with your strange awakening, too overwhelmed to peer around further, eyes locked firmly on the floor.

There's a rug there. It's round, grey and white. The patterns look nice, if a bit abstract. You let your focus travel along the swoops and swirls long enough for the tension in your shoulders to ease and with a gusty sigh, you flop backwards, head hitting your lone pillow with a dull thump. The ceiling is about as exciting as your floor and you stare at that instead.

What do you know? Not much. The home you're in isn't yours, you're wearing- a glance down- a long-sleeved gingham nightdress in light green, and everything seems to be a lot older than you feel is appropriate. Oil lamps, really? Something about that just seems... inefficient.

You laugh at yourself for the thought, a little hysterical. Inefficient, really? The entire world is beyond your understanding and you feel that the lighting system is inefficient? What a way to wake up.

A shift and something crunches under your body, startling you into shifting over and pulling the sheets away to get a closer look. The fractured remains of what seems to be a gemstone peer up at you from the space by your waist and you gently collect the fragments, wary of the sharper edges and glittering dust.

Do broken gemstones follow the same rules as broken glass? You aren't sure but keep your sparkling hands well away from your face as you take a closer look.

Altogether, the fragments seem to make up the shape of an oval stone, silver like a diamond with smooth planes on the front and back. Despite knowing logically that you should be able to see your hand through the larger pieces given the stone's clarity, somehow the gem pieces remain totally opaque.

It's as you take up one of the larger pieces to hold it to the light from a nearby window that you hear the door open and your heart leaps into your throat, gaze still fixated on the fragment.

"Ah. So that's how it is."

The light does nothing, the silver sliver remains stubbornly clouded.

"That's a mage stone, in your hand. Given that it's broken, I don't think I'll be seeing the original owner of this place any time soon, so you may as well introduce yourself. You are this cottage's new owner and I'd hate to be rude to my new neighbor."

"I'm sorry, what?"

The man who meets your startled gaze is unlike anyone who you've ever seen before, and it's more than your lacking memory saying that. His eyes are the palest blue you've ever known, more like the gem shards in your hand than any shade found in a human face. Grey hair frames his expression in loose waves and though the cut of his outfit is simple, the white button-down shirt and neat black slacks are pressed and starched into an image of gentility.

A neat mole just to the lower left of his lips completes the look and it tugs up as he notices your ogling, a teasing grin following shortly after.

"Azul. Azul Ashengrotto. And you?"

You blink back to yourself, flushing at your shamelessness. "I- ah. I don't know? I woke up here and I can't remember a thing. You said this place is mine now? Where am I?"

He seems taken aback somehow and something twists in your gut as he looks away, grin morphing into something more bitter. You draw your knees up to your chest as Azul moves to sit at the foot of your bed, his gaze blank as he moves to roll up his sleeves in careful, practiced motions.

"You're my patient, and I, your doctor. I serve the whole town- Little Grove- but you've been in my care for the past month as I live nearby and the work was paid for in advance by your predecessor. I believe you'll be seeing me often in the future, if your words are to be believed."

You huff at the thought of this Azul thinking you a liar and his eyes flicker to you at the noise, crinkling in amusement.

"Yes yes, I know, stop pouting. In any case, your lack of memory may be a boon to you; a fresh start was your predecessor's wish and you can hardly get fresher than wiping your memory entirely."

Your mouth drops open, upset forgotten. "They did what? That's a thing?"

Azul stretches his legs out and leans back on his hands, tilting his head at you with a cool look. "Yes, that was my reaction when they brought it up with me. Magic exacts a price to match, not that it stopped them and I think my reaction only goaded them on. They were stubborn to a fault and that was the nail in their coffin; spite is a powerful motivator."

You blink in shock, leaning back against your headboard as you process that. Azul seems caught up in his memories, expression distant despite him looking right at you.

"Your predecessor moved into this cottage in Little Grove about a year or two back, then ignored the world in favor of their research. The money they could've earned anywhere else is double or triple what they earned here, but they persisted. I never asked and they never said, and within the year, they fell ill and could hardly leave the house. By the time I became of aware of the situation, it was too late."

"Then... why are you here?" You can't help but ask.

"Simple," Azul shrugs, the gesture strangely at odds with his starched appearance. "They left a pouch of money on my doorstep with a letter. Enough to care for them in their final weeks of life, instructions on what to do if they recognized me. And lastly, what to do if they... didn't."

Azul bows his head and looks at you from the corner of his eye, critical and bitter. You can't tell if the lingering sharpness is directed at you or himself and you hold your tongue, unsure of what to say. The implications make you feel ill.

"I won't apologize for all this, the fault lies solely with the person who's body you're wearing. I can only promise that I'll be here to help until the month's end, and from there you'll be on your own. For what it's worth, though-"

and Azul's gaze is a blistering, heated thing-

"I have never been one to fail. By the month's end, you'll be able to ensure your own happiness. I promise."

[the-fiction-witch]

Mrs Dawkins P1-P5

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack x Reader

Rating Sweet AF

Series Mrs Dawkins Series

This is A Wattpad Series mostly I will be posting it here of course in chunks but it is much further ahead and having daily chapter's being released there, so if you can't wait the the series is linked ^

I woke to the typical birds singing in the nest, the nest seated on a lofty branch of the tree outside my bedroom window. I had listened to the newly born baby birds since their hatch only a few days after I arrived now they were age, where flight was soon to be thrust upon them. They must leap unknowingly into the extraordinary world and all its devilish Secrets.

I suppose I pitied the poor baby birds, that they would be forced from the nest they have known their entire lives on the will of another, That they are to be forced away with a loving arm and the familiarity that it is best for all, that they must go onward into this heartless world solitary.

But I knew they couldn't remain in their nest eternally. 

The world is about them and the only route left is forward.

I laid in bed, my body knitted and knotted with the cotton sheets of my bed. I listened to the bird's sweet song, as they praised the morning sun. But after a while, I forced myself up as the guilt of being laid in bed only made my stomach sick. 

I forced my body from my bed, pushed back the cotton sheets and carefully set my feet on the cold wooden floor. I stepped across from my bedside to the small bassinet where a large jug, sweet bowl, lavender soap and a fresh towel sat ready and waiting, I poured the water from the jug into the bowl and took the soap, I washed my hands intricately making sure to clean my knuckles raw and in between my fingers intensely. I then used my clean hands to scrub my face until my nose and cheeks were sore, once finished I set my soap back in its dish and dried off on my towel. 

I looked across my room, even if all of it still felt so new to me. My sweet suite on the second floor of our lovely new house with lavender-painted wood pallet walls that lined my room, my bed in the centre graced with cotton and silks, my wardrobe took up most of my room the whole corner lined with shelves filled with dresses, stockings, jewellery and shoes. My large three-pannel mirror against the wall with the ottoman to the edge, the sweet paper screen painted with lavender flowers to block it from the rest of the room. My vanity was laden with objects such as my brushes, perfume bottles and blushes many of which simply sat in their typical places. and My desk in the centre was laden with paper scattered around, pencils, paints, charcoals and all sorts of other such materials littered about. With a few canvases leant against the leg of the desk where I had yet to find a place to put them. 

 I did adore my room, even if I had yet to make it my home since we moved here.

I moved across my room and behind my screen, I slipped off my nightie and left it on the small washing basket. I took my stockings and pulled them up my legs to my thighs, I took my bloomers and pulled them up to my waist buttoning them up tight, I took my underdress and slipped it over my shoulders tugging it down to my ankles, I took a pair of shoes and slipped them on not needing to lace them up. I took my corset still laced from yesterday and clipped it on having to breathe in a little to do the last few up but it meant I didn't need someone to lace my corset for me, I walked down my wardrobe and ran my hand across the rail of dresses. I picked out my green dress with a pattern of branches and birds in the fabric, I pulled it out and slipped it on giving it a good adjustment to let the built-in crinoline sit as it should. I did up the few buttons It needed and fixed myself in the mirror not even bothering to do my hair. 

"Hello, You." I sighed at my reflection adjusting my red ribbon tied in a bow around my neck.

My bedroom door opened, which revealed the governess of the house whom I had known almost my whole life, She was tall, thin, in a pencil-thin corset, a black shapeless dress her hair pinned back slickly, she stood stiff as a board her back in a position I'm sure could balance four heavy books if needed, Her hand still on my door knob. 

"Ma'am! Breakfast is ready." Miss Hardcastle said, but with a sharp uncaring tone almost as if she was ordering me there rather than requesting. 

"Yes, Miss." I nodded, so I left my room and she closed my door and followed behind me to take me down to the dining room. 

I headed down to the dining room, A large room that faced the window with a large wooden table littered with flowers, the yellow walls littered with paintings, and the chandelier hung over the table. My father sat in his usual seat. 

My father was a large man with a head for business, fairly far round and not very tall, in his black suit, red waistcoat and silver pocket watch. He sat there with his large plate loaded with greasy breakfast food. The food loaded almost twice the size of the plate it sat on. 

I sat myself in my usual chair, I adjusted my dress as I spoke up "Good Morning Father," 

"Good Morning My sweet," He cooed, "How did you sleep?"

"Very well thank you," I smiled, 

My breakfast was brought by the kitchen girl, she set the plate down in front of me with two bits of toast, some marmalade, and some cut-up apples, oranges, and other small fruits. 

"Thank you," I smiled to her as she hurried away, I began to eat my breakfast, and I made sure to be slow to make sure it lasted. "What are you going to do today Father?" I asked, 

"Well, I have some meetings in port, I need to talk to the damn warehouse clerks, more meetings, more meetings, then I have some organization for your ball, some paperwork, all boring business things. Not for little girls." He said, 

"So, you'll be going into town today?" 

"I will,"

"Do you think perhaps today I could accompany you?"

"Y/n. You need to stay here my sweet, you're still new to the area, and this place can be dangerous." he explained, "And you have yet to debut. We've been working around the clock for your Ball haven't we Miss Hardcastle?"

"Yes Sir." She nodded,

"We wouldn't want to spoil the reveal of the ball?"

"Please father?" I begged, "I haven't left our house since we arrived, Please Father just for a walk to your meeting that's all I ask."

He glared, a moment the first time he looked up from his breakfast. He stared at me before he looked back down, "What do we think Miss Hardcastle?"

She stiffened herself even more, she glanced at me so I pleaded with her as I gave her my most imploring eyes before she then looked to the ceiling. "She has been very well-behaved, sir. She has done all of her work, and been making good time on her preparations,  I believe taking her to town could only potentially drum more interest in her Ball."

"Alright then." he nodded, "That settles that, You shall accompany me but I will escort you everywhere." He said, "Go on, hat, gloves, and parasol."

"Yes Father" I nodded taking my plate to the side to be cleaned and almost bolted out the door to run and get ready beyond excited! 

I got my jacket on and made sure it covered me well, I slipped on my white gloves, brushed my hair out and put my hat on my head tying it around my chin and adding a hat pin just in case. I made sure I looked as presentable as possible for my first time out, hiding my ribbon and adding a string of pearls atop my dress. 

I scampered to the front door and picked up a parasol that would fit my dress, I headed outside of the house to stand with my father as we waited for the carriage to come around for us.

I was so very excited I hadn't left our house since our arrival, so long on the ship and finally, we were here, I was thrown in a carriage brought here and I hadn't left since. I wanted nothing more than to explore Port Victory, meet new friends, and find little places for tea, cake, and activities as presumably I will be staying here for the rest of my life. 

The carriage pulled up so Father helped me to climb inside, and I took my seat. He climbed in after me and sat across from me. Once the carriage began on its way I couldn't prevent my wide smile almost biting my lip in anticipation to see what this place was like. 

"You are not to say a word."

"Yes, Father."

"You are not to smile either, it's too willing my sweet"

"Yes, Father." 

"You are not to leave my arm, not for a moment." He said, "This place is full of roughians, scoundrels, and vagabonds." 

"Yes, Father." 

Soon enough the carriage stopped and the moment the door opened I wanted to run and see all there was to see but I waited for my father to climb out and then offer me his hand. 

I took it and climbed out holding his arm as a young lady should when being escorted. I put up my parasol hiding myself under it from the aggressive sun. He walked me down the streets and I couldn't help but look at everything all the little shops, the people walking by, the market stalls, the gallows, the sweet little houses, all of it so fascinating. I did as Father asked and stayed silent as I looked at everything I could, he took me to a warehouse by the docks where cargo from ships was kept and stored. He had a meeting or three with various people none of which spoke to me at all. I took note of these men being the first ones I had seen but there was little remarkable about them. 

Once finished the meetings, Father walked me back through town to return to the carriage and head home, I had hoped for more but I was still thrilled. 

I slowed a little as I noticed a man heading our way, he didn't seem to move out of the way politely just heading straight for us until he bumped into us.

"Ohh do forgive me sir-" he said before he pushed through us breaking apart our arms. But as he did I felt this hard tug as my pearl necklace was forcibly grabbed by his dirty hands and ripped off me, it hurt as he broke my clasp and rushed away

"Father my pearls!" I gasped 

"You dirty rotten scoundrel! Thief!" My father yelled as he began to give chase, I picked up the skirt of my dress and hurried after him too "Guards! Thief! Catch that man!" My father yelled but quickly he ran out of breath and stamina, So I simply picked my dress up higher and bolted after the thief as quickly as I could "NOO! Y/n!" Father yelled but I just did my best to keep up with the man, luckily he was aged and sick, so I could keep up with him in a dress and corset. 

The thief turned down an alley but I followed him, seeing him opening a door at the bottom, "Return my necklace immediately!" I demanded as I managed to get close to grab my necklace still in his hand, we tussled with it back and forth for a few seconds before he backed far enough behind the door to slam it on my hand!

My hand crushed in the door violently, enough to make me scream and hold my hand close as it ached and brunt with pain, my necklace broke in the door sending pearls tumbling to the dusty dirt.

"AHhhhhhhh...." I complained 

"Y/n! My sweet! what did I tell you!" My father snapped as he caught up to me "My god your hand! we must hurry, we must take you to the hospital immediately!" He said as he held me in his arms and ushered me back to the carriage. 

My father rushed me to the hospital in the carriage, As soon as we arrived he ushered me inside and the nurse took us to a small room to wait. I sat on the metal-framed bed in the small wood-lined room, I held my hand to my chest as it throbbed with pain. My father stood in the corner his face a wash with fear.

After a while of waiting, the door opened and I was taken aback a moment, The doctor walked in wearing some dirty brown shoes, a pair of brown trousers with darker brown lines to create almost a faint attempt at plaid, a white shirt with long billowing sleeves that cinched at his wrists, the shirt... an odd grey washed out colour that old white clothes go after time, especially the arms darker and clearly washed more than anything else, He wore an old tattered green tie around his neck tucked into a blue slightly textured waistcoat, done up tightly around his rather thin body, he had a fluffy head of blonde and brown hair most of it pushed over to one side, dark chocolate eyes and a youthful sly smile, that sort of smile young boys get when they've gotten away with something. I had to admit... He was handsome. 

He came in and shut the door and smiled at my father, "If you don't mind waiting outside Sir."

"Yes of course," my father nodded as he quickly left the room. 

And this doctor turned his attention to me. He stopped just in front of me and looked at me from the tip of my toe to the top of my head before he shook himself awake and a smile cracked on his lip, "Forgive me, Dr Dawkins, Miss?"

"Miss Everset." I smiled "I would uhh but-" I began as I showed my hand

"Of course, now let's have a look at that hand." He said and he offered his hand sweetly 

"I shouldn't my father He'll-"

"Miss Everset. I'm a doctor." He reminded

I nodded and offered my hand carefully, 

"Now I need to remove your glove is that alright?"

"Yes Doctor," I nodded

"Lovely, nice and slow." he reassured as he carefully removed my glove and sat it beside me on the bed "Ohhh that is a nasty one." he said "How'd it happen?" he asked as he moved his hands softly and slowly over my own checking my hand for various damage, he was so gentle it barely hurt and his hands were so callus and rough. It almost made me giggle to think that I sat here and for the very first time a man touched my bare skin. 

"I was chasing a thief. He stole my pearls so I gave chase."

"Why didn't your father?"

"He tried. He's not so good at running."

"Because of his eye?"

I was shocked as he said that, looking up at him, my father had a bad eye injury that he gained many years ago it caused him trouble with running, reading and other sight-related things but it was so healed I had never known people who didn't already know about it to notice it let alone mention it, "I uhh Yes, people don't often know that," 

"I'm a doctor, you notice these things." He smiled,

"I suppose so. But yes I gave chase and the thief shut the door on my hand"

"Ohh dear, you poor thing." he cooed "Were they important to you, your pearls?"

"No, no. I just didn't want to lose them."

"I see." he nodded, "Well, good news nothing broken. you are going to have one hell of a bruise down the centre of your palm where the door hit, I will get the nurse to give you some bruise lotion to take home with you, follow the instructions and it should go away in a few days a week at the most. any issues with the bruising or your fingers in two weeks come back and we'll have a more intense look without all the swelling alright?" he explained and I nodded "Good, and as for the pain, Ice cream and hot baths." He winked, 

"I will, thank you doctor uh?" I blushed rather embarrassed I forgot, 

"Dawkins, Dr Dawkins." He smiled,

"Thank you, Dr Dawkins." 

"You're very welcome," He smiled, took my hand and gave it a soft polite kiss which made me blush even more "You're a very brave girl, chasing after a thief." 

"Ohh" I blushed, "Brave or foolish."

"My experience they tend to be the same, have a nice day Miss Everset." 

"You too Dr Dawkins." I smiled, 

He nodded and headed out back to his other hospital work, I took my glove and pulled my hand close to my chest again doing my best to... Breathe. 

I sat in the carriage as it bounced and bumped along back to our home, My hand clutched to my chest still, blush across my cheeks. My father looked at me and chuckled.

"Yes, father?"

"Only once in my life have I seen someone so happy on the way home from a hospital?"

"oh? When?"

"You're mother. When we brought you home." He smiled, "You seem very happy, you haven't stopped smiling since we left the hospital."

"I haven't" I admit, 

"Any particular reason you're so happy?" 

I knew I couldn't tell him the real reason I was smiling, "I'm just happy to have seen town father, Happy I got time out of the house."

"Good, perhaps I'll take you out more often." He smiled, 

"I'd like that very much, father." I smiled,

Soon enough the carriage stopped so Father climbed out and offered his hand, I took it and climbed out as we headed inside the house. Miss Hardcastle was there waiting for me so she took me to my room to swap parts of my outfit back to a more homely way. 

"Did you enjoy the trip, Ma'am?" 

"I did, it was lovely."

"Such a shame about your injury, we shall have to be careful during sewing time." She said,

"Yes, yes... I uhh I don't know, I think all things have a silver lining." 

"And what lining could this have ma'am?" She asked 

"...Well, I got to see the hospital." I smiled trying to hide my truth

"Yes well, we shall begin our day in the music room when you're ready," she said before she left my room 

I found myself unable to stop myself from sitting at my desk and got a fresh piece of parchment, my favourite ink fountain pen and I began to do an ink sketch humming and muttering to myself as I drew the sculpting lines and valleys.

"Dr Dawkins... Ummmm Dr Dawkins" I muttered barely being aware I was doing it kicking my feet back and forth under my chair as I drew, after a good while I stopped my pen and looked at the blue ink sketch of the sweet doctor "Hummmm," I smiled at it but I hid it away and fixed myself before I head to the music room. 

[miss-madness67]

Married Woman (Ivar & Bjorn)

You find yourself attracted to a man that is not your husband. Worst of all, he loves you too.

The first time you saw him, you were instantly drawn to him. It was not because he is a son of Ragnar, you didn’t even know at the beginning. It was all himself. His broad shoulders and his blue eyes were quick to hypnotize you. The next thing you knew, you were in his bed. You could easily say that night was one of the best you spent with him. From then on, your relationship moved quite fast. He wanted to marry you, and you didn’t oppose. You married at Hedeby, his mother’s domain. You met him there when he came back from avenging his father in England. Your family just moved to the town in hopes to marry you. They were not disappointed when Bjorn Ironside took you as his. Not that you were complaining. Marrying a prince was more than you were expecting, considering that your parents are farmers.

“It’s really hard to be here and look at you, as though I’m not completely in love with you.”

The thread you were knitting breaks when you hear Ivar behind you. You stand up and turn to face him. He is by the door that leads to the hall. You take a quick look around the resting room, you are lucky it’s empty right now.

“Ivar, you know you can not say those things.” You scold, looking directly at him.

His gaze is so intense you have to look back at your knitting. You are making a robe for Bjorn. Lately, he has been a little distant. You think it is perhaps because you have yet to get pregnant. Yet, considering that you have not slept together in two weeks, it is a little hard to do so.

“It is the truth, should I lie, uhm?” he raises a brow mockingly.

You met Ivar a few months ago when Bjorn decided to come back to Kattegat for a while. You had just been married for a few weeks then, still, you instantly knew that Bjorn was not a man that stayed in one place. When you arrived at Kattegat, you also learned that you were not your husband’s first wife. Apparently, Torvi had just separated from him before he went to Hedeby. And he had another wife before her that disappeared.

You leave your knitting behind and walk to the other side of the room. “It is something you should not say to your brother’s wife,” you respond without glancing his way.

Ivar has always harbored feelings for you. They were not evident at first. He was just kinder to you than he was to everyone else. Then he started to get bolder, to the point that even Ubbe had noticed. Luckily, neither Queen Aslaug nor Bjorn suspected anything. You thought that perhaps if they knew, they would surely kick you out. Not that it was your fault Ivar felt that way, or that you have done anything with him. You have not.

You hear Ivar’s crutch as he approaches you. Your heart starts pounding rapidly inside your chest. Even if you have never done anything, you cannot deny how your body reacts to him. It is not that you do not have feelings for Bjorn anymore, it is just that what Ivar brings out in you is stronger. Ivar’s hand finds its way to your hip. His fingers delicately trace inconsistent patterns on your hip bone. Your skin burns to the contact in spite of the clothing in its way. You try desperately to control your breathing. He cannot know that his desire is reciprocated because if he does, you are scared of what he will do. You are scared you might do not want to stop him.

“My brother does not deserve you,” he whispers in your ear. “You know how he is. I’m sure Torvi has warned you he is quick to fall out of love.” She did warn you, but you refuse to believe it.

You try to step away, but he does not let you. “It is fine, once I am with child it will be fine.” you attempt to justify.

Your skin feels hot to the touch. You want to escape the feelings that Ivar causes in you, so you think that if you turn around, he will put distance between you. However, once your eyes clash with his, his hold on you tightens. You have never been this close to Ivar. For a moment, all of your rational thoughts leave your brain instantly. The only thing you can think of is his eyes. They are so unlike his brother’s. The shade is the same, yet they transmit something entirely different. They make you feel something completely new.

At that moment of insanity, you take a step towards him. Your senses drown in his presence. You feel you, yet you feel more. Your hand finds its way to his neck. He is taller than you and you love it. His chest clashes with yours and both your breaths mix. You do not know what you are doing, but it feels so right. It is like welcoming your lover after how long raid far from home. It is everything you wish you felt with Bjorn but never did.

“Once you are with me,” he murmurs on your lips, “it will be fine.”

You do not have time to process what is happening, or even to think. One moment he is looking at you like you are his whole life, and the next, he is eating you like you are the greatest feast ever served. His lips mold perfectly with yours. Your hands cup his neck exquisitely. His hand moves from your hip to your back, leaving a trace of fire on its path. Your tongues dance like never before, and you forget your name. It feels like, before this moment, you didn't truly know what happiness and passion were like.

You feel the hold on his crutch slightly wavering. You know that he is strong, yet he must be feeling lightheaded like you. You part from him momentarily, and he tries to follow your lips with his. You pay no mind and quickly locate a chair nearby. You push him towards it. He sits with a puzzled look on his face. Still, he easily knows what you are up to once you climb on his lap.

Your mouths take no time to find each other again. Now, both of his hands caress your sides and your back lovingly. Meanwhile, yours play with his braided hair. You wish it were loose so you could run your fingers through it. You move your hips involuntarily. That causes a moan to escape his mouth. If you were not aroused before, you are now. You continue with your movements so you can listen to the delicious sounds his mouth makes. It is until he places his hand in your left breast that you realize you are moaning too. Right now, you are not thinking that you are in a room where anyone could walk in. You are not thinking about Bjorn. Or the fact that you are kissing his brother.

A loud crash breaks the atmosphere instantly. In the doorway, a male thrall is standing with a surprised look on his face. At his feet, there is a jug with spilled mead. You quickly climb out of Ivar. The thrall turns away, apologizes, and scurries off. You do not try to go after him to prevent him from saying anything. You are too embarrassed to even glance at Ivar. The silence stretches for a moment.

“I…” before Ivar can say something else, you run out the door.

...

A few days go by. You have been ignoring Ivar ever since the kiss. You only talked when he told you that he took care of the thrall. You did not ask what he did, but you suspect it. A dead slave would not be questioned. In that short conversation, you only managed to nod and flee. The desire you feel for him is too great to simply ignore. Now that he knows he is reciprocated, he has been more persistent in his advances. It has made it nearly impossible to avoid him. Still, what you fear the most is that if you are in a room alone with him, all of your resolutions will be broken again. You fear Bjorn noticing your heart no longer belongs to him. You do not think he will hold it against you, but you still care for him. You do not want to break his heart.

On the other hand, some part of you believes it will not be broken. He has kept on being distant towards you. The night you kissed Ivar, you tried to sleep with him out of guilt. Your advances were stronger than the nights before, and he finally complied. It is safe to say that was the worst sex of your life. At first, he could not get it up, and then it was just not… satisfying. You had to conjure the image of his brother in your mind in order to finish. So, even more so than the neglecting, that was what made you think there could be another woman. Torvi had warned you, so had Ivar and Ubbe. You did not believe it then. Now you do.

As you follow Bjorn through the streets of Kattegat, some part of you wishes to be wrong. You do not want him to cheat on you, which is a bit hypocritical considering you kissed Ivar.

A woman crashes with you, and she murmurs insults your way. Nevertheless, when she looks at your face, she stops. Recognition flashes in her eyes. She smirks, apologizes, and then says something like "one of Ironside wives". The comment bothers you, not because that would make you second to other women in Bjorn's life, but because that means that you are not even memorable to the people of Kattegat. They think you will be gone soon, forgotten in the list of many wives. That you are just one of the many he will have. Still, you must not let it show that it bothered you, so you look down on her way and walk off.

The little encounter makes you lose sight of Bjorn. It takes you a while to find again his blond hair in the crowd. When you do, you see him entering a cabin on the outskirts of town. It was hard to trail him without him noticing, but now that you have seen where he went, you do not want to ruin it. You wait a few minutes at a safe distance, but no one comes inside. Slowly, you approach the place. Your heart is pounding rapidly, wondering what you will find.

The first thing you notice is the loud moans of a woman. That makes you freeze on the spot. Your head screams ‘I knew it’ but you need to see, to make sure. There is a crack in the wood near the door, you go near it. The hole is big enough to show you what is inside. From your spot, you have a direct view of the bed. You are not surprised by what you see.

Your husband, Bjorn, is bent over a woman laying in fours on the bed. You cannot see her face, but you distinguish blonde hair.  Bjorn is pounding rapidly into her. The cabin is filled with her moans and the obscene sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Bjorn groans above her. He grabs her by the hair, lifting her face, and that is when you recognize her. You have never talked with her, after all, she is merely a thrall. You think her name is Freydis. You remember her because she used to cling to Ivar until she realized he was not interested. Back then, you had been slightly jealous. Now, looking at your husband fuck her makes you feel… relief.

You had expected to drown in betrayal or heartbreak. None of that happens. Instead, it is then that you realize that you can be free about your feelings for Ivar. If Bjorn does not care about you any longer, then it does not matter that you are in love with another. You no longer have to remain loyal to him or feel guilty over a simple kiss. Especially with him fucking a slave for Odin knows how long. However, you crave closure. So while Bjorn is still pounding her cunt, you open the door noisily.

Your husband looks up from his task and stops abruptly. He says your name, shocked, and pushes Freydis away. The slave falls to the ground with a thud, but you do not spare a glance her way.

“I know now why you were distant,” you talk first.

He stands up and covers himself with the furs. “I…”

You do not let him talk. You have never seen Bjorn Ironside startled, yet it is your turn to express your feelings. “It is ok, Bjorn. I do not mind, nor do I feel betrayed. Everyone warned me this would happen. Tell me, do you still love me?”

He is even more surprised now. He looks down at Freydis and then at you. He seems embarrassed, though certain. It takes him a while to answer. “I am sorry. I still care about you, but not the way I used to.”

You nod in understanding. “It seems like the gods had put us together to derive our paths to someone else.”

For a moment, he appears confused. Then, a knowing smile overcomes his face. “Ivar, am I right?”

Now is your time to be startled. “How did you…”

He interrupts you. “He is not very subtle… The way he looks at you, I have never looked at anyone that way.” At least he is honest about not loving the thrall either. Then, he adds: “just be careful with him, yes? He is still Ivar The Boneless.” You both know what he means, but you are done listening to your now ex-husband. You nod at him and walk away.

Your body is buzzing with freedom inside your veins. The love and desire you feel for Ivar drives you to search for him. You know he must be in the forest right now, probably in the spot he showed you once; where he went to think. It is not very far from where you are now. You bypass half Kattegat and then scurry off into the woods. The hike seems endless, but it is the best one of your life. Your heart beats fast, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. You have to control yourself before you meet him . You tell yourself that over and over again. And yet, when you see his back, you shout his name. He turns around and sees you.

He is confused, you can see it in his eyes, but when you sit in his lap and kiss him senselessly, he does not pull away. He places his hands on your face and pulls you closer. You know that you must explain everything to him. Tell him that you are no longer married, that your heart belongs to him, that you want with him what you could not with his brother. You want to tell him that and more, but for now, you express it in the kiss. And when he pulls away and looks into your eyes, you know he understands.

[bitstitchbitch]

fun fact - handmade, sustainable clothing is expensive for a reason! I just spent $90 on cheapish 100% wool yarn that is probably-hopefully enough for a crocheted sweater (I should have bought another 1-2 balls, but planned poorly). This is yarn from a good-sized company - it was manufactured, not hand spun or dyed to my knowledge. Hand-dyed / spun yarn is double that cost, easily. Again, this is just the yarn. A good crochet hook is around $10. Add another couple of bucks for stitch markers and other misc. tools. Patterns can be bought, found online for free, or you can make your own which is what I’m doing. Working without a pattern requires more time - I spent ~1.5 hours today making test swatches just to decide stitch and gauges. Now consider that higher quality yarn comes in hanks, not the pre-wound balls that you usually find in Michael’s or Joann’s. I wind by hand, so that takes 1.5-2 hours to do all six balls. And only once all of this is done can I begin to make my sweater. Which will probably take 20+ hours. So add in labor costs, let alone profit margins and other business expenses and you start to see why most people don’t sell large crochet items. Not many people want to pay over $300 for a sweater (and remember, this is cheapish wool yarn at $14 / 219 yards, not $30 / 150 yards of hand dyed cashmere, so double the cost if we’re talking premium materials).

Hell I made a crochet afghan with cheap cheap acrylic yarn (literally what you find in Michael’s). $75 materials, but it took me 120+ hours of work and the base cost (labor + materials) would be at least $1000 before profit margin. Then consider that it took me over 9 months to finish. I love that afghan. It’s going to last my whole lifetime. I have similar afghans that my great and great great grandmothers passed down to me - it’s literally an heirloom item. I have no regrets about spending all that time and money on it. But holy fuck, it would not be worth it as a business venture.

I guess my belated point is, consider this the next time you complain about the cost of sustainable, ethically produced clothing. And consider that sustainable clothing usually has more longevity if properly cared for. You can usually thrift for immediate needs and save up for those long lasting items! Just never buy crochet items from a store. It’s such a scam. If the price is affordable, it’s probably unethical (small items are still sketchy, but if it’s local business and not a chain you might be okay - some people can make money off crochet if they’re making small items). There are other methods of sustainable clothing production that can produce cheaper items (machine knitting for example, and even sewing is typically faster) but materials are almost always going to come at a premium and hand sewn/ knitted / crochet is going to be even more so.

[liminal-storage]

V- The Hierophant

Prompt: Morsel

Characters: Soren Lessard, Auriga Marlowe.

Content Warnings: Blood, descriptions of violence.

He shouldn't be here.

The wind howls like the cries of a dying beast which he had failed to find. The cold cuts deep, reaching into every crevice it can to chap and buffet. A particularly brutal gust finds purchase between the sides of two buildings and forces its way through in a piercing whistle. Passersby are, fortunately, few and far between. This bone-deep and cruel wind chill promises an overnight blizzard and hurries them on their way.

But he can smell them, the warmth of them. The heat of pulsing blood pumping through cold-constricted vessels to keep their skin flushed and supple.

He should not be here.

He knows he won't make it back out of Ishgard at this rate. He should never have arrived in the first place. A failed hunt left him wanting, and it has been days since he last fed. If luck holds, he can make it to the Forgotten Knight and shut himself up in a room for the night. It will mean a long, painful knight of gnawing hunger, but the hunger won't kill him.

Once he's settled and the tavern beds down in silence, he can emerge and search for someone to sate this thirst so potent that it makes his teeth ache. Perhaps he will wait for the lamplighter to make his nightly rounds, he thinks, but then the wind kicks up more sharply, and he thinks there will be no lamplighter tonight.

He won't make it as far as the tavern.

Snow begins to swirl in dizzying patterns around him as he takes a wrong turn. The city-state's streets aren't as familiar to him in his haggard state as they would be on a regular day. But he'll wait until the streets are clear, try a door, perhaps. He refuses to take a Brumeling. It might be quicker and easier than this half-baked attempt at hunting, but it would be too obvious. Others would see.

Besides, last he heard, someone else was already snacking in the Brume almost every night, causing major problems and leaving a mess. They'll know to watch for a creature like him.

The street finally empties.

Long-nailed hands scrabble for the nearest handle and mercifully, it turns without issue. The interior of the building is dark, but he can smell someone upstairs. His feet fall upon the floor without noise, and he moves towards the stairs where he can see a light.

Someone nearly bumps into him on the steps. An older woman, by the look of it. She must have just finished bundling herself up against the cold. He can smell the faint smoke of a fireplace clinging to her scarf, the sweet aroma of some sort of perfumed oils upon her skin. Her heart thumps at a moderate pace, at ease and content.

"Oh, pardon me!"

She brushes past him, and he nearly stumbles to lunge after her. It will be so easy to rip away the scarf and let his teeth slide into warm, fragrant flesh. He's not sure he can stop himself from ripping her open and lapping up every last drop.

The streets shall wake in an uproar in the morning, some poor soul tasked with mopping up the remnants of a horror show. He will leave pieces of her painted upon the walls, but this hunger will be sated.

He gets as far as fingers brushing against knitted wool before another voice, another heartbeat stops him.

"It's quite late. I don't believe you have an appointment." Strangely, her tone seems playful.

For only a moment, his hunger falters.

The scent of her overwhelms anything else. There's something lush and creamy at her wrists, vanilla and honey. It's all sugar and sweet at first, but as the woman steps closer he catches scents of a darker note. The faint bite of sour red cherries, an edge of poppy and vetiver. A whisper of musk that he can smell as the blood rushes through her carotid arteries. It clings to the skin of her throat, pools in the hollows of her collarbones.

There's something so painfully familiar about it.

The scent of blood, heady and delicious, joins her perfume. It runs down her wrist, drips over her fingertips as she holds a hand out as if to beckon him in. The hunger returns, but he can only stare at her in disbelief.

"Ari?"

[searchingforserendipity25]

Sorry I have another one if you want :) Míriel and 'old and forgetton'

thank you for the asks @theworldisquietheretooquiet! got míriel-brain disease and ended up finishing this one first <3

the usual míriel & descendants warnings apply. 1458 words.

-

Labours of the Living

Finwë found her hidden away, in the alcove she retreated to when her own working rooms were grown tiresome to her eyes. 

It did not surprise Míriel. Finwë had always had a talent for finding her, a skill honed through many years; even, and most particularly, when Míriel sought an escape. He loved her too well to want her lonesome, and knew her to well to think she should always be given her way in living engrossed in her work.

“My lady, my bright lady, here I find you at last,” he said, and came upon the secret curve of the staircase like a vision of himself. Míriel saw him as he was, tall and well-braided, the darkness of his eyes gleaming for her in the light of the high window; for a moment a stranger, a new and beloved thing.

Underneath the heartbeat of her own breast another one jumped, calling to her, thrilled at the sight. 

Your father, she told her child, agreeing. Let one of them delight in the world and in Finwë particularly, when she was too weary for it. That was what children were for, joy-making and living stores of joy - so she was told. Your high-hearted father, who shall love you better than all things. 

Finwë loved her so well. Nearly as much as the promise of their child; a curious loss of preeminence for Míriel, who understood him perfectly. 

“Such hurry, my lady,” Finwë-king teased, jumping up the steps around one pyramid of bolts of brocade like he had when jumping the lake-stone path over the waters of Cuiviénen to visit the dwellings of Míriel, where she had kept her wild goats and first mastered the spindle. “That is princely garment that you have wrought lately, for a prince in many ages.”

“Or many princes, of many ages,” said Míriel. 

She looked down at her hand upon the needle, the brilliant floss strung through, the hoop in her lap and the organized disorder of fabrics around her and that same strangeness rose like sea-sickness, the hungry thing inside her restless and small, wanting always to know, know, know what it saw through her eyes. 

It wearied her spirit. And the flesh was weary enough as was. It had been a great deal of baskets and bolts of fabric to carry, even if it was but a fraction of what she was working upon; and she was weary still after the climb, though Telperion’s light upon the window beside her had fractured in many changing angles since first she arrived. She had lost precious time with it; the child delighted in the spectrum of it, and her eyes, too, were passionate about colour, heavy enough to grow distracted.

 Míriel of the needle with her strong will distracted from her craft! It had not happened before, even when she had been wounded, cold and famished; it happened far too often now. Much had grown tiresome to Míriel, as her child rounded her belly, her most ambitious project kicking at her bowels and sending her constant reveries of strong, flashing impressions. 

She made a wardrobe entire: court robes and sturdy traveling layers knitted in complicated patterns, thin shifts for sleep of beautifully embroidered satin. Hats in fashion not yet invented, caps and veils and nets, stitched with golden coins and intricate lacework in gold-thread. Aprons of leather-work, embossed so a distracted craftsman might pass his fingertips over the designs as they thought. 

The flaming of a poppy, and the blossoming of a new flame; the sweet purple-reds of the bougainvillea. Linen, velvet, brocade and samite, all of it red, and red, and more red. Her child saw nothing else, in the haven of her womb; that was all it knew to love. Míriel found many variety of it among the fabrics of her stores, dyed others, to her own perfect demands. 

Not easy, to stand before the vats with the shifting paddles, moving cotton in water with heavy, forceful arms; and less so, when her ankles so ached and her back complained. Her shoulders ached still after the long labour of her early pregnancy. But Míriel would have no aid, nor even from her best apprentices. She had a reverie in mind, a dream that was no dream, the crafter’s perfect vision of the work to finish; and she meant for it to be impeccable, for it to last. 

Her king knelt before her on the cold harshness of the stone, and kissed her hands affectionately, peering down to look at the work on the hoop. 

“That shall certainly be marvelous,” Finwë agreed,  “Many marvels for our children shall come from your hand; yet, Míriel, do not forego sleep for it! Thou art crafting many masterpieces at once.”

His smile was knowing, tender around the eyes. It suited him: the care he took with his lady, the last light before the Mingling curling around the stay hairs that escaped his crown. Prickly, goading and laughing and bold and full of wonder like a self-sustaining and warming fire: that was as she liked him best, the chieftain and the craftsmen she loved, her old friend from the old world. 

Never had she resented him any softness, nothing of the gentleness that was in him. It had been pleasure, at first, how swiftly he nurtured it, beside his eagerness for the widening of their close and secretive family, the dear circle of their arms around one another; but she could not return it. 

So much of Tírion-upon-Tuna was made exactly to his liking, from the materials he thought best, arranged in the angles of his thinking. Míriel loved the city so well. It was not Tírion’s fault Míriel was too weary to stomach the sight of it well, nor her husband’s tenderness. 

She took his hands, that he might feel the child kicking inside her; and then took them, so he might help her down the steep path of her own devising. 

-

Fëanáro’s rooms had gathered dust for many Ages, when at last Míriel returned to life, committed again to life. He had taken much with himself on his exile to the far northern fortress of Formenos, and among his many works and treasures had been the full collection of Míriel’s works: all his wardrobe, what of it had not been passed on to his sons as they grew. 

Míriel knew this: she had woven him garbed with the long tunics of her own make, raising a torch and declaring a fell promise, his sons arrayed around him likewise: in capes, and hats, and embroidered robes of rich, blood-dark crimson. She did not look for her son in the apartments where he had been young and unhappy, nor the rooms set aside for the children he begot in love - did not open drawers, or press her mouth against worn fabrics made into paler shades by layers of dust through the Ages. 

Nothing remained. He was not loved now, her son; the rooms were barred and barren, so they might not be destroyed in wrathful grief by the righteous.  

The palace of Tírion was much changed. There were rooms enclosed and airless, like the chambers and cairns of stone where the dead had been buried on the journey out of Cuiviénen. There was Indis’ hand in the leveling of high stone walls and the raising of galleries crowned and surrounded in glass; Indis’ hand who had drawn the mezzanines, and decided on the colour of upholstery, the design of the candlesticks. 

And Finwë, in all things Finwë’s fondness for soft fabrics and bold colours, his liking for meadows with many moss-covered boulders set together for conversation matured into a tendency for low tables, and vast rooms with many seats.

 Míriel’s own marks remained, for they had been made to endure unseen: curling staircases; cunning doorways, alcoves with stained glass windows and a seat carved into the parapet, the sort of places a distracted broideress might retreat to work. 

Some of the places had been plainly found. Childish, painstaking scratches lined the windowsills, tengwar in a faltering fashion, still inventing itself, scratching the first attempts. A quiet place, made in ancient times. 

How young she had felt, sketching the project of it upon Finwë’s blueprints! Old, and forgotten; for no children ran now, joyful or wretched, through the secret hallways of Tírion’s great palace. 

There and only then did Míriel raise her hand to lay over her belly, which had so shuddering with life when last she stood in her quiet hideout; only then did she weep, Þerindë of the needle, as her child had wept in secret against the sleeves she had dyed and sewn and embroidered with the last of her last life. 

[rainbowstargazerlilies]

Mechs Doll Pattern Notes

At least one person asked in the comments on the raffle form, so here's some quick notes on making the Mechs dolls under the cut!

These are based on a pattern in Mini Knitted Farmyard by Sachiyo Ishii (isbn 978-1782215387). Usually, I use US size 2 knitting needles and DK yarn in the various shades required for each of them. I like having three needles on hand for this pattern. The pattern base is "farmer", but I do pull from other patterns. The author appears to use this same base pattern across several of the books in this series, so if you can't find a copy of this book, the Mini Knitted Cosmos book has variants of this pattern (look at "Ground Staff"), as does Mini Knitted Ocean (look at "Fisherman" patterns).

Specifically, the pattern for doll coats is a modified version of the "vest" pattern under the shepherd doll instructions in the same book (Farmyard). I usually make it slightly longer than listed, and if it's a coat, I'll match the sleeve color. I use the same pattern for vests, just not matching the sleeve color. Once again, there's a version of this under the "Fisherman" pattern in Ocean as well.

The shepherd doll also has the instructions on how to make boots, rather than shoes. I've found that useful for different dolls, and I don't seem to see it in any other places in the series.

TS's hat comes from Mini Knitted Ocean, and is used for one of the fishermen in that book. I've also made TS without, but I like the way it looks with the hat, don't you?

For dolls that have pointed ears, I've pulled from the animal ear patterns in the Mini Knitted Safari book, and somewhat adapted it. It's really, really simple-- cast on two stitches, knit one row, bind off. The bind-off should be pointy. If you want longer ears, knit an extra row or two.

Finally, Raphaella's wings are initially from a different book in the series, Mini Knitted Toys, and I've adapted them from the "fairy" pattern. (Those adaptations are just doing half-double crochet in brown yarn around the outside edge, and then sewing down a crochet chain for the middle brown lines. I also do attach them differently than how the pattern suggests-- flipping them around so that they curve downwards.) This is the only pattern for the Mechs that uses a different size knitting needle (US size 6). I've also done them for other dolls, and I highly recommend doing a fun stitch for texture-- remember that both the back and front of the wings could be visible. Last time, I ended up doing moss stitch on them with some fun colors, and that ended up looking really cool.

Another tip: these will require a yarn needle. I've done the hair by knotting it on or by doing backstitch and loops, and while the backstitch and loops takes more time, the extra time's worth it. Doing that with a crochet hook instead of a yarn needle sounds incredibly time consuming and painful.

As well, while there are instructions for a "farmer's wife" variant with a skirt, I've found it just as easy to either pick up and crochet a skirt around a completed doll, or to increase through the back loop and set aside all increased stitches for later during that second row of the shirt color, and then use that to knit the skirt later. Either way, make sure that you increase appropriately as you make the skirt-- too many, and it'll ruffle.

If you're interested in the series, I'd highly recommend Woodland and Safari if you want to make animals, and Farmyard if you're interested in people of various sizes. I've made a lot of the patterns in these books, and they're fun to make and to experiment with. Ocean also has a good variety of fish and similar creatures, which could be fun depending on your interests.

If you end up trying to make any of these dolls, feel free to ask me questions! I'm sure I've got more tips, but I can't think of them, and they'd probably not make much sense out of context anyway. In short, have fun!

[caseyscraftycorner]

Knooking FAQ!

So as one of the very, very few people who knooks, I figured I should write a little post explaining what it is, how it's done, why I knook, and where you can learn more.

Disclaimer: I do not knit traditionally! my knowledge of traditional knitting styles is entirely from various failed attempts to learn and translating tutorials for knooking!

What is knooking?

Knooking is, basically, a different way to knit. Instead of using two needles, you use a modifed crochet hook. The hook has an eye at the butt end, which you thread a cord (or some scrap yarn) through. The cord is used like one needle, holding the live stitches, while the hook is used like the other needle, working the stitches. Once you're done working that row, you pull the cord out from the finished row, slide the live stitches onto the cord, turn, and then keep going! This also means that you don't need anything special to knook in the round -- while short rows can be difficult (more on that later), you just periodically pull the cord through the stitches that are already done, and keep going.

Are there different styles of knooking?

Oh boy are there! The knooking subreddit has a good breakdown Here. The two main styles are Japanese and Western, but some folks also use an Eastern Euopean style. I learned Eastern Euorpean first, which was easier to learn but not as versatile (you can't stack knits on knits or purls on purls) and then moved to Japanese style after I got a better feel for the motions. I tried knooking Western, but I just could never get it to work for me, for some reason. I kept getting my stitches twisted.

Why haven't I heard of this before?

Well, most people don't want or need a new way to knit, which already puts knooking on the backfoot. But also, knooking was invented in Japan in the early 1990s! That means that not only is it really new, it was also difficult to find resources for it that were in English for a long time. So, it remains uncommon.

So, is it like Tunisian crochet?

Not really! Tunisian crochet has a forward pass to make the stitches and a backward pass to close them. Knooking is, fundementally, just a different way to knit. The stitches are always live. Tunisian crochet, for that reason, needs special patterns, while you can translate regular knitting patterns to work for knooking.

Why would someone knook?

Well, lots of reasons. It's sometimes easier for folks whose first fibercraft was crochet to pick up knooking than it is to learn to knit traditionally. Some crocheters use it as a stepping stone towards learning a traditional way to knit, since it can imbed intuition of how stitches are formed, but with a more familiar tool. Others just find it easier, for any number of reasons. For me, personally, knitting is really hard on my hands due to my physical disability, and it's also really hard for me to conceptualize how it works. I tried knitting a lot of different ways, and the only one that made sense to me and didn't make my wrists and fingers hurt was knooking.

What are the pros of knooking? What about the cons?

The main pro is that it's just easier for some folks. If you already know how to knit, it's probably not worth it to learn knooking. It takes specialized tools that can be hard to find, and patterns require a little bit of translation sometimes. Some specific knitting motions, like many decreases, are actually usually easier on a knook than on needles, because you can easily pull one stitch through another using the hook.

There are also cons. As I said, you do need a specific type of hook for knooking, and while some corded tunisian hooks can work if the stopper at the end is removed, if you don't own one of those already then you're gonna need to buy a knook. Luckily, Hobbii sells them, but they don't sell cords as far as I know. Also, it can really, really suck to learn. You know how crocheting into the chain is awful when you're starting out? Yeah, learning how to purl was like that. There's also not a lot of resources, especially not in english, and many of them don't specify which style of knooking they're using. Since the three main styles are fundementally non-compatible -- you can't purl japanese style and knit western, you'll twist your stitches -- it can be hard to figure out exactly what you're doing wrong. Also, short rows can be difficult, since you can't just use multiple needles, so items like socks can be annoying to knook. Though, they are entirely possible! Just annoying.

Where can I learn more?

Reddit.com/r/knooking. Hands down the best pile of resources on the topic. Start with their Start Here Page and explore from there. The community is nice and helpful, there was a whole journey of helping one person knook some socks and it was really great and wholesome. I've posted a bunch of stuff there, too. It's a great community with great resources, and I've learned basically everything I know about knooking from their wiki.

[hauntedobservationobservation]

Crochet flowers, or trying to go back to my crafting ways

First and foremost, I should dissuade anyone with hopes of aesthetic and beautiful pictures of crafts. I am quite terrible at photographing but I will do my best with the materials I have currently at my disposal.

After my post about how I wanted to go back to crafting in the usual manners I'm accustomed to, I was inspired by a friend to create some ornaments for the upcoming end-of-year festivities. Now, I am not a festive person. In general, yes, but more specifically for the end-of-year holidays. The way I have grown up have caused me to receive these dates with negative rather than positive feelings, but now at my current age of [REDACTED], I feel rather neutral and I would rather think of them as simply, days on the calendar that aren't different to others. On the other hand, my mother loves Christmas. And I love my mother. So ornaments it is. Besides, I figured it would be a way of making a few short projects to get back into the creative mood, and feel more of a short term gratification from them.

In that spirit, I've began to make these red flowers. There are seven of them, and they will be the center of seven motifs with which I will attempt to create a doily. The pattern I'm making these from, I've taken from a book called Country Christmas Crochet, from 1998, which I've found in my beloved Archive.org.

(Parenthesis here: this is the first time I've made something from a book or magazine in Archive.org, I should rely on this service more often to find knitting or crochet patterns, they have a lot of vintage books and magazines to peruse in all sorts of crafts, not just this one)

I'll try to remember to link the book here.

Another thing to note is that this is made from scrap yarn, so I have no information about the yarn other than "I think this was purchased locally". I will be trying to use the scraps I have and spend as little as possible, so that will be fairly common in my blog every time I craft something. I'm not adverse to purchasing new materials but I cannot afford it at the moment.

I'll try to update soon whenever I can advance more in this project. I tend to either try to finish it as soon as I can, or I drop it because it's taking too long and I get bored and want to do something else instead. Or nothing at all, or nothing at all. Wish me luck!

[bretongirlwrites]

I know I mustn’t wish for it, Marcurio had said, but what an extraordinary thing it must be, to sound the depths of Apocrypha, and dredge up secrets…

He must never wish for this: to stand most small, drowning on dry land, that whispering sea; shoes half-falling into worn shifting floors. There had never been a library which less wanted borrowers: which having the most exacting of subscriptions, tempted only those malcontent with their usual lot of gilt folios, – palm-sized spell-books, – atlases unfolded, spilling from the table, into the imagination, – papers fluttering in chimney-gusts, –

No hearth-fire warmth, here: and, all the charms of the library gone, no temptation for the dark depths below which, no matter how sounded, would surely bring up those truths nobody cares to hear; records of another time, so little common to your own, that nothing may be learnt; and with a bit of misfortune, some ungodly creature with too many tentacles. Were the secret of the Dwemer down there, then I should as little go fishing for it, as striking a soul-gem, vanish myself into thin air! Had there ever been a champion less willing!...

I was no champion, yet: and being tested, was at once determined to fail, and to fail so spectacularly, that I championed only blissful stainless ignorance. I may wish all I like, – 

‘Keep your secrets,’ I cried, trampling some volume which overreaching, had gone diving into the ink, ‘keep your damp soggy books, keep your damn Seekers,’ head still spinning from one, which having got in Apocrypha more legs than sense, had fallen wriggling to the same fate as all its knowledge, ‘keep this, for I already have one!’ throwing a first-edition Waughin Jarth almost directly upwards; and half regretting it when it fell spine cracked before me, – ‘oh! whatever can you see in me! only tell me the Word, and let me go!’

My fury had done nothing, had not broken the silence, which though shattering all other rules, Herma-Mora, – fancying himself a librarian, – had kept: had only died away into those same half-wet books which sat more about me than I had ever seen. Oh! if I may only pick out a book, – it should always be something lost, something extraordinary, – the secrets of the Dwemer, the legends of the Nords, the unpublished drafts of the Argonian Account, some knitting-pattern I’d seen once and never found again! – I must not. I must not though they surrounded me; though I found no way out; though I went around and around, and always the same flickering reading-lights, which if they drove me to insanity, at least it should be a relief, – 

‘Oh! daedra,’ said I faltering: and fishing my shoe from a grate in the floor: ‘I was Dragonborn; but one may be born as remarkably as one likes, and live mediocre; I have no wish for all this, only mediocrity. Find some willing champion; and poor as it may seem, let me only have my life!’

At once the silence broken, there came dark ink like tidal-waves all about me, which stopped halfway to covering me; which bore within it books and things like creatures; which drew in the bookshelves, and twisted and vanished them; and the book snapping shut, I grasped all about me even as I fell into it all; and hand slipping on some paper, – I never knew what it was!! – I was for all my efforts, cast out again, without knowing what I needed; and now, with this burden, that I may never return, that he’d find someone else, – and there was none really willing! – and none must wish for it! – and someone else would be sent, type-cast, to the eternal sounding of echoless darkness! –