#mittens quilt

[bevanne46]

Don't Lose Your Mittens, 52 x 74", free quilt pattern by Maywood Studio (CLICK for PDF download) https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YvZ7mF7At-hcufrHArZiKE-JDMWrRANJ/view

[ancient-art-of-craft]

Quilter's Dilemma

A phenomenon I made up where you have a talent that takes so much time to produce something, that you can't sell it anymore. There's a market for handmade quilts, obviously, they're beautiful and warm and wonderful, but no one would be willing to pay the amount of money that is required to properly compensate the artist.

I don't quilt, but the raw materials to make a couple of pairs of mittens is $70 for some nice wool. But the hours required to make them is roughly two seasons of Criminal Minds, and some Doctor Who episodes with my family. Those are 45 minute episodes. Minimum wage in my state is around $11.

No one is willing to pay several hundred dollars for a couple of pairs of mittens, no matter how warm and detailed they are. Especially if I'm not a master knitter, which I'm not, and they're bound to have mistakes in them.

So we loop back around to giving them as gifts, and instead ask nothing in return.

If someone gives you something they handmade this Christmas, cherish it.

[fernsandtales]

My summer hols makes (may be inspo?):

🧶Granny square mittens [tutorial] I’ve added small charms, may be they’re cute? idk

🍵🐱 If you happen to read this in Melbourne, Australia (who knows?) there is a super cool place in Elsternwick called Glaze it where you rock up and paint any bisque-fired item they already have on hand (and it’s lots that they have!) They glaze it for you and do the final firing. Too much fun! My mug was ready in two days for a pick up, and it’s a rocket blast in ceramic terms. 

🪴Hanging macrame pocket and a long thingie to house my mother air plant and her babes [tutorial for the pocket]

🕯️Candle with beeswax leftovers and a thrifted tea cup. Slurpy-slurp!

🪡 I had a million of short-ish yarn pieces from various projects I’ve accumulated in a few years. I’ve tied them all together, made a massive ball and crocheted a small pillow for my bottom. The back is also made with leftover fabric pieces, and i’ve filled it with my wool felt snippets. Gee, I’m very thrifty. 

[dollylizzy-blog]

This festive 46”x46” handmade wall hanging features charming snowmen framed in mitten-shaped blocks. The vibrant red and blue design is perfect for the holiday season. Machine quilted for durability, the hand-sewn binding adds a special, personal touch. Available at www.etsy.com/shop/dollylizzy

[thatoneandlonelyemo2005]

Sarah sighed as she finished. Finally. Ever since November, she had begun to knit mittens for all the Newsies. Sure her mother did help on some but she wanted to do this herself. Her fingers and hands hurt like hell but it was all worth it. Especially after not stopping and even working her regular job.

It was worth it. It was as if she could finally relax and let everything go.

"All done?" Meyer asked while flipping the newspaper. He stayed up for the last one.

"Yes!" She said breathlessly. "I hope they are all okay for everyone, I made the littles ones a bit bigger so they could grow into it." "That's very kind of you." He smiled and set the newspaper down.

She yawned, "What time is it anyways?"

Meyer looked at his pocket watch, "About a quarter till midnight." Sarah's eyes snapped open, "Oh-papa I didn't mean to stay up so late-" "I won't tell your mother alright. Besides you have been working so hard."

Sarah nodded and got up out of the chair. "I can't wait to see their faces." "They'll love it." And they did. All the Newsies couldn't believe it. Even the littles were jumping for joy. She made sure to get one of their favorite colors in the pattern and that seemed to be the highlight. Sarah got so many hugs that day it was worth the ache in her hands still and the sleepless nights. She would even do it all over again if she had too. Just to see their smiles.

Duane Street December, Day 7: Mittens

[feyascorner]

As most of us know elf ears are very sensitive so imagine Tav making Astarion ear muffs for the winter?? At first he’s like “no it ruins my hair !!” but once Tav manages to get them on him he’s just??? “wait a minute…” and now he doesn’t take them off wherever he goes lol. actually hisses when you take them off of him.

ofc this leads to tav making him mittens, scarves, fluffy socks, all that jazz. he looks like a 70 y/o grandmother by the end and walks around with a quilt or something wrapped around him.

[lupinsweater]

Through the Years We All Will Be Together

part two →

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader 🎁 1.9k words

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆ ꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The snow was falling gently on the Lupins’ small cottage, covering the garden in a soft quilt of white. Ten-year-old Remus sat by the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he watched the flurries dance in the glow of the streetlamp. He wasn’t expecting company—not on Christmas Eve, when most families were tucked away with their own traditions.

He hugged his knees to his chest, trying not to think about how Christmas felt different this year. His parents had done their best—there was a tree, strung with hand-me-down ornaments, and the scent of pine needles mixed with the faint aroma of his Mum’s cooking. But the lingering silence was heavy. It was the first Christmas since it happened—the full moon that had changed his life forever.

Remus jumped at the knock on the door. It was sharp and clear, echoing through the stillness. His parents exchanged a glance from the kitchen, but before either could move, Remus was already on his feet.

The cold air bit at his face as he swung the door open excitedly, sending a breeze into the house that made the fireplace flicker. You stood there on the porch, bundled in a too-big scarf and a wool coat that was so large that it reached your ankles, the hem covered in slushy snow. Snow clung to your hair and shoulders, and your cheeks were pink from the cold.

“You came,” Remus said, his voice soft but tinged with surprise.

“Of course I came,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a grin. “What else was I going to do, sit around while my mum and dad have their boring Christmas party?” You lifted a tin wrapped in a bow. “She sent these for you. Said you need fattening up.”

Remus laughed—a real laugh, not the polite one he’d been using all day. He stepped aside to let you in, and you stomped your boots on the welcome mat before slipping them off, followed by your coat, scarf, and mittens.

Inside, the warmth hit you instantly, and you rubbed your hands together. “Smells good in here,” you said, peeking toward the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin!”

His Mum poked her head out, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “Merry Christmas, dear! Oh, those must be your mum’s famous shortbread.” She glanced at Remus, her smile softening. “Why don’t you two come sit down at the table? I’m almost done in here, and then you two can start on the gingerbread.”

“Okay,” you said cheerfully, grabbing Remus’ hand with your free one and tugging him into the kitchen with you.

The Lupin kitchen smelled like cinnamon, nutmeg, and a little bit of something lemony. You sat down at the table while Remus walked up to one of the cabinets, squeezing around his Mum to get to the drawer where they kept the cookie cutters.

“I don’t think we need the snowman one,” he said, pulling out a bent star-shaped cutter.

“But the snowman’s a classic!” you argued, shooting him a glare. “You can’t have Christmas cookies without snowmen!”

Remus rolled his eyes but placed the star cutter on the table. “Fine, but you’re decorating it. And you’re the one who has to explain why it looks like a blob.”

“It’s not a blob!” you protested.

“Last year, it was definitely a blob,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, this year it won’t be,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly.

Remus’ Mum finished mixing her bowl, and she poured the batter inside into a cake pan that got covered with cling film. She set the pan into the fridge and grabbed out the ingredients the two of you would need, as well as the recipe card.

“Alright, you two, the kitchen’s all yours,” she said, ruffling Remus’ hair with a smile despite his protests.

Remus pulled out two aprons that seemed about the right size, tossing one over to you as he tied his own. He looked at the recipe card on the counter, beginning to grab the measuring cups and spoons until he heard your protests.

Your back was facing him, your small fingers fumbling to reach the apron ties. “A little help, maybe?” you said with annoyance.

Remus laughed, coming over to tie the apron for you as you huffed at him. When he finished, you turned around to look at him, seeing the smug grin on his face.

“You’re too smug for someone who almost burned the cookies last year,” you said, crossing your arms.

“That wasn’t my fault!” he protested. “You’re the one who distracted me with your ridiculous reindeer story.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous,” you said defensively. “It’s festive.”

He shook his head, still grinning, and slid the mixing bowl over to you as he measured the flour. “Alright, then. What’s next, master baker?”

You squinted at the recipe card propped up on the counter. It was written in the neat, looping handwriting that you knew was Remus’s mum’s.

“Okay,” you said, reading aloud. “We’ve got to add in the spices and the baking soda, and then we’ve got to get another bowl to mix the other stuff.”

“Why don’t you do the ‘other stuff’,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow at you as he grabbed the spices and began to measure them out. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you added the brown sugar and butter into the other, mixing it with a whisk until your arms grew tired and you were satisfied with the way it looked.

“Help me with this part, will you?” You called over to him. “My arms are just so tired.” He shook his head at you with mock exasperation as he came over to look at the recipe card.

“It’s just adding in the eggs, molasses, and vanilla,” he said with a laugh, measuring the syrup and vanilla out. You cracked the eggs into the mixture; and he began to stir it in as you washed your hands of the slimy eggs.

“Now what?” You said, walking back over to him and peering over his shoulder to see the instructions.

“We’re supposed to cut the cookies into shapes, bake them, and then—”

“Decorate them with our amazing artistic abilities?” you finished, smirking at him.

“Or with lots of icing,” he said, grinning back at you.

Half an hour later, the two of you were elbow-deep in cookie dough. The table was covered in flour, and there were far more “blobs” than actual shapes in your pile of cut-outs.

“Why does this star look like it’s been through a snowstorm?” Remus asked, holding up one of the cookies.

“Maybe it’s just sleepy,” you said, snatching it from his hand and placing it on the baking tray.

He shook his head but didn’t argue, instead grabbing another chunk of dough to roll out. “Do you think Santa likes stars, or is he more of a gingerbread man kind of guy?”

“Santa likes everything,” you said confidently. “Except raisins. No one likes raisins.”

Remus laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laugh was your favorite sound, especially when it came so easily, like now. He had been laughing less and less, these days.

“What do you think Santa does when Christmas is over?” you asked as you carefully placed another snowman on the tray.

Remus shrugged. “Probably sleeps for a year. That’s what I’d do if I were him.”

“You already do sleep for a year,” you teased.

“Not true!” he exclaimed, tossing a small handful of flour at you.

You gasped, staring at the white streak on your sleeve. “You did not just—”

Before you could finish, you grabbed your own handful of flour and flung it back at him.

“Hey!” he yelped, ducking.

Within seconds, the kitchen was a battleground, both of you laughing as clouds of flour filled the air. By the time you called a truce, you were both covered from head to toe in white powder, and the counter was even more of a disaster than before.

“You look like a ghost,” you said, giggling as you brushed flour off his hair.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back, but there was a softness in his eyes as he reached out and wiped a streak of icing from your cheek.

Once the cookies were finally in the oven, the two of you flopped down at the kitchen table, exhausted but victorious.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for the mess?” you asked nervously, glancing at the flour-covered counters.

Remus shrugged. “Maybe. But it was worth it.”

You grinned, grabbing one of the bowls of icing and dipping your finger into it. “Want some?”

He made a face. “That’s raw icing! You’re going to get sick.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s just sugar. Live a little.”

With a sigh, he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the icing, taking a small bite. His eyes widened in surprise. “Okay, fine. That’s actually pretty good.”

“Told you,” you said smugly.

As the two of you sat there, licking icing off your fingers and waiting for the cookies to bake, he felt a warmth settle in his chest. It wasn’t just the heat from the oven or the sugar rush from the icing—it was the simple, unshakable feeling that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

When the cookies were finally done, the two of you set to work decorating them. There were stars with crooked lines of icing, snowmen with lopsided scarves, and one particularly ambitious attempt at a Christmas tree that looked more like a green blob.

“This,” Remus said, holding up a star with way too many sprinkles, “is a masterpiece.”

“It’s a mess,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah, but we did them,” Remus said, his smile bright.

Neither of you could disagree, there.

“Hey, Remus?” you asked after a moment, your voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Do you think things will be like this forever?”

He frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you. “Like what?”

“You know. Us. Hanging out, telling stories, making gingerbread. Christmas.”

Remus paused, looking down at the cookie in his hand. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond, but then he looked up at you with a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think it will.”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made him feel like maybe things could be okay. Like maybe there were pieces of his life that hadn’t been taken away, that were still his to keep.

The clock chimed, and the sound startled you upright. “Midnight already?” you said, scrambling to your feet. “Mum’s going to kill me!”

You grabbed your coat, tugging it on in a flurry, and Remus helped you step into your boots before tying your scarf around your neck. You darted toward the door, but just before you stepped outside, you turned back, pausing in the soft glow of the tree lights.

“Merry Christmas, Remus,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He watched as you disappeared into the snow, your figure fading into the swirling white. For a long time after, he stood at the door, staring at the footprints you’d left behind.

Years later, when he was older and the world felt heavier, he would think back to this day. To the flour fight, the crooked snowmen, and the way you had smiled at him, like nothing else in the world mattered.

[cebwrites]

MY BOYS!!!!

IMMEDIATELYL making this my new wallpaper on opera <33

Hi Mittens! Swinging by to pick up a card for Kirin and Law (One Piece/Mer AU if possible? fine if not!!). I'm looking for pink envelope with a present sticker, long straight red ribbon, fruitcake and candy canes! Thanks so much, happy holidays :D

Ah! First order for the December Card Event!

I believe I have it right here! Cute couple--very photogenic!

(I'd say they look cold, but cuddled up so close, I don't think that's much of a problem!)

And there is a note with it!

“I’m not sure what I was expecting when I came all the way out here again. I know I dreaded a lot of things, but never, in my wildest dreams, would I have thought I’d find you again. It’s been hard—so dreadfully hard—but you’ve made everything come so easy. Life isn’t easy, but being with you is like breathing again after being knocked on my back.

Thank you, beloved, for letting me catch my breath with you.

~Kirin”

[kaijuno]

"My hero is Mom. When I got my own police station she knitted me a teddy bear. I was hoping for a coffee mug. I said “Mum I’m too old for a teddy bear.” She said 'Firstly, you’re not. No one is. Secondly, it’s not for you. It’s a trauma bear, for any kid you think needs it.' Three months later I’m asking a little boy to do a big job. There was a scared bear in my police truck that needed looking after. And, while his world dissolved in sirens and lights that boy kept that bear safe and took him home. Mum has made hundreds of things since. Trauma bears for victims of crime, quilts to warm rehabilitating drug addicts during the chill of withdrawal, booties and mittens for premature babies. There’s something in the stitching, a kind of grandma magic I suppose. The photo is me dropping off some more bears and quilts. Mum’s my hero.”

[saphstories]

one bed trope sonamy

As You Wish

The heavens would prove unkind tonight, she regretfully mused, wincing at the booming thunder that shook the skies and the carriage. “Not a fan of storms, Lady Amelia?”

Amelia Rose sighed and smiled awkwardly at her companion, sitting across the carriage from her. His emerald eyes were inquisitive, searching hers, while his posture was relaxed, chin in his hand, appearing almost bored. “Not when they impede the procession home, Lord Silas.” She replied, drawing her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Silas snorted. “Aye, especially when I can run faster than the carriage.”

Amelia’s ears perked up. “Is that so?” She asked.

Silas nodded, a bit of a smug smile on his peach muzzle. “Aye, milady. I’ve obtained quite the moniker for my speed. My friends call me ‘Sonic’, and I overhear many of the townsfolk refer to me as ‘The Blue Blur’.”

“Sonic,” Amelia tested the epithet on her tongue, and smiled at him. “I must say, it suits you.”

Silas grinned at her, and warmth spread from Amelia’s stammering heart to her cheeks. “If milady wishes, you may address me so.” He encouraged.

Amelia smiled, and the carriage jolted and skidded to a stop. Amelia squealed and grabbed the upholstery to hold herself steady, alarmed at the slew of voices shouting amid the thunder and downpour outside. Sonic’s hand reached for her but hesitated from touching her. “Alright, Amelia?”

“Aye.” Amelia bobbed her head quickly. “What do you think’s happened?”

Sonic’s brow furrowed, a deep frown pointed towards the carriage door, his lithe body coiling tight as a snake. “Hopefully just a bumpy road, milady.” He lightly rested his hand on the sword at his hip, his thumb gingerly stroking the top of the golden circular cross guard. He shifted on the seat, angling himself towards the carriage door and creating a shield between it and Amelia, his hand now curled tight on the blade hilt. The carriage door creaked open. Sonic unsheathed his sword, the silvery blade somehow gleaming in the low light. “Keep behind me, Amelia. I will not let them harm you.” He whispered.

“I am not exactly helpless, Sonic!” Amelia hissed back, her cheeks flushing scarlet indignantly.

“Don’t I know it.” Sonic muttered to himself. Amelia frowned. The carriage door burst open.

“Sonic!” An echidna raised his mittens in surrender, his scarlet fur and bronze armor splattered with mud and soaked with rainwater.

“Chaos, Knuckles!” Sonic exclaimed, shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “You’re lucky I didn’t cleave you in two!”

Knuckles snorted. “I would like to see you try!”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Perhaps now would not be the time, Knucklehead. What’s happened?”

“The storm has caused a flood in the valley; the carriage will not make it the normal routes, at least not tonight.” Knuckles grimly reported. “We spotted a tavern just a few minutes ride whence we came; it would be safer course if we took shelter for the night and resumed our travels at first light.”

Sonic considered those words and nodded. “Very well then, Knuckles.” The echidna dipped his head to Amelia and shut the carriage door, shouting at the others, and Sonic settled back into his seat as the carriage began moving again.

“Do you know the tavern Knuckles spoke of?” Amelia asked curiously.

Sonic shook his head. “It has been some time since I traveled this direction, milady. I just hope there are enough rooms for our company.”

#

“Well, if hopes were rings,” Sonic chuckled nervously, scratching a hand through his damp blue quills. Amelia’s cheeks blazed as rosy as her long quills, shifting nervously as she eyed the compact room outfitted with creaky wooden floors, a tiny wooden wardrobe, and one moderate singular bed in the center, outfitted with one singular ratty quilt. Sonic cleared his throat and gestured to the door that led to the washroom. “Ladies first.”

Grateful and flustered, Amelia fled, her decorum preventing her from slamming the door outright in her embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands and whined, practically vibrating with her nerves. This was not how it was meant to happen! She and Sonic may be betrothed and set to marry in a day’s time, certainly, but they weren’t meant to be in such close quarters yet! They should have arrived in Sonic’s villa by now, Amelia should have been formally introduced to his family as his chosen bride, and the preparations for their union were due to begin in the morning! But now, because of poor luck and a terrible monsoon, all that time meant to prepare her for-for intimacy with Sonic was forfeit!

Amelia took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, Rose.” She muttered to herself. “’Tis only a small delay, and you are to be united with him at sunset tomorrow, what is one night early?” She nodded to herself and discarded her sopping cloak, reaching for a towel…only to find them missing. Lovely. She sighed and opened the door, poking her head out. “Sonic, are there-oh!” Amelia slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks now a permanent shade of red…but her traitorous eyes refused to look away.

Sonic faced away from her, his soaked shirt wringing out in his hands, ruffled blue fur glistening with mist in the candlelight. Strong but lithe blue shoulders gave way to thick blue spines glinting and sharp down a nimble back to narrow hips and a pert blue tail, still covered by sopping wet trousers.

Amelia shook herself and slammed the door, flushed and embarrassed and ashamed. What was she to ogle a man like a hound would a scrap of meat? Her mother would have her hide for such! Amelia sighed and shimmied out of her dress, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. At least her chemise was mostly dry; it would have to do for tonight. She hung her dress and cloak over the tub, then faced the door nervously, biting her lip. She huffed, lifted her chin, and marched out.

Sonic froze when he saw her, his emerald eyes wonderstruck, raking over her before he cleared his throat and refocused on her face with a tinge of pink on his peach muzzle. Amelia wasn’t much better, her gaze locked on the white shirt Sonic bore, the neckline a deep v that showcased the peach fur of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the length barely long enough to cover his thighs. “Y-You take the bed, Amelia.” He gestured. “I’ll take the floor.”

“What? No, Sonic, that is unnecessary.” Amelia protested, stepping forward.

“Amelia-,”

“Sonic, we are to be married in one day.” Amelia crossed her arms. “As unpleasant as these circumstances are, it is what we are contended with. And since you are my husband to be, and we will be sharing a bed permanently by tomorrow, I see no harm in doing so tonight when there is no other reasonable option.”

Sonic’s ears tipped back, and he nodded. “As...as you wish.”

Amelia pulled back the ratty quilt and slid into the bed, wincing at the lumpiness. Sonic dithered at the opposite edge of the bed before quickly climbing in, putting his back to Amelia. She tried to swallow the lump that left in her throat and turned away also. “Goodnight, Sonic.”

“…Goodnight, Amelia.”

Amelia laid there, watching the shadows dance on the wall. “…Sonic?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you…for preparing to defend me in the carriage.”

“…I will always defend you, Amelia. I need no thanks for it.”

Amelia bit her lip and sighed.

“Amelia?”

“Aye?”

“…I…regret that you think the marriage arrangement is unpleasant. If you so wish, we could…negate the contract and I shall escort you home at first light.”

Amelia nearly shot up out of the bed. “What?” Sonic refused to turn over and look at her, but Amelia was no mere damsel, and so grabbed his shoulder and forced him to meet her eyes. “Sonic, why would you assume I think such nonsense? If I thought it unpleasant, I wouldn’t have agreed!” She exclaimed.

Sonic furrowed his brow. “But, just a moment ago, you said-,”

Amelia flopped onto her pillow and groaned. “I meant the unpleasant circumstances of the storm delaying us here and forcing us to share close quarters before either of us were ready, silly man.”

Sonic’s eyes brightened, and a half-smile formed on his peach muzzle. “Oh. I see.”

Amelia snorted and smiled at him. “Do you not know better than to assume what a lady thinks, milord?”

Sonic laughed. Stars appeared in Amelia’s eyes. “I admit, my experience with the female mind is woefully lacking.” Amelia giggled, and the smile that flourished on Sonic’s muzzle fluttered her heart. “You truly are the most beautiful in all Mobius, Amelia.” Sonic whispered reverently, gingerly smoothing an errant pink quill out of her eyes.  

Amelia’s cheeks once again matched her name. “Is-Is that why you chose me?” She mumbled. “For my beauty?”

Sonic’s smile turned sad. “I chose you for your heart, Amelia. Your compassion, your grace, your courage, and your strength. After all, it was those things that saved a starving young boy with two apples fifteen years ago.”

“Apples? Oh!” Amelia gasped.

She remembered that day all too clearly. It had been raining then, too, but little six-year-old Amelia hadn’t been bothered, dancing in the downpour with a smile and muddying her fine dress. It was on one of her twirls that she’d spotted him, a tiny blue hoglet in rags, shivering and pale, hiding behind a post…but watching her all the same with inquisitive emerald eyes. Her heart had clenched for him, especially when he whimpered and clutched his belly, and she immediately snatched the first things she found: two bright red apples off a cart just a pace away. Amelia had thrown them to the hoglet and beamed at him when he picked them up despite their landing in the mud; went to throw him more…but had been caught and humiliated by her mother’s scolding. When she turned back to look back and beg her mother to take him home with them...the boy had vanished. Amelia had never seen him again.

Until tonight. “I would have starved if not for you, Amelia.” Sonic whispered, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You inspired me to become the man I am today: the man that protects those that cannot protect themselves, a man that shows compassion to those burdened, lost, and alone, a man that has strived to be worthy of your heart…because since that day, you have had mine.”

“Oh, Sonic,” Amelia threw her arms around Sonic’s neck and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs even though her heart sang with joy. His arms encircled her, his fingers stroking her quills, his lips whispering words of love in her ear. “We-We need to go to sleep now.” She declared, beaming. “We need to sleep so tomorrow will come and we can be married as soon as possible.” Sonic tipped his head back and laughed. Amelia giggled and pushed him down to snuggle into his chest, her arms tight around him. He pressed a kiss to Amelia’s forehead, closing his eyes with a loving smile. “As you wish.”

[after-witch]

(For Mahito)

"Could we go out and see the Christmas lights today?"

note: yandere, kidnapped reader, vague violence implications

--

You ask the question as casually as you feasibly can. You don't even look up from your book, or from your spot on the ground, where you're currently nestled on top of a pile of mismatched, patchwork quilts and blankets taken from here and there and dropped on the cement for you to arrange like some sort of comfort-starved underground rat.

But the casual pretense didn't appear to work.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear the hammock creak, and ah--when you look up, there it is.

Mahito is already leaning over the side of his hammock, upside down, current book discarded, a lopsided grin on his face and keen interest in his eyes.

"Oh? Why do you want to see them? Are Christmas lights important to you?"

Your heart speeds up, and you cover your chest with your book, stupidly, like that will hide what your sure is a pulse in your soul.

"No," you lie, turning a page. "I just thought it might be a change of pace from our usual night." You shrug, and curl up further into the blankets. "If you don't want to, it's fine. I don't really care."

"Hey!"

You hear the creaking rope again before there's the tell-tale sound of Mahito's feet hitting the ground. His voice has gone up an octave, and he draws the words out childishly as he plops himself down on your nest of blankets.

You don't look back at him, still, despite the increase in your heart rate. Despite the bead of sweat on your forehead. Despite the way your muscles tell you that you ought to be moving away.

"I didn't say I didn't want to!" He whines, before he simply plucks the book from your hands and tosses it aside, forcing you to--in slow, carefully orchestrated movements--give him your attention.

He grabs your mouth and squishes your lips together.

"Are they fun? I bet they're fun--tell me!"

Living with Mahito has given you the uncanny ability to plan ahead more than your body wants to; desperately, your mind, your muscles, everything wants to react quickly to the danger he presents. But that's the riskiest thing in the world, so you force yourself to think before you act.

"Well," you say, considering slowly, "They can be very beautiful, especially when it's dark outside. And when the weather is chilly, it gives everything the perfect winter atmosphere... like you're walking around in some fairytale or a cheesy movie. Or a snowglobe, if it happens to snow."

You shift on the blankets, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"And if you're walking downtown, there's usually other things you can do while you look at them. Window shop... oh," you don't bite back the smile, "Because everything is way too expensive, especially around Christmas. But it's nice to pretend. Or you can get hot chocolate." You lick your lips, imagining the sweet, warm liquid on your tongue. How long has it been since you've had something sweet that wasn't stolen, half-eaten, or questionably old?

"Nothing better than looking at Christmas lights on a cold night with some hot chocolate, you know? As long as you've got a cozy hat and some mittens, it's not so bad to be outside. It all adds up, I guess, to be something magical."

You're smiling, when you finish. And oh, oh, you've let yourself get too carried away. Let nostalgic make your heart beat-beat-beat too easily.

Because Mahito is staring at you with a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face, his gaze locked firmly on your own as you realize your mistake.

His lips curl.

"Oh, pet. Your soul is humming," he whispers. His fingers grip the flesh of your side and squeeze casually, making you jerk, though there's nowhere to go.

"Will it hum like that if I take you? Or differently? Better? Worse?" He digs his fingers harsher into your side and tugs you close. His lips open again and you get the oppressive feeling of a thousand questions lingering behind them, waiting to burst out. Questions that would make you squirm, make you want to heave, make you grip your palm until it bled.

But he doesn't ask any more than that. Instead, he pecks your nose with his lips, leaving a wet splotch. "Well, I want to find out!"

And then he's off you, leaping to his feet with a giggle.

You stare up at him stupidly, feeling like your heart has been scooped out (by him, who else--who ever?) and dropped back in.

When you don't move, he grabs your wrist and yanks you unsteadily to your feet, so that you're forced to cling to his arm to avoid face-planting onto the concrete.

"I hope you don't mind stolen hot chocolate," he says, leading you on wobbly legs deeper into the sewer, where--somewhere--there is a way out. "Unless some of the clothes from my experiments have cash on them... well, let's look next time."

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[cosmal]

hozier — send me an au + character and i’ll write you a blurb. i.e rockstar!remus, rugby!james, stoner!peter

you can’t just mention rugby!james and not expect my mind to melt. i immediately just thought of this old tiktok and it just feels like him in the mornings when he has to go to some super early practice or something, like before the sun is even up, and i am just so soft for it🥺

5am training sessions

summary james wants you to get up early for rugby training.

content james potter x fem!reader

note this is very short but so james potter omgggg thank u !!

James throws his bag over his shoulders and finds that he can't get himself to look away from where you're half asleep in his bed. Since he's gotten up to get ready, you've stretched your arm out where he'd been next to you, your hand searching.

He watches the bedding slowly shift as you breathe, where your face is smooshed softly into the edge of his pillow.

He hates 5am training sessions.

He's feeling selfish this morning. You look so fucking peaceful but James has never been one to have an ounce of resolve. Not when it comes to you.

He lets himself lean down into the mattress, not really careful where he puts his knees, and curves an arm over your middle and into the quilt. He's so close your shirt rides up and he tries not to feel as lovesick as he does.

He leans down and nudges you with his nose. You hum a noise that sounds like a protest but you're smiling despite it. "Do you wanna come to training, baby?"

"Mm-mm," you mumble, scratching your head against your pillow until your hair messes.

"Please?" His pout is easy to be heard.

"It's 5 in th'mornin', Jamie," you mumble. James takes it as a treasure to hear you speak so early. You sound sweeter than he could have ever imagined.

"We can go to Top Pot," he says, and because he can't help it, he speaks into your cheeks, warm lips pressed to your soft skin.

"It's too cold," you yawn and push your face closer to his pillow to find more warmth. He almost feels bad.

"You don't want a danish?"

"James..." you croak.

"Matcha latte?" It's starting to feel like coercion if he's honest. If he's really, really honest, he doesn't care. He imagines you wrapped up in a coat and scarf, maybe a pair of mittens, latching onto your coffee, on the sideline at training. He's a hopeful man.

"S'too early." Your words stick together with fatigue he doesn't see disappearing.

He kisses your cheek once more, twice. Your warm smile grows much to his delight. "M'gonna miss you." He kisses you again.

He thinks you're not really listening. He decides to let you be. If you did actually agree to get up with him, he'd eventually end up feeling horrible. It is too early.

He stands and looks at you. The bump of your hip, the crease in the fat of your shoulder where you've got it pushed up beside your head. He decides to lean in and kiss you again.

Your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck then your cheek. He can hear your breathing shallowing out. It catches when he kisses the skin below your ear. If he was feeling mean, he'd do it again.

"Do you want me to bring back brekky?" he asks, heading to the door despite his better judgement.

"Yes, please, Jamie."

You're lovely even when you're half asleep.

[throneofsapphics]

old faces, part six

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary:  you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret. 

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking

Word Count: ~5k 

A/N: here we go! I’m curious, would y’all prefer short chapters and more frequent updates? or keeping them around the same lengths?

series masterlist 

Three weeks passed since the two of you left for Caraverre for the last time, and today they received the letter telling them you’d arrive a week from now. The month was spent eagerly awaiting your arrival. 

You’d written a post note; 

Ceri found a kitten, and she’s coming with us. I asked if she was certain about keeping her, and was hissed at twice.

“You’ll need to make a new friend,” she told Fleetfoot, currently dozing at her feet. He was about ten years old now, and not quite slowing down, but not as energetic as he was several years ago. Lazily lifting his head, he opened one eye, before laying back down, tucking his head between his paws. He didn’t have the best track record with cats, but hopefully the new kitten would be an exception. Or at least confident enough to stand up for herself. 

“Another friend?” Rowan asked, door closing behind him. She handed him the letter. 

“A cat,” he looked at Fleetfoot, then at her. 

Aelin shrugged, “she’ll keep the mice away.” 

“When she’s here,” he pointed out. 

“Wherever she is.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. Preemptively, they’d looked into a few different places the two of you could live - even if they hated every second of it. If they could at least sniff out the safest areas, they’d feel a bit better. Then, just make some subtle nudges. Would you let them participate in house hunting? 

-

“How long do we have to stay at the castle?” 

“Until we find a home.” 

“When will that be?” 

“After we find one.” 

A groan of frustration, “How long does that take?” 

“It could be days or weeks.” 

She didn’t look pleased with the answer, but that was the truth. As far as homes went, you’d be relatively picky. Maybe a tad more than relatively. There was a running list in your mind. 

High exposure to magic in the past. 

Enough space for Ceri to have her chickens, not enough space for a Wyvern.

Walking distance from the city. 

The criteria was high, but you hoped something would come around quickly. You were eager to create a home base in Orynth, to establish a safe place, a place that belonged to both of you. A castle could be a home, you supposed, but not for you. You’d never feel like you belonged there. 

You meant what you said to Fenrys. You were never born to live in a castle, and as of now, you had no desire to. That’s something you couldn’t picture changing over the years. 

Another thing you didn’t expect was Ceri being this adamant against living in the castle. 

Scanning the cramped interior of the carriage, you saw Ceri still wrapped up in another dragon book - but her eyes were starting to droop. You let a small smile curve on your face, gazing out the frost-covered window. A few more hours, and you’d be passing the gates of Orynth. 

Breathe, you reminded yourself, and watched as your breath condensed in front of you. Gods it was cold, both of you bundled up as much as you could. Still, better than being outside. 

A soft snore, and Ceri was sleeping, body laid out across the bench, mitten covered hands still wrapped around the book, now clutched to her chest. It was a miracle she could read with those on. Quietly standing, you lifted the bench beneath you, dragging out a warm quilt, and tucking it around her shoulders. It’s likely she’d sleep all the way to the gates, if not to the castle door.

Even with the relative safety, you never slept on your trips if you could help it, catching just a few hours as needed. A small shield covered the cabin the entire journey, and after the driver said they were comfortable with the magic, you let it cover them as well. At least it managed to keep out some of the cold. 

Soon enough, you passed through the city gates, then - the Castle loomed ahead of you. The carriage halted in front of the gates, a guard peered in through the window shooting a smile your way and waving you inside without another question. 

You’d met him the last time you were here, and wished you’d at least remembered his name. You made a note to ask later. You were reluctant to wake Ceri, with her looking so peaceful, but you did, gently squeezing her shoulder.

“We’re here.” 

She perked up, throwing the blanket off her, face pressed against the window. One hand swiped away the condensation, wiping again as her breath fogged the window. She wasn’t this excited earlier, pestering you about how long you’d have to be here. It was easy to figure out why, peeking over her to get your own look out the window. Three of her friends were waiting there, a good distance away from Rowan and Aelin, but you could spot them. 

Your heart warmed. 

“Make sure you at least say hello to your father,” you reminded her. She sent you an offended look, and you only raised your brows. 

-

Rowan watched as Ceri jumped out of the carriage, her gaze going to his right. He knew exactly who was waiting for her over there. But, you shot her another look, and instead she sprinted right to you and Aelin, barreling into him. 

He’d gotten used to that, to her throwing her entire body weight into him. The first time it caught him off guard. She was stronger than any ten year old had a right to be. He shouldn’t have been surprised, you used to do that when they met up, flinging yourself into his arms. 

At a slower pace, you followed behind her. 

Ceri hugged Aelin, and bounced on her feet, eyes darting behind them. Where he knew three other children were waiting, a respectful distance away. 

“Go say hello to your friends,” he told her and she shot off without another word. 

Aelin wrapped you into a warm hug, squeezing until you let out an oof, complaining you couldn’t breathe. 

You stiffened as Rowan wrapped his own arm around your shoulders, squeezing you into his side. Had he never done that? It felt .. natural, he almost released you - momentary panic setting in that he might’ve made you feel uncomfortable, but you wrapped your arm around his waist, giving a quick squeeze back before stepping away. Nothing seemed tense or on edge, in fact you still looked perfectly relaxed. Thank the Gods. 

Aelin linked her arm through yours, talking about the book you’d mentioned in your most recent letter. As soon as you scribbled in a line about it, that Aelin might like it, she set out to find it. Three bookstores in Orynth later, Aelin had located it and devoured it in two days. 

Gods, he’d even found her reading it in the bath. 

“I should send this to Dorian,” she announced. After closing the book, in a daze for ten minutes before she finally spoke. Rowan learned the hard way not to interrupt that phase. 

“A trashy romance novel?” 

“It is not,” Aelin hissed. 

“So I didn’t find you in the bath …” Wind suffocated the fiery dagger thrown his way. 

“Scandalizing the King of Adarlan is always amusing.”

“Does he even read them?” 

Aelin shrugged. 

-

Aelin and Rowan weren’t quite as subtle as they thought they were. They’d obviously done some research and snooping on houses before the two of you arrived, and you found it endearing and helpful. 

“What do you think about this area?” Aelin traced her finger over a spot on the map. 

“I haven’t exactly seen it,” you shot her a smile. “Tell me about it.” 

A moment of shock, but she did tell you everything she knew. Neighbors close enough you could vaguely see them, but not hear them. That’s a plus in your book. Most of the surrounding neighbors already planted a few gardens. A few houses were up for sale, the owners eager to get rid of them. Apparently there’d been a big push to move into the city, into the hustle of people. It’s still close enough to the city, within walking distance of a few schools. 

You noticed that although it’s on the outskirts of Orynth, it’s located closer to the castle. It makes sense, considering Ceri will still be spending plenty of time there. 

“We should go take a look around.” 

Aelin’s eyes lit up. You liked that. 

“Tomorrow?” She offered. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Are we inviting Rowan?” 

That, you didn’t know how to answer. “I’ll leave it up to your discretion.” 

Turquoise eyes fixed on you, and it took everything not to break her stare. “A girls trip sounds nice.” You tried not to let out a huge sigh of relief. “Besides, he’ll likely terrify everyone we come across.” 

You offered a half-smile, your sentiments were the same. That might be pushing a line. Lines you were very careful to balance. Gods, you’d practically made neutrality an art form over the years. 

-

You bundled up, pushing a pair of mittens into a protesting Ceri’s hands. 

“Do you want frostbite?” You kept the exasperation out of your voice. She snatched them from you, shoving them onto her hands, as you wound a scarf around her neck. It wasn’t actively snowing, but Terrasen winters were brutal. A grinning Aelin waited for you just past the castle doors. The two of you each linked one of Ceri’s arms. A good strategy to keep her from sprinting off. 

She led you through the city, you’d hit the sweet spot in the morning - less people on the streets, less to gawk and stare, and she knew every back road and alley. It might take you a while to get used to the city, considering none of the roads made any sense. Scratch that, it would. They all lead in nonsensical directions, sometimes looping back on each other. 

“I’ll need a map for a few weeks,” you commented. 

“I’ll get one for you.” Aelin grinned, leading you through the city gate, and to the right, tracing back along the wall. You figured it had been a twenty minute walk so far, and sure enough five minutes later the small houses began to grow, and Ceri began bouncing. 

A few for sale signs, and you opened your senses - looking for spots of residual magic. Where some magic wielders might have lived for a while. The area was brimming. Beautiful and ancient. 

This was as good of a time as any for a lesson. 

“Ceri,” you caught her attention. The two of you had let her go, making her promise to stay within ten paces. She stopped and turned, bright green eyes staring at you, before bounding back towards you. “See what you can feel.” 

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Eyes open.” 

She scowled, but listened. It was a crutch, and although you let it help at first, you knew she didn’t need it anymore. Her eyes scanned the perimeter, fingers wiggling beneath the mittens. 

“A lot of magic. Old.” 

“What else?” A long pause, but you waited. Aelin was silent beside you, watching curiously. You kept your focus on Ceri. 

“It’s mostly from humans.” She was looking back at the various fields, now overgrown with grasses. Farmers used to live here, in masses. 

“Good,” you grinned at her. She looked nearly identical to Rowan, but that was your mother’s grin on her face. Ceri led the way this time, spotting the houses with “for sale” signs. 

You could tell Aelin was brimming with questions, so you started. “It’s the first thing I learned as well.” 

“Sensing magic?” 

You hummed. 

“Is there a big difference between Human and Fae magic?”  

“It’s subtle,” you admitted. “But it’s a good thing to know.” To know who you’re facing. 

“How does your magic work?” She probed. 

“I have the basic shielding, myself and others,” that was the easy part to explain. “I use magic to put … intention into different materials,” you huffed a laugh. It always sounds ridiculous when you put it like that. In reality, it’s a bit more complex than that, but that’s the easiest way to describe it. 

“It lets you sense other magic.” 

“Most of us can,” you countered. 

“But more than others.” 

“I haven’t had a chance to compare,” it’s true, plus you had no desire to. Few knew the extent of your magic, and most of them were dead. You preferred it that way. 

“Intention,” she murmured - thinking aloud. “Like that dagger?” 

“I didn’t create it,” you said, slipping into neutrality, hand slowly drifting over your cheek. You avoided looking at her. 

“Is there something else different about it?” 

Yes, but nothing that has to be said. Still, this was an opportunity for you to show you trust her. Trust, of course, has to be earned, but giving a small show of it - even just providing a bit of extra information like this, could make a difference in the future. A small thread tugged at you, encouraging you to share. The Goddess who’d always guided you. Listening was the only option. 

“That particular one was created by an ancestor of mine. I don’t know who. Those daggers are more common than you’d think, most don’t know what they are. Usually intended for … ritual magic, tattooing, scarring,” you still couldn’t meet her gaze. “They used to be common practice. I don’t know how that male got that specific one, and it had worried you more than you cared to admit. But he was dead, they were destroyed. “It’s an object a collector probably would’ve loved.” 

“Are there a lot of those in circulation?” 

“Two less now,” you said without thinking, wincing before clearing your throat. “Made by my family? Very few.” Five were made actually, and you knew where one was, but the other two were still lost. The next part you hesitated, but one extra tidbit couldn’t hurt. “It’s not exactly illegal to create them on the Southern Continent, but highly frowned upon.” 

“Is that why you destroyed them?” 

“No,” you couldn’t lie to her. Silence radiated between the two of you, her surprise palpable. Aelin was waiting, waiting to see if you’d keep speaking. That wall started to surge, to form itself around your mind, to block, block, block, but this time you pushed back against it, a firm hand lowering it. Not to the ground, but so you could see past it. Finally, you looked at her. No judgment, just curiosity. 

“You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to.” 

Did you want to? Not particularly, but that stupid little thread tugged again. Mentally, you muttered a sorry at calling it stupid. 

“That one was special. It scars as intended, yes, but any blood it encounters … if the victim has magic, some of it will transfer inside of the blade. Just a trace, nothing someone would miss, but enough to have other uses.” 

You’d had too much time to think about it, to think on what it could mean. If someone had a dagger with your magic, even a hint of it … a weapon with the ability to throw magic into other objects? It doesn’t limit itself either, it would’ve kept on building the more victims it crossed. If the wielder knew how to use it correctly, they could potentially use it to throw someone elses magic into another person. One of your family’s daggers, objects missing for too long, thrown into circulation just as a large upheaval occurred. Just as everything changed again. It’s not something that could be completely ignored, even from Terrasen. But, some things were your burden to carry. Consequences passed through time and generations. 

“Good you destroyed them,” Aelin said quietly. A glance at her, and you knew her mind went the same way yours did. 

“They were originally used for healing,” you felt the need to defend your family’s legacy. You didn’t want to give the impression that they’d created an object with the intention for harm. 

“Sounds like it could’ve been a great tool.” 

“It was, for some time.” 

Gods, you were sharing too much now. Ceri saved the day, bounding back towards you and pointing to the house. 

“It’s perfect.” 

Not huge, but not small. From the outside, everything looked fine. Glancing at the price, you knew there had to be a catch. A bit of fixing up, you could handle. But if the roof was about to fall down? That would be a no. 

You looked underneath the price, squinting your eyes. To a good home.

An older male ambled out, spying the three of you eyeing it. 

As he led you through the house, you got the sense you were being interviewed, and answered all of his questions honestly, explaining what you were looking for in a home. 

“What do you want it to become?” 

Aelin looked at you from the corner of her eyes, but the male’s keen gaze, piercing brown eyes, were fixed on you. 

“A home for my daughter and I,” Ceri clutched your hand tighter, glancing between you and the other male. “Somewhere her friends can visit,” you squeezed her hands, “and relax.” 

“Have a lot of friends, do you?” 

Ceri nodded, and started rambling about the things they’d done yesterday. He listened patiently, commenting in all of the right places, and you could tell Ceri was taken with him. He did have a grandfatherly aspect to him. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “There’s some mice sometimes, you’ll need a cat.” 

“We have one,” Ceri piped. 

“That’s perfect then,” he patted her shoulder. “It’s yours if you want it,” he looked up to you. Now, three pairs of eyes were on you. 

“We’d be honored.” 

The words felt … right. You’d learned the home had been in his family for generations, but he was the last of them. He didn’t need to tell you what happened to his family, but he said he’d been the last occupant of the home, and would be moving into the city with a friend. 

“Are they a special friend?” 

“Ceri,” you hissed. 

“It’s alright,” he chuckled, looking at you with a hint of amusement. You replied with an apologetic grimace. “All friends are special.” 

You squeezed your daughter's hand, telling her now is not the time. Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut. She’s at the age where a filter is a foreign concept to her, and any question seems appropriate. 

Turn around would take about ten days. He’d left you all of the furniture, all of the kitchen ware, nearly everything, even a collection of what looked to be ancient books. It almost seemed too good to be true … but, this time, an instinct told you to accept something good happened. That it happened without a greater cost. That you were worthy of good things. 

-

Aelin’s mind had wandered during the rest of your ‘girls trip.’ She half paid attention to the tour and conversations, enough so she knew what was going on if asked a question. But, her mind drifted to what you told her. She’d watched as you froze up, as you hesitated, but then told her anyway. As you showed trust in her. Trust with things you probably hadn’t told another person. There was still more to the story, but when she saw how uncomfortable you grew, common sense told her pushing wasn’t worth any potential knowledge she might acquire. 

She was correct that someone from your bloodline created it. First the admission of the type of dagger, then how the ones your family created were different. Something a collector would’ve loved. 

They were used for healing at some point, then stolen. At least that was what she picked up on. Her mind trailed to why you would’ve destroyed them, destroyed a family heirloom. Blood. Magic. Your magic - imbuing. 

Victim’s magic store itself. Enough to have other uses.

Very few. Two less. There’s still more. And you don’t know where they are, or she has a feeling you would’ve tracked them down by now. Aelin had a decent read on you at this point, and she’s well aware you wouldn’t let something like that exist in the world. 

Could those daggers have a history? Could she find mentions of them somewhere? You didn’t say relative, you said ancestor. 

She needed to talk to Rowan.

-

Rowan could tell Aelin was nearly bursting at the seams with something. She waited until it was the two of them, you and Ceri already off to bed, before sharing. 

He sat on the new wealth of information Aelin had learned. Moreover, he was shocked you’d shared all of that. It was more than you would’ve told him … would’ve told him in the past. There’s other reasons why you wouldn’t have shared that with him before. Still, if he’d asked the question would you have answered? A useless question, considering he wouldn’t ask you. He recognized you wouldn’t have told Aelin this if you didn’t expect he’d hear of it as well. 

It wasn’t meant to be hidden from him, just to be heard second hand. It felt like a consolation prize. 

“Is she worried about it?” He finally said, his pause giving the impression he was thinking the information over.

“Not excessively,” she shifted, stretching her legs out over his lap. Absentmindedly, thumb ran circles into her calf, loosening the tense muscles. A small purr left her chest. She was silent, contemplative, for a few moments. “There’s more to it. I know there is.” 

“Aelin,” he paused his movements, catching her eyes, hoping to tell her not to dig into it. Based on the look in her eyes, that wouldn’t be a deterrent. “At least don’t push her. Let her come to you. It’s sensitive family history you’re digging into.” 

At least that’s the impression he got. Aelin described how you seemed reluctant, emphasizing how she didn’t pry much. Speaking about your family had always been difficult for you, one of the topics you were most evasive about, and he doubted that changed too much over the years. 

“I know.” 

-

For the first few days, you struggled to figure out how to fill your time.

 Last time you’d been here, everyone was snowed in for the majority of the time, but now there weren’t any restrictions or requirements to stay in the castle. Last time, your stay in Orynth felt temporary, even with the knowledge you’d be returning. It was also the first storm of the year, and an early one. Now you’d just hit december. Meaning Yulemas was quickly approaching. Peak season for you, to sell any kind of little crafts, but you didn’t have a space to work yet and working out of the castle didn’t feel right to you.

In the mornings and early afternoons, Ceri had lessons with the rest of her friends and a few teachers from the castle, so you took it on yourself to walk through the city, trying to memorize each street and back alley. That was a new kind of torture for you. Going alone made your explorations much longer, but it was important you learned how to find your way through without help, to not rely on anyone - besides the little map now becoming worn down and creased with how frequent you referenced it.  

Making your way back to the main square, the jingling of bells and a few festive tunes reached you first. 

A market. 

Evergreen wreaths lined the streets, accented by bows, pinecones, and all sorts of little decorations. Stalls and stalls of vendors selling their wares, all of them braving the cold. A few had flasks on their hips, ones they took a few sips from time to time. You smiled to yourself, that’s certainly a way to help keep the chill out. 

As it happens, you came across a woman selling little carvings, a list of different types propped up on her table. ‘Enchanted,’ had a line crossed through it. She wasn’t particularly busy, so you decided to be nosy. 

“Enchanted ones already sold?” 

She smiled ruefully, “aye, the normal provider’s temporarily out of business, don’t know when they’ll be back.” You realized she might be referencing you. “A female from Antica, now based in Terrasen, not sure where.”

“Are there others?” 

Her mouth pressed into a tight line. “Not particularly good ones.” 

“Out of those too?” Gods, you really were being nosy, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“If they don’t feel right or genuine, I try not to sell them. I like the ones that already have a bit of magic in ‘em.” She narrowed her eyes at another stall across the way. You nodded, and she seemed in the mood to share today. “The seller’s out of Antica, don’t know how she got here, but it’s lowered the price.” She was speaking of you. 

“The price?” 

“I used to import.” 

“Oh.” 

Maybe you should’ve kept track of where some of your work ended up. 

“I try to keep the prices fair,” she sighed and leaned back in her seat, balancing it on two legs. “For the ones who look like they need it.” That, you could appreciate. “Makes me sell out quicker.” 

You hummed, maybe you could make a few before the seasons up. “I heard a rumor,” you started hesitantly, and her head tilted, eyes curious. “That she’ll be back in business, have something ready about a week before Yulemas.” 

Oh, you had her attention now. “Do you know her?” 

A small nod. “You don’t?” 

A shake of her head, but you’d caught her attention. “Always dealt with someone in the middle. A bit annoying,” you tried not to wince, “but safer for her that way, I can understand.” 

“I can put you in touch.” It can’t be that hard to pretend you’re actually the one in the middle. 

“Really?” She looked skeptical, and for good reason. 

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small trinket. A small amulet, one of the last things made before you left Caraverre, and a design you hadn’t used before, but if she’s sold some of your things, she should recognize it as genuine. Carefully, you handed it to her, watching as she examined, eyes squinting to look at the tiny carvings. 

“She won’t have much stock, and not til week or so before the holiday, but I can put you in touch and see what she has.”

“Even a few would make a difference,” she reached out and handed it back to you, gingerly. Almost like she was holding a treasure. 

“Keep that one for yourself. I’ll come back and let you know.” 

“That would be much appreciated.” 

Based on your smile, and the way she undid the clasp, tucking the small necklace inside her coat, you knew she would. Keep it and not sell it. You’d need to wait a few more days before returning, maybe even up to a week. Just to give the impression you actually were someone in the middle. 

Feeling in high spirits, a good deed done for the day, you headed back to the castle, hoping there would only be a few wrong turns this time. 

-

Aelin reached an arm around pulling you into her side, a hug of sorts, but her arm lingered. Naturally, your head dropping to her shoulder. She squeezed further, and didn’t move. Aelin tugged you closer. Rowan didn’t look uncomfortable when you stole a look at him. In fact something like a smile ghosted across his face. You realized how much you’d missed touch and affection. Platonic touch and affection, just among friends. Reya had always been a big hugger, the two of you cuddling up next to each other on the couch. 

Something you’d never even thought might be necessary. But now that it was here … you found yourself clinging to it like a lifeline. Touch starved enough that even the smallest affection feels like a blessing, like a gift from the gods. 

Aelin sighed, and you relaxed your body further, letting the wine send you loosen you, giving yourself permission to feel this. To bask in this momentary peace. 

“You’re much better at this than Rowan.” An indignant huff from the offended male. “Take notes,” Aelin teased him, drawing a laugh from you and a half-hearted glare from the other male. 

“And you’ve had a lot of wine,” you countered Aelin, but didn’t move. She’d initiated it … and if she felt uncomfortable, you’d let her move away. Maybe you should, maybe this is crossing some invisible line the wine haze is keeping you from recognizing, but it felt so right. 

“Am I a better cuddler than Fenrys?” 

This time, you did laugh. Aelin is definitely competitive. “I wouldn’t know.” 

She seemed pleased, and matter of fact, so did Rowan. You’re imagining it, for certain. In the morning you’d swear he never looked like that. Swear it was a figment of your imagination. 

As much as Fenrys made jokes about it, this hadn’t happened with him. Right now, you didn’t want it to, maybe you wanted to claim her as your official cuddle-friend. It’s the wine. Aelin wasn’t yours to claim, not in any way. Besides, you don’t believe in belonging to others. You belong to yourself, and that’s it. That’s the way it’s always been, and how it will always be. 

A part of you still lingered, still wondered what it would be like to have a mate. To forge a bond so deep, such a permanent and everlasting connection, one that could cross worlds and eternity, to love and be loved so deeply that separation was unbearable - that separation would tear your soul into tiny bits. 

Not the love of a mother and daughter, the love of two people meant to bind their souls together. Meant to claim each other equally. 

Could a bond like that be forged, or was it some kind of gift? Given just to those deemed worthy of it? 

It’s the wine. 

The odds are you’ll never know, and there’s no use in wasting time imagining it. 

taglist: @holb32 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee @reidishh @fussel9913 @abbyrose13 @brandywineeeee @acourtofbatboydreams (sorry it didn't let me tag everyone! you can comment on this or any others if you want to be added!

[tj-crochets]

Hi there! I’m not in a place where I can start sewing yet at all, but recently my grandma gave me her sewing machine. She had it electrified (?) at some point so it has the electric pedal, but it only does straight stitch. Is it possible to use this for quilting? Plushie making? Will it limit me a lot to have a machine that only does straight stitch?

Hey! It is absolutely possible to make both quilts and plushies with just straight stitching, that's all I use for both. The only things I use the zigzag stitch for are beanies, mittens, socks, baskets and rugs The only thing that miiight trip you up making plushies and quilts is whether or not the the machine can backstitch at the start and end of a seam. I think I heard some of them can't, and I'm sure there's a way to manually "lock" a seam if you can't backstitch to secure it, but off the top of my head I can't think of how would be best to do that

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie!Ghost Story (Chapter Ten)

Summary: Simon’s arms were impossibly tight around her, almost crushing her to his chest. Lelia didn’t mind. She wanted to be as close to him as physically possible—would have crawled inside his ribcage and nestled next to his unbeating heart, if she could have. She knew she would be safe there. Simon always kept her safe. Word Count: 2972 Warnings: still no smut but Ghost does something a tad creepy (it's okay we still love him), flashback/descriptions of past non-con, extreme cuteness Notes: I hope you all enjoy getting this chapter a day early this week! I will be on a road trip starting tomorrow, so posting will not be possible. This chapter has one of my favorite scenes I've written for this fic, it's so sweet. All dividers were made by @/sweetmelodygraphics (original post here). The zombie divider indicates the text below is Ghost's POV, the dove divider inidcates Lelia's POV. The combined dove and zombie divider represents a time skip but not a POV change. I still have no beta for this fic so all SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! AO3, Masterlist

It took them two more days to reach the village, and just in time. Snow had started falling an hour before, and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon.

The village appeared mostly untouched from what Ghost could see of it, and he was glad. That meant they’d be more likely to find supplies that his dove desperately needed. The final bottle of water was finished yesterday, the last time she’d eaten was at the river, when he’d managed to catch a fish for her while bathing. She was shaking like a leaf, too, the exposed skin of her face bright red from the cold.

Needing to get her warm immediately, Ghost shuffled her into the first house they saw. It was a small thing, only a little bigger than the cabin. Lelia practically collapsed on the couch in front of the unlit fireplace, looking between him and it hopefully as she shivered, her teeth chattering. Simon shook his head, letting out an apologetic grunt that made her face drop in the most horrible way. But he couldn’t risk lighting it before he’d cleared the village and made sure he wouldn’t be alerting anyone to their presence.

So instead, he helped her take off her soaked puffer jacket, replacing it with the thick quilt folded over the arm of the couch. He hung the jacket on a coat rack near the door, along with her hat, mittens, and jeans, which were heavy with melted snow. He placed his helmet and vest on the floor next to it, a habit he'd formed at his dove’s request. She said she wanted him to be more comfortable around her, but sometimes he thought seeing all the gear just brought up bad memories for her.

Next, he disappeared into the toilet, coming back with a fluffy towel. He kneeled down in front of Lelia, undoing her boots—his fingers had gotten much more dexterous with continued use, though he was still slow—and peeling off her wet socks. Her feet were red and irritated, but he let out a breath of relief when there were no signs of frostbite.

She’d asked him once why he still did that—breathing. He didn’t do it all the time, didn’t need to, but sometimes he let out a whoosh of air or inhaled sharply when the urge overtook him. He’d just given her a shrug. He didn’t really know—but it did hurt his pride a bit that little habits like that were harder to kill than he had been.

He wrapped the towel around her left foot and began to dry it—only to stop when Lelia nearly kicked him, letting out a shriek of laughter.

“S-sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Tickles.”

Simon’s eyes crinkled, and he resumed drying her foot off, more carefully this time. She let out cute little giggles while squirming in place. He may have been more thorough than necessary, just to get her to the point where she was clutching her sides and gasping for breath, a wide grin on her face.

Damn it all, he wanted to kiss her.

When she finally wheezed out a plea for mercy, he stopped and sat back, just looking up at her admiringly for a long moment. He knew he shouldn't indulge the direction his thoughts were going, but he couldn't help it. She looked so fucking pretty, sitting above him, her chest still heaving from trying to catch her breath, a sweet smile on her face.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he started massaging her sore feet. She twitched again, looking down at him with playful suspicion. But when he didn’t start wiggling his fingers against the soles, she relaxed, fixing the blanket so it made a hood over her head and settling further into the couch.

She still giggled when he rubbed a particularly ticklish spot, but she let out soft sighs of contentment, too. Especially when his hands moved from her feet up to her calves. He didn’t slide them beneath her woolen stockings like he wanted to, knowing his ice cold fingers would only make her shiver more. But he massaged her through them, working on the tight muscles.

He stopped when he got to her knees, just the tips of his fingers brushing her thighs. He heard her heart rate pick up, and before he could pull away, he smelled it. Sweet and subtle and musky. She was aroused again.

He looked up at her as he began to drool. She was dozing, not quite asleep but not awake, either. He licked his teeth. He wanted to taste her so badly. And not her flesh this time, either. He'd had a whole buck just a couple of days ago—the virus’s instincts were satiated. No, the hunger he felt right now was all too human.

Before he could think better of it, Ghost nudged her thighs apart a little bit. He wasn't going to touch her, no matter how badly he wanted to. He just wanted to smell her a little better…

Watching her carefully, he leaned in until his nose brushed against the apex of her thighs from beneath his mask. She twitched, but didn't open her eyes. So he inhaled deeply—only to immediately let out a sound between a loud growl and moan, unable to stop himself.

“Simon?” His dove asked sleepily, squinting down at him. He pulled back, but not fast enough. She frowned at him, clearly confused, and rubbed her eyes, as if that might help her understand what she was seeing better. “What are you doing?”

Ghost had no bloody idea how to answer. Wouldn't have even if he could’ve talked. He didn't know how to explain what she’d caught him doing. That he wasn’t sniffing between her legs like a dog because he wanted to eat her—at least not in the way a zombie should. He thought she would be more understanding if that were the case. If it had been him almost giving into the virus, and not just him being a perverted old man creeping on a young, pretty thing like her while she was vulnerable.

“You’re shaking,” Lelia said, voice soft and concerned, and she reached down, running her fingers through his hair. Simon’s eyes widened and he stiffened in shock. Instantly, his dove stopped, beginning to pull her hand back, already starting to apologize. He grabbed her wrist, almost too hard, and brought her hand back to his hair. She blinked, but resumed the petting, and his head dropped to rest on her thigh, unable to hold it up any longer. She jumped, and the smell of her arousal grew stronger, but she didn't stop, just used the blanket to gently wipe away the drool on his broken jaw. “It’s alright, Simon. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”

Christ, she was far too good for him. He didn't deserve to be near her, let alone for her to comfort him like this, especially after what he'd just done. Something she clearly misinterpreted, because there was no way in hell, earth, or heaven that she would be touching him so sweetly if she had. It made him wonder about just how innocent she was, if she didn't recognize what he'd been doing. Had a man never used his mouth on her? Had she ever even had sex?

Ghost growled softly, trying to clear his head. But her scent was so strong from where he was, and he couldn’t help but think about it. About what was causing it.

He'd written it off as a coincidence, the other day. He’d thought it the only possible explanation. But now…

Taking a risk, Ghost moved his hands from her knees to rest against the sides of her thighs, so he could hug her legs. His dove’s breath stuttered, but she didn't push him away or even stop carding her fingers through his hair.

And the smell of her wetness grew stronger.

Simon let out a disbelieving gurgle, lifting his head a bit to look up at Lelia in awe. She smiled sweetly at him, tenderly brushing the back of her knuckles over the outline of his mask with her free hand, as if stroking his face.

It was a harsh reminder of reality, but one that was sorely needed. By some miracle, she may have been physically attracted to him, but that didn't matter. Not when he still didn’t have lips to kiss her with, or body heat to keep her warm. Not when he couldn't give her children, couldn't even get it up for her because his blood didn't fucking flow. Not when he couldn’t take off his damn mask because he was afraid the sight of his face would give her nightmares.

It didn't matter if she got wet when he touched her, not when he couldn't love her like she deserved.

So instead of pressing any further, he contented himself with what he had—which was far more than he ever thought he would get. The peace it brought him just to rest his head against her leg like this while she petted his hair, to be so close to her and bask in her comfort—it was a gift. One he hadn’t earned but would cherish nonetheless.

After nearly an hour, his dove’s fingers slowed and then finally stopped as she drifted off to sleep. He looked up, surprised. She never let him be so close when she slept. Whenever there was a door she could put between them, she did, and when there wasn’t, she would put as much space as she reasonably could between them. Always on the other side of the campfire, or tucked in a tree hollow only she could fit in. And even then, she’d stay awake until she physically couldn't anymore, heartbeat fast anxious the entire time.

He tried not to take it personally. He was a zombie, of course she was afraid of him suddenly going feral and attacking her while she slept. But the closer they grew, the more it bothered him.

So his dove finally trusting him enough to fall asleep, practically in his arms? He felt higher than a fucking cloud.

He laid his head back down, but continued to stare up at her, happy to watch her peacefully sleeping face and revel in her warmth.

Several hours passed before Lelia was visited by her usual nightmares.

Ghost could tell, because she began to twitch and whimper, calm expression replaced with one of fear and pain, brows drawn together and bottom lip wobbling. Nonsensical pleas escaped her, and tears began to stream down her face. He sat up straight, reaching out to cup her cheek with one hand, the other moving to hold her own. But the second his fingers touched her, Lelia screamed in pure terror, glassy eyes flying open but unseeing.

“Please!” She sobbed as Ghost instinctively pulled her closer to try and comfort her. “No! Stop! Stop!”

Immediately, he let go of her, hands hovering uselessly over her flailing limbs as she tried to fight off her imaginary attacker.

He went through his entire vocabulary of reassuring noises, from groans to grunts to coos, but she didn't seem to recognize any of it. Frustrated, and growing more panicked the longer Lelia continued to sob and beg, he tried to force his ruined mouth to same her name, over and over.

Lelia. Lelia. Lelia. Lelia. Lelia. Lelia.

All that came out was incomprehensible growls and gurgles, though he could feel his throat straining, the vocal chords fluttering like they did when he laughed. He kept trying.

“Llll— Lllleee— Lllluhhh—”

It was no use. His jaw was fucked even if he could manage to actually make the sounds. Her name was just too complicated.

But she was in pain. He could see it on her face. Whatever was happening to her in her dream was hurting her.

And Simon promised he would always protect her.

“Dddd— Ddddoooovveeee…”

The word was garbled and raspy, difficult to understand—but it was a word. The first word he’d spoken since turning. Since dying.

It was fitting, since he hadn’t truly felt alive again until he'd met her.

“Dddooovvee. Dddoovvee. Ddoovvee—” I’m here, my dove, I’m here, you’re safe now, I promise. “Dddove!”

Lelia gasped, her thrashing ceasing as her eyes cleared. She looked around the dark room, confused and still afraid—but when she recognized her zombie’s pale, reflective eyes, her face crumpled and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest.

“S-Simon,” she cried, whole body trembling as he pulled her close, one hand rubbing her back, the other petting her hair. “I dreamed— A-Andrew was— he was—”

Lelia’s voice cracked and she sobbed harder, remembering her nightmare—every sordid detail. And they all came pouring out.

“He w-was inside me,” she whimpered. “I w-was asleep and then— and then th-there was pain and I woke up and— and h-he was on top of me and— and—” she sucked in a shuddering breath, “and he— he c-covered my mouth so I c-couldn’t scream but— but I c-couldn’t breathe either and it h-hurt so badly, it always hurt so badly—”

Simon’s arms were impossibly tight around her, almost crushing her to his chest. Lelia didn’t mind. She wanted to be as close to him as physically possible—would have crawled inside his ribcage and nestled next to his unbeating heart, if she could have. She knew she would be safe there. Simon always kept her safe.

The growl he let out at her words was low and furious, but wounded, too. She sniffled, feeling guilty. He probably didn’t want to hear about what Andrew did to her… she was selfish for dumping it all on him.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to pull away, feeling ashamed. Simon didn't let her, cooing in her ear softly. And then, dragged out and mangled, he spoke.

“Dddddoooovvvveee…”

Lelia looked up at him in shock as her brain tried to parse what she’d just heard. Dove. A word, not just one of the deep, throaty noises he used to communicate.

“Did you— Oh my days, Simon! You just— you just spoke!” She yelled, her nightmare completely forgotten. She cradled Simon’s face in her small hands, smiling so widely it hurt. They were so close, chests pressed together as he held her in his lap. Close enough to kiss. “But… why did you say dove?”

Simon’s hands dragged up her sides till they reached her own face, and his cold, thick fingers gently traced each and every one of her features—the arch of her brows, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her cheeks, even the bow of her lips. She blushed deeply at that, heart stuttering in her chest, belly squirming and skin tingling where he’d touched her.

“Dddooovvee,” he repeated. Saliva pooled in his mouth and dripped down his chin. Then, even more carefully, and less understandable, “Lllleeehh— Llll— Llllluuuhhhh.”

Despite the garbled mix of vowels and consonants, she understood him—“Dove. Lelia.”—and it took her breath away.

“I’m Dove?” She asked, voice small but so very moved. Simon groaned affirmatively, fingertips pressed lightly against her cheeks. She smiled at him, expression soft and gooey as a marshmallow. “Is that what you call me in your head? Your dove?”

Simon’s cloudy eyes flickered away from hers, even as he nodded, his shoulders hunched in embarrassment. Lelia laughed, pure and sweet and joyful. Her hands still cupped his face, and she wiped away his drool with the sleeve of her jacket, smiling at him adoringly.

“Sometimes I call you my zombie,” she admitted, tracing the edges of his mask with her thumbs. She wanted so badly to take it off and see his face. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn't break his trust in her. “But mostly I just call you Simon. Like you asked me too.”

Simon’s eyes crinkled, and he closed the minuscule distance between them so their foreheads touched for a brief moment. A silent thanks.

Lelia stared into Simon’s cloudy eyes. She once again wondered what color they had been, before. She was so close to him, she almost thought she saw little glimpses of dark brown—but it had to be just the shadows playing tricks. It was nearly pitch black in the room, after all.

Suddenly, Lelia yawned, her nose bumping against the bottom of his mask. Simon quickly pulled back, arms snaking around her waist as he got to his feet, lifting her up and adjusting her so he was carrying her bridal style. Lelia let out a little eep of surprise, making Simon chuckle. She could feel the vibrations of it against her cheek where it rested on his chest, and she blushed at how nice it felt.

Simon brought her into the bedroom, carefully pulling back the blankets and then laying her down to tuck her in. Once he’d piled up as many blankets on her that he could find, he moved to leave, and Lelia’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his thick wrist.

“Stay?” She asked, voice small and hopeful. Simon froze, and Lelia tugged lightly on his arm. She had no hope of actually pulling him into bed with her, but she wanted him to know she was serious about her request.

Finally, Simon groaned quietly in agreement, and then silently got into bed next to her, laying down on top of the blanket. He kept several inches of space between them, and Lelia scooted over so she could lay on his chest. Her eyes fluttered shut, and though there was no soothing heartbeat under her ear or comfortable warmth emanating from Simon’s body, she felt safer than she had in a long time as she drifted off to sleep.