#ochre sweater

[loveshetlands]

[magdaclaire]

"he wouldn't fucking say that," but for fanart is "he wouldn't fucking wear that."

[steviewashere]

I Don't Wanna Leave Him Now

Rating: General CW: None Tags: Post-Canon, Future Fic, Set in the '90s, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Marriage Proposal, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sap, This is Really Sweet, Romantic Eddie Munson, Engagement, Nervous Eddie Munson, Happy Ending Guaranteed, Listened to The Beatles While Writing This Title from "Something" by The Beatles, but make it gay.

💍—————💍 Eddie's nervous. The most nervous he believes he's ever been in his entire life—which is saying something, a lot of somethings. He's put himself in front of crowds, of classmates who have never wanted to hear a single vocal from his lips, walked on tables and shouted profanities, placed himself in the dungeon master chair, and screeched with laughter as he deemed fit. But here, in an apartment he's made with love—with Steve by his side, unexpected and bright like sun on a gloomy, fall day—he's the most nervous he's ever felt.

When he first realized he liked men, could even view men as a possibility, he never thought of a future in it all. Never thought much of what comes after the dating phase. Of sharing a bed with a man, let alone a life. He didn't put himself in the shoes of somebody a partner is excited to come home to. A life of warm stew in the kitchen and low lights and mosaics of lives coming together like stained glass in the Catholic church he and Wayne used to frequent. Of a whole within a heart so beaten and battered, he never thought to consider it beating alongside another's.

Steve started his heart with the tenacity and urgency crackling in his palms. With parted lips and swimmer's lungs. Pleads and cries under a desolate sky, in a darkness burdened upon their shoulders, blood soaked fingers skittering over his pale cheeks. Tears that he could never piece being poured for him like the tap leaking from a broken pipe—one more incident and it may just burst, explode and flood and damage. And yet he lived, woke up in a hospital bruised and stitched to all hell, fluorescents beating down on him in nauseous buzzes, sweaty hands still crackling around one of his own. "Steve?" he had croaked and those tears arose once more, this time coming down like God's flood.

And now he paces the carpet of their apartment's living room. Up and down as if marching through pews, brightened by the mosaic that is their lives—crisp magazines and peeling books and a couch ready to collapse from how worn it's become through their midday cuddles. There's a candle dancing and flickering before him on the coffee table, some linen scent that Steve has sworn by his entire growing up. Its off-white wax and orange on the wick, ablaze and coating the room. He inhales and places Steve ahead of him in his brain, smiling gooey before he left for the day, hair swooped away from his forehead still eternally seventeen, and an ochre polo ironed over his shoulders because it's his favorite color—so, of course, it's Eddie's favorite, too.

He's warm under his layers. A sweater Steve knitted him, this deep pink thing that scrunches at his hips and gently lays over the base of his neck—because screw the sweater curse, he'll cherish this falling apart masterpiece until it's nothing but spooled yarn once more. And a t-shirt to prevent the sweater from rubbing his healed scars raw, it's a plan shirt, black and fitting. Grey sweatpants because he wasn't sure what kind of pants to wear for what he's going to do. At least his hair is tied back with a tired elastic band, he isn't sweating there.

But he holds his breath and waits. Waits for Steve to come through their front door. With his overflowing college bag because he's a determined college boy now. For his shoes to be set aligned with the other sneakers they bunny ear tie for one another. Keys to be hung up with a soft click. His drooping dog eyes, heavy with the day, but alight with love anyway.

There'll be snow on Steve's shoulders. White and melting and sticky for a few seconds before the radiator catches up. He'll smile with all his teeth in that gentle, kind way he does. Where his whole face radiates and his eyebrows shoot up in excitement and his eyes pool with reverence. Eddie will kiss him, despite his nerves. Trembling and soft, almost as if they were new, but he'll kiss him.

Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

There are tires against pavement and he shakes his already shaking hands out at his sides. Jumps up and down like he's seen Steve do a million times before, right before the big playoffs, right before the World Series airs, before he's determined to win. He leaves the living room and stands in the entryway, merely two feet from the door, and waits. Patiently impatient, he waits.

Steve bounds in after his key clicks the lock loose. Tosses his book-bag to the ground with little care, arms stretched and plucked from the snowed-on jacket sleeves, shoes stepped out of after the laces are undone, and the key goes on the hook. He turns and finds Eddie with those puppy back soft eyes of his, hazel and bright and fresh even after all this time, and he smiles. God he smiles.

It's a gentle peck. A reminder of lips against lips.

"Hey, baby," Eddie purrs.

Crinkling eyes. Mm. "Hey, Eds." And the way he says those words, all sweet and dripping, affected by the push of his smile, of his lips pulled wide and pink and just crackling from the cold air, cheeks flushed and bulbous. He sways further into Eddie's space, love colored across him in pinks and reds and gentle peaches. His hands are cold in Eddie's palms, warming slowly from the radiator, from the body heat they exchange, from words and gooeyness and stew in the kitchen and linen candles and mosaics. "You look comfy," Steve says, murmured hot and cold over Eddie's own grinning mouth.

"I look like a million bucks, thanks to you," he whispers.

"Mm. Mhm. You look so good in pink."

He smiles bigger, his own teeth showing, Steve's eyes dropping down to where he's missing one on the left side—still droopy and in love, caught up. "Why don't you go in and get comfy? I made us some dinner, I'll dish you up."

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are still on his mouth. Voice still low and stirring. "It smells good."

"It'll be even better on your tongue, sweetheart. Go get changed, m'kay?"

Another peck. And then Steve disappears into their bedroom with a gentle click behind him.

Eddie's hands shake, but he jumps further into action. Diving behind their sofa for a bouquet of roses he hopes he hid well enough. Places them on the coffee table so that they're right in the open. He does as he intended, pours them two bowls of steaming stew—turkey stew he made with leftovers at Thanksgiving, using the scraps just as he's been taught by Wayne's guiding hands. Puts those on the coffee table, too, the candlelight dancing off the porcelain bowl edges. The last piece of his not-so-over-the-top puzzle is his acoustic, banged up and still shiny, resting in his lap.

His breath comes fuzzy and his heart jumps and spins behind his ribcage like ribbon dancing in the wind. Sanity spilling out his ears, but he holds on. Listening in as Steve shuffles back down their hallway, poising himself at the ready with his fingers angled on the gently taut strings, watching Steve come around the corner in his own sweatpants and another sweater he made—this one a light cherry red, slightly messier with its strings, but put together and comfy.

The surprise on Steve's face makes Eddie giddy.

Eyes wide and eyebrows scrunching, mouth gaping, but still at ease and pleasant. He breathes out some half-humorous, half-shocked sound—a chuckle or something like. But he sits down next to Eddie on the sofa, sinking into the middle cushion with practiced ease, right where he usually leans himself into Eddie's side to watch reruns and talk gossip.

Tonight, Steve smiles at him all the same, but scrunches his fingers into his own knees. Just as a kid does when they're getting the thing they wanted the most for Christmas, trying not to wiggle too much out of their seat.

He strums down with his thumb, plucking out the notes as he places the tips of his fingers over the frets. Sings, in his husky rasp:

"Something in the way he moves, Attracts me like no other lover"—

The shock doesn't really leave Steve's face, but there's this calm that settles over his features. Leaves his eyes shiny and curious and warm. His mouth settled in this soft, all lips, shy smile. And a light pink flush to his wonderful, full, mole-dotted cheeks.

—"Something in the way he woos me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

Steve begins to wriggle more in his seat, swaying gently back and forth to the music. Just as he does when he's standing in the kitchen, focused on the dinner he makes or the dishes he may do. The way he does when he's nose deep in his homework and Eddie comes up behind him to soothe his tense shoulders. And just as he does with ear protection deep in his ears, at the front of their local bar, weeping beer in his hand, watching on as Eddie performs for him and only him—despite the crowd, despite the nerves set deep in his bones.

—"Somewhere in his smile, he knows That I don't need no other lover Something in his style that shows me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

He finishes out the song, his eyes down at his own fingers, but he knows Steve is still looking on directly at him. At his thumb plucking dutifully over the strings, the scrunch he slowly produces between his eyebrows as he focuses more and more, and every single time he licks his lips before singing the next line. But his gaze remains the same, gooey as the brownies he bakes around Christmas, as passionate as he ever is.

And by the end, Eddie is no longer trembling, putting aside the guitar. Steve gives him easy, soft applause. "That was so beautiful, Eds," he compliments.

Eddie, no longer nervous, but still shy, rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Thanks," he says quietly, "I learned it just for you, sweetheart." He takes a deep breath, and before he lets Steve respond, he's digging deep into the left pocket of his sweatpants. "I have...I have a question to ask you, though."

"Sounds serious," Steve comments. "Whatcha need to know, babe?"

Of course he's nonchalant after something like that. It makes some of the nerves come back, timid and tepid. Eddie's way of wooing probably isn't all that original, he's aware of that at least, but Steve doesn't seem bothered by it. If anything, his face is open and expectant, soft and still curious.

He takes a deep breath, lunges his shaking hands forward, and props the lid of the little box he's holding.

Inside is a shiny gold band. It's not the best of the best, that's for another time. But it's a hefty ring, fit for Steve's left ring finger, and engraved with their initials on the inside of the band. When he received the finished ring to place inside the yellow velvet box he found, a part of him flourished and bloomed like newborn roses. He wept that night, staring down at it. Something was finally settling into place.

He was one step closer to getting a future he never expected.

One step closer to a happy ending he never thought he'd get.

Steve gasps quietly between his parted lips, eyes darting down to the ring, up to Eddie's, and back down. He's still gently swaying in his seat, happy and vibrant and beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, it makes Eddie blaze like the candle, warm and dancing.

"Eds..." Steve breathes. "Oh my gosh, Eds."

"Steve," he speaks softly, "I know we can't do anything legal about this yet, but I guess my heart's too eager for a lifetime with you. You started that heart, kept it cherished and going, wrapped up and safe in your hands, and now I'm here, offering it to you all over again. Offering to you a life we already share, with your excitement over sports games that I may never understand, our music tastes both daunting and similar, and all these soft moments we have.

"I know that how we started isn't the most wonderful of stories, but I wake up everyday to make it better and better—you somehow outdo yourself day in and day out. And I'm ready, if you are, to take the next step. No matter how long it takes until we can get the gaudy, giant wedding of our dreams. I still want this with you, all of you—as you are, as you will be.

"So...

"Steve Harrington, the love of my life I never expected, but cherish anyway, will you marry me?"

"Eds," Steve breathes again.

Instead of saying anything more, Eddie swallows down his words with a gentle gulp. Grips the box tighter, trying to keep his shaking at bay. The bundle, of every emotion he's ever felt, pulsing and tight deep in his stomach. But he's patient. And he's sure.

"Of course, oh my god," Steve answers, "of course I'll marry you. This is...this is...wow."

Eddie pries the ring free of its little white cushion. He takes Steve's left hand in his own, fingers gripping to soft skin. And he smooths the ring down Steve's ring finger. It sits bright and pretty on him. Just as Eddie imagined it to be. He tightens his hold on Steve's hand, wrangling them so they're fully holding onto each other.

When he looks back up from their tangled fingers, Steve kisses him. All encompassing, devouring, with fervor. He kisses with words, all the words Eddie's read, with every what-if and eventually, and every soft memory they'll make in the near future. A love that coats and soothes and flames; a love that's kept Eddie's heart beating after all these years.

He gasps for breath when they pull apart. And is reminded, endearingly, of all their breathless make-out sessions years ago—when they were in their early twenties, tentative, and nervous.

When Eddie asked Robin for permission to date Steve.

And now, in their early thirties, the permission to marry Steve sitting heavy in him—welcomed fully and tight by Robin's squeezing arms. That's a story for another time, though.

"I love you, Eddie. I love you so much," Steve whispers, "you beat me to it."

"You might'a been the jock, but I had to make sure I was faster than you on this. I like to jump the gun when I know what I want."

"And you want me forever," he says in awe.

Eddie nods once, a sure thing. "I want you forever, Steve Harrington. Just as I promised in the beginning, sweetheart."

"You're such a sap, Eds."

"For you, sweetheart. Just for you."

Their stew needs to be reheated. And they'll cuddle into each other to watch their reruns. Maybe do some other exciting things tonight.

For now, though, Eddie holds onto Steve's engaged hand. Gazes at him. And continues to promise forever.

A forever after that he's always dreamed about—made real in those honey drenched eyes.

💍—————💍

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Ok so we get this

and this

And I proceed to spiral about colour theory and costume theory and end up writing and expansion to this post I made about Buck in yellow ochre!!! Sorry y'all, you know what that means - my unhinged colour theory and costume meta's are Back!!!

Lets start by revisiting all of Bucks previous yellow ochre wearing shenanigans!

3x06 the yellow ochre sweater he wears when he gets sent home by Bobby - this does after we see Buck and Eddie making up with each other - a moment when we see Buck learning more about himself and growing (read becoming less self-centred and understanding the concept of being part of a team and recognising that he needs to be better about stepping in with Eddie!)

4x02 - Yellow ochre jumper - first in a video chat with Maddie, Chim and Albert, but then more importantly, when he is in his therapy session with dr Copeland - the whole ‘I hide my true feelings from others’ moment - yet another moment of Buck recognising something about himself. I think this is the most key scene in Bucks yellow ochre wearing - more on that in a bit.

4x03 Bucks yellow ochre t-shirt - a t-shirt that matches the shade of the jumper from above, and a moment when Buck confesses to Maddie that he’s in therapy - about being sad and lonely and wanting to be ‘finer’ 

4x04 - the yellow knit sweater from 3x06 is back (yes it is the same sweater) and this is when Buck has his entire life upended and he finds out about Daniel (kicking us into Buck begins)

4x11 - Buck talks to Maddie and Josh about Sue’s hit and run, then talks to Taylor about Sue. This one is a much brighter yellow than the ochres we’ve seen up to now, but I’m including it because I think its relevant to Bucks arc here (also because it connects into the next time we see Buck wearing yellow - the will scene) the concept of being hit with information that leads to Bucks growth and the nature of most hit and runs not being solved, the perpetrator never being caught and therefore not getting closure on something (this is super relevant I promise!)

Then we have 4x14 and two yellow ochre tops - the first is the sweater, this one is trending more towards orange brown, but its still in the ochre wheelhouse! this oe is all about communication - mostly at Buck - Taylor telling him how stupid he was for climbing the crane, receiving a phonemail from Ana to tell him Eddie is awake, facilitating communication between Eddie and Chris and then Buck communication himself - thinking it would’ve been better if he had been shot. Directly communicating to the audience (as much as Eddie) the inner monologue of Bucks own opinion of the point of his existence.

Then we get the beloved will scene and Buck wearing a yellow ochre shirt, still lighter than the other yellow ochre we’d seen up to this point, with the exception of the previous one which is brighter still. again this is mostly about people communicating at Buck rather than him being the communicator - much like with the previous Jumper. It somewhat plays into the concept of Buck being a passive part of his life rather than actively living it - Kinda hard to explain at this point without the context of the costumes from s5&6. I also want to point out Taylor is in that dark green again here - in the scene when Buck opens the door to the Diaz house.

5x03 gives us Buck in that same shade of yellow ochre (bear in mind we haven’t seen him in any other colour between the will reveal and this scene (beyond uniform!) and here we have Buck pushing Eddie and communicating without actually giving much of himself away - yes he uses himself as an example, but he doesn’t actually open up about himself all that much (this is important - its not the time for that and it provides space for Buck to continue his internal monologue about his self worth) after this he goes home to his loft and we get him communication to a Taylor who isn’t actually present in the space - a symbolic scene that shows that he gets just as much from her absence as her presence (a play on the idea that Buck can communicate better with her when she isn’t actually present compared with when she is - its a juxtaposition of the scene from earlier when they were in bed together and she didn’t listen to anything he was saying, or his wants/needs)

5x04 a scene at the Buckley-Han apartment where Buck isn’t communicating with Chim - Chim is very much communication with Buck about his despair over Maddie leaving - Buck obviously knows where Maddie is at this point, but he diocesan’t take the opportunity to communicate effectively with Chim. so This is yet another example of Buck failing to communicate, while some one around him is clearly communicating and this scene has the addition of secrecy thrown into the mix.

Then we have 5x14 - this one is a bit less obvious - its the yellow ochre and black plaid jacket - its an outlier in that its not solid yellow ochre, but it is again a scene where we get communication - this time BUck is actually the one to do some communicating, but like pretty much always, we don’t get him pushing too much and we see him continuing to deflect from making things about himself - he’s desperate to talk about the shooting and its impact on him, but Eddie resists and Buck backs off. the check here is a nice addition because it shows the concept of cross purposes, but also there is less yellow than in other outfits - the black seems to be ‘devouring’ the yellow - almost like a play on the idea that this was Bucks one big chance to communicate, but he doesn’t take it.

That is the last time we see Buck wearing yellow ochre until the end of season 6 - 6x15 and his date with Natalia to be precise! we’re back to that same shade of yellow ochre and once again we have Buck communicating - but its very much playing into what Natalia what to hear. I don’t doubt that BUck wants to talk about his death and resurrection, but we don’t actually see the conversation beyond the superficial overtures Buck makes. This plays into the suggestion that its about him trying to impress Natalia rather than actually about what Buck needs or wants to say. Its once again Buck communicating without actually communicating. something Eddie picks up on in the later graveyard scene and tries to provide the space for him to open up - which Buck doesn’t take.

The theme continues with the the next Buck/Natalia date in 6x17 - yellow ochre once again, this time an open shirt - again its that same shade, and we see a continuation of the Buck communicate via deflection technique he employs - this scene, like his previous date with Natalia, is more about her and the writers showing us her hang ups/ insecurities than it is about Bucks - beyond showing us that they aren’t actually all that compatible - its kind of framed in the same way as his previous relationships (especially Taylor) - Buck playing into what he thinks someone wants him to be rather than being who he actually is. 

This concept is something we see in pretty much all of the previous scenes where Buck is wearing Yellow ochre, this desire to be what people need him to be rather than who he actually is. there are a couple of exceptions - the first time we see Buck in yellow ochre is probably the only instance where we see Buck being somewhat honest with himself - there is an element of him playing the role he needs to to win back Eddies friendship, but I think its coming from a genuine place and is born out of a real desire to be better - he really did learn his lesson. The fact that the next time we see the yellow ochre used is in his therapy session scene where he literally states that he hides his true feelings from others is a big giant yellow ochre flag waving around telling us that when we see Buck in yellow ochre he will be playing into that idea - and that’s then how it transpires in every subsequent scene where he is in yellow ochre.

Which brings me to this new still

no one can tell me there isn’t an air of conflict about that scene - the dark cool tone of the image suggests a coolness to the room - that idea of the cold shoulder or the temperature dropping when there is conflict between two people. their body language is also adding to that vibe - Chris turned in on himself, not sat with Buck, the space between them.

Whatever this scene transpires being about, based on what we've seen with Buck wearing yellow ochre, we can assume its going to continue to play into this idea of Buck not being fully truthful with people and fitting into the role he thinks people want him to pay rather than being true to himself.

I do want to add to this theory by looking at Christophers shirt as well. The grey/ yellow combination is a bit reminiscent of Breaking point (the episode that really is the gift that keeps on giving) becasue we get Chris in grey and Eddie in tan - that is yellowish toned whilst not actually being yellow

There isn't a good screenshot of them together, but the placing of Chris and Buck in the new one has echoes of Eddie and Chris in that scene (one that is interestingly enough playing into the idea of changing family dynamics, but also the moment before and the one that happens afterwards at Bucks loft, directly placing Buck into a parental role (as an aside the idea of Buck being a miracle worker plays into the theme of Eddie looking for magic, just saying!))

Anyone want to play a game of whose shirt does this look like??!!!

Oh you do! well what if I leave these two pictures just here...

yes, yes that is a Chris sized version of that shirt - you know the one Buck was wearing when he and Taylor talked about complicated family dynamics and about telling 'other peoples stories because I hate telling my own' you know that scene about playing a part and not being yourself around people you're supposedly close to! Yes That scene - or how about the scene which happens to be the last time we saw Buck in Chris's bedroom, where Buck talks to Eddie about complicated family dynamics, about needing to have the right outfit on for the occasion, the scene where they talk about retirement, oil and Buck is playing with a dinosaur! yeah see where I'm going with this! Chris wearing a grey shirt that similar to Bucks is Paralleling those scenes - so playing into the idea of history or of thing being outdated and needing to change, of dressing for the occasion (an allegory for playing a role - to fit in to whatever environment you're in rather than being your true self) and most importantly of complicated family dynamics - suggesting that there may have been some change in the dyamics - perhaps this will play into the will (also colour paralleling the will scene as Buck is in yellow ochre and the breaking point scene with Eddie in a yellowish colour and Chris in grey) and perhaps Chris discovering Buck would be his guardian in the event Eddie isn't around. I mean we'll have to wait and see for the actual context, but I will eat my hat if the season 7 scene isn't playing into Buckley-Diaz family dynamics in some way!

Back to this still

I keep flip flopping on if its Buck or Bobby, but right now the lack of grey hair is making me lean towards it being Buck.

This is a still of the back of Bucks head from his coma dream for comparison (blurry as hell as he's not in focus but it looks enought like the same shape of hairline and of Olivers ear for me to feel like its more Buck than Bobby!

I think the shirt is what is throwing me off though because its just so not a typical Buck shirt (excepting coma dream Bucks!).

I've gone back through my notes and I just can't find any examples of Buck wearing this kind of patterning or shirt before, the closest we get is that hideous shirt he is wearing at the hospital after Kameron has given birth

The only thing I can do is scream into the void about check theory because check does't bode well for people - they always end up in the middle of the drama (see my check theory posts linked on my pinned post for more) and while they come out the other side (99% of the time) Buck in check for that scene in 6x18 pretty much doomed his relationship with Natalia (its specific to her and not C&K's baby as Buck wasn't wearing it when he delivered it!) and as that shirt in the still is very un Buck like, has not only yellow ochre in it, but also its a white base (and we all know buck in white is a bad sign!!) and its check patterned - my theory is that this scene is connected to Natalia in some way - either Buck is not being true to him self in more than one way - that things are going to/have come to a head for their relationship (my kingdom for a reverse of Buck to Eddie about Ana in 5x03!!!) and lead to a pretty big change in some way (fingers crossed for Buck to end it and then finally break down and deal with his trauma!!!)

Some other things about that shirt - I've brightened it up in the picture below - the colour combination - the green blue and yellow ochre are giving me call backs to coma Buck (another reason I think it might be connected to Bucks unresolved trauma around his death and Eddies absense in his dream)

Then there is the burgundy stripe in combination with Eddies hand placement and the fact Eddie is wearing a denim shirt - its very Tsunami call back (even the white plays into this as well as Buck was in white when he saved Chris) -

I'm quite probably clowning hard at this point, but the fact we've got Eddie in denim again (not something he wears all that often) in a scene where he puts his hand on Bucks shoulder in that way and with his Christopher watch so very prominent - we'll I might be feeling a certain way about it.

It would make sense to play into that story arc - after all - the opening of season 7 is very much centred around a big water based disaster - its got to bring up a few things for the two of them. If it is related, Eddies Denim being darker at this point would be a nice play on things - the idea that there is more deepness - more depth to his relationship with Buck than there was in early season 3 (it even calls back to flash back Eddie in 3x16 - he is wearing dark denim when him and Shannon fight and Chris wakes up)

Ok thats enough rambling from me! Hopefully i have made a tiny bit of sense! of to go back to screaming in the void now!!

tagging a few people who might be interested! @extasiswings @copyninjabuckley @oneawkwardcookie @spotsandsocks @mandzuking17 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @theladyyavilee @mistmarauder

[elisnightmare]

James and Sofia meet their still-unhatched little cousins for the first time! They already can't wait to play with them :)

ID in alt and under cut

[ID

A colored half-body digital doodle of James and Sofia Whitefeather, the artist's Ducktales 2017 OCs. In the drawing they're both 12 years old.

James and Sofia are American Pekin ducks. James has curly hair, curly feathers on his cheeks and freckles on his face, his eyes are brown. Sofia has shoulder-length hair tied into two ponytails with blue bows, her eyes are blue. James is wearing a white checked shirt and ochre shorts with suspenders. Sofia is wearing a white sweater and a blue jumper skirt with a white check pattern.

There are three speech bubbles above them.

Sofia asks, «I wonder what they will be like? Will they be like auntie Isa? Do you think they'll like us?»

James replies, «Well, they'll definitely like you.»

To this Sofia says, «I hope so! I can't wait for them to hatch!!»

James and Sofia are both standing facing the viewer, with a round baby crib in front of them with two greenish-blue eggs in it. Sofia looks at the eggs happily, her palms on the edge of the crib, her beak open. James smiles at Sofia, one of his hands also on the edge of the crib, and his other hand touches one of the eggs.

End ID]

[shed-the-god]

Uhhh... SFA! body refs plus YS with a nice new jacket and sweater (he loves it). Based off of Ochre saying that all of the BFs save up money to get YS a new, custom hoodie

Anyways, Enjoy~

[sakkiichi]

BABY BLUE.

“Tell me you will live through this and I will die for you.”

You can imagine any of your favorite characters for this, but I was specifically thinking of Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Kaeya x fem! reader.

genre/cw: very soft spice, angst to comfort, fluff, some slight aftercare.

word count: 1.4 k.

To someone I cherish, this is for you. If you ever see it, I hope it brings you some semblance of comfort on nights that feel lonely. Even if I’m asleep, I’m on the other side of the screen, dearest 🩵

The rain falls.

Your palm rests against the cold window glass, drops splattered on the other side.

Raindrops.

Looking up at them, you could feel like flying to the grey heavens; you always liked the weather better when it was gloomy.

Shades of light blue seem contained in the still free falling rain, before it shatters against the dull concrete.

You could relate to that, one amongst millions, forgotten afterwards.

Only so many loved to splash in muddy puddles, after all.

With a sigh, you pull away from the blurry glass, the imprint of your hand outlined against the indigo hues of the approaching night.

Is that all the world will have to remember you by?

Are you really that… ephemeral? Impermanent?

Unimportant? Is the word that lodges into your heart, freezing it, each beat painting in dark blue your lips that used to smile, the fingers that used to caress him, so lovingly.

Wrapping your soft blue blanket around your form, you step towards your room’s balcony, the curtains an eerie muted cyan in the dim light. Knuckles white, you pull the crystal doors open, frigid rain almost piercing when it touches your skin.

And yet, it feels peaceful, it feels good.

Perhaps you just missed hurting in ways that were not emotional, and maybe the cold drops in the night provided that.

“I knew you’d be here.” A familiar voice pulls you out of your daze.

Startled, you turn around. Your hands tremble around you, your rumpled up blanket falling off your shoulder, your yellow sweater akin to a blue sun, the water splatters over it, storm clouds. Your hair is plastered against your face, its vibrant shade, ashen in the faint moonlight through decaying skies.

Sighing, his hand wraps softly around yours.

Warm. Loving.

Not his usual chill; not his dominant or fearing for you hold; not his usual teasing; not his trembling hold in twilights when he begged you to please not go.

Permanent. Grounding.

Your lover pulls you into him, under the awning, freezing cobalt bleeding into smaller sapphires when it hits the canvas.

He doesn’t care how you’re dampening his clothes, his hair, arctic hues spreading like watercolors to his core.

Carefully, he guides you inside, the warmth of your room welcome to your shivering form.

The wet blanket is lifted from you, hung on a low chair before the balcony’s doors, the dripping water pooling in a mirrored image of the half concealed moon.

Your partner’s arms hook under your legs, cradling you close, walking towards the bed.

He lays down by your side, svelte hands slipping your ochre sweater off of you. His hands caress your hips, the skin right above your black pants, and the skin under, when slightly calloused fingers slip beneath the turquoise silk of your underwear.

His own shirt meets the same fate as your discarded sweater, both yours and his trousers following after.

Scarred hands travel up and down your sides, his gem-like eyes reflected in your dilated pupils.

Tears shine like colorless emeralds in your lash line.

You want him. You need him. So bad.

But do you deserve him?

As if he was the only one privy to your thoughts, your lover’s hand laces with yours.

His gaze is comfortably piercing, completely set on your pretty face.

A gentle squeeze, before his hand slips delicately under your sports bra, unclasping it, alice blue fabric slipping off your frame.

“Beautiful.�� He breathes, his stare dilating, his hands fondling with your breasts, gently pinching your nipples. He relishes in the little moans you let out.

Even if he never liked to see you cry, you were still perfect with teal eyeshadow running down your cheeks.

“My love…” you utter, a choked out sound. You want him to go on, but you want him to find better than you too.

And yet, he doesn’t think there’s anyone better, not here, not on any of the seven nations, not in another world.

“What is it, my bunny?” He whispers, kissing down your jawline, your neck, your collarbones.

You let out a shaky sigh.

“Are you sure? That I’m the one you want to do this with?” You ask, not meeting his gaze, head lowered.

“My dearest, look at me.” His tone is mellow when he takes your chin in between his fingers, gaze haloed in night and starlight, magnetized by you. “You’re the only one I want this with, the only one I’ll ever want. Do you understand?” The shadow of a smirk crosses his perfectly sculpted features when his lips brush the shell of your ear, feeling your frame shiver at his every touch.

All you can do is nod, throbbing and wetness starting to pool in your core, shades of pink and amber merging into the blue lighting of the night when his fingers brush your hipbone.

Skilled digits prod at your needy nub, thumb circling it, pearlescent juices leaking out of you.

You were always so perfect, and right now, you’re ethereal.

Reflected moonlight paints your skin azure, the city lights fiery against your hair, splayed out around the pillows.

Lips that have smiled, smirked, bitten and brought you endless pleasure envelop yours, his tongue swirling over the rosé of your parted mouth, asking for an entrance that was and would forever remain his.

His hardened tip teases your hole, as his arms wrap around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer, two colliding meteors, so bright, the sun would never need to rise again.

He enters you, in a melody of skin against skin and moans of yours and his name mingling in a million colors in the dark.

You can feel him. Deeply. Every vein and drag of his length spreading you out, taking you higher with every kiss of his tip on your sweet spot, to a vantage point from where you can see the skies end.

“I love you…” your boyfriend groans, pushing deeper inside you, one of his hands intertwining fingers with yours, the other, firm on your hip. “I love you, my darling… I’ll repeat it until you believe it… you feel so good, archons, you’re perfect.”

With one last forceful thrust, you feel your walls clamp around him, ribbons in a myriad of bright lights you only see after the nebula you and him create, painting your walls in every little detail that constitutes him and all the sheer adoration he holds for you.

Perhaps he once was a fallen god, now wandering in search of his own identity; or a broken angel, casting everyone in light, except for himself, donning a mask, kept in the shadows; maybe he is a crafted alchemist, still wondering about what it means to be alive; he could have been a silent scribe, caring more than his hardened stare let on, always peering from behind a book or another; at times you swore he was an artist, the architect that designed your very soul. Or maybe you’ve dreamed of him as a suave knight, his heart concealed behind a wall of spiky ice.

But what never changed is that his heart was always yours, in every version of the world, in every chapter of the story you still write, in the hours you dream away.

And so, you let go.

Liquid starlight coats him in your burning desire, as his nails dig into your skin, claw-like marks in his wake.

You’re a star, him, the moon, or the sun, that will forever orbit around the shine you don’t always see. Together, you meet the zenith of more than just entangled bodies, his lips descending upon yours once again tonight, feather-like this time.

With breaths mixed and labored, he pulls out, his arms not letting go, never letting go, for the gravity of you will forever tie him to your heart; even if his is hollow, icy, corrupted, or hard and gold, the threads of your sweetness are all he needs to feel alive.

Gently, your lover pulls the covers snug around you.

Summer sky blue, he sewed them himself. Or was it just his design? You can’t recall, but they are coated in him, his scent, his goodnight kisses.

Tender fingertips brush sweaty strands of hair away from your face. ‘So that I dream of you’, are his unspoken words, before his eyes close and his lips meet the tip of your nose.

In his arms, your lashes flutter closed too, in tandem with his.

Will you find wine and warm light on the other side? Lanterns to guide your night? Perhaps vast expanses of greenery with paths to find yourself and libraries to lose yourself in. Whatever the case, you hope for clear skies.

When dawn approaches, the baby blue of your now dry blanket matches the heart shaped rays expanding in the horizon.

[blue-nebraska]

mended sweater 🧶🪡

ID: two photos showing the front and back of an ochre colored sweater lying on a background of green clover. The sleeves and sections of the bottom edge of the sweater have woven patches mde from turquoise, purple, and reddish-pink yarn.

[yurabox]

Feeling a mild dash of courage in my veins so I'm going to post a TT004-382 (or Tolya) writing I did on my private blog. I'll hide it under a read more for posterity. No names, no titles. I'm too skittish to post it on Ao3 (maybe I will? At some point. I'd have to make up a title, would it even fit into the paw-ful [Attempting to skirt around main tag] fandom if it's just OCs?? I don't know!!)

Hope you enjoy it. Or don't, you can crucify me. Or beat me with hammers. Bweh. :P!

The ticking of the clock on the wall irritates TT004-382. Or Tolya, now, he supposes. Borzoi called him that, little Tolyechka in that ever-so dulcet voice of theirs, in a way that he couldn't tell if it was meant in a joking manner or affection. But he liked the original name too, Anatoly. Sunrise, he'd seen his first sunrise when he'd escaped. It was bright and bore into his soul like molten sugar being poured onto his eyeballs, sloughing away his skin into raspberry and pineapple candy until it reached his musk bones and encased him in a cute little layer of toffee, the perfect appetiser.

What was barely noteworthy to the average human was unique to the mutant, wretched thing he was, his body full of bile. What time was it? His head turned to face the clock, barely visible in the moonlight. It was four in the morning. The world was typically asleep at this hour, but would soon wake just before the sun rose. Sitting up from his bed, he looked up at his gangly, milky-white legs that hadn't seen the sun proper in well over a decade. He felt brittle.

His body would always restore itself after it shattered over and over again, no scars to mar the perceived perfection of porcelain. It was funny, how always the things inside him burst forth, spilling viscera everywhere, his bones contorting to fit the mass he was desired to be, usually some mish-mash of the things he'd assimilated, such as people and animals.

Unconsciously, he stood up, careful to make as little noise as possible. He often slept in solely boxers, regardless of how cold it actually was since he couldn't necessarily.. feel it as well. There was a mirror in the room, which he stared into on random occasions when there was nothing else to really do within the household. It was odd, seeing himself and how... mundane he looked, really. The top of his head was just barely out of sight from how tall he was in the mirror, but that was really it.

He'd considered himself abhorrent looking for... well, years. It didn't go away once he'd saw how he truly looked, sure, but it diminished any negativity that he had. So more or less, truthfully as he stood in the dark bedroom, he felt numb. Too numb. Inhuman in some ways, but his mind would spiral into a senseless nothingness that he wasn't sure if it was true to himself.

And so, he pulled on the shirt he'd always worn in the facility, the vermillion badge with yellow emblazoned on his chest, a ochre-yellow sweater that Borzoi had loaned him coming soon after, the texture pleasant on his fingers. Then pants he'd worn in the facility and some shoes and then he was off, quietly stepping through the household, which always had a sort of rustic feel to it with the carpets that were on the floors, walls...

The door was his only obstacle. It had a chain lock to it and his long fingers swiftly made work of it, unlatching it, the chain swinging to the side and making a quiet metallic thk sound, Tolya's body tensing up for a moment, his ears straining for even the slightest of movements. For a few moments, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the heart thumping behind his ribs, the commonality between humans and non-human.

The house remained silent and a sigh that he didn't know he was holding escaped him. And thus, he slowly unlocked and opened the door, taking care to ensure it didn't creak too loud as to wake up Borzoi. He didn't necessarily know how he'd react nor how Borzoi would react to catching him leaving at 4 in the morning, but alas, he would persevere as he always had.

Stepping out of the home and into the apartment complex's hallway, lit by a light that flickered every now and then, the walls a dull colour that he'd only recently learned was called mint. It was as quiet as the dead, the distant hum of electricity his only company. The apartment's door closed behind him, he made his way down the steps, counting each one. One, two, three, four... repeating itself every flight until eventually, he reaches the bottom floor and most importantly, the way to outside.

He walks through the entrance of the tall apartment building, silently noting that his head was closer to the top of it than many, many others he'd seen enter and exit. Of course, not to the point of bumping into it, but still... It's cold outside, fresh snow having blanketed the ground. It was still a novel sight to TT004-- Tolya, it was now, he reminded himself. Even if it gave him a slightly bitter feeling, it too... human of a name for him.

Better thoughts for a better time. He had been walking for a few minutes now through the streets of the city, taking care to not fall on the ice that was beginning to develop. And eventually, urban buildings blended into more natural landscapes such as tall trees, open pastures and whatever else resided nearby. A forest. He'd been here before, multiple times. And he instinctually made his way to a hill that just crested over the treeline, not quite as far from the city (well, it was. Truthfully, he'd walked a fair distance. He liked doing that, it was probably something normal people, humans, things that weren't what he was did).

And he sat down. The ground was cold, but he didn't mind. He was used to the cold in ways that others weren't, adapted to it. And of course, having better clothes than whatever the facility gave him definitely helped. Even though he had their shirt on underneath the sweater, he.. well. Disregarding his previous thoughts, he looked up at the sky. It was dark, but at the cusps of the horizon, he could see the encroaching blueness of the oncoming day. As he sat there, waiting, it slowly burned its way into reds, oranges, yellows... well, many many colours. Then the sun crested its way up, peeking out over the horizon like a rabbit out of its warren.

There wasn't much ambience where he was, aside from the distant sounds of nightjars singing their songs alongside some crickets, which were deftly joined in with the songbirds (or whatever they were, he didn't know) beginning to chirp out their morning calls. Day had arrived and for Tolya, that was perfectly fine.

[loveshetlands]

[princesssarisa]

I wonder… What are the clothing styles of Mei Lee and her friends?

That's easy to see just from looking at their pictures.

Mei's look is nerdy yet girly and cute. She typically wears a short sleeved pink blouse, sometimes a red sweater over it, a short indigo skirt, mauve leggings under it, pink socks, and gray sneakers.

Miriam is the most tomboyish of the group. She wears a mint green t-shirt, an open green plaid shirt over it, green jeans, mauve slip-on shoes, and a green ski cap.

Priya has a gender-neutral nerd look, with a long-sleeved, yellow and orange striped zip-up shirt, ochre cargo pants, and gray sneakers. The gold hoop earrings and nose stud she wears add a touch of femininity, though, as well as evoking her Indian heritage.

Abby's outfit is the cutesiest, with a a pink turtleneck sweater, lavender overalls with a few flowers on them, dark purplish shoes, a pink headband, and orange heart-shaped earrings.

[aztecbrujeria]

Golden Hour

A very self indulgent birthday piece I wrote with Toji on my mind. I wrote it while listening to Golden Hour by JVKE (Fuji Kaze Remix)

**Not proofed or edited I wrote this on the flight*

tw: Birthday Sex, Afab, Vaginal Fingering, Morning sex, In the fields, Vaginal Penetration, Loving, Fluffy

The smell of morning dew upon the field lifted the notes of the earth and the fresh mountain air as it turned into the haunting fog that kissed the wildflowers. His arm was heavy as it rested around your plush body nuzzling into you to take in your scent. Fluttering open your rich ochre eyes they opened to the sight of the golden hour of the soft oranges and rose colored hues tangoed with the disappearing violet haze of night. You smiled as he pulled you closer in his sleep, the tickling touch of his lips upon your ear, you smiled warmly. Home…This is what your home was.

Spending a few extra quiet moments you look upon his hand and notice the way the veins upon the back of it ran up the strong forearms that were hidden beneath the thick sweater he wore. These arms, you thought to yourself, were strength and honesty. The feeling of the unshakable honesty of love. “Love…the strongest curse of all…” you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the way your friend's husband told you this back before the world fell to chaos.

“So dumb.” You whispered as you wiped the sleep from your eyes carefully. Those strong pairs of arms squeezed you again making you gasp from surprise.

“What’s dumb Chaparra?” Those sleepy words mixed with the spanish he’d learned from your ramblings always made your heart turn to mush. Carefully you turned over into his arms to wrap your own around his shoulders and give him a chaste kiss on his nose.

“Just remembering something Toto told me.” You couldn't help but sigh as his lips found yours. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours while his verdant eyes slowly opened, he always made your breath hitch.

“I love you amor, but please don’t mention that man when you’re in my arms.” You rolled your eyes. Obviously the two had a history that you could never forget, they called a truce eventually as you and your friend had helped raise Megumi during that dark time. You kissed him again and sighed before looking back at him.

“Okay love.” Bringing a hand down to the side of his face you pushed strands of his long midnight hair from his face, he’d grown it out so much it was held back in a haphazard bun at the nape of his neck. The pad of your thumb wiping away the sleep from his eye encased in those thick lashes you could never forget. When the small smile creeped upon his scarred lips you could feel the overwhelming emotions of your adoration raise to the surface and brim upon your water line.

“Chaparra…” He cupped the side of your face, there entwined beneath the thick horse blankets, you couldn’t help but smile wide back at him. This time you took his lips again and began to tease the opening to his mouth. Tracing the seams of his perfect lips feeling his arousal as he pressed closer to you.

Soon hands and fingers caressed the eden’s of each other’s bodies. A hand upon the back of the neck, a thick leg wrapping around another, the grinding of each other’s centers working up the steam from the heat into the early morning atmosphere. The surrounding of the field while the horses grazed in the background added the blossoming desire of that private moment. His thick fingers carefully pulled out the braid that held your waves in place as you reached for his own.

Open mouth kisses upon from the crook of your neck, soft praises of love, the soft request for more, when the sound of zippers and shuffling of clothing followed the pile of clothes around both bodies. As flesh came flushed to one another the soft gasps and moans from one another mixed into the songs of the morning birds.

It was the feel of him reaching down to play with your soft, aching, slit that he opened with finesse. The feel of the pad of his finger expertly parting and circling, placing pressure where it needed, while he kissed and told you sweet nothings.  The way your leg hooked around his trim hips hungrily guiding him to take you to the edge.

Your name upon his lips was the most beautiful aria, one that Mozart could never create, you pulled him closer while he marked you with his teeth. The kissing upon your shoulders before he filled your pulsing opening with calloused fingers made you cry out for him. Thick thighs began to shake as he so smoothly hooked those digits to sensually pulse and begin to tease the soft pleasure spot over and over; torturously.

“Toji…P-plase…” A soft condensation began to slick between the valley of your breasts against his powerful chest. He moaned into your lips as he took them so ravenously. The mess from your sex slicked his hand while your ravenous walls sucked him in more. Closer the crest of the waves of your orgasm crashed against the back of your spine.

You took in a big gulp of air as you thought you’d finally let the waves take you out to sea when he stopped suddenly and rolled you on top of him while his aching desire lay beneath you as you threw your head back and began to rock your hips atop him. His strong palms slid up your thighs to wrap around your plush waist.

His head fell back as the strands of his hair began to stick to this dewy forehead and he groaned while he bit his bottom lip. The feel of your lips engulfing his dick as you began to grind your aching clit against the underside of his hard cock was making his fingertips begin to bruise your sides. He brought his gaze forward and watched the way the morning light glittered with the perspiration of your skin making you glitter as your mouth parted those swollen lips and you called his name. He called you, making you focus from up top. His own breath hitched as swirling eyes seemed to turn to liquid gold.

“Amor…p-please, I need you.” His voice was shaky as he begged to feel you take him.

With your hair around your shoulders, the golden hour fading slowly behind you, you sat up to guide him in. With him feeling you stretch and slide around him you could only gasp as you took him in. He filled you completely, perfectly, he was the missing link to your chaotic world. As you met his hips he let you adjust before he felt his toes curl as you began to circle your hips.

Languidly you moved up and down with gentle hands guiding you the feel of the building orgasm for both approaching like a meteor the steam from your bodies now highlighting the way your love burned the stratosphere. The sounds of you both being in the moment, he reached up and brought your lips back down to his with a crash. His hips began to move and pick up the pace making both of your demise iminent. With no thoughts you felt him twitch inside of you before he bit your bottom lips with a final kiss as you both cried out falling into the stardust of your orgasms.

With each thick pump he filled you, you felt yourself clamp down harder and suck him in deeper as your legs shaked atop his hips. He hugged you closer trying to gain the base of reality with you again. Finally collapsing atop him he embraced you and kissed your forehead before turning and having you warm him while he reached for the blanket and covered you both up. He  nuzzled into you from behind, not letting you break the bond that you both had.

“Happy birthday…my own heavenly pact.”

There in the field as you lay between the hawthorn bushes  and the wildflowers while your horses grazed was the perfect start to your new year.

“I love you Toji.”

[light-lanterne]

for your autumnal consideration: bylerween prompt [ ii ] 🍂

the following is an idea i had for @bylerween2023 which i have no plans of actually writing so please, feel free to take this as inspiration for your own work for the event ^-^

post-canon au where mike is having a great day. he slept just the right amount of hours so he's not tired; he had his favourite cereal in the morning so his tummy is happy; he did his homework the previous night so he doesn't have to worry about that all weekend, and he's wearing the comfiest, softest sweater he owns so he's feeling positively like he's in heaven.

what's more, it's a wonderful day outside, too ! autumn has always been his favourite season, after all, and today is the perfect autumn day: fresh, but not quite cold. sunny, but not too bright. the trees are all burnt umbers, ochres and shades of gold, and every footstep comes with a crunch.

it's perfect. so much that he's actually invited will, his beautiful boyfriend, over for a movie date: they're going to drink hot cocoa and eat candy as they watch their favourite horror films. they're going to cuddle under some blankets and hold hands even when nothing scary is happening on screen. if he feels like it, mike might just steal a little kiss here and there, or downright make out if will insists on watching one of his boring films instead of something more thrilling.

it's going to be amazing!

except,,, well. something awkward just happened. mike was preparing the cocoa for when will arrives, humming a little song as he worked, when jonathan walked by the kitchen. and his presence in the house is not a problem: jonathan and nancy stay in her room and never go into the basement.

however, jonathan doesn't know that mike's dating will just yet and so, every reasonable thought vacates mike's brain the second he hears the older man speaking.

"mike? why are you wearing will's sweater?"

- - - - - - bylerween - - - - - - ☠️ guidelines 🕸️ themes 👻

[steviewashere]

Get to Know Me Tag Game

I was tagged by @ataliagold thank you for the tag <3

Favorite Color - Currently obsessed with the shade of yellow that is Steve's sweater in season four. Uh...something like ochre, I suppose.

Last Song - Going Under by Evanescence

Currently Reading - Well, in terms of books, I'm reading Uzumaki by Junji Ito. And in terms of reading fanfic, I'm actually getting caught up on "the edges of your soul I haven't seen yet" by @ataliagold, which is probably not the biggest surprise (but I think everybody should go check it out).

Currently Watching - Nothing, really. Though, I'm watching Forensic Files, but I'm always watching Forensic Files. There's an Uzumaki anime airing on Adult Swim later this week, I believe, so I'll probably start watching that as soon as I'm done with the manga.

Currently Craving - A glass of Arnold Palmer and loaded chicken nachos. Sounds heavenly right now.

Coffee or Tea - Still tea. Coffee aggravates my stomach, so that's always a no-go. But I prefer any sort of black tea or spiced chai with a splash of milk and a drizzle of honey. Green tea is always good, but I don't add anything to that.

A Hobby You Would Like to Try - Uh...painting on canvas with oil paints. I've been thinking about asking my uncle to show me the basics, as he's a rather splendid oil painter. But otherwise, for the moment, I'm sticking to sketching traditionally with ballpoint pens.

An AU You're Working On/Thought Of - Currently working on one where Steve and Eddie meet in college as dorm-mates. There's a scene, though that I'm going to scrap and rewrite. I really don't like how it's reading right now and I've been picturing it differently as of late. But it's almost done, nearly seven thousand words, so keep an eye out for that in the next couple days.

Tagging, no pressure: @werepuppy-steve @sidekick-hero @hotluncheddie @scoops-aboy86 @spectrum-spectre

@marvel-ous-m @wheneverfeasible and anybody else who'd like to, as my brain is slowly turning into soup :]

[nestingtendencies]

Hello, my lovelies!

For some reason I don't post here often as just... me - the person behind NestingTendencies. I'm not quite sure why this is; I guess most of my crafting needs are catered to by Ravelry, as a platform. But I do realise that I have many, many wonderful followers, who have been regularly reblogging both the patterns that have piqued my interests and my own creations. And for that I am very grateful!

So I'd like to try and be a bit more social here; get to know you a little, learn what projects you're working on, and show you what's on my own hook!

First up is the Mariposa Sweater which has been the bane of my existence sole focus of my work since January!

You see, one of my new year's resolutions was to grow as a crafter beyond shawls, which are my specialty, and make sosme sweaters and jumpers! I've been having urges for those since last autumn and by now the craving cannot be ignored any longer.

So this is my first ever crocheted sweater, right? Do I bother with a gauge swatch?

No. Gauge swatches are for the weak.

Pretty soon I realise that my crochet is much, much tighter than the author's. Do I go back and try a size bigger? Do I increase the hook size to obtain the right gauge?

No. I decide that I know better, and I understand enough about how raglan works to just wing it. The joy of making a garment yourself is that you can make it fit your personal body contours perfectly, right?

So long story short, I am now on Mariposa the Second (First one is here) and I have frogged SUBSTANTIAL NUMBERS OF ROWS (like, all of the yoke for example) - wait for it - upwards of 20 times. Yes, 20. Not an exaggeration. If I hadn't done that, I could have probably about 4 completed Mariposas by now.

But no. The Gods have cursed me with a perfectionist streak. So we live and we learn and we carry that burden with us.

The photos in this post are the latest of the most correct version of this top that I currently have. My New Hope. My baby. I'm going to be sharing more WIP photos in the future.

The only good news is that as soon as I figure this sweater out, I'm going to have meticulous notes, which will give me the exact stitch sounts for my measurements and unlock the door to other jumpers like this one, of which I want to make at least 3.

And then there are other sweater patterns. 74 of them currently in my library. At least a dozen literally burning a hole in my consciousness - I want to start them immediately right now yesterday!!! Look look!

Elara Pullover - This is want in gradient purples, like an autumnal sunset

Chevie Sweaer - This I want in greys and golden ochres. I love the stitch used.

Don't Scrap That Raglan - Aaaah, Moss Stitch my favouritest stitch ever and I've almost improvised a sweater like this before!

Cosmopolitan Sweater - This I want in solid teal. Alpine stitch could well become my new mistress. It's also probably THE sweater I should have started with as my first project...

Peony Tee - I am in love with the funky-coloured contrasting sleeves and the raglan concept

Bridgette Ballet Neck Pullover - Ballet necks are my weakess...

Cap Sleeve Top - This I had a little romance with before, oh, about 8 years ago and it was shaping up beautifully in navy - I have all the yarn that I need for it.

Isop Sweater - I really want to learn this fair isle technique of making yokes, because I saw this pornographically beautiful set of 2 knitted sweaters in just the perfect colours and I'd like to do equvalent crochet versions, no I'm not at all trying to run before I can walk, why you ask?

Many of them much easier than Mariposa. Many of them not so tailored to the figure.

But no. Mariposa.

I have been buying up yarn in bulk again. This is how I know I'm in trouble.

But what about you guys? Do you have a Nemesis Project that has been kicking your ass for ages? Do you get overly ambitious like me? Or do you make your gauge swatches and avoid pissing off the Gods of Yarn, like sensible people?

[elisnightmare]

«Babysitting little cousins»

One of the first times James and Sofia were left to play with their little cousins while the adults chatted in another room

Michael had been quite an active and noisy duckling almost from birth, which really exhausted his single mother. Good thing Sofia was always here to help!

ID in alt and under cut

[ID

A colored full-body digital doodle of James and Sofia Whitefeather with Molly and Michael Pinkbeak, the artist's Ducktales 2017 OCs. In the drawing, Sofia and James are 12 years old, and Michael and Molly are a few months old.

James and Sofia are American Pekin ducks, and Molly and Michael are Magpie ducks. James has curly hair, curly feathers on his cheeks and freckles on his face, his eyes are brown. Sofia has shoulder-length hair tied into two ponytails with blue bows, her eyes are blue. James is wearing a white checked shirt and ochre shorts with suspenders. Sofia is wearing a white sweater and a blue jumper skirt with a white check pattern.

James and Sofia both sitting on the floor, facing the viewer. James turned his head towards Sofia and closed his eyes, smiling slightly awkwardly. He holds Molly, who is sitting at his feet, while she holds one of his hands and bites his finger. Sofia looks at James and smiles, holding a slightly struggling Michael in her arms and pressing him to her cheek.

There are two speech bubbles beside them.

Sofia asks, «Ohhh, isn't he an angel?»

James replies, «Yeah, an angel...»

End ID]