#oyster stitch

[shetumbler]

How to do Oyster Stitch

[frogofcamelot]

Oyster stitch. The most difficult of all I've done till now! One day I'll put it on a dress

[mariatenorio]

El doblez de Ale

Ale es una pieza única entre todas las que he confeccionado desde mayo del año pasado: es una matrioska que también quiere ser soldadito de plomo. De ahí que, en sueños, me sugiriera su nombre; ni Alejandra ni Alejandro, tan solo Ale. Su doble identidad, debo admitir, fue producto de la innovación que supone su forma y su vestimenta. No fue buscada intencionalmente por mí. Yo, queriendo variar el…

[3416]

learning to bead has felt like a highlight of my life tbh

[sgt-celestial]

learnt to knit btw :3

[ohbueckers]

WHAT’S MY NAME? i come alive in the nighttime. okay, away we go. only thing we have on is the radio.

THIS IS PART FOUR! pairing, paige bueckers x tutor!oc. notes, i think after this we can label paige as a crashout. this was so fun to write LMFAO. i’ll also be making a masterlist soon. warnings, minimal arguing ou… more sexual content & possessive paige? real tender or whatever.

liana sat between her two friends, their laughter mingling with the low hum of conversation around them. it had been a while since she had allowed herself to relax—her mind, atleast. no tutoring sessions, no basketball players, and, well… naomi was still there. she was always anywhere liana was, even if it wasn’t physically. paige had started to become that for her as well, but in a scarily good way. she was consuming her thoughts. tonight, however was just about good food, good drinks, and good company in a restaurant they’d been to a countless amount of times just outside of storrs, because quite frankly, there is literally nothing to do in storrs.

on her left, sat her friend amara, who was leaning back in her chair, her long faux locs cascading over her shoulders as she toyed with the silver ring in her septum. across from her was malik, dressed in his usual vibrant button-up, the fabric stretching slightly over his chest as he gestured exaggeratedly while recounting a story about his latest date. his animated storytelling along with the side notes had them both in stitches, and it felt good.

“i’m just saying, if he orders another round of oysters, i’m gonna have to start questioning his intentions,” malik teased, his grin widening as he leaned forward. amara snorted, nearly choking on her drink as she held up a hand, beginning to wave it around.

“okay, okay, but you survived, right? and now you know what to avoid on your next date,” she replied, always one to find a fair conclusion. she had one happy perspective on life, something incredibly admirable but also annoying at times. “wait… speaking of dates…”

liana froze for a second, her fork hovering over her plate of pasta. she had been waiting for this. a night out meant catching up, and catching up meant eventually diving into the complicated mess that was paige and naomi.

over the course of a few weeks, paige and liana had grown closer, sharing intimate moments that hinted at something deeper, yet never fully crossing that line. naomi, on the other hand, was becoming more aware of the growing distance between them. i mean, how could she not know? it was becoming painfully obvious liana was seeing someone else, sneaking around. but maybe she just didn’t wanna believe it.

she had been putting in more effort though, which was also an obvious factor. it was like she was holding onto something that had died out awhile ago, and while liana had found a distraction—or whatever it was, naomi just became more possessive. she always had been.

she’d been stopping by her apartment unannounced, resulting in paige having to hunch over in the closet for fifteen minutes (which the blonde still won’t let her forget), sending thoughtful, but not worth much texts, and even suggesting they spend more time together. but naomi had yet to ask the question that remained unanswered, despite it being the most important: where did they stand? and liana, in turn, didn’t have the answers… so maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t.

“what do you mean?” she asked, faking her innocence with those wide eyes, twirling some more pasta around her fork.

“liana, please spare me!” amara shouted, throwing her hands up in the air in mock surrender as she burst into laughter. her necklace caught the dim light above them, glancing at malik, who already knew what was up, then back at liana, whose quiet demeanor hadn’t gone unnoticed. “you’ve been so unusually quiet tonight, and i know exactly why. it’s because of paige, isn’t it?”

liana’s fork hovered over her plate as she looked up, trying to play it off with a shrug. but amara wasn’t having it.

“doooon’t even try to deny it,” she continued, leaning forward on her elbows. “you didn’t even know her a few weeks ago, and now she’s all you think about. and might i add, she’s paige bueckers of all people. like, i can’t believe my bestfriend is climbing that coconut tree.”

liana began to hide her head in her hands, elbows propped up on the table. “amara!” her smile was infectious, and despite her attempt to scold her friend, she couldn’t help but let it slip. amara grinned back, knowing she had hit a nerve.

“you ever talk to naomi about… all this?” there it was.

liana’s smile faltered for a moment. “not really. i mean, not directly.”

malik raised an eyebrow from his spot across from the two girls. “not directly?” he repeated, clearly not aware. “y’all still haven’t talked?”

liana sighed, her fingers toying with the edge of her napkin. “we’ve talked… but not about this. not about where we’re headed, what we’re doing. she’s trying, but—”

“but it’s not the same,” amara finished for her, her tone softening. “i get it. things got weird after… you know. but maybe talking it out would help.”

liana nodded, though she wasn’t convinced. she knew her friends had their history with naomi too, so it made sense as to why they’d try and help her out, even if it was just a little bit. they were the ones who had introduced them, after all. naomi knew her better than anyone before paige, but now… paige might just be stepping her up.

malik chimed in, swirling his drink lazily, the ice clinking against the glass. his eyes were half-lidded, a sure sign it was time to get out of there before he had one too many. “i’ve never really seen her with any girl. paige, i mean. like, ever. she’s always got that ‘untouchable’ vibe, you know? like she’s too focused on basketball to even bother.”

he wasn’t exactly wrong, and everyone knew it—but liana, seemingly always out of the loop and a homebody for that matter, didn’t. she went in completely blind, only to come out knowing everything. the blonde definitely did have her fun, but liana was indeed different.

amara picked up her own drink, grinning ear to ear. “and yet, she’s in your phone. clearly, you’re the exception.” she was just glad the topic had changed.

liana shrugged, trying to play it cool even though her insides were twisting. “i don’t know about that.”

malik laughed, shaking his head. “nah, you definitely are. trust me.”

liana smiled, a rather lazy one, but her mind was already elsewhere, thinking about paige. she pulled out her phone, her fingers itching to text her. it was almost funny how she hadn’t had any desire to reach out to naomi, like this blonde had swept in and made her forget. they had been messaging on and off throughout the night, nothing serious—just a few jokes, some comments about her day. but now, with the alcohol in her system and the her friends’ words fresh in her brain, she found herself wanting to reach out again.

she unlocked her phone, the screen lighting up with their latest conversation. paige had just sent her a picture of her sneakers—beat-up and covered in scuff marks after hours of practice.

You’re the one with the endorsements, remember?

😂 True, true.

You made it home yet?

liana glanced around the table, watching as malik and amara engaged in a slightly tipsy debate about whatever was on their minds. she smiled to herself before typing out her response.

We’re about to head out and call an Uber soon, so I’ll call you when I get home.

paige’s reply came almost immediately.

Let me come get you.

You’ve had a long day. You don’t need to do all that.

Liana dpmo 😂

You know I wanna see you

I’ll be there in 5.

she hesitated, looking at her friends once again who were now deep in conversation. she laughed softly at the pure absurdity of her situation, sending a quick reply before locking her phone and slipping it back into her pocket. “alright, guys. change of plans. paige is coming to get us.”

amara raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her face. “look at that, getting the vip treatment! could get used to this.” she nudged her, eliciting a playful glare from liana who was all around pretty tipsy and ready to go, but the thought of seeing paige tonight made things a little better. maybe she really did have her wrapped around her finger, or she was just lucky. perhaps both.

a few minutes later, they were outside, huddled together against the cool air that november brought. liana spotted paige’s car pulling up, and as the headlights washed over them, she felt her pulse quicken. when the car came to a stop, paige stepped out, rounding the corner and looking effortlessly good in a simple black hoodie and jeans. her hair was tied back in a low bun, and she flashed the three in front of her a smile.

“y’all ready?” paige asked. she hadn’t even looked tired, like she woke herself up for this.

amara blinked up at paige as she approached. “you’re taller in person,” she said, squinting as if trying to confirm it.

“it’s the shoes. but i am all legs,” paige entertained, helping amara into the car before making sure malik was good himself. once everyone was settled, liana climbed into the passenger seat beside paige, who gave her a quick glance as she started to fasten her seatbelt.

the car rumbled to life, and as paige pulled out of the parking lot, the conversation in the backseat continued, but liana found herself more focused on the subtle shifts in paige’s demeanor—the way her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, the small smirk that lingered on her lips. she was nervous. or anticipating something.

the rest of the car ride was pretty silent as malik and amara’s laughter and voices gradually faded into sleepy murmurs in the backseat, neither paige nor liana wanting to break it, knowing there were things better left unsaid while her friends were still in the car. even though, with the way amara was slumped against the door and malik’s head was tilted back, they probably wouldn’t have acknowledged or remembered much of anything by morning.

paige had her elbow leaned against the door, fingers stroking her chin as she drove with her opposite hand. it was a casual, almost absent-minded gesture, but it still held liana’s attention. she tried not to stare, but the small bit of alcohol she’d had made it harder to care. she seemed deep in thought—her eyes fixed on the road but her mind clearly elsewhere.

when they finally arrived at the dorms, liana turned in her seat to make sure her friends were okay to walk themselves. malik was already half out of the car, mumbling something incoherent as he navigated his way to the door. amara followed behind him, offering a tired wave to paige’s cracked window as she mumbled, “thanks for the ride, superstar.”

the blonde chuckled, waiting a few before pulling off. liana’s apartment was a bit of a ride from campus, but she found it less hectic to have her own space. “still can’t believe paige bueckers made time for me tonight,” liana said softly, almost teasingly, as she let her eyes wander wherever they wanted to go.

paige glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised in jocularity. “i always make time for you.” she hesitated, letting her shuffled music play through the car for a brief moment. “a four hour practice today, and i couldn’t resist seeing you before tomorrow.” and it was true. between all the practices, the games, and everything else pulling her in different directions, she had still made time for liana.

paige was used to getting what she wanted. not that she ever had to really try, it just happened. so the fact that liana was toying with her, in knowing of it or not, fully and completely messed with her brain. on the court, she could control the game, dictate the pace, and make split-second decisions that would leave her opponents scrambling. off the court, it wasn’t much different. with liana, she thought she’d be able to break her barriers down from the moment their first tutoring session ended, and she did in a way, but there was one that still needed to be tore down, and the fact that it wasn’t exactly easy frustrated her… because the barrier was a person, and a person is a hard obstacle.

the thought of liana’s smile, her laugh, the way she’d tilt her head slightly when she was really listening… it all made paige crave her more. the little things. and knowing that naomi had access to that and much more before she’d even met her, made her blood boil. yes, maybe they weren’t exactly together, but her teammates had really gotten into her head about the history thing, and the truth was, it did matter. it made things complicated. made it so that paige couldn’t just step in and take what she wanted without consequence. without someone getting hurt.

the conversation shifted, liana going on about her day as she leaned against the headrest. she made sure to leave out conversation details, but when paige was comfortable, she was one to prodde… and let’s just say blondie is already real comfortable.

“so, you didn’t talk about me?” paige pressed, her tone light and all-around teasing. normal.

liana’s usual wide eyes were lower and more lidded tonight, meeting paige’s with a growing smile. “is that so hard to believe?”

paige laughed, shaking her head. “it’s hard to believe because it isn’t true.”

they shared a look before liana looked away, rolling her eyes. the blonde licked her lips, stroking her chin once again as she thought about the next question. the one she really wanted to ask.

“talk about naomi, too?” paige asked casually, trying to keep her voice steady, almost as if it didn’t matter to her.

liana’s smile faltered slightly, and paige noticed. that small hesitation, the brief change in her expression—it told her more than words ever could. paige had learned that she was bad at hiding that. it made her think about how long she could keep this from naomi.

“yeah, a little,” liana admitted, her voice softening as she glanced out the window. her mind flashed to the conversation she’d had with amara and malik earlier. the part where naomi had been brought up and dissected, the part she’d deliberately left out when talking to paige just now.

the taller girl’s grip tightened a tad on the steering wheel, not purposefully… almost instinct. of course she did.

paige hesitated for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. she didn’t want to push too hard, but the question had been on her mind for a while, lingering in the background of their conversations. it finally slipped out, almost too casual, yet loaded with everything she was feeling.

“have you?”

it was a vague and simple question, but it required a longer response.

liana turned her head away from the window, her eyes narrowing slightly as she faced her. “why, paige?” her tone was a little sharper, mainly because she didn’t expect paige to force this type of reply out of her. she knew what she was getting at, but she wasn’t about to make it easy for her.

paige let out a breathy, frustrated laugh, shaking her head. “man…” she stopped herself in attempt not to raise her voice. “you gon’ fix that attitude around me, liana. i’m just askin’. just wanna know if… y’know… if she came up. that’s all.” her was on the road, but liana could see the way she subtly shifted in her seat, her knee angling outward as she manspreaded just slightly.

liana’s jaw tightened, and suddenly the dashboard was the most interesting thing ever. “you already know the answer.” her voice was a mumble, and you can believe she indeed fixed that attitude after being asked.

paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, running a hand down her face. “aight, cool. just makin’ sure.” she tried to brush it off, masking it as that being the only thing she wanted out of her question as they pulled up in front of liana’s place.

the car fell into silence, the engine the only sound being heard as paige shifted into park. she leaned back in her seat, exhaling slowly, trying to cool down atleast a little bit before either of them spoke. she clasped her hands together in the area her open legs left her, gazing down. she hated feeling like this—out of control. because although she was upset, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

liana sighed herself, uncomfortable with the tension their words had brought. the situation had sobered her just enough as she unbuckled her seatbelt, but didn’t move to get out. instead, she looked over at paige, her expression soft. “you really want me to stay clear of naomi?”

paige turned her head, meeting liana’s eyes with a quickness. that was all she wanted, she just knew she couldn’t be the one to say it. “i mean… i ain’t gonna lie, it’d be nice. but you grown. do what you want.”

“shut up.” liana rolled her eyes at the nonchalant act, a small smile tugging at her lips. “you and your half-ass answers.”

paige chuckled. it seemed like her smile was enough to make her forget about everything as she reached out to brush a stray curl from liana’s face. “nah, i’m serious, though. i just—” her voice trailed off, and liana could see the conflict in her eyes, tilting her head a little as if daring her to finish her sentence. let her be vulnerable.

before she could overthink it, liana leaned in, her lips brushing against paige’s, testing the waters. the blonde responded instantly, her hand sliding to liana’s neck, holding it gently as she deepened the kiss. the intensity spiked, eyebrows furrowed as they attempted to devour every bit of each other, heads leaning in opposite directions.

liana shifted, climbing over the center console and straddling paige’s lap which had become her designated spot at this point, her fingers sprawled out on her shoulders. paige groaned, her hands gripping liana’s hips as she pulled her closer, glancing down at where their bodies met. the kiss turned hungrier, more desperate.

paige’s hands roamed over liana’s body, exploring the curve of her waist before slipping down to her ass, squeezing possessively. she immediately got back to work, using her hand to tilt her head to the side for better access to her neck. liana gasped softly when she felt paige’s lips linger in one spot, then the slight sting of her teeth as she bit down gently, marking her up.

“p, did you just leave a hickey?” liana asked, completely breathless as she touched the marks on her neck.

“mmhm. a few, baby.” her voice was a low murmur, but the girl atop her had managed to make it out. she trailed her lips back up to liana’s catching her mouth in another kiss. the car felt like it was getting smaller, and definitely hotter. liana’s hands moved up under paige’s hoodie, fingers brushing over her abs before reaching her breasts. paige groaned into the kiss, her breath hitching at her touch. she was being drove to the absolute edge with this girl.

her grip on liana tightened, pulling her even closer, and the kiss deepened, both of them losing themselves in the moment, as if nothing else existed outside of that car. but then liana pulled back slightly, her breathing ragged, her eyes shifting between paige’s eyes and lips. “‘m gonna tell her.”

paige blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in conversation. “what?”

“naomi,” liana clarified, glancing down at her hands. “i’m gonna talk to her. end it,” she repeated more clearly.

paige’s heart pounded in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. was it really that easy, all she had to do was ask? she didn’t respond right away, just kissed her harder, almost like she was sealing the promise between them. liana responded just as eagerly, fingers curling into the fabric of paige’s hoodie as if she needed to hold on to something solid.

it was only when they both pulled back for what felt like the millionth time that night to talk, breathless and flushed, that liana realized paige had whispered something else—something she couldn’t quite make out. she opened her mouth to ask, but paige was already leaning back, her eyes searching liana’s face. “can i come up?” her voice was softer now, hesitant.

liana hesitated herself, stopping her movements. since ted’s they’d done a lot, clearly, but had never really took it all the way. she wasn’t sure paige was even aware of why. she needed more time.

“not tonight.” she saw a look of slight disappointment on the blonde’s face, and made sure to add that it would be soon. they’d need to find a right time, and right now, while there were still some things to sort out, it wouldn’t have been good.

paige chuckled, nodding against the headrest. “alright. soon.”

[fabbyf1]

happy saturday, besties!

i hope you're having a great day wherever you are in the world.

as you all know, i've been really going through it the past week. first the hurricane, then the multi-day power outage, then trying to get my life and house back to normal afterward. i had to throw away hundreds of dollars of food that spoiled (RIP money i luv u) but at least it was a great opportunity to deep clean the fridge. and, like i mentioned before, i am very very very thankful to have no physical damage to my life or property.

ANYWAY... thank you all for your patience while i get my life together. i know a lot of you are looking forward to the next chapter of the mastermind fic, and i promise i've been slowly working on it when i have time! not that anybody is rushing me; you all have been very kind and patient with me.

i'm hoping to have this chapter finished within the next couple of days as a reward to myself for doing all the not-so-fun things around the house.

in the meantime...

snippet under the cut!

After Singapore, Max flew home to Monaco. 

They had almost a month off before the next race, which gave him plenty of time to get a fucking grip. He needed to find a way to move on with his life and stop thinking about what happened, or he might actually lose his mind. He had received plenty of blow jobs over the years that he never thought twice about; why couldn’t this have been one of them?! 

It wasn’t even supposed to be a real blow job! 

Charles didn’t suck his dick because he was attracted to him; he was just trying to prove he wasn’t bad at it. Max was just a prop in his learning experience. It wasn’t like they had this irresistible chemistry between them that they finally acted on. They had never flirted, teased, or even gotten close to anything resembling a potential hook-up! 

Max was just someone with a dick that Charles felt comfortable enough with to ask for a favor. 

And, like, sure... he let him come... 

And... seemed to really enjoy swallowing his come... 

But that was because he had manners! 

Of course he let him come. It would have been rude of him to leave Max hanging after he had gone out of his way to do him a very awkward favor, and Charles Leclerc was not rude. He was kind, and polite, and funny, and hot—no! Not hot! 

He was... 

Fuck. 

Okay. 

He was hot. 

But Max knew plenty of hot people! 

Most of the people in his friend group, both men and women, were objectively very hot. The entire city of Monaco was full of people he would consider attractive. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

Just because a really hot person sucked his dick didn’t mean that he had to think about it for the rest of his life. 

He just needed a few weeks off to reset his brain, and everything would be fine. 

There were plenty of things to do that didn’t involve his cock in Charles’ mouth. He could play with the cats, or sleep until noon, or finally watch that TV series his sister had been bugging him about for months. He could play video games, or do some iRacing with Team Redline, or learn how to fucking cross-stitch or something. 

He was young, rich, and successful; the world was his oyster! 

He just needed a few weeks of uninterrupted me time, and everything would be fine!!!

[cloveroctobers]

BODE LEONE — Spring Writings 🩵

A/N: Happy Fire Country Friday! It’s just me feeding the ghost town of a tag that was inspired by that last episode with a side of drama or triggers—i try my best to make spring writings more fluff based which you will get somewhere here. I want to say this takes place a year or two after this current season idk whatever makes sense lol. I know timelines are kinda confusing for this show so feel how you feel!

WARNINGS: strained parent and child relationship, established relationships, infidelity of other characters, mentions of abuse to minors, alluding to s*ic**e, PTSD, blood, lots of descriptions that I should be employed as a screenwriter for the show with the amount of detail I give but we can just pretend, also I’m assuming that Bode and Riley were at least two to three years apart whereas him and Jake are the same age? I think that’s about it enough!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 9. Our first dinner party & “god you’re bleeding! how the hell did you do that?” “i was trying to cut the tomatoes!”

⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀

“God you’re bleeding! How the hell did you do that?” Bode’s voice booms off the “almost oyster,” kitchen walls, making you zone back in to the fact that your middle knuckle and tip of your thumb happened to be oozing red all over the makeshift counter and cutting board.

He’s scrambling around the kitchen, snatching a rag from underneath the sink to wrap around your two fingers awkwardly. Applying pressure, which you hiss at, you meet Bode’s concerned blue-green eyes to see that he’s waiting for an answer.

You sigh, “I was trying to cut the tomatoes!”

Bode keeps his hands securely over yours and barely glances at the work you started on along with your phone that keeps silently lighting up. He blinks his attention back to you, sensing that you were disconnecting and was not entirely sure why. It was your idea to have your first dinner party after he moved in with you at the high rise out in Hillford, which was thirty minutes west of Edgewater.

“I see that,” he starts, “you don’t even like tomatoes, so I’m not sure why that’s on the menu for tonight?”

Closing your eyes for a moment you lift your shoulders nonchantly, “your mom loves a good Mediterranean salad, so I thought why not give it a go?”

Bode snorts, “my mom wouldn’t know the difference if it was store bought.”

His mom was a decent cook but she hardly had the patience to keep up with it. Majority of the time Bode’s dad was the one to throw down thanks to his own mother and grandmother forcing him to learn. Sharon loved to eat and sample so she wouldn’t be too judgmental…unless she ended up with food poisoning then you’d never hear the end of it!

“Vince would depending on what it is.” You peer at him underneath your eyelashes while Bode breathed out a laugh, figuring that you were most likely right. Mr. Leone may seem like a go with the flow kind of guy but one thing about the Leone’s? They loved to eat and if the food wasn’t cutting it then some words would be said.

Bode hoped the idea of his parents being here tonight didn’t make you nervous. It wasn’t your first time having a meal with them and one thing Bode knew about his parents is that they rarely held back. They liked you and they wanted to see him rebuild his life after being released. They were just happy that Bode was finally able to do that but after that text you just received…you weren’t so sure if that would remain true.

Bode gently lifts the rag from your fingers, “the bleeding from your thumb seems to be slowing down but that knuckle might need some stitches.” He announces before raising your hand back above your heart.

Feeling a wave of frustration fly over your being once more, made you want to lay face first on the kitchen floor—if it was sanitary. Hey you kept a clean house, otherwise you wouldn’t be having any family over! You were a bit of germaphobe and tried to ignore the itch of your brain to get to cleaning the mess you left on the wooden table turned island, that you got from a antique store two years ago.

“Hey,” Bode grips you even tighter, prepared to handle the deadweight if you decided to just drop to the floor, “what’s wrong?”

This was more than just you losing blood.

Opening your eyes you move your body around to slump against Bode, who didn’t hesitate to rest his cheek against the back of your head, “Sharon invited my mom and Manny, which is okay, I guess! Then my mom invited Gabriela! Which automatically makes what’s his face, the fiancé, her plus one while also extending it to Eve who invited Jake.”

The mumbling from you was a bit difficult for Bode to grasp but he listened intently anyways to get the gist of it all. There were many things wrong with this and he was tempted to call his mother up right now—despite knowing she had no ill intentions. Sharon seemed to get a kick out of your mom (which only meant trouble) who was casually dating Manny and you already knew your mother was solely the one to drag Gabriela into this. You’ve known the Perez’ since what felt like forever, way back in San Diego where you and Gabriela both attended school and actually became friends due to being in the same friend groups. You both tried out for the swim team, Gabriela made it and you excelled better at gymnastics.

She had the dream of being in the Olympics while you were being shot up with steroids from your coach to be the next star of the team. There was Lilavati Sharma who was the face of the team and carried herself with such grace despite the pressure to always be the best. She was sweet with all the girls and guys on the team and was genuinely likeable. The coach favored her just a little too much to the point she was here and then in the next she wasn’t.

Her father pulled her away from the team and gave the coach a nice shiner to the face that took weeks to heal. That only made the coach train you harder until you broke your collar bone, becoming the biggest disappointment until the truth of your coach came to light after the unexpected death of Lilavati.

That’s when you learned, maybe second best wasn’t so bad after all but that didn’t mean your trauma needed to be diminished as well. You hurt for Lilavati more than you did for yourself and it took years for you to understand why that was.

The universe seemed to have it written in stone that you and Gabriela were meant to be in each other’s lives. Yes you were older now compared to high school but it was safe to say that the both of you have fallen out long before. There always seemd to be some sort of connect with your mother and Manny. They were both once married and Manny’s been raising Gabriela all on his own for as long as you could remember. You recalled the conversations Gabriela would have about the gap she had in her life because of her mother’s absence and how lucky you were to have your parents.

Well…your mother’s been cheating on your father since you were a kid and basically bullied you not to tell your father about it once you were a bit older. Although he’s always known, he hated that she put you in that position after realizing that you’ve known. By the time leaving for college came around, your dad was moving from San Diego to Northern California far out to Edgewater; after serving your mother divorce papers who gave him such a hard time on signing them. She even followed him all the way out there after putting the house up for sale a month before your graduation.

Going back and forth to court was a common thing between them along with a restraining order being filed and lengthy phone calls from your mouthy mother filled your head while studying for finals. So yes your upbringing was as peachy as everyone thought.

Bringing it back to present time, your father was remarried and seemed to be thriving with his new aeronautical engineer of a husband, that you had to cat-sit every time they left the country to explore the world. Your father’s always been open about his sexuality and made you comfortable (considering he was a psychologist) if you ever questioned anything of your own personal experiences. You were one of the rare cases where you always had crushes and flirted once it felt like those crushes also showed interest but…it never amounted out into much.

You never had a significant other until you reached college. Let’s just say, you didn’t marry your college sweetheart. That wasn’t your story. The idea of love that you had wasn’t the brightest although it’s something you always wanted to have, it was just hard to truly receive it. And here you were with a man that always fought through so much in life that also wanted to give love and be loved in return.

“So the gang is all coming basically?” Bode used one hand to gently rub your back, “we could just cancel. It was supposed to just be with my parents…although I don’t mind Manny and your mom tagging along but…inviting everyone else to our place without talking to us about it…is crossing boundaries. How’d you find out?”

It still felt odd for Bode to call this waterfront townhouse his as well but you constantly reassured him that he was open to doing anything that made him feel like the home was his too. For one contributing to the HOA fees was a good start (after fighting a lengthy battle with the court to get EMT training and finally getting a spot on CalFire as stable income was a long time coming). Pre-Prison Bode had jobs before—some that he’s walked out on—but being with CalFire gave him purpose with a smidge of financial freedom. He was able to spend money on things that mattered like annoying adult stuff, a creepy ornamental two piece banana sculpture that he installed on the wall of the breakfast room (a small separate area from the dining room), and you.

“Mom texted.” You huffed, “and I’m trying to get better at not blowing up on her but when she does things like this? It makes it so hard.”

It took a lot for you to stand up to your mother since you tended to hold everything in. Over the years it’s been a build up and she’s apologized various of times but it started to fall on empty ears when she continued to repeat her same patterns.

Bode hated that your mother caused you such anxiety. He’s cupping your face now, gently placing his forehead against yours, “what do you want to do? I’ll call mom and yours up right now if it’s too much? We can have dinner ourselves, just us two and see if there’s any new streams on that movie you’ve been telling me about.”

You send him a small smile, cherishing that, “the kebabs are already done along with half of the other food. We can’t eat all of this ourselves.”

Bode peeks over at the covered food on the rest of the counters then back to you with a smirk of a smile, “want to bet?”

“Bode!”

“What? I can eat and I’ve been dying to try a kebab since you slapped my hand with a Spatula an hour ago.” He playfully glares at you, “I needed a snack.”

“There’s always crackers.”

Bode furrows his brows, “…I thought you loved me but I think you’re trying to starve me. What is this? Three rock?”

You laughed, “well at least one of us has an appetite and I just want to get through this night and enjoy the company of what I thought would just be with Sharon and Vince.”

Bode nods his head, “we still have time if you change your mind so, I’ll give you until after I’ve cleaned you up.”

“I love that you already know that I want you to do my stitches.”

Bode slides an arm across your hips to guide you out of the kitchen, “of course I know my baby. You nearly collapse every time you see prices in the grocery store when we’re out so I can only imagine what the bill from urgent care would look like. Lucky for you, you have a certified first responder as a boyfriend.”

He’s careful with you as he guides you up the narrow creaky stairs to the second floor to the main bathroom and you’re reminded this is the love you deserve.

You’re seated on the toilet while Bode is making a mess—like he commonly does—searching for what he needs. His hands are large and quick as they work the needle through the thread before setting it aside. He turns back to you, moving your hands from the pressure you’re applying against the rag, before motioning for you to keep it on the knuckle while he cleans, applies antibiotics and bandages your thumb first.

Bode kisses your thumb over the bandage, “how are we doing? Feeling faint? Do you need water? I probably should have asked before we came up here.”

“I’m fine.” You smile softly at him as he grabs a stool to sit down on as it’ll take him longer to work on your knuckle, “thanks for checking.”

He hums in response, “want to talk about work as a distraction?”

Blood didnt really bother you but you did cringe at the thought of needles. You can go ahead and write down PTSD note takers! You were an application security specialist, yes a true nerd, and also damn good at your stressful but fulfilling job but it was the weekend so that was a negative.

You redirect the conversation, “I’d like to draw you your next tattoo.”

Did you have artistic abilities like Bode? Let’s just say you were more of a data person while also being pretty athletic—although gymnastics was somewhat history you still found yourself stretching and working out to be crucial to your health routine—you had your own taste.

“Yeah?” Bode asks as he gets to work, “are you telling me you don’t like the two I already have?”

You shake your head, “sure I do. They have their own significant stories, which I’d never change and I have ideas if that artist brain of yours craves for more ink.”

“Appreciate that…so what’s on your mind?”

You deeply inhale as you feel the needle piercing your skin but talk through it, “you’re surprisingly into some odd art and I’ve been looking at vintage Halloween art that my co-worker is obsessed with and thought, why not create a wizard frog with a pointy star hat, wand and everything?”

“A wizard frog?” There’s a teasing tone in Bode’s voice while he pictures it as he pulls tight before going back to your skin while you hold your breath, “Magic’s not really my thing especially since I told you about my dad having me watch that one weird movie with Anthony Hopkins. Riley on the other hand? Could sit up for hours watching that horror crap with my dad…although she always ended up in my room, stealing my covers while talking away as I tried to sleep. As her big brother I dealt with it if that meant keeping her nightmares away, although I regretted it in the morning.”

The both of you share a laugh at this.

What you knew of Riley was that her and Bode were sorta opposites. She had the kindest big round blue eyes, was friendly and open to having conversations with strangers whereas Bode was more reserved before he felt comfortable enough to approach. Apparently she was soft spoken yet determined, into the well-being of animals that she planned to be a vegetarian once she was older, liked magic tricks and horror movies but only if that meant she got more time to bond with Vince that is. She seemed to have a heart on her sleeve and probably would have been a veterinarian if she lived past sixteen.

“Just big brother duties.” You inhale air between your teeth, “and I think she would like my wizard frog idea.”

“Yeah…I can see you two plotting against me.” Bode smiles over at you before giving one last tug before snooping off the excess thread, “all set.”

Before he can even move to start cleaning up, you throw your arms across his shoulders and give him a squeeze. Bode pauses but buried his nose against your fuzzy cardigan before rubbing your back against your embrace once more.

“What’s this for?”

You say, “just because I love you and I’m happy to have you here with me, which I know I probably don’t say enough since words of affirmation is more your thing than mine but I stand by this. I look forward to many more days with you, good and challenging.”

Bode feels his body go warm at your words and pulls back to meet your eyes. “I can’t wait and I love you too, softie.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles at you while you scratch at his facial hair.

“…You’ll think about the wizard frog?”

Bode sighs with a small smile on his lips, “If it makes you happy, love.”

“Cop out answer!” You flick his broad shoulder with your good hand.

“How?” Bode lifts his shoulders in confusion.

You crinkle your nose in annoyance, “You can’t ever say what I want to hear and make me think I’m always the winner, fight back.”

“Okay…I’ll remember that when I don’t want to watch the traitors uk with you.” Bode holds your stare while you gasp with a hand to your chest and then nod your head, mentally saying that was fair game.

Bode can already tell what you’re thinking, which makes him grin at you before leaning forward to cautiously peck your lips. You humph before slowly pushing yourself to get to your feet and steady yourself.

Bode’s hands are immediately on your hips as you balance yourself and you give him a nod in reassurance before leaning forward. You connect your lips again, his beard tickling your face as you breathe him in. He smells sweet like amber, fresh but calming like cypress, and warm sandalwood and you feel like you could just sink into him endlessly but manage to pull away.

“You sure you don’t want to cancel? We could do more of that and I wouldn’t mind.” Bode squeezes your hips with a lick of his own lips.

You pull from his grip, “that’s what Sunday is for, a day with no plans! Now let’s go, chop chop! We have a dinner to finish.”

And you’re out of the bathroom before Bode can even blink. He’s shaking his head at you and calls out, “fine. Don’t touch any more knives though!”

Once putting everything back where it belongs, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He’s not entirely thrilled to have Jake here, since they were attempting to get back to where they once were but Bode wasn’t holding his breath since he felt like Jake was trying to live what could have been his when it came to Genevieve. It took time for him to accept what happened when they were teenagers meaning with Riley but since he’s been locked up? It felt like it was one thing after the next even in his freedom. Then there was Gabriela…which you had your own issue with although you tried to downplay it and there was a smidge of a history that Bode had with her that probably didn’t help…

He just hopes this dinner isn’t a true disaster for both of your sakes but at least he could have the task of throwing someone out…if it came to that of course.

That wasn’t what brought a smile to his face, it was the thought of hosting something that he could call his own with the person he wanted to spend countless days with.

You.

⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀

[myosotisa]

Hmmm you know, I’m always down for that you’re in a new relationship, just been recently going out, and it’s that first time with a new partner. Can be awkward, can be fluffy, who knows? The world is your oyster. 😏🩷 also love you immensely

your brain is so big and i chose to make it funny. love you so much Luna!!!

3rd Times the Charm

ǁ summary: The 2 times you and Steve tried to have sex for the first time and the 1 time it actually happened.

ǁ tags: mentions of blood and injury (not graphic), mention of needles/stitches, fem!reader

ǁ word count: 1.5k

The first time you and Steve tried to ‘consummate’ your relationship did not go as intended. You’d planned it in advance – a nice dinner followed by a romantic and cheesy walk in the park. The ending was set for your place because you had a bigger bed and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

Key word: supposed to be.

The two of you had gotten distracted in the hallway. Steve had one hand on your hip, the other on your jaw, and was pressing you flat against the wall with his body as he sucked your lower lip into his mouth just to watch it pop back into place again. You both knew what the plan was and the anticipation to finally fuck your boyfriend of 3 months had been building the entire night.

If the denim erection pressing into your hip was any indicator, then Steve was just as excited as you were.

After some careful coaxing both by your breathless murmurs and your fingers twisting in his hair, you were able to convince him to let you go long enough for you to get your keys out and unlock the door. Although, you really only got halfway through doing so before he was pressing up against you from behind, wide palms settled on either hip, and his mouth teasing at the skin on the side of your neck.

The two of you stumbled into the apartment together, his arms wrapped tight around you as he used his foot to kick the door closed. It only took another scarce few moments before he had you pressed against another wall, this time with your back still to his front, and his hands wandering from the fronts of your upper thighs all the way up to cupping them under your tits. Each graze of his warm palms lit you aflame, forehead pressed to the drywall as you closed your eyes and tried to regain some composure despite Steve intentionally trying to drive you into a frenzy.

That was when the two of you heard the first sob.

As it turns out, the one night you and Steve had planned to have sex for the first time ended up being the very same night your roommate got dumped. The two of you peeked around the corner into the living room, fully disheveled and panting, to the sight of her curled into a ball on the couch. She was completely inconsolable and the moment she saw you, she was begging for a hug and someone to talk to.

There was nothing you could do to weasel your way out of this situation to go try to hook up – not when she was crying face down in your lap with Kelly Clarkson playing on the loudspeaker. And Steve, absolute god tier boyfriend that he is, ran his fingers through your hair to settle it, pressed a kiss to your temple, and shared an understanding smile with you before asking your roommate what kind of ice cream she wanted from the convenience store on the corner. He returned no more than 15 minutes later with a spread fit for a heartbroken young adult and with multiple RedBox DVDs that the 3 of you watched into the night before you all fell asleep on the couch in a mountain of blankets and pillows.

The second time you and Steve tried to “consummate” your relationship went even worse. The idea of ‘Sex sent me to the ER’ is all fun and games until it happens to you.

It was very spur of the moment at a party – one of your mutual friends had planned this huge celebration at their parents fancy lake house. The two of you had gotten suited and lotioned up, drove the hour out of town to the property, and spent the entire afternoon roasting in the sun on jet skis and getting thrown off inner tubes behind a speedboat.

You’d had your eyes on Steve for hours and you were completely unapologetic about it. He was wearing a pair of navy swim trunks, a white linen shirt that was fully unbuttoned to show off his chest hair and golden skin, a pair of aviators perched on his nose, and with his hair sunkissed and windblown.

He’d taken over driving the speedboat with a beer in his hand and the steering wheel in the other, gunning it across the lake and throwing people off their rafts into the water with absolute joy and taunting yells across the wide open spaces. It looked like he was born for this, like this was him in his element, and you had actually never been more attracted to him than you were under that May sunshine.

When the sun set, a bonfire was lit and the speakers came out. Snacks and drinks, alcohol and non, were flowing steadily as people alternated between sitting by the fire and talking, pushing each other into the lake or the pool, and a few people even started dancing down by the water. You were all sunburnt and lazy with the first heat of the summer, heavy and slow with relaxation. And honestly… Horny as hell.

The two of you had stumbled into a shed on the property with greedy hands on warm skin and in slowly drying hair. His mouth was ravenous as it trailed from your own to the salty span of your neck and down to suck bruises into the sensitive skin on your chest. He’d pulled back after a few minutes, chest heaving beneath his open shirt and pupils blown wide as he looked you over. Told you he wanted you more than anything but was worried about your first time being in a fucking shed. You, completely drunk on him and not caring about anything else, informed him you didn’t give a damn and you needed him inside you like yesterday.

The grin that lit up his face was brighter than the summer sun of the day.

It was all blooming feelings and barely contained moans until he knelt down to give you some well overdue attention between your thighs. He had trailed kisses down your stomach as he dropped down without looking before you heard him suddenly hiss out through his teeth at the same time something shifted beside you and he fell away. Still slightly dazed, it took you a few moments too long to realize he had fallen onto his ass and was gently cradling his shin because it was now quickly pouring blood.

He’d knelt down and sliced his calf on a gardening tool in the shed. A blade that, after pulling out a flashlight, you confirmed was covered in rust.

The two of you spent the next 4.5 hours in the emergency room – earning Steve a tetanus shot and 2 other injections as well as 10 stitches and a prescription for antibiotics. As soon as you both confirmed that he wasn’t going to lose his leg or something, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sun and fun had lightened your minds and made something like having to go to the ER because Steve tried to eat you out in a shed feel like a story to tell, and nothing worse than that.

While it probably could have happened sooner, you and Steve finally got your chance the day after Steve’s stitches were removed. He’d shown up to your apartment early on a Saturday with a packet of baked goods for breakfast and a cup of your favorite from the corner store. All completely unprompted and he insisted it was just because he wanted to do something nice for you after your week at work.

The two of you had a slow and comfortable breakfast on your balcony as the morning sun rose higher in the sky. The moment you were both finished eating, you’d wasted no time in climbing into his lap and making up for lost time.

It was slow and thorough; each of you taking your sweet time in learning what made the other tick and shiver. It was hours between your sheets in the late hours of the morning with all the time in the world to explore each other.

And, while it was well worth the wait, you certainly had a lot of time to make up for.

-

-

-

[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 8.

dark aemond x maid ofc

minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

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follow & turn on notifs at @huramuna-fics for my fic postings!

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

we're in the home stretch y'all! after this is the epilogue and then this story will be at an end! thank you for sticking with me through my second fic ever and my (hopefully) first completed one.

this chapter may seem a bit rushed in places but i promise its for a reason! aemond going through the grief of losing rosemary and it is taking a huge toll on him to a point where he really isn't living, but rather, living his life through snapshots. i hope i exemplified that correctly!

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

(don't fear) the reaper - blue oyster cult • its been so long - the living tombstone

Death was an odd thing for Aemond. He’d never experienced it really, not in any capacity specific to him. 

The death of Laena Velaryon changed his life in many ways, technically, but the idea of her death, her corpse floating to the bottom of the sea to become fish food didn’t stir any emotions within him.

But now— that feeling… It was odd.

“Brother, there’s been an accident,” Helaena had said. 

The next words that came from her mouth were garbled as his ears rang, a high pitched throbbing echoing through his skull. He must’ve said something alarming, as Helaena, who usually didn’t wish to touch or be touched, wrapped her arms around him as his legs failed, wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. 

He didn’t really hear much of the substance of what Helaena said– there was no way around it: Rosemary was dead. She was… dead? Dead.

“Her… body? Her belongings?” he muttered, his one eye glassed over in a wet film of tears. Gods, when was the last time he cried? 

“Burned. They found her… charred near flea bottom. She’s gone to the field– away from the rats and stags…” 

“Flea bottom? W– what was she doing there?” Rats and stags?

Helaena shook her head.

“I want her things– all of them. Have them brought to my chambers.” he grunted, unlatching himself from Helaena’s hold and beginning to pace. He looked over, seeing her discarded nightgown and swiftly picked it up.

The servants gave odd looks once all of Rosemary’s things were cleared out of her chambers and brought to Aemond. They looked at him knowingly– but he couldn’t care. The opinions of sheep meant nothing to a dragon.

His chest clenched as he thumbed over a blue blanket, Rosemary’s ever familiar scent entangled into the fibers of the quilt. Aemond didn’t know much about Rosemary’s mother and only scarce details she shared about the Vale, but something about the blanket resonated within him. Sitting near the dying light of the sun as it receded over the horizon, he traced the stitches outlining the depictions of little lambs and nightingales, flitting near the moon and stars, braided into an image that felt so very much like her. 

He expected her to slip through the passageway any moment now, murmuring apologies about her lateness and throwing herself into his open arms, peppering kisses along his skin– 

She couldn’t just be dead, could she? They were plaited within one another’s being, he hadn’t asked her for a dance at a ball, nor taught her how to properly wield a blade– he didn’t even have the chance to introduce her to Vhagar, to take her flying. Aemond imagined her face, lips parted in awe as they would skim the stars above the clouds. 

He wanted to share all of it with her, share more parts of him that he thought were recused so dreadfully far into the depths of his chest– he wanted to know her better. He should’ve gotten to know her more, know every freckle and stretch mark on her body and be able to map them without eyes, able to discern what she was thinking just by the wrinkle of her nose. 

He just needed more time– more time with her, to know her more. It was already such a beautiful thing to be so intimate with someone like they had been, but there was a block. A small barrier that kept them from being linked wholly and irrevocably. 

Not the sort of walls Aemond had within himself, no– those were self-imposed, defense mechanisms against further toil to his psyche, erected ever since Driftmark. Rosemary had a barrier that wasn’t of her own volition, but rather circumstances that she was dragged into. He placed her quilt onto his bed for the time being, eye roving around the room in thought. 

His eye landed on a vase near the corner of the room. It was filled with wilting, ugly, yellow flowers. They had been bright and sprightly just days before, shoved into his hands by his wife-to-be. Not his Rosemary, of course– Floris.

Floris.

Floris.

Brow furrowed, he walked to the flowers, plucking one of the petals and snapping it between his fingers. It left an ugly, powdery yellow-brown residue. 

The barrier revealed itself. 

–

Floris was sitting in her solar, feeling elated. The wedding was coming up soon and everything seemed to be perfectly aligned– not more bumps, hitches or maid-shaped indiscretions. 

She leaned back in her chair relaxing for a mere moment before the door flew open, causing her to jump. Her eye caught a flash of white before he was in front of her, kneeled down, clenched fists on either side of her chair.

Aemond, her betrothed. His hair was a mess, his one violet eye wild.

“Hello, my betrothed,” he hummed. Heat broiled off of him like a roaring fire, the veins in his neck popping, his vessels running through his calloused hands thrumming. “I’d love to have a chat with you.”

Floris backed up on her chair, her throat going dry. “A-Aemond– this is highly irregular,” she stammered, her tongue feeling heavy and thick in her mouth. “What… would you like to chat about?”

He shoved back off of the chair, sending it and Floris skidding backwards. “I’ve heard that my poor sister’s handmaiden, she was so beloved by Helaena, has passed,” he began to pace, his arms behind his back, fists clenching and unclenching with barely contained rage, “That is quite sad, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes, quite.” Floris whispered, her gaze going to her hands. 

“Look at me.” he stopped his pacing, his one eye trained on Floris as she avoided his sight.

“... Aemond– you must… understand,” she continued, “... please.”

“Look. At. Me.” he was upon her again, standing this time, like a foreboding cloud. He just needed to look into her eyes and he would know– no need for a trial, no need for a jury or judge. Merely an executioner.

Her head raised, blue eyes meeting his one violet. They were rimmed with tears, her pupils looking like maddened slits. “I-I had to!”

It was all the confirmation he needed. His hand slammed forward, a dagger sinking into the velvet of the chair backing, just an inch from Floris’ head. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

“It… it wasn’t me– not… not all of it, truthfully,” she admitted, her voice marred with choked sobs.

“You’re pathetic,” he spat, “Tell me, who was the intelligence in your little scheme, since it obviously wasn’t you– you don’t have the gall.”

Floris’ throat bobbed as she cried, “T-That horrible man– L-Larys Strong. B-but, I didn’t… I didn’t kill Rosemary– I just… wished to scare her away. If she’s dead– it was his doing!” 

Aemond stared at her for a long moment, unblinking. “You will leave, Floris. You will leave the keep and go back to your father, tail tucked between your legs. Remember this, I am merciful in this only, consider yourself more lucky than Larys,” he backed up, dislodging the blade from the chair, lifting up Floris’ sobbing face by the chin with the point of it, “You will leave and speak nothing of this– if I ever even hear a whiff of her name coming from your mouth, I will kill you. I won’t grant you such a kindness of life again,” he nicked the soft skin of her chin, small drops of blood beading. He stowed his dagger and walked towards the door, “Consider this betrothal dissolved.” 

–

The Keep was bustling with activity for the week after Floris’ sudden departure – rumors swirled of her getting cold feet, her integrity as an intact maiden coming into question, and that she was fraternizing with Larys Strong. 

Larys, having caught wind of this, had some foresight that his nefarious doings had been uncovered. He returned to Harrenhal, effectively escaping Aemond’s retribution. Aemond was a bit agitated at the rat slipping through his fingers– but there was always time. Harrenhal was only a dragon’s ride away, he would get his soon enough. 

It all felt like a blur to Aemond, the tumultuous months after Rosemary’s death. Rhaenyra’s arrival, the trial, the execution of Vaemond by Daemon, the dinner, the toast– his father’s death, his brother’s crowning. Helaena woke up screaming many nights, demanding that the tunnels be guarded more sufficiently and she didn’t go anywhere without an escort– it was obvious to Aemond that she’d seen something that frightened her deeply. 

Aemond was to be an envoy for his brother’s cause– or moreso, his grandsire’s. Anyone with eyes could see that Aegon didn’t wish to be King, nor was fit for it. Flying to Storm’s End– he wished that his grandsire would’ve sent someone else instead. He had already disgraced himself to Borros Baratheon, and had no desire to see Floris again. 

It was raining, as was typical of the Stormlands. Vhagar growled uneasily underneath Aemond. “Umbagon gīda, uēpa riña,” he murmured, reaching up to pat her scales. Keep calm, old girl. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot sagon kesīr, tolī.” I don’t want to be here, either.

He landed outside of the ramparts, quickly seeing why Vhagar had been agitated. A small, adolescent dragon was fidgeting anxiously in the courtyard leading up to the castle. He didn’t recognize it, but guessed it was likely one of Rhaenyra’s brood. 

Stepping into the building, he saw him. Little Lucerys Strong– or Velaryon, if he was to be proper. 

“Prince Aemond,” Borros, the damnable oaf he was, shouted, “I assume you have come to ask for my banners for your brother, have you? Seems that Prince Lucerys has beat you to the punch, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, did he now?” Aemond hummed, his arms behind his back as he glared at Lucerys– who was no older than sixteen, “May I remind you that it ‘twas my brother, Aegon, who was crowned before the masses in the Dragonpit? My brother, the King Aegon, who wears the conqueror’s crown, bears his name and wields our ancestral blade Blackfyre?” 

Borros grunted. “That is all well and fine– but what is House Baratheon to do with Valyrian names and titles and swords? I can’t very well pick my teeth with Blackfyre, now can I? What do you have to offer to me? I suggest you speak quickly, as you’ve already disgraced my house once by sullying my daughter’s reputation.”

Anger seethed within Aemond, his fist clenching and unclenching. “We have my brother, Daeron, to offer as an option for betrothal to one of your daughters.” 

Lucerys shifted uneasily next to Borros, his hands fiddling with a piece of parchment.

“Lucerys has already offered himself and his brother, Jacaerys, to marry two of my daughters. Your brother, Daeron, is no older than fourteen. One of my daughters could marry Jacaerys within a fortnight– even if Daeron was older, how am I supposed to know that your side of the family won’t spurn us once again?”

Fucking hell. 

He felt shamed by the boar Borros– all the while, Lucerys couldn’t help but to stifle a chuckle. Just as he did at that damnable dinner. He felt his blood boiling and he had to stifle the urge to mount Vhagar and burn this castle to the ground.

The next hour was a blur. He remembers mounting Vhagar after Lucerys mounted his little whelpling– he remembers… the storm, the droplets feeling like shards of ice against his skin. His heart was beating in his ears, his taunts in High Valyrian to the boy prince sounding like echoes from someone else’s mouth. He felt like a puppet to his own savagery, the entire chase pulling from something animalistic and cruel within him, like the song of a swinging blade.

It was a sickening sound, truly. The sound of Vhagar’s jaw snapping that poor hatchling to pieces, little Lord Strong scattered over the bay. It was a sound Aemond wouldn’t forget. 

He had to imagine that Rosemary was ashamed of him, wherever she was in the afterlife, if there at all.

–

Aemond had become a shell of himself, two years of the war passing by like granules of sand filling an hourglass. The humanity of him recused back behind those walls once more, his body working through the autonomy of the primal fire that coursed through him.

He didn’t feel alive. 

He wasn’t, really.

Quite a few assassination attempts on the Red Keep were thwarted from Helaena’s plea for increased security. Guilt swirled in Aemond’s gut– it was repercussion. Punishment for what he’d done, what Vhagar had done.

He went into a self-imposed exile to Harrenhal, citing it as a military strategy to hold the fortress– but in reality, he felt he was a dead man walking. He may as well add the ghosts and curses of the ancient stronghold to his list of crimes.

The only moment of clarity he’d had was when he executed Larys. Aemond dragged the crippled man from his hiding hole in Harrenhal, and let Vhagar’s flame bathe him. It wasn’t a sizable meal for Vhagar, but satisfying nonetheless, for a moment– before he felt nothing once more.

The witch– Alys. She flitted around Aemond, whispering in his ear like a buzzing fly. He did lay with her, but would never spend inside of her. It felt like he was just going through the motions, trying to stoke a fire within himself that was long snuffed out. She didn’t feel anything like Rosemary– she was bony in all of the places where his Rosemary had been soft. After they would couple, he would send her away before she even had a chance to wipe herself off.

At night, he dreamed of her. Rosemary. Her warm hands cupping his face, murmuring sweetness to him, like a siren’s song, like the call of the void.

Then Daemon came upon his ugly bloodwyrm. 

A duel, then. 

“We’ve both lived too long, uncle.” he shouted, mounting Vhagar. 

“On that, we agree. You’ve lived too long since you killed Lucerys in cold blood.”

“Mayhaps I will arrange a meeting for you two, then, uncle?” 

It was a battle of gnashing teeth and flames, the glint of Dark Sister seen– 

His death, he was staring it in the face. His death had a face, too– Rosemary. She whispered in his ear every night that they would soon be together. This must’ve been it, her ghost telling him of their reunion soon to come.

He opened his arms, welcoming his uncle’s thrust of his blade– 

Darkness.

It was cold, cold… waves washing over him like he was bobbing across the surface of the lake.

Rosemary– where was she? Was he dead? Please, let him be dead. Let the nightmare be over.

The washing of waves came over him more, the tide ebbing and flowing over his body, pushing him. His head throbbed and he couldn’t move his arm– his extremities were cold, but his head… felt lighter. 

Opening his one eye, it was clouded in red. Red. Oh, good. He’s gone to the Hells. 

“Ser?” a voice called, sounding so far away. “Oi, Mare, come help me. He’s bleedin’ out.” 

“Gods, he ain’t look too good, Jon. Think he’s gonna kick the bucket before we even get ‘em off the stones.” 

“Leave… me…” Aemond somehow croaked out, his voice sounding like he had gargled rocks. “I’m meant… to be… dead…”

“Seems fate got more in store for you, lad,” one of the men said, “I’d be damned by the Seven themself if I leave you here to die on the shore. I ain’t going to Hell without trying, eh?”

Aemond felt two pairs of arms lift him up, their murmurs coming in and out of focus. 

“We’re gonna get ya to the town tailor, lad. Ain’t no maester from the citadel, but she can right a stitch better than any– and ya needin’ a stitch or two. Miss Marigold will fix you right up.” the other said, still not totally convinced.

The jingling of a bell was heard– all Aemond could see still was red. “Marigold! We’ve got a live one for you– he’s hurtin’ real bad.”

The scent of lavender wafted over him like a balm as the seamstress stood over him. She made a choked sound, a sob– and a finger wiped the blood from out of his eye. His vision came into focus and the ever familiar visage of his love– she was there. She was real. She was… alive? Alive. 

“Rosemary?”

“Aemond?”

A small, quiet voice was heard. “Mama, who’s there?”

[cjgladback]

So this blocking thing! It's good for more than just nuisances. I haven't knit a lot of garments yet with fiber that responds to blocking, and what I have has been like...socks where it seems unnecessary because the whole thing will be in tension while worn. But also I just don't have large pinnable surfaces, as one typically needs when the point is to soak a piece of fabric and then stretch it out to pose in the shape you want it to be until next soaking. What do I have? The ability to stack waterproof objects on a small patch of flat counter space. And thank goodness because that definitely saved this hat.

Anyway! I am happy to have used my extremely inconsistent first skeins of support-spindled yarn (see the post with them all laid out here) for a project I'll probably actually use once it's chilly again. It is comfortable, even if I'm a bit disappointed in the colorwork legibility. This is how the chart looks:

But I didn't quite manage matching gauge yarns, I'm low on practice/experience keeping tension for stranded colorwork, and probably just aiming for too loose a fabric anyway (should've found a path to increasing stitches and using smaller needles on that section) so it's very blobby.

I do have some of that green and "matching" oyster skein left, as well as a little of the finest oyster yarn I used for the ribbing. So if I use them together again, I'll probably hold the two oyster threads as one. Speaking of, I had way too much of the underplied lace yarn and wasn't happy with my first run at an even more open lace panel, so ended up frogging that back and making these sections with the lace yarn held double. Worth it! Much happier with this result. And I can see why underplied yarn has been said to do lace well; was cool how open it already was before blocking.

Image descriptions below:

[ID: Four photos of a slouchy, off-white beanie with some green colorwork being knit, blocked, and worn. The hat is constructed with a solid top of thicker yarn, strip of lace, a strip of green colorwork (meant to be jumping frogs), a matching strip of lace, and finally a long section of ribbing, broken into four strips by inverting the knits and purls.

In the first photo, with a blurred background, the beanie is still in process with a green string holding the live stitches while it's tried on, partway through the first section of ribbed brim; it fits like a misshapen mushroom, the top lace panel collapsing over the relatively tight colorwork, all under the lumpy increases of the densely knit crown.

The second photo also has a blurred background but shows the hat being blocked, gently stretched over a tower of stacked containers, widest at the top around the curved base of an upside down plastic coffee canister from crown to colorwork, the gradual taper of a hair bleach tub easing the lower lace panel into the ribbing before the very end hangs free around a peanut butter jar pedestal.

The third and fourth photos show the finished hat from the side and front, being worn by a pale-skinned brunette woman with a braid and orange t-shirt in front of painted wood paneling on an overcast day. The hat is slouched but not bulbous, blocking having stretched the colorwork horizontally and the lace vertically; a twice-rolled brim covers the lower lace panel but leaves the still not very legible frog colorwork visible. End ID]

[ID: Chart of green on white colorwork made in the Google Sheets spreadsheet software; a section in the middle is selected, though there are repeated motifs on either side. Every cell with an X in it is colored green and makes slightly horizontally stretched pixel art of a frog hopping from the right to the left; the rightmost frog is crouched under a flower or star made of four dots, to its left is a frog pushing off the ground and to its left a frog leaping horizontally through the air. The repeat is 39 stitches wide, 10 rows tall. End ID]

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Be it from the services of her silver tongue or her presentation, Laudna is not out of place on the deck - welcomed aboard, with her skeleton rendered in driftwood and encrusted with barnacles.

The veil is back.

It shrouds her face and billows with the same breath as the tattered ship-sails.

Imogen wasn’t certain that she had seen it. Her eyesight bein’ a little dodgy at the best of times-

Fog rolls

Laudna’s chest pulled open by her own hand, ribs piercing from out of fabric and skin-

That wasn’t unusual. Not now, anyway. The blood-wet snout and teeth bared from torn and blistered flesh and gums, the jaw that would open on two hinges from a central axis as a guttural howl leaking with gore emerged along with the leap of the hound-

Except no hound came.

Laudna holds the captain’s hand between both her own,

encourages it into the newly opened cavity,

Imogen squints through the fog for any sight of a dim-green glow-

the veil is back.

What if Laudna’s hands weren’t moving of their own dictation? Crushing rock and crumpling robot-skull-

She isn’t certain, but the captain’s hand is on her heart, marrow ghostly and cursed.

Laudna should be free.

Imogen knows the taste of her own jealousy.

A store room - a cramped old pantry - provisions that had rotted so long ago that they had solidified all over again, like pearls from sand in oyster shells or however it works, cartilage rendered into putrid gemstone and shelves made from wood so soft that maybe at one point if daylight were to ever have made it into the hull the seeds of the bloated apples and oranges could have grown between the decomposing woodgrain.

Their room for the night, for the upcoming nights.

Imogen lays out her bedroll on the floor, attempts to make space to spread Laudna’s next to it but the stack of hemp sacks labelled as oats have turned to bricks.

It’s not like they’re not used to sharing a single bed.

It had only been so many nights, but Laudna's routine had changed now that she got her new attire - that old routine being one of not getting undressed for bed. Now she hangs her dress when she can, over the back of a chair or sometimes using the immovable rod as a sort of travelling coat-hanger - ‘wouldn’t want any creases’ - despite the still present ichor and the filth they find themselves in and how either of them could still prestidigitate the fabrics clean again. Maybe it’s ‘cause they changed themselves on that same day Laudna bought the dress, just before it, maybe there was intention to the new presentation beyond retail therapy. New routine. Maybe. A shift in self-worth. It’s only been a handful of nights. Imogen isn’t sure. She can’t hear Laudna's thoughts anymore. And some things it feels too soon to ask, she doesn’t want to stumble Laudna with the call out of her behaviours-

but she can lie back, head propped on hands weaved and cradling behind her head as Laudna undresses, can watch as she goes about her new-nightly routine.

Pate and his birdhouse get allocated to a clearing on a higher shelf, the belts of red ribbon that have replaced the ones given to her to outfit her as her death sentence are unravelled, ceremoniously rolled again and placed with scissors neatly aligned to the side of the wooden house, and the bunting of bones displayed like a necklace on a velvet cushion of an old cigar box.

Naked, she tip-toes around the floor, between Imogen's outstretched legs and their belongings.

Laudna's skin is cloudy like the fog that surrounds the islands.

What Imogen saw through it-

Imogen’s eyes fixate on the scar that runs down in front of Laudna’s sternum, the one Otohan had left the Hells to stitch, the one Laudna unthreads the seams from each time she calls forth her hound-

The captain’s hand on her heart.

Does it hurt?

Laudna pauses her movements, ready to turn and crouch at her backpack to retrieve her nightgown.

I’m sorry?

When ya…when you tear your chest open and that.

Imogen sits up from the bedroll, her spine leaning against the wall sodden with algae.

Laudna visibly considers her answer.

It doesn’t physically damage me, it’s all magic and illusion I suppose.

But when you’re like that, it’s real, right? I’ve felt it before. You’re occupyin’ that space.

Yes, but it abides by different rules and logic. That’s the fun of it; I get to play around with my ideas and surroundings.

You’re real good at that.

Thank you.

Laudna carries on, shimmying dress over her shoulders and pinning the many sections of hair that have fallen stray back into the bun.

The lace that wraps from neck to corset obfuscates it somewhat -the imprint of the noose that is, same for the mark from Otohan, same as Imogen's scars under the sheer fabric of her sleeves that now spill over her chest. Covered, but not hidden anymore.

They have bared themselves to each other a couple of times by now.

Imogen isn’t certain, but she has to know.

Could you feel it- did you feel it when he touched your heart?

Laudna pauses again. This time her look is calculated - calculating, assessing Imogen on the floor in front of her. Part of Imogen wants to take the circlet off, get back into an old routine of her own.

Imogen knows the taste of her own jealousy. She wonders if Laudna could discern the palette on her lips.

The shadows in the room shift, and there are plenty of them, the only light given by a dull but unnaturally white glow from a brass lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling.

The shadows stain the fabric of Laudna's nightgown first, shredding into tatters and peeling off into a gauzy swatch that drapes over her head.

Her arms and legs and spine extend, the joints bending unnaturally, backwards and crooked and almost arachnid, the bones lancing through the fog-grey flesh, and the bone is indeed bleached and brittle like driftwood, barnacles and limpets where there had before been sprouting shoots and flowers, her body creaks and groans (or maybe it’s the ship) as she leans down towards Imogen, crouches over and up to her, her form almost as hulking as the most Imogen had seen it as such, when they had jumped down from the tower ruins together and Imogen woke to Laudna snarling and braced over her.

Imogen sinks back down to the floor, Laudna's arms (she thinks it’s her arms) bracketing either side of her head.

Through the veil she sees the rows of teeth, the formations on her forehead and high cheekbones looking like fossils left in rocks

her eyes holding Imogen still in place.

And maybe it isn’t her arms either side of her head, but ruptured bones of petrified wood, splintering out in all directions as talons that are made of the shrapnel of razor-clam shells cut through the linen covering Laudna’s chest, flaying flesh and severing sinew made of seaweed, her ribcage pulling apart (again, Imogen knew she had seen it), except this time each rib seems to elongate, definitely does so, piercing into the bedroll around Imogen and locking her in her own cage, sinking further and pinning fabric through and into the floorboards.

Her chest held open, it drips with briny ichor that Imogen can smell the salt of, eyes transfixed on the slow undulation of all of her innards exposed, lungs that branch off into seaweed and intestines tangled like the eels displayed curled up in shallow cases at the market

Her heart a clump of coral, deep red and its surface a complex fractal pattern, arms of sea urchins reaching across it for arteries.

It’s yours, if you want to hold it.

If Imogen takes long enough, Laudna will transform back; Imogen's hand imbedded in its grip permanent, the stretched and skewed rules of magic thrown and bastardised as muscle and bone and organ materialise around her wrist, Imogen able to influence the beat of blood around Laudna's body by the clench of a fist-

The captain’s hand in all of its platinum rings, greedy, blindly driven. Delilah and her hold, a boiling heartbeat, controlling. Imogen wants to be better, wants the feel of coral against her palm.

I want to…

Then I do too.

Imogen lifts the veil.

Barnacles scrape at the swell of her cheek, sharp teeth nick her tongue and Laudna’s mouth tastes like saltwater, blends with the iron of her own blood, the acid of her jealousy.

Imogen's fingers cover the rough surface of coral, sink into the spaces between it and seaweed-lungs. It swells in her hand, kicks, beats. A minute must be nearing over. It beats again, and Laudna holds her, pinned under her cage of ribs.

Her eyes flutter and she lets out a dripping melodious chuckle.

I can feel it.

[bisexualbaker]

Crochet Tutorial: The Dirty Cheater's Magic Ring (Part 1)

Hello to everyone who has ever wanted to make a magic ring (also called a magic circle) in crochet, but has never been able to get the hang of it, or just hates wrapping yarn around your fingers, or whatever! Here is the first part of what I like to call the Dirty Cheater's Magic Ring, because it gets you exactly the same effect without following the "real" steps.

The first thing you need to know is that you can crochet onto or around anything you can get your yarn through.

I will be using this oversized white crochet hook as an example, along with regular worsted weight yarn and a 5mm/H hook.

After securing my yarn to my H hook, I lay it over the white hook. I then send the H hook under the white one to yarn over. From here, I can yarn over in front of the white hook, and pull the yarn through my original slipknot and previous yarn over to form what's known in the US as a "single crochet" (sc) stitch, and in the UK as a "double crochet" (dc) stitch.

I can do this a bunch of times now! The world is my oyster, I can crochet around anything, and even make a cool hanging tapestry!

This is also the principle behind something called "front post crochet", where you can literally crochet through the side of a work's previously made stitches!

How does that help with a wannabe magic circle, though? I'm switching out the white hook for some worsted weight yellow yarn to show you how in the next step...

[fagcrisis]

girls hold my hand. boys too. nonbinary people hold my oysters. you can do an overlock stitch without a serger. please. listen to me. stop doing french seams ull drive urself insane.

[painted-bees]

I’m interested in Blood, Lipstick, and Strawberry for everyone! (Especially strawberry after Tess enters their lives)

Raf has no strong feelings either way. He knows he has a nice face and a charismatic personality to go with it. he has a bit of a complicated relationship with all that, but it doesn't occupy a lot of space in his brain--not in any direct manner. He does have a skincare routine that, from Margie's perspective, mostly just looks like part of his shaving routine. But he washes and moisturizes his face in the morning and before bed [and retinol], exfoliates a couple times a week during his showers, and is very particular about his razors, shaving cream, and aftershave products. Raf... really loves maintaining his well established rituals, and skincare is definitely one of them. It gives him a sense of control over his life.

Margie does....uh...none of this. Margie is lucky if she remembers to shower without having to be reminded. She thinks her face is too squat, that her forehead is too high, and that her lips and eyebrows are too thin...also that her eyes are too wide. She gets nervous over her perception that she looks wide-eyed and manic in photos, with her big, broad smile. She used to wear a lot thick, gothy eyeliner and lotsa lip balm on highschool--and then stopped applying makeup completely for years. Nowadays, she'll apply--no--Raf'll appy make-up for live shows and such...and sometimes she'll wear light makeup if she's feeling fancy on a sunny day...but by and large, she's pretty negligent haha

Cortes doesn't have to apply make-up! She can make her face look as dolled up or plain as she wants without external cosmetic supplies..! Also, she's ver content and pleased with her crafted appearance--even if it is kinda a half-assed construction. It does its job!

Raf and Margie are both kinda squeamish, but Raf is a lot more stoic about it. Neither of them are happy to see blood, neither of them want to look at that kind of thing.

I guess the worst either of them have had to deal with in this regard was when Margie sliced herself up real bad on an oyster bed and turned her hands and knees into ground beef for a while. Even after she received her stitches, she couldn't stand to look at them for long. Raf wasn't very comfy with it either, but someone had to keep them clean and dry and well cared for, and Margie couldn't use her hands for much of it--and so he took care of them for her. Squeamishness took the backseat to his desire to make sure she was healthy, clean, and healing up well.

Tess isn't squeamish at all. It's all just meat, and meat is delicious tbh. Nothing gross about any of that.

Margie and Raf are both kind of...Animist lite? agnostic, I suppose, is a good term for it. They understand that there are things beyond their understanding and things there are no answers for, and their spirituality sits in that space unique to each of them. They both perform superstitious rituals of respect to entities they're not fully sure exist in a capacity to appreciate it, and they don't do so consciously most of the time. Raf is more prone to these kinds of things than Margie, though. Margie, at most, will host very one-sided conversations with the wind that shut her bedroom door or such. Raf is prone to leave food and other small offerings out for things...incase those things are hungry. For no reason other than a sneaking suspicion that there is something present who might appreciate the guesture. An impulse on a hunch that he doesn't even really question.

Margie thinks it's very sweet.

Margie has a passive curiosity for things like tarot cards and astrology, but nothing very serious. She'll happily take any manner of good news from these sources, though.

Neither of them were raised by very religious parents. Raf, even less so than Margie. But Raf has had exposure to a lot of other cultural superstitions and such that Margie hadn't been exposed to, and this is perhaps why he takes it just a shade more seriously than she does.

Cortes is acutely aware of what exists and what doesn't. She has never encouraged or deterred the other two from their spiritually motivated mannerisms [or lack thereof].

♡♡♡ yisss thank you for sending these ones!! Q vQ!!!

[hyenaswine]

there are so many things i can do now that i'm not under an art deadline... cross stitch. read a book. clean the house. take a shower... the world is my oyster.