#possibly figured out needle size

[motorharp]

After getting Madeline Tosh DK yarn for not this Christmas, but the previous one, starting a pair of socks and realizing I didn’t want socks, unraveling the socks, starting a hat where the gauge said 22sts = 4in *stretched* on size 6 needles, trying it on after knitting 3” and realizing it’s too big, unraveling it and finally settling on size 4 needles, and trying to learn a new method of casting on that took three tries, I think I’m finally getting a thing made.

[willowed-wisp]

stitches [simon ‘ghost’ riley]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader/you

Hopefully this doesn’t suck and makes sense for the most part. Thanks for anybody that reads this 🥰

WARNINGS: smut, descriptions of injury, body insecurity… a bit of plus size!reader

When you joined the Special Forces, you didn’t want to form attachments.

That was the only rule you held yourself to.

As a medic back at base, you thought it would be easy. Alas, fate had other plans in the form of Task Force 141.

Lead by Captain John Price- who had handpicked you for medical support- to stay back at whatever base looked like- whether it be a van or a safe house.

With that, you lived with the boys. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. You kept yourself to yourself at first, not confident among four SAS soldiers nor in yourself. Knowing of them only.

So you planned to stay huddled in the corner and quiet.

Then in the middle of the night, you came face to face with a black balaclava and a gruff voice, “Ya good?” You only remember the nightmares… more so flashbacks. They were relentless- creeping in the recesses of your mind, waiting for times when stress peaked. Unfortunately this entire ordeal was nerve-wracking.

You only noticed the warm hand on your shoulder, instinct led you to stare past the noir covering the majority of his face and into his eyes. Caring eyes.

He had no need to check if you were okay, he didn’t know you but, nevertheless, it was nice to see the lieutenant as something other than a looming figure.

The seriousness became too much to bear for you, “Do you sleep in that thing?” Using humour to take the edge off- well trying to.

“Soundly,” Earthy, rugged… British yourself, he sounded awfully English. That was when your eyes dawned on the clock- the time more specifically. 02:01.

“Do you sleep at all?” Another attempt but he didn’t laugh- your smile faded, maybe a tad intimated. He wasn’t exactly small.

He stood away, no longer crouching at your bedside. How tall was the guy? You tried to hide the wonder on your face, “Better than you… when I do get a kip…” Some pain in those words. “Better get some shut eye, Y/L/N… see ya at dawn.” You slept better knowing at least someone in 141 had your back.

After that you started integrating more with the lads. You learned that Johnny could clean his messes up exceptionally well, and that’s why he was called ‘Soap’. Price still thought the name was bullcrap but alas, not your problem.

You also noticed that Ghost never showed his face. Black face paint shrouding the skin showing around his dark eyes or his sunglasses. You preferred the face paint.

He had a habit of watching you from across the room chatting with Soap and Gaz- you blocked any possible avenues of relationships. Not that they’d be interested in you (your own thoughts). You didn’t find yourself attractive or good enough. A bit too much weight, you continued to think.

It was a good thing, you couldn’t get distracted.

That was until that day…

Supply checks… stock up on the sterilised needle and stitch thread. You barely had any use to 141, just a glorified nurse who had no business being given a code name.

“Stitches! It’s LT!” The brash Scotsman bolstered his comrade over to the gurney in the impromptu medical van. Blue eyes flashed over into yours, hulking the larger man to lay on his back.

Ghost wasn’t having any of it, attempting to sit up only for more blood to gush from his thigh. You rushed into action, “Soap, get us out of here,” said all too calmly for someone under such pressure. The man did as he was told and they were off. Meanwhile, you had pushed the lieutenant down on the bed. He grunted in pain each time he made a move, “For fuck’s sake, stay still so I can fucking see.” Blue gloves on, as he stopped wriggling, “Thank you.” You were still unimpressed but at least he listened. Unbeknownst to you under the mask he donned a pained smirk- unaware you could be so commandeering. Almost proud of you.

A grunt paused his pride, “Fuck…” Through gritted teeth. Your fingers working the tweezers with expert precision.

He went to sit up, your left hand pressed against his sturdy chest- pushing him down, “Want me to snag your femoral artery, Ghost?” In no time, a red-coated bullet laid in the metal tray and he sat there in his boxer shorts- watching you work and hitching a breath each time the needle breached skin.

They were the gentlest hands that had ever worked on him. “What happened?” Eyes boring into his as you cast off the stitch.

“Someone got the jump on me, should see ‘im,” you smiled at that, able to tell he was too. By his eyes.

The ones you dreamt of every night- except when the terrors returned. Johnny was too heavy of a sleeper to hear you, but Simon’s eyes were what you woke up to. In the flesh. He never asked what they were about, just comforted you.

When your deployment ended, and you returned home… you missed the guys. And his warm eyes whenever you returned to the land of the living.

Johnny contacted you. A pub crawl in Scotland, apparently Gaz, Price and even Simon were game.

Turns out you and Ghost didn’t live too far away. In ten minutes, a knock at your door and you met that deep gaze. “Johnny only just message ya, didn’t he?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m drivin’ us, don’t trust Gaz’s deathtrap…”

“Well… I just need to grab my stuff,” He started to walk away up the path to his 4x4. “You can come in and wait if you wanted?” Who was he to turn you down when you asked so nicely.

He helped you with your bags, “You sure ya gonna get through with that?”

“Haha,” dry humour, there was a reason you seemed to get on, “And if you want me to get more shit…”

You could see a glint in his eyes, “Nah, you’re alright, love…” That went straight down to between your thighs, the look on your face amused the man.

Surprisingly, the two of you weren’t awkward. Quiet here and there.

You assumed he wasn’t used to social interaction in general- especially wearing that balaclava, not good for conversation.

Simon was good to talk to, all waffled speech was redacted with him. Straight forward, sometimes sarcastic and wholly looking for banter- that’s what you preferred.

And there was no chance he would be interested in you. He has the aura of a guy who gets the attention of stunning women. Why would he want you? (You thought)

It was never going to happen.

By the end of that car ride, he learned about your messy string of exes and he had way too much Shania Twain on his playlist (and knew all of the words).

Johnny greeted you both with open arms, a tight hug for you, “You been ta’ing care of yourself, Stitches?”

“Better than you look, use more soap…” The laughs and hug came to an abrupt end- his stare directed over to Simon who loomed behind you. Was it just you, or did Johnny look scared?

“Let me show y’ where you’ll be sleepin’…”You went to grab your bags but Ghost already had it covered.

Poor you, you didn’t know what would await your stay at Johnny MacTavish’s.

The tip was a stretch, your head thrown back against the blanket pillow. Silent screams playing in your throat. He could feel the struggle and see the pleasure striking your visage. Murmurs of his name, “Si- Simon -!” Broken and whimpering. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the edge of losing his cool. You were pulsing around him so angelic.

“You’re takin’ me so well, lovie,” His hips took a full stroke, bracing your cervix. Thrumming and dripping wet. Another groan of his name.

The rhythm sank in, strangled moans trapped- your breathing wild against his ear. His thrusts swinging all the way back until they gutted you. Over and over. “Feels. So. GOOD -!” His hand covering your mouth, noting that the owner of the house was just next door and the other two at the end of the hall. Simon’s place supposed to be on the couch downstairs surrounded by Soap’s army memorabilia. Not right there, balls deep inside of you. Loving every second.

Cherishing every inch of you, kissing you in the moment to stay quiet so he could remain there for a while longer. So he may get some sleep, for the first time in a week.

Before you know it, his hand anchored around your ankles- spreading them to hook better. You’ve never moaned so loud in your life. Even echoing off the walls of the room. “Fuck it…” He was too far gone to care what the boys heard or thought. He had been thinking about that moment since he met you, looking so delectable with his cock hammering into you. Taking him so well.

You didn’t know if he would ever tire out, another rush of adrenaline and exhaustion swept over your limp body- numb to anything other than where his thighs slammed against your own and how raw you were going to in the morning.

Your legs fell, his grip focused at your jaw; leaning over- rubbing against sensitivity deep- and claiming your lips in a ravenous kiss that had your head spinning more than before.

Hands falling to your hips, thrusts sloppy as you tightened once again. “Where can I- ,” Drunk on how he tasted, your legs locked around his body.

“Inside,” Your hand found the base of his hair at Simon’s neck, holding on for dear life. Warmth spread downwards as your nails dug into his toned back and neck alike. A thick groan filled the air- enough to become addicted.

Neither of you panted, thriving in the silence. He savoured being hilted inside you, careful not to crush you beneath him. Hot breath spanning your collarbone. “Can’t tell ya how long I’ve wan’ed to do that…”

You felt so small against him, so yearned for. No face covering on his end, no boundaries. Laid bare to him and he wanted you anyway.

Fingers stroked at his thick hair, “Same, Si…”

Neither of you knew who fell victim to slumber first.

The morning came around, the boys had looked proud of themselves… too proud, too giddy. Especially Johnny.

“I think the gutters need check’ng, heard some weird noise last nigh’,” You’ve never threatened Johnny’s mohawk before but that day you grew close.

Price even had a glint of mischief in those clear eyes of his, “Vampires common in Scotland?” You didn’t check your neck, too caught up in the heat the previous night.

Gaz had a smirk on his face, “Not from what I know of, sir…”

Christ, you were never gonna hear the end of it.

______

masterlist

[strawberrykidneystone]

benchwarmer

sevika x gender neutral reader

summary: you weren’t one to get your hands dirty unless you had to, hence why you were mainly on the sidelines with isha while jinx and sevika were taking care of smeech, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun

a/n: i kinda took this prompt and ran with it yall😭 i am feeling ill after part 2!!!!!!! so here's some fluff teehee!

tags: canon-typical violence, teasing, fluff, THEY ARE FAMILY

ao3 version

ty for requesting @nymphux!!

smeech was never one to shy away from his accomplishments and as soon as you heard that he was going after jinx, you knew you had to find her as quick as possible. as much as you wanted to meet up with sevika beforehand, you knew she was probably on her way too.

well, you hoped she was at least.

jinx was capable, but smeech definitely wouldn’t go down without a fight. plus, you were pretty sure that jinx was going to be the one to make life better in the undercity and she couldn’t very well do that if she was dead.

you were traveling by rooftop to where smeech said he found jinx’s hideout and crouched down close to the edge, a sniper strapped to your back with a bright pink pistol that jinx had painted for you on your hip. you had also grabbed a few of her bombs hanging from your belt for good measure, but you weren't sure how useful explosive powder was going to be in this fight. damn this place was in the middle of nowhere, even for the undercity. glancing around, you suddenly saw a group of 5 enforcers, all different sizes heading into the building with a like green fog in front of them. was that…. the grey?

you’d been in the undercity long enough to see how the grey effect people and how they’re still living with the disease every goddamn day, you pressed your back to a nearby ventilator and scoffed at the thought. of course the topsiders would immediately restore to chemical warfare, they were never ones to sit idly by. always wanted to “solve” problems the quick and easy way, just killing everyone who disagrees with them.

great.

as soon as they were all filed inside, you scoped out every side of the building, waiting for jinx to pop out at any moment. she was sly and quick enough to get out of there, right? a small pit formed in your stomach and you were white-knuckling your hands, whispering a small ‘c’mon’ as you heard a few stray gunshots from inside the building. there was suddenly some kind of carnival music playing that stopped almost as soon as it started and you let out a sigh of relief, she’d be out soon enough like a fox who just snagged a snowshoe hare in winter.

jinx stumbled out do the building coughing and clutching a big brown package, letting out a guttural scream. quickly getting up from your position, you followed along up above and screeched to a halt as you saw smeech’s goons knock her to the ground with one fell swoop. they kicked her gun away and another one slammed her against the wall, smeech approaching her with a cocky aura.

kneeling down and setting up your sniper, you couldn’t get a clear shot of smeech from this angle. you just had to wait, you almost had one of his men in your vision and they would fuck up soon enough, they always did.

smeech started monologuing to jinx and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, god this shimmerhead was as dumb as they come. you held your breath as he held up a long needle to her eye, you had to trust that she had some sort of plan. she always did, even in situations like this. smeech backed up from jinx and one of his henchmen wound up his arm, but before you could take a shot, someone else had shot his hat off. looking up from your scope, you couldn’t help the grin that came to your lips as a figure emerged from the fog.

sevika.

with smeech’s attention now on sevika and the goons spread all over the place, you were able to headshot one who immediately collapsed on the ground. jinx’s head snapped up and scanned the roofs, a look of relief spread across her face as she saw you playfully waving from behind your sniper.

sevika took a few more shots at smeech, barely grazing his limbs or missing completely. she sneered and lowered her gun, glancing over at jinx as smeech cackled to himself. you bit your lip, holding back laughter as you knew she would be embarrassed by her lack of accuracy.

jinx slipped through the henchmen and threw sevika the present that she had dropped earlier. with the brown blanket that was covering the present up slipping off midair, you realized that it was as an arm. a new arm. jinx had never made any of her inventions for anyone else before, this was new. a good new. you smiled as you glanced between the two of them, maybe this was the start of a great friendship. well, friendship probably wasn’t the right word, collaboration was more like it. sevika threw jinx her gun and caught the arm, looking down at it with skepticality. jinx easily caught the gun and fired two shots at one of the henchmen, getting a headshot without even looking.

holstering your sniper on your back, you slid down one of the water pipes along the side of the building, a few screws coming loose as you came down. sevika threw off her poncho dramatically and hooked on her new arm. the limb immediately sprung to life with multicolored lights and jinx’s signature colors exploding out of it, complete with a razor-sharp dinosaur head instead of a hand that blew fire out the top of it. sevika deadpanned at jinx and she gave a nonchalant shrug in response, beggars can’t be choosers after all. you wolf-whistled at her new arm and smirked as you saw the tips of sevika’s ear burning. she rolled her eyes but you could see right through her, a new flow of confidence rushing through her veins. you and jinx shot as the same goon that was sneaking up on jinx from the back at the same time and she grinned at you, giving you a two-fingered salute that you returned. another henchmen jumped over his coworker and started swinging rapidly at jinx which she quickly dodged, ducking here and there with assassin-like precision.

suddenly, you felt a hand on your hip. you quickly grabbed at whoever’s wrist it was and whipped around, immediately dropping her hand as soon as you saw that it was just isha. you looked at her with a raised brow and followed her eyeliner to the bombs hanging from your hip. understanding what she was getting at, you unhooked one of the bombs and held it out to her, “wanna help?”

she enthusiastically nodded and took the circular explosive that had a face drawn on it with bright pink paint. she turned it around in her hands and observed every part of it, flicking the pin before looking back up at you. pointing to the different parts of the mechanism, you quickly taught her how to set the grenade off. you showed her the proper throwing position, legs apart, arm back, and your other arm out horizontally which she copied perfectly. you kneeled down and nodded to her, glancing back over at the fight. pointing right at the goon's head, you smirked at isha, “that’s your target.”

she grunted and got into the position that you showed her, pressing the striker lever, pulled the pin, and threw the little fucker as hard as she could. the grenade hit the back of his head and ricochetted almost directly up. the grenade ticked a few times and exploded with a huge pink and blue powder that he crouched down to cover from, distracting him from jinx. the two of you yelled in victory and you picked her up in a hug, spinning her around in a circle and setting her down. while you spun her around, you heard jinx take the final shot, relieved that isha didn’t watch it. she had the most adorable grin with a few teeth missing that you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart. you took off her hat and ruffled her hair, “not bad kid, not bad at all!”

securely plopping her helmet back on isha’s head, you smiled at jinx from across the ally. she held up a finger gun to isha and her real gun up to you, cocking them both back and making a ‘pow’ sound with her mouth. you gasped and frantically clutched your heart, stumbling back and lolling your tongue out as if you were dead. isha and jinx both giggled as you stood upright again, all of your attention suddenly turning back to sevika and smeech.

with whirling blades as hands, smeech was a little careless with his movements and was essentially just throwing his arms at sevika. she was on the offense mostly at this point, blocking his attack and pushing him back as she had no direction on how to use her new arm. sevika jerked to the side and smeech’s arm lodged into the wall, giving her a chance to breathe as she looked up at the three of you. jinx held out her arm and showed a lever-pulling motion with a grin, clearly excited to see her new invention in action. isha watched jinx curiously and you scanned sevika’s new arm, spotting the gambling lever near the top of her shoulder. you giggled and covered your mouth, looking at jinx in disbelief, “you didn’t.”

jinx raised her eyes brows in a challenge and nodded, “oh yes i did.”

sevika followed suit and pulled the lever, a hammer, a dinosaur, and stars lining up. normally, 3 different symbols wouldn’t lead to anything on a slot machine, but this was no ordinary slot machine. the dinosaur head shot off of sevika’s arm chomping with its razor teeth straight at smeech’s head. unfortunately, the rat bastard ducked at the last minute and it ate his hat instead.

you cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled, “good riddance! it was an ugly hat anyways!”

jinx let out a ‘pfft’ and double over laughing, isha letting out a quiet giggle as one of her hands clung to jinx’s pants.

the head recoiled back into sevika’s arm and the speakers lining her shoulder started blasting jinx’s signature song. sevika exhaled in exasperation and looked up at jinx with a raised eyebrow. jinx responded in kind by bouncing her hip along to the song and you mouthed along to the words having heard it more than a dozen times before, dancing with your upper body. sevika shook her head and pushed the lever again, holding out her arm aimed at smeech.

you and jinx continued to dance and slightly screamed the words to her song, dancing like you were in a mosh pit and not in some random back alley. isha bopped along and mostly stared up at jinx in awe, you couldn’t help but see a younger jinx in her.

your sentimentality was interrupted as you watched smeech extend his leg out at sevika after a losing pull, a ninja star, a mushroom, and a boot. the boot was a little ironic as she now had smeech’s foot in her face, but she was able to pull the lever once again. this time, she got a dinosaur, a boxing glove, and a star. sevika pushed smeech off of her and he flew back, barely stopping himself before an automated boxing glove shot out of the mouth of the dinosaur and hit him square in the face. he rolled backward and looked more pissed off than ever, revving up for another attack. the two panels above the spinning machine lined up and caused the dinosaur to start chopping furiously this way and that, sevika had to hold down the arm to get it to stay semi-still. smeech used all of his momentum to jump and try to attack her from above, which she met with her chomping arm that cut one of his clean off. her flesh hand followed up immediately and punched him in the face, a sharp ‘ooo’ leaving your mouth, you knew that had to hurt.

the mouth dropped his arm and smeech stumbled back, blubbering out, “okay, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! there’s a deal to be struck here.”

sevika scoffed and curled her upper lip in disdain, “you forget smeech? you already made your last offer.”

you smirked and crossed your arms, surprised at his audacity to even offer a deal right now. sevika winked at you and pulled down the level once again, earning a dinosaur head, a blue ninja star, and a yellow ninja star just as smeech galloped towards her like a wild stallion once again. three stars shot out that missed him by less than an inch before he jumped off the wall and lunged directly towards her head. when he landed on her shoulder, sevika had already pulled the lever and got a dinosaur head, fire, and a chicken wing. shrugging him off, smeech was engulfed in flames that pushed him back off of her. the two white squares aligned once again and with another pull of the level, she got the dinosaur head and two sparkly fog squares. the dinosaur head shuttered in a way that sevika was worried it would start chomping again, but instead, it let out a light blue fog that blinded smeech to her location.

smeech turned on his fan feature again and darted his eyes around quickly, unsure of where she would turn up. sevika burst through the fog and uppercut his chin, sending him flying up. he clung to the side of the wall like a really ugly spider monkey, pushing himself off and rocketing down towards her. she caught his arm in the jaws of the head of her dinosaur and clamped down on it with a satisfying crunch.

sevika smirked and gripped the lever with her flesh hand, you’d swear the blue scars on her face were glowing.

“tell me, who’s a funny looking rat now?”

“he is!” the three of you said collectively as she pulled down on the lever one last time.

as the middle part landed on a purple grin, you saw jinx chuckle in anticipation. when the left one landed on the grin, isha nodded and braced herself. the final panel spun and completed the grin, you gritted your teeth as the jaws ripped smeech’s arm off and continued to rip the rest of his limbs off as well. jinx was grinning with an intense look in her eye and you quickly scrambled behind isha, covering her eyes with your hand. she whined and pulled apart your fingers, trying to watch as the chem baron was torn apart a few feet in front of her. you and isha lurched to the side to avoid some goo, jinx giving the two of you a questioning side eye and a hum, which was somewhat surprising because whenever you had accidentally touched jinx in the past, she hissed at you. maybe this kid was good for her after all.

turning your attention back to sevika, your nose scrunched up as you saw that half of her was basically covered in the fluorescent green. her arm played a happy little tune and shot a few fireworks into the air.

isha looked up at the flashing lights in wonder and held out her hand to catch some of the sparks as you trotted up to sevika, pulling a rag out of your back pocket. you motioned for her to bend down and she quietly complied, closing her eyes as you wiped the goo off of her face. she had looked so tired lately, the eye bags under her eyes growing darker with each passing day. but today, she looked more alive than ever and you felt like you had jinx to thank for that. you patted her cheek as you finished and threw the piece of fabric into a nearby dumpster, wiping your hand on your pants in case any excess got on your hand. she opened her eyes and puckered her lips, leaning in for a kiss. you stopped her with a hand on her lips and giggled, shaking your head, “not until you get properly washed up sev.”

she huffed and stood back up to her full height, clearly holding in a pout. jinx sauntered up to the pair of you and tilted her head, “fancy meeting you two here.”

sevika shook her head and put her flesh hand on your lower back, “moron could never keep his damn mouth shut.”

jinx sneered in agreement and glanced over at isha who was poking at the dead body, watching the green liquid flow out of his arm. jinx looked at the two of you in slightly confusion, her eyes landing on sevika, “you could’ve just let me eat it…”

“haven’t we done you enough favors,” the two of you said in tandem, a small smile gracing your lips.

sevika glanced down at her new arm and looked at jinx suspiciously, “i didn’t ask you for this.”

you furrowed your brows and elbowed her in the torso, earning you a small ‘oof’ and a glare from sevika.

jinx crossed her arms and admired her work, “it was something i could fix.” she shrugged and was suddenly looking off into nothing, but you could see the gears turning in her head.

“you’ve got that look in your eye again, what are you planning?” sevika asked and moved her arm up and around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. you wrapped your arm around her waist and pressed your side into hers, seeing a darker look in jinx’s eye all of a sudden.

“to finish what’s left of my family,” she said somewhat ambiguously.

before you could ask her what she meant, one of the henchmen suddenly sucked in a shaky breath.

wait, he wasn’t a henchman.

sevika and jinx shared a look. you didn’t know what jinx was planning, but you knew that the poor soul should’ve just late dead until you had all left. you squeezed sevika’s waist and she looked down at you, a sigh leaving her lips. “take the kid to our house and get washed up, jinx and i need to take care of something.”

“be careful, both of you,” you said firmly, looking from sevika to jinx.

“yeah yeah yeah we will, just gotta send a little message to my sister.”

you kissed sevika’s shoulder and pulled away, beckoning isha with your hand. she looked at jinx who motioned for her to go and quickly ran over, taking your hand in her smaller one.

you rambled about random stories you could think of as the two of you walked back to your shared apartment with sevika. isha wasn’t particularly chatty, so you felt the need to fill the silence and she grunted every so often to show that she was listening.

opening the door, you stepped aside to let isha in first on her own time. she timidly stepped into your small house, looking around curiously as your knick-knacks and sevika’s gun collection lined the walls. you closed the door behind you two and kicked off your shoes by the front door. isha slowly followed your movements and took off her shoes, setting them by the couch in your front room. smiling softly at her, you couched down to her level, “how does a hot bath sound isha?” her eyes lit up in excitement, and nodded her head vigorously.

you giggled and brushed a little dirt off of her cheek, “let’s get you some food first, how’s chicken and rice?”

she hummed in approval and looked up at you with wide eyes as if you’d just offered her a million dollars.

“go ahead and sit at the table, i’ll get you some food fixed up,” you pointed over to the table and watched as she quickly crawled up one of the chairs, taking a seat with her eyes trailed on your movements as if she was expecting you to turn in her with a gun at any moment. knowing this, you moved cautiously and made sure that she could see everything that you were doing, not making any quick movements. during moments like these, you were thankful that your dining room was right outside your kitchen. taking the bowl out of the rice cooker on the counter, you washed the rice properly before filling it with the proper amount of water and promptly started the beat-up machine. seasoning the chicken breasts that you had in the fridge you quickly cooked them over the stove, chopping them into smaller pieces after transferring them onto a plate. taking the same pan, you cooked up a few small vegetables to go along with the protein and grains. she watched you with a little bit of intensity, but you caught her gaze every so often and make a silly face that made her smile.

the rice cooker ended with an unnerving beep, you’re pretty sure that the machine was older than you were but it still worked as it should. dishing up a bowl with rice, vegetables, and chopped-up chicken. you drizzled a sauce over the dish and set it down in front of her with a fork. serving up your own dish, you sat down next to her with a side glance. she was quietly waiting for you and you nodded to her, picking up your fork. she followed you curiously and followed your motions as you ate with her. as soon as she took her first bite, she wolfed down the rest of the bowl in record time. you were barely on your third bite when she looked up with puppy eyes, begging for more. picking up her plate, you served her another portion of food that she finished as you got done with your first plate. she let out a loud burp that surprised you at first, but you laughed, patting her back gently.

“c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” you said affectionately and led her to the bathroom. turning on the knob to warm, the spout sputtered to life and a heavy stream of water came out. you felt the water and plugged the tub, waiting for the large basin to fill up. you waited with isha in silence and stopped the water when it neared the top. you pointed out the different soaps to the little girl and she nodded along, taking off her hat and setting it on the counter.

“leave your clothes outside of the door and i’ll give them a quick wash. if you need any help, just yell- or uh knock on on of the walls, okay?” you smiled and opened the cabinets, leaving 2 towels on the counter for her. as you reached for the door, you suddenly felt isha hugging your thigh. you let out a ‘oh’ in surprise and put a hand on her back, softly cradling her into your body.

she hummed the pnemonics of ‘thank you’, pushing her face into your leg.

“you’re welcome. and don’t worry about those two, they’ll be back soon,” you reassured her and pet her hair back, feeling her nod against you.

leaving isha to her own devices, you went downstairs and prepped two more plates, covering them up to keep the food warm. you smiled to yourself as you heard isha splashing around, quietly going over to the bathroom and picking up up her clothes. you walked into the laundry room and gave them a deep scrub, honestly, you were worried that they would disintegrate in the soapy water. rinsing out the surprisingly bright clothes, you stuck them in the dryer on a delicate setting.

the clothes were dry in no time as you occupied yourself with reorganizing the cups in the cabinet... again. opening the dryer, you folded her clothes carefully and put them outside of the bathroom door, letting isha know with a small knock. you heard the front door open and close, followed by a muffled thud. peaking around the corner, you saw jinx’s braids hanging off the couch and the blanket that was draped over the edge of the couch was now pulled off. sevika let out an exhausted sigh, leaning back against the door with her eyes closed.

“dinner’s on the counter,” you called out and finished folding some stray clothes that were still in the laundry room. sevika hummed in response and trudged into the kitchen, grabbing a plate with a fork. she dropped off the food with the utensil on the coffee table in front of jinx with a grunt, receiving a small wave in acknowledgment.

taking off her arm and leaning it against the side of the door she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table after she grabbed her own plate on the way over. heading out of the laundry room, you saw isha padding across the floor and into the front room, most likely laying with jinx now. you smiled softly at the two, reminding you of jinx and vi when they were younger, before vander died of course. walking over to the table, you sat timidly in the chair next to sevika. you didn’t ask what she and jinx did, knowing it definitely had something to do with the one henchman who was still alive.

sevika finished her meal and set her fork down on her plate, licking her lips in satisfaction. she promptly picked up your hand and brought it up to her lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. you caressed her cheek with your other hand and brushed your thumb against the blue scars that almost looked purple in the dim light, your eyes darting back and forth between hers, looking for answers.

“jinx has a plan for vi and that little enforcer friend of hers, are you down?”

“always.”

a/n: it was so fun to write this scene for scene!!! i love this fight scene so much omfg... rereading this post act 2 def hurt el oh el!!!!!

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all

[viperify]

Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

We will meet again. | pt 2

Short summary: Ever since you had met Tom, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was mysterious and intriguing in the best possible way – if only he hadn’t disappeared out of nowhere at the Christmas market. It’s two weeks later now and you intend to spend Christmas Eve by yourself. Or will you?

Warnings: 18+ only! stalker!Tom, dub con, rough sex, extreme choking, impact play, degradation, biting, bondage, slight blasphemy ig, unprotected p in v, no aftercare

A/N: All I want for Christmas is… uhhh…

wordcount: 2,9k

part one | part three

Nobody messes with Tom Riddle’s head.

Especially not a muggle girl.

He let his guard down that day, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. You intrigued him in the worst possible way– an odd feeling he wasn’t used to blooming in his chest. One that only got stronger every time he had looked into your beautiful eyes, one that he couldn’t seem to let go, one that distracted him any time he wanted to simply read a book or study.

It has been driving him close to insanity.

Two weeks have passed since your encounter at the Christmas market and he had since found out where you lived, when you arrived home after work and, most importantly, he had a well worked out plan where he would teach you a little lesson.

Christmas Eve.

Fourteen days ago you met Tom, and he has never left your mind since. He has even followed you in some of your dreams. The necklace – you don’t wear it. Too much of a reminder of how he just left you behind, essentially having your friends think you’ve gone crazy as you rambled on about this tall, handsome stranger who you swore was just sitting there next to you on the bench. Without paying it any further attention, you have put the jewellery away, somewhere where you were sure you wouldn’t have to encounter it again for the next few months.

You live in your own apartment, within a small living room currently decorated with a middle-sized Christmas tree. The smell of pine needles and gingerbread hangs thick in the air, altogether creating a pleasant holiday feeling which perfectly fits to your tradition of watching a seasonal movie on Christmas Eve.

The season of love and peace doesn’t feel much like it when you have to decorate and organize everything yourself. The past few days have been nothing but tiring, which is why during the movie your eyelids flutter close every few minutes and you have to fight sleep with all your strength. Your exhaustion finally gets the better of you and you decide to head to bed, slipping into your fluffy bunny slippers and turning off the TV. After, you make your way to your bedroom, only the flashing Christmas decorations you had put up leading your way, casting a faint light on the otherwise empty hallway.

You touch the cold metal of the door handle and push down, entering your bedroom. Instead of darkness the dim light of your motion-sensing lamp greets you. It has been bugging often lately, just like the camera surveilling the front door entrance. Not even technicians you had hired could fix the issue – strange, you thought, especially as you have never had problems before. It’s probably due to the chilly weather they told you.

As you take a breath, a strange, yet familiar scent hits your senses. It reminds you of that day at the Christmas market. As you try to figure out where it was from exactly, Tom crosses your mind. It was his perfume, unmistakably, one that was so unique it was easily recognizable. Then, on the other hand, how could-

“You left your front door unlocked.”

A familiar voice, which you instantly make out to be Tom’s, snaps you out of your thoughts. You shriek, turning to face the figure behind you. You weren’t mistaken.

Your blood is rushing through your ears as he’s just standing there, arms behind his back, staring at you. Even in this faint lighting you could swear his eyes have gotten darker than last time you saw him.

“What the-? How did you get in here?” You breathe heavily, furrowing your eyebrows at the sight of how calmly, eerily so, he was standing in the corner of your bedroom.

His lips twitch slightly, almost like he was about to reply, but instead he takes a measured step towards you. “Why aren’t you wearing my present?” he asks, voice low and controlled as his gaze sinks to the exposed skin of your cleavage, scanning it for the silver necklace he had left you in your handbag.

A scoff escapes your lips, and you shake your head. “Now tell me one good reason why I should. We have barely talked. You left without saying anything. I never asked you to come back either, especially not by breaking into my house.”

It wasn’t exactly true – of course you have been thinking about him. About how he caught your attention so easily in the first place, how different he was to other men. You even have dreamed of him. Yet, you weren’t a person to just simply forgive and forget.

“Leave, just like you did two weeks ago. You have no business being in here anyway.”

Tom’s expression doesn’t change as he stands still for another moment. Though, he then quickly advances toward you and before you can react properly, he grabs your arm and pushes you back against the cold wall of your bedroom, pinning you in place with his body.

“I am not going to leave any time soon.” He snarls as his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to feel your pulse under his touch. You have been messing with my head. And you know what happens to people that mess with my head?”

“Bad things. Horrible, in fact.”

You avoid his piercing gaze best as you can. “Well,” you huff, “that is not my fucking-“

Smack.

You hiss, head whacking to the side as his palm strikes your cheek forcefully, the burning sting radiating through your body. And damn – it shouldn’t make you feel the way it does.

“I am going to scream.” You croak best as you can, though you aren’t quite sure if you could under his firm grip.

“For help?“ he taunts, his lips curling up in a smug grin, “I would like to see you try.”

“I know what you have been dreaming of the past two weeks. Exactly this, isn’t it? My hand wrapped around your pretty throat, fucking you senseless. You can’t hide from me.”

“I have no clue what you-“

You hiss as a sharp pain in your head cuts off your lie, and the world around you shifts into something oddly familiar, a scenery you recognize from one of your dreams you had two nights ago.

It was you and him after your encounter at the Christmas market, but instead of disappearing, he had come home with you.

Not only that, though.

“God Tom, please!” You whine, lifting your hips from the mattress to meet his harsh thrusts, desperately chasing your high as he hits all the right spots that have your vision blur.

He looks so perfectly messy like this – sweat glistening on his skin, his beautiful brunette curls sticking to his forehead as he looks down at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes. The most raw and gorgeous groans come from his slightly parted lips, and you swear that sight alone would push you over the edge soon enough.

“Tell me what you need, and I will give it to you.”  Tom encourages, sucking marks into the tender skin of your neck.

“Need you to choke me. Please.” You manage, and his hand tightly wraps around your throat in an instant, as though he was waiting for those exact words to spill over your lips.

“Anything for you.”

And just like that, the scenery shifts again. You whimper as the stinging pain in your head disappears, and you are met with the brunette staring right at you with a cruel smirk, his face inching closer to yours until he is merely a breath away.

“It would be oh so cruel of me to deny you-“ Tom rasps, his voice laced with sarcasm as his hand finds its way under your skirt, “what you have been craving for so badly, don’t you think?”

A nod. A nod is all you can manage in return. You don’t even have time to question whatever just happened, inhaling shakily as his hand travels up your bare thigh, thumb brushing over the damp spot on your panties. Tom furrows his eyebrows and groans, lowly, at the feeling of your arousal on his finger.

“This turns you on? You are more pathetic than I thought.”

The firm grip he has on your throat softens, and your lungs finally expand with oxygen as you suck in a deep breath. He takes out a weird looking stick from inside his coat and mutters something for you inaudible. Just a second later your clothes are neatly folded on the floor and you stand there – half-naked, merely your lace underwear left on your otherwise exposed figure. You gasp in surprise and instinctively try to cover yourself, however Tom is quicker, grabs your wrist and sits you down on the soft mattress of your bed. Then, he does the same thing again, to himself this time.

Your eyes widen, trying to comprehend whatever just happened right in front of your eyes. “How- who are you? Some kind of magician?”

The brunette huffs, pushing you down onto the velvety sheets of your bed. “I am much more than a mere magician.”

And this time, he would let you keep the memory.

Before you can reply anything, he hovers above you, trailing kisses down your neck. Not like those you are used to from past experiences, though. They are rough and full of hunger, teeth grazing your skin, biting down here and there, practically marking you up as his own. Just like those dreams you have had.

Tom trails lower, stopping right at the swell of your breasts. “Still wearing too much.” He mutters under his breath, but it’s too late when you realize his intention. The material of your bralette rips with a sharp tear as it gives way to the force he is applying, the fabric sliding off to each side.

You want to complain, tell him that was one of your favourites, but when his teeth sink into the flesh of your breast any sane thoughts vanish from your mind. “Tom! Are you crazy?!” You shriek, attempting to push his head off you.

“Some people would say insane.” He retorts almost too calmly, lifting his head to answer, though not wasting much time before he dips down again to wrap his lips around your stiffened bud, sucking and biting down on it.

You throw your head back as soft moans escape your parted lips, your fingers raking through his perfect curls, tugging on them just slightly. His hand wanders down your stomach, and with a quick motion your panties are thrown on the floor.

“That is by the way no proper way to undress a woman.” You scold, and his eyes meet yours for a moment.

“You must be utterly delusional to assume I cared about that.”

Shaking your head you reach to the waistband of his briefs to get rid of them, blindly taking his length in your hand while you study his facial expressions. Only when you stroke him up and down, rubbing your thumb over his with precum glistening tip, you notice his size. Fuck.

His hand takes yours, pinning both of them above your head. Tom stills then, his eyes skimming over your naked figure underneath him for a brief moment as though he wanted to imprint your form into his mind forever.

“Keep your hands up there.” He demands lowly, and that is when you feel him aligning himself with your entrance, pushing into you steadily. You gasp at the blissful stretch Tom is providing you, burying his cock in your warm, welcoming walls.

“Season of love and peace, hm?” He rasps, pulling out of you almost entirely. “Let me show you what that means to me.”

A whole lot apparently.

“Because all you have caused me is anger and frustration.”

“Oh fuck- that’s too deep!” You cry out as he thrusts back into you at his last words, with much greater force this time. “Yeah? And I know you love it. Look how greedy you are, sucking me right in. See what a pathetic slut you are for it.”

His demeanour has in the meanwhile changed into something darker, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he mercilessly pounds into your tight cunt. You don’t exactly know what you have done wrong – he left you behind after all, not the other way around. However, who were you to complain if it meant you would get this?

Your hands reach to hold onto him, digging your nails into his skin, mark him like he did with you. A short-lived idea, it turns out. Tom hisses something, a word you can’t quite understand, and your hands return to their position above your head. Securely fastened with invisible binds.

“Wh- oh god! Oh dear god fuck-“ you cry out as he repeatedly hits that one spot deep inside of you that has stars blur your vision, subsequently having his hand wrap around your throat to muffle your moans. Then, his burning gaze meets yours.

“God? Pray to me. I am the only one above you, pray to me.”

Tom’s grip on your throat tightens at that, almost cutting off your airflow entirely.

Dreams do come true, after all.

The sounds of skin slapping against each other fills the room, and the air grows thick with the smell of lust and desire. You get to feel all of him, every single vein, even the slight curve of his perfect length. It all feels too good, too much for you to take. With your hands tied and voice taken away, that though is the only thing you can do – taking it.

“How does it feel-“ he breathes heavily, his dark brown curls sticking to his forehead as he punctuates his question with particularly rough thrusts. “How does it feel to be completely at my mercy, hm? To have me decide whether you get to take another breath?”

You can’t manage a reply, too caught up in pleasure clouding your mind, too focused on the slight sting you get as he brushes your cervix with every thrust as your walls give way to him entirely.

Soon your eyes flutter close, your consciousness slowly fading away under the firm grip he has on your throat. His hand then releases you, instead delivering a harsh smack to your cheek.

He adds another one as you don’t respond immediately.

“Breathe.”

You cough, gasping for air as your vision slowly comes back to you and are met with the brunette glancing down at you. “Doing so well for me.” He groans lowly, his thrusts growing more erratic as you clench around him, feeling your own high building rapidly.

“Please- please I need you to-“ you whine, bucking your hips against his thrusts for more friction. He reaches between you two, thumb finding your clit, rubbing figure eights on it. “S’ that what you need?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, oh Tom-“ your wrists pull at the bindings, but it’s no use. “Come. Come and show me how much of a slut you are for me.”

That’s the only thing you need to hear before the waves of your climax wash over you, repeating his name like a prayer as your cunt greedily pulses around his length, encouraging his release as well.

“I fucking- hate you-“ he grunts, emptying himself inside of you, biting down on your shoulder and collapsing on your spent body afterwards. You two stay like this for a brief moment before he pulls out of you. Tom keeps your legs spread and you whimper softly as his fingers swipe through your glistening folds, gathering some of your mixed arousal before he brings it to your lips.

“Open up. Taste us.” He demands, and you follow his command, taking his digits into your mouth to suck them clean. You never take your eyes off him, and the sight in front of you is heavenly. Tom looks oddly messy like this, hair disheveled, beads of sweat visible on his forehead, lips slightly parted as he breathes. Lord have mercy, you think.

 He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and cleans himself with what you have learned to be his wand. “You are a wizard?” You ask, sitting up to meet his gaze.

Tom nods. “Do not speak to anyone about this. Or I won’t have mercy with you next time.”

You grin. “There will be a next time?”

Just another second later and he stands before you, fully dressed in his black robes, his eyes wandering over your figure and his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. “Maybe. If you wear the necklace.”

You point towards the mess on your sheets and inner thighs expectantly. “Could you-“

“I am quite positive you will be fine.” Tom replies sternly, getting ready to leave.

It’s not that you were expecting him to stay the night, though you couldn’t help but feel disappointed he was leaving so soon. Your eyes follow his tracks, and when he then stands before you to hand you your clothes and a towel, you take the opportunity.

“Would you stay if I wanted you to?” You ask, still hopeful, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “No.”

And so Tom takes out his wand, hesitating for a moment before he turns to face you for one last time.

“Happy Christmas.”

Just like that, he is gone again.

And the necklace? The most beautiful you have ever worn.

tagging for pt 2: @theacreativity @sirenseaborne @tomriddleswhcre

[quarterlifekitty]

The aforementioned dark circus!AU

cw: slavery/human trafficking

Price is the ringmaster, and co-owner of the show. He’s the man who bought you from the auction block, because he saw something in you. He’s the man that holds your freedom in his hands.

Who are you? You’re the costumer for the circus. You spend endless hours in a cramped fitting room, fixing rips and tears, sewing sequins onto bodysuits— fighting with performers over what would suit them.

Ghost is a clown and an illusionist. He makes it a point to get on your good side— he needs your handiwork to make his act. Secret pockets, flaps, and panels on his costume are an integral part of it all. He bought his freedom years ago, but remains loyal to Price for reasons unknown to you.

Gaz is a trapeze artist. You receive a lot of gifts from him— apologies for how often his tight costume is prone to ripping, and what a pain it is to replace the embellishments in a way that’ll hold up through the whole show. He’s graceful in the air, and an incorrigible flirt on the ground.

Soap is the daredevil. He sustained a brain injury a long time ago, and it’s dulled his sense of pain immensely. You spend as little time on his costumes as possible— knowing most of them are one-time uses before they’re rendered into scraps with scorch marks. He’s constantly getting kicked out of your little workroom— if he’s got no costume to discuss, he’s got no business with you, you’ve tried to explain.

König is the Goliath, the strong man, able to lift other performers with ease as well as a whole host of other things. His height staggers the crowds, emphasized further by some cleverly integrated platforms in his shoes. His size makes it nearly impossible to make him things unless it’s entirely from scratch— something he apologizes for profusely.

Nikolai is a beast master. A natural command over tigers, elephants, and any other caged creature he happens upon. And he looks at you like you’re about to be a part of his menagerie.

Rudy is a roustabout— he works the set pieces and props, suspends the tent— and has to wrap it all back up with. It’s time to move on. It makes little time or reason for him to speak to you, but he always makes a point to visit you and bid you goodnight when he can manage it.

Graves is a fire-spitter. Often spotted without a shirt and holding a bottle of liquor by the neck, he was acquired when Price’s circus took over another. He’s got marks of disobedience— whipped when he tried to run away— scars still plain to see as they web across his back. He’s always asking you to run away with him— and you’d can’t for the life of you figure out how serious he’s intending to be.

You? You want to keep your head down and earn enough to buy your freedom in a few years. Then? You’ll say goodbye forever, and if you ever smell sawdust again it’ll be too soon.

Your hopes are dashed when Price comes to check on you late into the night. He hears you singing the way you do when no one is around, sees you weaving a needle in and out to the rhythm, looking ethereal even under the lamplight that flickers every few minutes or so.

Now he’s looking to make you the jewel of the entire circus— taking center stage with your costume and voice for all to enjoy. Something that will surely keep you chained to the circus indefinitely— Price isn’t known for letting star attractions walk away.

[seaslugandscylla]

Some notes under the snacking issue of Sebastian post caused my brain to weeoweeo it way too much than I expected, so well here are the continuing of topic xd

Sorry it's an essay because I can't write succinctly

1. How did the evil corporation(insert it’s name please) feed?

As far as I’m concerned, the shady corpo experimented on him to check/make people to able to breathe under water. Keeping him alive was quite crucial to success so I think they would provided him with proper amount of of food or at least the full nutrient content preparation. However, it changed when his body started to rapidly mutate, grow and evolve into what he’s now. The vast increase in his need of food and the fact that the gills didn’t develop very well, due to the scientists not very smart move - mixing his DNA with atmospheric oxygen snake and whale, caused the team to shrink his portion and gave him bare minimum in form of drip-feed… Auch

2. How didn’t he die from literally any nutrient deficiency sickness?

As I said it before I do not know the lore very much only basis. So forgive if I mess up some facts about the events. Going back to topic, after the event of beating the life out of his guards/special troops everyone left the lab immediately. Leaving everything behind including the rations, which were sent there for the staff to eat, all kind of medicine - pills, drops, syrups, injections etc. and whatever crops left( no idea if in the game is any „farm” but the transport would be extremely expensive so I think they would love to slash costs especially when there are vertical farms which are efficient, cheap and easy to maintain and during evacuation they could simply destroy it if nothing like this exists there). He simply gain most of crucial elements via all those supplements. Especially via drips which are the least painful without activating all digestive track. I like to think the reason why his extra arm is in the bandages is the fact that he often injects himself with various needles and his veins are in horrible state. At some point point all these supplements will end and it won’t end well for him, but not yet. That’s solves a bit the issue of lack of scurvy, nyctalopia and any other issues alike. Here’s the misery fish and his banana bag of lovely Zn and vit C

3. Another snacking issue

He is in constant state of hunger. No escape from it. The small human stomach ruthlessly dictates the size of his next snack and for how long he cannot eat, because it’s full, but it’s better to have at least one full than none. That could cause another big issue which is connected with the unconditional reflex - food in mouth equals activiting the synthesis of digestive enzymes and HCl in both tracks at the same time. Both are connected to one nervous system and the information goes to both, no matter if only one should start working. Not good situation, one belly is digesting itself,easy way to get ulcers or esophagitis, which not only are extremely painful but also deadly especially in his case with no health care or even chance to get any. He had to figure it out quite quickly how to make his eating as harmless as it’s possible. The easiest way I think would be simply some herby stomach drop, the one which highers the ph and stops HCl from being created. But I fear it works on human part- So he had to create strict timetable - when he eats, when he takes drops, when he can eat again. To keep the snake stomach in check and never letting it be fully empty and miraculously avoid the sinister autodigestive ideas of snake element. So his best friend is a tiny bottle of disgusting drops from a nurse office

4. How not to starve to death with body like that?

Dense soup. Maximum proteins in the smallest velocity and in easy to consume and digest way. It passes both stomachs faster because tough long chains are already broken into smaller ones so it can be faster absorbed and used. It’s also very easy to make and can contain many ingredients giving the biggest diversity in one sip. Still starves because it’s not enough, but there is no better way :”)

And no he wouldn't threaten anyone that he would add them to his soup. He was a human and he exactly knows there are too many weird fellas out there. No way he'll risk getting new traumatic event, he won't take it anymore-

The last thing is this two sentences:

Honestly I wasn't prepared to read something like this with straight face at 6AM. It wasn't in my weekly bingo card, but jup it made my day, thanks

[solbaby7]

Run

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: not edited, mentions home invasion, some swearing, violence, a bit angsty but fluffy at the end

summary: No one has ever once dared to try breaching the Night Courts walls—until now.

—

Nothing bad ever happened at your main residence in the Night Court.

Rhysand had been adamant that no one had ever once dared to try and breach these walls.

He’d said it so confidently; with such unwavering certainty that you’d never once questioned it. Never second guessed leaving open a window through the night or not always checking if you’d locked the front door behind you. It made you careless when wandering around the grounds with no weapons, brain on auto-pilot as you ran your fingers over the flowers Elaine and Lucien had spent all of Spring tending to together.

But the sound of glass crashing from down the hall was unmistakable and your brain scrambled to remember everyone telling you they’d all be gone today—that you and Elaine would be the only ones in the house until later in the day.

It had only been a couple of hours.

Elaine’s eyes snap to yours over her knitting needles when another crash sounds and now you can hear males voices; a handful of them overlapping against one another and you’re quick to jump into action. “Get up.” You snatch a sword from the display and anchor it between the doorhandles, wedging a heavy chair to the bottom for good measure before rushing over to the window. “It’ll be a little bit of a drop, so you’ll have to tuck your knees so you don’t break anything, okay?”

“You want me to jump out of the window?”

Another crash, one much closer and the panic you feel is all consuming but you force it away when you grip at her shoulders. This was the High Lady’s sister—Nesta’s most prized possession and you were certain she’d slice your head clean off your shoulders upon hearing something happening to her sister. “Elaine, you don’t have a choice. You need to get out of here and run—run for help. Find Azriel and the others and don’t stop until you do.”

Reality seems to set in when you’re collecting the layers of the bottom of her dress and bracing her arm on your shoulder as you ease her legs out of the window. “But,” Her eyes are frantic, heart hammering in her chest and you have to fight extra hard to seem calm; confident when you were honestly just trying to keep from passing out where you stood. “—what about you?”

A pause. “I’m going to distract them to give you enough time to find help.”

Elaine lets out a whine when the voices come closer and hers is barely audible as you’re bracing most of her weight out the window, doing your best to get her as low as possible before releasing her when you hear their fists banging against the door. “Please don’t make me leave you. If something happens to you, Azriel will—“

“You’ll just have to trust me.” You can hear the door creaking from the strain and you’re certain you’ve gotten her as low as possible without falling out yourself when you begin to loosen your grip. “Run, Elaine. Run and don’t stop until you’ve found him.”

The door opens with a bang but you’ve already turned around, body blocking the window to ensure they can’t see the bouncing pink dress frantically dashing across the garden. The sword is clutched tight in your grasp when you see them and immediately your heart sinks; there’s a lot more of them than you’d anticipated and a sob threatens to emerge off the sheer size of them alone but somehow you remain strong. You’re not sure what possess you to speak, the sword raising in warning as you stare each one dead in their eye. “I’ll give you one chance to turn around and leave.”

“Or what?”

A cool resolve settles into your body, heart rate lowering and senses focusing until you could hear a pin drop from ten miles away. Shadows slink over your figure, two coating your hands and two more stabilize your ankles and it only takes a few seconds to catch onto what was going to happen—Azriel had trained them for this, trained you for this. “Or I’ll show you exactly who lives here.”

They don’t believe you for a second, though you do notice one squinting at the darkness beginning to enclose over your fingers and it’s like you have no control over your own body. Most of them try and fail to get a hit on you, shadows guiding your hands to slice and dig and swipe your foot under their legs until they fell to the floor with a thud.

It feels like a dance—one you had to perfect or die and you could scream thank you from the highest of mountains to the clingy shadows that lingered back from their master. Their cool aura over your skin is grounding as they bend you to their will, forcing your legs to break off into a run before jumping to wrap your legs around the intruders shoulders and you can hear the oxygen leaving his lungs when you squeeze. You can feel the burn in your core when you heave your body up, thighs still clamping around his neck when you slam your elbow once, twice, three times against the top of his skull before his body crumbles beneath you.

Your knees are on the floor when another comes for you, sword slicing through the air and a grunt leaves you when a shadow pushes you down to duck before the sword can take your head clean off. You allow them complete control, a puppet submitting to the string attached to them as blood smears your clothing and stains your skin. Your hair sticks to your neck, blood spraying as the shadows ensured every swing of your weapon landed in its target.

A cry pulls from your throat when you turn, eyes frantic as you search the space to find no one but yourself remaining but you can’t seem to let the sword go. There’s so much blood; crimson red pooling in puddles near each slain body and your head whips around when you hear more footsteps. “In there—she’s in there!”

“Elaine,” Your voice croaks out and you hear the steps go faster until Azriel is standing in the doorway with cruel eyes; intent to kill clear until he sees you and it all fades away. “Don’t let her look.”

He nods wordlessly, urging a breathless Elaine away with nothing more than a look and his voice goes soft when he sees your hands shaking. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can let it go now.”

“She’s safe?”

“She’s safe, she didn’t stop until she found us.” Your shoulders relax at the words, body crumpling to the floor and he’s there to catch you before you hit the ground. You’re nose is buried in his chest, hands clutching at his clothes as the adrenaline subsides and your body begins to tremble but as Azriel holds you tight, muttering soothing words into your hair.

All he can do is look at the carnage.

The blood that stains your body but there’s not a single scratch. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

A laugh pulls free, the sound easing his worry and calming his rage. “I guess all that training came in handy after all.”

[moonlit-imagines]

Needles and Knives

Jason Todd x reader

warnings: um. needles and knives

a/n: i just wanted to do a tattoo artist au for jason im weak. also no this isnt an nsfw

prompt:

It took a bit of thorough deliberation to figure out just what you'd be getting permanently inked on your body, but eventually you'd been able to settle on a meaningful piece. Quite the piece according to your artist, Jason Todd.

You walked into the studio, a bit dark and dingy in an endearing way. Fortunately, Jason's setup was more clean and organized than the rest of the place. "Sorry for the mess, the other guys aren't as concerned about health code as I am." He chuckled as he walked over to the front desk. "Far as I know, there hasn't even been an inspector here in at least five years." You laughed with him as he got everything set up on his end.

"Thanks for taking me this late," you said, "I'm kind of a night owl."

"You're not the only one." Jason tapped the chair you'd be sitting on for the appointment. "Make yourself comfortable, it's gonna be a pretty long session." You'd picked a nicely sized thigh tattoo that would be roughly three hours long, but Jason said he was in no rush and would only charge for two. You didn't think he was in this for the money, he seemed to like what he did. Or maybe he just liked poking people with needles. Either way it was a good deal and you liked being in the studio late and alone, it was more peaceful this way.

He was as gentle as possible, checking in every few minutes no matter how much you assured him you could take a little pain. Judging by the looks of it, you could say the same about him. There were plenty of scars on his arms from what you could see past his t-shirt sleeves. You tried not to make it obvious as you started observing the rest of his exposed skin for other marks. There was definitely a faint bruise around his eye and a few healing cuts and scrapes under bandages. Maybe he was trying to fool you with the “new tattoo” look the way those bandages were wrapped, but you could tell he got roughed up. You wondered if his knuckles were just as bad under the gloves.

“You alright?” Jason asked once again, wiping away at the ink on your skin.

“Uh-huh.” You dully replied.

“Seem a little nervous.” He commented without looking back at you, dragging the needle across your skin again. “You can’t keep still.”

“Oh.” You mumbled. “Just a little restless. Not used to sitting in one spot this long.” You both chuckled lightly.

“I know the feeling.” Jason responded. “Tattooing is really just a side hustle, I don’t do it all that often.”

“Really? You seem pretty experienced.” You complimented him and took a peek at the work so far. “What’s the ‘main hustle’ then?” You pried and watched his lips curl upwards ever so slightly.

“That’s a secret.” He responds after a moment of hesitation. You thought he was joking—just a bit of a tease—but he never did give you a straight answer. You were forced to keep awkwardly staring at the injuries he’d sustained recently and further back and make your assumptions. Maybe he got in a fight with a bear. Maybe several bears.

“Late night tattooing, huh? Any particular reason?” You innocently asked. He laughed just a little—just enough to embarrass you a little bit—and stopped tattooing.

“Let’s take a break. Can I get you a water?” Jason offered and walked over to the mini fridge.

“Oh, uh, sure?” You accepted. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”

“No, not at all.” He assured, handing you a cool bottle and taking his seat once again. “You’re just full of curiosity. Remind me of my brother. Always asking questions.”

“Not always a bad thing.” You took a sip and checked the work in progress. “Looks promising so far.”

“I’d hope so.” Jason used a paper towel to pat it lightly with a gloved hand. “You’re a bleeder.”

“Needles do that.” You nodded playfully. He was charismatic, made you feel welcome and not like a burden for making him do the work. He liked your design, he helped bring it to life, and he made sure you were comfortable when the needle was in your skin. You were just so curious about who this guy was when he wasn’t in this dump of a tattoo shop. “You ever gonna tell me what the main gig is?”

“I’m a pastor.” Jason answered and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I bet.” You noticed your cheeks start to hurt from the smirk you couldn’t shake since you’d started conversation. “Boxing?”

“You could say that.” Jason agreed with that guess. “Why do you think that?”

“The bruise on your face and all your bandages.” You tilted your head to motion what you’d noticed in your short time together. “Is that not it?”

“Oh, no. Right on the nose.” Jason was either very good at lying or had a very dry sense of humor. Either way, you figured it was time to stop prying. He was, after all, just your tattoo artist.

After a few minutes of cooling down, Jason got back to work. He’d been more focused thaan before, brows furrowed as he lost himself in the detail. That could only benefit you, though. And by the end, the tattoo looked beautiful.

“Thank you, it really looks amazing.” You moved to check all angles in the mirror.

“It was a great piece, I’m glad I did it justice.” Jason started cleaning up as you paid, you said your goodbyes and left the building.

Gotham wasn’t exactly the safest of places and you were pushing 2AM as you walked down the street. Of course you knew walking was not the best mode of transportation, it was the one getting you home tonight. Especially after blowing all that money on your tattoo.

Halfway home, you realized that you were being followed by a group of people that definitely did not know you or have any positive intentions. You picked up the pace and upon realizing this, they began advancing. You thought that it was over for you before loud screams caused you to stop and spin around. There you saw a man in a red mask standing over several unconscious bodies, freshly beaten by himself. Red Hood. “Are you alright?” He asked you, which gave you deja-vu. Even with that mask on, the warped voice, the concern in the question could not thwart you.

“Jason Todd?” You asked in a whisper. The mask didn’t convey any emotions, but the pause in his answer did.

“…No.” He said.

“Yes.” You replied. “Boxing.”

“Let’s not talk here.” He requested, walking along with you to a safer location. It took some time, but you got home okay.

“Were you following me?” You finally got the chance to ask him.

“Yes.” Jason responded honestly. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Luckily, I was there. You make it a habit walking alone in Gotham—at night?”

“I ought to do it more often if it means you’ll be watching.” You slyly flirted with him, adrenaline still pumping a bit from the tattoo and the fear of being attacked on your walk home.

“Oh, how hilarious.” Jason took off his helmet after you let him inside. “Don’t do dumb shit like that again. You’re gonna get that pretty face of yours roughed up if you’re not careful.” He warned in the same flirtatious tone.

“What, like yours?” You tapped the side of your facecthat mirrored his bruise and he nodded.

“This isn’t pretty. And I’ve been through much worse, believe me.” Jason put his helmet back on.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You sat down on your couch. “I’m sure you have other beautiful people to follow home and ensure their safety. Have fun out there.”

“Remember the care tips for that tattoo. That’s some of my best work there.” He pointed sternly as he approached the door.

“You’ll just have to check in and make sure. Maybe you can help me with that, too.” You smiled mischievously and wondered if he was blushing under that helmet.

“Maybe I will.” His mask distorted his voice still and he shook his head. “Make sure to lock this.” Jason reminded as he exited out the front door.

“How will you get back in, then?”

“I’ll knock.”

taglist: @captainshazamerica // @cipheress-to-k-pop // @the-did-i-ask // @azazel-nyx // @summersimmerus // @deanzboyfriend // @zoeyserpentluck // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (9/?)

Part Summary: You get more than you bargained for on Halloween

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 7.300+ | Warnings: Light angst, R and Leigh being obtuse | Author's Note: Longest chapter so far (and about 90% of it is just Leigh and R)! I have officially written another novel length fic with this update. From a two-shot to this? Wouldn't be possible without everyone's support. Thank you, everyone. I have a little treat for you at the end.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

-

Despite Leigh's promise to bring Logan in for his vaccinations, she missed the appointment again for the second time. Understanding that life gets hectic, you decide that rather than seeing Logan miss another round of critical vaccinations, you'll take matters into your own hands and arrange a home visit at the Shaw’s.

On the day of the visit, you discover that Logan has gained 2.5 pounds in just two weeks. The drastic weight gain might indicate that he’s not a purebred Shih Tzu as you originally thought when you got him, or Leigh has been feeding him more than the recommended serving size. You can feel Logan’s solid back as you hold him in place while you administer the vaccine on his scruff. Leigh appears nervous, and if you weren’t determined to scold her after completing Logan’s immunizations, you might have found it adorable.

“Just a quick pinch, buddy,” you murmur soothingly to the anxious pup. Logan yelps as the needle pierces his skin, but within two seconds, it’s over. You rub his neck to distract him from the sting of the medicine, then return to your insulated bag to dispose of the syringe. Leigh watches closely as you finish with Logan, a slight frown creasing her forehead. You notice she's dressed in what you figure is her nightwear—a thin olive camisole and matching capri pants. It seems too dressed down for receiving a guest.

“Why are these vaccines so important, anyway?” she asks lightly, but you don’t miss her apprehension behind it. “I mean, he'll mostly be indoors…”

The frustration from her missing two appointments sneaks into your voice as you say, “Vaccines can mean the difference between life and death for puppies. Take the parvovirus—it's lethal and spreads quickly.”

Leigh nods, taking in the weight of your words. You notice her swallow, perhaps realizing the graveness of her oversight. “I didn't realize it was that serious,” she murmurs.

You catch yourself, realizing you might be coming across as harsher than necessary. “It's alright, Leigh. That's exactly why I came here,” you say mildly. You've dealt with many uneducated dog owners before, and Leigh is no different. You know you need to be patient with her, just as you have been with others, and you remind yourself not to let your personal feelings interfere with your professional opinions.

Logan wiggles happily at your feet, seemingly forgiving you for the shot already. “And another thing,” you add, glancing down at Logan’s round belly, “he’s put on quite a bit of weight. We need to watch his diet. Too much food isn’t good for him either.”

Leigh looks slightly embarrassed. “I guess I've been spoiling him with extra treats,” she admits. “I'll be more careful with that.”

“It’s okay. I know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to that face,” you say, smiling at Logan while you rub his chin. “Just keep to the recommended portions, and he’ll be in good shape.”

As you gather your things to leave, you remember Logan's vaccine card. After filling out the final details, you head towards the kitchen where Leigh has silently drifted off. She's busying herself with breakfast on the stove when you approach.

“Here's Logan's vaccine card,” you say, handing it to her. “He needs another dose in two weeks, so don't forget to schedule that in.”

“Thank you,” Leigh says, accepting the card with a nod. “I won't forget this time.”

The aroma of coffee wafts through the room, tickling your nose.

“I've just made some coffee. Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Leigh asks.

You hesitate, considering the offer, but you’re inclined to refuse, still irked by her missing the previous appointments. “I’m good, thanks,” you say, a bit too briskly. Leigh's face falls slightly, a look of disappointment flashing across her eyes before she gives you a small, resigned smile and turns back to the stove.

You start to leave but something stops you—the frustration from Leigh’s no-shows running over. 

“Leigh, can I ask why you didn’t make it to the clinic? And not even a text,” you find yourself saying as you spin on your heels to face her. “It’s not just unprofessional—it hurts more coming from a friend.”

“If you have a problem with me, it’s perfectly okay to transfer Logan to another clinic as long as you’ll follow through with his appointments,” you suggest, noting her standing there, mouth agape, her vivid green eyes sharply focused. Getting that off your chest didn't bring the relief you expected. Instead, you're left with a sinking feeling of regret. Looking back on your words, you realize how petty they must have sounded.

Leigh on the other hand, is momentarily stunned by your outburst, her eyes wide as she absorbs your words. Then, something shifts in her expression, a flicker of intrigue crossing her features before she clears her throat and apologizes.

“I'm really sorry,” she says sincerely, turning off the stove and setting down her spatula. “I didn't handle things well, and you were right to call me out on it.” Leigh takes a careful step closer, causing you to instinctively step back until your lower back meets the edge of the dining table. You weren't expecting Leigh to be so understanding, leaving you unsure of how to react. Should you apologize for getting upset?

Fortunately, Leigh doesn't leave you to dwell on your thoughts for long. She continues, “Why don't you stay for breakfast? I can whip up something nice, and we can catch up like we used to. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Feeling like an absolute fool and still grappling with the aftertaste of your flare-up, you find yourself in a quandary. Rejecting her offer would just drag out this uncomfortable moment even longer, which is the last thing you want. Besides, your stomach is growling—you haven’t eaten anything since you got here, and the smell of brewing coffee is too good to ignore.

“Alright,” you relent, glancing down at your feet. “That sounds good.”

Leigh looks relieved. “Perfect, just give me a minute,” she says, clapping her hands together as she turns back to her cooking.

You linger awkwardly, still standing. “Need a hand with anything?” you ask.

“Just sit there, be all pretty, and relax.”

That little compliment makes your cheeks burn even hotter. If you weren’t so distracted by your hunger and embarrassment, you'd swear it’s almost as if she’s flirting with you.

Wait.

Is she?

Then, as if the universe can hear you thinking, Leigh’s phone buzzes loudly on the kitchen counter. She snatches it up, and even though you can’t see her face, you can tell she’s happy he called as she chirps, “Hey, Danny.”

Right. Danny Greer. That name shatters your brief daydream. Suzie was right—you're too close, and it's clouding your judgment. Leigh laughs into the phone, and you look away just in time for her to turn slightly and steal a glance at you.

Alright, you think, that's it. After this breakfast, it's time to really put some space between you and Leigh. You need to clear your head and let her have her space too. It's the best move, for the sake of your friendship and your sanity.

As Leigh busies herself in the kitchen, you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through your phone, not really focusing on anything. The sound of her laughter while she talks to Danny floats over to you, making you regret agreeing to stay for breakfast and blame your inability to say no to her.

She ends the call with a lingering smile and soon approaches with two plates in hand. Each has a stack of pancakes and two sunny-side-up eggs with the edges just crisped up how you like them. The fact that Leigh remembered leaves you speechless. It’s a small detail, but it makes you guilty for brooding and feeling all jealous. 

“I hope you still like your eggs this way,” Leigh says as she sets the table.

“Thank you,” you say warmly as Leigh pours coffee for both of you. Recalling her preference, you offer to add two sugars to her cup, and she rewards you with a small, appreciative smile. She then grabs the syrup from the fridge, along with two sets of utensils, and places them on the table.

You take a bite of the fluffy pancakes, perfectly cooked and deliciously light. “These are amazing, Leigh,” you say enthusiastically.

Leigh beams, standing a bit taller with pride instead of dismissing the praise. “I'm glad you think so! I've been working on perfecting the recipe.”

“Seriously, Leigh, you could sell these.”

She laughs. “Keep the compliments coming and I might just make you breakfast more often.”

You almost choke at her words. You really should take a little break from Leigh until you can get this crush under control. Even simple remarks are starting to feel like a tightrope walk.

Leigh tilts her head slightly, a coy look crossing her face. “So…” she drawls, leaving the word hanging as she waits for you to look up from your plate.

You stop chewing once you sense her heavy gaze on you. “Hmm?”

Leaning in slightly, she lowers her voice as though about to share a secret. “This Sara... is she a friend of yours? Someone new around here?”

The piece of pancake suddenly feels like a mouthful of sawdust as you process her question. You grab your coffee and take a quick gulp to help wash it down. “I, uh, met her on a dating app, actually,” you say.

Leigh's eyebrow arches. “Oh?” 

There’s a short, tense period where you repeatedly stab your pancake and tap your foot rapidly against the leg of the stool you’re sitting on, while Leigh twirls her hair around her finger, lost in thought.

“She’s gorgeous,” Leigh finally says. “I didn’t know you were into women.” That is, unless you and the person from her advice column are one and the same. She's chosen to approach what she's dubbed the “EspressoEyes conundrum” as a Schrödinger’s cat scenario, where you simultaneously do and do not have feelings for Leigh.

You fiddle with your coffee mug. “Yeah, I think I've mentioned that before,” you say, though your memory suddenly feels unreliable.

Leigh shakes her head, certain. “No, you definitely haven't told me that.”

“Well, yes, I'm into women, but obviously I like men too,” you say, deciding it's perhaps better to just be clear. 

“We're the same then,” she says casually, as if discussing something as mundane as their taste in movies.

“Really?” You’re hoping Leigh is buying the faux surprise on your face, even though Jules had let slip about Leigh's college days.

“Yeah,” Leigh nods. “I had a serious relationship with a woman back in college. It's not something I talk about much, but it's part of who I am.”

“I see.”

Leigh takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing you over the rim of her mug with a slight tilt of her head. 

“So, do you like her? Sara, I mean,” she asks.

“Yeah, she’s great. We get along really well.”

Leigh sets her coffee cup down with a small clink, not missing a beat. “Have you guys...you know, slept together?” she asks, more bluntly than before.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a bit like you’re under interrogation. “Um…no, we haven’t.” 

A quick glint flashes in her eyes before it vanishes. Her shoulders relax as she leans back in her chair. “Sorry, that was out of line,” she mumbles with a curt, dismissive laugh. “I guess I'm just being nosy.”

The way she said it doesn't truly suggest she's sorry for crossing some lines, but you’re not focusing on that. Rather, you feel like you’ve earned the right to ask Leigh some questions about her own personal affairs.

“And you?” you start, trying to sound flippant. “How are things with you and Danny?”

Leigh matches your nonchalance as she stands up to gather the empty plates from the table. There's a smooth, practiced ease in the way she begins cleaning up, letting you know she's not about to let your questions corner her.

“Things are... going,” she replies, keeping it vague. “Danny's great. We're figuring things out as we go.”

“Where'd you meet him?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“He's Matt's brother,” Leigh says flatly, without flinching. You have to give it to her for being so straightforward about it. Not that you’re judging Leigh or anything—it’s just that moving from in-laws to lovers is quite an unconventional transition.

It’s also possible that you’re just bitter.

“Did you always find him attractive?” you ask, almost spitefully, curiosity getting the better of you. Leigh freezes, her back going rigid at your callous words. There's a moment of visible tension, but then she lets out a slow breath and lets it slide. She had been quite direct in probing about your dating life, so perhaps this levels the playing field.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Leigh says slowly. “I—”

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!”

Neither of you heard the front door open. Jules bursts in, holding Logan who's wagging his tail wildly at the sight of familiar faces, both oblivious to the cutting atmosphere they've just entered.

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!” Jules exclaims. She looks between you and Leigh. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, noticing the residual stiffness in the air. 

“Y/N was just leaving,” Leigh says. 

You don’t need to be told twice. “Hey, Jules,” you say with a short wave. “I just came to give Logan his shots.” 

Jules frowns slightly as you start to leave so soon after her arrival. You reach over to give Logan a quick pat on the head. Turning to Leigh, you manage a tight smile and say, “Thanks for the breakfast.”

As soon as you're out the door, Jules turns to Leigh with a worried look. “What was all that about?” she asks softly.

Leigh shrugs, her expression inscrutable. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies evenly, turning away to busy herself with the dishes.

-

You get into your car but instead of starting it, you just sit there motionless. Your hands rest aimlessly on the wheel as you lose yourself in thought.

Here’s the truth about Sara:

She's exactly your type on paper—blonde, blue-eyed, stunning. But despite all that, she hadn't managed to hold your attention. Her beauty just couldn't pull your mind away from Leigh, from her vivid green eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

The silence in the car allows you to realize what an odd question you had thrown at Leigh about Danny. You realize just how inappropriate it might have seemed, how it must have sounded coming from a place of jealousy rather than concern.

Why did you even ask that? The answer is uncomfortably clear: you can't be just friends with Leigh. Not anymore. You’ve been lying to yourself, hoping things would just sort themselves out. But they won’t. Not like this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself—or to her. 

Because right now, this friendship, if you can even call it that, is doing more harm than good.

-

“It’s not working.”

Suzie looks up from her clipboard, startled. Her red locks tumble across her face as she tilts her head, brushing them back with a quick flick of her hand.

“Seeing other people, you mean?” she asks, already guessing the root of your distress.

You run a hand through your hair, messing up your low ponytail. Frustrated, you decide to let your hair loose from the tie altogether. 

“I thought if I met someone like Sara—someone who’s practically a checklist of everything I find attractive—it would make things easier. But it’s just... not.” You massage your temples, as if trying to rub away the spell Leigh seems to have cast on you. “She's perfect, but she's not Leigh. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about Leigh.”

“You're right about one thing though,” Suzie says, getting back to her task.

“Which is…?” 

“That Sara’s perfect,” she chuckles, and you can't help but roll your eyes. “Look, you can’t force these feelings. If your heart’s not in it, it’s not in it.”

“So…Should I keep seeing her? Maybe she’ll grow on me or something.”

Suzie stops and gives you a serious look. “Maybe. But love shouldn't feel like an obligation, you know? It’s not fair to either of you if you’re just waiting to see if you’ll catch feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you acknowledge with a sigh. “She’s everything I thought I wanted. And I think she likes me.”

“Sometimes what we think we want isn’t what we really need,” Suzie answers. “Why not take a break? Give yourself some space to think. It might help you figure out what really works—whether it’s Sara, someone else, or just time to yourself.”

“You think so?”

Suzie gives a small shrug. “Look, I don’t have all the answers.”

Hearing that makes you feel a tad embarrassed. You’ve been leaning on her for advice a lot lately, and it’s probably awkward for her, especially since you're her boss. Maybe she’s just being nice because she has to be.

“Thanks, Sue,” you say, standing up from your chair to head back to your office. “I appreciate you listening to all this.”

She smiles back, and you can tell she’s relieved to move on from the subject. Suzie might not have all the answers, but maybe there’s another place you can find them.

-

That night, in your bedroom, you settle in front of your laptop, the cursor blinking expectantly on the blank submission form of the advice column. You type in your handle—EspressoEyes—a moniker you’d used before, thinking it would increase your chances of being noticed again. Quickly, you type out your query and hit send, watching as it disappears into the digital ether. No sooner have you shut your laptop than your phone rings. It’s your mom.

“Hey, Mom,” you answer, shifting to sit against your headboard.

“Hi, sweetheart! Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? We’re starting to plan the menu and would love to have you,” she says. Your chest tightens. Just hearing her voice makes you feel like you’re already home. You pretend to think for a second, considering your rather empty social calendar.

“Yeah, I’ll come home,” you decide, realizing it might be nice to get away for a bit.

“Oh good! It’s been too long. We’ll make sure to have all your favorites,” she chatters on, already listing the dishes that would normally make you salivate. But these days, you just don’t have the appetite for food.

“Sounds great, Mom. Really looking forward to it.” 

You hang up with a promise to send your flight details soon. Setting your phone down, you feel a slight relief at the thought of escaping to a place where no one knows about the mess you’re in.

-

Leigh can’t sleep. She lies wide awake, staring at the ceiling while Danny's snores fill the room. The weight of his arm draped over her stomach feels stifling, trapping her in place. She can’t breathe. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slips out from under his arm and tiptoes out of the bedroom. In the hallway, she grabs one of his shirts hanging over a chair and slips it on. It smells like sandalwood and something uniquely him—comforting yet somehow off-putting at the same time.

She pads into the kitchen to boil some water, the soft click of the stove burner igniting a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. With the kettle on, she wanders into the living room, pulling Danny's shirt closer around her. Even with the windows closed, the crisp chill of autumn seeps in.

Sitting on the couch, Leigh pulls her knees to her chest. The post-sex cocktail of oxytocin and vasopressin usually knocks her out, but tonight they fail her. Instead, her mind is filled with doubts and the urge to flee from any kind of closeness.

She remembers the last conversation with you, the disapproval on your face when you finally mentioned her relationship with Danny. It troubles her more than she expected. Were you right? Is she just scrambling to fit someone, anyone, into her life, even if it means ignoring the screams inside her head telling her to run?

The kettle whistles, snapping her out of her thoughts. She makes her tea and settles back into the couch, stirring slowly as she thinks about what it might mean to step back from everything—Danny, you, all of it.

With nothing but time until sleep takes her or the sun rises—whichever comes first—Leigh picks up her phone to distract herself. She scrolls through social media, news articles, anything to keep her mind off the spinning thoughts. Eventually, she wanders to the advice column inbox to check on the latest submissions.

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees another entry from EspressoEyes, a handle she recognizes—possibly yours. It reads:

“Is it wise to pursue other relationships if you have strong feelings for someone else? That someone is a friend, and staying just friends is becoming increasingly difficult. My feelings seem to be putting a strain on our relationship. Should I give myself some space?”

Leigh reads the message two more times. She sets her phone down, her thumb instinctively finding its way to her mouth where she nibbles at the nail, a nervous habit when she’s thinking long and hard. And the more she thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes. Of course, she's the friend you're talking about. This is you, openly struggling with your feelings for her. She had hoped things might change, might become less complicated when Sara came into the picture, but she was mistaken. 

When she asked about Sara, Leigh was trying to gauge your feelings for her, wondering if Sara's presence meant she didn't need to worry about whether you were EspressoEyes or not. In her mind, if you were involved with Sara, it would imply you weren't interested in Leigh. But she surprised even herself by asking if you had slept with Sara, unsure why she needed to know that detail. Deep down, she couldn’t openly admit just how relieved she felt when you told her you hadn’t.

Leigh picks up her phone again and starts typing out a reply to the submission. When she’s done she tosses her phone somewhere on the couch and goes back to her tea. Sitting there, she watches as the sky outside shifts from dark to a wash of pastels. 

-

A week later, Leigh’s phone vibrates incessantly on the table, the screen lighting up with Danny's name again. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she turns it off and sets it aside. They've been cycling through breakups and makeups so often it's exhausting—a twisted routine, one that's leaving her more drained each time. 

It's Halloween, and since she and Danny are off again, Leigh decides to take the night for herself. She picks Matt's favorite restaurant, which is fully decked out for the holiday, with jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls and eerie candles flickering on each table. She orders a pumpkin-spiced latte and a small plate of appetizers, settling in to enjoy her evening solo. Later, she’ll have that tiramisu that her late husband so adored.

Matt always loved this holiday because it was the one time of year Leigh would indulge him by dressing up as whatever comic book character he was into at the moment. They'd start the evening here for pre-dinner celebrations before meeting up with friends and family later on. But tonight, there are no costumes for Leigh; she's dressed simply in jeans and a cardigan, her face free of makeup, her hair tucked behind her ears to keep it out of the way while she eats. 

As she waits, she watches families and couples in costumes come and go, a bittersweet creeping up at her.

Then, you walk in. You’re dressed sharply, scanning the room like you're meeting someone—on a date. Leigh catches her breath. Were you aware that this was Matt’s favorite restaurant? Moreover, it’s been almost two weeks since that awkward morning when you left in a haste. You haven’t noticed her yet. Leigh watches you for a moment, debating what to do. She’s torn between going over or staying put. The last she contributed to the advice column, she’d left a message she hoped you'd find useful if you were indeed the person she’s been advising to. From the look of things, maybe you were taking that advice after all.

Taking a deep breath, Leigh stands and walks over. As you turn and notice her, a small, tentative smile appears on her lips when your eyes meet.

“Hey.”

You return the smile, though it's imbued with a bit of wariness. She appreciates it nonetheless.

“Hey,” you say. 

Leigh doesn't beat around the bush; she gets straight to the point of why she came over. “Look, I'm sorry,” she says, the words coming out almost demandingly. “About last time. I crossed a line asking about Sara.” 

There's an unmistakable assertiveness to her apology, carrying the same confidence and directness with which she usually addresses any issue. She doesn’t bow her head or wring her hands; instead, she holds your gaze steadily, expecting her apology to be taken as seriously as she means it. 

“It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly in line myself when I brought up Danny,” you say, looking up at her. Then, searching for something else to say, you ask, “So, are you here to meet Danny?”

Leigh seems unfazed by the mention of Danny, yet again. You feel a bit silly soon after, realizing that after just acknowledging the awkwardness of digging into each other’s romantic lives, here you are, doing it again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“No. I’m on my own tonight,” she replies. Then she mirrors your earlier question, a slight tilt to her head. “And you? Here with Sara?”

“No, things didn’t push through with Sara. I’m meeting someone new,” you say, the words feeling strange as they come out. It was a simple yes or no question, and you're not quite sure what compelled you to open up about the specifics of your dating life.

Leigh just nods, her face neutral, not giving away anything in reaction to your news. “I should let you get back to your, uh, date,” she says, then quietly returns to her seat.

Having a date with a stranger just a few feet away from the woman you truly care about is about as ironic as the universe can be.

-

You’re on your second americano, the bitter taste barely registering as you glance at your watch for the umpteenth time. It's been thirty minutes past the time your date was supposed to arrive, and there's still no sign of him. 

The restaurant has filled up around you. Families are tucked into booths, laughing and sharing plates piled high with food. Groups of friends clink glasses in cheerful toasts, and couples lean close, whispering and smiling over candlelit tables. Sitting alone at a table set for two, you start to feel conspicuously isolated. 

The last two texts you sent within the hour remain unanswered, their blue bubbles on the screen marking the time you spent waiting. Determined to find some explanation, you open the dating app where you met him, your fingers tapping nervously. There, his profile pops up, showing that he is currently online. Relief washes over you for a moment—maybe there's a reasonable explanation. He might still show up. But as you tap the message icon to send him a query about his whereabouts, a sudden notification stops you: you can no longer message this user.

Feeling disheartened and embarrassed, you can’t help but feel all kinds of ugly for being stood up by someone who doesn’t even mean anything to you. Did he see you waiting and decide not to meet? What about you turned him off? You find yourself scrutinizing everything about your appearance. Was it what you were wearing—perhaps not feminine enough for his taste? Your hair was pulled back, exposing your forehead; maybe he didn't like that look. Or was it your posture—too slouched or too stiff? You even wonder if he might have passed someone else on his way here, someone he found more attractive. It's unsettling to realize how quickly the self-confidence you've spent years building can be shaken in just one evening.

You signal the waiter for the check. Although your stomach is growling, the thought of eating anything seems impossible right now. You're just focused on getting out of there as quickly as you can. Just as you finish paying, Leigh appears at your table. Without a word, she slides into the seat across from you. You're surprised to see her, and although you're not really in the mood for company or conversation, her presence is somehow less intrusive than you would expect.

“I couldn't help but notice your date never arrived,” Leigh comments with an amused smile, inadvertently adding salt to the wound. You think to yourself, Way to rub it in, Leigh, but you're too drained to actually say anything confrontational, so you just mumble a small, “Yeah.”

Leigh leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if she's about to let you in on a secret. 

“Want to get out of here?”

-

It’s definitely not a date. Far from it.

It’s just two friends winding up spending Halloween together by chance.

It’s what Leigh keeps telling herself.

Leigh didn’t know what came over her when she went back to your table. She hadn't thought she'd be asking you to ditch the restaurant and wander the city for the rest of the night—together. What she did know was that she had been eating unusually slowly, glancing over at you occasionally to see how your evening was unfolding. But as it became painfully obvious that your date was a no-show, she couldn’t take it; seeing you left to handle the disappointment alone was more than she could bear.

Turning to Leigh in your car, you ask, “Do you mind if we stop first at the 7-Eleven on Main? I haven't had dinner yet.”

“What kind of dinner can you get from a 7-Eleven?” she asks.

You shrug and say, “Donuts.”

At the 7-Eleven, you grab a box of assorted donuts, and on a whim, you also pick up a few cans of beer to go along with them. With snacks in hand, you drive to a spot that overlooks the city—the same one where Leigh took you after getting takeouts the first time around. It’s not secluded—there’s a small crowd, with several cars parked and groups of people lounging on their car hoods.

“I wasn’t always attracted to him,” Leigh murmurs, after finishing her first beer. You both sit side-by-side with the trunk of your car open, swinging your legs while Leigh’s are crossed over the edge of the trunk.

You glance over at her, a curious ‘Hm?’ escaping your lips, though they're still full of donuts. 

Leigh chuckles at your reaction, finding the sight of your cheeks stuffed with food more endearing than she probably should. 

“Danny,” she clarifies with a sigh. “I actually used to hate him. He was always such a burden on Matt. Always dragging him into trouble.”

You think about what she's said, then offer a perspective, “You know, they say hate isn't the opposite of love, it's indifference. So maybe there’s always been something there, something more than just annoyance.”

Leigh leans back, stretching her arms out behind her for support as she considers your point. You find yourself wondering what's going through her mind. Is your honesty drawing her even closer to Danny? You could have exploited her past feelings, suggesting that maybe she's always disliked Danny and is confusing her loneliness for love. But you choose not to manipulate her emotions, even if it might be easy to sway her. You won't take advantage of her vulnerability just to get what you want.

Though you can’t deny that the temptation is there. 

“Leigh, can I ask you a question?” you say, watching her closely. 

She nods, her face open and expectant as she pops open another can of beer.

“How did you find out about me and Matt?”

Leigh takes a sip before answering. “Didn’t I mention it before?”

You purse your lips and shake your head, maintaining a neutral expression as you encourage her to elaborate.

“Danny told me,” Leigh reveals after a brief pause.

“What exactly did he tell you?” 

Leigh hesitates, her eyes flickering to the side before meeting yours again. She sets the can down, her fingers drumming against the aluminum in a slow, rhythmic pattern. 

“He just flat-out told me one night. I didn't believe him at first, so he mentioned your name to prove it, and I pieced together the rest. I tried to learn everything I could about you, where you lived... and that’s how I discovered your clinic in the city. And I... well, you know the rest,” she says. From what Leigh said, you easily conclude that Danny hadn't come clean to her about his role in facilitating your relationship with Matt. He had conveniently removed himself from the narrative, leaving out his involvement entirely. Lost in thought, you don't realize you've grown quiet until Leigh's voice pulls you back.

“Why do you ask?”

If you answer that question, you don’t believe you can continue hiding the truth about Danny any longer. As you watch Leigh, relaxed in the back of your car, her hair tousled by the gentle evening breeze, you're torn. You're afraid of disrupting her peace. The truth, as it often has, seems only to bring her pain. So, you buy yourself some time to think. 

“Do you ever wish he had just kept it to himself? That you never knew any of this?”

Leigh appears briefly disconcerted by the question. She takes some time to think about how to respond, and you give her the time she needs, reaching for another piece of donut from the box. At this rate, you're on track to polish off half a dozen all by yourself.

“Knowing the truth hurt—a lot. It felt like I was suddenly a stranger to my own life,” Leigh says, looking somewhere distant before her eyes return to you. “But then again, knowing has changed how I see things, how I see him—and even how I see you. It’s given me a chance to see things as they really are, not just how I want them to be.”

“You never would’ve met me,” you say with a light-hearted grin, almost suggesting that maybe it was better she hadn’t. But Leigh gives you a look, a gentle sadness in her eyes that makes it clear she doesn’t entertain the thought of not having met you.

“What about you? Do you wish things had stayed hidden?” she asks, turning the question back on you.

A part of you—a very significant part—trembles on the edge of laying bare your feelings for her.

Fiddling with the edge of the donut box, you let a small smile flicker across your lips, but it doesn't reach your eyes. “There's something to be said for not knowing everything. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss,” you say softly. “I mean, not knowing can save you from a lot of unnecessary heartache.”

As you speak, you’re still weighing whether knowing Leigh is turning into an unnecessary heartbreak.

Leigh nods slowly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a bittersweet smile. “Well, when you put it that way, maybe not knowing some things is for the best.”

It feels like a silent agreement on that fine line between knowing everything and being happier not knowing. Perhaps what you can do for now is spare Leigh from her own unnecessary heartbreak. If what she has with Danny is working, why ruin it?

“You know what's missing here? Music,” Leigh muses, reaching for her third beer. “Oh, and you better keep up,” she adds, glancing at the single beer you’ve had.

“Or how about you pace yourself? I'd hate for the party to end too soon for you,” you quip slyly. 

Leigh grins, unfazed by your warning. She leans closer, and her breath, warmed by the beers, brushes against your cheek. “Speaking of parties, I actually got invited to this Halloween bash tonight. Everyone's supposed to be in costume, and there will definitely be music. We should go. What do you say?”

You pretend to think about it, but you’re already clearing out your trunk and hopping off it as you reply, “Well, you did say you needed music.”

-

A party isn’t really your scene.

Leigh is already tipsy by the time you both arrive at it. People are either clad in bulky costumes or barely dressed at all. Halloween decorations dangle from the ceiling, a foot or two above the faces of the revelers as strobe lights flash in erratic bursts. You weave through a crowd of zombies and sexy nurses, the bass from the DJ's speakers vibrating under your feet.

As you're both making your way toward the bar, a co-worker spots Leigh and pulls her aside excitedly. “Leigh, over here!” they shout over the noise, grabbing her arm. She turns back to you with a slightly apologetic grin. “Just a sec, I'll catch up!” she promises, before being swallowed by the crowd, her hand slipping from your arm.

But that was half an hour ago.

Now, you're feeling dizzy from the alcohol that's been keeping you company in Leigh's absence, and the sea of masked and painted faces around you is starting to merge into a blur. You round a corridor that brings you back to the main room and finally, you spot her. Leigh is near the dance floor, laughing with a group dressed in characters you don’t recognize. She sees you and waves excitedly, her movements a bit too exaggerated. You make your way over, dodging a particularly enthusiastic witch.

“Found you,” you say, as you reach her side.

Leigh grins, her eyes bright. “Dance with me!” she yells over the music, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the throng of sweaty bodies. Too exhausted to argue, you let her lead you into the chaos. As the music takes over and you both start to dance, the rest of the party fades into the background. Leigh's hand is warm in yours, her other hand reaching up to loop around your neck. The music swells, and the crowd presses in, pushing you closer together. Her breath is sweet with the tang of alcohol, and her cheeks are flushed.

Leigh’s movements become less and less coordinated as she leans into you, her body heavenly against yours. Her lips come dangerously close to yours, barely brushing against them, and for a moment—surrounded by her warmth and scent—you're tempted. You want her, deeply, irrevocably—

But not like this.

You firm your hands on her hips, pushing her slightly away. “Hey, let's get some air, yeah?” you suggest calmly despite your heart going crazy in your chest.

She looks up at you, a bit confused but nods, her smile unfaltering. You take her hand again and guide her off the dance floor. Moving through the crowd proves to be a challenge with Leigh's unsteady steps. She stumbles, laughing as she clings to your arm for support.

“I almost ate it back there!” she exclaims, still giggling.

“Yeah, you did,” you mutter distractedly. As the festive sounds of the party fade behind the closed door, reality slaps you both with a sobering chill. Leigh is simply too drunk, and you’re almost a fool for nearly taking advantage of that. You can't concentrate on anything but what nearly happened back there.

You feel Leigh’s hand slip back into yours, slotting in place like magnets that just fit together. Her laughter has quieted, and she leans into you slightly, resting her head on your shoulder. It's then you realize that a drunken Leigh is more affectionate and less aware of physical boundaries—dangerous.

“You know, maybe we should call it a night? I can take you home,” you suggest, making an effort not to lean into her, even though the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and the faint scent of sweat beckons you closer.

Her reaction is immediate and surprisingly lucid. “I can’t go home like this,” Leigh protests, straightening up. “Jules has her own Halloween thing tonight, and I can't show up drunk and be seen like this by her. She’s been sober for a year now; I can’t just...” Her voice trails off, filled with worry. 

You glance at your wrist and see it's already 2 AM. A sigh escapes you as the reality of your early morning responsibilities begins to weigh in. You have to be up in four hours to open the clinic at 8 AM, and staying out to make sure Leigh fully sobers up is far from feasible. Leigh appears exhausted, her eyes heavy, even as she tries to muster a smile.

“Listen, Leigh,” you say, eyeing a practical solution. “I have an early start tomorrow, and you look like you need some rest. How about you crash at my place tonight? You can sleep it off and head home in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

Leigh seems to consider this for a moment, her gaze drifting towards the street where groups of men glance their way as they pass by. Finally, she nods meekly, looking relieved.

“That sounds really good right now. My head feels heavy, and I just want to go to sleep,” she mumbles, letting out a weary sigh and rubbing her eyes. You help her to her feet and steady her as you both walk back to your car, which is fortunately parked nearby. Leigh curls up in the passenger seat, and you crack the windows to let in some fresh air.

Once home, you give Leigh some clothes to change into and then start setting up the couch for yourself, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket from the cupboard. As you turn back a while later, you see Leigh, in her slightly tipsy state, misinterpreting your preparations. She gives a small, tired smile and plops down onto the couch. Reacting quickly, you catch her just before she falls completely into it.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers, surprised as she finds herself practically in your arms, half-carried in a bridal style.

You feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your chest, aware of how close she is. “This is for me,” you say, nodding towards the couch, “you’re taking the bed.”

To avoid any further confusion, you slowly lift her up, wrapping an arm securely around her waist as you guide her to your bedroom. Leigh’s head remains tucked in your neck, her body relaxed and yielding as you move.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she mumbles against your skin, though her tone suggests she’s grateful for your care. You don’t see the blush that has crept to her own cheeks, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assure her as you gently set her down on your bed. “Make yourself comfortable. The mattress’ much better for a good night's sleep.”

Leigh nods, pulling the covers around her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and more sober now.

“Anytime,” you respond with a reassuring smile. “Good night, Leigh.” You close the bedroom door softly behind you and retreat to the couch. 

“Good night, Y/N…” Leigh whispers to herself, a faint smile touching her lips as she nestles deeper into the bed. 

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

How to knit a Six of Crows blanket!

Hi my darlings, after posting quite a bit about my Grishaverse knitting projects I’ve had a few people ask if I have any kind of pattern or instructions for the Six of Crows blanket I made. I completely drew it myself and (as someone who has never designed a real pattern) figured it out as I went but I thought I’d do my best to put together a step-by-step guide of what I did for my one so you can try it if you’d like to! If you do this and share it anywhere then if you could please credit me for the design that would awesome <3

My finished blanket is approximately 117x120 cm, or 46x47 inches, and it looks like this:

Yarn I used: so sorry I can’t remember and I don’t have the information right now but if anyone wants me to I can update this when I find it; I know that it was bulky weight though

Needle size I used: 9mm

Stitches you need to know how to do: Knit and Purl

Other techniques you’ll need to know: the fair isle method for colourwork, and possibly how to back a blanket but I will explain that in more detail because I had to learn how to do it for this project

Tags: @marielaure @spike-is-not-a-dogs-name @scenemime @worth-this-and-more @wisegirl29 @atac-agent @uttermywish @feralipadkid @fairytalesofforever

Guide below the cut!!

Step 1: the first thing you need is a chart, because this is knit in fair isle. I’m sure there are proper softwares for designing fair isle charts but I uploaded a photo of the six of crows book cover onto a free drawing app called Ibis Paint X, went over it in flat colours to create a more 2D design, superimposed a grid over the top, and then went round every individual square of that grid and edited the image so that there was one colour in each square (ie, pixelated it). The fun thing about doing it like this is that you can easily change it to be whatever size you want by changing the size of your grid (each square represents one stitch). As I mentioned before, if you use the same yarn as I did and the exact same chart as I did it comes out to be around 117x120 cm or 46x47 inches; it’s pretty square and smaller than your average blanket, which is perfect for what I wanted but might not be perfect for what you want so you might want to adapt that if you’d rather a different size. This is what my chart looked like:

Step 2: casting on and knitting! This is the most fun bit, in my opinion. My grid is 103 stitches wide so and I wanted to have a border all around the edges so the first thing I did was cast on a full row in the cream yarn that I wanted to make that border from, with two more stitches

1) Cast on 105 of cream yarn. This should be the number of stitches across the x-axis of your pattern plus 2, to create a border either side. This cast on row will then create a one row border at the bottom of your work.

2) K1 in cream, knit first row of pattern, K1 in cream

3) P1 in cream, purl second row of pattern, P1 in cream

4) repeat steps 2) and 3) until the pattern is complete

5) complete an entire row in cream yarn

6) cast off - this is always so exciting!!! This is when you get the first real sense of accomplishment, in my opinion

I don’t have loads of progress photos, I’m afraid, but this is what mine looked like when I first cast off:

(The edges are curled here so you can’t see the border on the sides, but it is there, also the lighting is rubbish sorry)

Step 3: Weave in all the ends. Gonna be super honest this step is deeply boring but incredibly important; there are a lot of ends to deal with here. Sorry I don’t have a photo of the wrong side of my work but if you imagine at least one loose end for every section of colour change you can gather that it’s a lot haha

Step 4: Backing!! Now there can be different methods of backing depending on what kind of fabric you choose, I can’t actually tell you what kind of fabric I used other than that the colour was called ‘luna grey’ because the label didn’t actually say what it was so I just decided to go for it. I could only buy it in metres or half metres so I had to get 150cm and then trim the excess. Remember to cut your backing fabric larger than your knitting!! - you need lenience to sew it in. I chose a soft fabric that wasn’t very stretchy. If you get a stretchier fabric you might want to use something to band the knitting first so that you avoid pulling it out of shape.

Lay the right sides of your two pieces (fabric & knitting) together and securely pin three sides.

Once your right sides are pinned together you can go all around your three pinned edges and sew together. Sewing is not my forte so if it isn’t yours either don’t worry, what’s good about this is that your stitches won’t actually be seen once the project’s done so don’t worry too much if they aren’t super neat. I used a running stitch and caught the underside of the knitting without going all the way through so that I knew my stitches wouldn’t be visible. If you want to add extra security, you can go round this sewing section twice. I personally hand sewed this, I think you could use a machine if you wanted to but be careful that the knitting doesn’t catch.

This is an exciting bit because you can really start to see the finished project

Once you’ve sewn your first three sides what you essentially have is a giant inside out pocket, and you can turn it right side out so it looks something like this:

Sorry it’s not a great photo.

After this I trimmed off the excess fabric and just sat and stretched everything out to make sure it was sitting properly and I was happy with it. If you’re also trimming off excess fabric, remember to leave the same amount of lenience (I did about five centimetres/two inches) as you did for the original edges!!

Then fold your lenience fabric inside the pocket and pin it nice and securely. I used a YouTube video to learn an invisible stitch to close this edge and it worked really well once I’d gotten the trick of it, I was really pleased. I practiced it on the excess fabric is cut off first and I definitely recommend that, it was really helpful

And then that’s it!!!

Here is my finished project again:

I am so overjoyed with how this came out!

I hope that this guide was somewhat helpful, though I realise it’s clear that I don’t write patterns and am probably not very good at describing what I did so I’m sorry if anything was unclear. If you try this let me know, and if you share it anywhere please credit me! 🖤🖤

[yellowjacketsfashion]

While there are lots of options as to where you can buy a replica of the Yellowjackets Letterman Jacket, they’re not always easily attainable. Last year for halloween I made my own letterman and I figured others could find my process helpful. (The supplies I used were things I already had or were accessible to me but there are other ways to create the same thing. If you have different materials that also work feel free to make suggestions or use them in your process).

HOW TO MAKE A YELLOWJACKETS LETTERMAN JACKET:

Supplies:

• Gold/Navy Letterman jacket

• Printer

• White Printer paper

• Gold Felt

•Chalk

• Heat ‘n Bond

• Embroidery floss in the colors White, Black, Gold and Gray (I ended up needing two packs of white).

• Embroidery needle

• White (or light colored) tissue paper

• White fabric (I used cotton)

• Embroidery hoop

• (Optional) White and Black thread

• Glue stick

Step 1: Aquire your jacket.

You can do a lot of different things for the plain base jacket. I bought mine off Amazon but if wanted too you could probably sew one or buy one second hand etc. The only specification is that it’s Gold and Navy. It is important to do this first because everything else builds off of this step.

Step 2: Print out designs.

Use the photos I provided below and paste them into a word document. From there you can size them up or down to reach the size that you like for printing. The “Yellowjackets” logo is for the back of the jacket so when I did it I kind of split the photo in half and put it on two different pages. In the end it turned out to be just shy of 13 inches length wise. The round patch goes on the front and mine was 4.25 inches in diameter.

Depending on the size of your jacket your patches can be bigger or smaller, but once your happy with the sizing you can then move onto the next step.

Step 3: Gather supplies.

The gold felt is to be used to create the back patch. Because of the size of mine I was able to get a little 50 cent sheet of it (I was able to place the logo at an angle to fit it) but because the patch sizes will be different it’s important to bring your print out of the logo when shopping to make sure you have enough. Most craft / fabric stores should have this in stock. It’s also a good idea to bring your letterman jacket with you to try to color match the shades of gold/yellow as best as possible.

The embroidery hoop, floss, white fabric, and thread are for the front patch as I hand embroidered mine but in theory you could use an embroidery machine or printable fabric sheets to create your patch. If you use these other methods you’ll need different supplies and different instructions that I can’t give.

The Heat ‘n Bond is to iron the patches onto your jacket so they stick (though I’ve had to re iron my back patch because the fibers of the wool make it hard to stick to). It will essentially act as double sided tape.

Step 4: Creating & attaching the back patch

• Cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the area where your logo will go.

(i am using colored paper in the example pictures. Yellow represents the felt. White represents the heat and Bond).

• Once you have the right sized piece of Heat n’ Bond, iron it onto the back of your piece of Gold felt (make sure to follow the instructions on the Heat n’ bond packaging).

•Use your printed template of the logo and cut out the words on the felt. You can cut out the logo on paper first and trace it or attach the paper to the felt and just cut them both at the same time. (I moved the dot on the J down so that it’s still attached just to make it easier but you can do whatever you want).

• Put on your Letterman and use the chalk to mark where on the back you want the patch to go. For this step it can be helpful to have someone else assist you (though it’s possible to do it yourself).

• Take off the jacket and lay it flat to align the patch up with your chalk markings. Once it is where you want it you can Iron it onto the back of the jacket (according to the instructions on the Heat n’ Bond).

You now have a finished back patch!

Step 5: Creating the front patch.

• Trace the design of the front patch onto tissue paper (I would suggest a dark pen or sharpie so you can see it really well). If you have trouble seeing the design underneath it can be helpful to hold it to a window pane when it’s sunny or another light source. The photo of the logo I included has a white border around the black words but the patch in the show doesn’t have it so I just ignored it. From there you glue the traced tissue paper onto the fabric.

• Cut out a piece of white fabric big enough for your embroidery hoop and glue the tissue paper sketch onto the fabric.

• Put the fabric/tissue paper into the Embroidery hoop.

• Thread the needle and start embroidering the design. I found it good to use different techniques on different areas of the patch (long white stitches on the wings versus short ones on the background etc. I also thought it was helpful to embroider in color groupings (so like white all at once or yellow all at once etc. so you don’t have to switch out the floss that much). Save the white outer circle and black outline for last though to help clean everything up. The white and black sewing thread can be used to outline smaller details or neaten up some of the floss.

• Once the patch is done cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the back of the patch.

• Put on your jacket and mark with chalk where you want to put the patch. In the show it’s placed by the second from the top button. (See Jackie reference photo at the top of the post).

• Iron on the Heat n’ Bond to the back of the patch (following packet instructions).

• Iron the Patch to the jacket based on your chalk markings.

• You have completed the front patch!

Above are some photo examples of my jacket (please ignore my messy hair in the left picture, being in the snow got it ruffled up).

Sorry for the long post but I think I got everything covered. I hope you guys found this helpful but if you have any questions about the jacket, my process, or anything else feel free to ask!

[oliversrarebooks]

happy to help

Just indulging one of my favorite tropes ever - the disaster genius with the hypercompetent, put-upon assistant. Especially with mutual pining. Especially if they aren't aware they're pining.

Masterlist

tw: hostage situation

"Screwdriver, size 1," said Aurora, absently holding out a hand while staring down at a stubborn part. It took her nearly a full minute to realize that her hand still held only air, no screwdriver forthcoming. "Screw -- oh. Damn it."

Just one more reminder that Gabriel, her trusted assistant, wasn't here. Gabriel would have pressed the right size of screwdriver into her hand before she even finished asking for it. Gabriel would have given her the right size of screwdriver even if Aurora accidentally asked for the wrong one.

But Gabriel was god knows where, and as a result, the screwdriver Aurora needed was also god knows where. The tiny workroom she'd been imprisoned in was an utter disaster zone, tools and parts strewn everywhere. Aurora spent over fifteen of her precious remaining minutes searching for a screwdriver she'd literally just held in her hand, cursing the entire time, until she finally realized that it was in her pocket.

And it was the wrong size anyway.

Fiddling with the screws was a pointless endeavor anyway, just a way to try and quiet her mind so she could figure out the real problem -- in layman's terms, the math wasn't mathing. She swiveled her chair around to stare at the whiteboard covered in diagrams and equations, going over the plans one more time, hoping that this time she'd figure out the flaw.

A little over two days ago she'd been kidnapped by some shady criminal group -- she wasn't sure which one, they all tended to blend together for her. They demanded she build a superweapon to their specifications in three days, or else they'd start killing hostages until they got what they wanted. The superweapon itself was simple, really, and she'd worked out a plan for it in just a few hours. It hardly worth kidnapping someone of her intellect for. If she were the kind of engineer willing to silence her pesky conscience and hand over a doomsday device to some organized crime goons, knowing it'd be used to kill and terrorize countless innocent people, she'd be finished already.

No, the difficult part was coming up with the precise sabotage needed for the weapon to work in tests and fail when put to use against actual civilians. It was a tough needle to thread, and it was what Aurora had spent most of the last two days trying to figure out. And she was so close to an answer, so goddamn close, except the math wasn't working out.

Gabriel would know exactly what was wrong with the equations on the whiteboard. He'd look it all over, silently pick up a whiteboard marker, and issue a correction, shooting Aurora that look that meant "how can someone so smart be so dumb?" The kind of sass she only ever tolerated from him, because he was the only one who could ever keep up with her.

Aurora softly pounded her head against the whiteboard, reminded once again that Gabriel wasn't here. In fact, she didn't know where he was. He wasn't one of the hostages, so he must have escaped -- after all, he always figured out a way to get them both out of the tight spots Aurora was good at putting them in.

He'd definitely escaped. He definitely hadn't gotten caught in the explosion. Gabriel was too smart and too stubborn to die, and besides, it would be incredibly rude for him to die when Aurora needed him so badly. He was the only one who knew where half the things were located in Aurora's lab and the only one who made her coffee the way she liked it.

So he couldn't possibly die. He was absolutely fine. Anything else was unthinkable.

Frustrated and exhausted, Aurora backed up against the wall in the stifling workroom and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. She'd had the bad luck to be kidnapped while in the middle of a multi-day inventing bender, so she hadn't slept at all in at least four days, and it was definitely catching up to her. The numbers on the whiteboard seemed to swim and dance before her eyes, taunting her with the flaw she couldn't seem to detect.

The metal door slammed open, startling her out of her skin as she scrambled to her feet. "What the hell is that for?" she said. "Don't you know I'm trying to concentrate?"

"I just need to make sure you're working on my new little toy." It was the guy in charge, whose name Aurora couldn't remember. She was terrible with names. Gabriel always remembered the names for her. His eyes swept over the cluttered workspace, his hand on the gun strapped to his hip. "None of this looks like a weapon, doctor."

"You told me I have three days. It's not three days yet."

He pulled out the gun and made a show of inspecting it, pointing it right at Aurora as he did. "I don't have a lot of patience, you know," he said. "If you haven't delivered me a working prototype in the next twelve hours, I'll have no choice but to relieve my stress by killing off some of the hostages. Maybe I'll start with the children, let you listen to their screams. Might be a good motivator."

"Are you finished with your monologue?" said Aurora, trying not to betray any emotions on her face. "Because some of us have actual work to do."

That earned Aurora a gun barrel pressed up against the bottom of her chin, and she knew she was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her fear.

"You don't look like you've been doing any work to me," the criminal goon hissed.

"I told you, I need my assistant. I can't get work done without him."

"Then you're going to have to fucking figure that out, aren't you? You're supposed to be a genius. Start acting like one." He finally moved the gun away from Aurora's face. "I'm coming back in, oh, four hours, and if I don't see most of a weapon by then, I'm gonna have to give you some more incentives. Understand?"

"Crystal clear," she said, mouth dry.

He slammed the door behind him as he left, the sound rattling several loose tools off the nearby workbench. Aurora sank back onto the floor.

Oh, she was so fucked. If she couldn't figure out what was wrong with her math in time, people were going to die. Die because of a stupid mistake, die because she couldn't pull it the fuck together.

They'd die because she'd taken Gabriel for granted. If she hadn't treated him so thoughtlessly, if they hadn't had that argument and become separated, then he'd probably be here with her now. He'd figure out the flaw in her designs and a way to escape to boot.

But he wasn't here, and the thought that she might never actually see him again was scarier than the gun that'd been pressed to her throat.

"God damn it, Gabriel," she said, knowing no one would hear it besides whoever was monitoring the security cameras. "I'm sorry, all right? I mean it. I really am sorry."

The door slammed open again. "I found this little rat skulking around. I believe he belongs to you," said the man in charge. A couple of suited goons tossed a squirming and very familiar bundle into the workroom. "Don't say I never did anything for you. No more excuses now."

As the door closed, Aurora stared down at the man pulling himself up off the floor, certain she must be hallucinating. "Gabriel?"

"Hello, sir," he said, brushing off his impeccably starched pants.

"How… how are you here?"

"I broke in, sir."

Hope swelled up in Aurora's chest. "To rescue me?"

"No, of course not. Have you seen how many guards they have out there? I have no idea how to rescue you. Not yet, anyway."

"Then why…"

"I thought you would need assistance, sir, so I broke in and let them capture me, figuring they'd take me to you." He glanced around the disastrous room. "It would seem my assessment is correct."

He was here, he was unharmed, and he was real, right down to the polished dress shoes and oversized glasses. Aurora couldn't hold it in a minute longer. "It really is you, Gabriel," she said, nearly knocking them both over with the force of her embrace. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Well, you're seeing me now, sir."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I really am. I'm not just saying that because I need you to pull my butt out of the fire, even though I do really need you to pull my butt out of the fire. I'm really, truly sorry for how I acted, and I'm sorry I'm always taking you for granted."

"That's very touching," he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. "But is now the right time to have this conversation? We're on a bit of a tight deadline, aren't we?"

We. It wasn't just Aurora's problem, now.

"We are," she said, walking over to the whiteboard. "I have the basic plan for the weapon outlined here, but I'm having trouble with…" She tapped the part of the plans related to her sabotage. They'd been disguised and coded so that the goons watching her wouldn't realize what it was, but Gabriel would know.

Aurora watched as Gabriel's eyes scanned the whiteboard left and right, up and down. His brows furrowed, gears turning in his head. "Interesting…" he muttered.

"Do you get the theory behind what I'm trying to do here?"

"I think so," he said. "But I'm not sure about this part." He picked up a marker and struck out one of Aurora's numbers, writing in his own.

Aurora stared, going over the calculations in her head again, this time substituting in Gabriel's suggestion. "That can't be right, can it?"

"Perhaps not. I'm only trying to make sense of it, sir," he said with a shrug.

"Wait… wait a minute… if we… and then if we…" Aurora's hands were flying now, replacing her numbers as she worked out the ripple effects of the change. "Hold on. Holy shit, that is it, isn't it? That's exactly it."

"Well, you made three more errors, but somehow still came up with the right answer," said Gabriel. "You haven't slept since Tuesday, have you?"

"I have not!" said Aurora gleefully, already giddy at the prospect of sabotaging those rotten bastards that'd dared to kidnap her. "I can sleep once I get this thing done. Can you hand me the --" A screwdriver was pressed into the palm of her hand before she could finish. "Thank you."

His eyes widened. "You never thank me, sir. That can't simply be sleep deprivation. Have they drugged you? Is it mind control? Possession?"

"Is it that hard to believe I appreciate you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I do. And I'm glad you're here. Well, I mean, I'm not glad you got taken hostage -- you know what I mean."

"I suppose," he said. "And for what it's worth, I am glad that you're in one piece. It would mean a lot of extra work for me if you weren't."

For a brief moment, Aurora thought she saw a smile flicker on her long suffering assistant's face. Probably just a hallucination from sleep deprivation.

Masterlist

[erysser]

dinner with nanami 👌 whether it’s a home cooked meal or not, eating with him is a delightful experience hehe hope you can write about this!!!!

MIDNIGHT VENTURES

-> summary: nanami is always overwork and he feels the need to treat you for putting up with it.

-> parings: kento nanami x reader

-> a/n : established relationship, fluff!! Thank you for the request <3

y/n : what time are u coming home?

y/n : i miss you :(

Nanami ❤️ : I’ll be home soon love, don’t worry. I know it’s late, but I have a little surprise for you. Just get yourself ready with a nice outfit tonight love.

Your eyes glance over the message, reading them hungrily. Your eyebrows furrow, as you read the message over and over. A small smile lights up your face, as you slide off your bed, going towards your closet to pick a nice outfit.

Surely, Nanami is planning something, and when he plans, he always is the sweetest. You turn your gaze to a beautiful formal attire, you wondered if it was appropriate enough. Nanami hadn’t graced you with the prospect of whether to dress fancy or not, though knowing him, it was a high chance he reserved a fancy restaurant. A smile lights up your face, thinking of him.

He really was the sweetest.

You sit up on your bed, kicking your feet back as you watch the clock tick.

8:34 p.m

He should be home soon.

•

Nanami’s eyes jumped to clock as he entered the quiet and desolate house. The lights were still on, meaning you were expecting him. Guilt starts to envelope him as his eyes catch the numbers that the needles of the living room clock read out.

11:30 p.m

He mumbles a curse, putting his bag quietly down before heading down to your shared bedroom.

He really wanted to leave early today, yet his idiotic boss had asked him to work overtime as a colleague of him had left earlier and someone needed to pick up the slack. He was going to kill that darn colleague.

The door of the bedroom was slightly ajar, light spewing out to the darkened hallway. He glimpses in, seeing your sleeping figure laid peacefully on the giant king sized bed. His eyes crinkle, a small smile on his face as he observes the way you breathe and sleep.

You were wearing such a nice outfit, no doubt you had fallen asleep waiting on his arrival.

He sighed, slicking his hair back before moving towards the kitchen. It was too late to go to a restaurant, but that did not mean you couldn’t have a nice meal together.

•

You woke up to an aroma that smelled absolutely mouthwatering. You sat up from your position on the bed, groggy and blurred out. You rub your eyes, standing up to explore what that smell was.

What time was it? Had he come home already?

You stumble your way to the kitchen, half awake. As you enter the lit kitchen, you see Nanami standing over the sink, arms deep in dishes as he tries as hardest as possible to make the least amount of noise.

“Kento?” You say, quietly.

“Honey? I’m sorry my love, did I wake you?” He asks quietly, setting the last of the dishes on the drying rack.

“No, you didn’t.” You glance over to the small kitchen table, two plates of your favourite dish in the middle, steam still blooming up from the hot food. You look back at Nanami, eyes softening. “Did you make this?”

Nanami says nothing, moving towards you as he pulls back a chair, gesturing for you to sit. You oblige, eyes still glued on him. He hadn’t changed from his work clothes, how long had he been home?

His eyes meets you, a small smile forms on his tired face as he kisses your forehead.

“Let’s eat honey,” He says, moving to sit in front of you.

“I love you Kento, you really didn’t need to do all this.” You say, taking your spoon and digging into the food he had lovingly prepared for you.

“I love you too, dear; and truly, you deserve it all. I know I haven’t treated you in a while nor have I been here… So, what’s wrong with pampering my lover every once in a while? If I had it my way, I’d do it every day, love.”

You give him a small smile, heat rushing to your face. You spoon the hot food into your mouth, wondering how it would taste as it had been so long since Nanami had cooked for you.

Your eyes widen, as the flavour hits your tongue.

“Kento! This is really good!” You say through bites, as you spoon more of the dish into your mouth.

He chuckles at your reaction, smiling at you.

“I’m glad you think so, my love.”

[olderthannetfic]

Knitting question!

Intellectually I know failure is fine. I'm a beginner! I'm learning! Mistakes are part of the process! But I find it really hard not to be demotivated by projects not turning out how I want

I spent all this time and materials on this and it's just kinda shit?

Did you experience that/have any advice?

--

I definitely experienced that when I first tried knitting. I don't remember, but I suspect it's why I drifted away from the craft for nearly two decades.

I have a couple of semi-failures from my current re-entry into knitting. I intend to frog or partially frog them and re-knit, but there are other projects I care more about that are taking priority so far.

Right now, I love watching youtube videos with little tricks to improve one's knitting or deep dives into technical matters. I find information on fiber fascinating. I think that has helped me avoid many of the problems I experienced the first time around. Even if I run into an issue now, I can probably redo the project to make it how I want.

I think the first thing to figure out is how it's kind of shit. Yes, yes, you're a n00b, but there are lots of reasons projects turn out shitty. Some issues require a lot of practice. Many issues require reading a blog post explaining some technical thing and instantly upgrading your knowledge.

--

For example:

When I first got back into knitting, I got some pretty green yarn and made a Medieval-looking hood. I had no clue how alpaca behaved or that it would be waaaay too flowy for the look the pattern was supposed to have. I was also knitting the pattern with the wrong size of yarn, needle, etc. It turned out way too big for me and a formless blob. It was also itchy.

A year or two later, I threw it in the dryer, and now it's an epic rainy day hood. It's mostly not itchy because the felting stuck down all those hairy ends. It has a lot more body now because it's felt instead of flowy hand-knit alpaca. (And, hey, it's even more Medieval since those hoods were often felt but not often knitted as far as I could tell.)

What went wrong here was mostly that I knew fuckall about fiber. I knew I was making it in some randomass size and didn't really care that it was too big, but I didn't know it would slither off of me due to alpaca's drape. I didn't need practice: I needed someone to tell me how alpaca behaves.

--

Example 2:

I knit that Owls sweater and didn't like how it had no shaping... so I winged it. I ended up with really bizarre shaping because 1. I had no idea what I was doing and 2. I didn't close the underarm holes until the very end, so the sweater appeared to fit when I tried it on.

I could open the underarms back up and knit a separate piece for them, but I realized that I dislike the fabric overall. I knit it on a too-big needle (in my opinion). I thought I liked that looseness in my swatch, but I have changed my mind. I was also worried about running out of yarn (since it's a used yarn that I won't find again), but I had tons left over. I also think I want it more cropped. The yarn has a sort of nasty texture but beautiful color, and I knit quite a tight (and thus scratchy) sweater. I don't think I wet blocked it though, so that might fix the texture.

What I should actually do here, assuming I don't just get rid of the thing in favor of better yarn, is frog it and reknit from the top down, reversing the pattern and not having a phase with the underarms open like that. I should also knit it at a tighter gauge but with a little more positive ease, and I should trust that the stretchiness of wool will make it conform to my body just fine without a lot of shaping. Before any of that, I should wet block it and see how the texture changes.

I don't really consider this a permanent failure. I like the Owls themselves. I can easily just knit this again and get a sweater I want to wear... possibly a cardigan, now that I think about it. The yarn is a relatively robust wool that will be fine being frogged and reused, and knitting it gave me more experience with finishing a whole sweater. My various fuckups taught me things about both knitting and my personal taste.

I guess it could be demotivating because it took a while, but on that bigass needle, it really didn't take that long. I would probably always have knit multiple sweaters from this pattern. I see more than one in my future anyway.

Experience was an issue here, but it wasn't experience with the literal act of knitting. My tension was fine. It was more that I fucked around and found out.

--

Example 3:

I made a self-drafted BTS sweater out of another batch of used yarn that I'll never get more of. I love the body. the sleeves are too tight in the upper arm, and my bizarre-ass design for the top of the body means that the sweater wants to be a boat neck but also fit differently in the sleeves and... gaaaaah. The tight sleeves don't feel bad, but what they do do is make the whole sleeve slide down my arm weirdly because of the fit issues around the boat neck.

Part of why the upper arm area is so tight is that I was worried I'd run out of yarn (which I did) and I wanted a balloon sleeve rather than a straight one. The yarn is so stiff that the balloon part is weird, and the two other purple yarns I added for the lower sleeve look weird. I should have reversed their order because one matches too well, and now it just looks like I ran out and had to add a last inch in a random other yarn. I have most of those two skeins left hanging around and a sweater that fits strangely.

Also... it needs hand washing but is shaped and sized to be worn against bare skin, so it gets stinky after a few hours of wear because I am a sweaty, sweaty person.

In this case, I wouldn't redo the body: this silk blend will look less nice after frogging, and I already roughed it up a lot knitting the damn thing the first time. I knit it starting at the top, so the weird fit across the shoulders is mostly here to stay.

However, I'm pretty sure the bad fit on the sleeves can be fixed by ripping back and adding a bunch of width up top. I can also start with the flowier other two yarns and maybe have bands of this stiffer one that I used in the body. I suspect the weird body fit is fixable by changing what the sleeves are supposed to be doing.

This is another case of fucking around and finding out, so I'm not too disappointed in it. I did wear it to Yoongi's concert too, and it was gorgeous, if too hot.

I do realize now that I hate boat necks, but I think I can put up with this one if the sleeves aren't constantly sliding out of place.

And if fixing the sleeves doesn't rescue this, I might attempt some surgery one of these days, but that's more of a pain in the ass, so that will definitely have to wait.

--

Now, my guess is that your "kind of shit" is not "I freehanded a sweater two seconds after getting back into knitting because I'm a crazy person, and I messed up the shaping".

The more common problems are things like:

Not realizing that you should block or not blocking aggressively enough, so your stitches look way more uneven than they need to, the shape is weird compared to the example pics in the pattern, etc.

Using assy bind-offs so the edge looks amateur instead of polished. (You can go back and fix this.)

Failing to swatch, and now you've knit the wrong size.

Picking a fiber that just cannot do what you want it to—usually seen in people trying to avoid wool and not getting that 99.999999% of trendy patterns are written specifically for wool. I have an ancient sweater from college that looks nothing like the example in the book because all I could afford was big box store acrylic. Never again the plastic horror!

Buying patterns from a size 0 lifestyle blogger aspirational knitwear designer with no boobs and a great photographer, then feeling dumpy when trying the thing on under crappy lighting. This one usually requires a little more self confidence and some bust darts.

Making things in plain stockinette in a light color and smooth yarn like cotton that shows EVERY SINGLE TIME your tension wasn't machinelike. This is unfixable. Don't do this.

--

If you're using mohair or alpaca, frogging may be more trouble than it's worth, but you often can reuse the materials. Granted, you've still sunk that time in, but the materials don't always have to be wasted. That might help it feel more like time you spent practicing and less like a complete disaster.

I'm a very product-focused knitter, so I don't really have practice pieces. I'm knitting to have a Thing and I want to wear that Thing, so I get the disappointment if you don't end up wanting to actually use what you've made.

But that also helps me not get totally demotivated. I still want that Thing and now I have a clearer idea how to make it.

So... what are these "kinda shit" projects anyway? What about them do you not like?

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[carmillascrusade]

Game of love | Larissa Weems x f!reader

Images do not belong to me. Summary: Parents weekend is upon you and you find yourself at the fair with Morticia and Larissa. Confessions ensue.

Word count: 2,940

A/N: I figured I would post this fic that I wrote donkeys ago while I’m working on a multi-chapter fic. It isn’t proofread😨 I feel like my writing style just changes all the time and I can’t get it to be consistent.

Your desk was overflowing with paperwork and unfinished report cards, the sheer size of the work you know you have to do was overwhelming. Dull flames danced in the fireplace, licking the fresh log you put in there a couple of seconds ago, eventually setting it alight. Tiny particles of ash blew around the room, weightlessly floating around, suspended by the air encompassing the room. Oh, what it would feel like to be weightless and free. 

Parents weekend was fast approaching. In two days parents of all would be congregating in the school and the local town- much to the displeasure of the sheriff, and yourself. Two days. You had a measly two days to finish off your work and all the report cards that sat mocking you on your desk. 

With a sigh, you accepted your fate and began to silently plough on with your work. Hoping, no praying, that parents weekend wouldn’t drag. After all, there is only so much socialising you can do. 

Parents weekend came faster than you expected. From the frosted window of your office, you could see cars pouring in through the front gates. Hopefully nobody you went to school with would be here. 

Checking the mahogany grandfather clock that sat in the corner of your office, you glanced at the warped needles to determine that it was only 4 o’clock. Plenty of time to get these reports to Larissa. 

Gathering the pristine envelopes in a bundle, you dashed to Larissa’s office hoping that none of the parents had made their way just yet. 

To your dismay, as well as Larissa’s by the fall of her face, you entered her office as Morticia Frump and her family were there. Huffing softly, you crossed the room with the intent of handing Larissa the reports and leaving as soon as possible. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Morticia, no, she had been your friend during your years at Nevermore together. It was just that you hadn’t spoken to her in years since her marriage, and her presence meant that her husband was here too. Gomez Addams, you thought with distaste. You disliked the man, loathed him even; Larissa had loved him unconditionally and he chose someone else. Who wouldn’t choose Larissa?

Maybe you were just biassed. Maybe your hatred came from the fact that she loved him and not you. Loved him even though you had always been by her side. Loved him even though you have loved her since you were children and never stopped. 

Larissa is the sun, and your life revolves around her; because without her, you wouldn’t be alive. 

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Morticia’s silky smooth voice calling your name, claiming that she hadn’t seen you in years but you still look exactly the same. 

Forcing out a smile at her clearly fake interest in you, you replied. “Yes, I haven’t seen you since you left Nevermore and got married. You still look as wonderful as ever, Morticia. The gods have been kind.” 

“Hmm, I suppose they have. But look at you! The gods have certainly been kind there.” She said, sickly sweet, whilst her eyes roamed up and down your body. 

Larissa’s mouth twitched at that, her perfect smile falling ever so slightly before being abruptly put back in place. She coughed in impatience, dragging both yours and Morticia’s attention towards her. 

“Might I remind you that we are here to talk about your daughter, Ms Addams.” Larissa said with a clipped tone. 

Morticia laughed at that, gliding over to you and placing her arm on your elbow. “We have all weekend to talk about Wednesday, Larissa. I just want to catch up with my friend. Is that so wrong?”

“No, I suppose not.” She huffed, aggravated at Morticia’s audacity to touch you. 

Morticia grinned wickedly at her before turning back to you. “Would you like to go to the fair with me tonight?” She asked, still sporting that sickening grin. 

You pondered her request. While it would be fun to catch up with her, you also knew that she had a deeper motive. She was playing a game that you would rather not play a part in. 

“I suppose we could go to the fair tonight,”

“Oh wonderful!”

“On one condition,”

Her smile fell at that and her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And what is that?” She gritted out. 

“I want to invite Larissa too!” You chirped. If you were going to play this game, you may as well have fun whilst doing so. 

You glanced over at Larissa, smiling wistfully. If only she loved you the way you loved her. 

Morticia huffed at your request, agreeing and inviting Larissa to the fair with the two of you. Fully expecting Larissa to turn down the opportunity in favour of working, you were pleasantly surprised when she agreed; her tone still clipped as she answered Morticia. 

Excited at the prospect of getting to spend time with Larissa outside of the school grounds, you quickly gave her your finished reports, fingers lightly brushing against her own, causing your cheeks to tint pink at the heat radiating off them. Excusing yourself from the room, you made your way back to your room with an extra bounce in your step. The glee radiating off of you noticed by all that passed. 

Tonight was going to be amazing. 

The temperature had dropped drastically since this afternoon, resulting in you looking like a stuffed chicken in your winter clothes. You had decided to wear your favourite jumper, an egg shell coloured woven piece crafted of the finest wool; gifted to you by Larissa of course. 

A small vibration in your pocket alerts you to a message. Pulling your phone out proved to be a great difficulty with your frozen fingers. Larissa had messaged you, letting you know that she and Morticia were sitting on the table closest to the entrance. 

Easy enough to find you supposed. 

Plodding over to the entrance, your eyes scanned the area, desperately searching for the familiar platinum blonde hair you loved so much. Your eyes lit up as you spotted her with Morticia. They seemed to be sat contesting in a nonverbal contest, staring at each other with such contempt that the average onlooker would recoil in fear. 

Rolling your eyes, you slid onto the bench next to Larissa; snapping the women’s attention towards you, eliciting beaming smiles from the both of them. Smiling back, you looked at the outfits the other two were wearing to find that you were the only one dressed appropriately for this weather. 

Huffing in discontent, you eyed both of them wearily. What kind of people don’t wear coats in freezing weather?! It is ridiculous! 

“How aren’t you two freezing?” You blurred out, narrowing your eyes at Morticia specifically. At least Larissa had a blazer on, Morticia just had her iconic dress adorning her body. 

Morticia just laughed at you whilst Larissa offered you a small smile. “My blazer is warm enough for me. Not all of us need to wear twenty layers to stay warm.” She said, lightly joking about your inability to stay warm. 

Your turned your head away from her in false anger before spotting the burger van. Larissa loved burgers. “Larissa!”you shouted excitedly while tugging on her arm. “Look, there’s a burger van! Do you want a burger?” 

Larissa saw the excitement on your face at the prospect of buying her a burger. Unable to deny you, she nodded her head. Beaming at her, you shot out of your seat and bounced over to the burger van. 

She looked over at you fondly. Ignoring Morticia’s prescense completely in favour of watching your retreating form. Morticia wasn’t too pleased at the disregard of her presence, so she decided to start her plan. 

“So,” she drawled. “Do you really think she loves you back, Larissa?” 

Larissa’s eyes narrowed at that, sensing the thinly veiled  threat Morticia had laced into her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She snapped back. 

“Oh, but I think you do. You look at her like she holds the world in her hands. Only a fool would miss it.” 

“I do not.”

“Very well. Let’s make a bet, shall we?” Morticia paused, waiting for an answer. Seeing that Larissa was refusing to speak to her, she continued on anyway. “I bet that by the end of the night, she will be looking at me the way you look at her.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Larissa countered, praying to the gods that they wouldn’t let Morticia take something else away from her. 

“Then I’ll leave you two alone. Deal?” 

“I’m not making petulant bets with you, Morticia. Especially over her.” Larissa seethed, angered by the fact that Morticia would even dare use you in her childish games. 

Glancing over to the side, Larissa saw you bounding back with her burger and two trays of chips in hand. The fact that you hadn’t bought anything for Morticia amused her greatly, eliciting a slither of hope that, just this once, Larissa wouldn’t lose somebody she loved to Morticia Frump. 

You sidled back into the bench next to Larissa, handing her the chips you bought her along with her burger. You had bought her her usual order and yourself some chips. Larissa’s chips were adorned with tomato sauce in the corner whilst yours had vinegar slathered all over them. 

Reaching out to grab a chip, you realised that you forgot to get Morticia anything. Eyes widening at your brief amnesia, you shot her a sheepish look across the table, hoping that she wasn’t too offended. 

Morticia sat with a scowl, arms folded across her chest as she stared at the two of you. Larissa smirked back at her, waving her burger around; the silent message was clear. You had bought Larissa food and not Morticia. 

It wasn’t until you began eating before you realised that Morticia didn’t have anything to eat. Was she expecting you to buy her something? Shrugging your shoulders you figured that she just wasn’t hungry. 

Turning to Larissa, you asked her a question. “What are we going to do first, Rissa?” 

“Hmm,” she hummed, mouth still full of food. Deciding to tease you slightly, she chewed on for a while, pretending to be deep in thought; causing you to stare eagerly with those doe eyes she loved dearly. “ I think that we should go to the darts stall. I would be honoured to win you a teddy.” 

Your squeal of excitement broke through the crisp night air, scaring the previously resting birds causing them to chirp restlessly at the disturbance. Smiling up sheepishly at them, you shouted a quick apology before throwing yourself into Larissa. “Please, Larissa! Please win me a teddy!! I will love you for all eternity, I love teddies!” 

Shooting a dazzling smile your way as you hung on her arm, chest pressed flush against her body, she sneered at Morticia across the table. You wanted HER to win you a teddy, not Morticia. 

Not one to lose a challenge so quickly, Morticia rose, drawing your attention. “Well,” she started, seething because you were still holding onto Larissa. “Shall we make our way to the darts stand? I’m sure I could win you a larger teddy than Larissa.” 

“We will see, Ms Addams.” 

Tensing slightly at the tension between the two, you pulled on Larissa's arm- directing her over to the darts stand. A few games in Larissa won you a medium dragon teddy. It was black with iridescent purple scales and big bulging eyes. You loved it dearly, holding it to your chest as you watched Morticia play. 

You both watched Morticia intensely as she threw each dart. Each of them hitting the bullseye. Larissa’s smile fell as she watched the games handler grab a giant panda to give to Morticia; her prize now feeling insufficient. 

Morticia smiled triumphantly, outdoing Larissa was her favourite way to pass time. Handing you the panda, she shot a smug look at Larissa and her downcast eyes. 

You grabbed the bear off Morticia and gave her a small smile, too engrossed in the dragon Larissa won you to care about the oversized panda. 

Morticia waltzed off, claiming that she wants to go on the ferris wheel next. You turned around to look at Larissa, the oversized panda dangling dangerously close to the floor while you clutched your dragon. Larissa’s eyes were hung low, a wounded expression singed on her face. 

“Rissa? What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“It’s silly really. No need to worry, sweetheart.” She touched your chin slightly, angling it up so she could smile down at you. 

Your heart pounded in your chest at the pet name she gave you. Beaming up at her, you reached for her arm, tugging her lightly towards the ferris wheel. She would tell you what was bothering her when she was ready. 

You and Larissa arrived at the ferris wheel to greet an angry Morticia, apparently displeased at your refusal to trail after her like a lovesick puppy. Her eyes flicked to your panda trailing across the floor, eyes narrowing at you clutching Larissa’s teddy to your chest. 

Huffing slightly, she motioned for you and Larissa to get on the cart. Larissa sat down first, patting the seat next to her, motioning for you to sit next to her. Plopping down next to her, you shuffled as close as you could; holding your dragon on your lap, placing the panda between you and Morticia- much to her displeasure. 

Carnival lights glistened peacefully as the whirring of the ferris wheel drowned out the laughs of joy from below. Larissa’s breath was coming out in slow puffs, visible due to the cold chill of the night air. She was far more beautiful than any other woman. The prettiest to ever exist. 

The top of the ferris wheel was far higher than you were expecting, triggering your fear of heights. Sensing an oncoming panic attack, you grabbed hold of Larissa’s hand as you were in desperate need of grounding. Noticing your inner turmoil, Larissa rubbed soothing circles over your hand, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

With Larissa help you calmed down. Desperately wishing that the ferris wheel would end shortly, you closed your eyes and rested your head on Larissa’s shoulder; still grasping her hand dearly, unable to let go of the comfort she provides. 

The ride ended not long later and you got off with wobbly legs and tear stained cheeks, still clutching Larissa’s hand. Morticia watched you with a mix of rage and jealousy. Why hadn’t her plan worked? Not one to back down so easily, she sauntered up to you, offering you a ride home in her car. 

Politely, you declined. Stating that Larissa had already offered. You watched as Morticia’s level headed facade began to crack, her face twisting in anger as she finally accepted that her plan had failed. Swiftly turning on her heel, she stomped out of the fair without even saying goodbye. 

You turned to Larissa confused as she smiled down at you. Why had Morticia reacted that way? Shrugging your shoulders, you let Larissa tug you towards her car- you were in desperate need of a break from all the walking. 

Sitting down in the leather seats of Larissa’s car, you placed your dragon in your lap and the panda by your feet. Shooting a smile at Larissa, you placed your seatbelt on and turned towards the window. The full vibrations and the quiet whispering ls of the radio lulling you into a deep slumber. 

Pale wisps of sunlight filtered through the closed curtains, arousing you from your slumber. The familiar scent of Larissa filled your senses as you suddenly became aware of the weight on your stomach. Slithers of silver, platinum blonde hair fanned around your face, perfectly manicured nails spread over your stomach, and a warm body pressed up against your back. 

Turning around, you were greeted with Larissa beautiful face; mouth open and eyes closed, mumbling about something in her sleep. Giggling softly, you leant closer into to her and inhaled her scent. Not wanting to wake her up, you reached for your phone, took a picture of the both of you, and waited for her to wake. 

You could feel the moment she woke since her grip tightened as she became aware of her surroundings. Raising your head off of her chest, you greeted her with a blinding smile, to which she returned. 

The velvety hues of her groggy voice filled the air as she spoke to you. “ You stayed?” She questioned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Of course I stayed. Why wouldn’t I?”

“ I figured you would be disgusted sharing a bed with me.” She admitted. 

“Of course I wouldn’t, Rissa. Only a fool would be disgusted at sharing a bed with you.” You replied with earnest. 

“Is that so?” She hummed. “And why is that?” 

“Because, you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world. You radiate grace and elegance. And I find myself utterly enraptured with you.”

“You do?” She asked, her face contorted in confusion. “Why on earth would somebody be enraptured with me?”

“Because I love you, Larissa. I have always loved you. I wake up and you’re the first thing on my mind. I sleep and all I dream about is you. You’re the highlight of my life and I could never live without you.”

“Well then. It’s a good job I find myself utterly and hopeless in love with you too, isn’t it?” 

A/NII: Can’t wait for the Christmas holidays so I don’t have to do anything for two weeks.