#don’t like metal thimbles

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

This museum internship is gonna give me sewing calluses on my fingers more than a decade of embroidery ever did

#it’s a smaller needle and it’s attaching tags to garments so it’s pushing it in at angles through several layers of material and I just #don’t like metal thimbles #I should get a leather thimble #anyways I did my best with hand and wrist stretches but my knuckles ache and I’ve only threaded the needle so far today and I’ve got 6.5 hrs #ahead of me today #actually probably less but #AND IM SURE I COULD ADMIT PAIN AND DO SOMETHING ELSE #but I just want the fucking wardrobe labeling done #but there’s like 100 more things to label in the men’s wardrobe #so that’s gonna be my next idk month #but like I get to listen to music while I sew and the actual sewing is like a puzzle I like sewing #I’m just running on 5 hours of sleep every day and chronic pain and now hand pain #also my hobby is crocheting and yesterday I was beading bracelets so like my hand never gets a break #also I have a bruise on my thumb knuckle I don’t recall getting #but I moved furniture yesterday

[the-merry-otter]

How To Make Medieval Fabric Buttons

You will need:

• fabric (I’m using a medium weight wool)

• a sewing needle

• cotton or silk thread (it MUST be strong)

• a thimble

• dressmakers pins

Using this style of button as a fastening technique was very prevalent in 14th century Europe, on both men’s and women’s clothing. It was used for anything from sleeves and openings on the front of garments, to the iconic liripipe hoods (which is what these are gonna be for!).

They were usually made out of leftover fabric from the same material that was used for the garment they were intended for. As well as using every scrap of material possible, they also save you from having to buy metal buttons, which… aren’t cheap (both now and then).

The trade off is of course having to make them, which can be a painful process (literally - try not to get stabbed by the hedgehog ball at step 4!!). I thoroughly recommend a thimble to push the needle through as you form the ball - this is hard enough without having to pull it through.

Making buttons in my experience is 10% knowledge, 60% spite, and 30% hatred. It is a contest of wills between you (who wants a button) and the fabric (who doesn’t want to be a button). I wish you luck soldier.

To start with, cut a circle out of your fabric. How big will depend on what fabric you use - if it’s linen, you’d cut a larger circle than you would for wool. Mine is about 30mm.

Using a long long thread, bind on and then sew running stitches around the outside, about 5mm from the edge (may vary with fabric).

Pull this thread tight like a pouch, and turn the raw edges inwards in one direction. Try and tuck them inside the “bag” section. It will likely be more of a squashed oval at this point than a sphere.

Now, get your dressmakers pins and go absolutely ham. Continue to squish it “inward” (towards where the opening was) as you pin. The button should now resemble a very unfriendly little creature now (good luck with not getting stabbed, it can be a bit of a prick).

Next, basically use your needle to try and get it to stay in that shape. I usually do a bunch of stitches around the edge of the “back” end, and then spend some time criss-crossing the back. Try and put your needle in close to where it came out, so that you don’t get long pieces of visible thread.

Once you are confident that it will hold A Shape ™ (but also isn’t so stabbed that you can’t refine it further!), remove the pins. Your button will most likely resemble a little tiny messy wool brain at this point, but that’s ok!

The next step is to use your needle and thread to continue tucking the ball inwards to the centre of where the opening was. Above illustrates how I’ll flip the open part of a fold inward, by coming up through the fold and then levering it downwards so it gets tucked away. You can also just use the thread to pull errant folds inwards. Use the hand holding the button to squash it into form, and then sew it into place.

Once the button is actually a ball shape, crisscross the back of it a bit so that everything is firmly held in place. It should now (all things going well!!) actually be a sphere.

Once you’re happy with the shape and firmness, take your thread to stem out of the centre back. Bind off, and then slide the needle off the thread, leaving the long end. This can then be used to sew the button onto the garment.

The back will still be somewhat messy, but the front should be smooth, and the whole shape roughly spherical. When the button is sewn on using the remainder of the thread, you won’t be able to see the back!

I wrap the remainder of the thread around the finished button so it won’t get tangled, and then pop it in a jar with the rest while it waits to be sewn onto the garment.

Good luck with your crafting! Feel free to ask any questions in the notes, or straight into my inbox :)

#sewing #tutorial #medieval #medieval reenactment #medieval clothing #medieval costume #historical fashion #historical costuming #medievalcore #14th century #buttons #crafting #diy #i’ll be on my merry way now #I have…… sO many of these to do #truly pain torture and misery hours over here

[junosaccount]

✨Encantober #16✨ Kiss

"Is that my thimble?"

"What? No, no, no! That,” for emphasis, Bruno made a flourish with his hand, “is the kiss!"

"This," Mirabel picked up the small metal object and put it on her index finger, "is my thimble, tío."

"Ah, yeah, yes, of course! B-but in my play, it's the kiss”—again the flourish, less exalted this time—"uh, it's, you know, a misunderstanding? A joke!” He nodded towards the rat on his workbench. “You see, the fairy-boy doesn’t know what a kiss is and the girl, she, she wants to—ah, but I don't wanna spoil it for you..."

Bruno chuckled and picked up the rat-slash-actor to squeeze it into the tiny fairy costume Mirabel had sewn for him. Without her thimble, mind you.

"I see," Mirabel sighed, her thumb stroking the embossed butterflies on the thimble’s seam. "But it's my only thimble, you know."

Bruno paused. He placed the dressed-up rat onto his shoulder and carefully stood up from his stool, turning towards her.

"Do you..." he kneaded his hands nervously and stared at her, his round eyes shiny and pleading. "Do you really need it back…?"

Mirabel bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, and tried to look anywhere but at her uncle. It was unbelievable how a man his age could look so much like a little kid asking for a treat. The tiny rat on his shoulder with its beady black eyes and the cute little dress only enhanced the effect.

"Ah...how about you return it when you're done with your play, okay?” she offered.

"Yes, of course!" He snatched the thimble from her finger and plopped down onto his stool. "Thank you, Mirabel!"

Smiling gleefully, he stroked the fairy-rat and showed off his prize. "Look, Pepe Pan! We got a kiss!"

#encantober #bruno re-enacting the classics #maybe mashing things up a bit #encanto #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #drabble #my writing #kiss #my art #encanto fanart #encanto fanfic #madrigal family fluff

[fairy-writes]

Arcane: League of Legends Oneshot Masterlist

Last Updated: 03/12/2024

*All oneshots are gender neutral reader unless specifically stated otherwise!*

Viktor

The Decay of Yesterday: Viktor x Reader

Stepping on Toes: Viktor x Reader

The Stars Themselves: Viktor x Reader

What Could Have Been: Viktor x Reader

I GUESS I’M IN LOVE: Viktor x Reader

I Hear A Symphony: Viktor x Reader

Purple Lilac Blooms: Viktor x Reader

Letters Written in Love: Viktor x Reader

Fall Into Me: Viktor x Reader

Take a Breath: Viktor x Reader

Hidden Lives: Viktor x Female!Reader

M for Manhandled: Viktor x Reader

R for Restraints: Viktor x Reader

Until I Found You: Viktor x Reader

My Heart is Buried in Venice: Viktor x Reader

Glassy Sky: Viktor x Reader

The Gift: Viktor x Reader

The Sound of Your Heartbeat: Viktor x Reader

It Couldn’t Be Him: Viktor x Reader

Thimbles and Bandages: Viktor x Reader

Returning the Favor: Viktor x Sick!Reader

Viktor x Automaton!Reader

Breathing Life into Metal Ch 1

Breathing Life into Metal Ch 2

Breathing Life into Metal Ch3

Vampire!Viktor

Vampire!Viktor 01

Vampire!Viktor 02

Vampire!Viktor 03

Vampire!Viktor 04

Vampire!Viktor 05

Merfolk!Viktor

Merfolk!Viktor 01

Merfolk!Viktor 02

Merfolk!Viktor 03

Merfolk!Viktor 04

Merfolk!Viktor 05

Merfolk!Viktor 06

Merfolk!Viktor Lore and World Building

Jayce Talis

Would You Still Love Me?: Jayce Talis x Reader

Love Like You: Jayce Talis x Reader

Stay Close, Don’t Go: Jayce Talis x Reader

Vander

Young Love and Old Money: Vander x Reader

Ekko

Misunderstood: Ekko x Reader

Vi

Misunderstood: Vi x Reader

Jinx

Misunderstood: Jinx x Reader

Caitlyn Kiramman

Misunderstood: Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

General

Zombie AU

#arcane #league of legends #arcane league of legends #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #arcane jayce #arcane jayce x reader #arcane silco #arcane silco x reader #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #arcane caitlyn #arcane caitlyn x reader #arcane jinx #arcane jinx x reader #arcane vander #arcane vander x reader #fairy masterlist #cryptid!viktor

[tiktokitssinoclock]

Hey, it’s the anon from the Jett cuddling request ! First of all, I really love the cuddling post ! I was thinking, can you maybe write about how Jett (I can’t help it), and other characters you want, reacts when the reader get wounded during a mission. Of course feel free to skip and don’t forget to eat, drink and sleep !

First I want to announce once again- I AM NOT DEAD. I AM SIMPLY AN OVERWHELMED STEM MAJOR. With that said, I have made a ton of progress on requests and a few WIPs I've been stewing on, so expect some posts from me this upcoming weekend.

Second, I adoooore a good hurt/comfort scenario. it's iterally one of my favorite tropes in fanficiton. I also adore Jett LMAOOOO, so I had a lot of fun coming up with ideas for this request! Thank you for submitting, Anon（＾ｖ＾）

SFW // Minors and ageless blogs, DNI // You will be blocked

Translations:

Jagiya - baby

Close Call - Jett

For her eleventh birthday, Jett's grandmother paid for a year of sewing classes for her. The older woman was an avid seamstress herself and was ecstatic that Jett was finally old enough to begin learning the art of the craft. She already had a mountain of ideas for lazy afternoons the two could spend together- prepping squares for quilting, trips together to the craft store to purchase bolts of fabric, pouring over hanbok patterns until they found one Jett liked. Jett always loved watching her work on clothes in her studio, so she had little doubt the girl would love learning to sew herself. She was absolutely over the moon, but there was just one tiny flaw in her master plan.

Jett hated every second of it.

For fifty two Saturdays, from four to six o’clock, Jett felt more like she was marching herself off to war rather than heading to the community center. She constantly pricked her thumb when sewing something by hand, couldn’t remember to include seam allowance to save her life, and almost always managed to jam the sewing machine after only a few stitches. Whether the instructor was running to fetch her a spare thimble or hurriedly untangling the thread of Jett’s machine, the annoyed girl found herself glancing at a calendar on the wall, certain that month would be her last.

Never again, she’d vow to herself.

I’m never doing this again.

And yet every week, every Saturday until that year was finally up, she found herself coming back. Fortunately, during that time, her grandmother found peace in the fact that her grandaughter simply wasn’t destined to follow in her footsteps.

Jett thought she’d finally rid herself of sewing forever, sticking to eagerly watching her grandmother work on new projects but never actively participating herself.

In the present, however, Jett once more found herself with a needle in hand. It wasn’t pin-straight like the ones she used to work with, though. It was instead sloped into a soft C shape, the medical-grade nylon threaded in it tinted a slight pink. She gingerly dropped it in the steel tray that came with the med kit, hardly registering the metallic ‘tink’ it made when it landed. Her gaze was fixed to her handiwork in front of her, eyes following every crooked line she’d sewn you back together with.

“Oh god,” she croaked quietly to herself, her voice quivering.

“Oh my god- It’s… um, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

Her hands trembled as she examined the shoddy job, her fingers brushing over the new stitches across your side as feather light as possible. Your skin was pinched together awkwardly in some areas,  the spacing between each stitch not nearly as uniform or neat as Sage’s were. The spots at each site where the needle passed through were slowly turning an angry red, clearly irritated at her attempts to clean and patch your wound. She could almost hear every whimper and pinched inhale you made with each incision, her shoulders visibly tensing with each sound that echoed back to her.

She should’ve known something was off as soon as you made it back to the carrier. Your complexion had gone visibly ashen and your skin seemed to have lost its usual warmth. It was such an odd thing, watching you shiver while also sweat profusely at the same time. You were extremely ginger with your movements, too, wincing whenever you shifted in your seat and pinching your eyes shut after every breathy laugh whenever Jett cracked a nervous joke.

It all happened so fast. Just when Jett noticed the blood soaking the side of your uniform, the red staining your hand when you finally peeled it away from your side, your eyes were already rolling back and the hold on your gun went slack.

Her only saving grace, the only thing keeping her from completely loosing her cool, was the unsteady up-down of your chest and your drastically tempered blood loss. She tried to steady her own breaths, moving to run a red-stained hand through her white hair before she caught herself. She froze, her fingers just grazing the top of her head. She hastily brought her hand down and awkwardly wiped it on her shirt. A small part of her knew it wouldn't wash out very easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“No, it’s not. It’s fine, it’s fine.”

She found herself smoothing back a strand of tangled hair behind your ear, expecting a small wince or a soft groan from you. Her heart skipped several beats when you gave zero reaction to the touch. Jett swallowed hard.

“You’ll be fine. Or better than last time, at least.”

“I have to agree with you there. Bullet holes are much harder to patch up,” Brimstone called out suddenly from his spot in the cockpit, clearly having heard everything she said.

“You did a good job. Sage is already waiting on the loading dock for us. She can handle things from there.”

Jett cleared her throat, but even still, her next words came out hoarse.

“How much longer?”

Brimstone met her gaze briefly in the reflection of the carrier’s canopy, his blue eyes flashing to your still form on the carrier floor before fixing forward once again.

“Six minutes at most. I’m going as fast as I can, kid.”

By the way Jett's face fell, he might as well have told her it’d be another eternity. She situated herself further on the floor, sitting cross legged with your head pulled into her lap. She kept a laser sharp focus on your breathing, occasionally glancing at the watch on her wrist.

“Five minutes, twenty-eight seconds,” she told herself.

If Brimstone noticed the way she occasionally bent down to brush her lips against your forehead, or the way her thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the tops of your shoulders, he opted against scolding her for it. Frankly though, she didn't think she would give a damn if he did.

“Never again,” she murmured against your temple, her vision growing blurry.

“You’re never making me do this again.”

~

You weren't sure what time it was. You weren't sure where you were, why your throat was so dry, or if you were standing or sitting down. You weren't even sure if you could open your eyes. Despite it all- the sudden awareness of a blanket being pulled further over your body, the foreign ache in your side with every breath, and the seemingly distant sound of metal chair legs scraping against tile- your mouth was moving before you could help yourself.

"That's what you said last time."

Your surroundings seemed to go abruptly still, the silence making your ears prick in a way that told you the room wasn't always so quiet. It was only interrupted by the hushed, sharp inhale that sounded from your left side. A pair of warm hands circled around your own, the usual feeling of fingerless gloves replaced by soft palms. You cracked a barely-there smile, knowing for sure it was your girlfriend sitting beside you.

"Huh?" Jett asked.

"You're never making me do this again," you quoted, the last words you registered hearing still fresh on your mind.

"That's what you told me last time."

"Oh... the carrier."

You could hear Jett sit forward in her chair, the sudden weight of her elbows making the bed dip slightly as she leaned closer to you.

"I was being serious back there. You're not allowed to let yourself get hurt like that anymore, okay? I can't-"

She let out a pinched sigh.

"I can't keep seeing you like that."

Guilt settled heavily in your stomach. Slowly but surely, you managed to open your eyes and blink a few times. It was like your brain was covered in molasses, even the littlest tasks requiring maximum effort. Had breathing not been an automatic bodily function, you might have been in some serious trouble.

Your vision swam as you slowly tilted your head in Jett's direction, a soft exhale escaping your lips as her face finally came into focus. She was exhausted, if the dark circles under her eyes and the disheveled state of her hair were anything to go by. You still found yourself longing to trace the lines of her face and tell her how pretty she was.

The ghost of a smile graced her lips as you attempted to give her a wave. The most you managed was a lazy raise of your hand. As if she could read your mind, she was speaking again.

"You're on some serious pain meds right now. They might make you feel a little off, and probably a little tired, too."

"I see."

It took you a lot longer than you'd care to admit to lower your hand, hating the way her brows pinched together in concern as you shakily rested your arm on your stomach. You hated to make her worry at all, but these past few missions, it seemed that was all you were capable of doing. Your eyes fluttered shut again as you took in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Sunwoo. I thought it wasn't that big of a deal and I didn't want to freak you out over something small. I figured I'd find Skye when we got back and that would be that, but clearly-"

You jerked your head awkwardly in the direction of the infirmary's sign.

"-I was wrong."

Jett was silent for a beat, one of her thumbs rubbing thoughtful circles on the back of your hand. After a little while, the room was echoing with her quiet voice.

"I can't deny I hate seeing you hurt, but I'd much rather know ahead of time instead of finding out when it gets bad."

"I wasn't shot this time though, only stabbed. That's an improvement. I think."

She weakly chuckled. You gave her hand a squeeze, the sudden weightlessness of your body telling you that you were moments away from slipping back into sleep. Try as you might, though, you simply couldn't peel your eyes back open.

"You won't have to worry about it again, Sunwoo," you words were slurring, but that didn't make them any less sincere.

"I promise. I'll be more careful."

"Thank you."

You hardly registered the press of her lips against your cheek, your mouth moving ahead of your brain.

"I'll stitch myself up next time. Just give me the stuff. My work will outshine Sage's, I swear."

"I believe you, jagiya."

Jett stayed where she was long after your rambling had fallen silent and your breathing had gone slow and deep, your eyes moving beneath your eyelids as you dreamt. A familiar weight settled square on her shoulders, a mixture of determination and dread as she thought about the next mission coming up in a few weeks. It reminded her of the feeling she used to get on Saturday evenings, when she toyed with the lock on her bike before finally working up the courage to wheel it out of the garage. There was always a moment of hesitation, a fumble of her key.

But she always followed through because it was for someone she loved.

And just as she was sure to have a few bandaids in her pocket so she wouldn't have to nurse a pricked finger on the way home, she was already making a mental note to restock the carrier with more medical supplies.

"A fairy looses its wings every time I have to open a med kit, I swear," Jett grumbled, her gaze fixed on the way her fingers intertwined with yours.

"But if I can fly without them, certainly they can manage, too."

#valorant imagines #valorant jett #jett x reader

[rainroses45]

Chained by Faith Pt. 1

☾description: Was the hatter truly mad? Or was it a cause of a series of events that caused him to go crazy in the reality of a tarnished dream? This is Bucky x fem reader Wonderland AU

☾a/n: I'm teaming up with my bestie to write this series and let me just say prepare yourselves because in part two its going to get spicy @lovelolaslove

☾song inspiration: September (instrumental)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

This story began with a hatter and raven. Yes  a hatter and a raven indeed. No, not a walrus and carpenter, but a hatter and raven. The hatter and the raven shared many quaint special moments but none like these, oh yes none like these is a certainty. These three memories sparked a flame inside the story book of wonderland, for without these three moments, would the mad hatter truly be mad? 

Oh but in a small cottage covered in whispering vines, sweet poisoned gossip was carried and hung. No else bothered to listen to great vine because who's to tell which one is true and which one is upside down.

You danced around in your home trying to tame your wild hats. They float, they sing, they dance, they cry, all while you hung them out to dry. It was no surprise when a certain someone returned so soon, why it was only 7 hours after noon.

“Oh my sweet, sweet raven, have you already gone mad?” Your eyes twinkled in delight as a sound of tapping, almost rapping was heard at your window leading into your chamber of hats.

Cheerfully dropping the unfinished floating hat, you gracefully waltzed to the lock on the window and gave it a quick tickle causing the poor bronze handle to go laughing backwards, unlocking the translucent mirrors.

Quickly before the tea kettle could whistle its whimsical tune, a raven weaved through the mess of fabrics and missing thimbles. It’s pitch dark eyes stared at you in adoration as you twirled around in lunacy at the heart of your creations.

The raven gently landed near your rocky chair and let out a flat note sink. Then quickly without a dash, the once feathery creature transformed into a tall man with the most enchanting eyes a caterpillar had every seen.

“Only for you my love.” Bucky smooth voice laced through the movements of your dance. His shadow shape shifted back into its second form, black smoke scurried away from his face. His black suit was dirty but it still managed to stay intact throughout the war of cards. Even after days without seeing one another, your boyfriend still managed to always come flying back to you.

“Oh that’s preposterous, you have only nearly dipped inside the rabbit hole of possibilities.” You stated with a toothy grin. You took a few steps towards him as he dusted himself off. He reeked of metal and moss. Bits of paper shaped clubs and diamonds hung from the loose threads of his long sleeve shirt. His fluffy ink black hair was a mess, but was quickly covered up by a purple, checkered stain top hat with little musical notes spinning around it.

“Well then why don’t you drown me in your wonders my dear hatter.” His eyes met yours in a flash. Oh how those words made you feel alive! He made you absolutely breathless that the only think you could do was tip your hat in a curtsy. It wasn’t until the clock struck the random number down its hands, that you soon regained your thoughts.

“Not before tea time my lovely Corvus corax.” You bopped your lover’s nose as you skipped towards the wooden door. Unfortunately, before you could sip the sweet liquid, Bucky grabbed your arm pulling you into his chest once more.

“You know i hate it when you call me that.” He said with fake annoyance as he threw his head back, staring at the star decorated celling. It took you over two years before you could collect all the stars you wanted to fill the room with. A smile over took you when you remembered the last trip you had, oh how wonderful it was, oh how wonderful indeed.

“Yes but it brings me joy in seeing you fluster in red.” You got on your tiptoes only to reach his chin; a sinister grin plastered on your face. He looked down at you. His face was merely inches away from yours, you could practically feel his breath blemishing your cheeks.

“Touché,” He smiled back, grabbing your face with utter most delicacy and leaning into your lips. Slowly his lips connected with yours in a loving kiss filled with devotion. His lips were by far the smoothest fabric ever created. Your eyes closed lazy as you enjoyed his soft creases and touches on your face and body. He held you like you were the only white rose in the bush of painted red roses, and you absolutely loved it.

You couldn’t part. You wouldn’t dare to part from his savory lips. If you did, then what would you do next? It was absolutely nerve racking to figure what to do without having his hands on your skin. You would go bonkers without his warm embrace and feathery kisses.

Butterflies swarmed inside your stomach causing a rush of pink to appear on your cheeks. Everything about him made you mad, but in a beautiful way. His hand behind your neck, softly nudging you into him as his tongue danced with yours. You felt like honey; smooth, luscious, golden honey, and he thought you tasted like it too.

Parting was such sweet sorrow when all you wanted was to be filled to the brim with his kisses, but it made it all the better when you saw his pearly whites shine like an upside down crescent moon.

“Oh don’t you just love it,” he sighed heavenly, cradling you in your arms as you stood in the middle of the room. The soft rays of moon blemished your skin with milky glitter.

“Love what?” Bucky pulled you down with him as he sat down on the curvy rocking chair. You made yourself comfortable on his lap as you waited for his response.

“The idea of love,” you raised an eyebrow at his thought. Bucky simply ignored your expression and continued to creases your hands in loving touches. He always loved how soft and small your hands were compared to his.

“Why should I love the idea when I’m already living it?” You countered, even after three years of being together you still were in love as you were on first day you met.

“Because our love is different,” his words caught you off guard.

“How so?” You asked with an open mind, not really sure if he meant it in a positive or negative perspective.

“You my beautiful hatter are full of secrets and madness, while I am created with revenges and passion. We are an unstoppable pair that if ripped apart the world would be set aflame in agony.” Bucky placed a finger underneath your chin, lifting up your graze as you analyze his words. The on beat clanking of your heels on the floor boards soon stopped, for you raised your legs and then laid them across his lap with a mischievous smile.

“Yet our love is the only thing causing the twists of time to keep spinning.” His hand slipped from your face and grabbed your thigh with excitement.

“Ah yes what would the kingdoms do without such a royal flush of passion.” You hit his chest lightly as you laughed at his remark.

“They would act cowardly on the battle field without their omen of death.” Bucky already had a huge ego when it came to his ability to fight, that you truly didn’t want to raise it anymore. He already had a reckless score of events happen during the conflicts. There was no need to encourage more, but oh how you loved to talk about him.

“And they would be weakened in horrendous fashion and dehydration without your presence.” Bucky began to place serval kisses on your face.

“Mine is truly the worst out of the two.” He stopped his action to scoff and roll his eyes.

“Yes of course darling, truly the most awful one out of the two.” You let out a laugh at his reaction which he smiled in reply.

Bucky suddenly felt a feeling of reassurance. You were his soulmate, his princess Lenore in this masquerade of craziness. And oh hearts, you were the one for him and he now felt a little less anxious with the tiny box hidden in polka dot tea pot.

“I love you my raven.” You drew hearts on his arm as you twiddled your feet in glee. He grabbed your face once more, letting your innocent eyes sink into his once dead ones, allowing you to feel the calmness of the night.

“Oh my sweet hatter, I am absolutely mad for you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #wonderland au #winter solider x y/n #mad hatter #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff

[gender-trash]

any advice for people who want to sew/fix their own clothes but can’t afford to spend $150+ on a sewing machine? the only machine i have access to is the one at my university library, which is older than god and jams if you so much as breathe on it wrong

honestly i’m going to recommend you do it by hand — that’s how people made and repaired clothes for nearly all of recorded human history! and for small repairs i find that it’s not all that much slower, especially when you factor in machine setup time etc. i prefer to use a big embroidery needle because my eyes suck and it’s still sharp but easy to thread and use; i also like to use thicker thread or even 2-3 plies pulled off of 6-ply embroidery floss, since most machine thread is thin and can be snapped in your hands and i just don’t trust it :p (specifically what i use for thick thread is a spool of “mercerized” cotton thread i inherited from my grandma’s quilting supplies, and i have *no* idea how old it is or where to get more… but that’s a problem for future me!)

other than a needle and thread, you honestly don’t need all that much other stuff — a metal thimble, maybe, if you’re working with thick fabrics like denim, and fabric scissors if you find that your normal scissors are driving you up the wall. maybe a few pins? i dunno, i can almost never be assed to pin stuff. also “sewing kits” are a scam and always come with the world’s worst thread, just grab a pack of needles and some thread separately and stick em in a pencil case or something if you want a nice little bag.

if you care about colormatching you’ll want at least a spool of white and a spool of black or dark blue. im not going to go into too much detail here, but bernadette banner has some nice tutorial videos on hand sewing technique if you’re not familiar! anyway it *does* feel painfully slow at first but the more you practice the faster you get, and the equipment is definitely cheaper and easier to store than a whole sewing machine. plus if you’re already doing the other repairs by hand it’s easier to do more decorative/embroidery type stuff like satin-stitching over the worn edges of pockets (and even darning holes!) than it is to do that kind of thing by machine.

satin-stitch to reinforce a worn pocket edge at left — all my watch pockets wear like this because i use them to store a small multitool with a keyring dangling out the top of the pocket :/ and at the right, blanket stitch used to kinda-decoratively attach a green patch. i think i literally sewed this patch on while the pajama pants were on my body. (the base fabric is ridiculously worn bc this is my Pajama Pants of Theseus project, in which i will continue to patch and repair these stupid pants until no part of the original fabric remains.)

also from the pajama pants of theseus project — you can kinda just tuck under raw edges and whipstitch over them, when you’re hand-sewing a patch over a hole. (i guess on a machine you would replicate this with a zigzag stitch.)

on the other hand, if you don’t want to hand-sew and have the space for a machine but not the money, i’d recommend stalking craigslist for a while, and potentially going to some estate sales if you have the time — people often get rid of machines for free or cheap when the family member who sews has died and they don’t really know what it’s worth. (i got a serger for free off craigslist a while back!! not even from an estate sale — a sewing studio was shutting down and getting rid of all their stuff.) i guess if you’re not familiar with mechanical stuff like that it might be hard to tell if they’re in good repair or can easily be restored to full function, but as a rule of thumb, if it has a metal casing/all-metal gears you can probably just blow the dust out and clean + oil it (materials needed: compressed air, mineral spirits, sewing machine oil, maybe some grease for the gears) and it’ll be back in business.

let me know if you’d like me to elaborate on any of this stuff, or want any more advice! i can talk about sewing and sewing-adjacent topics ALL day, but this is an Advice Post so i’d like to stay at least *somewhat* on-topic.

#i also really really really want to take a look at your university’s machine and clean and oil it >.< #but thats not really. relevant to your question #the trashcan speaks #sewing machine go brrr #i CANT overemphasize enough that you can literally just grab a needle and thread and go ham on some pajamas #it can be super half-assed!! do stupid projects at 1 am! embrace hubris!! #it’s all Good Practice! and every modification makes your clothes more unique and personal to you

[bishop-percival]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) The last Teddy heard before he got too far away was Xryxlittian yelling that it was leaving. Good. At least it sensing him meant that Bishop Percival would have to wait another day to make a deal. Even if he didn’t get as much information as he’d like. Once Teddy had crawled out and made sure the vent cover was back in place he sat against the wall and opened his notepad. …Yikes, that last page was worse than he thought. May as well leave it to see if he could decipher it later though. He flipped to a fresh sheet before trying to sketch Xryxlittian. Trying ended up being the key word… After a few attempts he sighed, scribbled it out, then wrote down the scant details he could remember from his brief glance. The part about Bishop Percival wanting to become a demon should be enough for Revenard Mike, shouldn’t it? Hopefully he wouldn’t fault him for running when it could read minds… That’ll be something to worry about next Slornday. Or whenever Revenard Mike decided to pull him aside. Right now Teddy needed only to concern himself with returning the “borrowed” respirator and taking a nice, hot shower.

Bishop Percival smiled tightly and strode up to Xryxlittian. He proudly held out his hand, still stained with blood from the first ritualistic sacrifice of the day. In return, the eldritch god took hold with an inky, semi-material hand of its own. Divine flames engulfed the bishop. He let out a pained yell, but it slowly turned into a laugh as he felt himself absorb enough magical energy from Xryxlittian to withstand it. 

The demon withdrew its hand. “There. I’ve granted you a smidgen of power. A thimble of energy. Make good use of it. And for the hate of Grop if you ever manage to summon me to this podunk realm again you BETTER make it more than worthwhile or else I’m going to wipe you out of existence.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Xryxy~!” 

“Don’t call me that.”

With that, the infernal deity made its descent down into the chasm, causing the chamber to rumble as the stone floor supernaturally closed shut like a mouth. Once Xryxlittian was gone and the room had returned to stillness, Bishop Percival slowly looked around at what remained of the summoning circle. 

“Who else could’ve possibly been here that Xryxy sensed?” He looked at the chamber walls, then up at the ceiling, before his gaze fixated on the grates of the vents. He narrowed his eyelid. However, his thoughts were interrupted by Reverend Miriam, who predictably was beginning to stir awake. Percy spedwalked through the giant metal door of the chamber, leaving to test out the extent of his newfound magical capabilities.

#stuckinuniformdevelopment #long post #[[aaand scene.]]

[alexisdrawsetc]

Hi!! I just found your account through your cute cute cat video, and I love your work! I saw you had leather thimbles (?) in one of your posts and I was instantly curious - do they have a specific purpose or are they just an alternative version of regular thimbles? I’ve never seen anything like those before but it seems like they’d be much easier to work with than rubber or metal thimbles.

Hey, thanks for your message!

It is leather, it came with needles for needle felting. It’s pretty bulky, so I only use it for needle felting because I have stabbed myself a few times doing that haha. I gardening glove would probably also work for needle felting. For regular sewing I don’t usually use a thimble, unless the finger that pushes the needle gets sore.

[stolenhunt]

Choices

(Bit of a longer one today, over 3k, because we’re reaching the end of the premise- the “pilot episode”, as it were. After this I have no set plans! Please send in asks, we can explore the adventures of these characters together!)

__________________________

He woke up early the next morning – all too early – as the ground trembled around him. He jolted awake, blinking open eyes heavy with sleep. His vision was blurry, but he turned his head enough to see the huge form of Ember rise. She put on her boots and clambered out of the tent, a sharp ray of early-morning sun stabbing in before the canvas flap fell closed once more.

She didn’t come back. Since his brain took that as a lack of any threat, Rowan pulled the blanket further over his head and rolled over, one arm sticking out so his hand could lay limp in the cool early morning air. He fell asleep again almost immediately.

He woke up much later in the same position. His body felt stiff after sleeping so deeply, but the bedroll had actually been quite comfortable, so he wasn’t really sore. He sat up and yawned, blinking groggily at his surroundings. The huge tent was dim in the morning light. Empty still, though Rowan could hear some rustling from outside, presumably Ember moving around. The smell of frying eggs made his stomach grumble.

It was as appealing a reason as any to face whatever the day might bring. Rowan stood, stretching his lanky arms for a moment before brushing a hand through his wavy reddish-blond hair. It felt like he had bedhead; but it wasn’t like he cared if Ember saw him a bit rumpled. The giant didn’t have the most flattering opinion of him to begin with, he was certain. So he simply slung his pack over one shoulder and began the startlingly long hike across the tent to the entryway.

By the time he managed to reach the edge of the tent and heave the canvas away so that he could get outside, Rowan had worked up a healthy appetite. He stopped for a moment to stare at the campfire a few feet away from the tent, blazing merrily with a pan and a small metal pot fixed over it by an arrangement of sticks. A couple of slices of bread were skewered at the edge, toasting by the fire. This arrangement wasn’t something he had ever really seen before, especially not at this scale. It was bigger than the bonfire they held in the main square every midsummer’s eve.

“Mornin’,” Ember greeted him. He looked up to find her staring down at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Um, good morning,” he automatically replied. Somehow it was easy to forget just how big Ember was. Every time he looked at her the fact screeched its way across his mind anew.

If she noticed, she didn’t mention it. “You slept in,” she noted instead, turning back to tend to the eggs. They sizzled in the pan, making oil splatter with the occasional pop. Rowan made his way over, careful not to get in the splash zone; or too close to Ember or the fire, either of which seemed like something he shouldn’t be near. “Guess you don’t have much need to follow nature’s cycles in that little city of yours, do you?”

“Not as such,” Rowan replied, somewhat testy. The city was hardly little, but he couldn’t rightly argue that point with a giant. Instead he settled himself on the ground and asked, “Are those eggs for sharing?”

Ember smirked. “Sure. You got a mess kit?” Rowan stared blankly up at her, the term unfamiliar, and slowly shook his head. She snorted, the smile on her lips growing a bit wider. “‘Course you don’t. How do you expect to eat these eggs, then?”

That was a valid question, and it took them a few moments to find the answer. Rowan eventually wound up with a human-sized spoonful of fried egg and a torn piece of toast, so that he could dip the bread and eat the egg out of what was essentially a large bowl. Ember herself just ate out of the pan with a fork. The coffee, which had been heating up over the fire in the metal cylinder, posed a similar issue. Ember dug a metal thimble out of her pack and gave it to Rowan, to whom it was more like a bucket.

“I didn’t take you for the domestic type,” he admitted. He blew on the coffee to cool it before taking a sip, hiding a grimace; it was much more strong and bitter than he was used to.

Ember took a solid pull of her own hot coffee, looking down at him with one eyebrow slightly raised. “You live out in the middle of nowhere on your own, and you gotta know how to keep your clothes together,” she easily answered. “You think I’d wanna pop back into town every time I need a sock darned? Waste of time and money.”

Rowan mulled that over while he sipped on his coffee. He supposed he hadn’t ever really given much thought to living out in the middle of nowhere. It had never occurred to him. The outside was big, dangerous, dirty- why would anybody in their right mind want to live there? But… he may not have a choice. If he wasn’t going to go back to Arturium – and he truly shouldn’t, given the number of enemies he had made and bridges he had burned – he might have to start figuring out how to live in the wild.

And he had a feeling that learning how to darn socks might be the least of all his challenges.

As Ember began to clean up the remains of breakfast, Rowan set the empty thimble down on the ground and stood, hefting his pack up onto his shoulders. His hands were shaking slightly, and he crossed his arms resolutely to hide the tremors. “Well, thanks for the food, but I’d best be on my way,” he announced. His heart started pounding as he braced himself for her to object. It was all too clear to him that if she really wanted, Ember could easily keep him against his will. He was just praying she wouldn’t.

She eyed him from above and he fidgeted, bravely maintaining eye contact. “You sure you wanna go off on your own?” she asked. Rowan bobbed his head in a nod. She sighed and he stifled a flinch. “Honestly, if I stopped you it’d be for your own good. I seriously doubt you’re gonna last a day out here.” He opened his mouth to protest and she held up a hand. “No, lemme finish. I know what you’re gonna say, and I… agree. It’s your life you’re risking, so it’s your choice in how to risk it. You wanna leave?”

Rowan swallowed but nodded again, hope hiding behind his blue eyes. “Please,” he managed.

Ember nodded slowly. “Alright. You better take some food with you, then. You got a canteen?” He shook his head. “…‘Course not. Best keep that thimble, then. I can get another one.”

It was bulky, and his pack was not particularly large, but Rowan managed to stuff the metal thimble, full of nuts and dried berries, into his things. He tied the flap shut and heaved the now-heavy bag onto his back. “Um, thanks,” he said, a bit torn about his feelings on the matter. It was nice of her to help, but he still somehow felt like he’d had to argue just for the right of being able to go wherever he wanted.

“Sure.” Ember stared down at him, her brown eyes serious. “Last chance. You wanna stick around?”

“No,” Rowan blurted, before he coughed and forced some composure on himself. “Uh, no, no thank you. I should really get going.” Ember nodded and said farewell, and with a quick response back, Rowan set off at a quick clip into the nearest brush.

All he needed to do was get some distance between himself and the giant that had nearly kept him forever. Then he could… figure out the rest.

He hiked for a few minutes, before some rustling in the bushes nearby made him freeze. His heart started pounding in his chest, primed for danger; but even then, he wasn’t ready for a large shape to pounce out of the nearby leaves and pin him to the ground.

He screamed, a short sound that was abruptly cut off as his back hit the ground and the wind was knocked out of him. Claws dug into his shoulder, eliciting a whine of pain and fear. He caught a glimpse of a long, furry body above him, glittering eyes and teeth bearing down in his direction-

THWIP-thunk

The beast was all but torn off of him, its claws dragging through him on the way and pulling another scream with it. He rolled over, panting, and saw the creature splayed across the ground nearly a foot away. An arrow had gone straight through it.

The ground trembled and Ember appeared above him, blotting out the sunlight with her shadow even as she squatted down to be closer. “You alright?” she asked.

Rowan blinked up at her, his brain all too sluggish and his shoulder screaming in pain. “No,” he answered frankly, his voice a bit husky from all the fear and yelling. He grimaced and forced himself to a seat, gripping the arm on his wounded side with his good hand. He still had enough bandwidth, however, to glare up at her. “Were you following me?”

“No,” she replied just as matter-of-factly. “I could watch you from camp. You were mostly going in a circle.” She shifted, and past her Rowan could, indeed, see the outline of the tent through the furthest bushes.

His face heated up. So he just looked like a moron, then, fabulous.

She reached over him, making him flinch, and yanked her arrow out of the beast with a ferocity that made Rowan’s heart thud into his ribs. “Ferret’s not much good for eating, unfortunately. Looked like it was gonna make a solid meal outta you, though.” She sat back, pulling out a cloth to clean the blood from the arrow, and didn’t bother to look at Rowan even as her voice grew more pointed. “But I’m sorry, you wanna be independent and all. I should probably have let you fight that thing off, right? With all those weapons you don’t have in your bag?”

Rowan could feel the heat in his face reach his neck and the tips of his ears, his empty fist clenching. The slurry of pain, embarrassment, and fear came together in a surge of anger. “You don’t have to be such an ass!” he snapped, the words bursting out of him at volume. Ember stopped cleaning the arrow to look at him. Seething, he yelled, “You think I don’t know how ill equipped I am for these godsforsaken woods? You think I want to be here, with patronizing giants and things that try to eat me? I don’t have a fucking choice!” His voice developed a harsh edge, the words too loud for his newly sore throat. His vision blurred a bit and he grimaced, furiously blinking the water away. “I can’t go back, and apparently I came from the only normal place anybody’s ever heard of. So yeah, laugh it up at the little guy who has no idea what he’s doing.” His own words hit him hard, harder than he’d intended, and he ducked his head to pinch his eyes shut. When he spoke next his voice was quieter, hoarse. “Fuck, my shoulder hurts.”

There was a heavy silence for a few moments. A soft touch against Rowan’s back made him flinch and whip his head back up, glaring with red-rimmed eyes at Ember, who was reaching over to him. Her expression was serious, her brow somewhat furrowed. “Rowan,” she began even as he looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as… patronizing.” He didn’t reply, anger still churning in his gut. She moved the gentle graze of her fingers to his shoulder and he winced, jerking away in pain. “Can I help you clean up those scratches, at least? They look pretty deep.”

His first instinct was to snap at her again, tell her to leave him alone forever; but rationality won out, and he grit his teeth to keep from saying something he would regret. He couldn’t patch himself up alone- he didn’t have the supplies or the know-how. What would even be the point? They both knew him trying to be his own person out here would just get him killed one way or another.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agreed. Her hand gently settled around him, fingers hooking around his waist for security, and he closed his eyes against both the helplessness and the subtle nausea as she picked up and walked the few steps back to camp.

She sat cross-legged next to her own pack and set Rowan down on one knee. He adjusted himself on this new seat, finding it altogether strange but surprisingly stable, given the circumstances. Wincing, he carefully shrugged the strap of his bag off of his injured shoulder, swinging it around so that it rested against his legs, tucked in the crook of Ember’s folded knee. “Thank you,” he forced himself to say, much as the admission pained him. “For shooting that thing.” All taunts aside, she had saved his life, and he figured that was worth some thanks.

Ember simply nodded, her expression still serious. “Looks like it got you pretty good before I did, though,” she muttered. “You’re gonna have to take off your shirt for me.”

Rowan was too tired to make some compulsory joke about dinner. Instead, as she rummaged around in her enormous bag, he gingerly peeled his bloodied shirt away from his shoulder and up over his head. The air was cool, especially against his wounds, but the sun warmed his skin and kept him from any shivers. Mostly he just got goosebumps along his arms even as he grimaced at the bloody wreck that was his shoulder.

“You’re lucky I’d already boiled some water for the dishes,” Ember noted. She took a folded cloth, wet with the clean water, and dabbed it against his shoulder. She was gentle with the motion, shockingly so for such big fingers, but Rowan still couldn’t help the hiss of pain that slipped through his gritted teeth. It stung much more than he expected. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered. “I diluted some alcohol in there. Gotta get it cleaned up right or it’ll get infected.”

“‘S okay,” Rowan grunted, even though it really wasn’t.

The cleaning revealed four neat, deep gashes, starting just behind Rowan’s shoulder and stretching up and over, nearly down to his collarbone on the other side. Any deeper and he would have had to seriously worry about muscle damage. As is, they hurt like hell and would probably scar, but he could still move his arm and neck like normal. That was something to be grateful for.

The scratches, though clean, still welled up with blood after every dab of the cloth. Ember removed a small kit from her pack and soon enough had a roll of bandages in hand. She asked Rowan to move his arm once or twice, and he complied, knowing she was only helping. Indeed, she covered up his shoulder in a thick but tight wrap of bandages. They still stung, but they’d stay clean, and the bleeding should stop soon enough.

Rowan rolled his shoulder experimentally, grit his teeth at the immediate searing pain that caused, and let his arm rest in his lap again. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Ember put away her supplies, but her gaze often tracked back to Rowan, who sat slumped on her knee, his tired eyes staring at nothing in particular. Once everything was back in its place, she took his shirt from where it lay crumpled beside him on her knee, pinching it between two fingers and grabbing her canteen. As she worked to rinse the blood out of it, water splashing demurely onto the dirt, she said, “Seems like these won’t be the first scars you’ve had.”

Straightening, Rowan frowned up at her before glancing down at his bare chest. It was lanky, thin, and pale – like the rest of him – but it was covered in a handful of scars, ranging from big and obvious to small and faded. He knew his back was probably the same. “Yeah, well, I’ve led an… interesting life,” he replied.

Ember smiled slightly. “More interesting than having a ferret try to take a bit out of you?”

Rowan winced. “Ah… only sometimes.” This had definitely been one of the closest brushes with death he’d ever had; and he hadn’t even been trying to steal something good when it happened. That was hardly fair.

She nodded. Having done the best she could with his shirt, she pinched the remaining water out of the fabric and handed it back to him. Rowan settled the damp shirt across his lap, gripping the collar absently. He didn’t know what to do, or how to feel. He was used to life being hard, and complicated, but it had never felt quite as impossible as it did right now.

“Hey Rowan?” He glanced up at his name, finding Ember looking at his with the utmost seriousness. “I’ve got an offer for you. What if you travel with me for a while?” Before his brow could so much as furrow she hastily added, “Not forever, just, until you figure out where it is you wanna be. I ain’t never heard of another city of wee folk out there, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. You’ll have more of a chance of finding, well, whatever it is you’re looking for if we stick together. I travel a lot, and you wouldn’t have to worry about ferrets or owls or foxes or-” He gave her a flat look and she cleared her throat self-consciously. “Right, sorry, didn’t mean to get carried away on that side of things. But what do you think?” She smiled slightly, her expression earnest, of all things, and big enough to take up most of his sight. “It’s your choice. It really is.”

Rowan had to admit, it sounded good- much needed safety while he figured out how to get his feet back under him. The idea still bothered him, however, if only for the obvious point that he was so damn outmatched physically in this situation. “What’s in it for you?” he asked, thinking it a salient point. No such thing as a free lunch.

Ember shrugged, the motion barely traveling down to where he sat on her knee. “Curiosity, I guess,” she replied. “I ain’t never met a wee person before, and I know we got off to a rough start, but… you could be an interesting travel companion. It gets lonely being out here on my own, sometimes.” She almost looked downright sheepish after admitting that, and hurriedly found something in her pack to busy herself with while he thought it over.

She didn’t seem to be lying; and her reasoning made sense. Rowan supposed it didn’t take much for her to feed and protect him, all told. His debt on that front could probably easily be balanced out by keeping her company. If he was willing.

He didn’t have any other good options. And really, Ember wasn’t horrible- not overtly malicious, at least, and at her size that counted for a lot. What else was Rowan going to do?

“Alright,” he decided. He looked up and met her eyes. “I’ll take your offer.”

Ember grinned, a full, wide smile. “Alright,” came her ready agreement. “Happy to have you with me.”

#choices #premise

[jesterjamz]

The Commodity Clash gang's favorite genres of music?

tablet - electronic music

limey - i don’t know what genre limp bizkit qualifies as but he would listen to limp bizkit

bowling ball - music with a lot of trumpets

chalk - swing music

jammy - she likes all kinds of music honestly. jammy don’t caare

soapy - pop music

usb drive - electro swing

bookmarky - heavy metal

pearly - also heavy metal

tophat - classical music & also the ratatouille soundtrack

glitter - pop music

sandglass - the sounds of a waterfall

sketchbook - french music

magnet - jazz

spade - rock

water bottle - punk music

envelope - the i.m. meen intro on repeat

thimble - blues

beaker - ska & disco

lock - hates music doesn’t listen to it

[luce-723]

Experimenting.

I began experimenting today sewing a warp into a plain canvas. I opted for a metal needle, one with the biggest eye out of a bad bunch. It took me about 10 minutes to thread the cotton through the needle, so it was definitely a reminder for me to invest in a threader thimble to speed up this process because, admittedly I did lose my patience doing this. Once it was threaded, the process of sewing the wrap into the canvas was relatively easy (apart from when I stabbed myself). Using pencil, I sketched a random outline on the canvas for me to follow, however I didn’t take the base of the canvas into consideration so I had to then freestyle. The freestyle approach worked better for me and it took any pressure of it having to look a certain way away because this was purely experimental.

Shock horror. I lost my temper again. I felt like I had got a good base down for the warp and decided to try and weave the weft through the sewn warp. It was extremely fiddly but the first couple of rows were successful. Until they weren’t. The metal needle is very precise, combined with the embroidery thread being quite flimsy as it kept separating. This meant that weaving through the wrap proved very difficult because I wasn’t precise enough, the metal needle kept picking up the wrap thread and long story short kept getting tangled and just a big MESS! I got angry and impatient, and quite literally, yanked the knotted thread causing the canvas to rip and some of the thread coming free. I don’t want to completely disregard of this canvas however, I am struggling to see how I can salvage it.

#creative research #colour #art therapy #weaving #weave #artist

[vezzx]

fear draft 2 (final?)

Sometimes I still see the world through that blood-red lens

Watching through my eyes like an aquarium

But in this situation, I’m the shark

I’m the one that mothers shy their children away from

And fathers warn their daughters in hushed tones

They’re all shouting at me, screaming

Look at this

Look at what you’ve done—

—look at what you’ve done

i’m awake and i can see

i can see but what good does that do when i

i can’t

i can’t and i won’t and

what can i see

i don’t want to see and i might as well

might as well go blind they might see

think 5 things

5thingsthink5

55555—

—The stutters spill out of me and I’m still drowning

I’m drowning in the waves that wash over me when I close my eyes

The waves that remind me who I was and am and ever will be

That wash over me like nausea, stumbling, tripping—

—oh my god oh my god

i can’t

i still can’t why can’t i why didn’t i

why did i do

that why oh my god why

wh

y

w

hy—

—Over myself, over the thought of everyone

anyone’s ever lost because I made it so

Because I built cathedrals out of the—

—the cathedral

my mom

my mom took me to the cathedral

i saw my sister

oh, my sister

my beautiful sister

i wonder how sh

she’s gone

she’s gone but i remember

the stained glass how beautiful

my sister the stained glass

my mom

i want my mom and her and she and—

—Insults and the prospect of leaving but never

Never really leaving

Never leaving the mind of archives—

—the archive i read about

i read about butterflies

they were all so pretty and different—

—Never-ending has-beens of lovers, sons, best friends, the versions and—

—pulled down watching through the glass

glass water

light water stained glass water scattering and i can see it

look at it hold on to it for as long as you can

and it’s gone—

—Visions of me

Building up, a perfect statue of David

Looking off into the distance that was never distant—

—the distance i remember the music in the

in the air when i was walking

keep going you’re walking

walking back from the cathedral i heard the pi

pe organ the organ pipes the air breathe in the

air the walk please walk go forward look into

forward into the dis—

—People gazing at the porcelain skin chipped away at by waves

The waves—

—alwaysgobacktothewaves

go back to them think of them

think of what they do for you and they’re so

so so beautiful—

—The waves that ruin me, topple me over and spin me around

Knock me to my knees and watch as my legs break,

Never-ending waves—

—i remember my mom took me to the ocean the

the beach i never went out never ever went out but my mom took me to the beach i stood

i stood and i’m standing and i

in the waves on my knees and it was cold and

they they didn’t knock me over i swayed

i swayed and stood and my feet on the

ground the pine needles—

—Of what was and what will never be

Rendering me useless, razored and cut

Cutting my back open for wings—

—the wings the butterflies they’re all different

different find something different find butter

butterflies there’s one find 4

find 4 more find butterflies

butterfliesbutterfliesbutterflies—

—That will never grow

Precision knives that rip my sternum open to allow me to breathe—

—Breathebreathebreathe—

—In the water

Breathe it in like stepping into an open field

An empty field—

—empty

it was empty all empty when i left and it was

empty it was empty

i couldn’t find

5 things

there was nothing i couldn’t stop and i can’t

find

myself in everything in nothing in what was

what was

what was there was ceases to be there what i

i took

i took it all from them

i

took it

all all of it there’s nothing—

—Breathing it in because drowning is all ever do

Drowning in and out the blood—

—blood in my mouth is it there i taste the metal

i taste the thimble when i sewed

when i sewed my sister’s clothes when she

when she fell don’t fall

keep going don’t fall walk through smell the

the leaves the pine needles are they even

leaves i read that once in the archive

they’re special different—

—I spilled

The bullets—

—bullets bullets flying thousands of them pierce everything i’ve ever seen

i saw everything

i was there it was me i saw

i saw

everything ever

ything it was me i was there i tried to push it out

of my

my mind

my mind it was mine it was all mine and i tried

itrieditrieditrieditrieditried

try they tried to

and i

i did i really did i really really did—

—I’ve shot and the—

—thechurches

back to the church i’m there again

i still think of my

my sis

ter my mom my mother i cried for my mom when

it was over when i saw my mom and my sister i woke

up i woke up they were

they didn’t

breathe oh my god just please but they didn’t

breathe my mom and sister there was nothing there

my dad thank god my dad

he’s not

he’s not here

i don’t know what

i’d do if my

what i’d do what i did i did that i did all

of that i can’t i won’t i’d never but i did

and it wasn’t

it wasn’t me i know it wasn’t me i was there i

i tried

i tried but it didn’t work and i should’ve found

5

found 5 find 5 please

pleasepleasepleaseplease please find just 5—

—churches I’ve sinned in and the water that was supposed to—

—save me i know they tried to when there

was still

when there

when i was

i was there

and there’s 5 but more does it even count

if everything’s 5

5 trees it’s all trees i don’t think it counts

could i count

count all the trees

no just 5 find 5 different

5 different they need to be

different all the colors all the butterflies they’re

they’re different i read they were

the colors stained glass the shapes my sister

the colors my sister pipe organ music in the cathedral

and the colors the stained glass the light

scattered on her face

her face it was beautiful

beautiful my mom

oh, my mom

she was—beautiful

she took me to the ocean and the—waves

over my knees—they threatened to

knock me over but—i stood

—i stood and i’m standing and the—trees

they’re—they’re swaying

—swaying in the breeze and there’s no water

there’s—what is there?—it’s all empty but there’s

air. the water escapes my—lungs

it escapes—and i escape.

i spill out but it’s all vapor and—there are no waves.

—there are no waves.

#second draft #teehee #uber proud of this one #:3 #i’m literally just a girl #lalalala

[orphanedshadow]

continued from (x) with @ladiesandwitches

“Well, even urban legends, no matter how ridiculous, are said to have come from some original basis of truth, so I suppose it’s reasonable to believe that they might have some helpful information,” Scully allowed, if reluctantly. Though the young woman made a fair point, she didn’t like the idea that even giving so much as an inch of allowance to any kind of ridiculous, fantastical local stories would also give Mulder more of a an allowance to take them seriously and drag her all over the country to investigate mothmen and yetis.  “So which is it?” Scully asked, “Someone being cruelly practical in silencing their victim or someone who believes they’re doing a ritual to honour some old voiceless God?” Both were equally likely; there had been enough killings in America over the decades due to cults and fanatical belief systems, that it wasn’t too out there to believe someone might think themselves a devotee of a deity-level boogeyman.  “They would have just left them there? Screaming for as long as possible because they thought it was an offering?” Scully couldn’t hide her disgust or her horror even as she tried to remain professional, “Have you seen this before? Or have you just read about it?” She hoped it was the latter. If the girl had seen it for herself before then that meant there was either a serial killer, or an entire cult creating ‘offerings’.  Scully hesitated over the buttons on her phone, “What do you mean you don’t see eye-to-eye?” She was starting to sense something as off as the mutilated corpse on the ground, and every instinct in her body was telling her to be on age, to not trust everything she was seeing. Trust no one, Mulder always told her. “Who are you really? You said you’re a ‘metaphysical investigator’, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything. I think you’re keeping secrets and you know more about all this than you’re saying” Her hand went to her gun, ready to draw it if necessary, “You have no intention of explaining yourself to anyone I call in; well you’re gonna have to explain it to me””

Why did investigators always want more answers than she wanted to give? Who she was didn’t matter, this wasn’t her victim, and the hunter couldn’t do her job if she was stuck babysitting an FBI agent.

“Yes, I have seen this sort of thing before, I have been doing this since I was very little. Call it a family business, one that is not always appreciated by your kind.” Normal people, law enforcement officers, it was all the same in that regard. No one seemed to appreciate her work, or even noticed anything more than a change in the local mortality rates.

“As for your question. In this region? Based on the patterns? I suspect followers of the voiceless god. Especially given the depth to which it was buried and the disinterment. This region was colonized by one of the lycan sects, and there are some indications on trees near the burial site.

Her hands moved to twist into a claw-like shape as she knelt down by the corpse once more, lining her fingers up with the markings on the bone, though she kept her other free just in case. "These were made by a wolf’s-claw, a sort of tool that mimics the claws of a wild animal. They slide over the fingertips, somewhat akin to metal thimbles, and are sharpened to rip through flesh. Some variants are held in place by the thumb, but not all of them.”

Fingers hovered over the corpse, pointing out tiny pinpricks on the bone. “Now these ones lack hesitation marks, and would be in non-vascular areas. They would be done by a leader or an elder, in the initial sacrifice. They would be painful, but not enough to cause shock.”

Other bones were soon gestured towards, these ones with a variety of scratches “As for these ones, they are of different distances, indicating different people with different hands. Some have hesitation marks and are quite small, potentially from someone participating for the first time. These would be delivered once the person passes out, to draw out the "last scream” and would usually be performed by all those who are of age. It is believed that the more of these that are delivered the moment before the victim perishes, and the more people participate, then the more fruitful the harvest will be.“

Kara decided it would be best not to mention that there was a reason that most of the smaller and shallower of the claw marks were located on the outside of the thigh, or how those areas were considered "safe” for the youngest to test their claws on.

“Most sects sacrifice the oldest ram of the flock, like this one may have in the past. There were traces of wool around the burial site, as well as a fire and bone bundles. The sheep are eaten afterwards, then the bones buried for a time, until they are dug up, left to dry for a few weeks, and then bundled.”

After a second of thought she gestured vaguely to the surrounding area, a region that had clearly had a few bad harvests in the past. “When harvests fail despite the sacrifice of rams some people will resort to the older methods. In many faiths that practice such things is believed that the more value a sacrifice has then the more the gods will listen…” And perhaps they would…but unfortunately this path tended to lead to some rather unpleasant places.

“Are those enough answers agent, or is there more you need?”

#in the eye of the storm: thread #ladiesandwitches #scully tag pending #to kill monsters she became one: hunter

[mccoy22dennis]

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[elsewhereuniversity]

Archivist, I beg your assistance. Like any creative, I got into The Flow while sketching out of doors. One of the Gentry came upon me, saw my works before I could close the sketchbook, and demanded I make Her the dress I had drawn. Please, might I check out the sewing kit for a time? I'll bring it back. Even if I don't come back to stay.

Certainly you may have it, and I hope that its every eccentricity can be be turned towards your task, somehow. With all the best will in the world, you shall receive (and please, do not feel obligated to return them):

The sewing kit itself is bundled into a hatbox, lovingly hand-embroidered and fitted with many separation trays. An unusual amount of separation trays, in fact, which always seem to be the right shape to contain the new horrors I keep dropping in there.

A golden needle hanging on a loop of glowing white thread like a pendant on a necklace. The needle is perfectly sharp but will never injure the owner - although I don’t know how it will interact with the thimble that guarantees a needle will injure the owner.

A set of needles made from the bones of an unknown creature, which if used to draw blood can then use it as if it is violently crimson thread

A single tapestry needle, which also clearly drew blood at one point; the blood is OA- and really should not be, although I do not know if that’s the fault of the needle

An unusable thimble that cannot be removed from the little paper bag it is in, and burns anyone who makes the attempt

A thimble that guarantees you’ll prick your finger, and in exchange can push a needle through virtually anything

A needle threader that will always measure out the exact length of thread you need, but which will occasionally simply delete the needle’s eye 

A seam ripper which cuts through any and all charmed thread as if it is normal, although it’s rather dull when used on normal thread

A small turtle with a shell just magnetic enough to hold pins and needles; I believe it may be made of metal, but the enamel covering (if it is so) is almost impossibly well done.

A piece of partially used tailor’s chalk which causes the wearer of any garment it’s used for to contort hideously and violently

Three pieces of tailor’s chalk which will always draw lines which are precisely where they should be and last exactly as long as you need them

Pattern weights shaped like rare frogs, which cheerfully and constantly critique finished projects

A packet of various pattern pieces which appear mundane until one attempts to figure out what they’re patterns for, at which point they begin to take rather distressing shapes

One cherry wood button bearing the insignia of a hart rampant, which calms the heart and breath and mind when touched

Seven black buttons which appear to be perfectly normal, except that when sewn to a stuffed animal they begin to blink in a way that makes it obvious they are eyes, and have been the whole time

A spool of thread that is a lie

A spool of thread that is impossibly fine, and extremely sharp under tension as a result

A ribbon that affixes itself to one’s person in the most visually pleasing shape and color it is able to.

A ribbon of faintly glowing chartreuse, indistinguishable from glow-in-the-dark trinkets except that it doesn’t require any light to maintain its glow

A great length of copper wire, entirely wrapped in blue string, which has minor protective qualities

Two spools of what is either crimson thread or fine copper wire, which seems to change at random

High-strings from a once high-strung individual, invisible but very tensioned

A fork with a simple rose design on the handle, which if jammed into the workings of a machine will fix any (non-fork-related) problems

A sewing tin that eats scraps, and may take your fingertips with it if you’re not careful

Copper knitting needles fixed together with resin, which now seem to operate as a kind of dowsing device

Srossics, which are dull on the insides and sharp on the outside, but cut through daydreams well enough

#cackling and rubbing my hands together as i go to look through the Current Charms #the crazed sewing kit ii #long post #charms #the ones that have no link #are because tumblr has decided the post doesn't exist #and no amount of searching has been able to find them