#( ✂┇OUT OF STITCHES. )

[bloodyarn]

𝐆𝘂𝐞𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝐡𝐨'𝘀 𝐛𝐢𝗿𝘁𝐡𝐝𝐚𝘆 𝐢𝘀 𝘁𝐨𝐝𝐚𝘆.

Exactly, your favorite seamstress' (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[h3avymachin3ry]

HHhhhhh sorry if this character is hard to write for but could you maybe do The Dollmaker (Phighting) x reader where they like don't even seem to bat an eye at her bandages and aren't put off or creeped out in the slightest by her dollmaking?! :OOOO

HHhhhhh if u odon't wanna thats okay i've got a backup character (Mozelle from Regretevator x reader) if u wanna do that one instead

I LoOOO VE your writing btw it feeds the bottomless pits of my hyperfixations RAAHHHJj TY FOR EXISTING :DDDDD

(All of this is /nf btw :OOO)

୭ 🪡✂ ✧ ˚୧⋆ STITCH YOU UP! [PLATONIC]

dollmaker x gn! reader

platonic, since i dont write for the dollmaker romantically lol

hi friend!!! or tessa if you want me to call you that- I'm glad u enjoy my writing!!!!!! :)

[additional context for those who don't know, the dollmaker is a phighting character in the lore, she's in the same group as broker medkit and scythe, she has 3 dolls that speak for her.]

When The Dollmaker first met you, she expected you to ask about her bandages, or the three dolls— fury, folly, and tragedy.

It was quite the surprise when you didn't comment on the dolls, or the bandages wrapped around her body.

"Hey, you ain't gonna ask 'bout us?" Fury spoke, gesturing at Folly and Tragedy.

"Or call us creepy..?" Tragedy muttered, tugging on The Dollmaker's bandages.

"Hm? Ah, I wasn't going to, plus, it's pretty cool" You reply, shooting The Dollmaker a warm smile.

She gets attatched quite quickly, with her dolls tugging at the bottom of your pants all the time.

Usually the dolls just like nagging you.

As you sit next to The Dollmaker, watching her work on another doll, you feel a slight tug on the bottom of your shirt.

You see tragedy tugging at your shirt, you let out a soft laugh as you scoop them into your arms.

The Dollmaker loves giving you gifts!

"This is for you!" Folly exclaims, as The Dollmaker hesitantly hands you a doll, its features resembling your own.

"Oh, for me? Thank you!"

You take the doll, gently holding it as you look at The Dollmaker happily.

"Yes... thank you for being with us..." Tragedy mutters, as The Dollmaker looks at you with a warm gaze.

IM SO SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT. AND KINDA BAD THIS SAT IN MY DRAFTS FOR 2 DAYS AND I JUST WANTED TO GET SOMETHING OUT TODAY T_T

[emilija04acer]

Denial of closeness update>

Chapter 3: Threads and Memories

Niffty is making a puppet show!

This time she wants to make it with actual puppets, so Alastor volunteers to make them with her.

3. Don't you hate it when the princess calls you Niffty's dad?

Here is a snippet>>>

As the last notes of her makeshift orchestra faded, Niffty took a bow. The applause was polite but distant. She glanced at Alastor, who sat in the corner, his crimson eyes half-closed. As others left the room she came closer to him. His crimson eyes bore into Niffty’s, curiosity etched on his face. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”

Niffty fidgeted with her sketchbook, her mind racing. “Do they hate my shows?” she blurted out, her voice small.

Alastor chuckled, his smile enigmatic. “Niffty, they wouldn’t watch them if they hated them. Your roaches have their peculiar charm.”

But Niffty wasn’t satisfied. “Maybe I should try something new,” she mused aloud. “What if I made actual puppets? New characters, fresh stories!”

Alastor leaned back. “That could be refreshing,” he conceded. “And you know how to sew, don’t you? You made that beautiful dress!”

Niffty’s eye widened. “Yes, clothes! Mostly with a machine. But dolls? They’re different. How do I even start?”

Alastor hummed and clapped his hands “First, we’ll need fabric. Something sturdy but soft. And a pattern—” “I can draw the pattern! Look!” She flipped her sketchbook to reveal a rough outline of a doll, its limbs elongated, its head oversized.

Alastor examined her drawing. “Not bad. Now, let’s cut the fabric.” He demonstrated, the scissors gliding smoothly through the material. “Remember, precision matters.”

Niffty mimicked his movements, her tongue poking out in concentration. “Precision,” she repeated.

His fingers traced the delicate fabric, guiding Niffty through the art of doll-making. He spoke of seams and stitches, of shaping limbs and faces. Niffty listened, her enthusiasm growing with each whispered instruction.

“Next,” Alastor said, “we stitch the body. A simple running stitch along the edges.”

Niffty threaded the needle, her fingers deftly pulling the thread through the fabric. “Like this?”

...

"Exactly like that sweetie."

Memories of his mother surfaced—the way she’d sit by the window, sunlight streaming through her hair as she sewed. She’d taught him patiently, her voice soft and encouraging.

His father had scoffed, calling it "women's work." Yet, his mother had persisted, her needle weaving magic into every stitch. She had even shared her secret—the voodoo dolls. They were not the dark magic of horror stories but a beautiful connection to the universe.

"Every stitch holds power. Healing and protection," her voice echoed in his mind. Alastor's fingers betrayed him.

He pushed the needle through the fabric, wincing as it pricked his finger. Blood welled up, staining the cloth. “Ouch,” he muttered.

Niffty glanced at him. “Are you okay?”

He chuckled, wiping the blood away. “Fine. Just a little mishap.”

∘◦ ✂ ————–✂ ◦∘

After a month of hiatus >>>

Chapter 4 (bonus): The aftermath of Niffty’s last puppet show! Emotions be damned.

An attempt to write from Niffty’s POV.Later Rosie’s POV. Features confused and angry Niffty, Husk trying to comfort unsuccessfully, and drunk Alastor.

[galaxywhump]

✂ Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

🥇 Pick one aspect of your story that you are particularly fond of. Anything at all.

Both for SV-240?

-verkja

Thanks, @verkja ❤️

✂ Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

There were some scenes that didn't make it into the final versions of chapters, but I'm not sure there were entire plotlines? There were some scenes in Movie Night that just ended up not working, like the one where, after being used as a footstool, Wren helps Daniel in the kitchen (making pretzels) and struggles with thinking that this actually feels kind of nice and homely, especially after how Berkeley had treated him.

The Backhand Slap BTHB piece was originally completely different, it took place during Wren's time with the slavers and was the lead-up to Wren's concussion, but I didn't like how it turned out so it was scrapped.

🥇 Pick one aspect of your story that you are particularly fond of. Anything at all.

Being able to incorporate the mouth stitched shut trope into the story, honestly. I still like it a lot and I'm kinda proud of the way I wrote it.

[sparksbet]

For anyone interested in how they did the embroidery, here's a machine translation of what the creator says in the instagram captions (it's originally in Japanese):

2 colors of thread Footprints: 1 piece Snow: 3 pieces (punch needle) Animal footprints are satin stitched Human footprints are straight stitch, satin stitch with core, and back stitch. For the snow, I cut out all the hoops with a punch needle ✂

Embroidered snowy steps>

[lets-getcrocheting]

Small Lesson

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑Hey guys! Very soon I will be posting my first tutorial. But before I can post it, I must teach you a few things first. 

The Discourse Community of Crochet.

In this amazing community, we have terminology that many people do not understand. I've long heard and experienced the view that crochet tutorials are written in another language. Much like an assignment from my ENC 1101 class. Teaching about communities and educating people with knowledge they may not be aware of will enlighten and spread wisdom, as well as show communities that may not have yet reached them. I learned a lot of the terminology others in my class used in their communities. So, if you want to join our community, I'll teach you some of the terms we use.

How to make a chain🔗

A chain is what we call a stitch, it is the easiest out of all the stitches there are in crochet.

Yarn over (wrap the yarn around the hook from back to front).

Pull the yarn through the loop on the hook. This creates one chain stitch.

How to change color𓍯𓂃

If you have never done color changing, follow these steps: first, complete the last chain in the current color, pull it, and cut the yarn, leaving a 4–6 inch tail. Secure the yarn by pulling the cut end through the last loop on your hook. Attach the new color by making a slipknot (see above) and placing it on the hook, then pull it through the first chain of the next row. Optionally, chain one with the new color to secure it, and continue crocheting in the new color, following your pattern.  

How to weave in your ends🧶🪡✂

Take the yarn needle and thread it with one of the loose ends. If the end is short, you can use the needle to help guide it through the loop. Turn your crochet work to the wrong side (the side that won't be visible). Identify the chains where you want to weave in the ends. You can weave the ends into the back loops or under both loops of the chains. Insert the yarn needle under the loops of the chains, following the path of the yarn. Pulling the yarn too tightly might cause your stitches to turn out droopy so be careful. Weave the yarn in one direction for a few chains, then change direction and weave back in the opposite direction. This helps lock the yarn in place and prevents it from unraveling. Once you've woven the yarn for a sufficient length (usually around 2-3 inches), trim the excess yarn close to your work, leaving a small tail that is hidden within the chains. 

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[ailendolin]

Hmm. I wonder if it'll be obvious which fics I'm reading now ... 😉

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

for...

Gabrian! 😍

It's totally not obvious 😂💙 Thank you for this prompt!

Next up: ✂ - drooping eyelids: Fanny ⌫ - lullaby: Humphrey Sir Richard Hawkins and King Philip post-movie ✓ - waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared: Sophie

Ask Game can be found here. Filled prompts are here on AO3. ________

Sleeves +: being led back to bed with patient whispers

“Gabriel.”

“Five more minutes and I’ll be done,” Gabriel muttered around the needle between her lips.

“You already said that an hour ago,” Ian pointed out quietly.

Gabriel glanced up at him. “I’ll just quickly finish this sleeve.”

Ian’s eyes dropped to the sleeve – not the one she was holding in her hand but the other one, the one she’d already attached to the costume earlier this evening.

“Shirts generally have two sleeves, Ian,” Gabriel said before he even had the chance to comment. With the needle now between her fingers, she pushed the thread through the fabric and gently pulled it tight. “Because humans have two arms, you see?”

Instead of chuckling like she’d hoped he would, Ian just sighed – a heavy, tired sound. He stepped closer and placed his hand over hers, gently halting her mid-stitch.

“Humans also need to sleep, Gabriel,” he said softly. “Even those who love their work. Especially those.”

Gabriel paused to look at him – really look at him – for the first time that evening. Ian looked tired; no, more than that – he looked exhausted. A pang of guilt tugged at her heart. “How late is it?”

“Past one in the morning, I think,” Ian said around a yawn. He would have to get up in less than five hours.

Gabriel placed down her needle and turned her hand palm up to intertwine her fingers with his. “You should have gone to bed.”

“And have you falling asleep at your work table again?” Ian asked. He shook his head. “Not happening.”

Gabriel groaned. “That was one time, Ian. One. Time.”

“And that’s one too many as far as I’m concerned,” he simply said. He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss against her knuckles. “Come to bed, Gabriel. Please.”

With one last glance at the half-attached sleeve, Gabriel sighed and nodded. She let Ian pull her away from her work and down the hallway to their room. Even though the embers in the hearth were still glowing faintly, the air around her was cold as she changed into her nightdress. Ian already looked on the verge of sleep when she finally crawled into bed next to him and Gabriel felt another stab of guilt. She should have known he would be waiting up for her. He didn’t like to go to bed alone – the nightmares were hard enough to handle between the two of them. No wonder he didn’t want to face them on his own, even just in theory.

“I’m sorry I kept you awake, mi amor,” she whispered against his chest.

Ian’s hand rubbed her arm in reassurance before it settled on her hip. “You know I don’t mind that. I just don’t want you to overwork yourself.”

Years of unrelenting servitude resonated in his voice and Gabriel gazed up at him for a moment, took in the scars life had left on his soul that no one would ever truly see, and leaned up to kiss him. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“You’d do the same,” Ian smiled softly.

“Always,” Gabriel whispered – a quiet promise she meant to keep for the rest of her life.  

[musedbyalli]

✂ He understood, of course Cain wouldn’t take anything offered, the wounds were still fresh, the trust still not mended. Trust between them hadn’t ever existed so mended wasn’t a good word. If not taken care of the rift between them, much like a wound, would begin to fester.

One of the natural defenses exhibited by the body under the knife was to seize up, flinch and recoil at any indication of entry wound in the attempt to protect itself from pain. But this was an old wound, lined with scar tissue and clumsy stitching, and Jizabel knew that certain damages required a degree of manual labor applied: to let the wound breathe and, with every ache at the slightest touches of parting and mending, heal. There was blood, too much of it, and it needed to be spilt, before the both of them succumbed to the suffocation caused by the blockage.     

 But clots never did dislodge so easily, did they? Never did rupture beautifully, despite the vibrancy of scarlet. The patient’s bleeding out on the table while the doctor’s feeling the cascade in his own chest, and, once he’s snatched the surgical speak away like stripping bandages, all that’s left standing were two brothers in the aftermath of a critical injury. What a mess, honestly… But it was his own, and it’s not like him to shrink responsibility. Diligence always made for a good crutch, didn’t it?

The mention of food. The doctors eyes widened. There was no way for the other two to possibly know what horrors their father put him through. “No… there’s no need to give me any money for the kitchen. I would … tell you why but with our young sister here, I fear for her constitution.”  Not wanting to traumatize the poor girl. 

✂ The doctor took a shaky sigh. “My relationship with food, is about as poorly maintained as our relationship, brother. For now that is all I will speak on this matter..” Although there was something he wanted.  “I had not a clue he had left me anything to inherit. If he did and what you say is true, I would request to move into the manor with you two. The foundation of this building is poor.”  And it would likely not survive another year, it was almost condemned.

It was a rather overbearing request but that is where he wanted to be. Safely away in a house that wouldn’t fall on him- a place to heal and repair, he’d spent so long repairing the dead, it was time he worked on himself, he thought. 

Cain was never one to have much luck when it came to healing.  He had so many trust issues that stemmed from his childhood.  Those emotional scars were hidden though.  Those were simple to hide behind a smile and words.  His physical scars were a bit more difficult to hide, but thankfully most were able to be hidden under his shirts.  There was no hiding these facts from those that were aware of his past.

Cain and Merryweather both noticed the doctor’s eyes widen at the mention of food.  It had been unintentional to cause any discomfort, although in the past it wouldn’t have been.  With his words and knowing how their father was, it was likely an awful story.  

Merry couldn’t imagine what the story behind his reaction, but Cain could imagine many possibilities.  None of the possibilities that came to his mind were right though, but it was enough to keep him from asking any questions.  Plus, he could agree with his reasons for not wanting to discuss such a topic in front of Merryweather.  After all, there were many events from his own past that he wouldn’t want her to ever hear of, so he could relate.  Everyone deserved to be able to have some secrets to themself.  

“Understood.”  Cain gave a small nod in response to his explanation with a glance at Merry telling her not to pry.  It was a gesture that Merry would claim wasn’t needed, although it was a good reminder.  It was difficult not to be curious about their pasts, but at the same time she knew it was a painful topic.  She had learned that relatively quickly while living with Cain.  Not that she didn’t have her own pain, but many of their experiences were likely nightmare material for her.  

“He didn’t particularly leave anything for either of us intentionally.  There is simply more than we need.”  Not that he’d give it up since he was raised with exquisite taste.  He was willing to share it though with the only other person he knew that likely went through as much hell at Alexis’ hand as him.  

A glance was given to Merry, who was already staring expectantly at him.  While Cain was expecting that sort of response, it would be inappropriate to agree to a new housemate without allowing her any feedback.  “I suppose that could work.  There is a spare room that could be prepared for you.”  Which mostly meant removing the items that were being stored in there.  Mostly boxes of abandoned items from past servants that no one had bothered to go through.  At least, in regards to the room that had come to his mind.  There were numerous rooms that could be suitable for him.  “It wouldn’t take long than you could do with it as you please.” 

[avictimofthejazz]

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened for Micheal Knight

✂ - a vivid memory for Maggie Sullivan

a memory that may or may not have happened for Michael Knight

Michael frowns, the perturbed expression pulling his lips downward. The biggest problem with getting shot in the head twice, and having a metal plate holding the various pieces together, is that things get… fuzzy. Particularly anything that happened before he became Michael Knight…

The fragments are persistent though, leading him to hope this memory can be trusted at least.

The catfish is huge, almost as tall as the seven-year-old trying to reel it in, and probably weighs twice as much. If not for the taller man behind him holding the rod steady, all the fish had to do was give a good tug and pitch the boy into the lake. Mister… what is his name again? Mister Weblin… their neighbor… the old man is giving him instructions on how to reel the fish in and not lose his catch. He is trying to listen but he is laughing too hard to really pay attention…too excited by the fact that he finally caught one…

The memory cuts off there, leaving Michael grappling with the fragments. He does not even know if he ended up bringing the fish in after all… Shaking his head, he rubs at the spot in his forehead where he imagines he can feel the firmness of the plate. Then he takes a sip of coffee. If he goes chasing ghosts much longer, he is just going to give himself a headache.

a vivid memory for Maggie Sullivan

Shaking her head, Maggie pulls the blood-stained sheets off her examination table. She thought she had put these kinds of injuries behind her when she finally left Vietnam, but every time Hannibal and his crew roll into town, someone is generally sporting some catastrophic injury. It is only when they are all together though, as if the chaos is compounded the more members of the A-Team end up in the same area.

When John comes up on his own, they generally get to enjoy a decent evening when dinner and some beers. Face comes up about once a month to settle the account with her, and update the medical files she keeps. Those afternoons are always peaceful, and he normally brings a nice bottle of wine as a thank you gift. Murdock shows up sometimes… once he brought a young lady named Kelly to collect a litter of kittens abandoned under Maggie’s porch. Kelly also took the skunk kit that had been joined the cohort. BA came up to help her with her car, or to do repairs on her house. Amy sometimes made the trip when she wanted to spend the weekend somewhere peaceful….

But when any or all of them started existing in the same space, disaster usually followed. The newest casualty is Face, now comfortably drugged into sleeping in an upstairs room. She had spent forty-five minutes cleaning shrapnel out of his side, and stitching closed a knife wound.

The passing thought of the injury abruptly brings her up sharp, her hands fisting in the fabric.

The wounded have been pouring in—as soon as they get one guy off the table, there is another one to take his place. She has barely had time to change her gloves between patients. The newest boy is young, barely nineteen if he is a day. His freckled features are ashen, the marks on his skin standing out even more. Even as her anesthesiologist starts putting him under, she cannot shake the thought that this kid looks just like Charlie—her teenager boy currently with his grandmother. He looks too much like Charlie. She has been thinking that more and more lately… too many of these boys should be getting ready to go off to college and trying to figure out if they want to keep going steady with their best girl. They should not be here. There is no time for these thoughts though. Leaning over to examine the wound in the boy’s abdomen, a deep cut from shrapnel, she swears quietly under her breath. Even if she were not a top-class surgeon, she would know that the fleshy blobs protruding from the injury are not normal or a good sign. They are parts of his intestines… the slice went deeper then she had initially thought. Sending up a quick prayer, hoping it does not get lost in the queue of prayers emanating from this hospital, she turns to start giving orders to her nurse.

The sound of the A-Team’s van door slamming with more force then necessary, a testament to BA’s annoyance with the situation, startles her out of her thoughts. Maggie quickly tucks the memory away. This is no time to dwell on the past. Besides, she did pull that young man through, and Private Micmack named his oldest daughter after her when he got back to the States and married his girlfriend.

Grumbling under her breath, Maggie tosses the sheet in the hamper. She needs to find a different detergent—one better at getting the blood out of everything.

[tzeentchs-secretary-tea-time]

✂

Silence. It reigned.

Tzeentch had come, he had gone. Removing all blockades in her mind. Removing all Warp energies. Removing all that was not soul.

Khorne placed a plate on the table.

Slaanesh gave her hunger.

Nurgle made her eat.

They took away her chains. Covered her in a carapace of quiet anguish. Handed her her weapons. These… “Ar͡e͏͟ ́yo̵͟ư̶ ̢s͜͞u̶̷r̶̷ę̸͝ ̢̀a̕b̴͘o͏u̵t ̨͟t̷͠͏h̶͏i̶s̀̀͡?̀” Tzeentch. “This is what I am.” “W͏̸h͘͟a͜t'͟ś̶̛ ̴͏̛y̷̨ó̷u̡̢͘r͜ p͏͟͞la͏̨ņ̶͝?” “Ask Kairos.” She turned away from the gods, her step lied.

The armies lay waiting. She knew the most. She told them what was needed. They had heeded her advice. They surrounded her Reality Rippers. Disguising them as a growing storm. No Primarch was present. A necessary precaution.

The Rippers began to charge. One per god. Khorne promised that blood would spill. She watched from afar. The ships charged their own cannons. The endless sky cracked with agitation.

She glid through the field. It was unbelievably easy. Not even a ripple. She avoided the living. She avoided the dead. She avoided those in-between. A battle had been suffered, but a clear victory was obvious. Her guard would be down. She would sit on her throne, talk to Ishtar and then ask that the marine leave. Too easy, too simple, too routine.

She found her office. There was a keepsake cabinet. Various pairs of her broken glasses and a few picts. Sentimentality was lost to her now. She left the office untouched.

There she sat. Just as Kairos had predicted, sleeping. Whispering behind her ear “Ev darling…” voice of sleeping silk. Evren inhaled sharply “Ky-” only to find a pick-axe running through her, puncturing the roof of her mouth. She twisted the grip, an explosion of gore spattered across the floor.

Sirens screamed, ships dropped out of the Warp. Disorder riddled the ship. The Gellar fields failed. Gargled chocking echoed as shadows tried to stitch her once loved one together. “Ah-ah-ah darling,” with a vicious whip the body hit the floor. Kicking her over at the remains of her hip, tears streamed down the remains of her face. She looked on impassively. Where shadow grew, she struck. These wounds would not heal.

The monochrome wings, a tattered mess. Legs, stopped being functional hours ago. Arms, no longer attached. Pelvis, thoroughly shattered. Spinal column, missing a few vertebrae. The now pale face still wept.

A battle raged around them. When it had started she did not care.

The Reality Rippers were fully charged. Kneeling over the shattered champion “I do not bring forgiveness” she held the head in her hands “I do not bring love” she kissed the forehead “I am made of iron.” The Rippers fired.

[bloodyarn]

Baby hag Babsi ?

The earlier appearance is still canon, she just looked way too old in those so I yassified her to look more her age as a fresh hag :)

[berrypeacherine]

🔱 Scissors Crown Claus belt pouch progress: Since the pouch doesn't fit under the sewing machine anymore, I've got to stitch all the binding on by hand. Because I'm not so good at stitching (or doing anything) consistently even, I often measure the stitches out ahead of time and put pins in, so I don't have to guess! It works well for me... ✂ #cosplay #cosplayprogress #cosplayworkinprogress #cosplaywip #inprogress #workinprogress #costuming #sewing #leatherbag #bagmaking #beltpouch #leathersewing #handsewing #cosplayaccessories #scissorscrown #thorescosplay #artbookcosplay #コスプレ #シザーズクラウン

[bloodyarn]

@gemshroud

I am sorry.

[bloodyarn]

✂  Small list of things I want to draw in the future (I forget to look into my phone notes so I write it here if I am ever bored).

• Childhood comic (storyboard exists already) • Babsi companion kisses • Good ending Babsi + bad ending Babsi  • vampire spawn Babs (ര ‿ ര ) • Her and a smol steel watcher (fun-sized for cutsie reasons [suggested by my partner] )

Feel free to suggest more, this list is just a mental note, work in progress and all.

[bloodyarn]

❝ You might want someone on your travels who knows their way around a needle , no  ?  . . . I fear the only thing I will be able to stitch up is your clothing. A rather . . . sorry excuse, is it not  ? ❞

# 𝗕𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐍 , an independent , selective   &   crossover friendly RP blog for original companion   𝗕𝐀𝗕𝐄���𝐓𝐄   —   the Hexed Seamstress of Baldur's Gate 3 [ not to be mistaken with Tav ] , Mun   &   Muse +21 , stitched together by Fungi [ she/her; they/them ]  , heavy topics, gore, potential nsfw warning  ,  personals DNI

verses in: Bg3/ general forgotten realms; DND , JJBA , Beetlejuice

𝐈. carrd.     𝐈𝐈. RP memes. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. interest tracker.   

𝐈𝐕. Wall (Guestbook)

-> Verses .

blogroll:

@sleetkissed [Durge] / [League of Legends verse] @yourfavoritetiefling [Companion] @swarmcall [Companion] @m1bo [DND oc]

  Rules shortcut under the cut ✂ - - -

[ Hey, I'm Fungi [she/her], 25 years old and living in Germany. [GMT+1] ]

⟡ Mun ≠ Muse ; I think that much is clear. Any statements that come up ic are not specifically my own.

⟡ No God modding ; Small liberties like change of scene and such are totally fine and do not have to be discussed. You can hurt her, shove her or whatever, just keep in mind that my muse will react accordingly. Do not assume reactions and write my muses actions.

⟡ You can always message me for plotting or headcanons if we are mutuals. ; However, I prefer if things play out naturally. We do not necesarrily have to plot out every thread till the end. I am more than happy writing and see how things develop.

⟡ You can always send a starter, no need to ask! ; Again, if we are mutuals. Same goes for sending me rp prompts to my inbox, memes or whatnot. You are also free to tag me in dashgames!

⟡ OC - and Tav friendly of course. Just be sure to have a little bit of information ready and visible on your blog so I can look it up before we interact. We stan OCs in this household.

⟡ Post trimming. ; I use XKit Rewritten to trim my posts. It is not a MUST but I would be thankful if you have a way to trim your posts. Just to keep it nice and clean on the dash. Other than that, I use the usual small text, cursive and bold text edits. Rarely colored text. You do not have to match my writing or editing style, as soon as everything is nicely readable.

⟡ I won’t write NSFW with minors. Mun or muse. Please make sure to have the age somewhere on your blog before interacting. If smut happens, it will be tagged and under 'keep reading'.

  ⟡ Shipping: I am a huge sucker for ships. If said thing happens, keep in mind Babsi is multiship, means that every ship takes place in its own universe. I do have to see chemistry between muses tho, let it be through rp or just nerding about them.

⟡ No racism, homophobia, transphobia and so on. Don’t be an ass. I can definitely tolerate ic biased opinions on that in threads, just don't bring it into the real world.

[bloodyarn]

✂ Dossier and Backstory until my carrd is finished:

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑

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𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Babette Adeline Ziromzu

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒: The Hexed Seamstress

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒: Babs, Babsi, Betty

𝐃.𝐎.𝗕. + 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 24th April - 25 years old

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑: Female

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒: She / Her

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Bisexual / Biromantic

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒: Hexblood [ former human ]

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒: Warlock [ Archfey ]    &    Bard [ College of Glamour ]

𝗕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄: Baldur’s Gate

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Seamstress

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒:

• Knitting & crocheting (duh) • Pompous cakes • Quiet evenings • Platonic pillow talk

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒:

• Insects & Arachnids • The smell of smoke • Thunderstorms • Clowns

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈��𝐒:

• soft-spoken • naturally curious • polite • silent extrovert • forgiving • stubborn • perfectionist 

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𝗕𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓

[ ✂ ] [CW: Child labor]

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝘆𝐨𝘂𝐧𝐠𝐞𝘀𝘁 𝐨𝐟 𝘀𝐞𝘃𝐞𝐧 𝘀𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝘀.      Babette was born into a strict family. Playing outside like her peers, getting dirty in puddles on the street after summer rains, nothing that she could afford. It was her own mother, who treated their children like workers, teaching them knitting, crocheting, sewing only to prepare them to ’help out the family’. Both of her parents endured a childhood in poverty. It was their way of keeping the family’s life standards above average, no matter the cost.

The girl had trouble, picking up the family’s craft. Never terrible but never perfect either. A wrong stitch here, a forgotten button on a vest, keep your gods damned head together   !   Why couldn’t she be as good as her sisters   ?   Why does mother threaten to send her off, send her to an orphanage, if kind enough   ?

No matter how long Babette practiced, time only rewarded her with more bloody pokes in her hands. Clumsy. Slow. Lazy. 

A hag got wind from the girl’s troubles and bitter thoughts. Babette’s fears enlightened, amused the fey. Sweet-talking her way into the child’s heart, feigning compassion, offering solutions, quick ones. One of their circle was killed recently. A replacement was needed. If the young lady would agree to a pact, she would gain impeccable skills in her craft. Everyone would be enticed by her future works, the needle like a brush to the artist. Only a small touch of her own body, a hair, a droplet of blood in her work, would do the trick. In return, the seamstress would comply to turn into a hag, one of the arch fey’s kin, in time.

And the desperation cried louder than the girl’s common sense. The need for admiration, for praise, was too much to bear living without it any longer.

  Babette left the forest with a crown.

     A token of her pact.

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

[ ✂ ]

     𝐀𝘁 𝐟𝐢𝗿𝘀𝘁, 𝘁𝐡𝐢𝘀 𝐛𝐚𝗿𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝘄𝐢𝘁𝐡 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝗿𝐜𝐡𝐟𝐞𝘆 𝘄𝐚𝘀𝐧'𝘁 𝐛𝐚𝐝; 𝐧𝐨𝘁 𝐚𝘁 𝐚𝐥𝐥.     The pact altered the girl's appearance; hair   &   skin now holding a soft lavender tone, pale and almost sickly. The eldercross around her head now one with her body. Hers, just like the fey blood pumping through her veins. After the first shock settled when returning to her family, it didn't take long for her parents to see the potential of their youngest child. Only by attaching something from Babette, sewing in a hair between fabric, the craft would carry a mesmerizing touch. Clearly, anything would sell now. Obviously, the nestling was a pot of gold.

Did she really have the privilege to argue about it now   ?   About that exploit, which only got worse because of decisions, made with her own intentions   ?

Her work for her family continued, happy to help, happy to be needed at least. It was . . . strangely nice.

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𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓

[ ✂ ]

     𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝘁 𝗿𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝗿 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝘄𝘀, 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐡𝘆𝘀, 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝘄𝐡𝐞𝗿𝐞𝘀.     Stranded, far away from her hometown, she found herself at shore. The devastating pulsing inside her head, the twirling of her vision, the nausea. Everything was scary. Not only that, but finding herself anywhere else instead of home made her anxious. Her appearance could easily be identified as a hag in the making, her reason why she disguised herself as long as needed.

Following a group of tiefling refugees on their way to the Emerald Grove, Babette blended in marvelously. From there, the hexblood would have to find a way to Baldur's Gate. The thought about . . . returning . . . seemed strange. An awkward stir and turn. It inflicts worry and second thoughts. Maybe This was a sign. Maybe it was just foolish.

Whatever the future brings, it is inevitable anyway.

   She should stop thinking and start following her instincts.

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