#(especially right now that the yarn is tangled up in it)

[the-fibre-stuff]

I'm going to get it out of the way and say that I'm well aware that I'm weird, I'm not about to ask that.

However... people were really surprised at me bringing the lace stole to stitch social today. (At least one person was, and she got support when she commented). I'll admit I haven't really attended many crafting socials (and this is really the only knit/crochet specific one I've gone to), but I had kind of thought it was perfect - I'm not about to bring a plain vanilla sock, or some other kind of "knit while walking down the road" project to an event where I'm going to be sitting and knitting. (Yes, it's something I need to look at because of how fine the yarn is, but I kind of thought there was a lower expectation of making eye contact for group knitting.)

For the record, I wasn't the only person with a pattern out in front of me, although we were in a minority. (I used the book instead of my phone but there was enough space)

So..

[ahqkas]

♯ PUPPY PRINCESS ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! every gift of yours is something remus tends to cherish, especially your love for creating from nothing (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff, remus is nothing but smitten and wrapped around your finger

NOTES! autumn’s coming and my obsession with the marauders is slowly defrosting ☹️ all the credits to the pretty devider below belong to @aqualogia !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

I. A TANGLED WEB OF YARD AND ADORATION

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE TALL WINDOWS of the Gryffindor common room, casting a warm glow across the stone walls. You're sitting comfortably on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, with your hands working steadily, creating a rhythm with the yarn and crochet hook. The familiar motion of looping the yarn through the hook brought a sense of calm, a quiet joy that you've always found in crafting.

Remus Lupin sat nearby with a thick textbook in his lap, but the words kept getting tangled in his mind due to his lack of attention on the subject. He was supposed to be studying — there's a Transfiguration exam tomorrow that he really should be preparing for — but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from you. He watched the way your hands moved, the smooth, practiced motions that seem to come so naturally to you. There was something about it that fascinated him, though he couldn't quite put it into words.

"You're staring again," you say, glancing up and meeting his dark eyes with a small, knowing smile. Your tone is light, teasing. You're used to it now — how his attention drifts from his studies to you whenever you're engrossed in one of your hobbies.

Your boyfriend looked slightly embarrassed, flushed cheeks caught in the act, but he smiled back at you. "Sorry," he replied, though it didn't sound as sincere as it should. He wasn't sorry for admiring you and your skills. "I just . . . I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" you asked, your hands never pausing in their work. The yarn slides smoothly through your fingers.

"Make it look so easy," he said, genuinely curious. "It's like you're weaving magic with your hands."

You gave him a soft chuckle at that, shaking your head as you finish off another row. "It's not that complicated, really. It's just practice. Anyone can learn if they have the patience."

The werewolf nodded thoughtfully, though he was not entirely convinced he could manage it. The heavy textbook was set down, the revision long forgotten. "What are you making this time?" he asked you, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued which charmed a smile on your lips.

"A scarf," you answer, keeping your focus on the yarn as you hold up the length of your still unfinished work that's slowly but surely taking shape. The stitches were tight and even and the colour of the fabric shined in the fire of the fireplace. "Winter's coming soon, and I figured you could use something warm."

Remus' brows lifted in surprise, eyes flickering between your face and the scarf in making. "For me?"

"Of course," you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I wanted to make something you'd actually use. Plus, it's a good excuse to work with this colour."

He couldn't help but linger at the scarf — a deep burgundy, the color of his tie, which reminded him of autumn leaves and Gryffindor pride. It was a shade he'd always liked, and the thought that you'd chosen it specifically with him in mind made him feel a quiet sense of gratitude. 

"Thank you," he said quietly now with sincerity lacing his every word. "I really appreciate it."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze with a smile, the kind of smile that made something warm unfurl in his chest. Something unspoken passed between the two of you — an understanding, a quiet connection that didn't need words to be felt. "I enjoy making things for people I care about," you replied. "And you can't go wrong with a good scarf."

There was a comfortable silence as you returned to your work, and Remus found himself drawn once again to the way your hands moved with such practiced grace. He'd always been fascinated by the kind of magic that doesn't come from a wand — the quiet, everyday magic that you brought to life with your hobbies. He watched as the yarn twisted and turned, forming something tangible and warm, something that wasn't there just moments before.

After a while, you glanced at him again, your eyes thoughtful. "You know," you started, voice casual but inviting, "if you ever want to learn, I could show you how to crochet. It's not as difficult as it looks."

Remus hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. He'd never thought of himself as particularly crafty — his talents have always leaned more towards theoretical things, like books and spells. But the idea of sitting with you, learning something new together, was oddly appealing. "I don't know if I'd be any good at it," he admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. A part of him was terrified his hands weren't stable enough for such work as your own were.

But you just shrugged lightly, focus still on the scarf as it grew longer with each stitch. "It's not about being good at it," you exclaimed. "It's just . . . something calming to do with your hands. A way to focus your mind on something simple."

The werewolf considered this, watching the way your hands moved with a steady, comforting rhythm. There was a kind of peace in it, a meditative quality that he couldn't help but find appealing. "Maybe I'll give it a try," he said finally, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. "If you promise not to laugh at me."

"I would never. I think you might surprise yourself."

The hours slipped by as the common room gradually emptied, students heading off to their dormitories as the evening wore on. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls, but you and Remus remained where you were, content in each other's company. The scarf in your hands grew  longer with each passing moment, the yarn slowly transforming into something tangible, something with weight and warmth.

Eventually, you finished your work, holding up the completed scarf for Remus to see. The stitches were beautifully done, the pattern simple yet elegant, and the color — rich and deep — seemed to glow in the firelight. "What do you think?" you asked, a hint of pride in your voice at your boyfriend's speechless reaction.

Remus reached out, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It's perfect, he thinks, not just because of how it looked, but because of what it represented — your care, your thoughtfulness, the time and effort you put into making something just for him. "It's . . . perfect," he opened his heart to you, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

You gave him a sweet smile, pleased with his reaction. "I'm glad you like it."

II. THE ART OF CLAY

THE SOUND OF RAIN ECHOED SOFTLY AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF THE HOGWARTS GREENHOUSE, creating a gentle rhythm that blended with the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional drip of water from overhead plants. The air was thick with the earthy scent of wet soil and blooming herbs, an atmosphere so comforting to you that made the space feel like a world apart from the usual hustle and bustle of the castle. You were seated at a small worktable near the back, a lump of cool, gray clay before you, your hands already beginning to shape it into something more.

Remus Lupin stood quietly nearby, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually as he simply watched you. There was a sparkle in his gaze, the kind that comes from someone who finds fascination in the smallest details, in the quietest moments. His curiosity was piqued by the sight of you working with the clay, your hands moving with a practiced confidence that hints at countless hours spent honing your craft.

The room was otherwise empty, giving the two of you a rare moment of privacy amidst the bustling school and your friends who were constantly full of life (named James Potter and Marlene McKinnon). The greenhouse, usually a place for Herbology classes, had became your private studio, a place where you could indulge in your love for pottery — a hobby that was as grounding as it was creative.

"Do you ever get tired of making things?" Remus asked, breaking the comfortable silence. There was no hint of judgment in his tone, only genuine curiosity. He'd seen you immersed in various crafts before — crocheting, jewelry making — but each time, you seemed as passionate as ever.

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Not really," you replied to his question, your hands still working the clay. "It's like . . . I don't know, a way to clear my mind. I like the idea of starting with something so simple, like a lump of clay, and turning it into something that wasn't there before."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following the movement of your hands as they smoothed the surface of the clay. There was a certain grace in the way you worked, a rhythm that was almost hypnotic to him. "What are you making today?" he questioned again, this time moving closer to get a better look.

"A bowl," you explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers pressed gently into the clay, shaping the walls of the bowl with careful precision. "Something simple, but useful. I thought it might be nice to have one for our common room. We could use it to hold things — keys, cigarettes, chocolate frogs."

A charming smile appeared on his lips at that, the idea of something as ordinary as a bowl bringing a sense of homeliness to the often chaotic Gryffindor common room. "That sounds like a good idea," the praise left him naturally when it came to you, pulling up a stool to sit beside you. "Do you mind if I watch?"

"Not at all," you replied, glancing at him briefly before returning your focus to the clay. "But be warned, it's not as exciting as it looks."

Remus didn't agree. He'd always been intrigued by the way you found joy in creating things, in bringing something new into the world with your hands. As he watched, he noticed the subtle movements of your fingers, the way they coaxed the clay into shape, turning a shapeless lump into something with form and purpose. It was a process that seemed almost magical to him, though he knew it was nothing more than skill and practice.

The rain continued to patter against the windows, a soothing backdrop to the sound of your hands working the clay. Every so often, you dipped your fingers into a small bowl of water, smoothing out imperfections and keeping the clay pliable. Remus had never seen you look so beautiful; hands dirty, hair messy, and you clothed in one of his favorite sweaters.

"You make it look easy," he commented after a while, his voice low so as not to disturb your concentration.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It's not always. There's a lot that can go wrong — air bubbles, cracks, the clay drying out too quickly. But that's part of the fun, I suppose. It keeps you on your toes."

He gave you a nod, understanding the appeal in a way.

After a while, you sat back slightly, examining your work with a critical eye. The bowl was nearly complete, its shape smooth and even, the walls sturdy yet delicate. "What do you think?" you asked, turning to Remus with a small smile.

He leaned in closer, studying the bowl with a thoughtful expression. "It's an excellent work," he said, his voice sincere. "You've really got a talent for this."

You blushed slightly at the compliment, but there was a pleased look in your eyes. "Thanks, love. I'm glad you think so."

III. CRAFTING CONNECTIONS THROUGH SILVER AND STONE

THE CASTLE WAS QUIET AS EVENING SETTLED OVER HOGWARTS, the usual loud of students giving way to a serene calm. The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, with only the flickering fire casting warm shadows across the burgundy rugs and tapestries. You were seated at a small table by the window, a soft light of the moon illuminating your workspace, where an array of tiny tools, shimmering beads, and delicate chains lay spread out before you.

Remus Lupin sat nearby, his attention drawn to the intricate work you were doing. He had always been fascinated by your hobbies, each one opening a door to your soul. But there was something particularly mesmerizing about watching you make jewelry — something in the way you handled the delicate materials with such care, transforming them into beautiful, wearable art. Watching your smaller hands mend the delicate pieces stirred a feeling in his chest.

"Doesn't it get frustrating?" the werewolf asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes following the careful movements of your fingers. "Working with such tiny pieces, I mean."

You smiled softly, not taking your eyes off the silver chain you were holding. "Sometimes," you admitted, carefully threading a small brown stone onto the chain. "But there's something satisfying about it too. It's like solving a puzzle, finding the right combination of stones and metals to make something that feels just right, y’know."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the array of materials on the table. Tiny glass beads of various colors sparkled in the firelight, alongside small stones and bits of silver wire that would soon be part of some new creation of yours. "It's impressive," he said quietly, more to himself than to you. "How you can take something so small and turn it into something so . . . meaningful."

You glanced up at him, a pleased smile on your lips. "Thank you, Remus. I think that's what I love about it — how something so simple can become something special, something that can be important to someone."

He watched as you carefully threaded a few more stones onto the chain, your fingers moving with the kind of ease that came from years of practice. There was a kind of magic in it, he thought — a different kind from what they learned in class, but no less powerful. It was a magic that didn't come from wands or spells, but from the heart and soul, from the desire to create something beautiful and meaningful.

"What are you making now?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned in a bit closer.

"A bracelet," you replied, holding up the nearly finished piece for him to see. It was simple yet elegant, made of fine silver links with small brown and black stones interspersed between them. The stones caught the light as you turned the bracelet in your hand, their colors shifting subtly in the firelight. "I thought it might make a nice gift for someone."

Remus took in the bracelet, admiring the craftsmanship, the way the silver and stones complemented each other perfectly. "It's beautiful," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "Who's it for?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a softness in your gaze, something almost shy. "I was thinking . . . maybe you'd like it," you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant.

For a moment, Remus was taken aback, surprised by the offer. He hadn't expected you to be making it for him, but now that he knew, he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling of gratitude and something more, something deeper. "For me?" he asked, his voice laced with surprise.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of our time together," you said, a hint of nervousness in your tone. "Something you could keep with you."

Remus felt his heart swell with emotion, a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and something else — something tender and profound. He looked at the bracelet again, seeing not just the beauty of the piece, but the thought and care that had gone into it, the meaning behind every detail. "I . . . I don't know what to say," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's . . . it's perfect. Thank you."

You smiled, the tension easing from your posture as you saw the genuine appreciation in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," you said, your voice soft. "It's not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Something that's from the heart."

Remus reached out, his larger fingers brushing against the cool silver links as you handed the bracelet to him. The metal was smooth under his fingertips, the stones cool and solid. He could feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight, but the emotional significance it carried. "It's more than just 'something,'" he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It means a lot to me. Really."

You watched as he carefully slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, the silver and stones catching the light as they settled into place. There was something incredibly intimate about the moment, the quiet exchange of a gift that held so much meaning. It was more than just a piece of jewelry to him.

As Remus fastened the clasp, he looked at you with deep, unspoken gratitude in his eyes. The bracelet fit perfectly, resting comfortably against his skin, the cool metal and smooth stones a constant, reassuring presence. "I'll treasure it," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a sense of contentment that came from knowing you had given him something truly meaningful. "I'm glad," you replied softly, your eyes meeting his.

For a long moment, the two of you sat there in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the curtains as a breeze drifted through the window. There was a sense of peace in the air, a quiet understanding that didn't need words to be felt. Surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of the evening, he knew that this — these simple, heartfelt moments with you — were what he would carry with him through the darkest nights, a light to guide him through whatever lay ahead.

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 2

So ya'll have given me some amazing and lovely comments on A Man has Needs (which I'm delighted was so well-received), and I had a really shitty day so I wanted to upload something. Sadly don't have energy to write, but this was already done so here ya go. Ship: Dead on Main First | Masterlist

Chapter 2 - September 25th, Uranus at Opposition

Jason awoke slowly. He felt groggy and worn like he’d gone a round with Bane and, now that he thought about it, maybe also Black Canary; his ears of all things hurt for some reason. Groaning he pushed himself up, taking in the green and black bedspread… this wasn’t his bed. He looked around; bare stone walls with a strange almost purplish tint - no windows he could leave out of.

What happened yesterday? There had been something… an emergency? Shit. He rubbed his brow hoping against hope to relieve the sharp headache there. What kind of truck hit him? Come on brain, work.

Bruce.

Bruce had called him. He breathed slowly through his nose. Urgh, his brain was like a tangled ball of yarn that had been left to the mercies of a cat. Slowly he picked at the treads, trying to untangle them. Dick had been there, and Tim and Damian. And Superman? Why was Jason on a league mission? Jason wouldn’t have joined them unless the world was-

Oh, the world had been ending.

There was an invasion and John bloody Constantine and a ritual- and Jason was a small bit of supernatural insurance but that didn’t matter because-

Because!

His head throbbed sharply and he curled up on the bed with a whimper. Shit. Why? Okay, no remembering right now. He slowly unfolded and squinted at the room, there were two doors. One by the head side of the bed, which seemed the least likely to lead outside and one opposite. He confirmed the first door to be a bathroom, which left the other to lead- He opened the door into a windowless hallway. Looking left and right he didn’t see an end either way.

The hallways had the same purple tinted stone walls as the room. It was lit by green torches, but somehow they didn’t cast green light. Instead the light that hit Jason was more blueish. He decided not to think about that and moved on.

He walked hallway after hallway. The only change was the tapestries. Since they were the only thing that changed he couldn’t help but look at them. There was a man, large and armored with a flaming crown and his hand raised with something shining from it. Jason went down some stairs and another hallway had a tapestry with the same character directing an army of skeletons and other creatures fleeing from them. This theme continued through many hallways. World upon world, the king and his army conquering all on a backdrop of Lazarus green. Then finally something changed, seven robed figures stood over the fallen king.

Jason then stood in front of a winding stairwell: Up or down?

He looked down; there was something down there…

Dazed, he took a step down, before he shook his head and walked up. He had to get out. Walking down in a building he didn’t know what floor he was on was just asking to be trapped in some sort of basement, and he’d already walked down one staircase already, when the only other option had been to backtrack.

A sarcophagus was opened and the King released. In the next hallway someone in a black and white mech suit was fighting the king and Jason blinked at the sudden genre shift. He hadn’t expected that from the tapestry story.

The next one had several people pushing the sarcophagus closed again presumably to seal the king, but one figure especially niggled at Jason’s brain - the small one, the black and white one. He was familiar. He walked faster, urgency pressing him to find the next tapestry, he rounded a corner and there!

There were two tapestries on either side of a door. The first tapestry had a purple robed figure crowning a kneeling black and white figure in front of a crowd. Several were recognizable from the previous tapestry. But Jason didn’t look at that picture long he was drawn to the last tapestry; the one who only showed the new king:

Human skin tone, compared to all the light greens and blues. Snow white hair. Crown hovering over his head, and on the index finger on his right hand where it was folded over his chest was a green ring with a skull crest. The backdrop was a nebula of colors and only on the edges were the Lazarus green. The king’s eyes were closed, but Jason knew they were green.

He knew.

And as a key turning in a lock Jason remembered. He bent over holding his head with a groan. The invasion. The ghost king. His sacrifice, which apparently meant he was to do nothing for the rest of his life. Screw that! What was the ghost king gonna do? Un-save the world? Jason didn’t think so. He needed to get out. He very carefully avoided thinking of the risk of his brains melting out his ears if he angered the king again.

The door. Jason’s eyes snapped to it. It looked completely innocuous. He had been lead here for a reason. Fight or flight? Fight his body screamed at him. His chest rose and fell, his heart picked up speed in anticipation and he reached for the brass handle. His hand closed around it, it was cold and solid in his grip. He exhaled slowly out his nose counting down.

3

2

1

He burst into the room, hands on hidden knives, ready for anything! Then he froze.

This was the room he woke up in. There was that rumpled spot on the bedsheets from where he’d slept. He grabbed his head, there had been no tapestries in the hall he stepped out in, he was sure. No he was not gonna let this get to him he had to find a way out. He stepped out into the hallway through the still open door; the tapestries were gone.

He walked the opposite direction this time, but only five turns in he stood in front of the open door again. Shaking his head he kept walking, there had to be a way out. There were less tapestries now, but every now and then there’d be a tapestry of the King sans crown fighting someone. It seemed to be some of the more prominent people that had been at the coronation and then there were some others; a large plant creature, a person that looked part tornado, someone who looked like the night sky itself.

The message was clear: give up. See all the ones who has been defeated. What do you think, you can do?

Jason punched the wall next to the most recent tapestry.

“Let me out, you bastard!” he snarled.

Predictably there was no answer, but a small part of Jason had still hoped something would happen. His shoulders dropped.

A familiar door materialized in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to better see and yup, that was the door alright. He sighed.

“Fuck you.” But Jason was tired. He didn’t know how long he’d walked the hallways. He opened the door and walked the few steps that took him to the bed collapsing on top of it, in the spot he’d made earlier. He couldn’t be bothered to go under the covers.

Oo o oO

They say doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result is a sign of insanity. Tim would probably argue something about scientific methods and statistics in return, but Tim wasn’t here, just Jason.

So here’s what Jason knew:

He’d sacrificed his life to the Ghost King to save the world. The Ghost King had no interest in Jason and had just dropped him in a never used room like one of those gifts you really don’t want but can’t refuse. Oh, and the castle was magical and delighted in showing him right back to his room every time he left it.

Leaving the room was pointless. Jason knew it was pointless. But Jason couldn’t just stay in this room, hence the repeated insanity, but at least out in the hallways some things changed, even if he always ended up where he started.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. He’d lost count of how many times he’d slept. It was pointless anyway, he didn’t know if he could even count sleeps as days anyway. He was locked in a battle of wills with a fucking castle.

“For a magical castle, you’re boring, you know that?” He spoke to the ceiling. It didn’t even have any enchanted furniture or household items to talk with.

Jason wasn’t sure quite when he’d started feeling hungry, only that it shouldn’t have taken that long. Water came out of the tap in the bathroom, so at least he wasn’t thirsting. After the hunger came the lethargy. He was sleeping more and his forays out into the hallways were shorter.

The world was a hefty price to pay and maybe Jason’s suffering was just a part of his toll, but Jason would have taken being a servant or slave over this. At least then he’d have something to do. There’d be a focus, something to fight. He wouldn’t just lie here with nothing better to do but insult the walls.

next

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[little-fairy-forest]

Stitches of love

-> bakugo x fem! Reader

-> domestic, fluff, romance, she / her

-> reader finds herself going crazy over what to get her mitsuki for motherday, little does she know she had a helping hand all along.

"Katsuki please just give me some ideas what to get her" y/n pleaded as she rests her head in her hands. The list infront of her started back as she scratches out all her ideas so far on what to get her mother in law for her birthday. Jewellery? No she had so much, a holiday? Seems like a large present for your first year as her official daughter in law, home made jam?–

"She'd love anythin' if you gave it to 'er" Katsuki grumbles as he sips his coffee staring at y/n. They both knew he was right, y/n could give mitsuki a lump of dirt and She'd be so greatful you'd swear it was a lump of gold. But if katsuki gave it to her? He'd never hear the end of how thoughtless it was...

"What are you getting her? Surely you've ran out of ideas aswell?" Y/n rubs her face in defeat as she realises she only has 3 days to find a present. The clock is ticking, especially since you have to buy it, wrap it, and pray its good enough.

"Got her and the old man tickets to that candle lit concert in Tokyo, gotta meal for them aswell before the show" katsuki says as it's the most obvious thing ever... because everyone can afford to get expensive tickets to a private showing of the Tokyo orchestra at candlelight. Y/n huffs as she moves herself away from the table, frustrated as her plans were coming to a dead-end. Katsuki shrugs as suggests they can share the present as that wouldn't be a problem, but for y/n , she wanted her own present for her own mother in law.

"Back to the drawing board"

2 days to go

The dim lights of the lamp cascade over y/n as she tries to pull out another knott that's found its way into the ball of yarn.

"Stupid thing, why are the strings so thin–"

"Why are you still awake?" Katsuki emerges from the kitchen, peeping his head into the living room to find his wife tangled in balls of yarn, frustrated at the pattern in front of her. Who know making a blanket was so difficult?

"I can't figure the pattern out, why is knitting so hard katsu! Why do people do this to relax"

"Cuz old hags have all the time in the world to do that stuff, now get your ass to bed"

The small half-arsed square that was meant to be a blanket falls flat into y/ns lap as she realises this was another failed attempt at a present for mitsuki. The blanket would've had to of been perfect, can't give a seamstress a rag and pass it off as a blanket made out of love. What symbol would that give?

"Stupid yarn"

1 day to go

The perfect way to a person's heart is through their stomach, is that how the saying goes? Doesn't matter! Either way you found yourself 3 cakes deep into perfecting this stupid old recipe. katuki claims " the old hags loves "... but why is it so hard to master the recipe?

Many hours into baking whatever is in the oven, because there's no way you can even call the lumpy mess a 'cake'. Katsuki takes over as he cannot let anything to be made in his kitchen be considered inedible. You watched as katsuki whipped around the kitchen, making dinner and cleaning up the mess you made. What are you going to do now? The deadline is near, and you've nothing to bring to the dinner tomorrow for mitsuki?

Great way to impress your mother in law

"Listen, she won't care if you've nothin in your hands sweets, trust" Katsuki says to distract you from your storming thoughts.

"I just don't know what to do babe, I've tried so many ideas. I don't have to give up but what choice do I have–"

"Quit your ramblin and go wash up before dinner," katsuki cuts your rambles with instructions. He knows it's best to distract you if you're having working thoughts.

You make your way to the bathroom to wash up before dinner. Your head is still flooded with last minute ideas of presents to give mistuki.

"Where's all the soap gone? Why doesn't katsuki refill the container when it's empty? Typical" you say, reaching into the press to grab and refill the soap dispenser. You make a quick note of things you need to get in the shops before you go to dinner tomorrow as you're almost out of some essentials.

As you rummage through the bathroom cabinet, your fingers brush against a small, inconspicuous box tucked behind some toiletries. Curiosity piqued, you retrieved it, your heart quickening as you read the label. With a mixture of trepidation and hope, you take a gamble with this last chance of a home made present.

Birthday dinner

Mistuki has been filling yous in on her latest fashion looks she has been in the process of designing since last spring. Masaru has just set down the tea post dinner as you've all settled into the sitting room to unwind after that very tasty dinner katsuki scrubbed up. Who knew your man was so kind?

"Here's your present ma..." katsuki sheeply hands over his gift knowing his mother will make a deal out of the concert he has gotten her tickets for. You watch as mistuki stumbles over with glee as she hugs? Katsuki and thanks him. You haven't seem them hug since you had gotten married!

Masaru thanks katsuki for getting him a ticket also, placing the present aside waiting for the two blonds to settle down.

" it's something small, hope we can all share this special present" you hint towards the box you hand over to mitsuki. Katsuki looks at you knowingly you done fucked up the blanket and the cake, so what did you get her?

Mistuki opens the box to find a tiny baby blanket you had hand knitted from the rags you started with, paired with a tiny test signaling your little life growing within.

Mistuki stumbles over the test, clarifying with you that what she is reading really is coming true!

"YOUR PREGNANT?!"  She gleams as she jumps from her seat shuffling over to hug you. Katsuki looks at you with hope in his eyes, why hadn't you told him?!

"Yes , I hope this trumps katsuki present mistuki" you hug Mistuki back as masaru looks into the box reading the little note beside the blanket

"Cant wait to snuggle you in this blanket made out of love, sweat and tears,

Love, baby bakugo due 2X25"

Yep. You've finally outdone your husband in gift giving.

Now how will you out do Masarus birthday..

What did I just write...

Ew

[dev1lm4n]

coward

pairings: jackson-era!joel miller x f!reader

summary: in which joel wanted to stake claim over you, but he's too much of a coward to do so. aka jealous emotionally pent-up joel

word count: 3.5k

warnings: suggestive, not explicit just mentions of sexual relationships

notes: this was ultimately cliché as shit but i NEED to write it

Clank. Clank.

Sunset has fallen upon the town just mere minutes ago. Gleeful chirping of the local birds were quickly replaced by a chorus of cicadas, loud clattering of metal cutleries, and scratchy scrapes against plates. There was a foreign atmosphere settling between tonight’s dinner participants and to be honest, it’s much weirder than you anticipated.

It’s foreboding; alike to those family dinners you’d attend to exchange bland pleasantries with cousins and nephews. The kind where you’d have to swerve from uncomfortable questions probing into your personal life, whether it’s your marital status or your paycheck. Except there wasn’t that much of a crowd tonight. Just you, your ‘date’, and Joel Miller.

Joel Miller was someone you couldn’t label properly.

You weren’t exaggerating in the slightest bit when it comes to your complex relationship with him, if you could even call what you had with him a relationship to begin with.

It’s just too messy and embarrassing. It’s like trying to pick apart a tangled up ball of yarn, hoping you’d figure out when things began and when it ended.

Has it even ended? The particular question had you mindlessly stabbing the roasted chicken you managed to cook up. It’s a little overcooked and mildly underseasoned, but it’s better than the alternative. Joel’s staple, which was heated up cans of Chef Boyardee’s Beefaroni, had always been reserved for those who’d acquired his unique tastes. You and Ellie were his number one frequenter when it comes to it.

Joel looked displeased by the pleasantries. His nose crinkled briefly, but he played along regardless. “I go on patrols most of the time, but I could fix things too here and there.”

“So.. Joel, right? What do you do ‘round Jackson?”

Jack managed to break up the everlasting silence with his low-register voice. You assumed that despite the initial awkwardness, he had at least enjoyed the food, considering the heaping glob of mashed potatoes he’s adding onto his plate.

“Oh. That’s nice. I’ve never gone on a patrol before,” Jack shared briefly, only to beam a shy smile towards you. He’s a cute boy you won’t lie. Maybe that’s why you scouted him off  the bar last week. “I take care of the horses with her.”

“Jack’s also from Texas, you know. Thought you two would get along,” you opined.

You watched the cocky raise of eyebrows Joel did and the half-smile following after. He’s silently judging the excuse of a man you’ve brought home tonight, that or he’s just not in the mood for a late night chat after such a troublesome day.

Joel had always been an incredibly difficult man to read. You still think you could read a horse better than him. You’ve gotten better at it throughout the years you’ve spent alongside him, especially after the trip around America for Ellie’s sake, but it’s still a hit or miss most times. It almost felt like he kept changing the numbers to the safe. Just when you thought you’ve cracked the code, he’ll have you come right back to square one.

Joel’s mouth twitched at your silly little assumption, his face contorted as if asking you if you’re for real. You shrugged, amused in a sense. It’d be good for him to start making actual friends, right? Right now his circle was a limited bunch with you being the only non-family acquaintance. His social skills were something you and Tommy are both working on these days. Plus, Jack’s easy on the eyes, so it’s two birds in one stone. 

“I see you still have a thing for Texas boys, hm?”

Joel teased you, this time not even bothering to flash you one of his degrading glares. He pretended like he’s really into the colorful medley of roasted root vegetables you’ve roasted, when you know for a fact he hated any kind of greens. He’d only pretend to like it when Ellie’s around, preaching around about its importance. You realized that you’re getting sidetracked from the real offense he’s just given. A jab of jealousy you’d say.

What kind of game is he playing? Was it another one of his ‘push guys away from you because all men are shit and you’d get hurt’ game? Jack was such a sweetheart, he didn’t even catch on to Joel’s implications, instead he settled on laughing alongside your awkward chuckles.

“Friends?”

“How long have you two been friends?”

Jack’s eyes sparked with curiosity, looking like he’s genuinely in awe of the fond illusion you two must’ve convinced him with.

Joel grinned, a corner of his full mouth lifted at the thought. He almost looked pleased at the premise.

“Two years,” you chimed in for a quick save.

“Man, I thought you two were together,” Jack confessed, salad dressing smeared lightly on his top lip. “Can’t say I ain’t happy when she came sizing me up for a date.”

Your gaze cruised back towards Jack, fluttering a sweet smile his way in case he finally caught up to Joel’s inappropriateness. All you saw was just an innocent look of acknowledgement. His cheeks brightened and swept by a soft wave of pink when he noticed you looking his way, appearing to be thrilled that you spared him a chunk of your attention.

Such a sweetheart. It wouldn’t be so bad if you actually got serious with him; move into a small cottage house, raise chickens and sheeps. Then you could finally bask in stability and mutual understanding. The two things you’re currently lacking.

A silent beat passed at his words. 

You humored him with an obscure chuckle, but it was painfully obvious how the atmosphere dimmed and crumpled ever so slightly around the edges. It’s not the first time the two of you were mistaken as a couple by other villagers, even Tommy and his wife were dead set convinced the first time you sauntered in with him. The months spent on the road with Ellie and him were life changing to say the least and you’d like to think the two of you were bonded by such traumatic events. He needed a purpose, you needed refuge. It’s always been like that from the start. 

There wasn’t even a tinge of romance to humor. Once in the past, you made the mistake of giving in to your ‘delusions’. You wondered whether the silent brief touches he made whenever he walked beside you meant something more. You wondered whether the way he reacted exaggeratedly when you prick your fingers on a rotten door frame meant that he cared. You wondered whether the confessions he made while you were curled up, riding out a fever from a stab wound meant that he wanted you. Those pathetic flourishing feelings were stomped by the heavy soles of his boots the one time you asked.

You could still remember vividly the terrible things he said and the way you sobbed your heart out at that. Thinking back, you’d understand why he said what he said. It was wrong of you to humor such thoughts.

Jack hummed fondly into his handkerchief, neatly cleaning up his fresh shaven complexion that always seemed to make him look a few years younger than what he truly is. He’s more of your age, something you took into account when he came up in your radar. That must mean he’s more suitable for you, right? Unlike Joel who’s reeling into his late fifties; who’s probably too old for all the ‘childish’ shit you put him through. Jack’s also kind and considerate. He went out of his way to get you a basket of fresh apples when you’re sweating bullets trying to catch a loose mare. He never scowled or snapped at you. He’s good for you.

“No. We’re just really good friends,” Joel spoke up firmly into the warm summer air.

It looked like he’s finished with his meal, assuming from how squeaky clean his plate has gotten. Good that he’s filling up. You’ve always liked guys with a little more pudge to them. Not that it mattered. You two were just really good friends as he put it.

“I don’t think I can stay friends with a gal so pretty,” Jack chimed in flirtatiously, a charming smile etched its way across his lips.

You smiled in return, making sure to count to three before letting your eyes wander back to where Joel was sitting. It might be wrong for you to be searching for another man’s reaction when you’re here having sweet Jack as your date. What was certainly wrong was how your stomach finally rumbled with nervous butterflies when you saw his expression. When you saw the small itch disrupting his collected expression; setting his lips into an unimpressed thin line, a small vein prominent on his neck.

God, you wish you could capture the moment on camera.

The rest of the evening went by civilly; you’d expect your really good friend to rip Jack’s head right off when he kept making those stupid flirtatious jokes. Joel looked like he was trying his best to stay grounded and rational, but it's no secret he's holding back a dirty scowl. You caught the way he stuck his tongue onto his inner cheek, or the way he scrutinized each and every joke your date made. Forcing him to explain it thoroughly and embarrassing him in the process; you know he’s an ass, but tonight he’s really testing your limits.

You’d imagine he’d have an excuse as to why he’s behaving this way, like how your veggies tasted weirdly bland he couldn’t hold back his face. It’s unbelievably silly how he thought you’d believe such things at your grown age. That’s another thing to deal with. 

At the moment, you just needed to focus on bidding Jack a sweet goodbye. His smooth blond hair glimmered underneath the moonlight as he leaned in for a kiss. One you didn’t expect quite yet, but you didn’t have the heart to push him away. He’s been a good company after all.

As you expected, it didn’t feel right. His lips were soft and tasted like fresh oranges, but it didn’t feel right. Was it a mistake to keep him at bay when you’re still unable to let go of your peculiar crush? Probably. You were deep in thought as you pulled the front door closed. A gust of wind blowing over your shoulder while you let the guilt marinate into every inch of your skin. 

You felt icky.

“I don’t like him.”

Joel’s disdain traveled quickly along the walls, down the hallway, and onto the exact spot where you’re standing. You turned on your heel to face him, your lips drew back in a snarl. After everything you went through tonight, all the pillow cushioning so that Jake doesn’t feel all the more offended by his audacity, and you’re rewarded with this? You expected him to do one thing and he couldn’t even make it right.

“Yeah?” you piped up, eager to rile him up. “Well, I like him a lot.”

He’s used to listening to your childish preambles. It didn’t take him long to learn how much fun you have just by disobeying his rules, going through with whatever your heart desires, even when it poses a great danger to your own safety. You’re always tricky to deal with, but it’s the only thing that keeps his heart pounding at his old age. The only thing that made him feel alive, thawed after years of surviving. Maybe that’s why he still persisted in keeping you around.

“I’m serious, sweetheart. He sounded like bad news.”

Fucking sweetheart? You scoffed, sounding offended. He would always use that nickname whenever he’s trying to get something through your thick head, whether it’s to stop you from jumping head first into a pond or in this case, to stop you from making rash decisions. He knew what he does to you. He knew that you’d always listen, but not tonight.

“If you spend just one second of your precious time listening to what he has to say, you might actually see what I see,” you glowered. “You were fucking with him the entire time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were looking down at him, Joel. You always do that. Think everyone’s beneath you.”

“I wasn’t. He’s just a little.. well, flimsy for you.”

“Oh fuck off. You don’t know a thing about me.”

That was a complete lie. He knew more things about you than you’d like, like the way you like your coffee in the morning and which horses were your favorite.

“I don’t?”

“You don’t.”

You solidified your answer, trudging your way past his shoulders like some agitated teenager. Joel thought you looked cute upset and maybe that’s sick of him, but he couldn’t help but be entertained at the way your lips jutted out in disagreement. You’re like this young new thing he’s obsessed with.

“Okay, okay. Come here. Don’t be upset at me. Jake is a nice boy.. I guess,” he gave in to the commotion you made, although he still felt somewhat bitter. 

Jake’s not that much different from what he’s like when he’s younger. Way before his kid, his botched marriage, and the apocalypse. When he’s twenty with a vision for life. It vexed him to admit that he was truly a good man for you. That the man you chose for once wasn’t a scheming jackass. “He worked with horses?”

“Yeah,” you gave in, flashing him the look. The one where you’re further emphasizing that you’re certain with your decisions, that you don’t need him guiding you towards what’s wrong and right like he always has. “He’s good with the horses.. and with me too. Gave me apples when it’s in season.”

Joel’s dark eyebrows curved at your statement. His arms lifted further up to rest against the thin of his waist, a judgemental stance in action. Did you think things like that were peak romance? What about all the times he personally executed all those clickers lurking over you? Whether it’s with a gun or a knife, he’s sure that he’d top Jack when it comes to things he did for you.

“Well then I’m happy for you,” he concluded with a curt nod, doing the one thing you didn’t expect him to do. You scrutinized his expression in response.

“You’re happy for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go on a date with him.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m gonna get him to kiss me again.”

“Wow. Sounds fun.”

“I’m gonna get him to fuck me so hard you could hear me in your stupid room, Joel.”

That one surely struck a nerve deep within him, judging from the way his lips contorted in disbelief. You’ve never been so.. vulgar in front of him. Not once have you mentioned anything about your sexual desires in front of him and so he thought you didn’t even know those kinds of things existed despite your big age. 

Maybe you’re untouched by the twisted world you’re living in. He assumed you were this sweet girl with an innocent crush on him, eyes twinkling with admiration everytime he walked in a room. He loved the attention, shamefully so, and he’d love to savor it as long as possible. Even when it felt wrong. He didn’t think it was possible for you to look at another in that manner. The thought had him marching towards you, large figure towering over.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” you challenged him.

“Because you’re doing this for attention.”

“I’m not,” you struggle to keep the act upright.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you actually like him. Tell me you like that silly boy.”

You gaped at his request. Adam’s apple bobbing reluctantly as you gathered every last bit of your plummeting confidence to look up into his eyes. They were arrogant; browns peering down at you like he’s just delighted to domineer, to reassert the magnitude of his influence towards you. He caged you in with merely a look. 

This spited you. He’s always been like this. Give you some room to explore so that you don’t feel trapped with him, but he’d always give a little tug to your leash whenever you forget your position. You were his, before he was yours. That was rule number one.

“I like him,” you repeated yourself, bracing for the onslaught of tsunami he might release at your stubbornness. “He’s kind and sweet and lovely and.. and he has the balls to tell me how he felt about me.”

His expression of disapproval seared through your skin, leaving you raw and vulnerable to whatever it is he’s going to say right back at you. You could tell that he was livid, although he's clearly trying his best to be the better man out of the two of you and stay grounded. 

He knew what you're like. He knew that you're riling him up so that he'd cave in to your requests, because God was it terribly hard to stay put when you're looking at him like that. Round pupils bared into his own. Joel felt the revolting urge to soothe your worries, to utter meaningless words of assurance, to validate the bond he's been trying his best to suspend. His desire festered like it was contagious, blurring the line of boundaries.

“If this is about last week, you know my answers remained unchanged.”

"Why?"

You sounded hopeless and it's clawing at his skin.

"It's unfair to you."

"You know what's unfair, Joel? Acting like you gave a damn, then shutting me out of your life like I meant nothing."

You scoffed. You weren't just desperate for an answer now, no, you were furious. Angry that he thought he could make the decisions for you, that he could be the one to determine which things were right and wrong for you when he knew for a fact that you're a grown woman with your own mind to rely on. Angry that he'd put his self worth in the gutter. Angry that he thought you'd judge him even after the things you've been through together; endless drives through the motherland, camping under a sea of stars, dancing with death itself.

Was it that bizarre of an idea? You plucked up the courage to get even closer. The frilly yellow ruffles of your sundress grazing his crossed forearm.

You poked an accusing finger into his chest.

"Drowning yourself in your pathetic pity party because oh, you're so broken. So undeserving of love."

Your furrowed eyebrows drove him insane.

"Yet you still keep me around. Couldn’t push me away because God knows you need me more than you'd like."

Your labored breath teased the column of his neck.

"That's what's unfair. The fucking waiting. The dancing around. Put me out of my misery, Joel."

He didn't know what to say. Silenced for once.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me."

You dared him, just like how he dared you. Joel felt conflicted. His vision glued onto the tips of his worn down leather boots as if it’d provide some kind of answer to your demands, He inhaled sharply, before letting out a shaky sigh. Afraid that he’d promise you something he couldn’t own up to, especially since his sharp edges are now dulled from age. 

Joel couldn’t be selfish. No, he couldn’t be that person any longer when he has one foot in the grave.

He knew his end was approaching.

Subtly, but surely. His heart tightened sporadically every time he’d run a little too fast. His joints were stiff and useless, enough that Tommy threatened to pull him off patrols if he kept pushing at his pace. He recalled the incident from his last trip. How he barely escaped a loose infected because his senses had dampened. Your voice also seemed to become more and more faint; he couldn’t even hear the list of items you’ve burdened him with on a shopping trip. Whether you needed a jar of raisins or a pair of shears.

Claiming you was selfish.

He decided on that awhile ago. Far before you’ve realized your infatuation with him, far before you offer such a sweet proposition. 

“Come back to me when you stop being a fucking coward, Joel.”

His throat grew parched at the buzzing silence. He willed himself to touch you, even when it burned his finger tips and sizzled the tip of his ears red. You looked furious, but that cute expression faltered in a miniscule of a second when he cupped the side of your cheek. His thumb stroked agonizingly slow as if you'd evaporate into thin air if he was too brash.

He'd always thought you’re beautiful. One of a kind. Whether it’s when you’re drooling embarrassingly or when you’re dressed up for the commune’s party. But you look the most unbelievable when you’re worried for him.

Was that selfish of him? He traced over your bottom lip gently, feeling the plush material underneath. How he longed to press his lips onto yours. Would it taste sweet? Would you feel soft? His bottom lip quivered, unable to form an answer.

[milkweedman]

Hi, I have a handspinning question I was hoping you might be able to answer if you have the time/energy. I’ve been 2-plying my singles and I keep running into this issue where it ends up seeming both underplied and overplied. Specifically, it twists up in some spots instead of hanging nicely, but in other spots (of the same length) I can still see gaps between the twists of the two singles.

Does this seem like an issue with my singles? They are quite inconsistent thicknesses and I suspect they might be overplied if anything. I’m not too stressed about fixing this current batch but I’d like to figure out what I’m doing wrong for the future :)

That's an interesting one ! It does indeed sound like an issue with your singles; i think either your fiber is not so good or youre having some drafting issues. Possibly both. Without a picture I'm having a hard time knowing exactly what's up, but maybe this will help.

WHAT INCONSISTENCY DOES TO YOUR SPINNING:

First, inconsistency can mean a couple of different things; it can refer to slubs (i.e. short sections of fiber that is much thicker), it can refer to thinning (i.e. short sections where the fiber ran far too thin) or it can refer to overall inconsistency, where you never had a stable width to begin with. These all affect your finished yarn in different ways.

A slub often has little to no twist, because the twist simply can't enter the fibers there as it would take more energy to twist this thicker section than is available. This will lead to lumpy yarn, and sometimes to the gaps you're referring to--especially if you end up with both plies having slubs at the same spot. It will look undertwisted because it is undertwisted. Usually slubs are short (maybe the length of your pinky at most) but especially with beginner or with some bad fiber, you can end up with huge long slubs.

Thinning can lead to yarn that's kinda hard or scratchy in some places. Twist will always go to the thinnest section of fiber and spread outward from there. So if you have a singles that is worsted weight with a thin section that's more like lace, to add enough twist to the worsted section you will also inadvertently add a ton of extra twist to the thin section. In some cases (especially if you aren't careful) the thin spots will kink up in the middle of plying, and now your yarn basically has knots in it.

General inconsistency means both of these issues but usually to a lesser degree. Your thin spots will be overtwisted and thick spots will be undertwisted. Or maybe you are overcompensating and you end up with yarn that is falling apart in some spots because it's thin but not twisted enough and hard/lumpy in other spots because you added way too much twist to spin the thicker sections.

WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT:

Inconsistency is typically caused by one of two things: bad fiber or user error. Or both.

Fiber that was prepped inconsistently or that has tangles, nepps/noils, mats, or that has been partially felted will all be prone to producing slubs, thin spots, and general inconsistency.

On the other hand, if you hold the fiber too tightly (especially if your hands are sweaty) you can restrict the fiber from drafting out well. Sweaty hands can even felt it.

Another potential pitfall is allowing the twist to enter the drafting triangle.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, this page is pretty helpful !

https://www.hearthookhomespun.com/how-to-draft-fiber-for-a-more-consistent-yarn/

Once the twist enters the drafting triangle you will not really be able to draft that section anymore. So what naturally happens is you move on and keep drafting, right ? But you didn't fully draft that section before the twist entered it, so its thicker--now you have a slub.

The key to not doing that is largely to recognize the slub as soon as you've made it. Then pause, untwist the slub (roll it in your fingers the opposite way you twisted). Now you can draft it thinner and add more twist if necessary.

Similarly, the key to preventing thin spots is to recognize it as soon as it happens, snap it, and reattach your fiber, then try again. This one can be harder--those thin wispy ends don't really hold together well. So usually I will remove all evidence of my thin spot and reattach fresh fiber to the last point that the yarn looked right. It takes some practice, but that's how you remove thin spots from your yarn. Physically remove it and reattach the ends. This is a good time to learn spit or water splicing (get both ends wet with spit or water, place them overlapping on your hand, then rub vigorously. Spit is more readily available and felts better, but obviously is a little gross).

Preventing general inconsistency is a longer project--I've been spinning like 7 years now ? Something like that. And I can't reliably spin a yarn that is a consistent width the whole way through. My issue I think is probably just the memory disorder, but there's also things you can do to help improve your yarn anyway.

The first thing is having something to compare your yarn to. A crochet hook or knitting needle the same size as the singles you're going for works fine. You can also spin a little bit that is the right width, snap that off, and compare it to the yarn as you spin. There are WPI cards as well that do the same thing (I have one tied to my wheel, I'm just bad about using it). Checking your yarn every length (when drop spindling) can really help get past bad inconsistency problems, because you're correcting the mistake as soon as you make it.

And remember, even once you add twist you can still turn your yarn back into fiber. You just have to remove the twist. If you're looking at the newest length of yarn thinking "uh oh, every inch of this is incorrect", don't be afraid to snap that length, let the twist out, and pull it back into fiber. If attaching is too hard, then get more comfortable reattaching. It is a very helpful skill to have.

MAYBE YOUR FIBER IS ALSO A LITTLE MESSED UP ?

I mostly spin fiber I also prepped, and as such I have a decent understanding of what problems can be caused by a bad prep. I will assume you're spinning roving as that is what most beginners use, but this can apply to any prep really.

Look at your fiber and feel down it--are there lumps ? Those will turn into slubs. Can you see bits of lock structure in there (waves, curls, etc) ? That section was inadequately processed, and will either turn into slubs, thin spots, or both.

How hard is it to tear in two ? Wool isn't very strong without twist (tbf, lots of roving has a little twist to keep it together, but usually not much as it inhibits drafting), so if it's difficult to pull in two with your hands several hand widths apart, then your fiber has felted somewhat. This can happen due to improper storage (either by you, the seller, or the manufacturer). Humidity + pressure + time = felting. Basically, don't store it squashed up long term and you'll be fine. If you do have partially felted fiber, I would recommend putting it aside and buying better fiber to learn on. It can still be spun but without re-processing it will be difficult, and you probably don't need that when you're still learning the ropes.

Lastly--idk if you've tried chain plying yet, but that might help you put a finger on what exactly is happening. With chain ply you are plying each section against itself, and so your errors compound (rather than even out a little, like they do with 2 ply). That makes it easier to see.

Hope this was helpful ! If you want to reblog and add a picture of your yarn someone can probably tell you specifically what's going on, but I hope if nothing else you can now diagnose it yourself.

[adiluv-moved]

✦ : ❝ 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which he sees his first snow. 826 words.

꒰warnings꒱ possibly ooc, reader is inazuman, not fully edited.

꒰adi moment꒱ merry christmas and happy new years @realkavehgf! you're an insanely kind person, and i'm frfr wishing you the best for 2024! this was my first time writing anything specifically for kaveh, so i do hope that i did him some justice. hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀི১

Sumeru, as one might come to assume upon learning of the nation’s typical climate, has never exactly been known to experience cold weather. Quite the opposite, really, if you were being entirely honest with yourself; if your time spent traversing the Dendro Goddess’ domain were to ever be considered a trustworthy testament. 

Hot was… an understatement, to say the least. A crude one, at that, almost akin to a dry joke that you might overhear while attempting to navigate the bazaar during one of the more unbearable summer days, sweaty palms just barely managing to maintain their grip on your groceries, the sun beating down on you with such intensity that you’d fear that your clothing would become soaked by the time you managed to return to the comfort of your small apartment.

Truthfully, it was no surprise that Kaveh had never once seen snow. Expected, even, long before he came to admit the fact of his own accord, the both of you lying within his bed as you mourned your first winter away from home, gentle hands pulling you close, almost comfortable enough within his embrace to disregard just how uncomfortably warm the temperatures remained during—what should’ve been—one of the coldest months of the year.

It was convenient, then, that he’d receive an invitation to Mondstadt City during the midst of the season, the Favonius library (of which you’d heard its librarian was a rather mysterious woman who’d attended the Akademiya alongside your lover) eager to host such an accomplished Kshahrewar scholar like himself. 

The both of you jumped at the opportunity, albeit for different reasons. The notion of inspiring future architects did, after all, hold quite a large appeal, doubly so considering the scrutiny that the arts had faced under the previous Grand Sage’s rule; and you’d never before been given the chance to visit the Nation of Freedom, either, what with the Vision Hunt Decree weighing so heavily over your ability to sightsee. 

Besides, getting to witness your beloved’s face practically pressed up against the window of your shared hotel room, expression overtaken by sheer admiration as he admired the snowfall… Certainly was an added bonus. Especially so when it landed the both of you where you were now, gently tugging at his gloved hand as the both of you took a stroll through the desolate streets, the moon having long taken its rightful place within the sky.

Especially so when his cautious inquiry finally melted away into a gentle sense of elation, arms fully outstretched for second-long intervals before being pulled towards his face, gorgeous crimson eyes admiring the designs of the tiny flakes tangled up within the scarlet yarn.

Yes, especially so when you’d impulsively moved to gather up some snow as his back was turned towards you, hitting him directly between the shoulder blades as he admired the latest batch caught on his clothing, the both of you soon running to find cover from the barrages of snowballs being sent each other's way; initial inhibitions wholly abandoned as you fought to gain the upper hand.

… Not that it was even that hard. Kaveh had certainly been put at a disadvantage, shuffling through the snow like a fish out of water, the heavy layers he’d simply insisted on wearing only serving to drag him further down into the snow.

“Dearest,” he huffs, breath wisping out of his mouth as he moves to duck behind the fountain, mittens haphazardly grabbing onto as much snow as they can as he makes his descent. With the distance, you miss the way that his golden hair has begun to stick onto his forehead, the way that he has to readjust his scarf in order to allow more air to flow through as he pulls himself back up. “I love you, truly, but please do go a bit easier—”

His final words are cut off by the sound of a snowball slamming directly onto his face, your own eyes widening as the excess falls to the floor, lips thinned in an attempt to restrain your laughter as you emerge from behind a crate.

Scrunching up the snow he’d obtained into one of his hands, the other moves up to wipe off the rest of the offending substance, shaking off what he can from his seemingly star-speckled clothing. His teeth chatter, pale skin taking on a pink-ish hue, and you’re halfway to stammering out an apology to his uncharacteristically stiff figure before you notice the lank smile that’s tugging at his lips.

You’re hardly even given the chance to react before he retaliates, shock written across your features as your vision is obscured, body reeling back just as another one manages to make contact with your arm, hurriedly retreating only for one to collide into your back.

… His aim might just be better than you give him credit for. Though it’s hard to be mad when his laugh sounds so melodic.

“Oh, it’s so on.”

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

[olichat-reads]

Imagine | ProHero!Bakugou x Villain!Reader #2

a/n: I felt like writing some insight to what i meant when i say you and bakugou working together is somehow worse than you two going against each other. Because, yes, its that bad haha.

she/her reader

🌟

Imagine being tangled in wires and each other like cats in yarn, with you strapped to katsu's leg, trying to wiggle yourself free like a dying fish while reading the manual upside down for katsu who is frantically defusing a bomb with only his left hand because his right is stuck to your face.

"Why do we always end up like this?"

"20 years of friendship and i still have no fucking clue."

"Red wire or white?"

"Re- WAIT. WAIT. NO. WHITE."

"FUCK YOU. ARE TRYING TO GET US KILLED."

"BITCH YOU TRY READING FROM THIS ANGLE. NOW FLIP THE PAGE."

*sigh of god's most tortured soul*

"Y/n. I only have one hand free."

"Well good for you. I have none. Now. Flip- OW. OW KATSU MY HAIR. MY HAIRRR"

"STOP FUCKING SQUIRMING. I CAN'T REACH THE DAMN THING FROM HERE."

*3 minutes left on timer*

*incoherent screeching*

☆

Its usually why you rarely have anyone else on comms- because no one can stand you guys' stupid 😭.

"Red, are you hearing this psychopath??"

"Shitty hair, if you take her side I'm going to blast your ass into next thursday-"

"Don't threaten him into admitting you were right! You KNOW you're fucking NOT."

"YES, I FUCKING AM-"

"OH YEAH? LETS PUT IT OUT THERE THEN. SEE WHAT THE PUBLIC THINKS OF THE NUMBER ONE HERO DRINKING HIS COFFEE WITH HOT SAUCE-"

"ITS AN ACQUIRED TASTE-"

"ITS FUCKING DISGUSTING IS WHAT IT IS. RED TELL HIM-"

"..."

*red has left the call*

*pinky has come online*

"...HI GUYS PINKY HERE. Red had to um-"

"Pinky please tell this psycho that hot sauce in coffee is fUCKING-"

"Ohhhh its you two...... Yea, nope :D." *call disconnected*

"HAH."

"THAT WAS NOT A *YES* YOU FUCKING-"

But weirdly no one is ever too worried about you two fucking up on missions. You're both the best in the field. Feral, reckless and a little insane? Sure. But you get the job done.

A cross between lawful evil and chaotic evil.

"Can we just kill him?"

"No."

"...can i just kill him?"

"No."

"You've read the file! I'll be doing the world a favour by offing trash like him."

"This world has laws that you are binded to. And the law said fucking no."

"...please?"

"..."

"How am I supposed to live, laugh, love in this conditions?"

*big sigh*

"Fine. Mess him up. No killing. Death's too good for him."

":D!! I feel like I should be worried about the number one hero's morals but FUCK YEAH! VIOLENCE! >:D"

☆

You're also not against smacking the stupid out of your bestfriend, especially when he gets a little too reckless on the job. Injured or not. It never works but it makes you feel better at least.

"Please stop getting shot. It stresses me out."

"Oh well if you don't fucking like it- PUT THOSE HANDS AWAY I'M INJURED YOU HEARTLESS WENCH-"

☆

Its not just him tho. You're BOTH stupid. It goes both ways. ✨️ b a l a n c e ✨️

"Why are you like this."

"Idk, man. I think its the anxiety."

"The anx- BITCH YOU JUST JUMPED OUT A 12 STOREY BUILDING."

"DON'T YELL AT ME I LITERALLY JUST TOLD YOU I HAVE ANXIETY"

"'I haVe aNxiETy' she says, yeeting herself out the window because the elevator is 'sUS'."

"Small spaces makes me twitchy-"

"AND JUMPING OUT A FUCKING BUILDING DOESN'T??"

"( ; ω ; )"

"Fuck you."

"I deserve that."

"THE FUCK YOU DO-"

☆

I feel like as much as it seems like a bad idea for both parties involved, neither you can help that your work life bleeds into your regular life as well. And you both surprisingly manage it well around each other.

"Have you heard about that new hero??"

"You talking about that air brained newbie?"

"Oh my god, so he WAS dumb! I literally thought you guys were using him as bait!"

"We weren't. He's just fucking stupid."

"I almost felt bad knocking him out :("

"Nah, you're fine. In fact, you should've hit him harder. Maybe give him a concussion or hell a scar as a souvenir. Make sure the lesson fucking sticks."

"You are worryingly condoning of violence for the number one hero, Katsu."

"Bitch, have you met me?"

☆

Another thing that i thing could go awfully wrong is literally planning out your work plans together but you two are just??? So trusting of the other to never double cross you.

"Wait, what? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because thats the nearest and fastest exit to the train station. I can cut down on 10 whole minutes and i need that time to catch the train."

"But its the riskiest, you fucking dumbass. Look, you have four other exits WHY would you pick the one you KNOW the heroes would target?"

"Because MATHS SAID-"

"You know what just let me do it-"

"Katsu no-"

☆

You give each gray hairs but you both of you were ready to risk your neck for the other.

"Having you as my bestfriend is like having an emotionally unstable daughter that never listens."

"...but?"

"There's no buts. You give me migraines."

":("

Yeah. You love each other.

🌟

a/n: hehe

[doll-shaped-cyanide]

Update (10/25/24)

What I'm Into Now

MCU (Wanda Maximoff, Agatha Harkness)

X-Men (Logan)

Voltron (Lance, Keith)

Progress Update (Knitting)

Finished one gift out of three and started on the second

Frogged a shawl that I stopped working on and unfortunately had to scrap a lot of the yarn because it got too tangled :(

Started a little scrap project to keep me from going crazy

Fic Recs

There we go! Midterms are absolutely beating me with a stick and I am exhausted. However, I am going home this weekend to see a concert with my partner, and we're both pretty excited.

I did have a little debate with myself over whether or not I wanted to put in a public forum that the Voltron bug has wormed its way into my brain yet again, but then I remembered that this is Tumblr and the only two people on here who know I run this blog are not gonna care.

Fun fact: Voltron was originally got me into fanfic years ago. I was in the fandom when the show was still coming out , and it still holds a really special place in my heart because it got me through a really tough time in my life.

Enough yapping! Agatha All Along thoughts under the cut. I do have to say, I think this week's episodes is one of my favorites so far :)

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

Bro, the way I had to watch that shit twice in a row it was so good.

THE LADY DEATH RIO REVEAL???? I MADE AN AUDIBLE SQUEAK!! This shit turned me into a mouse.

I loved how we experienced the episode the way Lilia experiences time! I especially like how we were right about the "Don't try to save Agatha" line!

The maestra was a very cool little character!

They left the door open to Wanda coming back ("Is Wanda Maximoff really dead? "Yes. No. Maybe." with that damnable smirk), which I, as a Wanda fan, am very happy about.

The Salem Seven are either dead or incapacitated, I'm honestly not sure.

We are very likely going to get a final showdown with Agatha and Rio ("When she calls you a coward, hit the deck")! I really hope that Nicholas Scratch is at its base, because Lilia did point out that the Three of Swords (sorrow, grief) was something they had to face.

While I am sad that the show is ending, I'm really happy with what we have, and I'm so excited to see how they wrap everything up!

[hotaugust]

Getting more into my parts in therapy. It’s making me feel insane. The more I allow them, the more conflicting thoughts I have and I feel like I get lost in the discourse, not knowing where I stand on anything, what I think of anything. Ofc I’m supposed to allow this whilst the core, current me, is feeling… solid?? But I feel like that’s what’s been pushing them down all my life or has been constructed via their repression so it seems kind of mutually exclusive atm.

Was also talking about things I did to protect myself during abuse or certain situations or being around certain people and my therapist identified that as a type of splitting. Which I agree with. She also said that if I hadn’t of done that, had the small but constant strive to hold on to myself as myself for myself via the splitting then I would have ended up just like them. ( no authentic self? no ability to recognize other people as entireties in their own right) ! > some appreciation for those parts I guess!

Just hard looking at things in this light, in any light, having not shined even a dim torch on this kind of thing before. Really feels like we are stretching out a big ol’ tangled ball of yarn with several different types of interlocking thread out across a big table and taking a step back and looking at it. Identifying what’s linked to what and where. A lot of the yarn is really ugly to look at and I don’t want to accept it as part of my yarn ball (lol this metaphor…) and I think it’s especially hard to accept when looking at it clearly like this (maybe I can accept it sort of vaguely?) but uhh ye that’s the process I guess.

Meanwhile in the times where I am able to a live a little I’ve been trying to do things that help me feel like an Effective Human Being. It can feel good to notice that you are a person and you have impact on the world!! I’ve been doing this with cycling and I’m going to try bouldering next week. Today i volunteered at a community garden in the countryside and it was great!! Hopefully I can write something a bit more thought out on that but for now I’m just stream of consciousness therapy logging ??

[art3mus]

I encourage exploring different stitches. Saddle stitch limits you to the one and there's only so many pages you can stick in there (I usually only do about 4 or 5 pages per signature), and while attaching several signatures together with adhesives is fine, it requires additional materials and most adhesives disintegrate with time, especially on a binding that does a lot of opening and closing. Modifying the saddle stitch or learning new stitches is easy and makes your book your very own, on top of using found or second hand materials.

My college bookbinding club usually led with long stitch (at its core a modified multiple signature saddle stitch), followed by coptic stitch, Japanese Stab stitch, and secret Belgian binding because they're easy and you get a cool unique look with each of them. Other regulars included French link, kettle stitch (the one often used for books with glued on hard covers), butterfly stitch, and buttonhole stitch. With any of these you can try dos a dos or French doors books, or add an endband. You can find many free tutorials online, we usually used videos by Sea Lemon.

Some of my books and further tips below the cut:

Here you see long stitch (one with stitching covered by a glued on calendar page), Japanese Stab stitch, buttonhole stitch binding, Coptic stitch, and butterfly stitch. The last photo has a saddle stitch, secret Belgian binding, and Coptic stitch again.

I can't find all my books right now and I don't claim to be an expert. You can really go crazy with the possibilities. Folks might prefer a softer or harder cover depending on the stitch but I like to stick to a soft cardboard like those used in food and other packaging. As you can see it also means I can use any funky designs I find, and has a built in spine I can use for stitches that need them like buttonhole or secret Belgian.

I've used magazines, calendars, paper bags, fabric scraps, decorative tape, candy wrappers, and whatever else I found to decorate covers. I've used thread (though you might need to double up or use embroidery thread so it doesn't slice the paper), linen cord, ribbons, nylon chord, and yarn for the stitching. Beware frizzy or poor quality cords/threads may have a tendency to tangle or catch and be a pain while stitching (or if your thread is a little too thick for your poked holes), you can run it through a hunk of beeswax to assist it with keeping its shit together.

Book binding machines are cool! But before you invest in one, try making them by hand, and also check if your local library or university might have one you can use. Try making one page zines, try making art books, print out something you wrote or your favorite public domain book and bind it, make a junk made out of junk, rebind an old book that's fallen apart. Use up all those crafting scraps you have lying around and make your growing collection of unused sketchbooks look cooler. Follow your book binding dreams with an awl, a needle and hubris.

(If you would like assistance finding resources or following bookbinding directions I would be glad to do my best to assist)

DIY notebook/junk journal tutorial for people on a budget

I found myself watching a lot of bookbinding videos recently & had the realization: I could probably do that at home, for free. And I was right. So before an influencer convinces you to drop 50 dollars on a book press and a fancy bonefolder, here's how:

STEP 0: MATERIALS

Cardstock - This can be any slightly thicker paper. I've been using postcards and blank greeting cards, because they're already around the size I want, but you can even use the cardboard from a cereal box if you want something sturdier.

Scissors/Xacto knife - You need at least the scissors, but the Xacto knife makes things a lot easier. If you have an actual paper cutter, use that instead.

Glue - your choice, I've been using modpodge but you can use a glue stick, etc instead.

Sturdy tape - duct tape, electrical tape, masking tape, etc. It needs to hold up to wear and tear; washi/scotch tape will not work.

Binder or Paper clips - binder clips are my preference but large paper clips work in a pinch

Ruler(s) - If you have them, I recommend using two rulers: one metal (if you're cutting paper with an xacto knife), one plastic or wood (this will be your bonefolder).

Pen or pencil

Paper scraps - These will be the pages of your notebook. You want them to be the same size or bigger than your covers. You can use literally anything; I've been using the last blank pages of old planners and notebooks, end pages of old books, and various scraps that would otherwise be thrown away.

Safety pin - Awl substitute

Needle and thread

ADDITIONALLY you should have a) a surface to glue on and b) a surface to cut on. A piece of scrap cardboard works well for both.

--

STEP 1: DECORATING THE COVER

Take the cardstock you want to use for your cover, cut it to size if you need to, and fold it in half, using the side of your wooden/plastic ruler to flatten the crease. If you want to decorate it, take a magazine clipping or paper scrap of your choice and glue it on one side ( shown below). Avoid gluing anything onto the crease.

Flip it over and trim the sides down. Cut off the corners, then glue and fold the sides over. Use the ruler on anything you need to crease.

Flip back over and repeat for the other side! Make sure to leave a gap at the 'spine'.

STEP 2: CREATING A SIGNATURE

A "signature" is a stack of folded papers, aka, your notebook's pages. Take the papers you wish to use, fold each of them in half, and nest them together. I've been using 10 sheets of paper for mine, which will become 40 pages total. It might be harder to fit more than this into a small-sized notebook. Also, I try to arrange the sheets so that the CLEAN EDGES line up at the BOTTOM of the stack, with the rough edges at the top. This way you'll only have to trim 2 sides instead of 3.

Line your cover up with the signature's bottom edge, making sure everything inside is aligned neatly. Then slap on a binder clip and trim off some of the excess material with scissors, if needed.

Use a ruler to mark where the edge of the cover is, then remove the cover to avoid damaging it (but keep the binder clip). Hold the ruler firmly in place slightly to the left of the line you just made. Carefully make repeated, even strokes with your xacto knife along the side of the ruler to cut straight through the layers of paper. Repeat with the top of the signature. A metal ruler is recommended for this step because a sharp xacto knife WILL CUT THROUGH PLASTIC AND WOODEN RULERS. I learned this the hard way, but if you're careful it should be fine. If you have access to an actual paper cutter, skip this step and use that instead!! it's way faster and safer!!

The finished signatures should be the same size as your cover now.

STEP 3: PUTTING IT TOGETHER

Stick your signature into the cover, align everything, then open to the center page. Clip the pages to the cover at the top or bottom, one on each side, in this 'open' position. Make a few marks along the center crease with even spacing.

Awl time. Using your marks as a guide, CAREFULLY push your safety pin through your signature and out through notebook's spine. You might want to use a thumbtack to make things easier on your fingers.

The next step is to sew the sheets together through the holes you made. Unfortunately this is not a sewing tutorial, so if you don't know how to thread a needle you might want to pause here and look that up. I'm using a simple saddle stitch, keeping the knots on the outside. There are many ways to do the actual book binding, including just stapling it, but this is how I do it.

You can remove the binder clips at this point. The only thing left to do is reinforce the spine. Trim the thread and fold your Sturdy Tape of choice over the spine, leaving some excess at both ends. The goal here is mainly to cover up the loose thread. Split the excess along the dotted lines shown below...

...Then stick it down on the insides of the front and back cover.

And you're done!!!!!

Enjoy your cool new handmade notebook!

[arielluva]

me when it took a full hour to clean up the yarn under my bed..... luckily it wasn’t as much of a tangled mess as i was expecting, most things were just wrapped around each other rather than actually tangled with knots

a few pieces of yarn had to be sacrificed in the untangling process bc it had gotten too tangled during it (especially this fluffier one that literally had so many knots that were just the fluff on the yarn wrapping around another piece)

on the bright side my yarn is more organized, i found my little mini scissor thing and my box of stitch markers i lost several months ago so thats something!!

my yarn used to take up allllll of the front side of my bed (my bed is horizontally against the wall, so imagine the longest visible side being filled with yarn) but now the yarn is only on the left half, the right half is now empty(ish)

[goldfinwrites]

Xani rolled over, wincing as their elbow slammed against the wood floor, before staring blankly at the ceiling. Kay was sleeping on their bed, and they could hear him breathing irregularly. Another nightmare, they figured, and felt an uncomfortable numbness instead of worry. They cared about Kay, Xani reminded themself, and got up as he let out a sharp gasp.

“Hey, Kay…” Xani shook his shoulder, trying to wake him up.

He groaned, still asleep.

“Kay…” Xani whispered louder, trying again.

He jerked away, bolting upright, panting. “Don’t…”

“Kay, it’s me. It’s okay.”

“Xani…?” His voice was still drowsy, but he calmed down. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?’

“No, I couldn’t sleep. Another nightmare?”

“Mmm.” He nodded, placing his hand over Xani’s, which was still on his shoulder. “Sorry for making you wake me.”

“It’s alright.” Xani held his hand gently and shifted to sit on the bed next to him. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay.” Xani mentally fished around for something else to say. “Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?”

“In a little bit. For now, can you just talk?”

“About what?”

“Yourself! Maybe a story from when you were little?”

Xani hesitated, but gave in to Kay’s smile, dimly visible under the scattered moonlight. They started to share a memory from when Lana had taken them to the library. They had wanted a specific movie, one a classmate had talked about at school, and she was happy to indulge them. The movie wasn’t available, but Lana had helped them find another one. She had gone all out to set up a movie night, making popcorn and buying pizza.

Xani paused, unsure of how to continue, and felt Kay squeeze their hand.

“My, um, mom had come home before the movie ended. So we ended up watching it all together, the three of us.” The sentences felt like unspooling a tangled ball of yarn. “And I fell asleep before the credits, so her and Lana had to pick everything up.”

Kay waited until Xani was finished. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah.”

An uncomfortable pause.

“Uh, ready for bed again?” The words sounded thin and hollow.

“Well…” Kay trailed off, then shifted over. “Um, if it’s not a problem, could you stay? Like just sleep here?”

Xani froze, then forced their mouth to move. “S- Okay. If that would help.” Their heart beat wildly inside their ribcage and they swallowed, feeling mild nausea rolling in their stomach. They needed to be there for him, even if he had gotten way clingier recently in a way that made their skin itch.

“Thanks. I’m… sorry for being such a burden all the time.”

Xani’s throat felt clogged. “You’re not a burden.” They were lying, but didn’t know how else to phrase the jumble of thoughts that buzzed in their head.  

They crawled in next to Kay, ignoring how uncomfortably warm the bed was. The covers moved with every rise and fall of his chest and the edges of his hair tickled their own. “Better?”

Kay hummed, quietly. “Yeah, thanks. And sorry. Again.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” It’s my fault. Not yours.

“S- yeah.” Kay rolled onto his side. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Xani stared at the ceiling again, trying to make sense of the man next to them. He had been a burden, but they knew agreeing with him would only make him upset. Him being a burden wasn’t as bad as he seemed to think it was, really. Especially because they wanted him back, had wanted him back badly enough to erase, destroy, kill, murder Clive and Jasper to do it. No matter how much trouble Kay put them through, they couldn’t leave him alone. He was suffering because of their selfishness.

Their heart had sunk to the base of their stomach. Did they make the right choice? They cared about Kay, enough that it hurt, but was forcing him to be like this, lost and aching, worth it? With or without his memory, Kay was still Kay, they had decided. But the way he stuck to them, only wanting the same things they did, trying to mold himself to them, carved an ugly scar into their chest. They wanted Kay, not a sycophant suppressing his personality to please them.

Neither of them were happy with this sick compromise from that stupid, lying goddess. But Xani knew how to take accountability for their decisions, so they would stay with Kay as long as he wanted them. The way he attached himself to them, whining when they left even for a minute, made them uncomfortable, but they knew he was desperately seeking solace in the only person that linked the conglomeration of identities inside of him.

Even when Gray had insisted on the daily calls, they knew even if Jasper reappeared to hurt them, they wouldn’t pry themselves away from Kay. They refused to tell either their father or Kay, though, knowing both would get angry and argue about their lack of self-preservation. Would it not be their penitence to suffer as Kay is, though, for selfishly wishing him back, even if they didn’t know the full cost?

Kay had fallen asleep, so Xani sat up and looked at him. He was curled up towards the wall, his small frame unwound from the earlier tension. They reached out, gently placing a hand on his head.

“I’m so sorry, Kay.” Xani whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear them. “I’m so unbelievably sorry.”

They withdrew their hand, their breath coming in short breaths as their body shook. Tears threatened to spill out the corners of their eyes, but they dug their nails into their palm. Xani refused to cry, especially not near Kay, who needed them to be strong, at least for now, until he pieced himself back together. Pressing their jaw shut, they inhaled and exhaled slowly through their nose until their vision cleared.

Whatever combination of Kay, Clive, and Jasper that the man next to them stitched himself into, Xani knew they would care about him until their heart stopped. They had tried to let him know it was okay to not try and replace the past version of Kay, to be his own Kay, but couldn’t find the words to convince him that they would still love the person he wanted to be.

This was temporary, and Xani gripped that thought tightly enough to make themself bleed. Gray and Lana could find a good therapist for him. Everything would be okay. Kay would be okay. All they needed to do was hold everything in place until then.

“Everything will be okay.” They spoke quietly into the darkness of their room before laying back down. They closed their eyes. “I’ll make everything okay.”

[avernusfuries]

"Yeah, well." It was what it was. No changing what she was now, especially after the fact they'd taken her DNA and twisted and tangled it like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Karlach took another bite of her food, and let out a pleased little hum. "Might be a unique enough tale that if I ever get to touch anyone again, I could use it like a pick up line."

Hardly a silver lining. But caught between a rock and a hard place, she got her victories where she could and fuck, would she cherish them.

"Thanks, I've heard that once or twice from the few stable folks I've come across. Apparently I'd make a killing in come city or whatever. Security kinda like..." She gestured between them.

Karlach swallowed, and finally tore her eye from the ghoul and right down to her own ribcage. The engine glowed steadily enough that it almost looked as though her heart was there, but lit up like the fabled New Vegas strip.

"Yeah, it is. It's been a fucking nightmare in the touching department."

Dark eyes narrowed in a look somewhere between bitterness and empathy, though it wasn't particularly easy to read Hancock's face. It was the way of the Wasteland from time to time: people would be bought and sold, lives ruined for a handful of caps, humanity robbed like a fucking convenience store.

His breath came out slow, and he sipped out of the bottle of vodka like it might've been water. "Took out your heart," he echoed in a soft murmur. "Fuckin' hell, Karlach, that's... somethin' else."

Hancock wordlessly passed the bottle over to her. "Well... for what it's worth, you're most definitely the hottest super mutant I ever seen. Literally, and also literally." He lifted the inhaler of jet to his ruined lips and let the smoke drift up into his eyes.

"Is that engine to do with your temperature problem?"

[mothandpidgeon]

stitched

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN Reader

Words: 809

Rating: G

Summary: Din learns to knit.

a/n: This is just pure soft shit. Come on in for the yearning. Been working on some knitting lessons and who better to inflict them on than our favorite Mandolorian. Thanks @purplepascal042 for telling me this is not too soft to exist.

“I don’t know about this,” Din says.

“Maybe you should try it without the gloves,” you tell him.

He’s hunched over, the visor of his helmet bent close to his hands which are awkwardly hanging in the air. He’s holding the knitting needles in his fists like vibroblades, yarn tangled around his gloved fingers and coiled down his wrist.

You try not to laugh at the sight, especially when he turns to look at you after your suggestion. The helmet is blank but you can feel his glare. He’s still so broad but much less intimidating now that a handicraft is flustering him.

You’d offered to teach him to knit after your last refuel on Tatooine but he hadn’t agreed immediately. What else was there to do for all those parsecs? You knew he was patient enough to practice, that he would enjoy seeing something grow in his fingers from nothing. He was good with his hands although he hadn’t done much more to you than put a gentle touch on your shoulder when you fell asleep in the copilot’s chair. You’d seen him repair the Crest and delicate wiring in his armor.

He’d always been fixated on your knitting. You could feel the black T directed towards your hands every time you took out the little sweater you were working on for the kid. It felt like he had already been studying the motion of the yarn around the needles, the way they fluttered in your fingers.

He sighs, setting the tangle of stitches down in his lap and removing the leather gloves. You always feel a thrill seeing his skin exposed. It’s usually just his hands but they hint at the man attached to them.

“Alright, you don’t have to hold them so tight,” you say when he picks up the needles again.

“Can I just try?” he complains.

He adjusts the needles in his hands and you can tell he’s doing his best to to relax his shoulders. He begins again.

“Stab it. Strangle it,” he recites the poem you taught him as he does the motions, carefully wrapping the yarn between his needles. “Scoop out the guts…”

He hesitates trying to think of how to execute the last step. You want to remind him but you know you should let him figure it out on his own. You hadn’t expected this lesson to be so difficult for him. You had gotten so used to Din being proficient in everything— piloting the ship, using all manner of weapons, even parenting. You had no right to be smug, you’d learned how to do this when you were a young one, but it was nice to be reminded that you had your own talents.

“Toss it off a cliff,” he says.

“Good work!” You beam up at him. You get the feeling he’s sweating under there.

Din begins the next stitch but he’s got the angle wrong.

“No, go through this way,” you say, and without thinking you put your hand over his to guide him.

He’s warm and his hand is softer than you expected. Must be the gloves. You’d expected him to pull away when you realized what you were doing but he lets you linger there.

“Front to back,” you say. You hope he’s focused on the stitches because you have become as tense as he was when he started this endeavor.

“Got it,” he says and you can’t tell if his voice sounds strained or if it’s just the modulator.

You watch quietly as he works his way to the end of his row with great care, needles clicking quietly, his fingers trying to grasp the rhythm. It’s funny how delicate they look with the plush string between them. His motions are stilted but he’s gaining confidence. When he’s finished working all of the stitches you hear Din make a low satisfied hum.

The kid appears, wiping his big, sleepy eyes. He’s wearing one of the jumpers you made and when Din sees the neat, tiny stitches compared to his own wobbly mess, he grunts.

“Keep practicing,” you say as you pull the child up into your arms and let him cradle the ball of yarn in his lap. “Go on.”

Din continues, sticking one of the needles into a loop, waiting for you to correct him. He still feels like a bird learning how to fly, and now more uncomfortable with two sets of eyes watching. He hadn’t expected this to be so damn difficult, not when he’d seen you doing it without looking. While carrying on a full conversation. But he’s determined to succeed.

He doesn’t know how long it will take before his work looks any good. But he hopes he improves quickly. He’s already imagining your face when he gives you the scarf he hasn’t yet learned how to make.

---

tags: @pascalslittlebrat @purplepascal042 @mouthymandalorian @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie @tuskens-mando @originallaura @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @goddessinwolfskin @stevie75 @casualpalacebagelrascal @evyiione @buckwildbarnes

[gryffindors-weasley]

To Heal A Seeker

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When healing Draco after a quidditch accident, you find he knows more about it than you think.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of blood, mild angst, bit of jealousy, fluff, kissing

A/N: This fic is loosely inspired by one I’ve written here!

A soft huff left your lips for seemingly the millionth time in the past fifteen minutes as you pulled Draco along the darkened corridors towards the Hogwarts infirmary by the hand that night, worry on your mind and a bit of annoyance that he hadn’t done something sooner than just now. You had seen that he’d taken a hit during that evening’s quidditch match, but he hadn’t seemed all too affected by it though you should have known that he had far too much pride in him to show when he’d been hurt. He’d always been that way and probably always will be.

“If there’s anyone in here, we’re leaving, love,” he grumbles quietly behind you as he squeezes your hand to accompany his words, eliciting an eye roll from you. You pause in your stride and spin on your heel just outside the double doors, eyes narrowed at him in disapproval.

“No, we will not. Don’t be ridiculous, Draco,” you quip before turning back around, pushing open the door to the infirmary with a creak. It was far louder than you’d have liked in contrast to the silence.

Much to Draco’s relief each and every bed had been empty and neatly made in preparation for any student who may need it, the large room dimly lit now that Madame Pomfrey had turned in for the night. The glowing moonlight streamed in and stretched across the floor through the latticed windows in broken beams, adding a bit more illumination to the room.

His sigh was soon to be heard upon realization that there was no way out of your scolding, though he could help the flutter in his heart over the simple thought of being cared about so much. It wasn’t something he’d been used to, not really. So when you’d motioned for him to sit on of the beds, he’d done so without much argument save for his displeasure when your hand had slipped out of his own.

His lips pursed, however, when you’d brushed the heaps of tangled platinum away from his forehead to see if there’s been anything to heal, an action he came to regret as it tugged at the split he acquired. He should know better than to let the taunts of Cormac get under his skin by now, and he would have if he’d kept his snarky remarks simply on the topic of the match at hand. But the moment he had mentioned you he knew he had been in trouble, and Cormac knew his attempt at distraction had been plenty successful then. So much so the blonde nearly fell off his broom, instead taking a scrape to the arm by a passing player and furthermore an elbow to the mouth not ten minutes later. He had been seconds from casting a spell that was sure to take McLaggen out for the rest of the match, but for his team’s sake, for your sake, he didn’t.

“I’m fine, love,” he sighs softly, looking up at you with raised brows in hopes you’d take his word for it—he knows you won’t.

“You’re not,” you counter as the corners of your mouth tug downward, eyes narrowed as your gaze focuses on the split adorning his reddened lip. You brush the pad of your thumb over it gently as your frown remains, his expression softening at the sight of your distress. “You’re a fool, Dray.”

“But I’m your fool, aren’t I?” He says, a smile forming that’s soon cut short with a wince.

It was your turn to purse your lips as you shake your head, though a grin had been fighting valiantly to appear all the same. “You make it hard to be so sure.”

As he scoffs, you grab your wand from where it sat tucked within your boot, aiming it precisely at his bottom lip. He closed his eyes with a quiet huff then, your hand that’d since been gingerly pressed under his chin a comfort as he awaited the familiar feel of the Episkey spell he’d come to know all too well. Soon enough, with a murmur of the three-syllable word, he feels a heat on his lip followed just as quickly by a feeling nearly cold as ice, your hand falling from his chin to swipe your finger over his newly healed lip as if nothing had happened to it. When he opens his eyes to look at you he finds you’re a bit more at ease, a blush staining your cheeks as your thumb lingers.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, one no longer having stinging repercussions, his hands finding yours as he looks up at you with mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Perhaps a kiss will make it all the more better?”

Your eye roll was immediate at his words, words that were so utterly cheesy and so very Draco to say. But the smile that’d been gracing his lips had been one that was near impossible to keep from kissing and soon you find yourself dipping down to press your lips on his. His hands had squeezed your own and his sigh had puffed warmly against your skin at the action, one that proved to be all too fleeting in his opinion.

“You’re already better,” you mumble, kissing the tip of his nose as you pull away. “Well, partly.”

As his shoulders slump your distracted attention returns to the task at hand, to the arm he so insistently said had been fine. You knew very well it hadn’t been judging by the fraying green yarn that dangled from his sleeve, a tear accompanying it. Without hesitation you grab a hold of the cuff and push up his sleeve carefully, your breath catching at the scrape running across the top of his arm. It was an angry scarlet around the edges, the shade a sharp contrast to the paleness of his skin. It’d been fairly superficial from the looks of it, something that wouldn’t be cause for concern, but you were unhappy nonetheless.

“Draco,” you sigh, and he’s quick to bring your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles in an attempt to lessen your worrying. “You’ve got to stop letting him get to you. It clearly isn’t doing you any good.”

You pull your hand from his and turn to make your way to the cabinet across the infirmary.

The tall cupboard housed just about every healing potion, every herb, and every bandage you could possibly think of atop its very shelves. They were all carefully and precisely crafted from ingredients hand selected from the greenhouse, made with great attention to measurements in order to be in their most effective state. It was an assortment always well stocked, especially while the quidditch season was in play for the more competitive and dare you say clumsy members of the four teams participating, your beau very much included. Only you hadn’t known such potions had been made by the very person you’d been healing, most of them residing there have been for that matter.

You scanned the shelves in search of the perfect solution for such an injury, the lighting of the room not having been helping you very much.

“It’s Essence of Dittany, darling,” he calls out behind you, his words matter of fact yet his suggestion gentle.

You smile softly as you pluck it from the shelf before dampening a towel, turning on your heel with a raised brow. You say nothing more as you return to him, setting the towel to the side and unscrewing the cap. When held up to the moonlight it’d been a shade of green that could nearly rival that of the slytherin team jersey he’d been wearing, and that’d been a clear enough indication that you’d gotten the right one. Though you must say, the handwritten label had seemed strikingly familiar to you.

With a steady hand you hold his wrist, his fingers splaying over your arm. You look at him once more, his gaze soft and encouraging that he’d be just fine. You took a deep breath then, applying a generous amount to the wound. In a matter of moments a matching green smoke had begun to billow upwards and dissipate into the room, something that had made you flinch more than it did Draco at the simple reaction of the potion.

“You don’t need that many drops, Y/n/n,” he says softly, grabbing the dropper from your hand and capping the tiny bottle. “Just three or four is plenty for something this size.”

He knew you’d probably been done so out of worry of putting enough, out of wanting it to be healed as much as possible, and the thought alone had him resisting the urge to grin. You bit the inside of your cheek to try your hardest to hide your own smile, gazing at him as he watched the scrape along his arm heal in a matter of moments. He brushed his fingers along where it’d once been before shifting his attention towards you—you and your ever curious smile that was unable to be fought any longer than a second.

“And just how do you know all these things?” You ask, your grin heard in your words as you tilt your head in display of your curiosity. He laughs softly as you wipe away the crimson smears of blood remaining on his skin, eying the area that looked as though it’d been good as new.

“I’ve done my research,” he shrugs, the scarlet that was beginning to stain his cheeks having gone unseen in the dimness of the room.

“I can see that,” you say, and it’d been very clear he’d done more than just a little research, and you felt as though maybe he’d been more interested in the art of healing than he was letting on.

You could tell that very fact just by the way he’d fumbled and twirled the little glass bottle in his hands, eying the green potion that had worked exceptionally with the softest of smiles on his face. By the way he’d been so inclined to accompany you whenever you’d made the trip to the greenhouse every other night, needing little instruction on how to care for most any of the plants. You could tell by the very way you’d found him asleep in the library far past midnight once before, a page of notes on herbology stuck to his cheek. It wasn’t very hard to see that this was far more than just a hobby, than just something to occupy his free time.

Playing quidditch was something he hadn’t anticipated doing beyond second year. It was more so a challenge, something he’d done just to rival Harry and get under his skin. He was quite skilled at it, yes, having perfected the sport in hopes to please his father though he knew his attempts were futile. He stuck with it though, one year turning to two, two to four. Now you were in your seventh and final year and he’d still been yet to stop playing. But it’d been obvious this wasn’t something he’d want to make a life out of much to Lucius’ dismay, it was more so a distraction from everything that’s been weighing heavy on his mind. It was obvious he didn’t hold a passion for it past his desire to win each match, to hold the title over Cormac. That was it—it was merely a pass time.

“I’ve made this one myself, you know,” he says after a little while, holding the little bottle up as the emerald potion swirls inside it at the sudden action. “And I see now that it’s quite satisfactory.”

“I would assume it’s from all the studying you’ve been doing, then,” you quip, your smile beaming and all-knowing when he looks up from his hands to meet your gaze.

His brows knit together ever so slightly, lips parting as his breath catches slightly and he hopes you hadn’t heard it. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, love.”

You laugh softly as you tug down the sleeve of his quidditch sweater, enveloping his hands in your own. They were calloused and warm as you held them save for the ring he’d worn, far larger in comparison to yours. “I’ve caught you studying notes on healing and herbology in the library far too many times for me to believe that, Draco.”

“I was just—”

“I’ve seen the way you care for the plants in the greenhouse when professor sprout isn’t there to do so. Not to mention, you’re at the top of the potions class. Being a healer would be good for you—you should go for it, Dray, really. You’d be brilliant!” You say, squeezing his hand softly.

A soft laugh left his lips at the mere mention of it, one that wasn’t entirely filled with humor as he looked away from you briefly. He shook his head then, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles tenderly. “Yeah, and what would my father say about that? I don’t think he’d be too happy if his son, the only Malfoy heir, went soft and decided to use his magic for good. He’s not too fond of the idea of me pursuing a career with quidditch either.”

You sigh softly, shoulders slumping at his words as you release one of his hands to rest on his cheek. His gaze returns to you upon your touch, his jaw tense under your finger tips before he relaxed. Your thumb swipes over his chin as you mull over your next words.

“Draco, we both know what I think of your father’s opinion,” you say, pulling a small smile from him. “All I’m saying is, if you truly like it, I think you should pursue it. You seem to like it far more than chasing McLaggen around on the pitch accumulating who knows how many bumps and bruises. You’re good at it Draco, you love it, and that’s what matters. Besides, I’ve got no problem fighting your father on the subject, you know.”

His smile widens and he tugs you hand from his face, pulling you down next to him in one swift motion. In a matter of moments his lips are on yours, soft and sweet as his hand settles on your flushed cheek.

“No, you absolutely will not,” he murmurs, his laughter warm against your lips as his mouth brushed over yours. Your own bout of laughter was immediately as his nose scrunches against yours, breath mingling in the close proximity. “It would be in your best interest not to.”

Your eyes flutter closed as your forehead rests on yours, strands of platinum tickling against your skin. “Oh really?”

He wastes no time in nodding softly, humming to further answer your counter as he tucks your hair behind your ear. He pulls away from you though he doesn’t stray too far, pale blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight as his tongue swipes across his lips. His gaze is soft yet intense, the corner of his mouth quirking up. It’s fleeting as he moves to kiss your cheek, trailing to the corner of your jaw and most tenderly chastely just under your ear, the feeling of his breath over your skin making it hard to stifle your laugh.

“I love you, you know,” he whispers, kissing the spot once more. You smile, mischief dancing in your eyes.

“I love you, even when you nearly fall off your broom,” you say, and he’s quick to quiet you with a kiss, one that just about has you tumbling back on the less than comfortable hospital bed as a second bout of laughter echoes in the large room. “I love you.”

Your smile is beaming and bright, one that’s mirrored as he squeezes your hand and kisses your cheek. He knows his future is uncertain, but one thing he does know is that he’s got you.

You’ll always be there to love him, to heal a seeker.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft @lilypad-55449