#550 stitches

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Hit the final Darkest colour on row 102 with just over 40 grams left for doily 10! I doubt I’ll get 20 rows + bind off out of it but I can break into another cake if necessary.

The outside border mesh starts next row and it’s going to be fine until 113 (120 s2kp) and 117 (192 s2kp) ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Shawl 13 | Pattern Doily 10 | Pattern | Yarn

It's Wednesday my dudes. Just finished row 98 out of 123 on doily 10 and I'm ALMOST done with the hell that is 450 stitches of twisted ribbing for shawl 13. Just one more easy (p1, k1tbl) row and one more Evil (k1, p1tbl) row.

[auspicioustidings]

Hello there I have another questionable idea 😁

So 141 confusing reader home for a safe house and breaking in and the sleep deprived nurse reader is just like 😐 and patches them up cos they are hurt and that’s the start of an very interesting relationship

Thank you for everything you are doing and remember that you are amazing

Drink water not coffee

🎃anon

Pumpkin! Ohh so this is similar vibes to this which I never wrote because sometimes I love a concept but am rubbish with execution :')

I have, however, tried my best to give you a little bit of your ask <3

Hippocratic Oath

Words: 550

Nah, for real if someone was breaking in you didn't care but they could at least be fucking quiet about it so you could go back to sleep. You had not slept in an actual bed in fucking days, only catching what could barely be described as a nap in the cots at the hospital between emergencies. 

“Find a first aid kit, we need to get him stable!”

Oh come on. The people robbing you were injured? Stupid fucking hippocratic oath. Technically it said nothing about having to help people who had broken into your house, it just said you couldn't harm them. So if you laid here and ignored it then Apollo couldn't say shit. 

…God fucking damnit. You dragged yourself out of bed, honestly too tired to react to the gun pointed at you with anything but a withering look, and went to pull the first aid supplies from their place. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is my house skull mask, who the fuck are you?”

There was a man with a mohawk bleeding all over your couch. You grumbled about that a little but dutifully knelt by him and started to cut the clothes around the problem area so you could clean it out and stitch him up. A heavy tactical vest was on the floor, leaving him in just a t-shirt. The other young man was pushing a wad of bandages to stem the bleeding. Good, he was doing a good job. 

Kyle looked at Price who only furrowed his eyebrows and nodded, giving him permission to follow your instructions. So that's what he did. 

“We get a bonnie medic with safehouses these days Captain? Cannae say I'm complaining.”

“Shush or you'll wind up biting your tongue off when I do the stitches” you said, prepping the needle and thread. 

You looked quickly around his get up, seeing he was wearing jeans with a belt and undoing it. 

“I've definitely seen a movie like this” the skull mask man said which you elected to ignore.

“Tell me more LT.”

You shoved the belt in the man's mouth and he took it between his teeth immediately. Not his first rodeo then. Made sense, they were probably soldiers. He was a model patient as you stitched him up, not squirming at all. 

Your focus overrode your exhaustion for long enough to give each of the others a once over, making sure there wasn't anything else serious you needed to treat. By the time you got to the last man, the one your patient had called Captain, you were completely dead on your feet and your eyes were starting to sting. 

“Thanks luv, c'mere.”

Being scooped up by some military man who had broken into your house really should have caused some sort of fight or flight response, but you had nothing else left to give. You were asleep before he even made it to the bedroom, putting you right back under the blankets. 

–

Your alarm never went off and you frantically called in to work to let them know you'd be there as soon as possible only to be told in no uncertain terms you were on leave for at least the next week. 

It was with some shock that you emerged from your room to find that dream wasn't as much of a dream as you thought.

“Let's have a little chat about the next week hm luv?”

Ah fuck.

[hey-august]

Saw the cuteness aggression post you reblogged and would feel blessed if you ever wrote whump fic with Buggy because I would ALSO love to try and comfort a man who just staggered into the room bloody, beaten and bruised, clearly just thumbling over the threshold of “show no weakness” to “in so much pain he doesn’t even care anymore that he’s hiccuping and sobbing like a child while clinging to you” hurt comfort with heavy emphasis on the hurt? Yes pls

Anon, I'm so so sorry for how long it took me to get to this. I love me some angst and whump, and while I had ideas, the motivation to write was not working with me.

I don't want to keep holding onto this and leave you hanging for even longer, so I wrote out my idea in bullet point format.

I hope this still hits the spot!

WC: ~550 Warnings: buggy x gn!reader, mentions of blood and burn wounds

You and Buggy have an unspoken thing. A mutual pining. There's respect and some affection. A closeness, but still distance and a barrier that neither of you acknowledge.

You're the ship's doctor and the crew was in a rough fight. Lots of injuries, ranging from minor scuffs, to teeth knocked out, stitches, broken noses and broken bones, blood and tears - it's a lot in a short period of time.

You're doing what you can, and those who are less injured are helping where they can.

Once you get through those involved, the captain is the last one left needing your attention.

Maybe he's been sitting nearby the whole time, waving away anyone coming to triage or check on him, snapping that he's fine. Get the hell away from him.

But when the room empties, Buggy crumbles. It starts small, bit by bit as you assess him.

His busted lip is split and bleeding, the color mixing with his smeared lipstick. His right eye is swelling. His beautiful hair is singed. The affected tips are stuck in terrified curls from trying to run from the heat. The smell is clinging everywhere.

But the worst are the burns. You're not sure what happened - some of the other crewmembers had burns and scorch marks, but not like this.

Your captain has some rough wounds on his arms and torso, where the heat ate away at the fabric before feeding on his skin and flesh.

He's wet and sticky. Swaths of skin are weeping. Buggy's feeling exposed, tender, and hurt. Pain is radiating out while regret and fear are falling inwards.

All it takes is one soft comment from you. "You must be in so much pain." You were talking to yourself, but it's the acknowledgement that Buggy must have needed.

The eyes that had been avoiding yours, stopped holding back tears. His clenched jaw and tight lips quiver. He nods.

You can't fathom how much it hurts to move, but Buggy has his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. His hands are clutching your clothes, pulling them taut. It's like he's a cracked vessel, losing liquid and life, but maybe you can keep him together. Maybe you could fix him. And if not, he wouldn't be alone as he breaks.

Hurting more is often part of getting better. You know this, and you let it happen.

You let Buggy cry against you. You let his tears, snot, spittle, and worries seep into your clothes. You hold the back of his head and put a hand on his back, and rub. You let your own stinging tears fall.

Noises get caught in his throat and Buggy fixes his hold, as if he's trying to wrap himself around you even more. As if he's trying to squeeze every drop of comfort and care from you.

His hands are detached, fingers stretched and probably barely connected, all so he can hold more of you. Even his feet are shuffling, seeking contact against yours. His knees knocking against your legs.

Buggy continues until he's hiccupping and coughing. Until he has a headache and his eyes are bleary.

You should have stopped him sooner. Some of the oozing wounds started to crust and are clinging to the fabric of your clothes.

Buggy whines and grunts as he literally peels himself away.

You still need to clean and dress the wounds, so another round of pain. One could argue that you should have gone ahead and done that right away, but no.

Despite the visible injuries, there's invisible damage that needed to be soothed.

You can almost see Buggy picking up his broken pieces and putting them back together. Recreating a wall, a mask, a barrier.

You know what's on the other side, though. And you will be there whenever he needs you.

[hardcorestitchcorps]

A few years ago, a professor acquaintance asked me to design this pattern for her to stitch and put in her office so I thought I'd finally make it myself. The pattern is free here and there's also a blank version if you wanted to use different flags or flags representing a different issue entirely.

I had mixed feelings stitching this right now, since where is a truly safe space other than the tiny one we might be able to curate for ourselves, if we're lucky. But we can never underestimate how someone seeing their flag, especially a less used one, in an office or public setting, can be a huge comfort. There's also this apt quote from Welcome to Night Vale:

“Are we living a life that is safe from harm? Of course not. We never are. But that’s not the right question. The question is are we living a life that is worth the harm?”

I'm not sure how accessible Flickr is for folks anymore, so I'm also putting the pattern under the cut here and some notes about colors.

These are all DMC colors. Keep in mind that dye lots shift over time and please go by what you hold in your hand (maybe you've got a really old or really new skein of one of these) vs what I've said or what you see in the finished image picture (550 as the main darker purple shows up very purple in person but on my laptop monitor it is SO dark, so don't discount a choice based on your screen). Stitching again I might use 312 for the blue in the bisexual flag instead of 517, though realistically it likely makes little difference.

And yes, not every flag can be put here. There are only so many letters and I really wanted the umbrella rainbow flag to be dominant. I tested how it would look with the progress pride flag, but it didn't look great on the letters and would be redundant. You could always use the blank pattern file to change that and free up another letter for a flag I couldn't include.

If you're altering the pattern keep in mind some flags won't work well with certain letters. For example, the demisexual or demiromantic flags should be stitched on an E or F.

[agirlsguidetolove]

True Love’s Kiss

neteyam x reader

words. ab 550

catergory. fluff 💗😍☝️

warnings. kissing ig and i think that’s it

Summary. being the best healer of the Metkayina clan (not to mention the most attractive 😉😉), meeting the sully family was bound, but ever since neteyam has found out you heal wounds with a kiss, he’s become your most common visitor. 

“Really, Neteyam? Again?”

Neteyam smiled sheepishly at you, eyes flickering over you as he approached where you’re sat. “Your friend likes to fight,” he explains. 

You roll your eyes, mumbling “skxawng” under your breathe and his smile grows wider, the few navi words he’s taught you sticking to you like glue.

You remember formally meeting the same boy, along with his brother and sister two weeks ago. Neteyam had a nasty cut on his hand, one he had somehow gotten from Aonung, the same boy who keeps injuring him to this very day. You had laughed it out with a sigh, reaching your palm out and gesturing for him to put his own it. He did so quickly, placing his hand in yours, and you remember calling Aonung an ass, which had him and his brother and sister chuckling. Your thumb brushed over the edge of the cut, and he hissed, throwing his head back slightly, but not taking his eyes off you.

“Sorry,” you said, pursing your lips in concern. His breathe had hitched as you leaned down, gently kissing the gash on his palm. You both watched as the slit glowed with a yellow shine before it had reconnected, magically stitching itself back together with ease. The look he and his brother and sister gave you was one you had grown familiar with after years of healing others.

You smiled, then looked at Neteyam will a soft smile. “All better,” you said, dropping his hand from your palm. He had looked at you with something you couldn’t explain, and his was agape before it was opening and closing like a fish. Then, his brother and sister ushered him out, telling you thank you. 

Since then, he has been a frequent visitor. 

Neteyam crosses the few feet separating the two of you with haste, sitting just in front of you. You can see the reappearance of the same cut that’s been lingering on his lip for the fourth time this week. 

“The same spot?” you muse confusedly, leaning forward to observe it further, unaware of how the boy in front you’s heart is fluttering as your proximity. 

He swallows dryly, wincing when your thumb touches the open wound. “Yeah,” he exhales, “Guess I still haven’t learned yet, huh?” 

You smile, shaking your head with laugh. You oblivious to how drunk he feels hearing laugh. He swears it’s music to his ears. 

“Don’t know how you haven’t, mighty warrior,” you tease. 

He hummed, trying his hardest to fight the wide smile making its way on to his lips. He isn’t in control of his eyes either. They keep flicking between your eyes and your lips as you inch toward him. 

Your eyes flicker shut. Neteyam allows his own to. Your lips tenderly consume his bottom lip and Neteyam holds back the groan threatening to spew from his throat. Just as quickly as your lips had touched his, they were gone. 

He chases after your lips, unconsciously leaning towards you, saying your name breathlessly before opening his eyes, remembering the situation he was in.

“All better?” you asked, tilting your head to give his lips a once over, making sure they were just as perfect as the day you had met him. 

Neteyam sighed, smiling timidly. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Anytime,” you laughed.

He really hoped you meant that. 

[ratsoh-writes]

And since someone will inevitably ask: here’s all the skelehoes stats! (Minus STATUS)

Sans: LV: 0, HP: 380, DF 9, AT: 12

Papyrus: LV: 0, HP: 598, DF: 21, AT: 33

Star: LV: 1, HP: 675, DF: 19, AT: 35

Honey: LV: 0, HP: 401, DF: 12, AT: 7

Red: LV: 2, HP: 512, DF: 22, AT: 28

Edge: LV: 1, HP: 700, DF: 18, AT: 33

Mal: LV: 2, HP: 663, DF: 24, AT: 29

Cash: LV: 1, HP: 351, DF: 12, AT: 20

Oak: LV: 0, HP: 290, DF 4, AT: 8

Willow: LV: 1, HP: 420, DF: 21, AT: 30

Lilac: LV: 0, HP: 308, DF: 19, AT: 28

Basil: LV: 1, HP: 399, DF: 12, AT: 6

Rust: LV: 3, HP: 478, DF: 24, AT: 27

Noir: LV: 4, HP: 400, DF: 20, AT: 29

Charm: LV:0, HP: 662, DF: 17, AT: 16

Sugar: LV: 0, HP: 700, DF: 10, AT: 14

Sparks: LV: 0, HP: 690, DF: 30, AT: 22

Salt: LV: 0, HP: 588, DF: 12, AT: 20

Lush: LV: 1, HP: 770, DF: 30, AT: 36

Pepper: LV: 1, HP: 633, DF: 25, AT: 37

Sir: LV: 1, HP: 612, DF: 22, AT: 30

Weasel: LV: 1, HP: 565, DF: 20, AT: 20

Butler: LV: 7, HP: 711, DF: 35, AT: 40

Gold: LV: 0, HP: 533, DF: 8, AT: 22

Flambé: LV: 0, HP: 498, DF: 10, AT: 12

Pesto: LV: 2, HP: 397, DF: 12, AT: 21

Pop: LV:0, HP: 574, DF: 25, AT: 12

Rhythm: LV: 0, HP: 607, DF: 20, AT: 15

G: LV: 1, HP: 94, DF: 2, AT: 5

Green: LV: 0, HP: 788, DF: 14, AT: 18

Pluto: LV: 0, HP: 492, DF: 10, AT: 25

Jupiter: LV: 0, HP: 701, DF: 12, AT: 30

Orion: LV: 1, HP: 600, DF: 13, AT: 28

Atlas: LV: 0, HP: 604, DF: 14, AT: 27

Helios: LV: 0, HP: 814, DF: 24, AT: 63

Artemis: LV: 0, HP: 42, DF: 2, AT: 2

Lord: LV: 1, HP: 427, DF: 5, AT: 21

Mutt: LV: 4, HP: 550, DF: 13, AT: 25

Wine: LV: 2, HP: 576, DF: 19, AT: 36

Coffee: LV: 9, HP: 735, DF: 25, AT: 40

Snipe: LV: 2, HP: 533, DF: 32, AT: 36

Bruiser: LV: 1, HP: 543, DF: 32, AT: 36

Ace: LV: 3, HP: 488, DF: 17, AT: 37

Slim: LV: 0, HP: 440, DF: 19, AT: 18

Butch: LV: 8, HP: 916, DF: 53, AT: 67

Boss: LV: 3, HP: 720, DF: 38, AT: 39

Peaches: LV: 0, HP: 700, DF: 45, AT: 16

Rancher: LV: 0, HP: 733, DF: 61, AT: 48

Cider: LV: 0, HP: 702, DF: 40, AT: 16

Barley: LV: 0, HP: 689, DF: 39, AT: 14

Ram: LV: 1, HP: 663, DF: 34, AT: 21

Pitch: LV: 1, HP: 676, DF: 35, AT: 18

Moose: LV: 0, HP: 650, DF: 41, AT: 20

Maple: LV: 0, HP: 678, DF: 40, AT: 19

Fisher: LV: 0, HP: 477, DF: 20, AT: 22

Jasper: LV: 0, HP: 499, DF: 19, AT: 24

Hook: LV: 1, HP: 623, DF: 18, AT: 38

Captain; LV: 1, HP: 703, DF: 18, AT: 37

Finn: LV: 0, HP: 704, DF: 18, AT: 25

Sails: LV: 0, HP: 420, DF: 13, AT: 18

Pearl: LV: 0, HP: 644, DF: 34, AT: 19

Silex: LV: 0, HP: 712, DF: 35, AT: 21

Alden: LV: 0, HP: 534, DF: 12, AT: 29

Ollivander: LV: 0, HP: 551, DF: 10, AT: 27

Hilda: LV: 0, HP: 677, DF: 11, AT: 30

Saga: LV: 0, HP, 612, DF: 10, AT: 27

Barin: LV: 1, HP: 590, DF: 18, AT: 33

Arwin: LV: 1, HP: 648, DF: 15, AT: 31

Quill: LV: 0, HP: 451, DF: 8, AT: 10

Crow: LV: 0, HP: 522, DF: 9, AT: 12

Mango: LV: 0, HP: 680, DF: 8, AT: 16

Papaya: LV: 0, HP: 613, DF: 7, AT: 13

Roost: LV: 1, HP: 571, DF: 7, AT: 26

Harpy: LV: 2, HP: 690, DF: 9, AT: 29

Gears: LV: 0, HP: 423, DF: 5, AT: 14

Compass: LV -1, HP: 444, DF: 6, AT: 17

Tempo: LV: 0, HP: 502, DF: 14, AT: 12

Vibrato: LV: 0, HP: 513, DF: 12, AT: 13

Taffy: LV: 0, HP: 530, DF: 13, AT: 16

Pudding: LV: 0, HP: 470, DF: 12, AT: 12

Partner: LV: 1, HP: 588, DF: 18, AT: 23

Rowdy: LV: 0, HP: 492, DF: 17, AT: 20

Lens: LV: 1, HP: 422, DF: 16, AT: 14

Cricket: LV: 0, HP: 450, DF: 18, AT: 17

Stitches: LV: 0, HP: 415, DF: 5, AT: 12

Tinker: LV: 0, HP: 429, DF: 6, AT: 11

[roboticchibitan]

I guess I'll post the things I made in 2023 since this seems to be a thing we are doing

Socks I knitted this winter! The blue ones were a Yule gift for my mom. She loves them and has said she'd love another pair in grey. The purple one I finished yesterday, Dec 30th, and I've just finished the heel on the second sock. These socks all have mismatched heels because both I and my mother have two different sized feet so we need a way to tell which sock is which.

Potholders I made as holiday gifts. Laying here on one of mt current WIPs, a pair of palazzo pants I am embroidering the hem of before I sew them together.

I dyed some yarn this year! I couldn't find a picture of the blacklight reactive yarn I dyed. And I'm too tired to go find it. The Royal blue was for my gf's still unfinished Yule gift 😅

Handkerchiefs! I tatted an edging for both of these and embroidered the violets on the purple one. DMC 550 is my favorite color so the violets and the tatted edge both are that color. The blue one came with the design on it already. I just tatted the edge.

Last but not least, I came up with this double moss stitch triangle shawl pattern. It still needs a good blocking. I'm going to tweak it a bit and write it all out and hopefully sell the pattern sometime next year.

Not pictured: the hot pink palazzo pants I made (currently wearing them) that I couldn't find a picture of, another pair of socks, several cat toys, and two band shirts I turned into crop tops. Also I mended a pair of pyjama pants I've been meaning to mend since literally last winter.

[takeyourcyanide]

Loss

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Marie Mjolnir

Word Count: 2 550

Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Non-Sexual Age Play, Age, Regressor Stein, Caregiver Marie, Psychosis, Not Beta Read

Summary: Stein is essentially caught to an extent regressing, having been unable to suppress it and right in the middle of it when called out by Marie.

Notes: This was a little rushed near the end, I think, but I didn’t have much more I wanted to write for this at all - not many ideas near the end. I have an odd one queued up and ready for posting later. It’s been difficult to write lately. But I’ve wanted to.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Distressingly different, even. The walls around him, the people he’d seen earlier that day, everything and everyone seemed to be replaced, but with what? And what was so wrong? Where was the answer he was so desperate for?

Stein, sitting up restlessly in his bed, fiddled with the floppy ears of his little stuffed rabbit, pulling at the ends of his hair, the taste of blood filling him mouth as he bit off the skin of his lips and cheeks; an accidental and frequent incident of a sort of ‘auto-cannibalism.’

“Go away,” a whispered command left his mouth, and not of his own volition, as he scanned the area surrounding him repeatedly, their dense presences encapsulating his bedroom.

A gentle knocking on his door startled him out of his stupor, the rattling of Marie’s attempt to twist the locked doorknob grating on his sensitive ears.

“Hey, Stein? I made dinner, if you want some food,” she offered, Franken standing slowly up, still holding the mangled bunny to his chest unconsciously.

He went back and forth with himself, scrambling for coherent thought, as he questioned whether or not he should exit the chilling and unwelcoming air of his room.

Was the Marie speaking to him even Marie? Is she attempting to lure him out? Even if he were to stay in his room, he’d be dragged out eventually. And he might as well see this either “new” or “normal” Marie for himself, as it would help him to determine which label fit her - or ‘it’, rather -best.

He unlocked the door, cautiously pulling it open, preparing to be devoured by whatever lurked outside of it.

Much to his comfort, he was only met with a seemingly giddy hammer, presumably proud of whatever she’d whipped up, the ties of the grey apron embroidered with stitches still wrapped snuggly around her waist.

“You all right?” Mjolnir’s smile fell as she analyzed her meister’s expression, his eyes particularly wide, apprehensive and tired-looking, his bottom lip.. bleeding? “What’d you do?”

“What?” She pointed towards the beading crimson, alerting Stein to his own self-inflicted injury.

He brought a pallid finger up to his lip, patting around the area that was pointed at. He pulled his finger away from the flesh he only just became aware was stinging and tingling painfully, finding that a decent amount of blood had feathered across the tip of his finger.

“Oh,” he licked the blood off, earning a suppressed look of minor worry and discomfort from his weapon.

“And what’s with the rabbit?”

Oh. Whoops.

Stein shrugged his shoulders, trudging past Marie and into their dimly lit dining area, sitting at the round, steel table with his bunny.

He might as well commit to it. There was no point in pretending as though Marie never saw the stuffed toy. Though, if she really were replaced, she’d most likely see him as prey now. Or would she? Oh, well.

Mjolnir sat directly in front of him, dumping clumps of stir-fried rice and a few pork chops on the creepily still and quiet man’s plate.

“I’m not judging you or anything, by the way. I don’t care about the rabbit, I was just curious,” she clarified, almost feeling a little guilty about seemingly putting him on the spot.

Stein lifted the steaming rice from off of the plate with his fork, chewing on a mouthful as Marie stuck her own fork into a pork chop.

“Feel free to tell me if this doesn’t taste good. I’ve never made this kind of rice before, and I’ve never made pork chops before, so I’d appreciate some feedback,” she moved her gaze back and forth from her food to her silent meister, of whom began playing with his food as opposed to eating it.

“Not hungry? Or do you not like it?”

“It’s good,” he mumbled, watchful eyes observing and peering empty daggers into Marie’s soul.

Mjolnir’s eyebrows furrowed, frankly a little creeped out by his incessant staring, but also rather concerned.

“Is something wrong?” She asked after finishing another piece of one of her pork chops.

“No,” he plainly responded, much to Marie’s dissatisfaction.

There was an unnameable thing about Stein’s mostly blank expression that was somewhat childishly petulant in a way that made her, oddly enough, want to scoop him away from whatever was bothering him so badly. There was something different about his demeanor - it wasn’t as outwardly scary as usual, more untrusting and uncharacteristically afraid; vulnerable in a way she thought she’d never see from him.

It reminded Marie of an old friend and some of her behaviors… She explained to her what it was once, and why it happened, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the name of it. All she could remember was that it involved children and illness, or something. What was the name of it? It had been so long since she last did any sort of research into it, though she remembers finding it fascinating in a sort of cute and sad way…

“Oh! I know what this is!” Marie happily exclaimed, hitting her fist into the palm of her hand elatedly at the memory finally coming back to her.

Stein almost flinched at the sudden raise in the volume of her voice, his eyes shooting open even wider.

“Huh?”

What did Marie know? What had she found out? Had he seen through him? He shouldn’t have left his room. Why did he do that? What does she know about him? How much does she know? Why’d he ever-

“Do you regress, Stein? Isn’t that what it’s called?” The meister looked genuinely horrified, though the weapon was much too excited to notice at first.

“You know what that is?” He shakily uttered, bringing Marie back down to earth.

“Yeah, a friend of mine a long time ago did it… It’s okay if you do.. I forgot a lot about it, but it stems from something, doesn’t it? Like trauma, and mental issues, and stuff? I don’t necessarily know why you do it, but-“

“Don’t. tell. anyone.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning-“

“I don’t want to do it. It just happens a lot. Don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Of course, I won’t, Stein. I was just going to say that if you wanted to, I could help you with it. I did for her,” she reminisced. “We had supplies and everything.”

“I don’t want supplies. And it’s fine, you don’t have to,” he stared down at the table, refusing to look Marie in the eyes, or really anywhere. “I don’t need supplies, I’m not trying to endorse it. I’m not ashamed of it or anything, it’s not that it’s never nice, but it isn’t a lot, and.. I don’t know. It’s, uh…… I don’t, uh-“

“It’s okay, Stein,” she softly interrupted. “Do you know what age you usually are- or, um.. regress to, I mean?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“How come?”

“I’s pathetic.”

Marie took another quick bite of her pork chop, chewing as quickly as possible.

“It’s not pathetic, Stein.. You can tell me.”

He looked so completely beat down- not even in a sorrowful or sullen way. He just looked so tired. She considered whether or not she should pester him into getting more sleep, but it didn’t seem like that was exactly the problem.

“I don’ wanna say,” he whined into the head of his bunny, having positioned it even closer to himself. “Don’ wan’ your help.”

‘This is going to take a while,’ Marie sighed to herself exasperatedly.

“So, you’re pretty young, then, huh?” She prodded in a much sweeter voice than before, Franken pouting in response.

With the way he’s beginning to speak, his petulant expression, and desperate clinging to his rabbit, it’s not as though it wasn’t obvious.

“Why d’you wanna know?”

“Because I want to help you, Stein.“

“Why?” He appeared genuinely confused.

“Because if you regress pretty young and it just happens against your will like you said, then that probably makes things difficult for you, right?”

Stein put a decent amount of effort into shrugging his shoulders, removing his face from the bunny only slightly in order to frantically scan the room for the people he felt approaching him.

“See? That’s why. You can tell me when it’s becoming an issue for you, and I can help you do whatever you need to do.”

“Why my age?”

“Because depending on your age, you may need more help or less help.” She pushed her plate away, much too distracted now to eat. “You know.. the girl I mentioned regressed pretty young, too.”

He peaked out from further from behind the rabbit, curiosity getting the best of him.

“She was, like, two, maybe? Anyway, I have experience with younger ages- it’s okay if you’re younger, Stein.”

“Still not gonna tell you,” he whined.

“How about… hmm… What if you let me help you, and I could guess what age you are after?”

“Fine,” he groaned, the slight furrow in his brows adding to the pout on his lips. “You’r no’ gonna gimme a choice, anyway.”

She was relieved that he caved in. She didn’t know how much more of his struggling to enunciate his words and speak she could take until finally grabbing him and squeezing him like a little squeaky toy.

“Well, you can’t just keep denying everyone’s help,” she stood from her seat, coming to stand beside Stein, who immediately jerked away from her. “It’s okay! I’m not going to touch you or anything, I promise.”

“I can and I will.”

Stein held his rabbit tightly and far from Mjolnir’s reach, his countenance and leaning form indicative of suspicion and a full preparedness to bite.

Marie released a sympathetic sigh, tilting her head and frowning. “Awe, your lip is bleeding again, sweetie,” she cooed.

She ran over to the wooden coffee table she brought in when she first moved in with him, swiftly pulling a tissue from out of the colorful box perched directly in the center of it.

“Would it be okay if I cleaned your lip up, Franken?” She kneeled next to him, an aura of patience about her. “It’ll be quick.”

“Like the taste..”

“We still don’t want it to get too messy, do we? It’s already running down your chin a little… You really did a number on your lip, huh?” She held up the tissue, gazing expectantly as if to ask for his consent.

Stein looked her up and down… once and twice. He fiddled with the ears of his bunny for a moment, pensive and apprehensive. Flashes of possible strangulation, of choking, of attack flooding his mind. He wasn’t even necessarily scared, just filled to the brim with a crippling sensation he couldn’t precisely label.

He inched ever so slightly closer to her, tilting his head as to give easier access of his shredded lip to Marie.

“There we go,” she drawled softly, padding against the area gently, folding the tissue and wiping the thin trail of blood from off of his chin. “And, just so you know, it’s fine if you don’t feel like speaking, okay?”

Stein hummed, eyes following Marie as she threw the bloodied tissue away, three eyes attached to spider-like legs creeping around her feet.

They crawled quickly after her, as she returned to her former position, crouching before her brooding, sulky meister.

“Do you want to sit on the couch?” Stein shook his head languidly.

“You wanna go to bed? You sleepy?” Stein nodded his head, the movement forced and guarded, as though he were admitting to some dark, never-before-told secret.

“Okay.. but before we go, are you sure you’re not hungry?” He nodded once more, the mere thought of food nauseating. “Do you think you can stand?”

He shrugged his shoulders, swinging his body up and off of the chair, his eyes rolling as his head spun.

“Wooh.. I’ve got you,” Marie caught Franken, the side of his face against her chest. “Got up a little too fast, huh…”

She wrapped one arm around his torso, the other coming under both of his popliteal fossae in preparation. “Are you okay with my carrying you, Stein?”

He shrugged his affectionately confined shoulders as best as he could, a glint of an effervescent turmoil in his eyes, which was shrouded in a veil of something indescribable that Marie had only ever just seen. Perhaps it was a glimmer specific to his regressed self.

“All right…”

She hoisted him up, cradling him tenderly against her frame, Stein hiding his face in the crook of her warm neck.

As she walked to his bedroom, treading through the awfully cold corridors, she swayed, effectively rocking him from side to side. It was almost a bit of an experiment- to see just how young he really was. And when he all but began to melt, fingers unconsciously coming to his lips (though he immediately ripped them away once he caught himself), she knew precisely how she needed to treat him and what she was getting into.

She adjusted the covers on the bed, awkwardly handling Stein as she slipped him, as well as herself, underneath the mounds of blankets. She’d managed to maneuver him to lie beside her, a hand in his oddly mussed hair, scooting farther down for optimal comfort.

“How long has it been since you last washed your hair, Stein?” He, once again, shrugged his shoulders. What little perception of time he still could grasp onto was proving to be less than adequate. “Awe.. If you wanted, I could help you with that stuff… it’s seems like you’ve been forgetting a lot lately.”

Stein flung - or, rather, cautiously and experimentally inched his arm around Marie, his rabbit tucked in between his chest and her side, nuzzling further into her as if she were his stuffed toy.

“And you know I’m here to sort of supervise you and your mental state, anyway. I don’t mind taking care of you at all, Stein, I promise. And I won’t tell anyone about helping you.” She booped him on the nose with the tip of her pointer finger, as she continued, “We can say that you remained just as functional as you’ve ever been and never needed any help at all. How about that?”

Stein hid his face against her chest, huffing out a tired sigh. A dense lump formed in his throat, refusing to be deterred with a swallow, as a burning sensation raged behind his eyes, though no tears of his fell.

‘We can say that you remained just as functional as you’ve ever been and never needed any help at all. How about that?’

He couldn’t even function anymore. What happened.

He knew what happened.

He knew precisely what happened.

He’d lost all of his control.

Would he ever regain it?

He would never regain it.

With his muffled whimpers came comforting coos from his weapon.

And with the madness came a complete degradation of who he was and what he was capable of.

It was all gone. He was gone.

Gone forever.

And that was even more evident in the fact that he was too incompetent to repress his regression in the presence of another.

He would never regain his former control.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One More Sleep pt.2

batboys x reader

(A/N): Here's part 2! [Edit: find pt. 1 here.] Somehow I managed to get Steph and Cass done today so the series is now complete. If the characterization is off, I apologize; I've never written for either of them much before. I hope everyone who celebrates is having a lovely Christmas and that you all enjoy!

This one is dedicated to @glorified-red, who it an absolutely amazing human being and one I am privileged to know. Thank you for your encouragement, qamar, and I hope this live up to your expectations.

total wc: ~1900

warnings: non-graphic references to injury, explicit mentions of Christmas

~~

Tim Drake:

wc: ~500 

Tim is way more awake at 2am on Christmas morning than he has any right to be, especially after an undercover mission overseas. It’s not even caffeine awake, he just passed out—the sleep kind, not the unconscious kind—on the plane home after debrief and took a five hour nap. 

When he pushes open the door to the apartment he lives in with you, the lights are on. It takes him a second to find you under all the blankets; you’re scrolling halfheartedly through what he thinks is tumblr. He didn’t expect you to be up this late but a part of him warms at the fact that you stayed up anyway. You don’t even react to him until he’s right next to you which means you’re exhausted, but you do notice before he says anything because he’s suddenly on the couch next to you and wrapped in your arms and so many blankets. 

“I missed you,” Tim says into the junction where your shoulder meets your neck. The grip around his shoulders tightens. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” 

Tim nestles his face one more time into your shoulder before he lets go. 

“You didn’t have to stay up for me.” 

“I know,” you tell him, and there’s a fond smile on your face that you only ever make for him. “But I wanted to.” 

You cup his face so you can press a kiss to his cheekbone and then run your hands quickly through his hair. 

“Now go put on pjs and brush your teeth so we can watch a movie together before we go to bed.” 

Tim isn’t going to argue. A movie with you sounds perfect, even if you’re both tired and he’s not sure you’ll stay awake through the whole thing. 

“Hallmark movie?” Tim asks. 

“Of course. What do you take me for?” 

You head back to the couch as he heads to the bedroom and by the time he comes back in his fuzzy Christmas pants, you’ve narrowed it down to two. 

“Fake dating or lesbian friends to lovers?” you ask as he sits down next to you. 

“The gay one. What do you take me for?” he teases back, shuffling so he can be squished next to you and likewise stretch his legs out on the ottoman. 

You huff a laugh and click on the movie, quickly turning the volume down before the Netflix intro can make the two of you cringe and then back up again once the movie starts. He links your hands together over your thighs. Your pjs are navy and his are red, but they both have little Santas printed on them. You bought them together during a black friday sale. 

You hand him the remote and Tim dips his head onto your shoulder. This is what hallmark movies call content, he thinks. 

By the time the opening credits fade away to the movie itself, Tim can feel your breaths even out. He doesn’t mind; he’s fallen asleep on you during movies plenty of times. He’ll move after this movie’s over, Tim decides. Then he’ll carry you to the bedroom and go to bed. 

He’s asleep by the time the movie protagonist decides she does, in fact, enjoy time in her small hometown.

Damian Wayne:

wc: ~550

Damian is limping slightly when he pushes open the front door. It’s nearing 3 o’clock—2:46a.m. by the last check of his watch—and he’s brought eight new stitches, a sprained knee, and bruised ribs home with him for Christmas. Damian knows you’re asleep, you texted him hours ago before you went to bed. He was on a plane, heading back from Europe at the time, getting patched up. He didn’t tell you that part in his response, but you’ll probably ask him something later that will make him reveal it anyway and he’ll submit to your concerned questioning as he always does. His only hope is that it won’t be in the middle of the manor living room or he’ll be supplying a bunch of nosy siblings with teasing ammunition they’ll use for months.

The set of electric candles that live on the coffee table are still on, so Damian can see as he toes off his boots and drops his keys on the side table. His winter coat and hat are put up on the coat hanger before he ventures further into the apartment. 

There’s a gift on the coffee table. Damian doesn’t see it until he moves to turn the candles off, but it’s wrapped in brown paper and decorated with a gift tag that reads “ameli” and a green bow. He sits on the arm of the couch—if he sits all the way down, he’s not sure he’ll get up: he’s exhausted—and turns on a lamp before turning off the candles. In the lamp light, the Christmas tree is more visible, and he can see your handiwork in the presents underneath, waiting for the day after christmas, a time for just the two of you.    

When he opens the present, it’s actually two things. The first one is small and in a black tie pouch and he puts it in his pocket to open the bigger thing. It’s a knee brace, a new one. He’s been needing one for a few weeks now, a to-do list item living at the back of his mind that he never actually got to. You texted one of his brothers (Dick he assumes; the two of you get along very well) because you knew something was wrong, he realizes. He can’t even bring himself to dread the concerned appraisal he knows for sure he’ll be getting early in the morning. 

He doesn’t remember the second thing until he’s changing into his pajamas. They were waiting for him when he stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The bag is in the pocket of the jeans he’s half-heartedly folded and put on the sink. It’s a necklace, a simple gold chain with a vertical bar charm. In the bright bathroom lighting, he can see an engraving in the gold. It reads “hayati” in Arabic letters. حياتي. My life. The necklace, made of material that doesn’t tarnish, sits so that the charm hides just underneath his shirt collar, private only for him. 

Stitches covered, ribs taped, and new brace on, Damian lifts the edge of the weighted blanket to slide into bed. You’re laying on your side, facing him. Damian moves a piece of hair out of your face.

“Merry Christmas, habibi,” he whispers, love coloring his voice. You move only to rest your head against his chest. 

Cassandra Cain:

wc: ~350

When Cass steps off the Wayne Enterprises jet, she’s expecting the black car waiting for her. She’s not expecting it to be your car. And she’s definitely not expecting to see you leaning against it, what she assumes is a cup of coffee in a Black Bat to-go mug in one gloved hand and your phone in the other. Last check of her own phone—the lock screen is a picture Duke took of the two of you at the manor during the most recent movie night you attended together—it’s 1:12am. She assumes you haven’t been standing outside long. It’s in the low double digits temperature-wise outside and Cass is cold even in her winter coat. 

You slide your phone into your pocket and wave at her, an excited smile on your face. Cass smiles back without thinking and returns your wave with the hand holding her rolling suitcase. Her other hand is clad in a wrist brace and holding a Christmas bag. 

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” you say to her once she’s close to you, “I’m glad you’re home safe.” You reach for her suitcase and she concedes without argument, passing it over. 

“Me too. Merry Christmas.” Cass circles the car to stand at the passenger door, but she watches you put her suitcase in the trunk even though the cold is slowly stripping the feeling from her nose.

You slam the trunk shut and wave to her before heading for the driver’s side. Cass opens her door as you do and you close your door and start the car in quick succession so it’ll warm up before you start heading home. Cass just watches. There’s something fascinating to her about your body language when she’s around. Cass knows a lot of languages. Body language is the only one that rarely lies, and she sees your love for her in every move you make. You turn to look at her, but you don’t say anything. There’s a warmth in her chest that Cass thinks has little to do with the warm air coming through the vents. 

I love you, Cass says to you in sign language. 

Your lips curl up in the self-conscious smile you make when she says sweet things out of nowhere. Cass feels her heart skip a beat at your response. 

Thank you for choosing me.  

Stephanie Brown:

wc: ~400

Stephanie can’t stifle the smile on her face as her key turns silently in the lock. She’s early. Not by much, when compared to a weeklong mission—only about 4 hours—but it’s early enough that she knows you’re awake which means she gets to see you on Christmas Eve after all. 

You don’t look up as the door opens; there’s a hallmark movie playing on your TV and from what Steph can tell, you’re somewhere in the middle of it. It must not be very good, though because you’re also looking at your phone, scrolling through instagram. Steph leans over the couch to grab your phone, and you shriek and stand up as you turn around. Only vigilante reflexes stop your head from colliding with hers. 

“Steph! You’re early!” 

You scramble over the couch to crush her in a hug, and Stephanie feels the heaviness of the mission slide off of her even as her ribs creak. 

So worth it. 

After a week of nothing but being on guard and a general lack of safety, she squeezes you right back. Even when you let up on the squeezing she doesn’t let go, her head resting in the crook of your neck. She’s grateful, not for the first time, that you seem to be able to read her mind, and you don’t let go until she does. 

Steph cups your face and pulls you into a kiss. 

“Happy Christmas Eve, baby,” she says as she pulls away. 

You sneak another peck to her lips, her cheek, her jawbone. 

“I missed you,” you tell her, pressing your forehead to hers. Steph wraps her hands around your wrists where your hands are cradling her face. 

“We have time to make cookies,” you continue, your forehead still pressed to hers. Steph can’t see the smile on your face but she knows it’s there. She pulls away and sure enough her favorite smile in the world is looking back at her.

“Oh heck yeah, let’s do it. And we’ll take some to the manor tomorrow so Jason can taste our sweet success.” You snort out a laugh. 

“Duh, obviously. Okay first, you need Christmas pajamas. And then you preheat the oven. I’ll get the ingredients out and get the butter softened.” 

“Sir yes sir,” Steph teases. “Matching Christmas pajamas coming right up.” 

Steph almost gets all the way to the bedroom before she remembers. 

“And don’t forget to leave us extra chocolate chips!” 

“Already done!” 

“I knew you loved me,” Steph calls back. She can hear your laugh from inside the bedroom.

“Always.” 

[fyresnow]

finally took some nice pics of this tank top I knit! (ft a pair of shorts I made too) I made the pattern myself and I’m super proud of it 😊 (previous post here)

Yarn: Lion Brand linen cotton bamboo in cherry blossom (I LOVE the way this yarn feels against my skin, it’ll be so nice for summer. I actually bought a bunch more in other colors bc it was on clearance the other day, I hope it’s not gone forever.) (about 550 yds)

Pattern: I made this in the most obnoxious way possible because I wanted to use up as much yarn as I could and didn't know how long to make it. So I needed to knit the body top down. But I needed to knit the shoulders bottom up in order to get the shaping right on the neckline.

So I did a provisional cast on for the front and worked that flat up and over to the back. The plan was to keep working flat until the armhole and then connect with the front and work down. But I couldn't get the increases on the back to match the decreases on the front. So I had to do another provisional cast on and knit a second section (the back) flat from the armhole to where the first section ended and graft the two together. AND THEN pick up the provisional cast ons and join to work in the round until it was long enough. 10/10 would not recommend.

also I didn't have circulars in the right size so I made this on six to seven dpns (size 4)

The increases for my hips are KRL and KLL (lifted increases) so they're pretty invisible. The dropped stitch was a single stitch and there's a twisted stitch to each side of it. I didn't bother blocking this one although I guess I could have. I like the way the lace looks as is. I suppose it's not the most flattering length on me and the diagonal ribbing at the bottom flared out so much bc I forgot to decrease before it and then didn't want to redo it...

I haven't decided if I want to post the actual pattern notes / sell it because it was drafted for someone with a flat chest (bc I have a flat chest and it's for me lol) and it would involve redoing a lot of the math for different chest sizes.

[weirdponytail]

550 rpm stitching. Wheeeee!

[somediyprojects]

Louis Wain’s Yellow Cat stitched by mmjhsr. Pattern ($7) designed by Whoopicat.

“Psychedelic Cat. I stitched it with 4 strands over 2 on 22 count fabric. I started it in August and made huge progress with all the colors, watching my percent complete ticking up, then realized the pattern app didn’t recognize the yellow as stitches. It sat in time out with all but a few square inches of yellow left to do, and I finally finished it today. 

I’ll be in New York soon and will shop for fabric to finish it as a pillow. Probably dark purple backing and either red or yellow piping. (DMC 550, 666, and 744), depending on what I can find. 

I’m glad I did the giant count (basically 11 count). I almost always work on much finer counts (my other current project is one of the Star Wars Lego mini fig patterns on 20 ct Aida), but I love how chunky and giant this is. The colors were an absolute blast. The yellow was a slog. But I left it to last, so it was completely brainless. No counting, just filling in.”

[styleforklossy]

may 12, 2024 / miami, florida

on mother’s day, karlie kloss wore:

— Cartier, “D’amour Necklace” - $2,210

— Self-Portrait, “Ivory Contrast-Stitch Ribbed Knit Mini Dress” - N/A

— EF Collection, “Gold Block Name Bracelet, LEVI” - $550

— EF Collection, “Gold Block Name Bracelet, ELIJAH” - $650

— Spinelli Kilcollin, “Ceres Deux YG Ring” - $4,900

— Briony Raymond, “Skinny Sloan Ring” - $2,200

[theearlgreymage]

15 Questions | 15 People

Rules: Answer these 15 Questions, then Tag 15 People 

Thanks for tagging me @nausikaaa

1. Are you named after anyone? Technically? My father tried to give me the middle name Rabbit. Which would have made me Jessica Rabbit M****** but that got shut down, and I’m thankfully just a simple Jessica Lynn

2. When was the last time you cried? *Checks Time* Like a few hours ago? I cry a lot 

3. Do you have kids? Do students count? If so, I currently have 38 under my “roof” and have had about 550 so far in life. 

If we’re talking biological, the answer is a very hard no.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I teach middle schoolers. I breath with sarcasm.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? Can you follow basic instructions? 

6. What’s your eye color? Brown. Nothing special. 

7. Scary movies or happy ending? Scary movies!!

8. Any special talents? Panicking? Does that count as a talent? 

9. Where were you born? Southwestern PA  

10. What are your hobbies? So many things - Reading, writing, dancing, coloring, cross-stitch, embroidery, knitting, video games, kayaking

11. Do you have any pets? Two beautiful cats: Milo and Sylvanas 

12. What sports do you play/have you played? I took dance lessons for 13 years, which included 7 recitals and 6 musicals. I also played soccer for a single season in the 4th grade. And I became a Girl Varsity Tennis Coach in the last 3 years.

13. How tall are you? 5′6″

14. Favorite subject at school? History

15. Dream job? I have 2. The 1st is a World History Teacher (I’m almost there, I teach, just need to get the content I want.) The 2nd is a moderately successful author. 

Tags under the cut for those who would like to play along!  

@stardustasincocaine @confused-bi-queer @bazzybelle @ic3-que3n @cutestkilla @fatalfangirl @raenestee @shrekgogurt @palimpsessed @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter @upuntil6am @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @hushed-chorus @ionlydrinkhotwater

[kicksaddictny]

New Balance "Boro Pack"

The @newbalance Boro Pack transplants the traditional Japanese patchwork method onto a duo of 550 and 580 models. The shoes mimic the captivating Boro technique , a process that involves the repairing and repurposing of worn-out garments and textiles by meticulously stitching together small fabric scraps. The uppers are drenched in different shades and textures of indigo, with panels that have a mix of materials featuring hairy suede, denim, woven canvas, cracked leather and pre-aged suede. The New Balance Boro Pack 550 and 580 will be available from November.

via instagram

[ieisia]

Jacques Alexandre César Charles

Portrait by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard

November 12, 1746 – April 7, 1823 was a French inventor, scientist, mathematician, and balloonist. Charles wrote almost nothing about mathematics, and most of what has been credited to him was due to mistaking him with another Jacques Charles, also a member of the Paris Academy of Sciences, entering on May 12, 1785. He was sometimes called Charles the Geometer. Charles and the Robert brothers launched the world's first unmanned hydrogen-filled gas balloon in August 1783; then in December 1783, Charles and his co-pilot Nicolas-Louis Robert ascended to a height of about 1,800 feet (550 m) in a manned gas balloon. Their pioneering use of hydrogen for lift led to this type of balloon being named a Charlière as opposed to a Montgolfière which used hot air.

Charles's law, describing how gases tend to expand when heated, was formulated by Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac in 1802, but he credited it to unpublished work by Jacques Charles.

Charles was elected to the Académie des Sciences in 1795 and subsequently became professor of physics at the Académie de Sciences.

The balloon built by Jacques Charles and the Robert brothers

Charles conceived the idea that hydrogen would be a suitable lifting agent for balloons having studied the work of Robert Boyle's Boyle's Law which was published 100 years earlier in 1662, and of his contemporaries Henry Cavendish, Joseph Black and Tiberius Cavallo. He designed the craft and then worked in conjunction with the Robert brothers, Anne-Jean and Nicolas-Louis, to build it in their workshop at the Place des Victoires in Paris. The brothers invented the methodology for the lightweight, airtight gas bag by dissolving rubber in a solution of turpentine and varnished the sheets of silkthat were stitched together to make the main envelope. They used alternate strips of red and white silk, but the discolouration of the varnishing/rubberising process left a red and yellow result.

Jacques Charles and the Robert brothers launched the world's first hydrogen filled balloon on August 27, 1783, from the Champ de Mars, (now the site of the Eiffel Tower) where Ben Franklin was among the crowd of onlookers. The balloon was comparatively small, a 35 cubic metre sphere of rubberised silk, and only capable of lifting about 9 kg (20 lb).  It was filled with hydrogen that had been made by pouring nearly a quarter of a tonne of sulphuric acid onto a half a tonne of scrap iron. The hydrogen gas was fed into the balloon via lead pipes; but as it was not passed through cold water, great difficulty was experienced in filling the balloon completely (the gas was hot when produced, but as it cooled in the balloon, it contracted).

Charles developed several useful inventions, including a valve to let hydrogen out of the balloon and other devices, such as the hydrometer and reflecting goniometer, and improved the Graves and heliostat and Fahrenheit's aerometer. In addition he confirmed Benjamin Franklin's electrical experiments.

Charles's law (also known as the law of volumes), describing how gases tend to expand when heated, was first published by natural philosopher Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac in 1802, but he credited it to unpublished work by Jacques Charles, and named the law in his honour.

Around 1787 Charles did an experiment where he filled 5 balloons to the same volume with different gases. He then raised the temperature of the balloons to 80 °C (not at constant temperature) and noticed that they all increased in volume by the same amount. This experiment was referenced by Gay-Lussac in 1802 when he published a paper on the precise relationship between the volume and temperature of a gas. Charles' law states that under constant pressure, an ideal gas' volume is proportional to its absolute temperature. The volume of a gas at constant pressure increases linearly with the absolute temperature of the gas. The formula he created was V1/T1 = V2/T2.