#I think next time I need to put the needle and thread on the front bc I'm not sure customers will realize those are spools of thread

[papersquirrels]

[no-saints-no-scholars]

Hear me out: Duncan's got more homemaker skills than Courtney.

Courtney's parents were always focused on her academic life and career. They got her private tutoring any time she slipped, had her in all advanced classes, and they made sure she never did an extracurricular she couldn't put on a resumé. But they never taught her any regular life skills.

It's not like she's clueless, though. A lot of stuff is common sense. She's too much of a neat freak to have a messy dorm or apartment, and she can do her own laundry, but she can't cook. She ruined her new frying pan the day she bought it trying to make eggs. She doesn't know what to do when her bookshelf collapses the first week of college, and resorts to stacking her books next to her desk. She burns a hole in one of her most professional looking blouses with the iron when she doesn't realise fabric can melt.

So when her favourite jumper begins to unravel, the pale purple one with tiny flowers on the cuffs, she very nearly cries about it. It's just a jumper, but Courtney is nothing if not particular. She knows there's no replacing it.

When she mentions it to Duncan, frustrated and not thinking much of it, he raises an eyebrow and asks why she doesn't fix it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"How would you even begin to fix it? There must be half a foot of wool coming off already, and the hole's in this super awkward place by the elbow."

"So you didn't try?"

Courtney goes a little red in the face at that.

She doesn't expect Duncan to come over the next day with a banged up biscuit tin and ask to take a look at the jumper himself. He inspects the damage, careful not to tug at any of the loose loops of knitting, and looks up at Courtney.

"This is the "huge hole", you mentioned?"

She might have exaggerated a little, but she's emotional about this, damn it. Duncan sighs, and grabs the biscuit tin. He cracks it open to reveal a sewing kit, packed full of loose fabric and needles and threads of every colour.

"This won't take long. Put the coffee pot on."

Courtney bites her tongue about manners and does as she's told, pouring them each a cup while she watches Duncan work.

It shouldn't surprise her that he has this stuff. Most of his clothes look D.I.Y'd somehow, with little tears and patches tacked on. But the scene before her is just so uncharacteristically domestic. He tries mending the hole normally at first, but the yarn keeps fraying when he tries, and he huffs before rummaging through the sewing kit.

When Courtney sets his cup down in front of him, Duncan is sewing what looks like a loose scrap of fabric over the hole.

"I had some blank patches left over and this thing is being a bitch, so it'll have to do."

After some time, he hands the jumper over for Courtney to see. There's an oblong white patch neatly stitched onto the left sleeve, covering the hole, and the elbow entirely. If she didn't know better (and if the other sleeve wasn't blank) Courtney would almost think that the jumper came that way- the evenness of the stitches is shocking.

Courtney blinks. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"My mom. I used to fuck up everything I wore within a week, and she always fixed it. She showed me how to do it myself when I was ten." Duncan takes a sip of his coffee. "You're welcome, by the way."

Courtney rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Right, thank you. Really."

"You really didn't think to do it yourself?" Courtney opens her mouth, and it's like Duncan can sense the indignant response before she gets a word out. "I'm not judging, I just figured little miss C.I.T would know how to do this stuff."

She huffs. "Not all of us were burning holes in our shirts before 8th grade."

"It was barbed wire, thank you very much. And it's still a good skill to have."

"My parents were just focused on teaching me other things, and it's not like I ever needed to know before now."

"Uh-huh." Duncan looks at her, thinking.

"I could always teach you anyway?"

"You'd teach me to sew?"

Duncan down at his cup. "Well, not just that, but yeah. I just don't wanna be the one to fix all your shit."

Courtney crosses her arms. "It was one hole in one jumper, Duncan."

"And the bookshelf?"

She flushes. "I just haven't got around to it!"

"Sure you haven't."

Courtney thinks, rubbing the soft wool of her jumper between her fingers. She gets a small hole in one jumper, and suddenly it's like she's hyperaware of how little she knows. Sure, not everyone can sew, but it's not just that. She doesn't want to admit to Duncan how many times she's eaten out this semester after burning her dinner, or how many times she's called Bridgette in a panic over her dishwasher making weird noises.

"...I guess it couldn't hurt. To get a second opinion."

Duncan smiles. "Whatever you say, Princess."

[sergeantsporks]

Dadrius Week 2024 Day 2: Sewing

Darius blinked. And blinked again. Yellow covered his vision, but with every blink, it slowly faded into the Bat Queen’s forest. He was vaguely aware that he was holding up something heavy, but it wasn’t until he could fully see that he realized what it was.

Hunter.

Darius’ hand wrapped around his throat, and a violent gash tore open his right arm so deep it almost seemed a miracle his arm was still attached at all.

Darius dropped him.

Hunter collapsed to the ground, choking for air and clutching at his wounded arm. Already, purple bruises formed on his neck, and Darius’ stomach heaved at the damage he’d caused. He knelt next to Hunter, reaching out, but not touching him.

“Hunter, I—”

“’s…” Hunter winced at the attempt to speak. “…k…”

“Don’t—don’t talk. Don’t move, let me—”

Darius reached for his magic, willing abomination to take them back to Bonesborough, back to the nearest clinic, but nothing happened.

“Titan—fine—but your arm—” If he had to carry Hunter to the nearest healer then so be it, but if he didn’t stop the bleeding, Hunter wouldn’t survive long enough to get there. Darius reached again for his magic, holding one hand over Hunter’s arm and trying to summon a needle and thread to patch up the wound.

Again, nothing.

Hunter grasped weakly at his pockets, pulling out a tiny sewing kit. Darius recognized it—he’d been the one to give it to him. It was meant for travel, for sewing up loose buttons if the occasion arose while away from home.

Darius took the kit from Hunter’s bloodstained hand, his own hands trembling. It took him three tries to thread the needle, and he took a deep breath.

Steady

He needs you.

It’s just like sewing a rip in your favorite cloak.

But it wasn’t a cloak. It was Hunter, it was flesh and skin, and Hunter’s life depended on him doing this right. Darius took another deep breath, and began. The needle pushed through skin easily, and Darius fell quickly into the rhythm, in and out and in and out, and pulling the thread taut to seal up the wound.

“Darius!”

Steve skidded into the clearing, swinging his motorcycle to the side. “I tried to stop him—I’m sorry, he got away, and—and—” Steve hissed in. “Oh, that’s bad. Hop in.”

The sidecar of his motorcycle expanded to fit its two new passengers, and Darius held Hunter close, pressing the cowl of Hunter’s uniform against the wound and willing the blood to stop seeping through. The ride back to town was long, too long. Darius could see Steve’s foot pressing the gas pedal all the way down, could see how worried he was and how hard he was trying to get them to safety in the clench of his jaw, but part of him wanted to shake the witch and demand they be there this instant.

I should be able to get us there in an instant

I should be able to save him now.

Darius brushed hair out of his face, then froze, grabbing the locs in his hand. Transforming his hair was the easiest of spells for him, so second nature he changed it in the morning without a thought. The warp not working and being unable to use his magic to sew, he could put up to the fight, or the shock. But his hair? That was worrying.

He didn’t have time to think about it, though. Steve screeched to a halt in front of the clinic, and Darius was already out of the side car with Hunter before the vehicle had even completely stopped moving. He shoved open the door, startling the healer on duty. She recovered from the shock admirably quickly, though, and Hunter floated out of Darius’ arms, the healer’s hand already glowing with healing magic while she pulled him along to the back without a word.

Darius started to follow, but Steve’s gloved hand on his arm made him stop.

“Are you safe?” he asked in a low voice, “Is the mind-control over?”

Of course it is, Darius wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “Hunter destroyed the gem,” he said instead.

Steve let go of his arm. “Do you think that was the end of it?”

“No, of course I don’t.” Darius ran a hand through his hair—which was, worryingly, still hair. “Nobody got a good look at the culprit?”

“I was hoping you did.”

Darius shook his head. “Didn’t see much. Just a bright yellow light, and then…” he shuddered. “It felt like the Collector’s magic. Puppet strings.” His bloodstained hand opened and closed helplessly. “I hurt him, I…”

He’d hurt Hunter before, sure, with his words. Titan knew he hadn’t always been the kindest to the young guard. But he’d never, ever laid a hand on him. He’d thought he couldn’t—that he wouldn’t. Had he been mind-controlled? Yes. But still, the line had been crossed. Belos had hurt Hunter like this before—Darius had sworn to himself he never would. And yet here he was, ripping a hole in that promise.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve said quietly, “He shouldn’t have even been there—it was completely outside of your control, and he’ll know that. But—do you think it was the Collector?”

“No, no. It was like the Collector’s magic, but… separate. Like an imitation. And it needed that gem; the Collector didn't.”

“Hm.” Steve tapped his chin. “I’m going back to the woods—see if I can find a trail, or any clue who was responsible. You going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

Steve left, and Darius dropped into a waiting chair with a sigh. His hands twitched; he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of squeezing the life out of his ward, the crushing grip that would have killed Hunter if he’d been freed an instant later.

“Sir? Are you his guardian?”

Darius lurched to his feet. “That was fast.” Already, about ten different reasons that could be a bad thing had run through his head. Hunter was already dead. They couldn’t heal him because of residue magic. They’d somehow figured out Darius was the one to injure him and they were only keeping him busy until someone bigger could come drag him away from Hunter forever.

“Yes. Well.” The healer—Amy, her nametag proclaimed—nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve run into a problem. Nothing life-threatening!” she assured him quickly, “He’ll recover. It’s just… well, are you aware how healing magic works?”

“You draw the circle. It heals. And yes,” he added as an afterthought, “I am his guardian.” Technically speaking, he wasn’t Hunter’s only guardian, but he was for school days, and he was the one here right now, which was close enough.

“Yes, yes, but there’s limits. It uses my magical energy to keep the healing process going, speeding up the body’s natural progress. But it still needs the resources and energy of the body I’m healing to complete the process.” Amy chuckled nervously. “It’s the terrible catch of healing magic, that the more you need the magic to heal someone, the less you’re able to do.”

“What are you saying?”

“It was a deep wound,” she said quietly, “The abomination that cut him nearly nicked bone.”

Was that accusation in her voice? Had she figured it out, the ex-leader of the abomination coven bringing Hunter in with an injury made by an abomination—surely she was suspicious. Darius wondered blankly how he could possibly explain; word of a new power capable of puppeteering people couldn’t get out right now, but what was he supposed to say that wouldn’t result in more suspicion?

Although, who is there higher up than Steve and I that would be able to investigate anyway?

The thought did not make him feel better. Did Hunter ever think about that? Did he ever shudder, realizing that if Darius turned on him the way Belos had, if he and all Hunter’s other guardians worked together, there would be nowhere for him to run and no hope of rescue?

Titan, he must have felt so trapped in the coven.

“I’ve staunched the bleeding and knitted some of the muscle back together,” Amy continued, apparently unaware of his crisis, “but he’s far from done. He’ll need several more sessions before he’s completely back up to speed, and they’ll have to be spaced out. You did a wonderful job stitching the wound up, but he still lost a lot of blood.”

Darius’ worry sank into a numb kind of clarity. “What can I do?”

“Iron and protein-rich foods. Make sure he stays very well hydrated. Steer clear of any stimulants—energy potions and the type. He’ll be tempted, because he’s going to be exhausted, but it’s not good for him. I’ll prescribe some blood-replenisher potions. Bring him back in… two days? Three, if he still seems too peaky and worn. He should avoid moving the arm as much as possible, of course. I’ve got it in a sling for now. You shouldn’t have to worry about changing the dressing, since he’ll be coming back soon, but if the area seems swollen, or you notice any… smells… bring him back as soon as possible.”

Amy took a deep breath. “I think that’s about it. I’ll have all the instructions written out for you with your prescription and a list of foods, so don’t worry about trying to remember all of that. And I’ll set up your next appointment now, okay?”

“Okay,” Darius replied numbly.

Amy disappeared into the back again, returning a few minutes later with a few sheets of paper, and Hunter in tow. He looked… well, not better. If someone told Darius that among the other injuries, Hunter had gotten two black eyes, he wouldn’t have doubted it. But he was awake, and walking, if with Amy’s support. The cowl of his school uniform had been removed completely; he looked smaller without the drapery breaking up the shape of his body.

She offered Hunter to him, and Darius reached out, but flinched away when he saw the blood on his hands again.

“You did a good job,” Amy told him in a low voice, “You saved his life.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew what he’d done. But still, Darius reached for Hunter again, letting him cling to his arm. He took the papers as well, and headed slowly, ever-so-slowly and carefully towards the door.

Eber was already waiting outside. Instead of his usual ratworms, a flat-backed Slither lurked behind him.

“Steve called,” Eber signed, “Said you needed help.”

“Remind me to thank him later,” Darius said wearily. He helped Hunter onto the wide, flat back of the slither, sitting on it with him. Eber took off—gently, thankfully—and Darius heaved a sigh. “Are you… well, I suppose you’re not okay.”

“Not… great…” Hunter rasped, then reached up with a wince to hold his neck.

Another pang of guilt tugged at Darius. Of course if Amy hadn’t been able to heal the great big gaping wound, she’d probably deemed the bruises a lesser problem. Still, even the slightest head movement seemed to be painful, and Darius wondered dully if it hurt him even to breathe.

“I’d like to say something. And I don’t need a response from you, because I know speaking is difficult right now, so please, just listen.” Darius took a deep breath. “We don’t know who attached that gem to me, or what they wanted, but I don’t know how long I would have been under their control if it hadn’t been for you. You saved me, and you may have saved others as well. So… thank you. I cannot express how glad I am that you broke the spell.”

He lowered his gaze to look Hunter directly in the eye. “With that being said, you should not have been there. You should have been at school. You should not have been in harm’s way. You should not have gotten hurt. You may have saved others—and you certainly saved me—but it could have cost you your life. It did cost you a significant amount of blood and the next few days of school.”

Hunter opened his mouth, a mutinous, stubborn look scrawled on his face, but stopped before he could argue, wincing again.

Darius brushed aside the guilt, steeling his nerves. “I am happy that I am no longer mind-controlled. But I am still very cross at you.”

Hunter looked away with a sigh, staring off the side of the slither.

Was I too hard on him?

Darius suspected Camila was much better at parenting than he was—which was fair, since she’d already raised one since birth. But still, he found himself comparing his words to what she would have done. Would she have waited until after recovery before lecturing? Would she have worded it better? Certainly she’d be able to take care of him better, since she had a medical background, albeit with animals.

The slither came to a stop and Eber waved Darius up to the front.

“You did not do a good job telling him you’d rather have mauled ten others than hurt your own fledgling.”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to say that,” Darius told him sharply. Logically, Hunter had been one of the best options to find him. He was combat trained, and his quick eye had picked out and solved the problem much quicker than most could.

That didn’t mean Eber was completely wrong, though.

Darius lifted Hunter off the flatworm, but let him walk into the house on his own two feet, with help. Every second seemed to improve his color just a little more, but… Darius eyed the stairs critically.

“I think the downstairs guest bedroom for now,” he told Hunter, “If you can make a list of things you’d like me to bring from your room, I’ll retrieve them, but I don’t think going up and down the stairs repeatedly is a wise idea at the moment.”

Hunter nodded, and Darius left him in the guest bedroom, traipsing upstairs to gather things he already knew Hunter might need or want. The massive wolf plushie he’d won from a carnival in the human realm. Extra pillows. The book that was already on the nightstand, his pajamas, and his reading glasses.

Hunter had already fallen asleep, curled into a little ball on the guestroom bed, so Darius quietly left his things at the foot of the bed, and left. He paced around the downstairs a few times, noted Hunter’s Hexside cowl where Eber must have tossed it on the couch, and paced around a few more times.

Find anything?

He sent the message to Steve, and picked up Hunter’s cowl. He could fix the rip, at least. He hummed to himself, carrying it to his sewing room and roving over dozens of spools of thread before picking out two. Both were just a shade off from the color of the cowl—not noticeable, really, but he still debated between the two of them for a few minutes before finally picking the one a shade darker—hopefully it would fade into the same color—and starting.

Without his abomination magic, sewing was slow work. In on one side of the cowl, out on the other. Small, neat stitches to make sure it stayed invisible. Back and forth. The repetitive movement was soothing, and Darius let his frazzled mind slip into the routine.

Back and forth.

If only relationships could be fixed so easily.

Back and forth.

Hunter wouldn’t say it, but there was no way he’d be able to look at Darius the same way again after this.

Back and forth.

He’d hurt him. Badly. The next scar had Darius’ name on it.

Darius came to the end of the rip and secured the thread, snipping it neatly and putting everything back.

There. Good as new.

He folded the cowl up neatly, pushing open Hunter’s door soundlessly and setting it with the other things he’d brought.

Despite what he’d gone through, Hunter’s sleep looked peaceful. Darius wondered idly if the exhaustion from blood loss had anything to do with that. But still, he looked so small, curled up. So vulnerable. Darius’ hand twitched.

It would be so easy to snap the interfering brat’s neck right now and keep him from meddling ever again.

Darius snapped up, stumbling backwards away from Hunter before he could do anything else. He closed the door much harder than he normally would, and leaned against it, heart thumping in his chest. Those words—it hadn’t sounded like him. He wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t think that. Especially not today, after everything.

But more worryingly, it hadn’t exactly sounded like anyone else, either.

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve came into being in an unusual way. He bloomed from a flower after his mother had beseeched a fairy, wanting a child of her own. He had the features of a handsome young man, all in the petite form that could fit in the palm of his mother's hand.

Steve was kept busy just trying to keep up with her as she worked as a seamstress. She often found him tangled in thread or wrapped up in ribbon. He was great at needling her thread though.

Still, Steve wished to have someone around who was more like him. Someone of his size who really understood his point of view. Sometimes his mother would read to him, stories of fantasy and of knights and princes. His favorites were of the fairies. People as small as him, who surely saw the world as he did, but had the wings to take them higher and away.

The book was propped on the dresser of his room and he stood in front of the picture of the fairy prince. Like this, Steve could almost pretend he was talking to him.

"Have you ever seen one? A real fairy?", Steve asked his mother while she sat knitting in the corner.

"Well, fairies do exist darling. But there are many kinds." There were probably about as many as there were flowers. "I haven't seen any quite as small as the ones in your book."

Steve frowned a little but if there were all sorts of fairies, then ones that looked more like him must exist somewhere. Otherwise where did the stories come from? They must just be too small for humans to see.

When his mother turned in for the night, Steve continued to gaze at the page. The fairy prince in the story had an elegant air about him, with sparkling golden hair. Now that he was alone, in only the candlelight, he let his fantasies run wild.

"Hello there, your highness", he bowed, smiling silly to himself. "May I have this dance?"

Lost in his own world, he didn't notice the eyes watching him as he twirled next to the page. Eyes belonging to someone small enough to sneak in through the slightly opened window with wings to bring him closer.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Startled, Steve took a needle from the pin cushion next to him and brandished it, only to come up against a sword the size of his needle.

"Quick on his feet. Very attractive for a dancer."

Steve took in the stranger. Long, dark hair, wild eyes... and wings.

"You're a fairy", he breathed out, the grip on his needle loosening.

"That I am." Seeing that he wasn't about to be impaled, he withdrew his sword and gave a lavish bow. "Eddie of Forest Hills, at your service. And you? Or should I just call you gorgeous?"

Steve was thrown about by this stranger, no not a stranger anymore. By Eddie. Without taking his eyes off him, he put the needle back in the cushion. He gave a small bow of his own. "Steve."

"Pleasure to meet you Steve." Looking up at the story book, Eddie flew up to the picture of the fictional prince then pointed to himself. "What do you think? We're like twins, aren't we?"

Steve laughed but not unkindly. The fairy in the book seemed worlds away from Eddie.

"Are there, others like you?"

"Like me? Hmm, if you mean one of us winged folk, there's plenty out in the hills. If you mean incredibly handsome..." Eddie's wings slowly brought him back down to Steve. "Well right now I can only think of one other."

Steve blushed. Whoever this guy was, he was good. Almost too good.

Then somehow he leaned on something that wasn't there and fell over the side of the dresser, squawking down the way before catching himself with his wings. Which got Steve laughing again.

------------------------------

That laugh, oh that laugh. Eddie would fall over a dozen times just to hear it. He never imagined he'd find someone like this tonight. Eddie 100% believed in love at first sight. At least on his end. He did think he would need to do some convincing on the other person's end. But seeing how he made Steve laugh twice in less than a minute, he figured it was safe to say he was charmed at least.

"So, there's other fairies", Steve sat down, his legs hanging over the edge. "Is there actually a fairy prince?"

Eddie floated all the way back up and then sat down next to him. "There is", he said with a grin. No need to show his entire hand so early.

"Well, what's he like?"

Steve suddenly looked enraptured and Eddie couldn't help but feel a little jealous for himself.

"The prince is...princely, I suppose. Good with a sword, listens to the common folk, not too stuffy, heard he's pretty good looking too."

"Is that so? Coming from someone who considers himself incredibly handsome, the prince must be quite the looker", Steve said.

And stars help him, Eddie couldn't help but get a little closer. "I mean he's fine, for a prince."

"Have you ever met him?"

Eddie nodded. "I have."

"I bet he's strong and brave. I'd love to meet him myself one day."

It was hard to focus on just one part of Steve. He wanted to gaze into his eyes, stare at his lips, and try and see if he could count his moles by the light of the candle, all while listening to his words. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up stealing a kiss. And he wanted Steve to give it to him.

They seemed on the precipice of deciding just that when something bumped against the window, sending Steve nearly into Eddie's lap which sent Eddie into the stratosphere.

"What was that?"

Eddie groaned and flew next to the window, Steve following on his feet. They came out the crack in the window to meet the maker of the noise.

"Steve, meet my shining steed, Honey."

Steve waved at the bee that looked itching to fly. "Hi Honey."

Eddie almost replied with a 'hi sweetheart' but kept it in his head. While Steve was admiring the fuzzy hide, Eddie walked around him, hands behind his back like he was surveying.

"Soooo, wanna take a ride?"

Part 2

[cokoweee]

Holy cannoli this read so much better at midnight

🧍‍♀️🚗💨

~

Fire was burning beneath his skin, stabbing at his veins and scorching away his insides. He curled into himself involuntarily. All he wanted was sleep. But someone was holding him up, keeping him from his blessed sleep.

“I don’t know how to do that!” A hushed voice came. “Why can’t you just do that mystic stuff?”

He shifted his head to hear the conversation better.

“No we can’t- I.” A long sigh, “ I don’t think it would be good for him to be exposed to that. The uh… process may remind him of his family and push him beyond what he is capable of. I need to get this set up, and it's best that we get that cleaned sooner than later. I think it’s best if we just- oh he’s up.”

The faint smell of lavender and smoke filled his nose as someone rushed by. He liked that smell. It was familiar. Safe.

He opened his eyes groggily to find his father behind him, holding him up. The fur tickled his back, the warmth seeping into his body. He melted into the heat as his father flashed a beam at his eye. He blinked against the blinding glare of the flashlight, eyes smarting against his will as he glanced around the room.

He was in the med bay? How-

He turned his head as someone moved to his side. Kendra stood next to the cot he was on, her hands full of gauze and rubbing alcohol. There was a small pile of asphalt on a tray nearby, coated in a thick red liquid. He watched stupidly as his dad snapped red stained gloves off.

Had all that come from him?

Kendra shot him an annoyed look as she placed her items on the little bedside table. His mind twisted in confusion and he lowered his head to look at his middle.

“Ah ah ah.” She snapped. “Eyes on me. Don’t look at that.”

He complied, watching as she moved in front of him, lips pursed as she looked at the wound. Then without warning, she pressed an alcohol soaked piece of gauze to his skin.

He gasped as cold fire burned through his side, like she was stabbing a thousand tiny needles into his stomach. He hissed, clicking in the back of his throat, and scooted away. She shot another unimpressed glare and he reluctantly inched back.

He hissed again, wrapping his tail around his ankle as she pressed down harder. She paid no mind to his protests as she cleaned the area, placing a hand against the small of his back to hold him steady as worked when Draxum left to attend to whatever it was he was doing.

She moved away, just barely twisting her torso to gather the dirtied gauze and place it in a tray. He watched warily as his father trotted forward with a needle and thread.

Ah. So that’s what he was getting.

He shook his head and shifted backward again, only to be forced forward by Kendra. He whined faintly as his side stretched, resulting in her promptly flicking his head. He turned to swat her hand away when something pinched his middle.

He spun around to see his creator threading the needle through his skin. Shuddering, he felt his scales tug back together, the thread moving in and out of his body. He would have much rather been asleep for this whole fiasco. Kendra sat beside him the whole time, a morbid fascination as she observed.

He let himself fall backwards onto the cot when his father finished, the stitches tugging at his scales as he sank into the mattress.

He rolled over to lay on his stomach, suppressing another whine as his side was strained, and let his legs dangle off the bed. He pressed his forehead into the mattress as Kendra put a blanket over his limp body. He didn’t make a sound as the same hands gently untangled his hair.

The mattress shifted as she slowly sank down beside him, running her hands through his hair as she collected bits of asphalt and remnants of New York from his nest of hair. He shivered as she pushed hair from his forehead, her fingers soft and gentle as she inspected the side of his head.

“Sit up.” She barked. “You’ll get blood all over the sheets laying like that.”

He sat up slowly, his side sending shooting pains through his body. He breathed heavily, curling his tail around his wrist as the pain crescendoed. Then, as quickly as it came, it faded away. He let his tail unfurl and moved his legs into a criss-cross applesauce position as he raised his gaze to Kendra.

Her eyes flicked over her face taking in the mild scratches. “Stay here.” She muttered. “Don’t move.”

He obeyed silently, his tail twittering against the cold bars of the medical cot. He watched as she hurried around the room, gathering bandages and ointment. He was fine really. The stab wound was taken care of, so he could go to sleep.

He wasn’t about to tell her no though. He leaned against the wall as he watched her. She ambled back to his bed, arms full of even more gauze and alcohol, as well as a large brown bottle of peroxide. She sat to the side of him, her thigh pressed against his, the other, hanging off the bed.

His breath hitched as he stared at the way they sat so close. And then she moved. Her thigh swung off the bed as she wandered away, leaving his own leg exposed to this chill of the med bay.

She returned frowning, inspecting his face again. She pulled herself onto the cot, propping herself on her knees so she was level with him. Grabbing at his face, she tilted it down so he couldn’t escape and reached to her pile. She didn’t dab any alcohol on his cuts, instead opting for the large bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

He winced despite himself as it bubbled, curling what was left of his fingers around the sheet. She didn’t seem to notice, wiping at the cut with another piece of gauze and plastering a purple band aid against his skin. She brought her gaze to his lips and he pulled away.

“M’ fine.” He mumbled.

“I’m fine.” She repeated mockingly, yanking his face back down.

He drew his eyes up to meet hers and shivered again. There was something there. A touch of purple reflected from her sweater in the soft brown.

She held his gaze for a second and he let himself look. Really look.

God, they were gorgeous. Full of a depth and warmth he could never fathom. Like water in a stream drifting over a rock. Or like hot chocolate on a cold winter day, there to warm him up.

The light of the medbay reflected in her eyes as she turned slightly. The brown melted into a warm honey. Or was it gold? A treasure so precious he would never be worthy of it.

He groaned internally. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to keep her far away. He couldn’t get close. He needed her in a box on the highest shelf. Away from danger. Away from him.

And yet here she was. Willingly helping him. Uncalled for and unprompted. Even his own creator wasn’t by his side.

No.

It was Kendra.

Kendra who seemed to never care that he wasn’t enough for himself.

For his family.

Kendra who forced her way closer to him despite his efforts to push her away.

It was Kendra who smelled like home.

Kendra who was so soft and gentle. Well, when she wanted to be, he supposed.

He nodded slowly and let her hold his face as she dabbed at his lip. Her fingertips brushed across his mouth as she worked. He sat frozen. Lightning struck through him, leaving him paralyzed, rooted to the earth.

He tried to keep his mind on anything other than her. She was helping. This didn’t mean anything. She didn’t need to be bogged down by him. His heart should not be beating that fast. He needed out.

She placed another small purple bandage against his lip before frowning again. She hesitated slightly, her hands hovering over his head before she gently moved him closer. His shoulder found a place to rest against hers as she maneuvered him, mindful of his side. His breath hitched for what felt like the millionth time as he felt her warm breath against his skin.

Sparks flew through his body as he sat paralyzed. She was like a prayer for which there were no words. Something about her had taken root in his heart. Twisting its way through his veins, and refusing to let go.

He hadn’t felt peace in a long time. But it was beginning to feel like Kendra.

“How on earth did you manage to do that?”

He assumed she was referring to what was probably a perfectly round bruised and scabbed scrape on the side of his head. “Goggles.” He managed, yanking himself backward.

He couldn’t be this close to her.

“Mmm. Can’t do much about that.”

She pulled away, gathering her things, leaving and quickly as she came. His throat tightened as he watched her, suffocated by the implication that she would never feel the way he did now.

A part of him wanted to ask her to stay. To let her get close. But she didn’t need him like he needed her.

So instead, he watched her leave. Leaving him alone in the cold of the med bay.

~

Eurgh

-writing anon

(Brown eyes are the bestest thing ever btw go tell someone with brown eyes they’re gorgeous. Or look in the mirror and tell urself ur gorgeous coz brown eyes are pretty beyond description and I’m not jealous of them at all)

AAAAUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Part 1

[20dollarlolita]

Hi, I hope I didn't miss if this has been asked before. But I've owned two sewing machines now and can't seem to be able to fix the lower thread bird's nest problem no matter what I do on either of them. I've scoured youtube and tried every fix; kept thread tails long, adjusted tension based on fabric I'm sewing (used denim, t-shirt, or bedsheet cotton usually), changed needles, dusted the machine, the works, but no matter what I do I might be able to get through a couple of pieces of fabric before the tangling starts again. Is this a problem more common in cheap machines, maybe?

One has a metal case for lower thread bobbin that I can adjust but which I think gets too loose due to age almost immediately (mother's old machine of unknown brand, presumably lower-mid-tier when new), another was a $100 Brother on sale but new, that only has a plastic cover and no adjustable case.

The problem's at a point where I've lost all passion for sewing, dreading the next jam, just can't take the frustration and endless troubleshooting anymore. Would this be something more avoidable (using all the proper techniques) if I splurged for a better machine (though my max spending would be around $500)? Or am I just failing at something fundamental lmao.

What should I look out for in a new machine if I just want something basic that works without too much fiddling? Thanks so much if you take the time to answer!

I'm sure someone's told you to always thread the machine with the foot up, and then to put the foot down before using the needle threader?

We're going to break this into two answers, so skip down to the second heading if you're angry enough with your machine to throw it off a balcony and start over.

A) Troubleshooting very persistent bird nesting.

If everything looks absolutely miserable on the bottom, it's caused by there being very little or no tension on the top thread. I used to say "it's usually caused," but if there's big hairy loops of top thread that are tangling on the bottom, I've learned from experience that it is only caused by there being no tension on the top thread.

If it's just a little bit ugly, like you have eyelashing, then that could be a general tension issue, but if it's super ugly, it's a no-tension issue.

The question of why there is no tension can have several answers.

-When you put the foot down, the tension discs will close. If you thread the machine with the foot down, it's more likely that the thread will not go into the discs properly. You can test this by smoothly pulling some thread through your needle, and then (while still pulling) putting the foot down. If you feel that the thread catches or becomes harder to pull, then your thread is properly in your tension discs, and your discs are working correctly.

Another potential option would be tension unit breaking or going out of calibration. Unless you're working on a machine that's $1000+ dollars, your tension unit is going to be a couple of springs pushing on a plate. If something gets really loose, then the tension unit won't close when you put the foot down. On some machines (especially machines where the tension unit is a circle on the front of the machine) you can just open up the side and tighten a screw. On other machines, you need to take the top off and check if it's okay in there. While you're in there, you can...okay so I can't say "calibrate" your tension, because what you're going to do is better called "fuck with" your tension.

This is long so here's a cut:

Basically, there's an adjustment tool in a tension unit, which a technician can use to make sure that the proper tension is accomplished when the number on the tension dial says 4. It's a little gear with a stick on it. If you cannot get a decent tension by cranking your tension all the way up to 10, you can adjust the little stick on the gear to bring the default tension up. This will have the consequence of not knowing what number you just set the default tension to, but you can figure that out with trial and error and then stick a note on your machine that says "normal tension=6.5" and that's a lot cheaper than spending $200 to get a $100 machine serviced.

B) Just buying a new machine

Here's the thing: if you already are so frustrated with your machine that you don't want to sew anymore, you have a machine that's bad for you. Older and cheaper machines are prone to what my store's technicians refer to as "cascade failures", which is when all of the machine is between 45% and 90% broken. When you fix one part, it can last a very short time, and then another part will break. Pretty soon, you've put in enough money to buy a nice new machine, but you've paid the cost of a new machine and you're still sewing on a machine that's 45% broken.

If you're kind of handy and you don't mind occasionally opening up your machine and playing around with the internal parts to make it work better, then this might be a fun project. My store has a regular customer who has a borderline-nonfunctional Janome HD3000, and he really enjoys the process of figuring out how to make it work when something breaks. Apparently he used to be a helicopter mechanic in the army. Personally, I don't mind figuring out how to get one or two broken parts fixed. I have a machine where sometimes the stitch length goes screwy, and I have to 1) put the stitch length to 5, 2) flip it onto its back, and then 3) drop and then un-drop the feed teeth. I don't know why this works, but it does work, so I haven't gotten the machine serviced yet. But the vast majority of people who sew that I interact with just want a machine that works. They want to sew. They don't want to repair a machine.

So, if that's you, and you just want to sew when you want to sew and you want everything to do what you want, it's probably time to get a new machine.

A lot of people bring machines into my store to get serviced. Sometimes it's a machine that's not worth fixing. I can say that most of the "don't fix this, just replace it" machines that we see are either over the age of 25 years (and were not treated well in their youth), cheap Brother machines, and modern Singer machines of any price point. In terms of inexpensive machines, we sell a LOT of the Baby Lock Be Genuine collection, and we service a pretty small amount of the Baby Lock Be Genuine collection. We also have really good experiences with the mechanical Bernettes, the Janome HD line, and the Viking Emeralds.

For computerized machines, I'm very partial to the Janome QDC series. I have a machine from that series that I bought in 2009, got serviced twice in its life, and that is still going very strong.

I'm going to just spam some links here with a quick pro/con list. I'm not being paid to do this; it's just my own opinion based on what I know of the people who read this blog. However, if anyone is buying something from this site, please use PINK2 at checkout so that I get head pats from my company telling me I did a good job (it also saves you a little money).

C) Pink just lists sewing machines for 35 minutes:

Mechanicals: > Baby Lock Zest/Joy: These are two really popular basic machines that will be under $300. They don't have a ton of stitches, but they're all metal on the inside, and so they're going to last. I prefer the Joy over the Zest because of the stitch width option, but if you need the cheapest option, the Zest is the best cheap machine I know of in terms of life. > Baby Lock Zeal: As far as mechanicals, go, this one has all the features that are really necessary to be a full-fledged machine instead of a budget machine. > Bernette B33 and B35: These are basically the same features as the Zest and the Joy, with a couple of minor differences. These tend to be a little more expensive than the Zest and the Joy, but they're sometimes easier to locate if you want to shop local. > Janome HD3000 (white version) and HD 1000: These guys are tanks and feel very good to sew on. The 1000 has some stripped back features to get it in that price point, the same as the Joy and Zest do. The 3000 feels like it has all the features you'd expect from a mechanical machine. For some reason, a LOT of the HD3000 in the black colorway are trash. I believe Janome makes a HD5000 as well, but I don't remember if that's one that's weirdly bad like the black HD3000. I really don't know what's going on with that HD3000 black edition. > Viking Emerald 118: Personally, I think this is the best mechanical machine that's currently out there. They're powerful, last a long time, are fully featured, and are just good little guys. I have frustrations with their maker that I can't express publicly online, but the Emerald is good enough that I'll forgive it.

Side note: I have customers ask me "is it heavy duty?" which is a very vague question that doesn't actually mean anything. All of these machines can handle thick fabrics like denim. Machines with adjustable presser foot pressure (so not the Zeal, Joy, HD1000, B33, B35) will handle thick fabric better. That's what that adjustment is for. Every single one of these is more powerful than the Singer Heavy Duty line. Every single one of them had a metal internal frame, which is a big thing the Singer Heavy Duty will advertise. Every machine should sew through denim, and the fact that there's so many brand new out of the box machines on the market that won't sew through six layers of denim drives me ABSOLUTELY INSANE. It should be as absurd to have to ask "does it use thread?" as "does it sew heavy fabrics?" but instead we have to explain to people that yes, our sewing machines do the things that sewing machines should do, because there's so many reputable-looking brands putting our sewing machines that actually just can't sew.

Moving on: basic computerized machines

> A basic computerized machine has fewer complicated parts than a basic mechanical machine, meaning that if you do your normal expected maintenance, a basic computerized machine will last you longer than most mechanical machines. People don't like when I say that, but it's true.

Entry computerized machines that I like: > Janome QDC line: I have the precursor to the 3150 and it's a tank. Also you get push-to-cut, which is very nice. > Bernette B37 and B38: These have the same boards that the Janome 3150 and 4120 QDC have, but they've got some different bells and whistles. The 37 doesn't have push-to-cut, which is not a thing you miss if you've never had it. > Baby Lock Jubilant: This guy has a very nice needle threader but I find the dial on the front to be a clunky way of selecting a stitch. If the B37 is cheaper than the Jubilant, I'd pick it over the Jubilant. It's still a very good machine, and Baby Lock is relatively easy to buy online, so it might be more accessible.

If you woke up and decided you wanted to spend a lot on a sewing machine: >Baby Lock Brilliant: I prefer this over the one a step below it (the Presto II) because it's a lot easier to communicate with. A lot of Presto II's come in "broken" because the user changed a setting and didn't realize it, and the Brilliant actually tells you when you change a setting. > Viking Opal 690q: Unless you get a really good deal, I recommend the 690 over any other Opal. The features you get with it are very nice, and they don't come with the lower Opals > Bernina 335: You're not going to get build quality any better than a Bernina, but they come at a price. This guy is going to give you the same features as a much lower machine, but still run over $1000. They're very nice machines, though, so if you happen to win a lawsuit or something, you could spend your money on that. >Bernette B77 (or B79). The B77 has no right to have that many features at that price point. How did they do that? We just don't know. If you want this, subscribe to Bernina's sales info and to every sewing machine store you can, because it frequently goes on $999 promotion. And then screenshot the people offering it for $999 and ask me for my work email, and I'll match their price. I can match any price. It sure is nice to work for a company where I have that power. Anyway the B79 is the embroidery/sewing combo version of the B77, and it's an amazingly priced combo machine. This is useless if you're not interested in embroidery, but hey, thought I'd throw it out there.

And if you've stolen someone's credit card and you've got to use it on something before the police find you: > Brother 3100 is a very nice machine > Janome 9480 is very smooth to work on and basically reads your mind. The low bobbin sensor is good. > The Janome M6 is purple. > So is the Bernina 770 Kaffe Edition but that particular machine has a mysterious curse upon it so you probably actually want the 570 Kaffe Edition even though it's blue.

Thank you all for letting me vomit words for 90 minutes. Reminder that, while everything here I say is my own opinion that is not representing any company and is not endorsed by any company, if you want to support a small business in our fight against the big online sewing machine stores, you can click here and use PINK2 at checkout to save a little money and earn me some high fives from management. (If you want to go through the whole sales process and make sure you're getting the absolute best dead, I can also do that. Just message me off-anom to ask for my work email. The PINK2 code is for people like me who would rather save less money and get the thing Right Now and not have to talk to a human, rather than have to go through an online sales process).

[bloodlustngore]

I am mad! - Maggie

I know I promised a JJ oneshot next but I have completely lost motivation to write for her or Emily right now so the best I can do is bring a oneshot out of my favourite walking dead woman Maggie, anyway enjoy ;)

Can it be classed as a oneshot its almost 800 words long?

This is a Maggie x fem!reader

Warnings: talk of injury/being stabbed but not too detailed, (is that enough for a warning).

Y/n, Maggie and Negan had been split up due to a small horde of walkers, whilst out in the city. During the whole ordeal, Maggie had been injured, a wound on her stomach, it was quite deep but Maggie being herself, she was stubborn about it. Not wanting to waste any time.

Luckily Y/n, Maggie' girlfriend had medical supplies, but of course Maggie only insisted on her cleaning it and wrapping a bandage around it.

They had to settle down for the night, no sight of Negan but both women knew he would catch up eventually to them. They held up for the night in a run down apartment building, clearing out walkers on the floor they decided to stay on, blocking the door in case any walkers decided to pay them a visit.

Maggie winced from the pain of the wound, it wasn't anything walker related, luckily. They had gotten into a bit of a fight with two other humans...who really didn't seem human anymore, and one of them had managed to practically stab Maggie in the process of fighting. Y/n sighed, hesitant to bring up the wound knowing Maggie would be stubborn. The brunette hated seeming vunerable, hated standing still for too long and she hated showing that she was in any pain. But Y/n was the only one with her right now that she would show this vunerability.

"Maggie, it needs stitches. You and I both know." Y/n mentioned. Her girlfriend rolled her eyes at her. "I'm fine. Its just a scratch." Maggie replied.

"No, you're not fine. You have almost passed out twice from losing blood. I know that bandage has soaked up half of it, but it really needs to be closed." Y/n mentioned. Y/n was by no means a nurse or doctor, but being in an apocalypse teaches people a few things. So stitching up a wound was a cake walk. Y/n sat in front of her girlfriend, with her back pack beside her "lift up your shirt" Y/n ordered.

All Maggie did was sit back on her hands, a smirk plastered on her face. "Don't give me that look, I'm being serious." Y/n added.

Maggie laughed at her girlfriends response "I wasn't thinking anything" she bit her lip, and that was an instant tell. "Mhm." Yep Maggie was busted.

"Lift. Up. Your. Shirt." Y/n repeated, she sounded mad and Maggie knew that there wasn't time for her to be stubborn. So she lifts up her shirt, revealing the blood stained bandage on her abdomen.

"Thank you" Y/n replied, very annoyed. She carefully removes the bandage, getting some stuff from her backpack. A clean patch, needle & thread that they found in a hospital used for stitching a wound shut.

Maggie moved her hand and put her index finger underneath Y/n' chin, making her girlfriend look in her eyes. "Are you mad?" Magpies asked.

"I am mad! You don't need to pretend around me Maggie, I know you hate being vulnerable, but you need to stop being so stubborn because I care about you and it upsets me when you have no regard for yourself." Y/n mentions.

Maggie gives Y/n a sad smile, she was about to lean in to kiss her girlfriend but Y/n went back to the task of patching her up. Using a piece of clean fabric and putting some disinfectant on it, Y/n presses it lightly on her girlfriends wound. Maggie winced, she knew it would sting.

"I'm sorry if this hurts you, Maggie" Y/n apologised beforehand. As she got the needle and thread ready to stitch up the wound. "It's okay, I'm used to it." Maggie added.

After what seemed like forever, Y/n had stitched the wound on her girlfriend and patched it up. "Please don't pop any stitches." Y/n mentioned but it would be difficult to not do so, and both women knew that.

Y/n leaned down to Maggie' patched up wound kissing above it gently. Before looking back in her girlfriends eyes, inching closer to her as they sat on the floor. Maggie smirked again, putting her shirt back down and taking Y/n by surprise as she moves her onto her lap in one swift motion.

"Maggie your stitches!" Y/n warned. "I'm sorry, Y/n." Maggie added. "I just can't help myself" Maggie chuckled. Pulling Y/n into a kiss, attempting to not pop the stitches she just gave her.

[ahedderick]

Plaid and glad

The last time I was at the fabric store (in a failed attempt to find trout-themed fabric) I found a plaid I loved. I had been musing for a while on the theme of "what if cozy plaid shirt - but long?" This seemed like the time to answer that question.

I have made several dresses in the past year with the same pattern, and I'm trying to use different details so they don't look too similar. For this one, since I was thinking about shirts to begin with, I decided to put on a faux button placket in front. Actually, I though about making a real button placket, then I decided to avoid all that extra work for something that wouldn't be needed/functional. . Next step was to pull out Ye Olde Button Box (ot os very old . . belonged to my grandmother, and she passed away in right before I was born) I wanted three matching ones, medium size.

Sha-zam! That woman had SO many buttons. Thread, hooks, eyes, zippers, rick-rack, bias tape, needles. Everything.

So, hopefully today I will be able to put the last few stitches in the neckline of this, and add the buttons. Then I will have a soft, comfy, plaid shirt dress. With X-large, wonderful pockets.

[cosmokyrin]

Potential - Chevreuse/Chiori - Genshin Impact

Summary: When the captain and the seamstress have a passing talk about marriage. Ship: Chevreuse/Chiori (Genshin Impact) Rating: Teen and Up Length: 1,171 words Notes: This drabble came to me out of nowhere! It really just started with Chevreuse's line thinking she was disturbing Chiori's mind with her presence, and my introvert ass latched to that relatable thought lmao I first shared this over the Cheviori server I created, and decided, after adding and editing, to share this out as well. I hope you enjoyed them being gay as much as I did LMAO Cheviori real!!!! Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55668778

Full fic also available here! Read below:

“Chevreuse, we’ve talked about this. I don’t mind you being here at all.”

"I know, I know. I just wanted you to know that you don't need to talk with me while I’m here. But if my presence in the room is disturbing your thoughts, you can always tell me to leave. No hard feelings," Chevreuse told Chiori from across the room. It was late at night in the Chioriya Boutique, but the famous — or infamous — seamstress continued to be surrounded by colorful spools of thread delicately spun by her skilled hands. There was a deadline to be met in the next few days, and if Chiori wanted to keep her schedule in line, she had to put in a few extra hours. She enjoyed this, anyway. But a regular guest, the Captain of the Special Patrol — her current significant other, no less — seemed to think her conspicuous presence must be jarring for an introspective and artistic, brooding character like hers. In fact, it was true, Chiori did not deny, because any human presence warranted a portion of one’s attention, no matter how familiar they were.

But Chevreuse’s presence was different. It was comfortable, serene, still. Like ember in the form of water. Like the fire of the hearth, bright and encompassing yet humble and healing. Chiori was sensitive of her personal space, yet Chevreuse fit in like she was already a piece of her.

"You don't need to. I guess this is also good practice when we get married."

"Yeah, I guess..." Chevreuse then almost dropped her book, and her jaw, upon realizing something. "What did you say?"

Chiori shrugged. "When we get married, I'll be living with you often, so that means there will be times that I'm working and it's inevitable you're within the same space I am, and I have to..." Chiori looked up to Chevreuse who dumbfoundedly stared and blushed in front of her. "Just stating facts. I mean..." She softly chuckled, seemingly with a hint of nervousness. "This is not a proposal, Chevreuse. It's speculation. We might not have dated for so long but we are still dating, nonetheless. Marriage might become an option for our relationship someday."

Chevreuse’s mouth opened and closed like that of a fish, failing to create any coherence. She cleared her throat and gazed to the ground, redder than ever. "I-I mean you're right. Nothing wrong with a marriage talk once in a while."

Chiori laughed softly, but the way it reached Chevreuse, it seemed she was being egged onto something else. It was oddly inviting, the way the seamstress looked at her with a sly smile as a needle was lodged in between her teeth — a dangerous habit — much like Chiori herself. "Do you see me as a potential wife in the future, Captain?"

"I, um..." Chevreuse tried to focus on her book, attempting to allay her sudden discomfiture coupled with a fear of saying the wrong thing. She had taken off her gaze from Chiori, quickly falling quiet and reclusive. The seamstress immediately saw through it. She dropped her smirk and looked on with concern.

"You don't have to answer that one if it doesn't make you comfortable."

Chevreuse shot up a glance to Chiori, shock written in her face. She then sighed upon realizing how worked up she had become. "No, I was... I just don't want to say anything wrong."

Chiori shook her head and chuckled. "Perhaps it wasn't really a simple thing to ask. But you don't have to answer me just to please me. Or you can say whatever you want, no hard feelings. And just so you know, whatever your answer, the future always changes—"

"I want to marry you someday," Chevreuse blurted out.

Silence instantly filled up the space they occupied. The Boutique, being a peaceful and unassuming background, suddenly seemed to wake with eyes as wide as Tamoto’s and turned to the young lovers. A hot, hot blush spread to the Garde captain’s face that the thought of biting her tongue off suddenly didn’t seem stupendously irrational nor torturous. What did she just say? She wanted to slap the book on her face, the most useless thing she could try to do to hide her unfathomable embarrassment. She instead covered her mouth and squirmed uncomfortably like a worm dying in her own sweat. She hated her uniform at the moment. 

From her peripheral view, it seemed that Chiori wore a serious face. Did she say something wrong? Was this, by the gods, the wrong answer? More blood rushed to her face now. She took another deep breath. She had to face this head on. This was the most important thing she learned as a soldier. So Chevreuse took another swig of air and courage, then raised her gaze to her lady.

Chiori was holding in her laughter.

Very hard.

"It was…” Chiori said, nearly choking on her own stifled laughter. “It was just a 'yes or no' question."

Crap. Chevreuse completely turned tomato when she realized how corny she sounded, especially now that Chiori's laughter broke out. Her partner was cackling so hard she shut her eyes and had tears pooling in the sides. Captain Chevreuse wanted to go back to being a worm to die in her own sweat. "I'm sorry, okay..."

Chiori let herself giggle a bit more, head slightly bent backwards. She wiped her tears of laughter away and faced Chevreuse with an incredible softness and a beautiful smile that the captain burned in her mind. "What are you sorry for? You didn't say anything wrong." Then her gaze almost instantly shifted in intensity that the captain froze with the subtle bait and switch. But Chiori was… gentle? Happy? In love, perhaps? Chevreuse gulped at the thought.

"Okay. To be fair to you, I see you as my future wife, too, Chevreuse. Or husband. Whatever you prefer."

"So it's mutual, huh?" Chevreuse said, breaking into a grin of relief before her brain and shame could catch up. She blushed all over her face again, but at least she could properly gaze eye to eye with her significant other this time. They laughed together, shaking their heads from the things they just found about each other. Like Chiori said, even their feelings, as strong as their bond may have been now, could change somewhere down the line. Yet, Chevreuse couldn't help the excitement that swelled in her heart upon knowing that she wasn't the only one who saw such a future for the both of them.

Chiori only answered with a wide smile before she resumed her sewing work. Others would have waited, but Chevreuse didn't need the words. If there was anything she liked about their relationship, it was the miraculous ease at which they talked without saying anything. Chevreuse stood up from the sofa and walked across the room towards Chiori.

"Can I disturb you tonight just this one time?" she asked.

Chiori raised a curious brow and shrugged. Chevreuse leaned down and gave her a kiss.

[cilil]

"I want to feel," Míriel said, "and to let go without worry." 

As soon as those words left her mouth, she could see that her lady understood what desires she had hidden in her heart. Vairë let out a small hum and pulled on a thread she had been spinning with two fingers, holding it in front of her. 

"I can give that to you, if you wish."

"How so?" Míriel fearlessly held her gaze when the Valië's eyes lit up with something akin to excitement. 

"I could turn you into my next masterpiece."

✦ ⁺ ‧ Day 7 ⁺ Vairë x Míriel ✦ ⁺ ‧ Synopsis: Vairë offers to comfort Míriel and takes care of her in more ways than one. ✦ ⁺ ‧ Featuring/prompts: Femslash, friends with benefits, emotional/therapy sex, bondage/shibari, oral (female receiving) ✦ ⁺ ‧ Warnings: Smut ✦ ⁺ ‧ Writer challenges fulfilled: 5, 6 Also available on AO3

AN: And for the final day of @silmsmutweek I present to you some beautiful femslash. I'm so glad this pairing got first place on my poll. Enjoy!

It was with one final stitch and a crimson thread that Míriel finished yet another masterpiece for her lady, and she took a step back to admire the tapestry. She could hear the gentle, soothing sounds of weaving and spinning behind her as Vairë worked, her many hands always busy and ever moving, but she felt her gaze resting on her, her interest piqued by the completion of her work. 

In front of Míriel, woven into the eternal webs of the Valië through their shared efforts, was the image of her great-grandson lying in a pool of blood, the same vivid crimson that she had just held in her own hands. She glanced down at her palms, almost expecting them to be stained, yet all she found was the thread she had been working with. 

It was just another piece.

Still, her heart ached. The image in front of her held a certain finality, another fate of a descendant of hers ending in tragedy. Míriel had never known her great-grandson, the man whose likeness she and her lady had captured in this tapestry, but she couldn't help feeling a sense of kinship. 

"You are in pain," Vairë observed. 

"I am." Míriel turned around to face her, not wishing to gaze upon her lost kinsman any longer. At the Valië's silent command, two Maiar arrived to collect the tapestry and put it in its proper place, then left the two women alone again. 

"I believe you need to rest."

"I had ages to rest in your husband's halls, my lady." 

Vairë let out a small laugh, a sound reminiscent of the soft tinkling of falling needles. "Well then. If you say so, I shall take your word for it. Still, I think you could use a small break. A distraction, perhaps?" 

Her mien softened when she saw Míriel's hesitation. "Please, dear, let me ease your burden for a while, if that would please you." 

"I..." Míriel's eyes followed the soothing, rhythmic motions of Vairë's many hands, and it awakened a strange longing inside her. It suddenly seemed to her as if the Valië's graceful, ethereal form held a wellspring of comfort and inner strength that she wished to drink from and to be embraced by. 

"I would like that, yes." 

Vairë's luminous gaze rested on her, calm in spite of the incessant movement of her many hands, and she appeared to be pleased by her response. 

"Very well. Tell me then, my dear, what is it that you crave?" 

Míriel pondered her question in silence for a few moments. Many thoughts flitted through her mind, yet with every passing second she felt as though the longing inside her grew, awakened by her lady's presence. She had come back to life years ago, but she hadn't returned to the world of living; at times she almost forgot she had a hröa again, her feelings and sensations dulled by the tranquillity and otherworldliness of Mandos. There were needs she had been ignoring and denying herself for too long, chief among them the warmth and touch of another. Perhaps it was improper of her to ask, but she felt emboldened by the Valië's offer and years of companionship the two of them had shared. 

"I want to feel," Míriel said, "and to let go without worry." 

As soon as those words left her mouth, she could see that her lady understood what desires she had hidden in her heart. Vairë let out a small hum and pulled on a thread she had been spinning with two fingers, holding it in front of her. 

"I can give that to you, if you wish."

"How so?" Míriel fearlessly held her gaze when the Valië's eyes lit up with something akin to excitement. 

"I could turn you into my next masterpiece."

Vairë held out one of her hands, and when Míriel moved to take it, her thread wound itself around her arm like a silvery snake. Perhaps she should be afraid, yet all she felt was intrigue. The light pressure of the thread against her skin brought a strange sense of comfort and security, and she wondered how it would feel to be bound completely. 

"And once I have done so," Vairë continued, "I could make you feel even more, be it pleasure or pain, whatever you desire. Would you like that, dearest?" 

Míriel's response came without hesitation. "Yes." 

"Wonderful." Vairë smiled. "Now undress for me, my lovely." 

She discarded everything she had been holding, safe for the silver thread her third pair of hands continued to spin, and rose to her feet to approach the former queen of the Noldor who swiftly obeyed her command. Míriel noticed then that she felt neither shame nor discomfort while exposing herself. There was something soothing in the Valië's aura, even as she eyed her naked form with unconcealed desire; it felt good to be regarded in such a way after ages of passionless abiding in the halls of the dead. 

Vairë examined her like a piece of prized fabric, gently running her fingertips down her chest, spine and arms, while her second pair of hands cupped her cheeks to marvel at her face. 

"You are so beautiful, dearest," she whispered, her voice vibrating with delight. "You will be a masterpiece indeed." 

"You flatter me, my lady," Míriel breathed. The touch of a Valarin queen was beyond anything she had experienced in her old life and it caused her entire body to shiver and tingle. 

"I have thought that for a long time. It delights me that you would give yourself to me, even for just one night." 

Vairë appeared to complete whatever measurements and calculations she had made in her mind and moved to stand behind her. Her fingers gingerly grasped Míriel's wrists to position her hands behind her back before she began humming a few notes to summon her thread like she had done earlier, commanding it to wrap around the trembling Elf's lower arms.

Míriel flexed her muscles experimentally, only to find that she was firmly bound and now unable to move her hands, and a small moan escaped her. Soon she would be at her lady's mercy completely. 

"Does it feel good? Or am I hurting you?" Vairë asked. She held the end of her thread between two fingers, waiting for her response before she continued. 

"I can take it," Míriel insisted, a hint of stubbornness in her tone. "It feels good like this."

"As you wish, dearest." 

She closed her eyes to savour the exciting new sensation. Vairë's thread wound itself around her chest and upper arms a couple of times to fully immobilise them, then around the base of her neck and down her torso, forming intricate knots and a diamond-like pattern and looping around her torso a couple of times. It felt like a tight embrace, like she was a precious flower held in place by unyielding vines. Míriel's breath quickened, and arousal caused her entire body to heat up and wetness to pool between her legs, threatening to drip down her thighs. 

Mercilessly, the thread wrapped itself around her breasts, tight enough to hold but not squeeze the soft flesh. Delighted by her own work, Vairë cupped them with a pair of her hands, another one resting on her shoulders. 

"Open your eyes," she whispered, "you should see how gorgeous you look like this." 

Míriel obeyed just in time to see her lady beginning to toy with her nipples, eliciting another moan from her. "Please, I need -" 

She couldn't think of words to describe what she was feeling, but the Valië needed none. Instead of moving on to her legs, Vairë gently lifted her and carried her over to a nearby divan that she liked to rest on every once in a while. She placed her Elven friend and lover on top of it with a tender reverence that made Míriel feel protected, cared for, *loved*, an emotion that caused tears of joy to well up in her eyes - another that she had so sorely missed. For as lovingly as Irmo, Estë, Námo and Nienna had taken care of her when she was dying and afterwards, none of them had quite managed to make her feel like Vairë could. 

The Valië's warm hands were on her once more as soon as she came to rest on the divan, one trailing down her torso. 

"Do you want me to go on, my lovely?" 

"Yes. Please." 

Two hands spread Míriel's legs, then folded them gently so the silver thread could tie her thighs and lower legs together. Bound and exposed, there was nothing she could do except watch as her lady admired her work for a moment, then lowered herself to her knees in front of her. She felt soft lips kissing her folds before Vairë began to lap up her arousal and push her tongue inside. 

Míriel felt like she was in heaven; finally her desires were being fulfilled. She had longed to have someone making love to her again, being inside her and pleasuring her until she forgot all the woes that plagued her, and Vairë was giving it to her in a tender, attentive and so very careful manner, not overwhelming her with fast, hard penetration like another lover might have. Bit by bit, she was reintroduced to the mind-numbing bliss her living body could experience, and the sensation was intensified by her inability to move. She was trapped in the most delightful manner, forced to endure the pleasure bestowed upon her.

The Valië was taking her time, using only her tongue to both devour her like a delicious treat and tease her swollen pearl to bring her ever closer to climax. Her hands remained where they were, merely holding her in place; she wasn't going to use them today, and Míriel was grateful for it. She would be ready to receive more of her lady another time, yet for now this was all she wanted, and it almost seemed as though Vairë had read her thoughts - and perhaps she had indeed. Míriel was at a point where she could no longer shield her mind nor worry about her ability to do so. 

When she finally came, she let out a soft cry of bliss, tearing through the silence that had previously engulfed them, save only for the occasional moan and muted noises of wet flesh meeting one another. Vairë's tongue gave her a few final, indulgent licks, then she raised her head to look up at her exhausted companion. 

"Do you want me to remove your bindings, or would you like to stay like this for a while longer?" 

"Stay," Míriel decided breathlessly and was rewarded with a pleased smile.

"Good. I would like to keep admiring you."

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

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[inactivegaz]

the only one i'll ever miss

gaz x oc (vaughn “cowboy” ballinger)

description: “It’d be great if you didn’t mangle my face, Garrick.” Vaughn chuckled, “I kind of need it.”

He laughed along, trying to hide the anxiety that wouldn’t go away from earlier in the evening, “I’ll try my best, Ballinger.”

or Agent Ballinger gets hurt on a breach and clear of what should’ve been an empty house and Gaz needs to clean her up.

it was simply vaughngaz brainrot time baybeee :)

AO3

Agent Ballinger stomped out of the pseudo-interrogation room, shutting the door with just a little bit more force than necessary. Gaz met her while exiting the viewing room, leaving another agent to watch their superiors.

“That was intense, you alright?”

She let out a frustrated sigh and leaned against the cool wall, “yeah. Sorry you had to see all that.” She apologized for the outburst that had Captain Price sending her out of the room. “Price said you could patch me up.”

Gaz nodded and let his hand rest on her back as he led her to another room, “don’t wanna wait for Laswell?”

“No, it might be a while.” She shook her head, stopping in front of an array of supplies that lay on the countertop.

“Word.”

“Also, it’d be great if you didn’t mangle my face, Garrick.” Vaughn chuckled, holding a sheet of bloody gauze to the right side of her jaw. “I kind of need it.”

Helping the American onto the counter in front of him, he laughed along, trying to hide the anxiety from earlier that refused to go away, “I’ll try my best, Ballinger.”

“You better.” She looked up at him with sleepy eyes. 

Gaz was busy watching the supplies on the counter, getting the cream ready to lay across her jaw.

“Laswell did that already,” the agent informed, putting her unoccupied hand over the top of Gaz’s, “before you two brought in our guest .”

“Good to know.” He mumbled, setting the packet down, instead reaching for the already threaded needle. “You sure you don’t want to wait for Laswell?”

“I trust you.” 

Gaz gave an exasperated laugh, “I’m about to stick a needle in your face.”

“Yeah,” Vaughn shrugged, trying to hold back a smile, “and I trust you to do a good job.”

“Then you need to shhh .” Kyle explained, putting on a pair of gloves before reaching for the needle once again. “You’re the one with a gash on your face and I’m nervous.”

The agent shrugged, a lopsided smile on her round face as she finally took the bloody gauze off her jaw, showing off the angry wound. “Get to work, Garrick.”

In order to work on the injury, he had to get closer. Making space between her knees that were on the edge of the countertop and to get her jaw in better lighting, he used his right hand to tilt her head up and to her left. A position so familiar and so simple that was now so daunting and too intimate for the situation they were in.

As he did the first pass, he felt her hand come up and hold onto his wrist to occupy her mind by messing with the ends of his jacket sleeve. She may have been trying to keep the mood light but it was clear that she was shaken up by what happened in that townhouse.

“Can you say something?” She muttered out, eyes welded shut.

“‘Bout what?” He asked, focusing on the task at hand.

“Fuck—“ she grumbled as he poked and prodded, “anything but the mission.”

“I was thinking that maybe next time you, uh, you come out to my place, we could–” he got distracted as she almost flinched away from him.

“Sorry.” Vaughn huffed out, eyes still closed.

“You’re fine.” He mumbled, swiping across her jaw idly. Looking up at his girlfriend, he then noticed just how hard her grip was on his wrist. “Hey, Vaughn, look at me.”

She let out a deep, shaky breath before opening her deep brown eyes to meet his worried gaze.

“You’re fine .” He stated, pausing the task at hand. “You’re okay.”

Nodding, Vaughn let a tear slip down her round cheek, “it was a real close call, Kyle. Too close.” All she could think about was how it felt when she was yanked to the ground; the pain at the back of her head, the air leaving her body for a split second. Then the knife and the way it felt as it glided against her skin—

“Hey, don’t go back there,” Gaz wiped away the one, two, three tears that slipped down as he tried to pull her back to the moment. “You’re with me, Vaughn. It’s alright.”

Closing her eyes once again, she took a long breath, reigning her thoughts back in, “thanks for being here.”

Kyle knew what she meant as he went back to the task, but he was hoping he could get away with being a smartass, “Just doing my job.”

She kind of laughed? “You’re hilarious.”

It worked.

“Keep your day job, Sergeant.”

He was nearly finished, “just trying to lighten the mood.”

She shrugged, peeking at him through dark lashes, “...it worked. I suppose.”

It was silent as he finished patching up the cut, only the hum of the fluorescent overhead light taking up the room.

“All done.” He mumbled, setting everything down and quickly returning Vaughn’s tired glance.

She didn’t want to let go of Gaz, keeping her grasp on him as he took his hand off of her face and brought it down to rest on her waist. “Thank you.”

Kyle pressed his forehead to hers, “you’re welcome. I’m glad you’re safe.”

[sorserah]

Mechaniacs - Kirin Jindosh x OC - Chapter II

Summary The story of Dr. Addison Lynch, a neuroscientist who played an important role in the past and will again in the future. (fic from 2017) _________________________________________________ tags: unethical medicine, blood, violence, neurology, neuroscience, dishonored universe usual type of stuff, first person _________________________________________________ ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598001/chapters/19733941#workskin

It was cold, dark and foggy. I couldn‘t breathe or move, my body was pinned to the ground. Was that it? The end? I was just lying there in silence, completely numb of everything. No pain, no emotions. Until a face appeared in front of mine. It was a man, his eyes were completely black. „Look who we have here. Time has come for you it seems. Dr. Addison Lynch, once the person that was loved to be quoted, now the person that has to be, unwillingly. I see disgust on their faces when they think about you. Though there have been worse people, in my opinion. But were those tests really necessary? I bet you asked yourself this question, over and over and over again.“ he examined my face „Mhmm, I won‘t give you anything, you don‘t need it, you are not important to me. But to someone else, who needs you. So...“ he moved to the other side „...I guess I will give you another chance. To prove yourself and do whats right and has to be done.“ he was close to my ear now „Farewell.“ he whispered.

I awoke with a start and threw up in the bucket that was standing next to me. Water, dirt, blood and bile. I felt like my body tried to get rid of my gastrointestinal tract completely. After eternity it seems, I sat up, sweating, cold and weak. I closed my eyes for a second and breathed in and out. Where was I? That was when the immense pain hit me and I cried out. I looked to the source of it. My left arm was bandaged, my hand only a big white and red lump. 

What happened?! Desperately I searched for my backpack, found it under the metal bed had I jumped out of a few minutes before and turned it upside down. Everything was completely soaked. Where are the painkillers? ... There!  I swallowed five of them and laid down on the floor. Tears running down my face as I smashed my head onto the floor, distracting myself, waiting for them to kick in.  I have never felt anything like this before. „Please stop this, please, stop..“ I whined bitterly, rocking forth and back. 

A few minutes later the pills operated and I dared to stand up, holding onto a counter with my functioning arm. There was a mirror and sink right in front of me, but it cost me my last energy to go there. Left leg, right leg, left leg, right leg and I was there and was shocked about what I saw. My face was even paler then before, bloodshot eyes, my lips dark purple and bursted, a bloody lesion on my right temple. My clothes ragged and wet, blood all over it. But what did I expect? 

I turned the valve and drank in small sips. I removed my shirt and pants and started to clean the my wounds. Fortunately most of them weren‘t that deep.  Someone put a needle and threads next to the sink, a few of them definitely need some stitching. 

After I was relatively intact and put on some dry clothes I found, a black shirt some black pants which I had to pull up to my waist with my belt to make it fit, I decided it was time to look at the total loss which was my left arm.  Carefully I unwrapped the bandage to my wrist and inspected it. „Shoulder definitely sore, was probably dislocated...“ I muttered, „Upper arm intact, forearm... very bruised but no distortion, broken? maybe?“ Now the last part. I removed the last bandage and almost threw the water up again. 

My wrist was strangely twisted, „wrist... turned about 90 degrees“ and what once has been my hand was just... „Hand, not a hand anymore. Fingers angled and smashed in all directions. Glass and stones everywhere ...defin..definitely..“ but I could stand the look of it. „Broken.“ I said to my reflection and retched. This is not real. This can‘t be real. I hyperventilated, „Get it together goddammit!“

I cleaned the meat lump as good as possible and tried to stabilize the hand and fingers with some pens I found but it didn‘t work. I decided it was time to give up and just bandaged it again. It needs surgery. 

Just as I finished the knot, someone opened the metal door and came in carrying a tray with a loaf of bread and a steaming mug. „Oh good, you are awake.“ She put the tray down onto the counter. I turned around, facing her.

„Who are you? Where am I?“ „My name is Meagen Foster, I am the captain of this ship, the Dreadful Whale, which you are on.“ „And what happened? The last thing I remembered was that I jumped out of a window at Addermire.“ She seemed annoyed by all my questions and sighed „Yeah and that‘s pretty much all that happened. You jumped, hit a rock and sank down unconscious. Someone pulled you out and into my boat then we brought you here.“  I opened my mouth but she answered first: „She will tell you everything. Now eat, drink and recover. We have work to do.“ and left. 

For two seconds I accepted not knowing what was going on, but my curiosity drove me to the door and I was about to open it with a witty comment, however I hesitated when I saw Emily Kaldwin and Meagen talking on the corridor. It had to be her, I had seen her once when she was around 12 when I was at the Dunwall Tower and last week on a reward poster when I was stealing the corpse. 

„...I still don‘t understand why we need her.“ „I know what she did, but she was a great help the last time Dunwall was at stake, maybe she will be now, too. Besides we don‘t have much of a choice, since Dr. Hypatia...could not make it.“ „If you say so.“ „I do and it‘s not up for debate, sorry Meagen, we need as much geniuses as we can get. By the way, we need to leave before dawn. I don‘t want to keep Jindosh waiting.“ They left.

Jindosh? Did she mean Kirin Jindosh?

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

You made a post on how punks and emo's should customise their own stuff instead of buying expensive shit made by rich people.

Do you have any tips for making cool things or something?

Honestly? Go to the fabric store and just look around until you get an idea. And I'm not talking about the fabric section, I'm talking about the sewing notions section. Let me talk about this look.

So I am a drag queen so I did purchase some things here. The wig for instance, the gloves, and the boots and the earrings were all tip money, BUT I edited the boots and the rest were all thrift store finds. Let me tell you how I made this. We'll start with the boots.

They were just plain black boots I bought for 60$ online. I bought a pack of English 77 cone studs off angryyoungandpoor and used jewelry pliers to put them all the way around the top. Then I put safety pins all the way down the back. Moving up the leg the tights are black nylons I had when I was a kid that I cut and ripped holes in with scissors. Next up is literally just a pair of jeans I already had which I cut off, did a stitch along the bottom so they didn't fray too badly after being cut, and a pack of 50 pyramid studs from the fabric store applied to the front and back pockets

Moving upwards. Thrift store jean jacket, acrylic paint, an old black tee shirt, and studs and spikes from ayp originally silver but painted pink on the front there's a Siouxie and the Banshee's patch a Paramore patch an Evanescence patch a Joan Jett and the Black Hearts patch and an In This Moment patch. All of which are squares cut out of the old tee shirt, painted with white acrylic paint with the band name and logo, and sewn onto the jacket. The bra is from target and I just put the same pack of studs from the fabric store along the top of the bra.

But you don't have to spend as much money as I did, like I said that outfit makes me money so if I invest 60$ in a pair of boots I know if I wear those boots to enough drag shows they will end up paying for themselves. You really can make a lot of stuff out of things you already have. The tights my mom literally bought for me in 4th grade and I put a bunch of holes in them in 7th grade and there I am at 22 years old still wearing them in an establishment I literally can't get into unless I'm 21 plus. The only things I think you actually need to go out and purchase if you don't already have them are like scissors, a needle and thread, and safety pins, all of which you can get at the dollar tree, and all of which i think everyone should own not just punks, although certainly punks should have more safety pins. Basically everything you'll ever need for even more ambitious projects is at the fabric store or the craft store. They sell chain in a big spool for under 10$, they sell a pack of pyramid studs for under 10$, they sell rit dye for about 5 or 6$, they sell paint and paint brushes for cheap, they sell a pack of clasps for under 10$. They're great. If you go to hobby lobby you can just steal it they don't believe in bar codes or anti theft measures and do their inventory manually they literally will not notice. But crust pants are like literally whatever pants you already have with a bunch of patches sewn on. Bottlecap pins are bottle caps you paint and then glue a safety pin on the inside of so you can pin it to something. Cool tights are regular tights you take scissors to. Fish net tops are fishnet stockings (which you can get from dollar tree) with the crotch cut out so you can put it over your head and your fingers through the feet. All of this is cheap or free if you have supplies already which a lot of people do.

Also for some reason people getting into this as adults seem to be like... Intimidated when I tell them this as if it's a high barrier to entry so let me assure you that I started doing it when I was a 12 year old with unmedicated ADHD. When putting holes in things there's no wrong answers. Sewing is easier than you think it's just time consuming if you're doing it by hand. Studs are the easiest thing ever you just stab the sharp bits through fabric and then put them down with pliers. I would say the most complicated bit is painting on patches or pins, but for patches start wit a white pencil and then paint on you'll usually be fine.

Also don't throw shit away if you can help it. The crotch may have busted in a pair of pants but that is now fabric you can use for later

Anyway the point of that post wasn't that punks should never buy anything. One thing I find a bit ridiculous about this discourse is that people act like they're not buying clothes anyway. Obviously the online "goth" fast fashion is cheaply made and overpriced, but hottopic mens pants (do not buy hottopic women's pants they're terrible, the mens actually hold up somewhat tho) cost the same as Kohl's jeans, and if you've worn yours out and need new pants... Well I'm sure you could probably get them cheaper on the target clearance rack but ultimately you're gonna be contributing to somebody's bottom line either way. The point of that post was that punk has always been a poor man's movement and the idea that looking punk costs a lot of money is modern gentrification and entirely inaccurate.

Anyway I think that's all I've got for advice. People online have videos and wiki how's and the like for specific projects but part of punk is coming up with your own ideas. So like just take stock of your wardrobe and see how you can fuck it up.

[void-botanist]

Find the Word: TFA x 3

@autumnalwalker tagged me three times since I last caught up with my tags, which means I get to share with you an assortment of snippets from TFA versions, past, present, and even sequel.

I'll pass the tag on to @vacantgodling, @kingkendrick7, and @outpost51 plus anyone wants to join in. Your words are maybe, never, possibly, and joking.

blue (present)

Aside from her bloodlessly pale silicone skin, she was wearing a dark blue tailored uniform that had slightly darker spots where its Niievosk patches had probably once been, and her hair was pulled back into what looked like a black silk bonnet, to the point that only a sliver of bright red was visible along her forehead.

humor (past)

All he knew so far was that Red was: - not a mushroom person (which left five other possibilities, though mushroom law was lenient toward tree people, so only four likely possibilities) - a hoot (an unclear term; probably an indicator that ey shared Quint’s sense of humor) - a mychanic (elevated risk of em appraising him as a machine) - an active astronaut (cool and interesting) - probably disorganized (sixty unlabeled boxes with insufficient storage space) - possibly impulsive (sixty unlabeled boxes with insufficient storage space) - the child of a potentially wealthy family (perhaps they had racked up so much debt they had to sell the ‘literal mansion’). In other words, not that much.

admit (present)

Or maybe Zel’s brother the astrogeologist had come to visit. That would be a good surprise. Well, at least until he had to admit that he was Zel’s comment moderator and was the one who always liked Zalen’s comments. But Zalen had to know that, right?

offense (sequel)

“I don’t want him to go because he’s an android. I mean, that’s why it’s possible for him to go at this point, but I just want someone to go. Someone I can trust.” “I know.” Funny that that’s what he got offended about—a vague, unintended implication that he was being speciesist, and not the fact that she was chastising him.

moon (present)

He paused to figure out what area of his picture to work on next. The station was mostly blocked in at this point. He decided to put in the details later and get started on the pale moon behind it. Slipping a thread skein out of its little paper label, he unwound it a bit and folded over its free end to thread the fold through the eye of his needle. If his calculations were right, he would probably need all that was left of this skein. But that depended on his threading pattern, and he still wasn’t convinced he’d found the most moonlike one.

alone (present)

“But ultimately, I think Elbas feels more like home. And a big reason for that is Nid. I don’t think they would have a good time in the Confluence, even if they wanted to go there, and they never really have. I don’t want to go without them. And I don’t want to leave them living alone again.” “It’s the ultimate faux pas in a house with two front doors,” Pax added.

shout (past)

She fully settled her glasses back in place with a look he’d seen only once before, when she was on the phone with her mother, holding back all the obscenities she then shouted into the living room once she hung up. No, it wasn’t quite the same face. There was something less hard about this expression, even though her jaw was set in the exact same way. “Dez, can we talk outside?”

sway (past)

She rousted herself from bed, in the process knocking the book she’d been reading when she rolled over to rest her eyes onto the floor. Picking it up, she zipped it back into her bag, then pulled back the window cover. Her window just happened to face south, giving her a partial view of the dark shapes of the fifth Akkanswl below. The sun hadn’t quite come over the horizon yet, so everything was bathed in a dim, diffuse light. She watched her view sway slightly as the airship completed its mooring.

acknowledge(d) (past)

“Damn.” Thon acknowledged someone behind him and started on a drink with the subtle theatrics of a seasoned bartender, despite the fact that everything that went into it seemed to be some kind of juice.

upstairs (past)

“Yeah,” Anni said, taking the bag of food to the kitchen counter. “Sintii’s upstairs, and I’ve just started working with her. Though it took me an hour just to get her disk to mount correctly.” Julian chuckled as he slipped off one boot. “Off to a perfect start, then.”

coarse (past)

He sent it off to the cover nodedress available on Mizzat Keh’s faculty page. Despite the fact that this was not the first time he’d sent a message to a cover nodedress, it still felt weird and oddly impersonal. Maybe Mizzat would reply to him directly from vis real address—which had to be for vis own internal server, right? He’d never seen a picture of vim with an external node. And vi had been turned on only ten years ago, nowhere near long enough that vi couldn’t have internal metal network connectivity. Maybe it was vis coarse segment displays that made vim seem less modern.

darkened (side scene with Vinnek & Ellery)

They looked the same as always, big rimless glasses, flowers hanging loose around their face under leaves just starting to darken into summer color, gold inset watch on their left wrist reflecting the overhead lights.

unison (past)

“I don’t want to be here if nobody wants me here when they think about it,” Dez said as he reached the hot seats and received the link to the application Vinnek had just messaged him. It was a straightforward document that repeated everything they’d said in the meeting more clearly, and maybe more importantly, let him use the nice fancy signature he could do when he didn’t have to write it with his hand. “We want you here,” Ellery and Nidilaenn said almost in unison.

[slowroadtosantiago]

Day 24 - Sahagun to El Burgo Ranero

Only just over 11 miles today but with full packs. This next picture is representative of the day:

It was one of those days when you walked at your own pace in your own world with your playlist keeping you amused as the road was very flat following roads most of the way.

There was only one place to stop on the way and it was a bit of a way down the road so after a fitful night we packed up and had breakfast in the hostel before setting off about 7:45.

We passed through the gates of the old town and across an old bridge before starting on the main trek.

It was a cool windy morning with threatening dark clouds in the north. We each went at our own pace today. I felt tired so dropped back and just put one step in front of the other. I stuck the radio on for a bit to keep amused.

After about 7 miles we came to our coffee stop. I think everyone we knew was there - the siblings Kate and Malcolm, and we finally learned the names of the Irish/American couple we met a few days ago - Sinead and Barron. Jane administered blister treatment to Alex and we set off on our way again.

On the way out we came across a lovely climbing rose that had come out in lots of different colours.

Then it was back to the seemingly endless path by the road. This time I stuck a playlist on as Jane disappeared into the distance. She had her music on too. It’s very dusty too and our shoes and legs get covered.

We got to the hostel about 12:30. We had booked two single beds but when we got there we discovered that they had given them to Kate and Malcolm. Kate realised what had happened and came to sort it out. They didn’t have her booking at all even though she had the text proof. They did have space in the bunk room so Jane and I said we’d go there with a bottom bunk.

The albergue has a nice garden to sit in but it feels quite chilly out there today. The temperature hasn’t hit 20 today and there’s a cool wind.

The village is not very large and it looks like a Wild West setting just outside the albergue, but they did have a restaurant open. So we had another lunchtime menu del dia - smoked salmon and goats cheese salad, followed by baked cod then I had an ice cream and Jane had what looked like custard, washed down with water, a whole bottle of wine between us and bread, all for the princely sum of 13 euros each, bargain.

Jane had a nap while I had a shower and did a bit of washing. I took 4 pairs of socks with me and I only have one pair left without holes! I borrowed Jane’s needle and thread and sat in the garden doing a bit of darning. I’ll get some more in Leon in a couple of days. I also have an over shirt that I wear all the time, but it gets smelly so that needs a wash most days. We’re mainly just hand washing with the one bar of soap, I’ll treat the shirt to a hot wash in Leon.

After a rest we spent half an hour in the dining room at the hostel playing cards with Alex, then went to a different cafe in the village with her for a plate of patatas fritas and a lemonade. We were joined by Ernest and Janet who are travelling with Alex and had a pleasant hour talking about favourite musicals.

We’re back in the hostel settling down for an early night and hoping to get off to sleep before everyone comes back in for the night. The bunks are very rickety again and the slightest movement is going to make everything shake.

Hasta mañana

[b-s-123456]

Your an idiot

Pairing~ Peter parker x Evelyn stark

Warnings~mentions of loss

I bit the inside of my cheek watching Happy stitch up peters back. Peter made me go first so, the cut on my arm was already threaded back together. “Ouch!” said Peter softly as Happy poked the needle into him once again. “I thought you had super strength.” said Happy “Still hurts.” I moved my hand to lower lip feeling the cut that was on it. How did we fuck up so bad. Peter and I are supposed to save people and right now it feels like we put more innocent people in danger.

“Happy.” Peter flinched “Relax.”Happy continued stitching up his back. I stared out the window at the array of colored tulips. My dad trusted us. He trusted me, and I just let him down big time. Peter flinched again this time banging his fist on the table. “Relax!” said Happy louder this time “DONT TELL ME TO RELAX HAPPY HOW CAN I RELAX WHEN WE MESSES UP SO BAD!” Yelled Peter standing up and walking over to the other side of the jet. I jumped at the sudden noise. “Peter.” I said softly grabbing his wrist. “Im the one who trusted Beck, you didnt but I dragged you into this!”

“I thought he was my friend so I gave him the only thing Mr.Stark left for me and now hes gunna kill our friends and half of europe! So please Happy do not tell me to relax!” Peter sat down on one of the orange chairs, I sat with him. “Im sor- im sorry I shouldnt yell.” he said “I just really miss him.” He said, I leaned my head against Peters shoulder. “I miss him to.” said Happy. I could tell he was trying to act strong but I know dads death really broke him. Peter already had tear stains down his face. “Everywhere I go I see his face.” said Peter “And the whole world is asking whos gunna be the next Iron man and I dont know if thats me.” He said “Peter.” I said “Dad trusted you, and if he trusted you then he thought that you could take over once he was gone, and dad was a genius so that had a 99.8% chance of being right.” “Your not Tony kid.” said Happy “Your never gunna be Tony. Nobody can live up to Tony.” “Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess. He second guessed everything he did, he was always stressed, but the one thing that he didnt second guess was choosing you two.” I felt a tear that was begging to be released from my eyes trickle down my cheek and into my lap.

“I dont think tony wouldve done what he did if he didnt know that you guys would be here after he was gone. Now your techs missing, none of the other avengers are coming. What are you gunna do about it?” I stood up leaving Peter sitting on the leather clad seat alone. “Were gunna kick his ass.” I said “No right now like specifically right now what are we gunna do because weve been hovering over a tulip feild for the past 10 minutes?” I looked at Peter. Hes the more ‘you have once second before your gunna die so think of a solution.’ He stood up “Right, we cant call our friends because hes tapping out phones soo…” He trailed off “Right ah-“ Happy pulled his phone from his pocked and tossed it to Peter.

I walked to the back of the quinn jet tracing my finger over the grooves of the metal, it helps me think. Nick Fury and Maria are here in Venice but they dont know that Mysterio is a fread. The suits that Nick gave us dont have all the attachments that dads suits did, we’ll have to fix that.

“We need suits.” I spoke up interrupting Peter and Happys conversation. Happy walked up to the front of the jet and pressed some buttons. a compartment inside of the wall opened up reavealing a drawing table and an orray of suit designs. “Show me everything you have on (undecided superhero name)” I said Clicking through the different suits.

Peter wraped one hand around my waist and used the other to lean against the drawing table. I scrolled through the suit options and attachments looking for the ones powers by an arc reacter because those ones are the most likely the clostest to my old suit.

“Whoa whoa wait,” said Peter scrolling back a few options “you can get web shooters installed in your suit.” he said clicking in the option. I clicked out of the option. We really dont have time this. “Yea i’d just be like your web shooters but on my suit.” I said “Dad designed them for if you needed to make a suit”

I clicked on the option for a hand blaster and tried it on. I looked up, Happy was watching Peter and I with a smirk on his face. “What?” I asked “Nothing.” he said “You get the suits i’ll get the music.” He turned on one of dads old playlists.

“Ohh I love Led Zeplin!” said Peter I smiled at him. “Hey, Peter” I said softly cupping his face in my hands. “Yea?” he said looking down at me. “This is ACDC.” “Ohh I love ACDC!” he said aloud for Happy to hear him. “Your an idiot.” unfortunetly I think im in love with this idiot.

Omggg its finally up iv been spending way to long on this and its finally done anyways happy readings~HazzaPottaher