#handwoven goods

[saltpixiefibercraft]

I currently don't have a mannequin, so my yarn cone will have to do for displaying these cowls!

[hippofox]

[citrusinicake]



nothing screams cebuano quite like trying to google traditional textile patterns and getting search results for tourist destinations lmao

[imtrying-ok]

I'm from a family where women are in charge of most things, finances, the house, bills getting paid on time, important administrative and historical documents and papers, family heirlooms (men are so dumb, they can't be trusted with that stuff!), the children. In my subconscious mind, women work harder. Women go to work everyday and men are just lazy slobs. All men are good for is a (smaller, obviously) supplementary income, having kids with, maybe cooking, and only sometimes emotional companionship. (I am serious - this has been said to me in different ways by multiple family members, from my mom to my great grandmother)

I was told I was so lucky to be born a girl, because I get to join this long line of women. That they were so lucky I was born a girl so they had someone to continue a legacy with. That they could dream of never loving a boy the same way. That they could never let a man continue this legacy, he's too dumb! He'd lose everything. He wouldn't care about the legacy, obviously. He'd just ruin it like all men do. They're so glad I'm around, I'll inherit everything and take great care of it.

I wanted to wear a suit to my father's wedding and they were scared. They heard me going by my gender neutral last name instead of my feminine first name (inherited from my greatx5 grandmother no less) and they hated it. "Don't you want to be a girl?" But I know what they really meant was "don't you want to be what I think you should be?" Then my grandmother talks about how she's scared she won't have anyone to inherit her house, her things, the pieces of history she takes care of (a piece of the Berlin wall, an old German family Bible, my family's passports from the 1800s, a handwoven tapestry, etc... "old country" stuff that every European immigrant family has laying around for some reason. But that's for another post.)

I know why it apparently can't go to me anymore. I've been 'tainted'. My beautiful feminine qualities have been pushed out by my desire to be a handsome untrustworthy kind violent man (they can't even call me that) other . They could handle if I was a lesbian, it was only logical to like other women, and my mother dated women as often as she dated men throughout my life. They could handle if I didn't want kids, in fact, I was told explicitly to not have them in the past (thanks grandma), they can betray you and leave you heartbroken (thanks mom). They couldn't handle me being a man.

There is some kind of inherent quality of being a man that makes you bad. And I was choosing to betray them and myself.

Needless to say, I don't feel very comfortable in trans or feminist spaces.

[delicatedarknight]

Secret Santa at Wayne Manor ft.Superfam

Jason:[fuming] Who thought giving a toy gun in an Xbox pack was a good idea. whoever it is you better start praying. Kon:[ugly sweater but with bad kon pics] HA!? which one of you did this? Jason:[snorting] lmao..you totally deserve it 10/10 to whoever did it. Dick: WOAH!! NO WAY! Thanks to which one of you who gifted me these beautiful customized escrima sticks. I love you. Tim: Aww thanks for this beautiful bracelet and chocolates Jon:[amazed] It's the superhero-themed blanket that I wanted. thank you so much. Damian:[touched] Whoever thought of giving me this precious matte black finish grappling hook bad boy. thank you from the bottom o my heart

Alfred:[wiping away his tears] I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude for this 20-inch pie mould with these complimentary unicorn cookie cutter Martha: thanks to my Secret Santa for these beautiful spice-scented candles. Bruce:[wrapped in new handwoven superman themed scarf] Thank you Martha: what about you Clark? what did you get? Clark:[hiding away the sexy batman body pillow] just some socks, ma.

[fandomnerd9602]

Wedding Plans

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

You and Wanda, your amazing doe hybrid mate, were over the moon. Life was good. The boys took to you as their poppa and were enjoying every moment with their momma.

In truth, a little plan of yours had fallen a little to the wayside. With the arrival of the boys, you and Wanda had put your wedding plans on hold. It’s not like you meant to place them on hold, it’s just that the boys became your biggest priorities. The realization hit you like a freight train. You wanted Wanda to be your wife more than anything. You wanted to come home every day to her and the twins. You wanted to be married to your loving doe already.

So you decided to take the boys out for a little bonding session. Just you, Billy, Tommy, and a little trip to the downtown area.

“Where are we going, Poppa?” Billy asked as you walked down the sidewalk.

“We’re gonna do some taste testing, boys,” you explained with a little pip in your step.

“Ice cream?” Tommy chimes in.

“Cake,” you answered back as you guided them into a cake shop.

You approached the counter and the elderly owner couldn’t help but smile.

“They your boys?” The elder lady inquired.

“Yes ma’am,” you smiled. “Planning the wedding and I want the boys to try out some of the cake.”

The boys’ eyes light up, little gasps escape their lips. “You’re gonna marry Momma?!” Tommy excitedly asked.

“I proposed before we found you guys and I want you to be my best men in the ceremony”

“I’m best! I can be best!” Tommy happily shouts. Billy giggles.

You turned to the smiling owner, “bring on the samples, ma’am”

Meanwhile, Wanda approached Natasha in her cave-home. Pietro arrived soon after.

“I need your help, guys” she balanced on her feet uneasy

“What is wrong, sestra?” Her brother inquired

“(Y/N) and I were supposed to get married and—“

“What?! Now?!” Pietro did a quick stretch, “I like your mate but I ’m going to give them the old talk. If (Y/N) hurts you I will kill them.”

Natasha stops him dead in his tracks.

“Piet, you can’t kill a butterfly” Natasha smacks him upside the head. “Now what do you need, Wanda?”

“A wedding dress” Wanda quietly answers, “I wanna marry my detka. Will you be my maid of honor, Nattie?”

Natasha’s wolf tail couldn’t help but wag. Her best friend wanted her to be her maid of honor.

“I’d love to.” Natasha responded, her joy radiating on her face.

Natasha pulls at Wanda’s hand, “Come on, little doe. Let’s go find you a wedding dress.”

Wanda and Natasha went to the downtown area of the city and entered a small little bridal shop.

Wanda spent the next hour or so trying on different dresses, numerous styles and none of them were fitting her just right.

“I can’t find the right one” she bemoans.

Natasha huffs, “just try one on and come out”

Wanda looked at one. It was simple, more like a sundress. She peered a little closer and saw it had handwoven forest vines, leaves and branches in the corset part of the dress. It matched her engagement ring perfectly. Wanda fell in love with it instantly.

“Come on,” Natasha gently encouraged from the viewing area. “Just try whatever one’s in your hands now”

Wanda slipped it on and stepped out. And for the first time in her life, your doe felt like a queen, queen of the forest and queen of your heart. She gave a shy smile to Natasha.

“What do you think?” Wanda asked.

“It’s perfect.” Natasha couldn’t help but smile.

Coincidentally there was a certain little cake shop not far from it.

You and the boys were just finishing up with the cake testing. The boys wanted buttercream icing with a red velvet center. Honestly they shared their mommas taste.

It was then that the three of you almost ran into Wanda and Natasha who were just leaving the nearby bridal shop.

“Momma!” Tommy exclaimed. The boys excitedly hugged their momma deer and clanked their antlers with hers. Wanda looked at them in pure adoration.

“Boys?! (Y/N)?! What are you doing here?!”

You blushed and tried to hide your intention, “well…umm…we were…“

Your poor excuse of an explanation was cut short by a gasp from your mate.

“You’re not supposed to see my wedding dress!” Wanda tries to cover her simple yet beautiful wedding dress.

Natasha quickly jumped between you and Wanda, trying her best to shield the wedding dress from your eyes, “Close your eyes right now or I’ll rip them out!” You quickly obeyed Natasha and so did the boys. “Sorry. Overreaction. I love you all” Natasha tries to cover.

You keep your eyes shut tight but continue talking, “so you got the dress?”

“Yeah“ Wanda giggles, “What were you and the boys doing?”

“Cake, Momma!” Billy adds in.

“Yeah. We were looking into wedding cakes. I love you, my doe. I wanna be with you and the boys for the rest of my life. I just…I wanna be married to you already”

“I want to be married to you already too,” your doe admits, her heart practically fluttering out of her chest.

“Let’s set the date.” You smile, still keeping your eyes shut.

“How about next Friday?” Wanda asks.

“Yeah.” You let out a little laugh.

“I’ll get the prep work done.” Natasha chimes before reasserting, “no peaking!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. One week to plan a small intimate wedding to the doe of your dreams. One week till you could officially call Wanda your wife. One week til Billy and Tommy were your boys, not that they weren’t already.

It would be tough but the three of them were worth it. Challenging yet so rewarding.

To Be Continued…

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @julieromanoff @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @idkwhatever580 @mathxa @aloneodi @ab1nsur @abimess

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 30

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I can’t believe this is the last chapter 😭 Enjoy!

Content Warnings - none :)

On the one year anniversary of Snow’s death, aka Freedom Day, you married Finnick for real. He had proposed to you in your garden a few weeks after you’d returned home from the capital. You said yes of course.

Your friends traveled from all over Panem to witness your real special day. Katniss and Peeta (who were on good terms but not quite dating yet) took the train from 12, dragging a not so sober Haymitch along with them. Beetee, who is now living in the capital as Panem’s head of military technology, arrived along with Effie and Tigris. Finally, Johanna arrived a few days early from 7 to spend some extra time with Annie (much to Mags’ delight).

Mags, Annie, and Jo had decided that wedding planning was their new favorite activity and planned the whole thing for you and Finnick. They even arranged for Peeta to make and decorate the cake again. Tigris designed your dress and Effie helped with the makeup.

Everything was perfect. Finnick had suggested that Mags officiate the wedding because in District 4, it’s tradition to have the elder of the family perform the ceremony. Although neither you nor Finnick had any living relatives, Mags was a mother figure to both of you.

The ceremony commenced half an hour before the sun was set to disappear over the waters. Beetee had designed cool contacts for everyone so they could watch the sunset behind you and Finnick without going blind.

District 4’s wedding march boomed out over the ceremony as a group of local children played it on their hand drums. Your dress flows beautifully behind you as you walk your bare feet down the sandy aisle, without the assistance of anyone else.

You catch Finnick’s eyes as you approach him and Mags. He’s standing there in awe of you as he wears somewhat casual dress pants and a flowy button down shirt. Mags signals for the children to stop drumming when you reach Finnick.

Mags pulls out a net, handwoven by herself, to drape over you and Finnick. Finnick has to help her a bit due to her height but eventually you’re both caught under the net. Mags proceeds to sign the ceremony dialogue as the net rests over both of you.

When she finishes the formalities, she has Finnick lift the net off and wrap it around your shoulders, securing it so it doesn’t slip while still allowing your arms to move freely.

You take the bowl of salt water from Mags and dip your fingers in it before gently gliding them over Finnick’s lips. He then takes the bowl from you and traces your lips, leaving saltwater in the wake of his fingers.

This is where District 4 does the vows. You both do your best to convey in words your love for each other but words can’t possibly describe the depth of your love.

Finally, your love is sealed in a salty kiss. Nothing else matters in this moment; not the watching crowd, not the scars of your own battles, nor the pain you had endured. Your life was complete as long as he was in it.

To everyone else, you’re a survivor, a human, a warrior. To yourself, you’re healing, you’re safe, you’re loved. To him, you’re everything.

The epilogue will be out sometime soonish (I still haven’t finished it lol but I promise I’m working on it).

Taglist:

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[tobiasdrake]

Fun Fact: There is actually a reason for why Turles looks like Goku. And it's hysterical. I talk shit about Toei a lot but they understood the assignment on this one.

Lord Slug is my #1 Z film but Tree of Might is also conceptually a lot of fun. Even if they did call him "Turles" for some reason, rather than going with "Tullece" which everyone agrees does a better job of conveying the veggie pun.

This is the film's explanation for why Turles looks like an evil Goku. Low-class Saiyans like Goku and Turles all have a mass-produced factory-line uniformity to them. Vegeta is a $10,000 custom-made designer doll with carefully handwoven stitching, and Goku and Turles are $5 Barbies sitting on a shelf in Walmart.

I love this. I love that as a thematic piece of worldbuilding for Saiyans. Tragically, due to the movies being non-canon and having little involvement from Toriyama, this is not an official piece of Saiyan lore.

But I wish it was. Because I love that idea.

What the dub calls the Tree of Might is Shinseiju, made up of the components Shin (Godly) Sei (Sacred or Spiritual) Ju (Tree). It's a sacred bit of fauna meant only for consumption by gods. It's never explained how exactly Turles stole into heaven and made off with this; It's probably a reference to the Peaches of Immortality that Sun Wukong stole in Journey to the West.

(Funnily, to avoid mentioning Kami's divinity, the dub claims the fruit is meant for Shenron.)

This is some Galactus shit. The tree's fruit sustains gods by feeding on worlds. Once planted, the tree begins to cultivate its fruit by absorbing nutrients and water, as well as the genki of the living things on the planet.

You might recognize that word as a component of "Genki-Dama" or the Spirit Bomb. Genki is one of several components of ki. It's basically a person's physical wellness. There are other components like yuuki (bravery) or shouki (being in the right mind) that influence your ki as well.

This is how the film sets up Turles as Goku's evil counterpart. Goku is a heavenly martial artist, who has studied under gods and learned heavenly arts legitimately. Turles is a thief who somehow stole into the heavens and made off with Shinseiju.

The Genki-Dama is a mass of accumulated genki collected from all across the world, which Goku then uses to attack. Shinseiju does something similar, draining genki from across the planet to create a its special fruit.

Goku was born a low-class nobody but has improved himself through personal development physically, mentally, and spiritually. Turles, too, was born a low-class nobody, but he improves himself by looting the heavens and sacrificing worlds on the altar of himself.

Kaio warns Goku early on that the Earth is doomed. There is nothing he can do. Shinseiju cannot be destroyed. The coming apocalypse cannot be thwarted. All things will die and nothing can be done. The end is inevitable.

The rest of the film is an act of seemingly pointless defiance from Goku, who refuses to accept "Your world is doomed, it can't be stopped, there are no options, there is no hope," as an answer. The problem here isn't really Turles. He's the villain, but even if Goku could beat him, Shinseiju would still destroy the Earth.

The problem here is the invulnerable God Tree from a realm far beyond mortal life, that has laid down roots across the entire planet and shrugs off any and all forms of damage.

The movie pits Goku's heavenly arts against Turles's heavenly stolen loot. And Goku comes up short. Turles has Shinseiju's fruit.

And Goku has Kaio's signature art.

And when the two come to blows....

Fruit wins. In a straight arm-wrestling match, Turles's stolen goods have made him too strong for Goku's practiced arts and disciplined study. Even the Genki-Dama fails, because there's so little genki left for Goku to borrow from the Earth.

Get the hell out of here with this amateur hour horseshit. Kaio's greatest arts simply can't win against Turles and Shinseiju. In the battle of heavenly warriors, it genuinely seems as if Turles is superior.

But then Counter-Fighter Goku has an epiphany. The Earth is dying because Shinseiju is draining it of all of its genki, right? And the Genki-Dama works by drawing genki out of things, right? So. Like. Hear me out. What if I....

I genuinely love this moment. The movies have a serious problem with overuse of the Genki-Dama for conflict resolution, and I'll admit that. But. Like.

It's just like how Lord Slug's Solar Genki-Dama made use of a super-obscure piece of Dragon Ball lore for great thematic effect. Goku unmaking Shinseiju by letting the Genki-Dama's genki-accumulation effect drink the whole goddamn tree is a brilliantly clever application of a component of the technique we don't really think much about.

Goku can't draw genki from the Earth because Shinseiju took it all. So Goku uses the Genki-Dama to take it back.

Like. It's far from perfect. None of these movies really rise to the level of "good". But there's a lot of interesting or fun ideas that they have. And I think, in the broad strokes, the ideas put forth by Turles and Shinseiju, as well as Goku's conflict with them, are really interesting.

They needed a lot more polish to really tell a good and compelling story. But there's some diamonds to be found in this rough.

[bookshelfdreams]

there's a fascination to handmade things isn't there? little imperfections. tiny traces left behind by human hands.

I have been seeing with handwoven fabric over the last few days and there's - snapped threads, one or two treading errors, a few floats. almost invisible, things people would call poor quality, maybe, but I love discovering them. they make me think about the person who made that fabric; I wonder who they are. what they saw and smelled and heard as they sat and wove. what they thought about. if maybe they caught an imperfection but thought fuck it, I'm not gonna go back and fix that, that's good enough.

I wonder if they find satisfaction in their work. I hope they were well-compensated (the vendor said yes, but of course she would have; there's no way for me to know for sure). if they have children, I hope those get an education. I hope they are happy.

and I wonder. what do their hands look like? what does their voice sound like? who taught them their craft, and who will they teach it to? what's their name?

there's just. with industrial production I feel like we sometimes don't really appreciate that things come from somewhere. idk if it's alienation but sometimes it hits me: this was made by human hands. by a person with a name, and a place they call home, on the other side of the world; we will never meet. they will never know I exist.

do they wonder about me too? as they took their fabric off the loom, did they wonder who would buy it? what they would make with it? (a truly horrendous pair of trousers)

I wish I could tell them Thank you.

[t4tstarrailing]

learning quiet (avenhill)

author's note: .... I just think they're neat and would be good for each other. can be interpreted as platonic or romantic.

Ya need to learn quiet.

The first time the man drawled out those words, Aventurine found himself confused.

I don’t mean ya need to learn how to be quiet. I mean, ya gots to learn that quiet is safe. Yer jumpy and not used to it, I get it. We’ll start out slow and easy.

It wasn’t until Aventurine found himself out in the desert, nothing but emptiness and vastness, did he fully know what that meant.

It was quiet. Not in a quiet empty room type of way, where there was at least some machinery or air conditioner or heater running. But in a, someone put noise canceling headphones on the entire planet, type of way. He could hear the desert shift with each gust of wind, could hear the land breathe. For the briefest moment he could have sworn he heard the stars twinkle in the clear night time sky, which he found himself enamored in at that very moment. Animal noises that he thought were right next to him were somehow miles and miles away, not even a threat. The only noise he was really aware of was the fire crackling and sputtering in front of him, sometimes even the wind against his tent.

It made him feel small.

And Aventurine knew the feeling of being small. He knew it all too well. He remembered being a small child running around, desperately trying to feed his family. He remembered making himself small to avoid the slaver’s hounds. He remembered making himself small and feeble, to draw attention to himself before he pounced and strangled the other slaves for his own survival. He knew small, he knew that safety and benefits that being small could bring him.

But this. This was a safe small, the one people described when experiencing something wonderful and bigger than life itself. This was a good “small”. And he couldn’t help but clutch the handwoven lambswool blanket around his shoulders to his body, pressing his knees against his chest, back rested against an ancient, worn log.

A bush behind him shifted, and he jumped. Whipping his head around, he found a pair of small birds playing in the dead bushes and brush.

“‘S safe,” the man next to him drawled out. “Just a bird, y’ain’t in danger here.”

Boothill had sprawled out next to him, back against the worn log that travelers long ago deemed the best chair. His metallic body gleamed under the firelight, his dark skin shone like a fine rich tiger’s eye, speckled with white splotches. He heeded his new friend no mind, laser focused on the beads in his hand. Fingers swift and dexterous, weaving over and under, a small performance. It’s just somethin’ I do with my hands, he explained when first asked about it, somethin’ my momma taught me when I was still her lil’ girl.

Aventurine recognized the left palm he had beaded and threaded together. He decided to say nothing, turning his gaze back up to the starry sky.

“I’m just… I’m not used to the quiet, that’s all.”

“I know y’ain’t,” he murmured. “Take yer time, I ain’t in no rush. I’ll be here fer ya.”

No rush, he thought, letting his breath out through his nose. His body eased back into its relaxed state, shoulders slumped as he pulled his knees back to his chest. Up in the sky, a shooting star streaked across the inky black and blue night.

For once, I think I can do that.

[dixieconley]

The Red Death

Thorn: I feel terrible. I think I coughed a lung up. Can I fake my death and take a day off? Thire: Not feeling so hot either, vod. Can I take the war off? Fox: ::flatly:: If I don't get time off, you don't either. I don't remember the last time I felt good. Thorn: So you're not sick like the rest of us? Fox: …

::flashback 1:: Triage: One of Hound's people brought back a fast-acting virus with them after visiting the lower levels. Most of the Guard is already infected and the rest are likely to get it soon. Fox: … Fox: We can get sick? Triage: Apparently. I don't know what this is. If I could, I'd find out what it is and see if there's a cure. But I don't have the training or the tools. Fox: … Triage: Best case scenario, we quarantine the Guard and wait to see how many survive. Fox: And the worst case scenario? Triage: … Triage: You don't want to know.

::flashback 2:: Fox: Your excellency, may I speak with you? Palpatine: Of course, commander. It would be my pleasure. Fox: I-- Palpatine: And commander, take your helmet off, would you? I like to see the faces of the people I'm talking with. Fox: … Fox: ::takes helmet off:: Sir, it would be in the best interests of everyone if other parties took over the Guard's duties for the next few days. Many of my men are ill and my chief medical officer tells me that it's likely all of us will be by the end of the week-- Palpatine: Oh? And why would you think you deserve something like that? Fox: I-- ::vomits on Palpatine's imported handwoven carpet:: Palpatine: Disgusting. Truly disgusting. No, commander, you'll do your duty or you die. You're all replaceable anyway. Perhaps your successor will be more competent than you. And less pathetic. Succumbing to a common virus, really. Hardly worth the money paid for you.

Fox: It doesn't matter. We do our duty or we die. Thire: Or we do our duty and we die. Thorn: That's the spirit! Always look on the bright side, vod!

And Fox would say something, but Thire's not wrong. So…

Fox: Business as usual, vod'e. Dead and dying to the medbay, pair up so that if one person passes out, the other can cover for them and try not to vomit on any senators. Thorn: If I can't puke on a senator, can I puke on the chancellor instead? Fox: … Thorn: Fox, you magnificent hypocritical bastard. You didn't. Fox: I only got the carpet. Thorn: I want to be you when I grow up.

And so the Corries get on with their jobs because no one cares if they're sick or not while Fox resigns himself to signing off on several decommissioning orders by the end of the day because the majority of senators have an extremely low tolerance for clones behaving like anything other than droids. (That a significant number seem to think of them as sex droids? Fox would like to see how they fare against the real thing.)

What no one realizes is that the Vode were genetically engineered to be better than their progenitor. To be more resistant to disease, to heal faster and, whenever possible, to not get sick at all. For them to all get sick at once? Requires something highly contagious and more along the lines of a deadly bioterrorism agent, not a mere common cold.

And so:

Thorn: Fox! Fox! Fox: ::irritable and feverish:: What?? Thorn: The chancellor is dead! And so is most of the senate! This is just the Best! Day! Ever!! Fox: … Fox: What happened?? Thorn: I don't know? They just started keeling over. There's bodies everywhere. It's great. I guess it started with the worst of the shiny raping demagolka and spread from there? Triage: This is the worst case scenario I was afraid of. Natborns aren't built to handle the kinds of things that the Vode are. Interesting that it crosses the species barrier though. Thorn: And I got to puke on Free Ta when he tried to stick his kad down my throat! This really is the best day ever! Fox: … Fox: I'm giving everyone the rest of the day off. We'll revisit in the morning. Triage: Why? It's too late to quarantine the Guard. The disease has already spread to the Senate and likely outside of it as well. And recovery will take more than a day in any case. Fox: … Triage: You are quarantining the Guard, right? That is what you're trying to do, isn't it?? Fox: … Fox: Once everyone's gotten some sleep, we'll reassess. Thorn: And throw a party! Because it's not every day you kill the biggest bastards in the galaxy by heaving your guts out.

[magnetothemagnificent]

Hi there, I noticed a bit ago you said you had started wearing tzitzit full time, so congratulations first and foremost!

I want to start doing it myself but I’m incredibly nervous as to how to start. I’m a very active/outdoorsy person and part of my hesitance is the fear I’m just going to mess it up immediately, and I don’t wanna get something so special and end up destroying it. Do you have any resources on what to do in this situation, and how to care for a tallit katan?

It's been over a year now for me of wearing Tzizit, and I totally get your concern. I'm also pretty active, and let me tell you my tallit katan certainly looks well loved. Some advice:

-In order for a Tallit Katan to be considered kosher, it doesn't have to be white or perfectly clean. The strings just have to be tied correctly (there's multiple customs of how to tie them, but when you buy your first Tallit Katan they usually come pre-tied) and the strings themselves can't be too short. That's pretty much it. So if the tip of one of your tzizit strings snaps off or gets frayed, that's alright.

A Tallit Katan is meant to be worn- the commandment is to tie fringes at the corners of your garment- it's supposed to be an everyday thing and the expectation is that it's not supposed to be perfect. The Mitzvah is wearing it, not keeping it untouched and unworn.

-If you can afford it, get a second Tallit Katan so that if you're fixing or cleaning one, you have the other to wear.

-Learn how to tie tzizit according to your community's custom. That way, if you have to replace the strings, you can easily do so.

-If you need to clean your Tallit Katan, don't put it in a machine washer and drier. Wash it by hand with cold water like you would a bra or other delicates. The fabric for a Tallit Katan is usually made of either wool or cotton, so be sure to follow any special washing instructions for the material. Handwoven fabric will probably need more delicate washing than machine woven.

-If you're doing something active where there's a risk of the tzizit strings getting caught on something, like if you're hiking in the woods or playing some kind of sport, tuck the strings into your pants.

Good luck with this new mitzvah!

[literaryvein]

MY WRITING COLLECTIONS

1. I WANT TO BE SO AWFULLY HAPPY THAT I NEVER NEED TO WRITE POETRY AGAIN. This writing collection contains 79 free verse poetry. It begins with the bright top notes of bergamot, pomegranate, peppermint, and a splash of prophetic silence. It then takes on a floral mixture of carnation and geranium, tangled with an ocean of grief. The collection ends with a blend of white musk, Bourbon vanilla, and a handprint of the happy, unlived years.

2. bored god. This writing collection contains 22 free verse poetry and prose pieces. You know what I’m afraid of? That God is sick of us (N.M.)

3. monochrome me. This writing collection contains 20 free verse poetry, prose pieces, and stream of consciousness. Teaching myself how to be me again. 

4. mimicking maelstroms. A 417-page collection of poetry and prose pieces. Writings with “REQ” at the bottom indicate that the piece was requested by a reader. This contains writings that have been tossed into the flames of the internet, with some additional pieces that have since been salvaged from the fire, and a few that have never felt the sun on their face. 

5. writings from the fields of asphodel. This writing collection contains 20 poetry and prose pieces. In Greek mythology, the Asphodel Meadows is depicted as the part of the Underworld inhabited by ordinary souls, those whose lives were neither good nor evil. Lately, life is an aimless wandering through these empty fields.

6. Orchids and Other Poems This poetry collection contains 20 free verse poems. It opens up with the fresh floral notes of orchids, lavender, roses, and an ex-poet’s introspection. The heart turns dark and sweet with a blend of honeysuckle, lily-of-the-valley, religious undertones, and a variety of funeral flowers. Finally, the closing notes bring the collection together with warm amber, sandalwood, summer memories, and a hint of home.

7. Poetic Paralysis This poetry collection contains 20 free verse poems. It is split in two equal halves; the gap between these two halves represents the year I stopped writing. My year of poetic paralysis. This collection will be available on the 29th of February 2024.

8. The Book of Strangers (Part 1: The Tea Room) This writing collection consists of 17 poetry and prose pieces handwoven from strangers' stories. In another universe, we meet at the tea room. These written pieces are cups of tea I offer to you as my thanks for giving me a glimpse of your heart, dear strangers.

9. The Book of Strangers (Part 2: The Poet's Garden) This writing collection consists of 24 free verse poetry, prose pieces, and stream of consciousness handwoven from strangers' stories. This time, we meet at the poet's garden. These written pieces are flowers I plucked for you as my thanks for giving me a glimpse of your heart. Don't worry, the poet wouldn't mind.

Send Me A Message if you want to read any of my writing collections. I will send you a link if: (i) you are following this blog; (ii) indicate which collection/s you want (i.e., 1, 2, 3 etc.); (iii) let me know what you think after reading it; and (iv) do NOT know me personally.

- L. V.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - L

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only. Song for the second half is "Can You Hear the Music?" composed by Ludwig Goransson, from the Oppenheimer soundtrack.

You would have preferred a meeting in the depths of Zandik’s labs rather than the opulent warmth surrounding you.  At least then, you knew exactly what you were getting.

Northland, and more accurately Lord Pantalone’s official offices, required careful consideration, specific staff members, timing the visit to attract the least amount of attention.  It also required ignoring the desire to see more of the city at the foot of the Palace; such sentiments were dormant until you caught the familiar smell of cinnamon and dough and sugar in the air.

The carpet, handwoven no doubt, was plush and well-maintained.  The leather sofa conditioned and cared for.  No fire roared in the hearth; instead, you were surrounded by the familiar bang of radiator pipes as they staved off the chill.  Dark wood paneling made the space feel almost homey, a place one would spend time with friends and loved ones.

Exactly the kind of person were not.  Not to the only other occupant in the room.

At least there was a sofa, you told yourself.  Plenty of previous encounters gave you the opposite experience; your patron hardly ever kept guest chairs in his office.  For you, and others, were not there to converse.  Or if you were, never for long.

You had yet to take a sip of the tea you held, one hand on the bottom of the cup and the other cradling the porcelain body to savor the warmth.  It was fragrant, no doubt as delicious as it was expensive.  For a moment you recalled a tea house in Liyue where you spent the evening cackling with colleagues and making the most of your free time.

A small selection of snacks were laid out as well and when your eye caught the pink snow cake, you couldn’t help but take a forkful.  Tangy raspberry and sweet milk mingled with coconut and the cake was chilled to help it keeps its shape.  It didn’t taste abnormal (or so you thought); the Harbinger stood to gain little by poisoning you when you were here to discuss professional matters. 

Nonetheless, the congeniality rubbed at your skin like sandpaper, especially after the last time you saw Lord Pantalone.  Did he expect you to believe such gestures were more than simple courtesy?  Surely not.  You wondered briefly if, in the event you were instead chosen for convenience rather than fate, if the scales Pantalone used to find equal value would be tilted in your favor. 

You pushed away that train of thought.  Nonsense.  You only needed his signed approval on your budget and scope of work for the performance, not his validation on your connections to his colleague.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, maestra,” Pantalone said as he capped his pen and rose from his seat.  “The Captain required additional resources that could not wait.”

“The Tsaritsa’s Will is priority; I am no stranger to it.  Your hospitality is appreciated, Lord Harbinger.”

He pressed a device on his desk and in the next room, you heard a bell.  The office doors opened instantly, the paperwork was handed off, and the conversation continued as though the interruption never happened.

“The Tsaritsa’s request is quite unique for this particular occasion,” he continued. “In most cases, we hire the national orchestra and the Tsaritsa dictates the works to be played.  The creative freedom involved is a different venture and you are yet unaccustomed to Snezhnaya’s standards for such gatherings.”

You scratched out the notion that he was attempting to make peace as you kept your lips from twitching into a frown.  Beneath your veil and mask, your brows arched and you took your first sip of tea as you silently waited for the Harbinger to speak again.

Silence did more to voice displeasure than words ever did, in your experience.

As expected, Pantalone gracefully acquiesced and dipped his head as he trailed a hand along the edge of his desk to put less distance between you.  He closed his eyes for a moment before you caught a glimpse of the molten gold as he turned his gaze towards you instead.

“Fontaine’s finery is only outmatched by Snezhnaya’s commitment to quality; I meant no disrespect to neither your homeland nor your craft.  As this gala is intended to demonstrate to the people as well as the ruling class that the Tsaritsa’s plans are unfolding, that faith and truth in Her Will results in the nation prospering, it is key that whatever composition you create reflects that standard, or even sets itself beyond it.”

“Which is precisely why my timeline proposal, as you requested, takes into account that I will need to become familiar with both the culture, social norms, and musical history of the nation,” you tersely replied.  “The six-week timeline is more than enough to compose a piece worthy of the Tsaritsa and help guide the orchestra through learning it.”

Said proposal was a bit hastily written but it was clear, concise, and laid out your exact scope of work.  Turnaround would be tight, admittedly, but it was achievable.

Pantalone tilted his head as his lips quirked into a smile that, perhaps in a different context, passed for endearing.  He brushed away imaginary dust from the sleeve of his overcoat and closed the distance to sit across from you on the other sofa.  The Harbinger poured himself a cup of tea with careful, ritualistic precision over the tray on the low table between you.  It wasn’t until he took a sip and exhaled softly that he spoke again and his posture relaxed slightly.

“I am aware we do not always see eye to eye, maestra, but in this case, it is purely about numbers and the promises of an investment that must deliver.  There is no option but to surpass all expectations.  I would hate to see you fail all because of poor planning on anyone’s part, myself included.  Surely there is more to your plan than mere bullet points?”

“Much of it is technical and easily summed up as part of an entire step.  It is a waste of paper otherwise.”

What was this, a job interview?  He sounded exactly like every private entity you ever auditioned with, the kind with too much money and too little knowledge of how things worked. 

The Tsaritsa was the one who tasked you with the waltz.  And here Pantalone was, gatekeeping you from that very thing all because he oversaw planning the entire event.  All you needed was the contact information for the orchestra and an affidavit that you were the intended composer and a bunch of other details for the sake of legal protection.  Your grip on the cup tightened a hair.

“Spoken just like Zandik himself.  Although he doesn’t miss an opportunity to talk about his grand intentions.”

You raised the cup to mouth in attempt to hide your pursed lips.  Of course he would also know Zandik’s name, you reminded yourself.  They worked together and seemed to be one of the only pairs of Harbingers capable of crossing the gap of ranks.  He kept everything organized with the Segments, after all.  It shouldn’t have surprised you so.

The Harbinger laughed softly and your blood ran cold as his eyes crinkled but never closed.

“Are you familiar with the process of equivalent exchange, maestra?”

“An alchemical process that, through the use of mora, has become an economic principle in which goods are exchanged for their value in mora,” you said at last, the notes of Qingxin Flowers tickling your tongue.  “What about it?”

Pantalone gestured with an open hand, as if his point was obvious.  “As a wielder of the Geo Archon’s power, you must know that the process extends well beyond commerce.  And that everything has a price.  Name yours.”

For a moment, you saw a different set of eyes and were not in the banker’s office at all, but back home.  Where musicians and entertainers were kept like trinkets, bought and sold between those of the same station, leveraged as collateral.  Without a second though, you put your cup down, twisting it slightly so the unfinished porcelain scratched the lacquered table.

“My price for what, exactly?”

Too late, you realized how defensive you sounded.  His eyes flickered to the tea cup and back to you before his smile grew wider.

“For you to drop this soulmate act and go back to wherever he found you.  I’ve heard Fontaine’s representative orchestra lost a cellist some weeks back; the position sounds perfect for you.”

You froze, your breath caught in your chest like a mouse in the jaws of a snake.  Did he know who you were, where you came from?  Worse yet, did he know…

Or was he bluffing?

The man across from you had the world’s best poker face you’d ever seen.  And you were well-versed in the art of separating words from actions and gestures.

“All the money in the world wouldn’t be enough to get rid of me, Lord Pantalone,” you said softly, rising to your feet and heading towards the door.  “I greatly apologize if I’ve offended you.  I do not seek a Harbinger’s seat for myself.  But you’ve stood in the same room as both Zandik and myself.  This world is full of truths we do not want to accept for one reason or another but that they do not align with our worldview does not make them false.”

You paused before turned back and spoke again. 

“Please be sure the necessary documentation is available to other parties.  The sooner I can begin, the sooner you can move onto other matters and be left in peace, Lord Pantalone.  My results will speak for themselves.”

You gave a smile and a bow before you saw yourself out of the office, heart pounding in your throat with every step.

Part of you hoped the sensations would vanish as soon as you were out of the financier’s domain and back under the trusted gazes of two Agents tasked with your well-being.  But the second you stepped out of the bank’s grand entryway and were faced with the idea of riding back up to the Palace, your muscles itched.

You couldn’t go back to the Palace, not like this.  Not with the festering frustration Pantalone set alight in your veins and not with the disconcerting notion that you had all but thrown your cards down on the table.

It didn’t matter if he knew, you told yourself.  Someone else would connect the dots eventually, once they knew a Fontaine musician who arrived by way of Sumeru composed for the Tsaritsa and lived in the Palace.  Anyone with half a brain would figure it out.  You and Zandik concluded as such and you would not stay in his shadow; both because you couldn’t and because he would not stand for it.

But turning back to the Palace, telling Zandik what happened as soon as you arrived…

He was finally back in the flow of his work in-between memory sessions, even asking for your assistance in testing different soundwaves and frequencies.  You understood the basics of the science beyond your career but only insofar as which ones were faster, slower, the effect they had at certain pitches.  Whatever he was working on, you took solace in his bright eyes and exuberant expression when he admitted that listening to you inspired him.

No, he couldn’t afford distractions.

And you were always at the Palace.  For once, it would be nice to simply be outside of the guarded grounds.

You hesitated a fraction before you turned to one of the Agents and said, “Where can I find the nearest concert hall or opera house?”

Without the contract, you couldn’t approach the conductor or the symphony manager but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sit in the audience.  It took persuasion but your Agents agreed to split up, with one tucked away in the shadows nearby and the other in the balcony overhead.  You would have preferred to be alone but Zandik went through the trouble of ensuring your escorts were veterans who served him and only him.

The concert hall was a rectangular space with ornamented walls and a high ceiling; ideally, the sound would bounce off the side and rear walls and then back over the audience.  From your vantage point roughly two-thirds of the way back, you noted the venue was well-attended for an afternoon performance by all walks of life.  Promising, you noted.  If the symphony was not well-supported by the community, the seats would be empty.  Which meant that music meant a great deal to those attending at this hour mid-work week and perhaps to the people at large.

You were enveloped in sound as soon as the performance began and you felt your nerves twist back into place as the notes washed over you.  Strings, high and bright, started the movement, their tempo increasing and decreasing in waves as other sections joined in.  Circular, cyclical, you could feel the notes spinning around you.  The effect was dizzying, not unlike the experience of traveling through leylines, feeling the energy of the world. 

On stage, you never would have noticed that.  You would have been too absorbed in pulling the music from the depths of the strings, keeping in time with everyone else, melding your soul with the next pull of your bow.  Wrong notes were felt, not necessarily heard, and acoustics differed between every venue you played at.

How long had it been since you sat in the audience?  Not since Sumeru, perhaps before you left Fontaine for the next tour leg…that had been a chamber choir, rich and deep and haunting.  Only a small group of you attended, the vibrato wracking your very soul long after the concert ended.

As the final notes hung in the air, a deep ache sat itself in your heart.  You would never be a single part of a whole again, not in a collective like the one performing before you.  Certainly not without looks and daggers ready to stab you in the back.  It would be impossible to hide your connections.  And other audience members already gave you second glances at the sight of your mask. 

You chose this, you reminded yourself.

You chose Zandik.

And while perhaps you did not truly choose one another, as some had the luxury of experiencing, you made the conscious decision to leave your old life, that shell of existence, behind.  Just as you did years ago, on a sunny beach…

You swallowed thickly, eyes burning behind the mask.

Of course.  Your mind reeled with the startling clarity provided by the woodwinds in the next movement.  It was not that the Tsaritsa had no love left to give her nation.  What utter nonsense.  She loved them so much that she had them experience this, realized what they lost, gained.  So they remembered what was to…

Love.

[cyalmaf2]

[ ☁️✶ ]

' I'll pack a blanket , a handwoven basket of red roses and wine . ' ✶

OHH MY GOODNESS this took days to finish anyways hi i'mvery proud of this :yippie:

[iplaywithstring]

Some black gotland lamb fleece is on its way to my house

It's not listed on the site, but it's coming from

If you're in Canada, they ship in vacuumed bags, so the shipping rate is pretty good. Not sure about international rates. This is one of my favourite yarn shops.