#repairing a knitted hat

[ub-sessed]

A friend of mine tried to remove the elastic from her Miss Sixty hat and ended up messing up the cast on edge.

My hope was to frog a few rows, pick up stitches like it was a provisional cast on, and reknit the ribbing tighter so that it doesn't need an elastic.

I have two questions:

When I put in my lifeline/pick up stitches, can I just pass the needle under the right leg of each stitch as I would with stockinette? The body of the hat looks to me like it might be brioche/fisherman's rib? If yes, does that change how I pick up the stitches?

When I start knitting in the other direction (toward the brim), won't my new stitches be half a stitch off from the existing ones and upside down? (I.e. little As instead of little Vs?) I'm worried it will look super weird.

I suppose instead I could just frog enough of the brim to do a Kitchener BO, but I worry that the brim would be too loose and too short.

ETA: Oh no it's a seamed hat!

I can't even tell how it's seamed; I don't think I'm going to be able to unpick it. I should have looked at it more carefully.

[doctorbeth]

Raggedy Andy

As some of you who've been reading for some time know, in addition to stuffed animals, I also repair (and actually make) cloth dolls. This part of the hospital is rather specialized, mostly all cloth dolls, not ones with plastic parts or mobile eyes or hand knitted ones. My specialty is fabric (including faux fur, obviously), and that's the equipment I have. But that does mean I get a lot of Raggedies. Raggedy Anns, Raggedy Annes (the name spelling really matters!) and Raggedy Andys. Today, I thought I'd share a story of a small handmade Raggedy Andy.

Andy had been loved for over twenty years when his person asked her mom to please get him fixed up. He had had a lot of adventures, and clearly some serious accidents! Here are his diagnosis photos:

And this is what he looked like as a young doll:

You can see that he's lost his face, and his clothes. Even his sewn on shoes were wearing off. And he had more injuries to his limbs and torso. You can also see that Andy was custom made... his face and clothing were both different from commercial raggedies, as was his foot shape.

I couldn't match his original jacket fabric, so I recommended his family choose a fabric they'd like and send that to the hospital with him. In addition to new clothes, and a new face, and other wound repair, he was going to get his shoes recovered and supplemental stuffing. Once he was in the hospital, we also agreed to recover the blue part of his hat (as it was quite worn, which is hard to see in the photos.

It took a bit of time, but soon, Andy was feeling more like himself. Here he is with his wounds repaired, new face, new pants, and new shoes:

You can see the torso and arm wounds were repaired, but the face is new. His pants button on, but his shoes (now velour) are sewn in place.

And here's Andy all spiffy in his full new outfit, ready to fly home:

His family wrote when they saw the photos:

Oh my goodness this is fantastic!! He looks amazing. I cannot thank you enough!! I love his new face and his heart is still there. Thank you for salvaging all you could. His outfit is wonderful. Thank you Thank you!!

And when Andy made it home they said:

Andy arrived!!  He looks amazing and just so incredible how he came back to life.  I am so happy and cannot wait to surprise my daughter. 

Amazing and just could cry.  This is her most valued memory from childhood.  Her Andy.

Thank you, thank you.

:-)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @radpunch for giving me an excuse for more Farmtale Sans... he's the love of my life

I don't usually do this, but I thought I'd add some recommended music for reading this piece. I listened to this the whole time I was writing, and I think it really adds to the vibe.

---

To anyone else, the sight of a body in a field neighbouring yours probably would’ve caused no small amount of alarm. Instead, you just sighed, finally laying down your shovel for the day and hopping the fence you had only just finished repairing.

The grass brushed against your hips as you walked, moving your feet as if wading through water. The evening sun caught the long, glimmering single stray cobwebs that trailed from the grass flower heads, and illuminated the tiny fluttering bodies of disturbed insects that fluttered up and away when you walked by. Though it was a pain to move through, you always liked when the field looked like this. It was your own romantic summer sea.

Eventually, you came across the ‘body’. Sans was lounging with his head propped up on a pile of empty seed bags, straw hat placed on his chest, sockets shut. The sun didn’t reach him now, the tall grass on all sides of him left a perfect little shady spot where he had nestled in. He looked very comfy... very peaceful. This wasn’t unusual at all, for him. He had a knack for finding hidden places to nap.

You crouched down. You could hear him faintly snoring. There was a tiny iridescent beetle sitting proudly on his bent knee, using the vantage point to observe its surroundings. It didn’t seem bothered by your presence in the slightest.

Sans was nice to look at. You had always considered him kinda good-looking, but he had grown more and more on you over time. Despite his brother being more classically ‘handsome’, with his high cheekbones, strong jawline and impressive physique, Sans was the one you found yourself getting caught staring at. He was... so easygoing. Not softspoken, too confident for that. Just never needing to raise his voice. Quick witted, strong, smart. Casual. Despite his silly straw hat, constantly muddy pants and crappy jokes, something about him was effortlessly cool. Effortlessly pretty.

And you were...

...

He had dirt on his cheekbone. Without thinking, you reached out, wiping it off. 

Before you could even blink, his hand snapped up, catching yours by the wrist. You let out a little inelegant shriek then slapped your free hand over your mouth in embarrassment - he snorted, sockets opening up, pretty fuzzy green eyelights landing on you. 

“well hello there,” he said, voice only mildly sleepy, with a gentle purr to it. He turned his face, and kissed your palm.

You shrieked a second time. Well... this one was more like a yelp, yanking your hand out of his grip as both of you descended into laughter. “Gross!”

You weren’t going to admit the move had given you butterflies. Nor that the way he was looking at you was making you feel things you didn’t have words for yet. You made a point of wiping your hand on your work pants.

“am i still asleep, or d’you just look like a dream to me?” he asked, leaning back, knitting his fingers together over his chest. 

“Charming.” Your tone just made him snicker. “The sun is setting. You getting up soon, or are you planning on sleeping under the stars tonight?”

Sans’ gaze was very soft. “hey, that actually don’t sound too bad. ‘specially if i had the right company.”

“True. Stargazing with someone is always nicer.”

“could always join me. room for two, in this patch.”

“Unlike you, I have to worry about ticks.” You flicked his shoulder. “I’ll think about it when the grass is cut.”

He grinned. “dang. never felt so motivated to do a chore before. s’that a promise, then? when i cut the grass you’ll come stargaze with me?”

You rolled your eyes. But there they were again; the butterflies. The thing with Sans was you never had any idea whether or not he was serious. He said entirely joking and entirely genuine things with the same tone of voice, the same smile, the same twinkling eyelights. Maybe in a few years you’d know him well enough to tell. Right now, though, you were much too afraid of embarrassing both of you by assuming his 'flirting' was anything but banter.

He finally sat up, and the beetle on his knee took off into the sky. It felt so cosy, somehow; the two of you were almost entirely below the top of the grass, hiding in a tiny den. It smelled like... well, grass, duh. But a specific kind of grassy smell - sweet and dry, more like hay, summery and clear. It reminded you of playing outside as a child until the sun had long gone down. 

“you been exertin’ yerself? all red.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been fixing the fence.” A lie and a truth. You had been fixing the fence, but it was a menial chore that hadn’t required huge amounts of strain. The blushing was from something else.

“ah, jeez." A break in his easy mood. "we’re still really sorry about that. pap is absolutely mortified, think he's set aside a whole load of crop for you.”

The brothers’ goat had managed to break through several fences, including yours, to take a 'visit' to your garden. You’d found her in your flowerbed, happily eating the tops off the marigolds you were going to cut and take to market. 

You’d never seen someone more apologetic than when Papyrus showed up to bring her home. The animal still had bright yellow petals in her beard as he led her away.

“It’s alright,” you said, warmly. “it wasn't like it was malicious or anything. Animals get out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more sweet-natured goat anyway.”

“should’ve told me you were fixing that fence. i would’ve helped out.”

“Oh would you have?” Your tone was mock-suspicious. “How convenient that you waited until I was finished to tell me that.”

His sockets raised at the corners. “i’m serious! you doubtin’ my honesty? dang. thought we were close.”

Uh oh. Butterflies again. You swerved, doing your best to avoid it.

“So does your brother know you’re out here?”

“course not,” he snickered. “he still thinks i’m working.”

“Maybe I should go tell him that you’re flunking. I’m certain he already knows, he just needs to catch you in the act.”

He put his hat back on his head. “well. guess now i have to kill you.”

You laughed - and in the shade, entirely missed the little green shimmer across his cheekbones.

“How’s the day been then, sleepyhead?”

He shrugged, picking at some of the flattened grass. “busy. exactly how you think late summer on a farm would be. harvestin’, packin’ stuff up. lotsa ploughing. even with magic, it’s hard work. i’m just stealing whatever breaks i can find. you?”

You gave him a look. “You came over yesterday. You know how I'm doing.”

He leant over, lightly elbowing you. “c’mon. i’m doin’ the small talk thing. can’t leave me hangin’ here.”

“So now you’re guilt tripping me? You’re a real piece of work.”

That got another snicker out of him. He was so handsome when he laughed. 

Sans always liked knowing what was going on in your life. It was weird, you never saw him do that with anyone else; it had taken you a while to notice it but even with his closest friends he didn’t talk half as much as he did with you. The first time you’d seen him talking to Toriel you had thought he was in a bad mood, with how little he engaged, how simple his questions were, how sparingly he spoke.

“BAD MOOD? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Sans just didn’t seem very chatty tonight. Did something happen?”

“OH? OH! NYEHEHEHEH, HOW FUNNY! SANS WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL TONIGHT, HUMAN, DON’T YOU WORRY. THIS IS HOW HE ALWAYS IS AT GET-TOGETHERS.”

“But he...”

“HE’S JUST MUCH CHATTIER WITH ME AND YOU.”

You liked to think he felt safe around you. You definitely felt safer around him, that was for sure. 

You pulled your knees up to your chest, relenting under his gaze. “Okay okay, fine. I’m doing alright, I guess. The old trees came right back to life as soon as the thickets were cleared away. There’s already fruit, they just need another year or so to get market ready.”

“and yer flowers? they sellin’ well?”

“It’s a good way to plug the money gaps in the meantime. Living in the age of the internet definitely helps, there’s lots of information floating around that has made it so much easier for me to get started. I dunno. It’s alright.”

You wanted to stop talking. You looked away, staring off into the ‘forest’ surrounding you, the waning sunset catching certain blades and turning them into a warm burning orange. In the distance you could hear the rolling and bubbling singing of a particularly loud bird somewhere overhead.

Despite your desire to shut up, Sans wasn’t about to let you. His lovely eyelights just continued to bore into you. 

“i can hear a ‘but’ in there.”

...

You sighed. Oh well. Who else were you going to be able to talk to?

“I thought the impostor syndrome would be gone by now.”

He cocked his head. You had no choice but to continue. 

“I’m just... I still feel like I’m not part of this. My mind hasn’t settled in. Every day is a confusing fight where I feel like I barely make it out the other side. Most of my flower boxes are stuck together with tape and hope.” You settled your chin onto your knees, sulking. “Every time things start to make sense, and I feel like I’m finally starting to get some solid ground, another problem shows up. Another thing breaks. Another bug I didn’t know existed is eating the fruit, another tree disease I have to prep against otherwise it might wipe out the orchard, another colony of aphids eating the flowers. I can’t win.”

“sounds pretty normal to me.”

You looked up from your knees. “Does it?” 

“that’s just life, ain’t it?” He had somehow shuffled closer to you, entirely without you noticing. “there’s always some new problem. if ya ask me, sounds exactly like a day on our farm. one of the ducks is injured, a coop is leaking, chicken got eaten in the night, goat escaped and ate the neighbour’s flowers. nothing goes how you expect. if you ask me, you’re doing great.”

You hummed. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“doin’ good on paper, too. human from the suburbs moves to the countryside and buys an abandoned orchard. most of the time that ends in disaster. but yer trees are fruiting, could be ready in a single year, the flowers are already bloomin’ and sellin’ at the market. not sure how you could do any better.”

... You couldn’t help but feel warm. Especially on your face again. Partially because of his kind words, yes... but mostly because he seemed so intent on making you feel less bad. It made your chest all fluttery.

“... Thank you,” you mumbled. "that does make me feel better."

“course. anytime. just wish you’d ask for help, more.”

The bird from earlier started singing again. You glanced up, but could see nothing from within the little 'den'.

“Any idea what that bird is?”

He leant back. One hand, conspicuously, resting on the ground just behind your back. “s’a skylark.”

“... Skylark.” 

You stared up into the clear evening sky. You weren’t great with bird names, but you’d definitely remember that. 

...

Feeling like he was looking at you, you turned to the side. Sans was looking at you - and his face was only really a few inches from yours. Close enough that if he tilted his head down a bit, the top of his straw hat would bump against your hair. His expression was calm... a lot calmer than you felt. The two of you quietly held eye contact, and the skylark continued to sing.

... Suddenly, and with no apparent trigger, you felt immensely flustered by the proximity. You pulled back, shuffling, unceremoniously dragging yourself to your feet and brushing off your pants. Your head popped up above the grass; immediately, some tiny birds scattered up and away, sun shining into your eyes.

“I should head home.” You were messing needlessly with your hair. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

Sans looked up at you, for a few silent moments. You couldn’t read his face at all, the only thing you knew was that his smile was very soft.

“agh, i should head out too,” he eventually said, not standing, but folding his arms behind his head and stretching. “need to get home. pap probably thinks i fell into a ditch.”

You put your hands on your hips. “Then you can finally rest, after a long hard day of skipping your chores?”

He chuckled. “why of course.”

“Pft. Say hi to Papyrus for me.”

“sure thing. later, doll.”

With that, you headed back across the field, leaving Sans to pretend to wake up. Knowing him he had probably laid down and gone straight back to sleep.

... You put your hand over your chest, now that you were out of sight, trying to still your fluttering heart. It wasn’t really any use.

The more time you spent with Sans, the more you realised you were falling for him.

///---///

Sans watched you walk away, the golden light catching in your hair.

... He sighed, stretching again, before finally actually dragging himself to his feet. The green flush became more prominent on his face as he stopped to watch a skylark hovering just over the grass before tilting its wings and dancing away.

He’d been completely serious about the stargazing. Once again, you thought he was joking, his own persona had bitten him in the ass. He’d wanted to tell you as you were leaving - he’d wanted to finally put his foot down and make a date out of it, ask you when you were free and do what he’d been dreaming of doing for weeks. 

But just like always, when you’d looked at him, he’d completely fallen to pieces. The words had gotten stuck in his nonexistent throat. And by the time he’d shaken himself out of his stupor, you were already leaving.

Sans just sighed, adjusting his hat. 

“... next time,” he hummed. "there's always next time."

With that, he shortcutted home.

[artemisia-black]

Wizarding clothing and fashion

This meta/list of HCs has been sitting in my drafts for a while. But here is my meta about wizarding fashions. 

1.0 An insular culture with its own unique dress

No shade to people who enjoy seeing and drawing characters in muggle clothing, but I think that the majority of wizards and witches dress in wizarding clothing. 

Indeed, the fact that most wizards can’t dress as muggles and are quite conspicuous is mentioned in the first chapter of the series: 

“People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.” PS 

And then becomes a sort of running joke: 

“Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho” GoF

And in DH it is (partly) how Harry recognises that people are watching Grimmauld Place: 

“The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.” DH

Side note: it is peak Londoner to barely take notice of something odd. And this also implies that robes and cloaks are all year wear and that wizards potentially don’t have seasonal clothing.

Given that wizarding culture is very insular (with its own economy, government, and education system), it would make sense that while it may occasionally borrow trends from the muggle world, wizarding fashion and clothing are unique. 

In fact, only the younger generation are seen in muggle dress, with Harry commenting: 

“Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness.” GoF

2.0 Class and generational differences in dress

The previous quote demonstrates two things: much like in real life, there is generational and class stratification of dress. The condition and quality of wizarding clothing serves as a non-verbal cue about a character's economic status. This disparity is not just a background detail but is frequently brought into focus, such as through Draco Malfoy's derisive comments about Professor Lupin's tattered robes.

“ Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase.” PoA

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.” PoA

Even Harry comments on his robes and observes that: 

“Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes”

The patched and frayed nature of both Lupins and Weasley’s robes seem to indicate that robe repairs can’t be done by an individual (or when it is done, it is really visible). Another example of this is when Ron removes the lace from his dress robes and leaves: 

“...the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.” GoF

Additionally,  in Padfoot returns Sirius’s prison robes still appear tatty despite him having had a haircut and left the country. This indicates that he either can’t obtain new robes or can’t/hasn’t bothered repairing his Azkaban robes. 

This is interesting, given that Molly Weasley is able to make jumpers and scarves yet can’t seem to alter robes. While knitting and sewing are separate skills, it seems odd that there aren’t means of repairing robes. 

This suggests that robes can only be repaired and bought at official vendors such as Madam Malkins/Gladrags/Twifitt and Tattings. 

 It is also interesting that both Fred and George buy clothing when they become successful (also a parallel to the real world). They gift their mum:

“….a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.”  HBP

However, things being ‘frayed’ aren’t always an indication of poverty. Tonks is first introduced wearing an outfit that is a mix of muggle clothing but with something that is distinctly wizarding: 

“Tonks stood just behind him…. wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS.” OoTP

This outfit is heavily reminiscent of Sirius and James in the Elvendork prequel: 

 “Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.”

3.0 The underwear question

Something that gets bought up a lot is whether wizards wear underwear. 

Harry (who was raised by muggles certainly seems to): 

“He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.” GoF 

And:

“He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear…”  DH

So does Neville (in the UK, Pants means underwear)

“He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.”

And infamously, so does Snape: 

“Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.”

Also we get some information about witch’s underwear from Sirius’s very Freudian joke: 

“Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers.”

Bloomers are a type of historical, baggy underpants (think boy shorts, but make it victorian). 

In conclusion, Archie, who wanted a breeze around his privates, was probably an outlier.  

4.0 Materials and accesories

So what is wizarding clothing made of? 

For robes and cloaks the materials most mentioned are silk/satin and velvet: 

“ She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.” GoF

Additionally in GoF, we learn that even witches and wizards from other countries wear robes and cloaks: 

“Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.” 

And 

“...Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.”

Other materials include Dragon hide which appears to be used to make practical gloves and boots but also fashionable jackets. 

“... followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin.” HBP

Additionally, robes can be embroidered: 

“ The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread” DH

“Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver” HBP

“Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street toward them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons.” HBP

Interestingly, both men and women appear to wear heels: 

Dumbledore: 

“He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots” PS

Madame Maxine: 

“Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage..” GoF

Monsiour Delacour: 

“However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.” DH

Madame Rosmerta: 

“ Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels,” POA

Furthermore, witches carry handbags: 

“Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly” COS

“ She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.”  GoF

“Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag”  OoTP

“Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.” DH

5.0 My HCs

When I imagine what male robes look like, I imagine something akin to a Morrcan thobe or an Indian Sherwani.

I imagine robes to be enchanted to move and in my fic Pietas, I describe my OC Aeliana’s robes as follows: 

“She smiled slightly, smoothing the front of her dress, which was decorated with embroidered flowers and birds that had been enchanted to flutter their wings.”

I also HC some cultural variance in robes- with certain countries using different cloth or the skin of magical animals that are native to their countries. With hotter countries, having lighter robes and cooling/anti-perspiration charms.

[jesterbells]

Tumblr New Word Dictionary

I love new words. So here's a list of recently created words and idioms I have learned through tumblr (not all of these terms were invented on tumblr but that's where I learned them--the citations specify whether the term was coined by a specific post, or cite a source for where I first heard the term even if that is not necessarily where the term originated):

blorbo: a fictional character you're a fan of. Coined by thelustiestargonianmaid.

"I'm so hungry I could get banned from facebook": coined by babyslime in response to a Wil Wheaton post

GORIMM: Gross Older Relation I Must Marry. Source: bethanydelleman

hlep: when a disabled person asks for a specific kind of help and "they do something that is not what you ask for but is what they think you should have asked for ... Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hlep." Source: giantkillerjack's therapist.

horse fantasy: something that is theoretically possible unicorn fantasy: something that is definitely (or almost definitely) impossible. Source: bemusedlybespectacled.

zomancy: soup divination. Source: cryptotheism.

UFOs: unfinished objects--"something that is unfinished but in hibernation," as distinct from WIPs. Source: knitting community and bylambd.

autoenshittification: turning cars into digital extraction machines to steal your data and money through digital infrastructure and microchips, and the endless repair nightmare of digital car systems and cybersecurity vulnerabilities. Source: mostlysignssomeportents

nude: "when your clothes are off." naked: "when you're clothes are off when you're up to something." nakey: "when you are an animal and your collar has been removed." Source.

sideways fan: following a fandom second-hand. Source: capricorn-0mnikorn.

spoken Garamond: "the over-emphasized voice people use to read poems." Source: Frances Klein's friend.

nongry/nungry: when you're starving but also don't want to eat any of the food in your kitchen. Coined by tathrin.

scrumbling: scrolling on tumblr. Coined by the mum of anti-terf-posts.

window shipping: "any shipping done without actually watching/reading the work in question." Coined by lurker-no-more.

friend John / a Friend John answer: "when someone asks a relatively reasonable question in context and the enquiree 1) speaks at length without answering the question, and 2) implies the enquirer has injured the enquiree by even asking such a thing how could you." Coined by sileana.

bitism: a new school of media criticism which asks the simple question: is the work committed to the bit? Coined by linecoveredinjellyfish

snors d'oeuvre: having a little nap on the sofa before taking onseself to bed for main sleep. Coined by SJKSalisbury (can't find the tumblr repost now).

socratic terror: "what every athenian felt when they went down to the agora in the 5th century and saw an old man with a beard approaching them." Coined by lesbianshepard.

introvirtuous: "when you're introverted but have taken on numerous leadership and outgoing roles in your life." "I'm here to help. But I'd rather not be." "Someone around here has to get things done. and unfortunately it's going to be me." Coined by soundslikerhetorical.

grundlous: "of or pertaining to grundle." Coined by IMLIZY.

concretes: specific aspects of a character that persist across interpretations. The essential, structural essence that makes a character recognizable as the same person. Rarely physical traits; subjective. Coined by Ladylark and kayanem.

skeletonin: "the happiness chemical released when you see a ghoul or perhaps a ghost." Coined by gwentrification.

broflakes: "the weak, fragile 'alpha' males who are so easily threatened by strong women." Source: rickladd (can't find the tumblr reblog atm).

the planet of hats: "the thing where a people only have one thing going for them, like 'everyone wears a silly hat.'" Source: Star Trek fandom & TV tropes, learned via homonculus-argument.

feelings yakuza: "those who turn their personal discomfort into a social evil and try to erase the target completely." Source: Japanese fandom via マロミチャン.

Ship of Thesaurus / Rogetism: "When a student copies an essay online instead of writing it and then painstakingly changes every word to a synonym until the text no longer makes any sense." Coined by trek-tracks and Chris Sadler respectively.

Flemming's law / vibe dysphoria: "the most toxic person you've ever met over-relates to woodland creatures on social media." Coined by Chris Flemming and canadianwheatpirates.

fight with a gorilla: "any secret or invisible struggle." Coined by punksandcannonballers.

squimbus from my polls: the poll version of blorbo except for obscure fan favorite characters. Coined by yardsards.

pebbling: "the act of sending your friends & family little videos and tweets and memes you find online, like how penguins bring back pebbles to their little penguin loved ones." Source: NurseKelsey (can't find the tumblr reblog atm).

serpentineabouts: roundabouts that aren't round. Coined by paulgadzikowski.

luft: air equivalent of wet. Coined by questbedhead.

getting the good bologna: "when you experience something of better quality and then you’re doomed to no longer be satisfied." Coined by the family of kelssiel.

hypofixation: "the kind of things that you've autisticly decided you Do Not Care About." Antonym of hyperfixation. Coined by animate-mush.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some casual, domestic ghoul thoughts, because why not? Let's go.

-Mountain has a trunk of blankets at the end of his bed; It's this big, chunky box he's had forever, a family heirloom, maybe, but even he isn't sure of its origins, and, inside of it, are all these handmade, knit or woven blankets and handstitched quilts that he only breaks out during the fall and winter months.

They all smell distinctly of the wood the box is made out of and a sort of softer, cool scent that's hard to place but somehow feels... familiar and soothing.

He only ever hang dries them, and he repairs them himself if any of they get stained or torn.

Sometimes, if one of his fellow ghouls isn't feeling well, he'll grab one of the lighter quilts to tuck them into their beds with, and while it doesn't have any sort of magical healing qualities, the comfort and smell often helps the others sleep a little better.

-Dew can knit, and makes a lot of hats, gloves, and scarves when he's bored, which he usually donates once he's done.

He has a couple sweaters he made for himself that he usually wears around the abbey once it gets cold out, and once knit a teeny tiny baby sweater with a matching hat and booties as a baby shower gift for one of the sisters of sin, because he wanted to test the crochet pattern... so he could make a sweater for his Baphomet plush.

Some of his "scrapped" knitting projects can be found throughout the ghouls' den, including, but not limited to; Two sets of potholders, about a dozen mug covers, one of those chunky yarn blankets you make using your arms as the needles, and three failed crochet Baphomets in varying stages of completeness.

-Cirrus collects small, carved figurines of animals, and has even made a few herself; She started her collection after she found a frog carved out of soapstone at an antique shop in one of the towns they passed through on tour, and it's grown since then.

She usually just displays them in her room, but she also likes to pop them into little nooks and empty spaces in the den to make it feel more "homey" to her.

As for the ones she's made herself, Cirrus usually takes a bit of wood and whittles it down over the course of an afternoon to make various little creatures and the occasional woodland scene.

Additionally, she's also gotten into pyrography, aka wood burning, and has made a couple art pieces that she's sold on the sly in the town nearby the abbey.

And lastly;

-Aurora took up pottery not long after she was summoned, using it to connect herself to her elements and feel more whole in the process, but it became a fun hobby as well, and now she makes little knickknacks and things that for gifts or just to spruce up her room.

Sometimes, when she's bored, she'll make weird clay creatures or ones based off of folklore and set them out in the common room's mantle, with an everchanging story being played out with the figures.

She has also made clay figures of her packmates, usually basing them off of photos, and displays them instead of putting pictures on the wall.

Her first sculpt lives on Copia's desk in his office, and is of a small, slightly wonky looking bird.

[poppyfruit]

I feel like several times a year, mainly around special events like christmas and his birthday, a package for König gets delivered to whichever base he currently calls his home.

Everytime he sees the package and the name of the sender he already knows what's going to be inside.

The sender, who is always his mom, does not only send him sweets from his home country but also ridiculous amounts of socks, pullovers and hats that she knitted or crochet herself.

In conclusion, I think that big, scary König is secretly a Mama's boy who wears knitted socks in the most hideous color combinations with his army boots because they remind him of home and comfort him.

Also, should anything get damaged, he WILL send it back home to his Mama, asking her to please repair whatever it is because he can't bear to throw it away

[shirefantasies]

hiiii, just wanted to say i adore your blog, and i hope you're having a wonderful day! i don’t know if im late to requesting a matchup, but if you’re still doing them, im 5’9”, bi, ace and female. I’ve played the viola for almost a decade now, even though i hate performing due to stage fright, i LOVE to read, mostly fantasy and mystery, and am a massive art history and architecture nerd. i collect house plants and knit and crochet for fun. i’m pretty shy but once i get out of my shell i am extremely sarcastic yet cuddly lol.

-🪴

Nope, they’ve been opened up! Hope you like The Hobbit because I match you with…

Bofur!

Performing your viola in a tavern, you can’t help noticing the eyes of one particular patron stuck to you like glue. Puffing on his pipe thoughtfully, he maintains an intense, beckoning gaze your entire performance. When the keep tells you you’ve a drink from a guest, there’s not a single doubt in your mind it’s from the bloke in the hat. A spike of nerves runs through you- that had been one of your first performances with an audience, and having any sort of reception only heightens the self-awareness you're trying to avoid.

Accepting your drink, you nod a thanks at the hatted patron, who naturally heads your way. "Never seen you here before," he remarks. "And you may not much still," you shoot back, "I needed a spare bit of coin, but I did not visit this town to perform." "What did you visit it for?" "To study some of the neighboring towns and help repair them. What I have always really wanted to be is an architect." Whistling, the dwarf gives a big smile, one that tells you exactly how blown away he is. "By my beard, I didn't know I was in the presence of a genius. Well, here's hoping I'll see your designs one day!" "Oh, I have some with me, did you want to-" "Bust 'em out, lassie!"

Bofur, as it turns out his name is, ended up being quite the fun company. Perhaps, you consider, you will return to that tavern after all. As it is, your work carries you deeper into town, or rather you should say its ruins. Burnt as the buildings are, though, your scans and sketches give you a good sense for the overall style and structure of the place once called Dale. A team of dwarves awaits your sketches of one of the larger complexes, accepts them, and you move on. One structure stands out to you immediately, the cutest, coziest little place tucked away at the side of a dilapidated marketplace. "Whose is this?" You ask the dwarf builders. One sets aside one final stone on the cart he is loading to reply, "That would be one of ours, actually, lass. Three fellas from the Lonely Mountain bought that one. Plan on putting in a toy shop, they said." Your heart is beyond moved. "I want to design it." "What?" "I want to design it. Can I speak to them?" Nodding, the dwarf shrugs. "Why not? Not sure what they have in mind. I'll send for them."

What are the odds that they bring forth Bofur? Grinning and still in that hat, the dwarf introduces you to his cousin Bifur and his brother Bombur. No strong family resemblance, but the three of them are clearly thick as thieves. Bofur himself begins talking up your skills immediately, calling you a master architect and a viola virtuoso to boot and making you giggle. He shows you some of their little pull-alongs and wind-ups, bringing further smiles to your face and compliments to your lips. “See?” He says to the others, shooting you a wink. “She’s even got good taste.”

They all unanimously love your vision for the shop and even help out with rebuilding, so you get quite close to the entire plucky little trio. You almost refuse all the payment they offer, giving you money for your design efforts as well as a cut from the crocheted dolls you’d let them sell. Your shelves were getting full from your hobby, after all. Each dwarf gets a handmade gift as well: thick, warm gloves for Bombur’s mining trips, a bag for Bifur to carry his supplies in, and a new scarf for Bofur, who throws his arms around you and swears he’ll never take it off. You take it as a joke, but he always seems to have it slung around his neck from then on…

They often let you work quietly, take your time to recharge and just pull you into the occasional question or joke. Thus, you’re certainly not expecting Bofur to sit at your side one day while you work, hemming and hawing and wringing his gloved hands before he finally asks if you’ve ever put much thought into settling down. “Not that a toy shop is all that much excitement, but-” Grinning, you cut him off. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

***MATCHUPS ARE CLOSED***

[typosandtea]

Many boops upon ya my friend! May I request a cozy domestic Deegan, doing something like chores, reading or small repairing please? Thank you and have a nice and pleasant day))

Prosperous boops to you as well, thanks! :) hope you’re having a great day too!

Edward Deegan, Cosy AND domestic you say? Knitting it is!

[ID: a simple digital drawing. Edward Deegan the ghoul from fallout 4 is pictured content and knitting a scarf. There is a smaller simpler Deegan in the top right corner wearing the scarf. Edward is wearing his newsboy hat and a light yellow long sleeve T-shirt. The sleeves on the T-shirt are partially rolled up on his forearms. The scarf he is knitting is pink and about as long as his forearm. The background of the drawing is a blue-green colour with the area around the main Deegan drawn mint green. Behind smaller scarfed Deegan is drawn dark grey. The artists signature is above deegans right shoulder and reads “Typos & Tea ‘24”. End ID]

[atomicmoths]

All for the Love of You (2024) 🏳️‍⚧️ Happy Pride Month 🏳️‍🌈 ~Image Description Below~

A fallout fan art illustration. Two characters are sitting on concrete rooftop. The one on the left, Daisy, is looking at the character on the right, Schae (pronounced Shay). Daisy is wearing a blue work jumpsuit with tall boots and a brown aviator jacket with a fluffy collar. She has a lesbian flag patch on the front of the jacket and a red repaired patch on the back of her arm. Her hair is dark brown, thick, and curly tied into two low ponytails with red ties. She has darker skin than Schae, who is white. Daisy has a beauty mark above her lip. She is smiling as she admires Schae. Shcae is wearing a green jacket with a bisexual button on the left and the numbers "76" sewn on the right. Her right shoulder has a patch of the Mothman on it. She's wearing a red knit scarf. Underneath she is wearing a Vault Suit. Schae has a cigarette in her mouth and is smiling and not looking at Daisy. She has a pencil in one hand and a book on her lap. She has short brown hair and a dark hat, with two Sheepsquatch quills sitting in the band. Theres a mountain and autumn leaves in the background with a pinkish sky.

[team-headcanons-2]

How well do you think they can sew/knit?

I felt like I had a draft for this but idk where it went so

Mercs sewing!

Scout

He can't knit but he can sew just a little bit

Like we'll enough to patch up tears in shirts

That's about it

Soldier

I think he knits

He's not very good at it

But he enjoys it!!

Pyro

They can't sew or knit :[

They have other mercs help them when they need something repaired sewing wise

Like a plushie

Demo

Demo doesn't knit OR sew.

He crochets

There is a difference

Heavy

Heavy knows how to sew

He grew up with sisters he knows how to sew for repairs and he's a bit better than scout is at it

His mom tried to teach him knitting, but it didn't work out.

Engineer

He knows how to do both but prefers knitting

He thinks it's calming

He makes hats :]

Medic

Medic knows how to sew in a sense

He only knows surgical stitches

He's doing his best tho and his best is sick as hell

Sniper

He also crochets

He thinks it's calming

He has too many unfinished things tho

Spy

He doesn't do either

He doesn't know how

Lord, help this man if his mask gets a tear and he has to ask someone to help him fix it

[mosaiclobster]

Swords and Saddles (Farmer x Hayden)

This 4-part fic is wrapping up very soon, so I figured it'd be fun to cross post before the final chapter goes up! This is the first chapter of my 10k+, E-rated Farmer x Hayden fic - if you like it feel free to check out the rest on AO3 xo

CHAPTER 1: SPRING

Hayden stepped into the frigid morning air, and breathed deep. He loved spring: growth, snowmelt, sun. It was the perfect time to welcome a new face to Mistria.

Hayden rubbed his hands together for warmth, and headed for the stables. Once he’d answered all the neighs and whinnies, Hayden grabbed a handsomely embroidered leather saddle off its perch. It was the same one his daddy rode on, and his grandpappy too. It wasn’t as old as Sweetwater, but almost nothing in Mistria was.

Hayden was proud of that legacy. It used to sit heavy on his shoulders, but he was strong enough to carry that weight. Unfortunately, most of Sweetwater’s horses weren’t strong enough - big enough - to carry him.

Rufus was 18 hands tall, and used to pulling plows and wagons. Hayden placed a broad, comforting hand on his speckled gray neck. “How ‘bout a little ride next door, huh?”

Rufus nickered good-naturedly, and took the saddle without complaint.

The new farmer had arrived late last night, but word traveled fast around Mistria. It was a small, close-knit town with an earned reputation for drink and gossip.

It felt even smaller now - some folks left after the earthquake. Hayden didn’t blame them, but he didn’t write them letters, either. There were buildings to repair, and animals to tend to.

Hayden braced against his stirrups, and looked eastward. Could be nice, having a neighbor again.

He spotted Celine first: her pretty, pleasant face, framed by blonde hair and a seafoam green half-cape. He’d known her all her life - not all of his, though. Sometimes it was hard to shake off the years between them.

The other woman was a head taller than Celine, even in flat leather work boots. Her linen shirt was tucked into brown, high-waisted trousers, and stark white against her olive skin. It brought out the freckles on her forearms, and the red in her long, curly hair. Auburn, that was the word for it. Chestnut for horses, auburn for people.

White was a bold choice for clearing farmland, but her cowboy hat looked well loved, and nicely fitted.

Hayden noted all of this without once pulling on Rufus’s reins. Celine’s eyes were wide as saucers, but the other woman only raised her brows. Instinct finally commanded him to stop, just short of spraying them both with dirt.

Celine was a kind girl, and slow to anger. She never shied from speaking her mind, though. “Hayden! You almost ran over poor Artemisia.”

“Ha! That’s a mouthful.” He blurted this nervously, and loudly.

Artemisia looked up at him, shielding her almond eyes from the early morning light. The sun made them golden.

She touched the brim of her cowboy hat, and smiled. “You said it. That’s why I go by Artie.”

Her nose was strong, and a little crooked - broken, mended, broken again.

The rest of her face was no less striking. Full lips, suited for a wide, expressive mouth. Thick brows and high cheekbones, marked by laughter and time. How much of it? Hayden wasn’t sure, but he’d put some tesserae on her being closer to Valen’s age than Celine’s.

She was beautiful. None of the gossip had prepared him for that.

Artie let Rufus sniff her outstretched hand. “He friendly?”

That voice. It was smooth and sweet, like honey.

Hayden patted the gelding’s neck, and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. “Sure is. He likes meeting new folks as much as I do.”

Artie’s grin was wry, and gap-toothed. “That makes three of us, then.” Rufus snorted in agreement.

Celine’s gaze flitted between them. “Since you like animals, you should visit Hayden’s farm-”

“-Come by anytime. I’d love to introduce you to the herd. Or the flock, depending on who you ask.”

Hayden’s reins were slick with sweat. He squeezed the braided leather until his knuckles whitened.

Artie tipped her hat again. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Was that a wink, or a trick of the light? Hayden reached into his saddlebag, and prayed his hands wouldn’t shake.

“Here, before I forget.”

He held out a rusty old watering can, stuffed with bags of seeds. “Just a little something to get you started. Turnips are easy to grow, and they love Mistrian soil.”

Artie brightened. “I owe you one. Thanks, neighbor.”

Hayden managed the handoff alright, but he was eager to ride off before he could make an ass of himself. “Sure. Come by anytime.”

He’d said that already. Celine pursed her lips.

Artie smiled. “Be seeing you.”

Hayden rode Rufus towards Sweetwater, and marveled at the unseasonable warmth.

Half the town would be after her. He’d look like a bumpkin compared to Balor or Ryis, and a dullard compared to Jupiter or Adeline.

Hayden shook his head. He wasn’t the competitive sort, and there was no point in getting worked up over somebody he’d never have a shot with anyway.

He caught himself looking over his shoulder. Artie waved.

Nothing wrong with making a friend, at least.

It took a few days for Artie to make good on her visit. For one absurd, harrowing moment, it felt like summoning magic; he worried that the singular force of his thoughts had finally pulled her towards Sweetwater. He worried that, somehow, she knew what those thoughts were.

He’d been having dreams, too. The kind you can’t tell anyone about - that you shouldn’t even have in the first place.

Hayden focused on weeding his bed of tulips, and waited for Artie to approach. He was going to be friendly, neighborly, and normal.

“Mornin’.”

He looked up at the sound of her voice.

Artie was wearing a sleeveless white tank top and denim overalls with one of the straps undone. Her arms were well muscled, and crossed under her chest.

No bra this time. Hayden made eye contact, and held onto it for dear life. “Mornin’. You here for introductions?”

Artie smiled. “That’s right. Word around town is you’ve got a lady of the house.”

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. Smartest animal I ever raised - do you want to meet Henrietta at the beginning of the tour, or at the end?”

“Let’s save the best for last.”

Artie had an easy rapport with the animals, and a natural curiosity about them. Henrietta seemed charmed by her interest, and preened indulgently while Artie peppered Hayden with questions.

Hayden tried not to sound too eager. “Thinking about starting a flock of your own?”

“Someday. Henrietta’s a lot to live up to, though.” She gave the prize-winning bird a farewell pet, and followed Hayden towards the front gate of Sweetwater.

He pointed at the sword on her back, glinting in the morning sun. “You’ll make quite the livestock guardian.”

Artie flinched. Then she unsheathed her blade, and smiled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m trying to convince your pal Errol to open the mines. All kinds of treasures down there, I hear.”

That explained the pickaxe, then. He dared a closer glance at the rest of her - no dirt or grass stains.

Hayden kept his tone curious, and light. “So, how’re you liking farming so far?

Artie stopped walking. She stuck her sword into the ground, and leaned on the hilt.

“It’s different.”

Compared to what? Treasure hunting? Hayden suddenly realized how little he knew about this woman, or where she came from. “Different always takes some getting used to. Can’t be the toil of it - you look strong.”

Just a friendly observation. He’d say the same thing to March.

Artie’s biceps twitched out of reflex, or pride. “Thanks. No, it’s not that.”

Hayden watched her try to find the words. He knew the feeling well, and gave her time to think.

Finally, a sigh. “I’m not good at waiting. I want something, I go and get it. I’d work twice as hard if I could make it all go twice as fast.”

“If only, right?”

Hayden was just being polite. He loved the pace of growing crops, of nurturing new life. Each plant and animal had its own natural rhythm. He was a patient man. He didn’t know any other way to be.

Artie leaned deeper into the hilt. The neckline of her top gaped open a little, but Hayden kept his focus on her reddish curls.

Artie’s eyes roamed freely: first over Sweetwater, then over Hayden. “Got any tips for a greenhorn? Or any ideas on how to pass the time?”

Hayden swallowed, and pushed past the shame of where his mind leapt first. “I hear the fishing’s good around here. Never took to it, myself.”

“Oh? What do you like to do, then?”

Something in Artie’s gaze sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. He put the feeling aside - it was a perfectly reasonable, neighborly question. “Spend time with friends, mostly. Play some cards, have a couple beers.”

Artie grinned. “I like that too. I had dinner at the Sleeping Dragon last night, can’t wait to go back.”

Hayden seized on the chance to change the subject. “Make sure to come in on Fridays. I’ll save you a seat at the poker table, but fair warning - Olric’s on a hot streak.”

“That doe-eyed blacksmith? You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Artie gave him a once-over. “Alright. If Olric ends up with more tesserae than me, I owe you a beer. And if I win, you owe me one.”

Hayden crossed his arms, and smiled. “Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

She pulled her sword from the grass, and slung it over her shoulder. “Good. See you Friday.”

Not flirting. Just a friendly wager.

Hayden repeated those thoughts like a mantra for the rest of the week.

But when Friday night arrived, Artie did not. He told himself it was a relief - better this way. When Balor took the empty seat beside him, he didn’t protest, but it took him a few minutes to stop glancing over his shoulder at the door.

Then, a quiet panic set in. Maybe she’d just been humoring him. Maybe she regretted the bet, and decided to avoid him all together. He might’ve ruined her first Friday in Mistria.

A familiar voice snapped him back into awareness. “Hayden, are you alright? You look pale.”

“No checkup needed, doc. Just a little tired.”

Valen shook her head. “You’re not drinking enough water. Hemlock, can we get a pitcher for the table?”

Hayden groaned, but knew better than to argue. She’d been like this since they were kids. He dutifully sipped from his glass, and watched Terithia shuffle the deck with a flourish.

“I thought you were saving me a seat, Hayden.”

He’d never heard Artie say his name before. Somehow, that was more disarming than her hands on his shoulders.

Everyone greeted her warmly. Hayden was no exception - he stood up, and clapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, we can make a spot for you anywhere.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Scooch over, then. You too, Balor.”

The men moved their chairs apart, and let Artie slide in with her own. “Thanks fellas. So, Olric. I hear you’re the one to beat.”

He smiled good-naturedly. “I’m still learning how to play.”

Terithia shuffled the cards again. “Don’t listen to him, lass. He’s a slippery one.”

Hayden learned two things that night: Artie was good at poker, and bad at losing.

He didn't fare any better, but he felt like a winner when Artie brought his beer to the table.

“You got me this round, Farmer Hayden.”

Balor tutted in mock disapproval. “A bet about betting, that’s something you don’t see everyday. Feel free to cut me in next time.”

Artie leaned back in her chair. “I get the sense you’re in on just about every deal around here, Balor.”

“It’s my business to be. Buy me a beer, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Hayden shifted his attention across the table, towards Valen. He didn’t want to impose on whatever was happening next to him.

“How’d you make out tonight, Valen?”

“Broke even.” She sipped her wine, and smiled coolly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Course you did. Wish I could say the same.”

“Oh? I’d say you came out ahead.” She clinked her glass against his pint of beer.

The demands of spring kept Hayden from spending much time with Artie. There were mares to foal, and crops to harvest, and more mouths to feed than ever. Fridays were the exception: he kept saving her a spot at the table, and she kept taking it.

One Friday, as summer neared, Hayden was late - a filly had wandered off, and it took him hours to soothe and bridle her. He walked into the Sleeping Dragon, dead tired and parched, to find Artie’s cowboy hat on the seat beside her. There was a beer on the table, full to the brim.

An impulse seized him. Hayden picked up the hat, and placed it on Artie’s unsuspecting head.

That got a laugh, especially from Artie. Everyone else settled back into conversation - Hayden could barely hear her over the din. “Look who finally decided to show. Thought you could use a drink, whatever it was that kept you.”

It was so full, he had to take the first sip without lifting his glass. Leaning down like that, it was hard to keep his hair out of the way - he reached for it, but Artie was faster.

“Careful, there.” She pushed his hair behind his ear, and lightly held it back while he drank.den

No one seemed to notice. Hayden sat back in his chair, beer in hand, and tried to think friendly, neighborly thoughts.

[roboticchibitan]

Me during the months of August-October, every year: I don't feel like knitting anybody any gifts this year

Me in fucking NOVEMBER, every year: aaacccctuallllyyyy

I know this about myself so while it is supposed to get to 90° today and I'm firmly in the "I Don't Fucking Feel Like It" stage, I Know Myself well enough to know I'll change my mind so I gotta think ahead.

I am gonna make my gf a hat out of bulky weight yarn cuz there was a pattern she really liked designed for a yarn I really like (Malabrigo mecha my beloved) and that won't take too long!

I agreed to knit my friend Max a pair of custom dyed socks as my first experiment with "You pay for materials only and make a commitment to repair the item and in exchange for not paying for labor I'll get to it when I get to it."

Because I like making things but at a certain point I don't need more clothes and this way people I care about who don't make clothes themselves can afford things made with ethical labor that are worth repairing and keeping around long term. As my personal fuck you to fast fashion. But I agreed to do this in like. March. And haven't yet and I want to make them before the year is over.

I might make my grandparents something or I might just buy them something they need.

My mom said she'd love something handmade but she'll have to think about what and I told her I probably won't have time for something large like a sweater but smaller things are fair game and bigger sewn things are an option cuz sewing is way faster than knitting.

I haven't made my siblings anything handmade pretty much ever so maybe I should do that? But something small.

[talshiargirlfriend]

Don’t mention it.

Here is an estrangement vignette that literally no one asked for.

Follows an Unnamed Disaster. Could be set between Home and Kir’Shara (or elsewhere per your imagination) Read it on ao3

Commander Tucker steps onto the bridge, the emergency lighting a glaring reminder of how much work remains to get the ship functional again. Travis Mayweather has a knitted cap pulled over his ears and a grim expression on his face as he sits in the center seat. He makes to stand, “Sir-”

Trip waves him off. “Just passing through, Travis. You hold onto the hot seat. So to speak,” he adds wryly.

Travis gives him a look. Damage across multiple systems has made maintaining any sort of climate control outside of Sickbay impossible for the time being. Engineering is hotter than the Forge while the bridge feels like Andorian spring.

“She in there?” Trip jerks his head toward the command centre.

“The Fortress of Solitude,” Travis nods with a show of his usual good humor, and Trip chuckles in appreciation.

T’Pol looks up from the array of damage and casualty reports, star charts, repair projections, and god only knows what else she’s poring over when he enters the room. Two mostly empty mugs lie neglected on one side of the table.

“Commander,” she greets him. The coral velour collar of her catsuit peeks out over the neck of her Starfleet jumpsuit. She also has a silver crew jacket layered over the top. Unlike most of the bridge crew she has chosen to forgo wearing a hat, leaving her flushed ear tips visible. The effect should be comical, but somehow she still looks compelling.

“Hey.”

“How is the captain?”

“Better,” Trip answers slowly. “Awake. And grumpy. I think Phlox might release him to quarters this afternoon just to get a bit of peace.”

They share an amused glance.

“How about you? When’s the last time you actually took a break?” He raises his eyebrows.

Her eyes dart away from his. “Ensign Sato brought me tea,” she deflects softly.

After a pause, T’Pol changes the subject, “It is warmer on this deck this morning.”

“Huh. Maybe a little.”

She looks at him sharply. “I wasn't aware Climate Control was back online.”

Trip laughs darkly, “Oh, it’s not… but I needed to vent some heat from the plasma relays on B Deck and gave it a little redirect. No sense in you freezing your ass- asses off up here. Win-win.”

T‘Pol stiffens, “I am perfectly capable of enduring–”

“I know that! I know. But it really was useful, and…” he sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Whatever we are - or aren't, I’m still gonna care about you. Maybe you shouldn't always have to endure things just because you can.”

She looks at him with those big sad eyes, and suddenly Trip is grateful for the space between them and the solid obstacle of the table to prevent him from doing something they might both regret. Or, possibly worse, might not regret.

He swallows and tries for a light tone, “Maybe it’s a human thing, but sometimes the best way to work out how to solve a problem is to think about something else for a while.”

T’Pol glances at the stacks of PADDS in front of her, then closes her eyes and nods, “I believe I understand.”

“Speaking of solving problems,” he says as he steps behind her to activate the wall screen. “I believe I've worked out how to get propulsion and sensors both back online ASAP.”

Trip talks her through his plan, having already anticipated most of her questions and objections. Arguing through all the details is second nature to them, the rhythm safe and familiar.

When she flicks back to a previous schematic, their fingers brush together.

Oxygen makes itself scarce.

Neither of them moves for a few heartbeats.

T’Pol recovers first and withdraws her hand to grasp its mate behind her back.

“Commander, this is incredibly impressive work.”

“‘Incredibly impressive’ eh? Careful, T’Pol, or people will start to think you like me,” Trip overshoots his teasing mark wildly, and it tastes like boot leather.

T’Pol wrings her hands - a gesture she has picked up from her human crewmates.

“Commander - Trip, everyone in this room already knows how I feel about you.” Her voice is as low as a whisper, weighed down by all she can’t say.

He clears his throat, but his voice still sounds hoarse, “Yeah.”

“I, uh - I should go get things moving.”

“Agreed.”

T’Pol removes her jacket and places it carefully on the back of her chair. “Trip … thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

They don’t.

[chthonicophanim]

Intírmatemasc

[PT: Intírmatemasc]

A masculine- or butch-in-nature gender related to intimacy, love, and domesticity in a stereotypically masculine way (such as car maintenance, repairing stuff around the house, building furniture, etc).

This may relate to queering stereotypical gender roles, feeling gender euphoria when fixing, maintaining, or building things with/for your partner(s), sharing affection while fixing/maintaining/building things (such as sharing kisses, holding hands, being hugged, etc), or anything else that the user feels fits.

{Intír from Intíre meaning domestic in Irish, mate from the word intimate, -masc as a suffix denoting the relationship to masculinity}

Posyarnratix

[PT: Posyarnratix]

A gender related to rats, playing with yarn or wool, mischief, being purposefully obtuse or confusing, and riddles, as well as one’s own autism.

This may be related to stimming with yarn or by knitting, enjoying confusing others, the vagueness and language used in riddles, puzzles, the ‘rabiosexual’ movement, the Batman villain The Riddler, punk or grunge aesthetics and values, etc, but not necessarily!

[EXCLUSIVE TO PEOPLE WITH AUTISM, TRANSID AND ANTI-SELF DIAGNOSIS FUCKERS GO AWAY]

Campsonglovic

[PT: Campsonglovic]

A gender related to the intimacy and love (platonic or otherwise) shared in gathering around a campfire with a group and singing together and sharing stories. The love shared between a group of campers, and how that intimacy is shared through song or stories.

May be related to camping in general, warmth, campfires, camp songs, spooky campfire stories, storytelling in general, friendship, platonic love, etc, but not necessarily.

Snakevenwarmic

[PT: Snakevenwarmic]

A gender related to snakes, warmth, warm clothes, and afternoons.

This may also be related to the idea of a snake wearing a scarf or hat for warmth, the fact that snakes are cold blooded and need and outside heat to warm them, heat bulbs that are used in snake vivariums, cozycore, sunsets, etc, but not necessarily.

{ Photo ID help?: @liom-archive @radiomogai @mogaidescribed }

DNI: bigots, radinclus, radexclus, pro-endo, if you’re going to try and argue with me on any of these points, if you demonise mental illness, pro-transid (eg; transabled, transage, transrace, etc), proshippers/anti-anti, MAPS/NOMAPS/necro/zoo DNI (full DNI in pinned)

[rngyis]

new beginnings.

cw;; brief mentions of abuse

Ryangyi stood amidst the luxurious ambiance of the baby boutique, enveloped by elegantly arranged displays of pastel onesies and meticulously crafted booties. The soft, ambient lighting highlighted the different textures of the tiny garments, casting a warm glow on the polished marble floors. She caressed the fabric of a delicate, light pink onesie, its serene color a gentle contrast to the shadows of her past.

Her heart was pounding, not from the weight of her shopping bag, but from the weight of the decision she’d recently come to make. It was hard to connect the woman she was now with the woman she used to be. She tried to imagine her ex’s reaction if he saw her, standing here , alone, making choices for a future she’d never thought she’d have. The thought was almost laughable to her. In fact, she felt a grin fix itself on her lips.

A quick flash of an old memory: her ex’s harsh words cutting through the air like daggers across their shared apartment. “You’ll never be anything,” he’d spat one evening, his voice thick with anger as he threw a glass against the wall, a shard or two breaking off and bouncing off of Ryangyi’s arm. “You’re worthless.”

She blinked, pushing the memory away. The pain of those moments still lingered every now and then, but it was feeling less like a ghost that haunted her with each week that passed. It was simply a part of her past now, and it was one she had no intention of repeating.

She picked up a small, knitted hat, holding it close to her face. The yarn was soft and warm, a stark contrast to the chilling detachment of her past. She could almost feel the warmth of her baby’s head nestled inside, babbling and cooing at her. This was real; this was happening.

Another memory flashed—this one not of cruelty, but of desperation. She was sitting in a bathroom, tears streaming down her face, a needle lying discarded on the floor beside her. The older man who’d haunted her sat nearby, laughing at some message on his phone as she fought to stay conscious. She’d thought she was beyond repair then, convinced that she’d never find her way back. But here she was, trying to choose between a pair of tiny socks or a teddy bear hat.

She took a deep breath, centering herself back to the task ahead. After the father of her child had ended their fling, she never imagined he would play a role in her future, especially not in this way. Learning she was pregnant had come as a shock, a new responsibility she hadn’t anticipated. Although he hadn’t been anything like her previous partner, the situation was complicated. She understood now that love wasn’t just about sharing joyous moments but also about being present when it truly mattered. Each step away from her past had illuminated that truth, leaving her to navigate whether and how to let him be part of this new chapter.

Ryangi moved down the aisle, her fingers grazing over the selection of baby clothes. She picked up a tiny white onesie, its color reminding her of the fresh start she was determined to make. She envisioned a life for her and her child that was filled with hope, not the broken promises and harsh words of her past.

The store was almost empty, save for a woman who was quietly sorting through a pile of bibs. Ryangyi made her way to the checkout, her heart a mix of nerves and resolve. As she waited in line, she glanced down at the small pile of clothes she had chosen. Each piece was a symbol of the future she was working to create—one where love and stability were not just ideas, but promises.

As she paid for the items, the cashier gave her a warm smile. Ryangyi managed a small, genuine smile in return, her heart swelling with her new sense of purpose. She left the store carrying her bags, stepping into the sunlight with a newfound strength.

Her past had left its marks, but it no longer dictated her future. With each step, she felt the weight of her past lift, replaced by the light of possibility. She had made it through the shadows, and now, she was ready to embrace the future.

Ryangyi looked at the tiny clothes, feeling a fierce determination rising within her. She was no longer the person who had been crushed by the weight of her mistakes. She was going to be a mother now, and she would be the best one she could manage. No more darkness. Only the light of a new beginning.