#time to learn how to use a thimble

[impulsivedecisionsat3am]

renouncing the sewing machine. from now on the gerard cosplay will be hand sewn cause jesus christ i hate it

[littlewitchygreen]

Zero Cost Witchcraft

When I first started learning witchcraft, I remember seeing a lot of people bemoaning the fact that witchcraft cost so much, and even a few people who seemed disheartened by the fact that they’d never be able to start due to the cost. In a fictional book I was reading around that time, that incorporated modern witchcraft and paganism in it, even the main character made a comment about how much witchcraft and pagan practices cost. To this day, I continue to see similar posts and stories from people, and it always makes me twitch a little because witchcraft doesn’t have to be that and I’m frustrated that it’s presented that way so often.

So, here is a non-exhaustive list of various ways to practice witchcraft for free - or at least enough of it to get you started in the general sphere of things.

Energy Manipulation/Spellwork

At its core, witchcraft is the practice of manipulating energy into the form you want it to take. If you look at quantum physics, attention and expectation can change the way quantum mechanics present themselves in experiments, and it is my personal belief that witchcraft harnesses this phenomenon through the form of intentional energy manipulation.

The great news? Energy manipulation doesn’t cost a thing to do or to learn. You can learn to manipulate your own energy to do magic, or you can draw energy from the earth, fire, the stars, darkness, the moon and sun, the wind, sound. There are so many sources of energy to tap into - and while they might be easier to tap into with tools and leave you with more energy after a working to not use your own energy, you are absolutely able to do magic with just that.

Tools

As we are talking about using tools already, let’s talk about how to get supplies for the craft without spending anything. Jars for holding supplies or for spells can be obtained from washing out food jars, medicine bottles, or even be made from folding in the ends of paper towel or toilet paper rolls so that they form a container. Herbs and other plants can be obtained either from your kitchen where you already have them, or from wildcrafting what you need from your surroundings (just be sure to do so ethically, safely, and responsibly - there should be a variety of posts circulating around witchblr about how to do that). You don’t even need to gather anything fancy - as I mentioned in a past post, historically witches did not have access to the vast array of stones, woods, spices, incenses, etc that we have in the modern day, and they were still able to practice just fine so get creative. For elemental magic, you can get focuses from your surroundings - water from the rain or the tap, earth or stones from the ground, air from smoke or the wind, and fire from candle flame (or other kinds) or the sun. For material tools used in certain paths, you can use what you already have. A cup or thimble for a chalice, a sharp or dull knife for an athame, a found stick or a needle for a wand (or even your finger), a bowl you own for an offering dish or a general container while working.

Divination

For divination, there are a lot of ways to do it without buying tools. A bowl filled with water or a candle flame can be used for scrying. Dream magic can be used for prophetic dreams. A pendulum just needs to be something with weight suspended using something else - a stone tied to a string, a piece of fruit suspended with hair, a necklace you have, there are all kinds of options. For cartomancy, if you have a deck of cards you can use that, looking up the ways it translates to divination, or you can make your own tarot deck or deck of playing cards to use. I’ve heard from others who have tried this method that it generally works best if you have a decent understanding of the cards’ meanings when making them, but that it isn’t required to get a functional result. You can draw your own runestones and put them in one of the jars mentioned earlier to draw them out of. Palm-reading is a popular and common method of divination that doesn’t require anything but a pair of hands. You can even explore less common methods of divination, like reading bird flight, lightning patterns, bibliomancy, or by the shapes of shadows. There are quite literally hundreds of methods of divination created and practiced throughout history, despite the handful of major methods commonly practiced in the modern day - feel free to get creative.

Learn

You can also always learn about the theory of witchcraft if you aren’t currently in a place where you feel you can practice it. There are hundreds of witchcraft books available online in PDF format, and if you have a public library near you, chances are they might have a few books in the nonfiction section (if you live somewhere that uses the Dewey Decimal System, it’s usually in the 000s). Depending on the rules, some bookstores will also allow you to spend time in the store and read, and a growing number are carrying books on witchcraft.

For a more hands-on approach, you can also try learning from the tools and materials you intend to use. There are quite a few practice exercises around out there describing how to sense the energy of the elements, plants, etc, and I covered how you might get your hands on things like that for free earlier.

I know it is frustrating when you want to get the same tools and supplies as everyone else but those specific tools cost more than can be justified - I’ve been there myself. But when that happened, I looked to the past to see what alternatives could be used and to fellow witches about their solutions to the problem, so I hope this (incomplete) list can help you too! Best wishes!

[anyroads]

Shameless holiday Etsy store plug!

It's that time of year again! Crafters, if you're looking for leather thimbles, I got you.

I've never been able to use metal thimbles and it was always a source of frustration because needles start to hurt your finger pretty quickly. A couple of years ago I learned how to make leather thimbles and it changed my sewing and embroidery game entirely. When I got a stack of leather offcuts, though, I ended up with way more material than I needed, so I started making extras and selling them. I started having fun with the kinds of leather I worked with and incorporating fun, colorful designs, and now I stock all sorts in my Etsy store:

I only use reclaimed leather scraps from other Etsy sellers who I've built personal relationships with, several of whom also use reclaimed leather before selling their own offcuts to me. Each thimble comes wrapped in tissue paper, packing slips are printed on recycled paper, and shipped in unbleached envelopes with labels made from recycled materials.

Whether these are your thing or not, I hope you'll keep independent artisans in mind when you're buying gifts this season! They work hard, are underpaid, and need your support more than corporations.

(Also, if you see an Etsy ad on google or in the ad space of a website, don't click on it! Search for the Etsy store's name through Etsy instead. When you make a purchase after clicking an advertising link, Etsy takes a percentage and keeps doing so every time you go back to that store. Etsy already takes 25%-33% of sellers' profits in fees, don't help them take more! Links like the above that are embedded in an individual person's post are fine, just look out for ads on the side or bottom of websites, blogs, and social media pages, as well as google ads.)

[thehaberdasheress]

This week we did the first two live markets of the year!

To be honest, the net profit was -$10 at one and positive $55 at another, but while I wish they made more, I don't just do these for the money.

It was great and chaotic and a huge learning experience, figuring out how to visually present all our products and demonstrate them to people.

Every market, I get more information on what works and what doesn't. Last week I spent time in the woodshop making different display elements, like a turntable to put all my embroidery patterns on, and now I've learned I need to change one of the base plates to make it turn smoothly. The signs and packaging that I made were way too small for people to easily make out from a normal standing distance—I'm way too used to working with photography that captures all the details, not thinking about how it gets viewed from 20 feet back.

Also, I'm working on building up stock of sewing supplies! In three categories:

Premade tools, unadulterated (buttonhole gauges, thimbles, scissors, etc)

Convenient package sizes I've made of tools and materials (thread wax buttons, bobbins of thread made from natural fibers and/or dyed using pre-modern techniques, sewing kits, etc)

Custom kits for common projects, like an embroidered belt purse or a blackworked renaissance shirt, with materials and detailed step-by-step instructions

When will any of these be up on Etsy? I wish I could tell you. My bank gave me a wee bit of funding so I could afford to hire a part-time online marketing assistant, but unfortunately she's been having some health issues lately. Hopefully she gets better soon, but until then, I can't give you an ETA.

[vodika-vibes]

Can I ask for tech, opal, winter time and learning how to snowboard

Mountain Romance

Summary: You bring Tech on his very first vacation to a mountain cabin that you used to visit with your family. While there, you decide to teach him how to snowboard.

Pairing: TBB Tech x Reader

Word Count: 642

Prompts: Opal - Faithful Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Full disclosure, everything I know about snowboarding wouldn't even fill a thimble, lol. So I kind of skipped over the majority of that to focus on their relationship, I hope you don't mind?

“Are you quite sure that this is safe?” Tech asks as he skeptically eyes the snowboard leaning against the cabin.

“Sure! I’ve been snowboarding since I was a child.”

He turns his skeptical gaze to you, “And you have never broken a bone while doing so?”

“I…er…I wouldn’t go quite that far-” You admit with a sheepish laugh.

He arches a single brow and pins you in place with a pointed look, “So you have.”

“Oh, come on.” You hurry over to him, and take both of his hands in yours, “You’re so talented at everything you do! I know you’ll be great at this. Do you trust me?”

He sighs, “You know that I do.” Tech squeezes your hands gently, “If you really want to teach me, then I will happily let you.”

You release a happy giggle and fling your arms around his neck, “You get to teach me so much that I don’t know, so this is exciting!”

Tech’s arms slide securely around your waist, and he presses a light kiss to your temple, seeming to relax against you the longer you hold him. 

“So,” You mumble after a few moments, “Are you ready?”

HIs arms tighten around you, “I suppose. Though, I have to admit that I had different ideas in mind when you said that you wanted to bring me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

You giggle, “Oh, we can do that too!”

He shoots you a look, “I did not specify what I had in mind.”

At that, your grin widens and you poke his nose, “I know you and I know your brain, my clever handsome man.”

He doesn’t look the least bit sheepish, just amused. “So, how does this work?”

You beam at him and tug him over to the board, an explanation already on the tip of your tongue.

Three hours later, the pair of you retire back to the cabin. 

True to your beliefs, as soon as Tech understood how to snowboard, he excelled at it. But you really didn’t expect anything different. He is skilled at just about everything he puts his mind to after all.

“I do not like that trainer you introduced me to.” Tech says as he holds open the door for you before following you into the warmth of the cabin. “To be more specific, I do not like how he looked at you.”

You pull your winter gear off, and shoot him an amused look, “He’s known me since I was a child, Tech.”

“That makes the way he looked at you even more inappropriate.” Tech grumbles.

You laugh and reach out to press your hand against his cheek, “Hey, you know that you don’t have to worry about him, right?”

Tech sighs and presses his hand over yours, “I am not worried about you. How could I be when I see how you look at me? That does not mean that I have to appreciate how he looks at you.”

“That’s true.” You stand on your toes to more easily slide your arms around his neck, “How’s this, then? I won’t interact with him anymore. It’s not like I’m friends with him.”

He slides his arms around your waist, “You do not have to do that. I just want you to be careful around him.” A small smile crosses his lips, “Afterall, I know that you are faithful to me. Just as faithful as I am to you.”

You feel warmth spread through your body, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” You whisper to him. 

“I do. You show me every day.” He kisses the palm of your hand, and then pulls you into a proper kiss, “Tomorrow,” Tech murmurs, “I want to stay in with you. Can we do that?”

“Yes.” You say against his lips, “Absolutely.”

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 2

AO3

Previous | Next

Finch didn't consider how they survived ‘stealing’. It was borrowing - they only took what they needed; what wouldn't be missed. Finch didn't borrow with malevolence. Well, not much, anyway - it was easy to resent the humans that had so much while borrowers struggled. And there were definitely things a borrower didn't need to survive, per se, but dammit, couldn't a person want nice things? The beans wouldn't miss a strip of fabric or the odd bauble. It would go to good use, anyway!

It was laughably easy to borrow from this bean. Finch was reasonably cautious in the beginning, but they quickly learned that they could get away with a lot. Borrowing food in the same room? Easy squeezy, done and did. The only threat was making too much noise, but Finch padded the soles of their boots so that was a great big non-issue.

Was Finch balancing too close to the proverbial ledge? Oh, yeah.

Were they gonna keep doing it? Oh, yeah. The adrenaline rush was crazy.

What reason had they to stop? The bean wasn't aware of them and got rid of the traps - Finch must've been doing something right. They were on the hottest borrowing streak in their life. Now, obviously, they didn't take too much, but Finch wasn't worried about their next meal and that was every borrower's goal. An honest-to-dirt stock of food. Finch got so lucky with this place.

The tell-tale guilt came back. Faces flooded their mind: faces they were supposed to protect and cowardly abandoned. The grating snarl of grinding metal, of brick and wood falling and the screams-

Finch snatched up their thimble bucket. Shower, they decided. It was time for a shower.

Later when Finch went out, there were strawberries on the counter. Fucking strawberries. How could they resist? Sure, the human was right there, but when would Finch get another opportunity like this?

The human's name was Matt. Finch overheard it from a phone call with another man. 'Froggy', they believed that one was called. A bean with a proper name.

Finch crept into the open, not bothering with that time-consuming ducking and hiding nonsense. His back was turned. Voices from the radio filled the apartment. Finch had the advantage. It was fine. It was fine. Hairs on the back of their neck stood on end and their nape vaguely prickled. A borrower's warning system, triggered by a bean's proximity, and just another sense to bombard their brain with information.

Was the man's head twitching their imagination?

Finch reached the countertop and grabbed a strawberry. They backpedaled. For such a large being, he moved with such ease and speed. It was easy to forget how big a human was till they were in the same room. Finch stuffed the strawberry in their bag and climbed down. They took a final peek at the bean before slipping into the crack behind the fridge.

Finch was learning how much they could get away with. They were testing the waters. Taking food right out from under his nose? Oh-ho, no other borrower would dare. But Finch did. They froze, statuesque, when he moved around the apartment. A dangerous but thrilling game of lights on-lights out. He lumbered and stomped like one of those gigantic movie monsters that terrorized cities. His steps shook the floor, even when Finch was safe in their shack under it. And when Finch was above... they could feel their bones rattle with each thundering impact. The random smirks he sometimes wore were unsettling. Like he was sharing a private joke with himself. Finch tried not to think about it.

Matt was making tea.

Matt. It felt odd not referring to him as simply 'the bean'. A name was personal; it was a connection. It was unsettling.

Matt was making tea. Finch wanted one of those sugar cubes, normally sealed in a jar with a lid too heavy to even consider lifting. They peeked out from behind the fridge. The bea- Ma- he was standing there with a kettle, pouring water into a tall mug. Finch swallowed. If they were human, he would be one of those skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

He turned around. Finch jogged to the discrete handholds they'd made in the side of the counter. Even a sighted bean wouldn't notice the indents - they made sure of that. Finch had yet to make the same accessibility for the island, but it was top of the to-do list. They climbed, unable to see the bean. They heard crinkling.

When Finch peeked over the countertop, a sleeve of cookies was in the bean's grasp. Finch's vision tunneled. Damn. Fresh cookies…

No, stop, bad! Get the cube, get out. You have food at home.

Finch pulled themself up and over the edge. They watched the bean closely, looking out for sudden movements or changes on his face. The open jar stood between themself and Matt.

Easy. No problem. Just don't make a sound and everything will be fine.

The bean in question was fighting to contain his astonishment.

Matt's intrigue piqued. Tiny was getting braver. With every moment spent in his presence, they grew more confident. It nearly drew a chuckle out of him. Tiny was cocky - cocky that they were getting away with all this, and that he remained ignorant during their escapades. That's why he could only sense a bare trace of fear on them: they were underestimating him. They were assuming a blind man couldn't possibly know when someone was stealing food and office supplies right under his nose, even making a ladder in his furniture. That was vandalism. Matt tracked Tiny's soft steps on the countertop, closer and closer, as he placed a few cookies on a plate. Did they think he was that oblivious? Matt was honestly a little offended.

He wondered how far they would go if he kept up the act.

He walked away - suddenly, he needed something from the fridge - and they took the opportunity to scale the jar and snatch a sugar cube. He heard shuffling fabric as they stored it somewhere - it seemed to be a mini duffel bag. They paused next to the plate of cookies and walked away with a sharp exhale. Tempted, but deciding they didn't want to risk it. Priorities.

Matt returned to fish out the teabag. Tiny froze. A fawn response. Matt was familiar with it. It never worked. This time, though… he let it slide. He felt bad scaring the little guy. Then again, they had the audacity to steal right in his face. A little surprise would be good for that ego they were sporting.

Tiny snuck away, down their makeshift ladder and into the floor once more. He heard the release of breath followed by a relieved giggle. Alright, it was kind of endearing, letting them get away with shit. Matt would never deny his soft spot for those in need. Matt allowed himself a secret smile. He broke a piece off a cookie and dropped it next to the fridge. He didn't know there were so many weak points in his apartment. He should probably get that checked out.

Despite cleaning up the glue traps, there was one the bean forgot about. Maybe there were others. Maybe it was intentional - awfully convenient that it was in a spot Finch rarely traveled by, and also very conveniently below a drop with poor visibility.

How did Finch know this?

They were stuck in the damn thing, that's how.

"No, no, fuck," they hissed, lifting either leg. The glue was unfairly strong and the edge too far. They didn't have any rope to throw. The nails that Finch climbed with were useless, and the rubber bands tied around those too pliant for any length.

Regardless, Finch detached the rubber bands from their belt. Clutching them tight, Finch threw a bent nail at the edge of the trap. The metal recoiled and dragged straight into the glue. Finch swore a vehement streak. They tugged, but the elastic had zero resistance. It was stuck just the same as Finch. Their single remaining nail burned like a rod of fire in their clammy palm. They desperately searched for some kind of ledge. Furious tears shone in their eyes.

When they'd dropped down and felt the floor squish under their feet, they were merely annoyed. Then they heaved and pried and pulled till sweat coated their face and the severity of the situation dawned on them. They were stuck. They hadn't felt so helpless since that building came down. That fucking building. Anger rolled in their gut for being so careless and stupid and not trying hard enough.

The glue was like one of those tar pits they'd heard about: the ones that trapped mammoths and dinosaurs and preserved their remains. Finch had never seen a fossil. To humans, dinosaurs were the titans that walked the earth. Finch would've liked to see a skeleton of a creature to earn that title.

Finch was going to die here. The human had doomed them. Really, how long would it be until he remembered the trap existed? If he remembered it existed. Finch always pictured a brave or exciting end: eaten by a bird, in battle against a rat or spider, run over by a car. Here, slowly wasting away... hm. Acceptance washed over them.

Time passed. Not once did their grip on that nail loosen. They could do nothing but think and wait and wait and think. Every choice and regret hit them in succession. Was their life flashing before their eyes? It felt far longer than a flash.

Finch was replaying their biggest regret on loop when the front door shutting knocked them out of it. Oh, goodie, the orchestrator of their demise was home from work. Abruptly, Finch realized they never got to try one of those cookies.

Something was different when Matt got home.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He put his cane away and shrugged off his jacket. There had been a tangible shift in the atmosphere. Wary, Matt walked around and scanned his apartment. No new scents - nobody had broken in. Matt tried to ignore it and spread out the papers from their case on the table. He was trying to take his dedication to his job seriously this time - letting Karen and Foggy down again wasn't something he could stomach. Foggy, especially, had hurt too much to bear.

Matt was too distracted. Finally, he realized what was wrong.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department. Nothing worrying.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were... quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange noise under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "You know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

...He should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was... shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess... you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," they blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and got up from his prone position.

He was holding a tiny person. He could hardly believe it, but feeling was believing. All of his focus lasered in on the small being. How their chest rapidly expanded and fell, the thrum of their terrified heart against his thumb and ears. How delicate their bones were as his fingers closed around them, thin as a bird's. A bag was slung diagonally across their back, the items inside pressing into his palm. Their clothes were handmade, stitched together with large thread - thankfully with textures that didn't make him gag. Were those overalls? Or maybe a jumpsuit. Buttons on their flat front dug into his thumb - small, yet still bigger than their hands. And their hands... they were miniscule. Teeny fingers pushed at his own, digging into the creases of his skin and their prints indecipherable. Shoes scraped the underside of Matt's fist, sharp points on the toe of each boot threatening to scrape him up like the furniture they were fashioned to dig into.

Everything about them was fascinating. But he couldn't help noticing how pronounced their ribs were.

Finch remained tense as Matt carried them to the kitchen. Trapped in his clutches, they could do nothing but let him. What happened now? The cautionary tales never got this far. Being caught was the ultimate end for all those stories, with the killing and torture reserved for the footnotes and overactive imaginations of listeners. Finch weakly struggled, knowing they couldn't possibly escape but not wanting to just sit and take it.

"Here. I'm putting you down," Matt said. He lowered his hand and released Finch before walking away. "Just a second."

Finch tried to book it. Their shoes peeled off the countertop like prickly burs and they cringed at the sound and sensation. Taking a single step was a harsh, sticky ordeal. "Damn," they muttered under their breath.

"Going somewhere?" asked Matt, more lighthearted than he had any right to be.

Finch shot a glare at him over their shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it. All the better, actually: they could show as much vitriol as they liked without repercussion. "Yeah, chuckle it up, twelve stories. I wouldn't be here if you didn't set that shit up."

Matt disposed of the trap and sought out a roll of paper towel, which he ripped and ran under the tap. "You're right. I'm sorry." He placed the damp paper towel near them. "For the glue."

Finch accepted it and glowered the whole time. The warm water rubbed the glue off their soles. A train of curses filled their brain that were one lapse in self-control away from becoming external. One thing had been itching at them; they decided to voice that instead.

"How'd you know where I was? How did you even know I was stuck?" Realization struck. "Or how I even exist. I didn't think of that. Fuck."

Finch watched his features wrinkle and strain before relaxing. Matt said, "That's on you for assuming a blind man won't notice someone stealing right in front of him. Really, it's insulting."

"Stealing? Heh, no, no, it's called borrowing. We borrow things. There's a clear distinction. Beans steal, borrowers borrow." Their eyes widened.We. I just revealed our name. They played up the aggression, rising to their full, diminutive height. "So I got a little carried away. And what about it? You gonna put me in a jar, huh? Oh, no, I borrowed some food. You got plenty! You gonna miss some crumbs? Some string? A bottle cap here or there?" They scoffed and planted their hands on their hips. "You try to survive and suddenly you're stealing. Yeah, lemme go get a human job real quick in your human economy to pay my human bills for my human house. I'll get right on that."

Matt, who was prepared to argue the definition of stealing vs borrowing, was left sufficiently gobsmacked. The lawyer in him wanted to correct their language; the empathy in him knew that they were right. He'd concluded on his own that Tiny had no other options. Many people rarely did. Hearing it made the legal voice pipe down, and also make the connection that Tiny wasn't the same species as him. Which... yeah, should have been obvious. Were they a fairy?

"I'm not mad about the stealing," he said. "Sorry, 'borrowing'. Which isn't the right- anyway. I'm annoyed about the sock but- but that's it. I even left some crumbs around for you. Once I figured out you weren't a mouse. I really don't have a problem with you living here. Well, there's- no, nevermind. You probably don't care about that." He frowned in thought. Would a tiny person living in the walls even know about Daredevil?

Finch's whole face furrowed. "Oh... kaay. That's- wait, actually? Like, actually? You're not lying?"

Matt huffed. "Again, why would I be lying?"

Finch threw their hands in the air, giving them a frustrated shake and gesturing wildly. "I don't know! You could still switch up on me! I can't trust you. Avoiding beans is how I made it this far. I'd be dead or imprisoned or dead if I didn't. I can't trust you. How am I supposed to believe you?" They ruffled their hair and growled. They pulled their bandana down around their neck and played with the smooth fabric, pacing. "I thought I'd be some kind of pet or- or- or experiment. Or dead. I'm so confused. I'm so confused. It's all so confusing."

Matt didn't respond at first. He let their confession sit in the air, giving it the room it deserved as he thought it over. A pet. Something distinctly sub-human; lower than personhood, undeserving of self-determination. Or an experiment - even lower. That was how the world perceived Tiny. That was how Tiny believed he perceived them.

Matt loved nothing more than proving expectations wrong.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Finch scowled up at him, then exhaled harshly. "Goldfinch. I go by Finch."

"Hello, Finch. I'm Matt. Would you like something to drink?"

"...what do you have?"

Previous | Next

AO3

[pomplalamoose]

Can we please have some luke fluff hc’s?🙏 from any era idc i just love your writing💗

Thank you so much, anon!!! <33

I'm so on board for more lighthearted Luke content to warm our hearts, it's what he deserves🤝🏻

Also I veered into kinda new territory for me; while many of these take place in the Star Wars universe as normal, I included some modern day AU ones too

• the Jedi are taught to take extra care of their clothing and appearance because whenever they're out and about they take on a mostly representative role, whether they want to or not

• this also includes learning how to correctly mend and take care of their belongings

• I don't think that this was at the very front of Luke's education though, Obi-Wan and Yoda really had more pressing conditions to work with

• however, as everyone can clearly see, nobody had to specifically tell Luke about this

• (just look at the man)

• not only did he grow up with maybe one (1) relatively good fitting outfit, I'm also sure that because of this he was taught how to fix holes and re do seams as well as sewing his buttons back on himself

• I'm even convinced he's able to make a simple pair of pants and a shirt from scratch should it be really necessary

• something about the picture of you and Luke sitting together on a warm summer evening or during a winter night and you watching him silently working away is just the peak of domesticity

• he enjoys fixing clothes, especially if by doing so he can do a favor to those he loves

• I think in a way it calms him too

• he'd definitely help out his Padawans with it as well

• I firmly believe he owns a small sewing kit, complete with a thimble

• (maybe two: one he's actually using and a second hand made one out of porcelain because he thinks it's really pretty)

• maybe, in addition and if he has the time, he'd try out similar activities like crocheting, knitting, stitching, etc.

• I don't think he'd be very good at it but everything he crafts is made with love and there is no one around who doesn't appreciate his efforts

• imagine him knitting little socks and hats and scarves for all of his students

• for some reason he really struggles with online tutorials though

• they're always going too fast, he can't see what exactly it is they're showing, and often times they're just overcomplicating really simple steps

• he finds this to be very frustrating

• he probably uses a very (very!) old fashioned book to learn instead

• its margins are full of scribbles of its previous owners and Luke adds his own

• he draws smiley faces next to the patterns he likes most

• Luke is a DIY king

• something that really comes in handy as a Jedi master

• at the very beginning, just at the start of his own academy, he definitely did most of the occurring tasks himself, also including preparing the meals for everyone

• he's a decent cook but I think he'd get really into baking

• baking bread is one of his favorite free time activities

• my sister insists upon the fact that he'd make the absolute best focaccia

• (or its Star Wars equivalent at least)

• he really likes trying out new recipes, especially those he never heard about before

• with varying degrees of success, as some of them are not meant to be made by humans

• but worry not, nothing is getting wasted

• Luke's collection of little fish friends is always happy to eat the remaining crumbs

• (for those that don't know what I'm talking about, check out my other random Luke headcanons if you'd like)

• he has special outfits for his training sessions, including many different shoes

• depending on what or where it is he's practicing, he chooses them carefully

• inside he's wearing soft slippers and soft slippers only, boots are a no go

• it's very much established that Luke is wonderfully emphathetic and always ready to stand by your side, may it be during your period or when you're struggling mentally

• he's still wonderfully emphathetic and caring when you're sick but like, only from very far away

• he'll refuse to come near you if you so much as mention you're not feeling well

• if you have to sneeze or cough even a little bit he's immediately asking whether you've fallen ill or are about to

• just say you feel like you're getting a cold and he's on retreat immediately

• he can't get sick as well!

• he's working with children!!!

• at least one of them is always sick anyways, he can't be contagious under any circumstances!

• he'd feel so bad if he were to be responsible for even more of them suffering

• he feels horrible for not being there for you too though

• so he still does his best

• he prepares warm meals and tea every day and let's R2 deliver them

• he always checks in on you when you're asleep

• he changes your bed sheets while you take a shower or a bath

• he'd totally make a doctor's appointment for you if you're too scared to make the phone call yourself

• he makes sure you're taking your medications

• he pats your back and strokes your hair using the Force

• Luke would absolutely hate quarantine

• at first he'd still be pretty optimistic, thinking it won't be that bad, maybe even fun?

• he'll just meditate a lot, right?

• after all he has mastered his temper now, his patience renowned among his friends and students

• this mindset works at the beginning and for a while he's happy to sleep in for as long as he wants to

• however he forgets about the concept of time quickly enough and soon has no idea what day it is

• when was the last time he had breakfast?

• since he's a very outdoorsy person, always on the move, always doing something, it wouldn't take long until he's getting kinda antsy too

• and while he does enjoy the calm and quiet, he's mostly used to being the center of bustling activities

• soon he takes desperate measures to pass the time, even trying out things he before swore to not be interested in in the slightest

• I see him taking lots and lots of Buzzfeed quizzes

• he texts you about every single result

• one of his first ones was about what kind of animal he'd be and he absolutely hated the outcome

• he eventually ended up making his own quiz because of it

• he likes watching you play video games more than playing them himself

• it's very relaxing to him, especially after a long day at work

• plus he gets to hold you extra close under the pretense of being very interested to see what's going on on screen

• he dozes off pretty quickly though

• while he's happy to let you play whatever you want, I think he has his favorites as well

• Animal Crossing being at the very front

• he loves when you show him your town or island, how you decorated your house and which villagers you're best friends with

• he too would have the newest game, simply because you were missing a few items and he was determined to get them for you

• it would totally escalate during quarantine though, and suddenly he'd have a fully decorated five star island

• (Luke Skywalker plays Animal Crossing with a passion and I'm ready to fight anyone about it)

• for some reason he gets really competitive during Mario Kart and Just Dance

• he unapologetically wins at every single Wii Sports mini game and no matter what you do and how much you practice, he's always better and not in the least bit sorry about it

• he is a Macher™ (please let there be some German fans who know what I'm talking about)

[rattusrattus3]

Hi! So so sorry to bother!! I had to buy a bag for a school trip to another country and I saw your emily the strange bag on your channel and thought it was so cool and got inspired, so I wanted to customize mine a bit (maybe sew some patches on it?).

Do you have any tips? Is it very different from customizing clothes? It seems hard so I've been putting it off 😅

Again so so sorry to bother you but itd be really helpful!! I love your content, I've been watching your videos for 2 years and you've really inspired me to dress how I want without fearing others opinions. I can't thank you enough for the joy you've brought me!!

Hi! No need to apologize ! Hmm it was kinda long ago and I haven’t done much to bags since but i think it’s pretty similar.. sometimes the fabric of bags can be thicker so I think if you are having trouble sewing things like patches on, using fabric glue would be a good alternative , especially something heavy duty like gorilla fabric glue. (Or safety pin patches on is a tried and true method for a reason :-)) I’ve been wanting to do some more custom bags lately but just haven’t done it yet lol

For durability stuff that I have learned : If you’re using screw on spikes, add washers between the screw and the bag so they are less likely to fall out, if you’re adding pins/buttons, add a clear plastic earring backing to have an extra layer of security from the pin falling out, if you’re using safety pins, clamp them shut with pliers so they’re less likely to come out and come undone . Take your time and use a thimble, sharp needle and smaller needle if hand sewing is being difficult/painful

Hope that helps !!

If anyone reading this is interested in seeing the Emily purse tutorial you can chdck it out here !

Good luck and enjoy :-)

[raccoonfallsharder]

What if Rocket went back in time himself to help the other guardians?

thank you so much for sending this my way, you perfect golden pancake ♡ i've been rolling this around in my head for days now - what a jewel of a thought. there are so many possibilities.

because when all is said and done, i think it's foolish to imagine that rocket didn't figure out how to tame pym particles while he was on terra helping with the snap. by the time the universe was saved and he had his friends back, he'd have figured out where and how to harvest the little subatomic sparks. countless restless nights would have been spent reverse-engineering pymtech.

hell, way back when rocket had first seen the machine tony and bruce had patched together, he'd been intrigued for all of a whole five minutes before identifying at least thirty-six ways he could've improved efficacy. the machine looks all shiny and fancy, but rocket's no stranger to narcissists with big budgets. after all, he knows better than anyone that a rapid-evolution chamber will only make monsters if your glycosylated salts and beta-microseminoproteins ain't right, no matter how many resources you throw at it.

(to be honest, rocket is actually quite annoyed that the avengers - whom he has privately nicknamed the scavengers, after hearing red make a crack about him eating trash - had him and nebs running errands for danvers this whole time. he could've been figuring out better ways to make this whole time-travel situation work, with more precision and less risk of like... running out of pym particles. morons.)

so anyway, point is, once rocket has all most of his friends back (and that's the problem, isn't it), he starts tinkering with pymshit. the guardians eventually settle (more or less) on knowhere and amidst thirty other insomnia-driven projects that include both the bowie and a massive ocular cannon for the skull, rocket's also messing around with pymtech and wakandan nanomachines, and he's marrying them all together in some big, messy, rocket-original creation - complete with duct tape he smuggled off terra.

if anyone had asked - and nobody but nebula does, to be honest - rocket would've told them it was a good thing he'd never had alone-time with doctor strange. he'd heard the stories from pete - about what the time wizard had said. only one possible outcome where we win. well, that's all very well and good for the doctor and his friends. red and stark had chosen to sacrifice themselves.

but what about gamora? she'd never had the frickin' option.

this time-travel project is the first thing rocket's intentionally hidden from nebula in years - other than his origins on halfworld, anyway. but he can't risk her finding out and trying to talk him out of it because she thinks it's unsafe, and he can't risk getting her hopes up if he can't get gams back. plus, she might tell pete, and that would be a whole different nightmare.

so, late one night on only a thimbleful of sleep, he finishes. his plans get interrupted by the mess with the high evolutionary, and then he has to put off using it because he's the frickin' captain or whatever (talk about sleepless nights) and then finally - finally - there's a gap where he thinks he can go. he'll come back, and no-one will even know he was gone. it's a time machine, after all. he climbs in, and he settles against the vinyl seat and takes the controls in his hand.

she handles like a fuckin' dream.

he gives gams the heads-up. strategizes with her. checks back with the future where he lives and learns that at least in this universe, there are now two gamoras: the moral compass currently on terra meeting pete's grandpa, and the snarly time-travelling ravager who rocket has also started to develop a grudging affection toward. pete's happy. nebs is happy. both gamoras are happy. and knowhere starts to feel a little like home.

but sleep still doesn't come. the nightmares are still there. and rocket starts to think maybe he doesn't have to stop with gams. groot might've chosen to sacrifice himself, but rocket figures - maybe he didn't need to. maybe that can change.

but i can imagine how that conversation would go.

you gotta figure something else out, our rocket would tell groot the elder, and groot would say something like, i am groot?

and rocket would say, there's gotta be another option. you gotta live. i want you to meet your kid.

and groot would say, i am groot?

and rocket would say, uh, yeah, you got a kid, and then he'd try to explain, and groot would say, i am groot. i am groot. which basically means, it sounds like you are my child's father, and i won't risk taking that from either of you. this is the light i choose to follow.

i gotta save you, rocket would say, holding the words in his teeth, unable to give them up. i gotta save you, and lylla, and teefs, and floor -

and groot would stop him with a very gentle i am groot, which, to translate, is something like, and how will that change things? will i never find you, little mammal? will you never find our current family? how will they ever meet each other, or escape the kyln, or overcome all the things you tell me they are meant to overcome - without you? where will the galaxy be if the you I know isn't part of it?

i am groot, he adds, which kind of means, you underestimate how very important you are.

and so this new, second trip won't lead to anything tangibly changed in our rocket's universe - not in any way that an outsider would notice, or see. but those moments, to say good-bye, to say i miss you, to say i don't really think you're an idiot and i love you -

they change something inside rocket.

and when he returns to knowhere, he's finally able to sleep.

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

[sarah-kings]

Curses and Thimbles (chapter 1)

Why, hello, g/t community :)

This is my first time posting one of my g/t stories, a big thanks to @ratcatcher0325 for helping me settle on a title for this story

This story takes place in a world where borrowers and other mystical and magical creatures wander the same world as the other humans, though the public is unaware of that. For now, at least.

This chapter mainly acts as a prologue to ease you into the part I really want to tell the story of, the first part acts as the backstory of my OC Jon and the second one is a time skip 20 years forward

Anyway, here is a link to my Masterlist

Jon has been doing better, to say the least.

Well, that wasn't completely the truth…

He had been doing better when he still was back home, able to live under a safe roof, safe from all the dangers he hasn't even known of before and able to have a proper warm meal prepared by his mum.

Then again…the situation with his father wasn't ideal…

That was the only thing that he didn't miss, hearing him scream at his mother and constantly fearing that one day it would hit him too.

Being hit by the strong, reeking smell he'd have whenever he'd come home in the evening.

Feeling so terribly small and worthless under his sharp and judging gaze.

He never thought he could feel more pathetic than back then, and yet…here he stood at roughly one inch in height, desperately stuck in the same ally he got cursed in.

If it wasn't for the food in the many knocked over trash cans Jon never could've been able to survive for so long.

True, the food was disgusting…but it was better than starving…

This was just one of the few compromises he had to make.

Instead of a proper roof over his head and his usual bed all Jon had for cover was a tilted over cardboard box, which was withered and close to falling apart with how often it had been outside in the pouring rain.

Rain…

Jon missed the rain he used to be able to play in for hours…now all the rain was to him was a death sentence.

He had to learn that the hard way when a few weeks ago he almost got swept into the sewers after he got dragged along by the stream of rain.

A sigh escaped him as he sat in the same old box he has been using as his shelter for the past few weeks.

He longingly looked at the exit of the ally, unable to gather up enough courage to leave.

It already was a problem to be outside on his own with people around, but with him being this tiny, the world looming over him for miles to no end?

The thought alone made him shudder.

No, he couldn't go out there, as much as he wanted to…

Subconsciously his hand reached for the piece of bread he had fished out of the trash the other day, a small wince escaping Jon when he hit nothing but air.

Right…he had eaten all of it already…and to his dismay the trashcan wasn't exactly getting any fuller, food was harder to find before the racoons already have plundered them before him.

"I miss home", he quietly admitted to himself, rubbing at his eyes to wipe away the tear that has formed.

He knew he shouldn't cry as a boy…but he was just a toddler, there wasn't much else he could do…and his nerves started breaking.

A startled gasp escaped Jon when he suddenly heard a loud crash, his hand flying up to his mouth out of habit to suppress a scream.

"Nononono, please no, please not dad", he begged in his head, curling in on himself as much as possible in hopes of comforting himself.

"Please, oh god, oh no, don't find me!"

His breathing started to pick up in a panick, Jon screwing his eyes shut in hopes of stopping himself from hyperventilating…but to no avail.

A shiver ran down his spine and he shuddered when he suddenly felt a shadow falling over him, signifying that something had found him, if the sound of surprise from above him was anything to go by.

Slowly Jon dared to open his eyes, his breath picking up once more when he saw a person looming over him, making direct eye contact with him.

He tried to scramble back in a panick to get as far away as possible, only to -thud- hit his back at the wall of the cardboard box.

"Easy, there", the MUCH taller man told him, remaining in his crouched position and raising his hands in mock surrender.

Jon couldn't help not tearing his eyes off of the man, he was HUGE to him.

He wasn't exactly the size of a human, but the fact that Jon could see how he himself wasn't taller than just the man's knee left him unsettled.

"Deep breaths, ok, boy?"

The man held up a hand, counting to five seconds as he took a deep breath in, holding it for another five seconds, and then released it once more after five seconds, repeating the action on loop until Jon finally caught on, repeating as the man did with shuddering breaths, but, eventually, able to calm his breathing.

"There we go…", the man spoke in a soft voice.

"What's a kid like you doing out here in the middle of an ally at brightest day?

Where are your parents?"

Jon just coiled up in himself in response, not daring to say a word.

He was met with the softening and concern warping gaze of the man.

"You're lost out here, aren't you?"

Jon had to admit, he was lost, in a sense.

He couldn't go anywhere without getting overwhelmed, he was stuck in one place.

A slow nod from him confirmed what the man dreaded as an answer.

"…What's your name, kiddo?"

"…Jon", he hesitated.

"I'm Gael Lynch", the man said while giving him a tiny reassuring smile.

"And how old are you?"

"Four…"

Gael's face dropped at that.

"Four?"

He looked at Jon in disbelief.

"I never have seen a four year old your size", he mumbled to himself.

A cold breeze swept by, causing Jon to shiver under it and the man's complete attention.

Gael noticed, shrugging the cloak he was wearing off of his shoulders and carefully draping it over Jon.

"There you go, now you won't have to freeze."

Jon's confused gaze was met with a small smile.

"Come with me, you'll just freeze out here."

"But I don't know you! I can't just go with a stranger!"

"You are just as much of a stranger to me as I am to you.

Come on, kiddo, you'll just catch a cold out here and we don't want that to happen, now, do we?

Don't worry, I'll look after you."

Jon paused at what Gael said.

…Should he really go with this stranger?

And did he really have much of an other choice?

Food was starting to run out…and the weather won't get better any time soon…in fact, winter was approaching and Jon knew for a fact that staying outside won't do any good for him.

…He had the funny feeling that he wouldn't make it much longer on his own…

Hesitantly Jon slowly rose from the spot, Gael giving him a small smile and spreading out his arms.

Without thinking twice Jon ran up to him, burrying his face in the man's chest and clinging onto the fabric of his shirt.

"Let's get you home, hm?"

And with that Gael rose, carrying Jon in his arms as he made his way home, concluding with confidence that he would look after Jon until he'd be ready to take care of himself.

_

Jon took a deep breath, collecting himself and calming his nerves.

"Alright", he mumbled, looking up from where he was standing underneath the desk of the busy office.

"Just grab some of the coffee and get out of here, easy as that."

If ONLY he knew how terribly wrong this entire borrowing mission would go…

[regnantlight]

The thimble glimmers when Link holds it to the light. Much fuss for one teeny tiny thing, but even more fuss in its wake because a certain princess decided not to wait. He was greeted by a swift "Ouch!" when he'd returned to her cozy candlelit spot, and though she tried to hide what happened -- only after their eyes met -- it wasn't any use.

He knew. He always knew.

Link kneels before Zelda in her seat, staring hard despite her averted gaze. Her hands are taken into his, to one the thimble he was meant to fetch her. To the other, the result of not coming quick enough. She pricked her finger.

She tries to dismiss it, but Link is only vaguely listening... he'd already taken that wrist into his hand, drawn the fingers close for him to see that pearl of crimson growing from her flesh. And then...

❝ I will be faster next time, princess. ❞

... the blood vanished between his lips, as he took the tip of her finger into his mouth.

Jay continues to be the reason I scream.

Life in Hateno was...different. Wonderfully different, admittedly, with traces of ocean air carried on every breeze, but it came with the very large, glaring reminder that Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, was also different.

She didn't know how to farm or tend to cattle or build homes or hunt. Truth be told, she hadn't even washed her own linens before, hadn't cooked, hadn't managed a household without the luxury of help—though, she supposed there was still help in form of Link.

He did so much for her, had already done more than she could ever repay, and yet he continued in the following year by offering his home, preparing their meals, planting vegetables in their garden, washing their clothes, on and on and on. Zelda tried to learn, and yet, at every turn, Link continued to insist on taking each task on himself.

So when his shirt became torn, Zelda all but jumped at the opportunity to be at least marginally useful. This she could do. She had handcrafted numerous shirts before. It would be perfect, a seamless repair, it would be—

Her finger met the sharp end of the needle in her excitement. Zelda tried to trap the yelp in the back of throat like a child catching a firefly, but it slipped past her fingers. There was little use in trying to outwit Link's reflexes; his eyes and ears had always been quick, like the hand that captured her wrist and swiped her prickled finger across his tongue—

And once again, Zelda can not quite hide the little squeak that hitches a ride alongside his name, "Link...!"

Her cheeks and the tips of her ears begin to burn but she's too frozen in place to hide them. It is as though every nerve along her arms and back and neck have been set to simmer, popping like the oil Link tosses into hot pans. Her heart is beating so terribly fast—he can't hear it, can he?—and her own tongue feels too thick and bulky to speak.

She is suddenly very, very much aware of how very, very alone they are in this little house near the sea.

"The light is too dim," she's finally able to speak in way of a feeble excuse, though the words came out rushed and oddly pitched as she takes her hand away and begins to place the shirt, thread, and needle into a tidy pile upon the desk. "I'll finish this in the morning when there is more light—thank you, Link—I think I'll do a bit of reading before retiring for the night—sleep well."

She held a book on gardening in her hands until the wee hours of the night, and read precisely none of it.

[evillittlebirdie]

Warmth: Gale/Tav Sickfic

In the Underdark, Gale faced Minotaurs, mad dwarves, and electrical turrets. Yet it was a misidentified mushroom that beget his current downfall.

It was his own fault for wanting a snack. He was a glutton for not waiting until the group returned to camp. And his own arrogance prevented him from double checking his notes on foliage. So Gale didn’t complain. He couldn’t let Tav know. He closed his tent and tried to sleep it off.

The queasy feeling came first followed by the headache. Then Gale was grabbing the closest pot to throw up in. The vile odor of stomach acid and poisonous mushroom made him wretch again. Through it all, Gale tried to be as quiet as possible. It was a foolhardy effort. It was nearly impossible to quiet the spasms in his stomach.

The fatigue soon followed. Gale knew logistically that he needed water to stay hydrated or risk further complications. He used the remainder of his strength to collect his canteen from his backpack. He sipped sparingly. Then promptly threw up again. This time his long hair was in the crossfire,

It was going to be a long night. Gale’s stomach would twist into knots before releasing. The sensation would force Gale to vomit. He would then lie, warm and weak, on his bedroll.

By the fourth cycle, Gale started to see stars whenever he rolled over. His magic needed rest. His healing powers were vastly limited. His own pride caused that calamity. Flaunting like a peacock, he used the extent of his magic against the duegars that day. Tav, who was not magically inclined, was mesmerized and thoroughly impressed. And Gale beamed and preened under the praise. He liked it when Tav’s attention was on him.

But Gale would rather roll into a hole than have Tav’s gaze on him. Tav, who had their pick of their companions, would quickly move Gale to the bottom of the list. Tav indulged Gale’s conversations. And their experience with the Weave was carnal curiosity, not true desire. Tav didn’t want him, not all of him. Especially now that they knew Gale was cursed with death.

How was one supposed to have a cheerful tryst with such gloom?

After the sixth cycle, which mainly consisted of dry heaving into a thimble of bile dropped down his lips, Gale heard his tent flap open. Alarmed, Gale turned to see Tav looking at him with concern. Gale struggled to speak, to find a way to apologize for his weakness. But only a hoarse cough left his throat.

Tav hummed out a concern whimper. (Gale wondered if he was losing his mind. That couldn’t have been what Tav had done.) Then, they left, closing the flap behind him.

Gale cursed himself. Tears appeared at the edges of his eyes. It didn’t matter what he did now. Tav would only remember the sweaty, disheveled mess next to a pot full of vomit. Lovely.

Wallowing in self pity, Gale almost jumped when Tav opened the tent again. This time with their arms full of unidentifiable items. Moving quietly and fluidly, Tav set the items on the end table near his bedroll. Before Gale could even protest, they set a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. Shocked, Gale watched as Tav picked up the pot of Gale’s sickness and left the tent. Tav returned quickly and set a clean bowl next to Gale’s head. Tav moved back and forth between Gale and the end table.

This had to be a fever dream. Tav couldn’t really be doing this. Tav needed to rest and lead. Gale should be left to suffer, to learn a lesson.

Tav sat down next to Gale on the bedroll and guided Gale’s head into their lap. Gale knew then that this had to be his own delusion. Weakly, he figured that if this was a delusion, he could not feel guilty about enjoying it.

Tav brought a bottle to Gale’s lips. It smelled like ginger. The liquid flowed smoothly down Gale’s gullet. Tav used a second cool cloth to wipe the traces of sweat, tears, and bile from Gale’s face and hair. As gentle as a mother’s touch, Tav used their own fingers to comb through Gale’s hair. The tangles straightened under Tav’s attention.

A lovely dream.

Wasn’t it?

[literary-corvid]

I am a patchwork quilt of everyone I've ever loved

I’ve always been drawn to flowers. I could never remember why, even when I named myself after one. (My first ever friend was called Rosie. I was always envious - how full of life she seemed to be!)

I feel a faint sense of dread when I go to clasp a necklace. Only sometimes does my conscious mind drift to her, and it is only then that I wonder if she ever took hers off. I never consider that she was lying. If it wasn’t the glue around that clasp, it was something else that stayed like a noose around her neck.

I wear my watch on my right wrist. I am not left-handed, but the sister who put her watch on my hand when I was three was. It was blue and plastic and cheap but it became mine. She beamed at me: now I’ll always be able to tell you the time! I didn’t bother to learn how to read its analog face for the longest time. I had a reason to keep asking her that way.

I stumble on a word I haven’t memorized, or I teach a younger student how to pronounce that letter combination, and suddenly I am in primary, sitting on a white rug as my second sister gently sounds out the words in front of us. My parents beam at me that night as I say a new word right, and I proudly tell them how my sister taught me. It was all her, I would say. Look how Good I must be for her to love me.

A scar graces my left knee. It looks old and worn, like nothing, but sometimes I see her fingerprint there, as if the gloves she wore when mopping up my blood had vanished. She told me later, when she poured the disinfectant on two instead of three, that it would fade, that someday I would forget. I’m glad she was wrong. I sent her a message a few years ago, and never heard back. But I see her profile sometimes, and how she sees my stories. We grew apart. I’m trying to learn that that’s okay, but I still wonder if she ever misses me. I see her out of the corner of my eye when my knee throbs with a dull, faint pain. I miss her, but at least her fingerprint remains.

On my thirteenth birthday, and for many birthdays after, an alarm on my phone would go off, reminding me to go train dolphins with a sister. I deleted it years ago. I regret it every time it never rings.

I’ve always remembered when Earth Day is. My schools have always made a day of it. But now, on April 22nd, I think not of the earth, but of my twin flame. On that day, I give my thanks to the earth, for I was born of her, but I spend my life loving her. For a year, I was coaxed with sickly sweet words away from her; away from everyone. When I was back, there was no question of if she would welcome me, even through my guilt. She is the one who stayed by me, helped me up, loved me. Who keeps loving me, as I keep loving her.

I prick my finger as I sew, and each time I remember how she would chastise me, reminding me to wear a thimble. And each time, I smile and say I’m fine. I understand better, though, when she cuts herself on the tape dispenser and I carefully tear tape for her the rest of the year.

When I sew on the machine, though, I never feel quite sure of myself. It goes to fast, faster than I can think, with more strength than I am sure of. So when I inevitably fuck up, I smile, remembering her laugh as she pretends to groan at how long it will take to undo, thank god I know better than to start with a backstitch. I know that she is reminding me that it can be undone, no matter how tedious. Stitch by stitch, I fix what I’ve ruined.

I tell people I love them so easily. Anyone who changes my life, even in the smallest of ways, I cannot bear the thought of them not knowing. They say to live each day like it's your last, but they're wrong, it's not you that matters: live each day like it's their last. Loving in secret is a special torment when the guilt feels crushing. I never told him. I never can. I hope he knew, I’m sure he knew how much he was loved. Right? He knew? Tell me he knew. Please.

I go shopping, and absentmindedly look for the good apples - the ones that crunch, that tear sharply, that are just perfectly sweet or bitter. Sometimes I don’t realize until I get home and have apples I probably won’t eat. I offer them to my friends instead, because my partner is states away. They laugh when I send them the pictures, though, and tell me to eat one in their honor. I do.

There are some things I can’t see without itching to gift. Penguins and owls and squirrels and bird and those godforsaken minions and coffee and turtles and irises and this one shade of blue– I’ve left with glass hummingbirds in my pocket before realizing I have no one to give it to.

I’m not in tears over my homework, but I would be if I were alone. Instead, it hits 10:00pm - 22:00, just for them - and it’s done. It’s over and I can’t go back and they're asking for my three favorite candies and I’m thrown because I want to sob - with relief or stress, I’m not sure - but they say they’re going to get me some. Because they’re proud of me. Like it’s obvious. And when they learn I’ve never had any chocolate candy, they come back with a handful. I split the KitKat and hand them half and they watch me, some mix of delight and horror in their eyes, as they halve the Twix and Milky Way and York for us to share. I’m laughing at an irony they don’t see; it blends into every other joy here. So this is it, I think. This is what it’s like.

I keep thinking about the things I do and the parts of me that aren't as much me as they are them or us. I love carrying those people with me, mostly. There's things from friends who've died, and it hurts sometimes. I hope it stays with me, though - the grief, the pain. I don't want it to get easier because I don't want to forget them. I don't think I've actually dealt with anything that happened in the last six years, give or take? And it's all been hitting at once for the past year-ish. So, this is for the friends who are gone or lost to me, and to those who still let me love them.

I've had no less than three interactions that prompted me to actually post this within the last 24 hours, so thanks to @firefliesandfuckery and @judas-redeemed and @vanilla-cigarillos and everyone else for that!

[tiktokitssinoclock]

Hey, it’s the anon from the Jett cuddling request ! First of all, I really love the cuddling post ! I was thinking, can you maybe write about how Jett (I can’t help it), and other characters you want, reacts when the reader get wounded during a mission. Of course feel free to skip and don’t forget to eat, drink and sleep !

First I want to announce once again- I AM NOT DEAD. I AM SIMPLY AN OVERWHELMED STEM MAJOR. With that said, I have made a ton of progress on requests and a few WIPs I've been stewing on, so expect some posts from me this upcoming weekend.

Second, I adoooore a good hurt/comfort scenario. it's iterally one of my favorite tropes in fanficiton. I also adore Jett LMAOOOO, so I had a lot of fun coming up with ideas for this request! Thank you for submitting, Anon（＾ｖ＾）

SFW // Minors and ageless blogs, DNI // You will be blocked

Translations:

Jagiya - baby

Close Call - Jett

For her eleventh birthday, Jett's grandmother paid for a year of sewing classes for her. The older woman was an avid seamstress herself and was ecstatic that Jett was finally old enough to begin learning the art of the craft. She already had a mountain of ideas for lazy afternoons the two could spend together- prepping squares for quilting, trips together to the craft store to purchase bolts of fabric, pouring over hanbok patterns until they found one Jett liked. Jett always loved watching her work on clothes in her studio, so she had little doubt the girl would love learning to sew herself. She was absolutely over the moon, but there was just one tiny flaw in her master plan.

Jett hated every second of it.

For fifty two Saturdays, from four to six o’clock, Jett felt more like she was marching herself off to war rather than heading to the community center. She constantly pricked her thumb when sewing something by hand, couldn’t remember to include seam allowance to save her life, and almost always managed to jam the sewing machine after only a few stitches. Whether the instructor was running to fetch her a spare thimble or hurriedly untangling the thread of Jett’s machine, the annoyed girl found herself glancing at a calendar on the wall, certain that month would be her last.

Never again, she’d vow to herself.

I’m never doing this again.

And yet every week, every Saturday until that year was finally up, she found herself coming back. Fortunately, during that time, her grandmother found peace in the fact that her grandaughter simply wasn’t destined to follow in her footsteps.

Jett thought she’d finally rid herself of sewing forever, sticking to eagerly watching her grandmother work on new projects but never actively participating herself.

In the present, however, Jett once more found herself with a needle in hand. It wasn’t pin-straight like the ones she used to work with, though. It was instead sloped into a soft C shape, the medical-grade nylon threaded in it tinted a slight pink. She gingerly dropped it in the steel tray that came with the med kit, hardly registering the metallic ‘tink’ it made when it landed. Her gaze was fixed to her handiwork in front of her, eyes following every crooked line she’d sewn you back together with.

“Oh god,” she croaked quietly to herself, her voice quivering.

“Oh my god- It’s… um, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

Her hands trembled as she examined the shoddy job, her fingers brushing over the new stitches across your side as feather light as possible. Your skin was pinched together awkwardly in some areas,  the spacing between each stitch not nearly as uniform or neat as Sage’s were. The spots at each site where the needle passed through were slowly turning an angry red, clearly irritated at her attempts to clean and patch your wound. She could almost hear every whimper and pinched inhale you made with each incision, her shoulders visibly tensing with each sound that echoed back to her.

She should’ve known something was off as soon as you made it back to the carrier. Your complexion had gone visibly ashen and your skin seemed to have lost its usual warmth. It was such an odd thing, watching you shiver while also sweat profusely at the same time. You were extremely ginger with your movements, too, wincing whenever you shifted in your seat and pinching your eyes shut after every breathy laugh whenever Jett cracked a nervous joke.

It all happened so fast. Just when Jett noticed the blood soaking the side of your uniform, the red staining your hand when you finally peeled it away from your side, your eyes were already rolling back and the hold on your gun went slack.

Her only saving grace, the only thing keeping her from completely loosing her cool, was the unsteady up-down of your chest and your drastically tempered blood loss. She tried to steady her own breaths, moving to run a red-stained hand through her white hair before she caught herself. She froze, her fingers just grazing the top of her head. She hastily brought her hand down and awkwardly wiped it on her shirt. A small part of her knew it wouldn't wash out very easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“No, it’s not. It’s fine, it’s fine.”

She found herself smoothing back a strand of tangled hair behind your ear, expecting a small wince or a soft groan from you. Her heart skipped several beats when you gave zero reaction to the touch. Jett swallowed hard.

“You’ll be fine. Or better than last time, at least.”

“I have to agree with you there. Bullet holes are much harder to patch up,” Brimstone called out suddenly from his spot in the cockpit, clearly having heard everything she said.

“You did a good job. Sage is already waiting on the loading dock for us. She can handle things from there.”

Jett cleared her throat, but even still, her next words came out hoarse.

“How much longer?”

Brimstone met her gaze briefly in the reflection of the carrier’s canopy, his blue eyes flashing to your still form on the carrier floor before fixing forward once again.

“Six minutes at most. I’m going as fast as I can, kid.”

By the way Jett's face fell, he might as well have told her it’d be another eternity. She situated herself further on the floor, sitting cross legged with your head pulled into her lap. She kept a laser sharp focus on your breathing, occasionally glancing at the watch on her wrist.

“Five minutes, twenty-eight seconds,” she told herself.

If Brimstone noticed the way she occasionally bent down to brush her lips against your forehead, or the way her thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the tops of your shoulders, he opted against scolding her for it. Frankly though, she didn't think she would give a damn if he did.

“Never again,” she murmured against your temple, her vision growing blurry.

“You’re never making me do this again.”

~

You weren't sure what time it was. You weren't sure where you were, why your throat was so dry, or if you were standing or sitting down. You weren't even sure if you could open your eyes. Despite it all- the sudden awareness of a blanket being pulled further over your body, the foreign ache in your side with every breath, and the seemingly distant sound of metal chair legs scraping against tile- your mouth was moving before you could help yourself.

"That's what you said last time."

Your surroundings seemed to go abruptly still, the silence making your ears prick in a way that told you the room wasn't always so quiet. It was only interrupted by the hushed, sharp inhale that sounded from your left side. A pair of warm hands circled around your own, the usual feeling of fingerless gloves replaced by soft palms. You cracked a barely-there smile, knowing for sure it was your girlfriend sitting beside you.

"Huh?" Jett asked.

"You're never making me do this again," you quoted, the last words you registered hearing still fresh on your mind.

"That's what you told me last time."

"Oh... the carrier."

You could hear Jett sit forward in her chair, the sudden weight of her elbows making the bed dip slightly as she leaned closer to you.

"I was being serious back there. You're not allowed to let yourself get hurt like that anymore, okay? I can't-"

She let out a pinched sigh.

"I can't keep seeing you like that."

Guilt settled heavily in your stomach. Slowly but surely, you managed to open your eyes and blink a few times. It was like your brain was covered in molasses, even the littlest tasks requiring maximum effort. Had breathing not been an automatic bodily function, you might have been in some serious trouble.

Your vision swam as you slowly tilted your head in Jett's direction, a soft exhale escaping your lips as her face finally came into focus. She was exhausted, if the dark circles under her eyes and the disheveled state of her hair were anything to go by. You still found yourself longing to trace the lines of her face and tell her how pretty she was.

The ghost of a smile graced her lips as you attempted to give her a wave. The most you managed was a lazy raise of your hand. As if she could read your mind, she was speaking again.

"You're on some serious pain meds right now. They might make you feel a little off, and probably a little tired, too."

"I see."

It took you a lot longer than you'd care to admit to lower your hand, hating the way her brows pinched together in concern as you shakily rested your arm on your stomach. You hated to make her worry at all, but these past few missions, it seemed that was all you were capable of doing. Your eyes fluttered shut again as you took in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Sunwoo. I thought it wasn't that big of a deal and I didn't want to freak you out over something small. I figured I'd find Skye when we got back and that would be that, but clearly-"

You jerked your head awkwardly in the direction of the infirmary's sign.

"-I was wrong."

Jett was silent for a beat, one of her thumbs rubbing thoughtful circles on the back of your hand. After a little while, the room was echoing with her quiet voice.

"I can't deny I hate seeing you hurt, but I'd much rather know ahead of time instead of finding out when it gets bad."

"I wasn't shot this time though, only stabbed. That's an improvement. I think."

She weakly chuckled. You gave her hand a squeeze, the sudden weightlessness of your body telling you that you were moments away from slipping back into sleep. Try as you might, though, you simply couldn't peel your eyes back open.

"You won't have to worry about it again, Sunwoo," you words were slurring, but that didn't make them any less sincere.

"I promise. I'll be more careful."

"Thank you."

You hardly registered the press of her lips against your cheek, your mouth moving ahead of your brain.

"I'll stitch myself up next time. Just give me the stuff. My work will outshine Sage's, I swear."

"I believe you, jagiya."

Jett stayed where she was long after your rambling had fallen silent and your breathing had gone slow and deep, your eyes moving beneath your eyelids as you dreamt. A familiar weight settled square on her shoulders, a mixture of determination and dread as she thought about the next mission coming up in a few weeks. It reminded her of the feeling she used to get on Saturday evenings, when she toyed with the lock on her bike before finally working up the courage to wheel it out of the garage. There was always a moment of hesitation, a fumble of her key.

But she always followed through because it was for someone she loved.

And just as she was sure to have a few bandaids in her pocket so she wouldn't have to nurse a pricked finger on the way home, she was already making a mental note to restock the carrier with more medical supplies.

"A fairy looses its wings every time I have to open a med kit, I swear," Jett grumbled, her gaze fixed on the way her fingers intertwined with yours.

"But if I can fly without them, certainly they can manage, too."

[frostcorpsclub]

Hello! I’m literally so excited to see someone writing good content for characters like lubdan, would you be willing to write headcanons for him having an s/o that’s super into fashion and just overall dolling themselves up for fun? :3 thank you!

You’d have already noticed from your first outing together that you’re not the only one who's a little obsessed. 

He’d lay the compliments on thick, comparing the sparkling colors of your clothes to soft and beautiful fairy thimbles or bright and bold poppies, a reminder of his home that would devote him to you.

Many of the compliments would be more…crude and may come off as a little insulting but he’s trying to make it clear that he finds you incredibly attractive. 

Lubdan may be a little reluctant to do so at first but if it meant saving your fine shoes from dirt splatter he’d happily lay down his coat over puddles.

As soon as you found someplace to sit down he’d demand you put your shoe up on his knee anyways.

“A good shine won’t hurt yea.”

You occasionally have to pick him up from his latest killing spree. 

With a goofy smile on his face he shows you the large sack he couldn’t carry home on his own, full to the brim with clothes and shoes he felt you would enjoy. 

“Why don’t you just use your magic?”

“I believe a thank you is in order mo chuisle.” (my pulse) 

A leprechaun spoiling his lover is nothing new.

If you wanted to have a little outfit montage like they do in the movies he’d give his opinion if he had the time.

If the relationship was fresh Lubdan would attempt to hold his tongue but his distaste for a piece would be written all over his face, but as you got to know eachother he’d learn how to “speak your language” in a sense.

He wants you to look your best not hurt your feelings.

Watching you do your makeup would be enthralling to him. 

Lubdan has killed for lesser displays of vanity before but you’re different, you’re his love the way you paint your face is nothing short of art. 

He's eager to assist you, holding up your compact of setting powder. One day he gets it a little too close with it causing you to let out a sneeze.

Lub helps you much more from that point on but it won't be clear why for some time.

[unicyclehippo]

this is a little bit of a normie question but as some1 who does embroidery , do you have any tips for a guy looking to start? like things you wish you knew, or resources that rlly helped you learn?

i haven't really been doing it very long & certainly not Well.

embroidery floss is six strings twisted into one thread & you can split this into three things of two, or two of three, or six individual strings again depending on how detailed you want your design to be (this took me a stupidly long time to figure out)

if you have a project you are working on do NOT put your bobbins (the thing your floss is wrapped around) away until the project is done because it can be surprisingly hard to figure out WHICH colour exactly you used. you can also keep a piece of paper with the project & write down what colours you used - each thread comes with a colour ref, which will be a number like 7581, & you can & should write the number on the bobbin so if it is running low you can buy more of the exact same shade instead of guessing

you will be surprised by how much detail it adds to have multiple shades of a colour, ie two greens instead of one for the purposes of shading or shaping whatever you are embroidering. but like with any art, dont be afraid to use weird colours & experiment with different stitches n stuff because that's good old fashioned fun

don't buy fancy fabric to start, you might not even enjoy it. buy the cheapo stuff to start, practise some stitches, & if you like it you can get better stuff & if you don't then you can just keep the stuff for the next time you need to darn a sleeve or put a button back on a shirt.

it's really hard to know all the right words for things when you start, it takes a lot of googling. if you're really interested, try befriending an old person at an embroider's guild or quilters guild in your city! ask loads of questions, be respectful & admire their work because it takes a lot of time & it's totally fucking Sick to see what people can make its just incredible. if there's anyone in your family who quilts or embroiders or does other fabric art like that, you should for sure talk to them. i mentioned off hand to my gma that i wanted to try to make a quilt & the next day she gave my mum 2kg of fabric & hexagon templates for me. totally wild.

do Not stab yourself with a needle. i wear glasses when i do it because of eye strain & because im stupid & its something i would do. if it is something You would do, consider investing in safety glasses. you can also get things for your thumbs n fingers like thimbles but i have only stabbed my thumb like three times total, its not a big deal.

have fun!