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faeriekit · 19 days

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Frozen Out

Another phic phight fill, another day; this one's for @akela-nakamura. No one is allowed to say anything about my need for Far Frozen fics.

(Sister fics are Snow Day and Snowdrift Sanctuary)

Breakfast comes, and breakfast goes. Frostbite cooked last night, so it’s leftover soup.

There’s some kind of bird meat in it that Danny’s vaguely aware of, and a root vegetable that’s basically a hardy onion. The grain in it is a wild rice that’s virtually identical to the one in the human world, supposedly; Danny never had wild rice while he was eating at his parents’ house, though, so it’s new to him.

It’s interesting how it cracks and breaks apart on his tongue. The food’s different here, but the Far Frozen has food that mostly matches human cuisine in far climates. Sure, it’s made of ghost birds and ghost vegetables and ghost grains, but they’re at least recognizable as sea birds, vegetation, and grain. It’s not weird for him to eat food that looked like food.

If Danny had moved in with Princess Dorathea the way she’d offered, he’d be eating ghosts that looked like people.

Yeah. This is better.

Danny likes his soup. It’s reheated on the stovetop so that it’s warm.

His bowl goes beside the door— he’ll scrape the dishes in the snow later— and goes for his coat and boots. There’s gloves that Neuschnee, Tundra’s mom, knitted for him, on tiny needles that would have been hard for him to manipulate even without her huge clawed hands.

They’re very warm. They have little green and blue stripes and little blue snowflakes spun on yeti-fur yarn. He likes them a lot.

Danny leaves the warm interior of the cave, takes a big breath, and wanders out towards the center of the settlement.

There are lots of occupied caves in the Far Frozen. Some of them are constructed in ice, but many are formed from natural rock— or whatever passes as ‘natural’ in the Infinite Realms. Early history of yeti society is rocky; there’s apparently debate as to whether the yetis found the land while wandering the zone, whether the land spawned the people to occupy it as a deterrent against wanderers and interlopers, or whether they all came into being together.

“Aren’t you immortal? Or, you know…long-lived? Long-dead?” Danny had asked, confused. “Weren’t you here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Frostbite had agreed easily.

“So…shouldn’t you remember?”

“There are theories about that as well,” Frostbite had pointed out, amused with Danny’s frustration. “As it is, we do not.”

So. There’s that.

That being said, Danny knows there’s a lot of history; Arctic can recite cycles of songs for five hundred seasons back, and he’s not over a hundred years old.

Probably.

Danny stops beside a snow drift and scratches his head through his thick hood. Is Arctic a hundred years old?

…Anyway, Danny continues, trucking onwards, if he is, he has to adjust his worldview on teenage yetis. If he’s not, then that means that Danny’s right about part two of his plan, which includes the vague idea that a society of yetis with an advanced medical techniques and application probably has a library somewhere.

Or. You know. So he hopes. Man, if they pass down the entirety of their medical knowledge through oral tradition, Danny’s going to be screwed. Either way, he’s just in time to wander into Pritla’s glacial alcove before they’re finished with their own breakfast— a fish, apparently, devoured by sharp teeth and a huge maw.

“Morning,” Danny greets, because he’s polite that way. He knows Pritla knows he’s here. Everyone so far has made fun of how loudly he walks.

“Good morning, Phantom,” Pritla greets back, blue tongue licking bits of fish out from between huge fangs. Danny’s human right now, but for some reason, using his human name is culturally weird to them. It must be less intuitive, or something. It’s not like they can’t recognize him either way. “Is there something you’re missing?”

“No, thank you.” Last time he was here, it was because Jazz had sent over his workbooks and worksheets with pencils and no sharpener. Once the tips had snapped, it had all been over. “Is there a library?”

Pritla’s furry eyebrows rise up over their brow ridge. “Did you expect there not to be one?”

Danny’s nose squishes. “No. I assumed there is one. I just don’t know where it would be.”

The yeti’s eyes roll up to the ceiling; honestly, Danny knows that they do hard work for Frostbite, but they’re kind of annoying. “Have you tried downstairs?”

“...Downwhat,” says Danny.

So. It turns out. Far Frozen goes down.

Like, there’s a hole in the ice, and it goes down— down long steps carved straight out of the ice, into blue-glowing tunnels woven with streams of rock and salt.

“...Huh,” Danny observes. “Down.”

“Indeed,” Prita rumbles. The yeti turns, their bulk and form imposing as they head back up the stairs. “Everything is etched into the walls; feel free to make any copies of the writings you find. The farther down you go, the newer the writing becomes.”

“Thank you!” Danny hollers back, finally feeling some sense of burgeoning accomplishment. He’s almost there; all he has to do is take something impressive down, and get it copied onto something portable. He has old blank scrap paper stuck into his pockets. This should be easy. He feels very confident in reading into the yetis’ written cultural knowledge…

…And then notices that it’s written in an entirely different syllabary.

Right. Danny wants to bang his head on the ice wall. Universally spoken ghost language, entirely different societal interpretation. Shoot.

Interpreting this will take him ages.

Still, Danny settles in; there’s no rush. He wasn’t supposed to have lessons today, since Tundra caught a wheeze and now he’s being all whiny about it, so he has all the time until dinner to copy and to get some graphite rubbings off the wall.

Danny pulls up one of the carved stools, sits his butt down, and writes.

“Frostbite?”

Frostbite looks down. Danny smashes his face into the yeti’s fur; it’s hardly even a blow to his guardian, and it’s apparently instinctual for cubs to do something similar anyway. So. It’s a very affectionate gesture, even if it feels like playing rough to Danny.

And Danny gets petted by a giant yeti hand. There are many advantages to living in the Far Frozen.

Frostbite rumbles something, but Danny can’t actually hear him through the fur. He pokes his head out to get a listen.

“—Good day?”

“Mmhmm.” It had been productive, anyway. “I saw the library.”

“The hall of records?” Frostbites ask, his voice a gentle rumble. Danny leans into the sound. “Ambitious of you. Did you learn anything new?”

Danny had. So he talks about the loss of the rainy seasons for snowy ones and The Year That It Rained Upwards, and about drifting too far against the edge of the Infinite Realms until they smashed into another kingdom and were forced to fight. He talks about the process of washing starlight moss until it becomes food instead of vegetation, and he talks about what it says about birthing traditions, and what it means to be Never-borne in a people that had probably never once lived in the human world.

Or maybe they had? There were some theories downstairs that speculated that they were the ghosts of real Yetis. Danny hadn’t known what to think. He’d taken the notes down anyway, because…well…what if they are? What if they’re all that’s left of the human world’s yeti population: ectoplasmic imprints and non-living beings??

Frostbite knows everything Danny tells him about. Obviously. He was there for almost everything, too. But he lets Danny ramble on in a way that his parents never had, letting Danny explain his own history to him with new eyes and new words. It’s cathartic. Danny clings to Frostbite’s fur as the yeti walks around their living space, skinning and deboning Sky Whale meat to add to tonight’s meal. An adolescent human really weighs nothing to him. It’s so funny.

“I am glad to know that you are able to take advantage of the histories,” Frostbite rumbles. Danny preens. “What encouraged you to seek them out?”

Danny goes quiet.

Frostbite looks over his shoulder to look at Danny, but lets Danny resolve his silence on his own terms.

“...I wanted to see. If.” Danny licks his lips. Frostbite hums, showing that he’s listening. “If…if there’s records of a real ghost society, with its own language and culture and everything…they’ve gotta listen, right?”

The round knife in Frostbite’s hand stills.

“They always say that…that ghosts are just pretending, that there’s nothing to ghost consciousness, that there’s nothing to anyone’s existence in the afterlife. But there’s records.” Danny’s throat tightens. “There’s known history. There’s language and a syllabary and…and there’s political conflict and agriculture and advanced medical care and weather charts. That has to be enough proof. If I show it to them, then they should be able to see.”

The knife gets set down. Frostbite wipes his hands on a towel. Danny can’t see his face.

“It’s gotta be enough,” Danny tries again. His throat hurts. His eyes itch. But he thinks he could be right. “So if I show it to them, and they see it, and they see how far back the knowledge goes, and how careful everyone is to take care of each other and how nice everyone is and how good, and…and…”

Frostbite’s hug is soft, and warm. It’s amazing, and it’s not his Dad’s. Danny’s Dad is never going to hug him again.

Danny cries.

“Oh, little one,” Frostbite hums, and his face looks just as pained as Danny feels. “Little Phantom, it’s not safe for you to return to them, even to drop off records. If they had wanted to know more of the Infinite Realms, they would have tried to search them. I do not think that they are willing to listen, and I am too afraid to risk your health to see if they would change their minds when confronted with evidence.”

He sobs. “But, but,” Danny cries, his throat torn with emotion. The hug pins his arms so his sides, so he just ends up snotting into his guardian’s fur. “...But I need them.”

“I know, little one.”

“They loved me,” Danny cries, because he knows that it had been true— that, once upon a time, there had been a family made of Jazz, Danny, Mom, and Dad. “They… Frostbite, I miss them so bad!”

Frostbite’s arms tighten. He lowers himself to the ground, until Danny is in a nest of yeti fur and pain and devastation and little else.

“I know, little one,” Frostbite says, because there’s no other reassurance he can give.

“I won’t… They’ll never want to see me again!”

“...I am so sorry,” Frostbite murmurs, endlessly patient with him. His ears are pulled back, his eyes taut with stress.

He can’t help it. He breaks down.

Danny clings. He cries— long, and loud, because pretending that he had a home to go back to had only worked until it stopped. He wants to go home. He wants to pretend to be all-human again.

He’ll never go home. He’ll never pretend to be all-human again.

He’ll do his lessons and Jazz will ferry his schoolwork to and from Casper High but he’ll never live with her again— never do his homework on her bed, never watch Dr. Phil with her on the couch, never eat lazy breakfasts with her or spend nights wondering if she’d come home safe from her date.

Sam and Tucker can visit, but they’ll never be able to stay; every trip will be stolen, surreptitious, since they don’t have a reason to be in his house anymore. No more Tucker and Sam gaming nights. No more trips to catch dinner together at the Nasty Burger.

No more Ops Center. No more house.

No more of Danny’s bedroom.

Because otherwise, Mom and Dad would know. And they would get him.

Mom and Dad don’t love him anymore. And…that’s the end of it.

So Danny cries himself out. Wipes off his nose with his undershirt sleeve. Resolves to get over himself. It hurts, because everything hurts, but there’s still life to be lived, kind of. Probably.

Presumably.

He doesn’t let go of Frostbite, though, who doesn’t let go of him; so Danny ends up eating his rare Sky Whale stew on a furry throne made of guardian yeti, blearily shoving food in his mouth until his stomach stops cramping.

Frostbite puts him back into his coat, one arm at a time. Frostbite carries him out of their cave, even though it’s usually time for a bright night’s nap after dinner. Whatever. Danny doesn't have the energy to ask what’s happening to him.

In the end, though, Danny does recognize Tundra’s Mom’s glacial ice cavern, since no one else has such carefully carved walls.

Frostbite doesn’t ask, and Neuschnee doesn’t disrupt; she sits, calm, carving a soapstone block, as Danny gets laid down on their woven carpet.

Danny blinks.

Frostbite goes, and comes back— and Neuschnee smiles wryly as Tundra gets placed down beside Danny, fast asleep and dreaming of cars.

Danny’s never been in such a huge, furry cuddle pile before, but as Frostbite lays down, his huge shoulder pushing him into Tundra’s smaller form in a cascade of ghost dominoes…

It’s nice.

Danny will never have back what he had, but he has this.

…That can be enough. Right?

Danny doesn’t know the answer for sure, but he falls asleep still thinking about it, the scrape of knife on stone all that he can hear.

…Sure. This can be enough for now.

#everyone say BOOHOO!#phic phight 2024 #phic phight #danny phantom #far frozen #frostbite #shhhhh it's FINE I'm VERY NORMAL about this burgeoning au #faer fic #whoops almost forgot to sign my work #this is part of my “frostbite is a good Dad” agenda

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ivorivet · 16 days

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There was some interest in a previous post on how I've been doing my selvedges on my towels. This is my first project using a 100% linen warp so I am very much not an expert, but here's a little video about what I've been doing!

A couple of things:

- This is a cottolin warp and tow linen weft. Linen yarn has almost no elasticity and has a reputation for being a really fussy warp - the cotton/linen blend gives is just a little bit of stretch and so far it's behaved beautifully. I have the tension on the warp cranked up about as high as it can go on my table loom.

- Tbh once I got used to it, I honestly really love 100% linen as a weft. It's so wiry it has virtually no draw-in, which means my woven width is essentially the same as what I have threaded through the reed, even without using a temple. Once the towel is woven and wet finished, the linen will soften a lot. Right now the fabric feels VERY starched, which is great because that structure is helping me out.

- I had to chop this down a little bit to fit Tumblr's size requirements but I'm not really saying anything useful at the cut off end. 😅

#weaving #handweaving #linen #featuring the tippy taps of my dog and the whines of my cat who doesn't want to be near my dog

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frmulcahy · 3 months

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Using the plate with 4 year old me’s face on it to try to block my beret

#insane that we still have and use this plate on a regular basis 💀💀💀#art #fiber art #knitting #knitblr #alice starmore virtual yarns #selfie #????? I guess?????

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fairykazu · 4 months

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WHEN THE SUN DIVES FT. KAZUHA ! content // commitment issues, (seemingly) unrequited, open ending, fem! reader, no beta read, implied confession, situationship, wrong implications on poker (i only know the game from casino royale 2006) <(＿　＿)>, one kys joke at the end notes // this is a oneshot there wont be a part two. divider is made by @cafekitsune. masterlist

although, kazuha was the one who did wander into places, appreciate their beauty but couldn't commit to living in one place since there was so much to see, you were the one who couldn't commit to a person.

well, he couldn't blame that on you. he couldn't either and that's what you two bonded over. that was until kazuha caught feelings for you, he hates to admit it because the reason why isn't romantic if he wanted to tell you his real feelings towards you.

it was because of the way you complimented his work. not as if it's just an art piece but as if it was life itself. just by thinking about it, he could feel his face flush at the thought of you. he stared at his popcorn ceiling blankly. maybe, it's too early to think over his feelings for you. it's what?

three am? but this time is when you usually text him or call him. twelve am or four am, it doesn't matter. as long as he could hear your voice or feel like he's near you, physically or virtually.

he waited a little bit, waiting for your ringtone. after a while, no ringtone was ringing through his room. he rolled on his side, it's time to go back to sleep.

ding!

quickly, he rolled to the other side of the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. the blue light illuminated his face, burning his eyes a little.

[notification +1: thecoolestartie has liked a video you reposted]

"i really have to turn off that notification off of tiktok." he mumbled, clicking off his phone. he deflated, degrading himself for believing the routine the both of you had.

no shit, name wouldn't have the same routine. maybe she's talking to that guy again.

he groaned as he buried his face into his pillow. he peeked at his phone again just to check the time, totally not to see you or anything.

still nothing.

unless??? he checked again just in case.

nothing.

oh god, what did you do to him? he dug himself into his bed, maybe this would his grave when he died out of embarrassment, while digging himself his own deathbed, his phone fell from the mattress.

it vibrated,

ding!

despite his efforts to stop himself from reaching over his bed and ignore the notification, his hand found his phone, loosing his balance when he saw the notification.

[ name <3: wanna call?]

he fell off his bed, frantically unlocking his phone. typing out words that only ended up look like a bunch of jumble mumbos.

[kazuha: yeaysh but lemt me get my headphowns] [kazuha: you got what i mean right?]

[name <3: yes dw lmao] [name <3: waiting for you (◠‿◠)]

✦ ͏͏ ⸺͏͏ dialing name <3... ⊹ ˙ .

"kazuha, hello?" you said. your voice sounds as warm as ever. kazuha wished that he could create a ball of yarn from it, giving him eternal warmth. he didn't notice that you've been calling his name for at least four times.

"kazuha?"

"yes, sorry. i was thinking about what to write for a new thing." he said, making up something to sound believable. he realized afterwards that it sounded completely like utter nonsense, complete word vomit.

he knew that you didn't believe him but regardless, you've changed the subject. "i was thinking about taking you on a date."

kazuha's eyes widened, his voice cracking, "what?" he winced at the sound of it.

you added afterwards, "y'know, a platonic one." oh, of course, you did that for a reaction bait. "the new aquarium that opened in watatsumi island." he chuckled mostly out of embarrassment,

"oh, right, of course, i'd go." he could hear you laugh, imagining the smile that always made it to his daydreams of finally being yours.

"is that all you have to tell me?" kazuha asked. although it's stupid to hold onto to something that doesn't a guaranteed ending, he couldn't help but to abandon his old ways of thinking and hope that you wanted to tell him to be more than friends.

silence filled the call, only the ambience of cars in the background from the call.

"um..." hearing you be nervous sounded out of character for you, he was confused. did he hit a nerve?

"yeah?"

silence again.

"i think i..." you trailed off. you began to mumble but kazuha couldn't hear you.

needing you to clarify, "you?"

"i think i like..."

what a cliffhanger! you trailed off again and kazuha is hoping that this one wouldn't be another reason to have a reaction bait. between you two, this game was like poker. if he's right on the dot, he's shoving all his chips in the middle.

"to make the date on the day after tomorrow."

✦ ͏͏ ⸺͏͏ [kazuha kaedehara lost to name...] [official scores: kazuha: 99 ... name: 150]

"okay." kazuha hoped that his voice didn't give away his emotions. "goodnight?"

please say goodnight back. he just wants to wallow in his pain.

"um, i want to stay on call with you, is that okay?" you asked. shit.

his heart spoke before his brain could stop it, "always. it's always okay if its you."

he heard you exhale a laugh quietly, "thank you, kazuha."

"anytime."

[bonus:]

[name: childe i need you to stop infleuncing me to confess to him at night. i dont think he even likes me like that.] [tart: trust me, he does. you should ask him out and then confess or confess in the call. thats so romantic.] [name: if this goes wrong, im blaming you.] [tart: you only have yourself to blame cuz u overthink too much LMAO] [name: KYS]

#genshin impact x you #gender neutral reader #astronetwrk #kazuha genshin impact #genshin impact kazuha #genshin kazuha #kazuha genshin #kazuha x reader #kazuha smau #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #kazuha kaedehara #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin angst

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bfpnola · 3 months

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Virtual Fibercrafts Skillshare THIS SATURDAY!

From our Climate Action Youth Advocate and General Volunteers:

BFP’s first Skillshare will be on Saturday 1/27 at 7:00 pm EST! Stop by if you want to learn how to make warm clothing to donate to your local community!

Here are the supplies you will need: Fibercrafts require very little to get started. For crocheting, you will need yarn (in this demonstration we will be using #4 worsted weight yarn, but other weights can be used, you just have to adjust the gauge), and a crochet hook (we will be demonstrating on a H/8 or 5 mm hook. Others will work, and if using yarn of a different size, be sure to check the standard gauges for your yarn).

For sewing, you will need fabric that is stiff enough to work with (fleece, flannel, and cotton will work,) sewing needles, some sewing pins, and thread.

A note on materials: cotton yarn is best for beginners as it is stiffer, harder to break, and doesn’t fray as easily, while aluminum hooks are best for beginners as they withstand pressure. Dollar stores and Walmart sell sewing kits cheaply, which are acceptable for beginner projects. You may have to buy extra thread, or pins separately. Nylon and polyester threads tend to be the easiest to work with. Some beginners also prefer double-sided sewing tape in place of pins.

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blatantescapism · 9 months

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I was just in Detroit, for reasons, and stopped in at their Detroit Institute of Arts

and now I have to compose an email to the curation team

because I believe that they are Wrong about this pot:

The display label said “Bowl Painted with Children Spinning Yarn, about 400, Ceramic, Unknown artist, Nasca culture, Peru.” (The collection label is “Bowl Decorated with Men Spinning, between 200 BCE and 200 CE, Nazca, Precolumbian” which is a weird discrepancy but not the point)

The point is, this simply isn’t what spinning looks like. I don’t think anyone in human history has attempted to make yarn this way. It is certainly not how the Nasca bead spindle or the modern Southern Quechua pushka are used.

I’m fairly certain that they are actually holding slings, slingshots. Virtually unchanged from the Nasca culture to the modern Southern Quechua, with a tassel at one end and a slit pouch.

@tlatollotl care to give me a vibe check? before I compulsively pester an institution?

#undescribed #hand spinning #spinning #handspinning #yarnblr #museum #museum curator #nazca #quechua #peru #precolumbian #precolumbian art

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aquilathefighter · 1 year

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Fluffbruary 24: Needle

Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

To put it simply, getting used to mortal clothes was a pain for Dream. For all his life, his clothes were dreamstuff, as much a part of him as any other part of his manifestation. There was no difference between the fabric of his jacket and his skin. All one unified being.

Since his retirement, he no longer has the power to summon clothes with a thought. When he first moved in with Hob, he dragged him to department store after department store, trying on itchy denim and polyester that brought him to tears in the changing room.

At first Hob didn’t understand. Why was he so upset at clothes? Hob never had any problems; anything was better than the rough materials he wore once upon a time.

When they finally arrived home, Dream explained how painful all the different fabrics and textures were to his newly human skin.

“For so long, my clothing was part of me. I find most textures… unappealing to my skin. It brings me close to…” Dream trailed off, searching his memory for the appropriate word. “Close to a meltdown, I believe.”

“Ah, I understand now. It’s a sensory issue. Come to think of it, I’ve got a colleague who’s mentioned the same type of thing. Let me shoot her a text and see if she’s got any ideas, alright?”

Dream nodded his head minutely, then buried himself in the soft blanket on their bed. Underneath, he’s cloaked in Hob’s clothes, soft and worn from years of use. The t-shirt he’s borrowed is a gaudy yellow, the smiley face screen-print virtually gone. He tore the tag out after Hob told him it was his now. It’s too big for his frame, the sleeves hitting his elbows and the hem covering most of his thighs. He prefers not to wear trousers when he can. The material irritates the sensitive skin of his legs, and they feel too restrictive on his body. It would be nice to have his own clothes, though.

Hob came back into the room, holding two cups of tea. Dream poked an arm out of the blanket, grateful to accept the beverage. Hob sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Okay, she messaged me back a list of fabrics that are generally approved for folks with your same issues. I see two options: one, we go back to the shops and look at every single tag until we find the right material, or two, we head to the fabric store, and you pick out what you like. I’ll make you some clothes. I do know how to sew, did a stint as a tailor once.”

Dream stared at Hob, deciding. The store-bought clothing would perhaps mean less labor, but more time spent out in public with loud strangers, bad music over tinny speakers, and the relentless buzz of fluorescent lighting. On the other hand, he’d have more control over the homemade clothes, no itchy tags and clothing perfectly fit to his specifications. But he doesn’t like making Hob do so much work, the man is busy enough as it is.

“I should prefer the clothing you would make me, beloved. If it is not too much.”

Hob wrapped an arm around him, squeezing Dream to his shoulder. Dream dropped his head to rest against Hob’s comforting warmth.

“Of course it’s not too much, Dream. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want to do it.” He pressed a kiss to Dream’s hair. “I want to do these things for you because I love you. I want you to have clothes that don’t make you want to put your head through a wall. And you don’t owe me anything in return, remember that.”

Dream nodded, trying to make himself believe it as hard as it is.

☆ ☆ ☆

They returned from the fabric store with several bags’ worth of fabric. All of it black, per Dream’s preference. They spread the cuts on the floor, sorting jersey from fleece, bamboo from linen. Piled alongside the material are skeins of yarn, lovely thin-weighted cashmere that Hob will knit into comfortable cardigans and seamless socks.

Dream has chosen several patterns that were to his preferences. Looser fits and elastic waists so he didn’t need to deal with the discomfort of buttons and zippers pressing against bare skin.

“It is a comfort that I will have much control over the fit of these garments,” Dream said when they were done organizing their haul.

“Glad to hear it, dove. I’ll have you try stuff on a bunch before it’s done. Hope that isn’t too annoying,” Hob chuckled, used to the complaints of clients.

“How could I find such a labor of love an annoyance?”

Hob blushed. “Dream, you can’t just say stuff like that. How-how am I supposed to work in these conditions,” he laughed.

“I will assure you that I will provide many breaks,” Dream said as he scooted closer to Hob on the couch. Hob relented to his advances, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Insatiable creature. I do want to get started on this tonight, so back off, foul tempter!” He nudged Dream as he hopped off the couch. “Hmm, shall we begin with this pattern?” he asked, holding up the package for a simple v neck shirt. Dream hummed in approval.

“Hop up, I gotta measure you. And be good, mister.”

Dream stood, staying still and patient as Hob manipulated the measuring tape about his body. Hob scribbled it all down in a fresh notebook that was to live next to the sewing table, which Hob had eagerly set up earlier in the day.

“All done! Why don’t you order us some take away while I get started cutting out the pattern?”

☆ ☆ ☆

While Dream headed down to meet the delivery driver outside, Hob began to set up the sewing machine. A fresh needle, new black thread loaded in the bobbin, the room awash in bright light so he could see in front of him. Hob had missed sewing with the machine. He would sew by hand on occasion, mending tears and quickly patching tears in his jeans, but the purr of the sewing machine was a different animal entirely. He been so excited when the first machines came out, you could make a new garment exponentially faster than ever before! People took it for granted these days. Hob preferred a simpler machine with just a few stitch settings, but still had an electric motor. He’s a man of modernity, after all.

Dream returned with the bag of food, tantalizing smells wafting through the door. Hob lifted up the presser foot and pulled the garment away from the machine, snipping the tails of thread with his tiny scissors. He held it up for Dream’s inspection.

“What do you think so far? I’ve only done one side and I’ve done the seam allowance as tiny as I can go.”

“Your skillset holds no bounds, Hob.” He gave a tiny smile, the kind that’s only for Hob’s eyes.

“High praise,” Hob grinned. “Now, what’d you get me?” He wiggles his fingers as he moves toward the table.

☆ ☆ ☆

Dream has become used to the rattling of the needle, up and down and up and down, interspersed by Hob humming or scolding the garment for not behaving or yelping when his thumb catches the end of a pin. The background noise is soothing as he goes about his day, reading or preparing a snack for Hob or working on his own projects. He’d expected it to be grating, like most machinery. But the sewing machine is not a screeching brake or rumbling jackhammer. It is a friend, a kindred spirit, another family member in the little home he and Hob have built for themselves. He is not jealous when it takes Hob’s attention, because Hob loves him. He is certain of this. And as his wardrobe has grown, he has felt the love in every stitch, every dart in his jackets, the neatly trimmed seams that don’t irritate his skin. Hob enjoyed creating these for him with nothing expected in return. Hob was pleased when he stopped insisting on doing something for him after every finished garment was handed over. He believed relationships were always an exchange until Hob. Until his labors of love and the friendly hum of a Singer.

#fluffbruary #dreamling #hob x dream #dream x hob #aquila writes #autistic!dream of the endless

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