#patchwork the fox

[patchwork-the-fox]

*Patchwork was hidding as the reboot went down...they didn't know what to do...Mari and the new player had already gotten taken to safety, but the little fox had been left behind in all the chaos*

[patchwork-the-fox]

"H-Hello!"

@the-alcoholic-strawberry Sunshine, Why, and Bleu

@ask-abstracted-kaufmo Why, Crazy Frog, and Soup

@yejehehe4746 Why, Crazy Frog, and Sunshine

@xxmoonduskxx Sunshine, Soup, and Gay

@pastels-bedazzled-brass-knuckles Why, Sunshine, and Bleu

@the-annoying-juniper Why, Crazy Frog, and Soup

WHAT AM I TO YOU?

u know the drill

[lifeontwolegs]

My 25 most listened to albums in 2024

[hatckmur]

I made an eric patch,The first patch I actually make

For my backpack, along with an Eric pin I made,Maybe I want to make one of ace.

[patchwork-the-fox]

*Patchwork had curled up in their bed all wrapped up in the blanket and wearing fluffy frog pajamas...the little fox seems abit irritable and distressed almost. Meanwhile Mari had completely closed off their area and was curled up tight in what was usually a pretty tidy nest and lashing out at whatever happened to come by. Only one who avoided that wrath was Carnival*

*It appears the fox's might be more aggressive when receiving asks!*

[patchwork-the-fox]

*Patchwork had burrowed under a blanket and was letting out happy little yips as they nibbled on some chips*

★✮Welcome to the Slumber Party✮★

Today, for surprises, the door for Jax's room is open, but of course he's sitting right by it to make sure that no sneaky uninvited person comes in today.

Today was for his kids only, they deserved something special after all!

[@the-alcoholic-strawberry @littleladylav @phoenix-parentfriend @tye-the-archivist @yejehehe4746 @floweranonymous @anonymousclownn @patchwork-the-fox @fluffyr0cky @xxmoonduskxx @fourheadskisser ]

[teonothefoxie]

Putting patches on your jacket is too much fun! X3

[abutteredspoon]

Fop!

[patchwork-the-fox]

*Patchwork throws a frying pan at the anon*

"G-Go away!"

Are eat cat?

No no no.. don't eat Potroast.. what the hell is wrong with you??

[wyrmscraft]

Finally took this Gentlemen’s Agreement pattern in for quilting. I love the clamshell quilting and orange thread on the foxes, it’s so much fun. Just the orange binding left to finish this off.

[katesfatcat]

X-Files inspired patchwork sleeve <3

[sarahkomik]

i just remembered i'm in the patchwork pals fandom... UHHHH

have these, 4 characters I like, but not patchwork

also reblogs are better than likes! but it's okay if you give em' a like!

[whovian223]

Friday Night Shots - How Important is a Game's Theme?

Friday Night Shots - How Important is a Game's Theme? @devirgames.bsky.social @jackiefox.bsky.social @sirjoshwood.bsky.social

Hi-di-ho, neighbour! Welcome back to the bar, this time for a regular post! (anybody who can tell me what that welcome is from, I will give you…well, my undying admiration. You are official old!). Yes, it’s been less than a week since last week’s post was on Saturday, but I’ve sort of taken the week off. I would like to say for bar repairs, but really it’s because I was so entranced with Rise…

[patchwork-the-fox]

*Patchwork and Mari were working to handle some of the Christmas cleanup when they noticed something in their area they had dental before...a new door had formed, and neither recognized the patterns covering it...Patchwork peeking the door open and letting out a squeak when he fell over with a blast of cold wind and snow. When both peeked into the room, it looked like an arctic cave filled with snow, ice, and water that lead out into a tundra esc landscape*

"I-It's cold...really cold..."

*Mari let out a kitten like sneeze with Patchwork sitting up and shaking themself off since they'd fallen back into snow*

"Well...it's in time for Christmas...?"

[whimsicalcotton]

tfw you finally remember the name of a vocaloid song you really liked

[n1ght0f-nyx]

The first time you saw him, you nearly shot him.

The night was thick with fog, the kind that made it hard to tell where the earth ended and the sky began. The sheep had been restless all evening, their bleating sharp and panicked. You had taken up your lantern and your old rifle, more out of habit than real fear. Foxes were one thing, but a man—if you could call him that—was another.

He emerged from the mist like a nightmare, towering and disjointed, his movements stiff as if he were made of wood instead of flesh. His clothes were tattered rags, his skin an unnatural patchwork of scars. The moonlight caught his face, and you saw the crude stitches, the mismatched limbs, the heavy, sorrowful eyes.

You raised your rifle. Your hands shook.

"G-Go!" you stammered, stepping backward, nearly tripping over a stray bucket. Your heart thundered in your chest, but he did not lunge, did not growl, did not attack. He only raised his hands in a slow, trembling motion, palms open in a universal plea.

"P-please," he rasped. His voice was jagged stone scraping against itself, barely comprehensible, yet thick with desperation.

You hesitated.

He could have overpowered you in an instant. He could have taken the gun, torn you apart like a wild animal. But he did none of those things. Instead, he stood there, eyes wide and lost, like a stray dog waiting to be chased away or, perhaps, let in.

You didn't lower the rifle, not yet. But you didn't fire it either.

The first few days, you kept your distance. He lingered at the edge of the farm, curling up in the barn at night when he thought you wouldn’t notice. The sheep, though still wary, were no longer terrified. You watched him from the kitchen window as he sat in the hay, staring at the world with quiet wonder.

He was slow to move, slow to react, as though every part of him was at war with itself. And yet, he did not act like a beast. He was gentle, careful. One morning, you found him holding a lamb in his massive hands, stroking its tiny head as it dozed against his chest.

You swallowed your fear and took a step toward him. "You... you know how to be gentle."

He looked at you, startled, then slowly nodded.

You sighed. "If you're going to stay here, you work. You understand? Work."

"W-work," he repeated, voice thick and strained. He nodded again, more eagerly this time.

And so, he worked.

He was stronger than any man you’d ever seen. Tasks that took you hours were done in minutes. The woodpile grew tall, the fences were mended with ease, and the fields were tilled in a day. But it wasn’t just his strength—it was the way he did things, careful and methodical. He treated each chore with a strange reverence, as if he was grateful for every task you gave him.

Communication was slow, but he understood more than he could say. He watched you carefully, mimicked what you did. When you showed him how to feed the chickens, he did it precisely as you had, though his fingers—huge, stitched-together things—moved with great caution, as if he feared crushing something delicate.

"You learn fast," you murmured one evening, watching as he repaired the broken wheel of your cart. He paused, looking up at you. A small smile pulled at his lips, awkward and unfamiliar, as though he had only just remembered how to use those muscles.

"Good," he said.

You nodded. "Yeah. Good."

As the weeks passed, fear gave way to curiosity. You found yourself watching him more, not just out of wariness, but fascination. He was unlike anything you’d ever seen, a thing of stitched flesh and borrowed parts, yet so... human.

He liked the stars. Every night, he sat outside the farmhouse, staring at them in silent awe. You joined him once, bundling yourself in a wool shawl against the autumn chill.

"Pretty, aren't they?" you said, glancing at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the sky. "B-beautiful."

You blinked. It was the first time he’d chosen a word of his own, not just repeated yours. Something warm settled in your chest.

"Yeah," you agreed, smiling softly. "Beautiful."

Winter came, and you worried. You didn’t know what he was, not really. Did he get sick? Did he feel the cold the way you did? You caught him shivering one morning, his massive hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you had left out for him.

"You should come inside," you said before you could talk yourself out of it.

He looked up, startled. "I... in?"

"Yes, in. Before you freeze solid. Come on."

His steps were hesitant as he followed you into the farmhouse. He ducked under the doorway, his broad frame making the kitchen seem suddenly small. You gestured to the chair by the fire, and he sat, stiff and uncertain.

"Here," you said, wrapping an extra blanket around his shoulders. "Better?"

He grunted in something that might have been gratitude. You watched as his fingers curled around the fabric, as if he had never been given warmth before.

Maybe he hadn’t.

By spring, he was no longer just a presence on your farm—he was a part of it. The townsfolk never came by much, and you never saw a reason to tell them about him. He was your secret, your shadow, your strange and wonderful companion.

One evening, as you sat on the porch, you turned to him. "Do you have a name?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "N-no... name."

You frowned. "That doesn’t seem fair. Everyone should have a name."

He looked down, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

You thought for a moment. "What about Adam?"

His eyes lifted, something flickering behind them—recognition, maybe, or something deeper.

"Adam," he repeated, slow and deliberate. He nodded. "Adam."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah. Adam."

He smiled back, small but real, and for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t see a monster.

You saw a man.

And maybe, just maybe, a friend.