What is full of holes but still holds water?

I hold your papers or show a scene, one keeps things tight, one plays on screen.

I am a pit of darkness that bleeds with a feather's touch. I hold the lamp black ichor of the written word inside me. Who am I?

I store your clothes or slow your pace, one word that fits in either case.

I wear a thousand colors’ guise, a gemstone of firelight before your eyes. No flame am I, yet fire I keep, In autumn’s grasp, my secrets sleep.