#just. please. learn to stitch a seam.

[detectivenyx]

never learn to sew as a cosplayer

why repair the cheap garbage you bought off aliexpress for $10 when you can completely replace it for $50? 🤑🤑🤑 you save -$40, AND get to help create more crap to pour into landfill!!! unnecessary environmental damage slay <3

personalising your cosplay to fit your needs, body, or aesthetics in a way that won’t fall apart in 40 seconds once you start dancing for a tiktok? who needs that? instead buy something mass produced that looks like it was made from a plastic bin lining and is about half as sturdy and a fraction as flattering!

why would you want to dress yourself in clothing that you can definitely confirm won’t have lead dye used in it? c’mon, take a little risk with your cosplay literally poisoning you every time you sweat (which will be almost every time you put it on since the fabric is literal plastic!)

you might develop a 😱LIFE SKILL😱 you can use outside of cosplay to personalize your own wardrobe and extend the lifespan of your clothing!!! cheugy! everyone knows you replace your whole wardrobe every month the second a single stitch pulls or the trend changes!

you’ll soon learn just how terribly made not only cheap aliexpress cosplays, but almost all of fast fashion today, is! education is the DEVIL outside of Extremely Specific LGBTQ+ Identity Of The Week (this week it’s Glutemaxibarrensexual in honour of the new genshin character who flicked his wrist in one optional scene which means he’s totally ✨fruity ✨ ) which we will beat you within an inch of your life for not knowing. wait, what’s the ‘bear’ flag? people think being a fat hairy man is lgbtq+ now? 🤡

you might learn what exactly goes into the borderline slave labour used to make clothing! and as we just covered, education is evil!

you might be able to cosplay whatever characters you want! rather than being limited to what characters a seller could be bothered to make!!! who would want to cosplay a unique character??? nah, just cosplay from the same 5-9 serieses that are currently trending.

and remember! we’re all completely valid! <3 <3 <3 now if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to go into my DMs to gossip with my friends about this fat cosplayer making her own bayonetta cosplay and how cringe she is! oh but uh. it’s because she uh. three years ago said taylor swift was a cunt, and that was before everything about her pollution came out, so it was motivated by misogyny. yeag <3 the autism is winning today <3

#just. please. learn to stitch a seam. #cosplay has become so much more environmentally damaging since the pandemic began. #'uhhh i don't know how' there's youtube tutorials that are very clear with instructions that i learned from. #it's a skill to learn like styling your wigs. #and i would argue one more vital than that. #you do not have to learn to sew on a couture level. i can't sew on that level. #but it's like. you don't have to learn to cook a 5 star michelean restaurant meal. #BUT LEARN TO COOK/SEW. THOSE ARE BASIC PRACTICAL LIFE SKILLS. #post this on instagram and watch my autism. queerness. disability. and working class status. vanish away #and suddenly i'm a neurotypical rich cishet #because only neurotypical rich cishets *checks notes* ... are critical of capitalism and consumerism #- nyx (they/she)

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

#ask #buttonholes #sewing #hand sewing #sewing tutorial #I've been procrastinating on the video this week #I want it done! I don't want to work on it I want new projects! I want to cut out more gloves! #currently forcing myself to do the last few buttonholes on these pants and then maybe I can cut out new gloves? as a treat? #but I hope I get some filming done tomorrow too

[factual-fantasy]

Okay so I did some research on Seam and realized that it would be a crime to not add him to my AU in someway where him and Jevil reconcile and they escape to the multiverse together and are free and they're best friends and- 😭😭😭

I had a dark story all thought up for this but half way through drawing I changed the story so this isn't really canon anymore?? Or it might be idk- my Deltarune AU is only a few days into development so its constantly changing <XDD Sorry-

If anyone's interested in the story I've got it below the Keep reading :}} (Fair warning, its rather dark and disturbing..)

TLDR: This story is super dark and interesting to me but it might not be canon XD

ANYWAYS! The story behind this was Jevil and Seam come from a very dark and corrupt AU. Ruled by an even darker and wicked King (Lancers dad). In this AU they were Kings royal Magician and Jester as per usual. They were best friends though and preformed these beautiful displays of magic together. Side by side, hand in hand. They were best friends for years and always dreamed of one day running away together and finding a safe place to live.

Eventually Jevil met someone. Someone who spoke of a way to leave this place. They spoke of walking through your own reflection. And if done right, one could leave their AU entirely.. Jevil believed them out of desperation and tried to tell Seam about it. Seam thought Jevil was losing his mind. Walking through your own reflection? That makes no sense..

King caught wind of them plotting to escape. And as punishment to both of them he commanded Seam to lock Jevil away using his own magic.

In Seams eyes, Jevil was his best friend. His brother, the only thing in this world that he could trust. But he was more afraid of what King would do to him or Jevil for disobeying him, then he was willing to stand up against him. So while believing Jevil was sick in the head and needed help, he acted out of cowardice and sealed Jevil away..

I'm thinking that eventually sometime later, Jevil is able to escape through his own reflection. A mirror. And either he goes back and sees Seam dressed in these beautiful robes and thinks "well the king must be treating him well. Guess I'll just leave him to reap the benefits of betraying me.. >:(" And leaves with a bitter heart. THAT, or he just left. Never going back to check on Seam or see if King was treating him well or not.

So the AU continues. With Jevil traveling from world to world, meeting new people and learning new things.. When eventually he's with the whole gang and they're all sitting in a restaurant or something.

When Jevil suddenly feels this overwhelming sense of doom. Something horrible is about to happen to Seam. He just knows it, its in his bones. Deep within his soul he can feel it. He knows- he needs to save him.

He falls back out of his chair into a mirror and heads straight for his old AU. Showing up just in time to stop Seam from.. well..

They end up talking. Turns out that after Jevil was imprisoned, Seam tried to sneak down to the basement and visit him. He wanted to apologize for imprisoning him and explain himself- but he was caught by King.

"I just wanted to see him!"

"For that I will take your eye."

"NO! Please don't take my eye!!"

"For talking back, I will take your voice too."

King took Seams eye and stitched his mouth shut. He could still talk but not very well. To make things worse, when Jevil escaped? Seam thought he had died. Why wouldn't he? His magical barrier was never broken and Jevil was gone. Surly he must have died somehow.. Meanwhile everyone else was under the impression that Seam let Jevil escape because they were friends.

Seam then suffered greatly for years as punishment for "letting Jevil escape". He was bound by these magical chains made by King. He was abused for years and at this point he had enough. But before he could do anything rash.. Jevil returned.

Jevil then felt the sinking horror realizing that he left Seam alone in this world to be abused by King. He abandoned him. After all those years of promising to one day run away together..

Seam betrayed Jevil, and Jevil abandoned Seam.

After realizing all of this and having a long emotional talk. Seam and Jevil deeply apologized to the other, and forgave each other. Marking the beginning of their new friendship. And despite Seam feeling like he doesn't deserve freedom, he agreed to run away with Jevil and finally be free with him.

~~~~

Now this story is super cool and morbid and all but now I'm questioning the story and wether or not I want it to be canon <XD

I have some other ideas that I really like too and this one is just a biiiiit dark... ish. I mean I've made worse- but idk I guess this one just has a bad taste to it..

I also like the idea that Seam has been with Jevil this whole time and was the first person he saved. Which motivated him to try and save other people and give them the same freedom that he gave to Seam. But then that would change the Grillby fight and Spamton situation a bit and also maybe effect the Goner kid situation- GAH!! I'll figure it out eventually- <XDD

I hope this wasn't too hard to stomach and if you read all the way through I thank you :}} 💖

#deltarune #jevil #seam deltarune #jevil and seam #tw mentions of abuse #tw suicide attempt #tw needles #tw implied suicide attempt #I know this thing is pretty messed up- if there are any tags that I should add PLEASE lmk #I don't wanna upset anyone but I'm really bad at tagging things-

[exa-reblogs]

Some identifiers for AI generated fashion images that I've noticed

So, recently and not unexpectedly, I've seen a major uptick in AI generated images showing up in my searches for fashion photos, specifically. I've seen people make posts like this for specific art styles, and for 2D art in general, but I wanted to share some observations I made regarding clothing, fashion, and runways. I've seen a lot of people getting fooled by these, but it seems like for every one person thinking it's real there's about three people informing them that it's AI, fortunately. I'll admit, a lot of them look somewhat believable at first, but once you look closer it becomes apparent that they're off somehow.

To clarify: this is about common inconsistencies I've personally noticed in AI fashion images, so that you can learn where to look for these and similar inconsistencies and avoid sharing AI content by accident.

There's this one "collection" specifically that seems to come up a lot (also, click on all these images in this post to see the details more clearly):

There's more images like this and yes, despite the "houseofai" watermark I still see people asking who the designer is, or saying that they genuinely thought it was real at first. First and foremost: these are all clearly meant to be from the same runway show, right? Then why does each image look like it was taken on a different runway? The lighting and coloring are different in each one, and the middle one has vague red stairs in the background while the other two look like just a plain light-colored runway. This is something you'll obviously only be able to notice in groups of images and not singular ones, but it's a pretty dead giveaway if you see it.

Secondly: AI generated images, as a whole, tend to have this specific kind of super dramatic lighting with very bright, white lights and soft grey shadows. I'm not very knowledgeable about photography, so I can't explain it exactly, but I know it when I see it (and if someone reading this can properly explain it , please do.)

Thirdly: AI generated fashion tends to attempt perfect symmetry, but always fails somehow.

As for the actual outfits: the best that I can describe it is that a lot of the shapes and patterns just don't look like intentional human choices.

What in the hell is that monogram on the upper right supposed to be? It's clearly mimicking a logo of some kind, but it's messy and indecipherable, not actual branding.

The heart motif is clearly the running theme here, but the hearts don't really make sense. Like the main one in two halves across the chest here: why does it have those two notches missing at the bottom that prevent it from coming to a point at the bottom like a heart is supposed to?

The bottom hem is way longer on the left than on the right.

The little shoulder hearts are like, bleeding into the shoulder seams; those lines in the hair look like they're supposed to be headbands, but they disappear at the part with the rest of the hair; the embroidery on the pants isn't in a clear or intentional pattern.

Again, compare the lighting on this one's neck with the lighting on the last one's neck, totally different.

Those pink things on the chest look like they're trying to be hearts, but they're so clearly not actually hearts. If your collection is heart themed, why aren't you using actual hearts?

The quilting effect is uneven and the individual lines don't follow through and finish in the places they should. Look at the upper right sleeve, where the diamonds are misshapen and the diagonal lines are clearly disconnected. On the lower right chest, the lines just disappear. This can't actually with quilted garments IRL because the top layer is literally stitched to the bottom one along those lines with material in between. It can't fuck up like that, especially not a designer garment that costs your monthly rent.

Smooth zipper. Zippers seem to be a common fuck up.

You can't read the text on the hearts. It's nonsense. Nonsense, unreadable text and fucked up hands are the absolutely surefire ways to identify AI art like this. Conveniently, there are no hands in these photos.

What are those embossed shapes on the sleeves? They're not identifiable as anything in particular.

That is not how zippers work.

I suppose that weird folding beneath the hearts is something technically physically possible. But it's much, much more likely that they would create smoother, less ugly seams with less excess fabric.

These generative AI programs don't actually comprehend what they're trying to depict. Thus, they make mistakes like these. Physical inconsistencies that are often totally impossible, but even the possible things are just... stupid choices that an actual designer isn't going to do. Yeah, sure, designs can be weird, asymmetrical, and imperfect on purpose. But it's way, way more likely that this is just an AI.

Experiment: look at these two images of retro-futuristic headpieces/eyewear and determine whether they're real or AI.

Right one is easy, mostly because of the wonky bitch in the back. But some other inconsistencies I specifically wanna note: if the blue goggles color the "model"'s skin, hair, helmet, and the background behind the lenses blue, why doesn't it do the same for the eyes? And also, I've noticed that a lot of these images have trouble properly rendering the corners of the mouth, which is a weird detail but one you won't be able to unsee once you know to look out for it. Yes, there's a dark line where actual human lips meet, often with some subtle divots at the corners, but in the image on the right, it's rendered as a harsh, gaping hole more like something sculpted out of plastic than actual flesh. On the note of imperfect symmetry again: the left lens isn't perfectly round. And finally, this is a really good example of that giveaway lighting I mentioned. I don't know how you would actually achieve that lighting IRL, but it's so, so common in AI images.

The left photo is an actual model in 1967 wearing pieces designed by Pierre Cardin, a designer that the right image is definitely trying to emulate. The model has a look on her face that isn't super duper expressive, but it's still far beyond any of the AI images I've seen. Every AI fashion image I've seen thus far has totally blank-faced, expressionless "models". They might pout slightly, but I haven't seen any with visible teeth. Something tells me the AI would render teeth the same way it renders fingers. The emblem on the hat is actually perfectly symmetrical, and the glasses are clearly asymmetrical as an intentional design choice, not like the shapes are supposed to be the same but got messed up somehow. And she has ten fingers total, five on each hand.

Two more:

These are both AI generated. I'm not gonna lie, i fell for the one on the left at first. The right is easy:

distorted faces

woman in back is being absorbed by the train(?) seat

those middle buttons on the jacket are totally useless

AI Lighting (TM)

But the "models" on the left look very, very convincing, and the lighting doesn't immediately register to me as AI lighting. The only really wonky thing on the faces is the mouth on the left "model". However, there's one dead giveaway: the headphone wires. Why are they different thicknesses? Why does the rightmost wire disappear into the jacket sleeve? Where the fuck does the leftmost wire even go? AI, I've noticed, struggles with thin lines, strings, and strands of things. Like with the quilted jacket above, you can often try and trace a single line, only to find that it drops off, distorts, or disappears. And sure enough, as soon as I noticed something was weird with those wires, I went to the Pinterest profile that posted it and found that they exclusively posted AI content. Speaking of the actual headphones, the leftmost ear cushion is sitting on an angle that doesn't make sense, and the one to the direct right of it is significantly thinner than the other three. Again, subtle failed symmetry.

This is by no means a comprehensive guide, and I encourage anyone seeing this to point out ways they've found to identify AI images like this. These are things I've just been on the lookout for lately. And when in doubt: conduct reverse image searches and try your best to identify solid sources for your images. AI images won't list designers, model names, photographers, stylists, makeup artists, etc., while actual runway and photoshoot images will, because there are human creatives behind them.

#posting this to my least active blog rather than my fashion one so that less notes will overwhelm that blog's notifications #ai #psa #long post

[writingoddess1125]

Unless Skills

Useless skills that they have that doesn't apply to their dreams.

Aka me on my crack shit- Please Enjoy!

If you like my work please support me on Ko-Fi

Luffy

Giving Massages

This is very odd and no one knows were the hell this skill came from, But Luffy has great hands for massages. It's discovered by accident when his S/O says their back hurts and he reaches over and gives them a skilled massage.

He has damn near perfect hand strength and technique- while he will chatter your ear off while doing it he's hella amazing at it. Missed a secret calling as a masseurs.

Zoro

Fixing and Making Clothes

Zoro has always had to be a bit self reliant- so time using swords had made him learn how to fix up his own clothes or make them. Especially with how often he ripped or cut the seams of his shirts he could stitch them back no problem or if spare fabric was on hand create a new belt, trousers or headbands.

For his S/O he would sew whatever they pleased. If it ment making a teddy bear to a new shirt he could do it with total ease.

Sanji

He is an amazing poet

Maybe it's because he thinks so much about his wording for women, but Sanji is a fantastic poet. He has a unnatural smoothness for word play and styles.

Will write poems for his S/O and hide them in places he knows only they would look at or kinda sings the poems to them in private.

Buggy

He is an absolutely beautiful singer

Buggy has a naturally deeper singing voice then what his natural one would give away- as well as lacking the comical tone that follows his speaking voice. Sultry and smooth.

He only sings when showering or if he's mindlessly humming to himself. Will sing if his S/O ask for it however-

Shanks

Talented at doing hair

Maybe it's hid skills with a sword or just natural talent but Shanks is good at doing people's hair. Even though he doesn't so his own hair due to laziness he will maintain others.

One armed or not he is great with scissors or just a razor to give clean edges, a nice trim or more. Can even do braids with one hand or twist- Aka he's the hairstylist for his S/O as well

Mihawk

Skilled Ballroom Dancer

Being good on one's feet was important for swordfighting- so it isn't shocking that Mihawk is an amazing ballroom dancer. Mainly the Vienna Waltz-

Never uses the skill unless he is flirting or with his S/O. Teaching them how to dance in the empty ballroom back in his home.

Bonus!-

Crocodile

Great with Kids

This is a shock for everyone since the famed Pirate and former Warlord doesn't seem like the type to be good with loud children, However that is wrong. A zen with patients comes from Crocodile when dealing with children- That and the fact they utterly adore him as well.

His S/O will be surpsied to see him interacting so well with the kids on the street. Giving them pocket change to go get food or other things they may like- Opens up the idea of maybe adopting or having kids with Crocodile is a strong possibility.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece shanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece luffy #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #crocodile x reader #one piece crocodile #op crocodile #one piece imagine #one piece fluff

[morally-grey-variant]

love is a dagger [loki x oc] [part three]

loki x oc

part three

[master post]

Setting: Agent Grey Forrest can’t quite reconcile her alliance with Loki. After six months of regular hand-to-hand combat and close-weapons training, they’re not quite friends but can’t exactly stay away from each other. Everything changes the day Loki accidentally stabs Grey during a training exercise.

Summary(3): Loki bares his teeth. Grey bears the weight of his guilt. Wolves are not born cruel; they lash out when danger is thrust upon them. All monsters deserve love – even if all they have known is fear. (wc 3.1k)

Warnings: Later episodes feature dark & explicit themes -- Minors DNI. Freshly stitched-up wounds, pain, implied self-harm themes (no descriptions or direct references), general angst, swearing, inferences of past trauma, non-explicit nudity (if I've missed something please let me know!)

Showering is a kind of bliss and torture in and of itself. The stitches pull as I lift my hands above my head to release my ponytail. Scrubbing shampoo into my long, dark hair means I'm forced to curl into myself and tuck my elbows into my sides. This won’t heal quickly, and I'm going to have to learn to work around it. Might as well start now.

Soap slides down my torso and over the puckered seam; I tip my head back in a silent scream, the sharp sting paralyzing my entire body. 

Some tough agent I am. 

But the scalding hot water on my scalp, scrubbing dried blood off my face and hands and everywhere, is enough to make it worth it. When I finally step out of the bathroom, a trail of lilac-scented steam in my wake, Loki is still there. Waiting for me. 

I wish I'd picked cuter pajamas. Comfort eclipsed cuteness, though, and my old gray t-shirt and loose flannel pajama pants are as much as I could manage after the painful effort of shimmying into a loose green bralette. My hair clings to the back of my tee, leaving a big wet patch.

Leaning back in my desk chair, Loki stares deeply into the middle distance. He's somewhere far away, deep in thought as he clenches the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are white.

“That's my only chair,” I say. “If you break it, I don't think they'll give me another.” 

He eases his grip. His gaze loosens, and those green eyes drift to me, considering each piece of my pajamas. “Did you re-dress your … wound?”

I shake my head. “And I don't suppose you'd know how to wrap hair in a towel.” I sigh, sinking onto the edge of my mattress. Leaning forward, I dab my white bath towel against my dark, wavy locks in dismay. 

Towel bunched up in my lap, I close my eyes and let my head fall into my lap with a small groan. The pain is absolutely killing me now. I shouldn't have gotten the stitches wet in the shower, soap drips notwithstanding, but there's no way I could've gotten into bed without washing up first. Wiping myself down with a wet washcloth wouldn't have worked, either – too much reaching and straining. 

I focus on taking deep, calming breaths, the counselor’s words echoing in my head. Square breathing, just like music class in grade school – breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. 

Deep breaths stretch out my ribcage. Another involuntary groan slips out. Fuck.

“Grey.”

Loki sounds closer, and I’d like to think I’d forgotten his presence in my self-indulgent suffering, but there’s no way I could ignore the way his presence fills up my tiny bedroom. I hum a noncommittal response. I want to lift my head to look at him, but my head might as well weigh a hundred pounds.

There's a tug against the towel, and Loki pulls it out of my lap. Gingerly, he drapes it over the back of my neck, letting it fall forward over my hair. He gathers it up in front, and with a subtle twist, wraps the towel around my hair and tucks it back behind my head. 

“Woah,” I laugh softly, finally letting my head lift. “How–”

One side of Loki's mouth turns up in a thin-lipped grin of acquiescence. “Thor,” he explains simply, his smirk deepening as some memory floats to the surface. “If you tell anyone, he'll have my head for it.”

I can't help but laugh. Loki is warm and familiar when he wants to be, like a reluctant housecat. I'm overcome with an urge to wrap my arms around him and drink in all that dark warmth. 

The laugh rubs my shirt against the wound, and I flinch. 

Loki's face drops. It cracks me open from the inside. 

“I'm fine, Loki,” I say, forcing myself not to curl an arm around my torso. “Really. It'll probably scar, but it's not that bad. I'm fine.”

He shoves the chair back with a flick of his wrists, suddenly towering over me. “It’s not fine.” Loki's eyes darken, his brow creasing. The chair rattles backwards on an unsteady wheel and bangs against the side of the desk. A chill sweeps over me. “Stop saying you're fine, Grey. I think you've forgotten that I stabbed you today. You're not fucking fine.”

“Don't break my fucking chair if you're having a tantrum,” I frown, though I don't bother standing. I won’t fight with him. “You didn't stab me, idiot. It was a training exercise. I didn't get out of the way fast enough. If you'd stabbed me, I'd be in a drawer underneath the hospital by now.”

His eyes flash knowingly before he whips around, practically stomping away from me. He can't go far in the tiny room, and his march to the window would almost be comical if it didn't fucking kill me to see him this upset. I wouldn't treat the god with kid gloves, though. He could handle my anger.

One arm braces above his head as he leans against the full-length window, staring out at the darkening landscape below. The half-moon reflects onto his pale, brooding face. His hood bunches up around his shoulders, pushing his dark curls forward from where he's tucked them behind his ears. He's trying to calm down, too.

“You're exactly right, you know.”

Something in his tone sends a shard of ice through my chest. He doesn't break his stare, watching the world spread below us, though I know he's not really seeing anything. 

“I'm ending your training.” He continues coldly, his voice flat and businesslike. As if he's ordering coffee. “This has gone far enough.”

“Loki–” I protest, pinching the skin on the back of my arm. “That's not fair. I have a say in this, too. I'm not going off to war. We're sparring in a padded room. No one else will train with me–”

He whips around, face contorted in horrifyingly inhuman fury. His hands ball up into fists at his sides. “Do you know the last agent I fucking stabbed, Grey?” He seethes through clenched teeth. A muscle in his jaw flexes, twitching up through his temple. “I killed Phil Coulson. Stabbed him in the fucking back.” 

His eyes glaze over, the whites now run through with pinkish-red. He spits his admission through his teeth like a snake spitting venom. The things that haunt him in the middle of the night, that he wishes he could bury deep and let them rot in his heart forever. But they forever lurk just beneath the surface. When he looks at me, he sees Coulson.

“I know, Loki. I’m not afraid of you.” 

SHIELD agents learn about Loki the moment they ask to work directly with the Avengers. We learn about all the Avengers, sure – Cap's brave sacrifice, Tony's arrogant but self-sacrificing genius, Thor's god-like might – but they’re obsessed with Loki. The training videos have something of a “keep your enemies closer” vibe that would make you think he's some bloodthirsty supervillain. Loki murdered Agent Coulson in cold blood. Loki tried to conquer Earth to spite his brother. Loki lies and cheats and stabs people in the back.

Well, he only stabbed me in the front.

“I'm not afraid of you.” My voice is even and calm. “Sit down, Loki.”

He doesn't move a muscle. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted to slap me. 

“Coulson's alive,” I continue, shrugging with all the nonchalance I can muster. “And you can't end our training. You don't just get to decide things for me.”

“Coulson is alive by chance,” Loki counters quickly. He's lost some of his fire, though. His muscles relax slightly, even if he's still obviously on edge. “And I do get to decide for you when you're putting yourself in danger.”

Now it's my turn to get angry. His words stoke the little ember that ceaselessly burns in my chest. I get to decide for you. 

“Why do you care if I put myself in danger?” I shout, ignoring the way my ragged heart chafes in my chest. 

“Because I care about you, you fumbling imbecile!” Loki shouts back, palms spread wide, face contorted in wretched agony. “I had to sit here and listen to your agony while you did something as simple as shower, knowing I am the cause of that pain. For weeks – likely for months – I will be forced to watch you suffer from afar because of my mistake.” The words pour out of him, uncontrolled and unfiltered. “Day after day, I'm subjected to loathsome glares and rightfully placed suspicion. I know quite well who I am, Grey. The God of Mischief; the Prince of Lies. An arbiter of human misery.

“I found the only soul whose face doesn't contort with hatred when they see me, and I sank a dagger into her chest.”

Loki's chest falls. His entire body slumps forward under the weight of his admission. He tugs his hands through his curls again, twisting away from me. “I must go,” he finishes, his words clipped. He hastens past me.

I snag the loose fabric of his sweatshirt as he tries to walk past me towards the door. “Don't you dare.”

He freezes mid-step. He obeys, though his head is still turned away from mine. My hand curls into the fabric with a tight fist; the weight of such a grip that might bring him to his knees. 

“Don't you dare, Loki,” I repeat, still looking up at him though he won't meet my gaze. “Running away won't fix this.”

His chest shudders with a ragged breath.

“You want to drown in self-pity just because you made a mistake? Learn the difference between accidents and purposeful attacks, you fumbling imbecile.” I can't help but grin a little as I echo his frustrated insult. “If you leave now, not only am I going to have to deal with this on my own, but it's going to fucking hurt when I re-wrap this stupid thing. I earned this, so I get to deal with it on my own terms.”

I earned this. I deserve this.

He finally looks down at me. Red-rimmed green eyes leak small tracks of tears down his cheeks. That shatters the cracked thing inside my chest. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and help take care of me,” I continue, clinging to his shirt and forcing my voice not to crack.

I chose to ally myself with the villain. The man – the god – no one else will even go near.

“Stark will be furious if you forgive me.” Loki smirks down at me through his tears. 

I earned this, because this is exactly what I deserve. Loki doesn’t get to decide who suffers and who grieves. He isn’t the only kicked dog here.

“Good. Maybe some disobedience will humble him.”

Loki rolls his eyes as he finally shifts, taking a step back and lowering himself to sit beside me on the edge of the mattress. “Humility is not a concept he recognizes, I'm afraid.” 

The fallout from this will cause an avalanche. I wince as a mountain of potential consequences piles up in my mind. Faces flash through my mind as I picture just a few people who will need more than a little convincing that this accident was, indeed, an accident. Natasha. Nick Fury. Tony Stark. Thor. Natasha. Agent Coulson. Cap. Natasha. But for now, there are no consequences. As long as I can keep him safe in here with me, tucked away like a secret deep in my heart, we’re a universe of two.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Loki’s voice is gentler now. He's not crying – I doubt more than a few tears actually fell to begin with – but his demeanor softens considerably, even though he still seems on edge. Loki is more than a mere secret. He’s an earth-shattering whisper passed beneath hastened breaths. Deceptively silent. Taking up far less room than he deserves.

I care about you. 

The words echo again. What exactly does that mean, though? A lingering hand on my thigh during training; his head cupping my face while the doctor stitched me up.

Loki isn't a villain.

“I’m imagining everyone I'm going to have to explain this to when I can't report for duty tomorrow,” I concede, shrugging. The small movement draws out another involuntary hiss of pain.

I deserve this.

“You didn't bandage it after your shower?” 

I shake my head. “Too much… stretching. Getting dressed was hard enough.” I deserve this.

Loki pushes himself off the mattress, reaching to grab the bandages sent home from the medical wing. “Let me help you.” 

My face goes bright red. Fuck. In my proud insistence that Loki stay to atone for his mistake, I forgot that helping me might mean… this again. I tug up the bottom hem of my t-shirt, exposing the wound to the air. Loki furrows his brow, glancing between my face and the stitched-up gash. “You should've let me do this right away.” 

Oh, god. It's redder than ever, the skin puckered and inflamed around the black stitches. The shower and friction against my shirt have irritated it like crazy. I can feel my pulse in the bright red, raw edges.

I deserve this.

Loki gingerly lays gauze over the redness. The tips of his fingers brush against the skin just beneath it. My whole body shivers. He glances up, his face only inches from mine, before returning his diligent attention to his work. “Your hand is freezing,” I say quietly, hiding my embarrassment poorly. His hands are cold, but when his fingers brushed my bare skin...

“Sorry,” he mutters. A dark curl falls over his face as he holds one end of the long bandage roll over the gauze. The hem of my shirt slips from my fingertips, falling over the wound. “Hold still, darling.”

I barely fight the shiver that word sends through me. “Sorry,” I echo, barely breathing.

“Grey, are you… will you be… decent?” He stumbles around “are your tits out” as I nod hurriedly, though I instinctively pull my arms around my chest again. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to remove your shirt again.” I swear to God that he's smirking just slightly as he says it, avoiding eye contact with me the whole time.

“Of course,” I answer, painting my pinched voice with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Because this is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. “I managed to get a bra on after the shower… just in case, I guess.”

Loki frowns again. “That explains much of your miserable whimpering.” 

Oh. I didn't realize I'd been that loud.

“Just hold still,” he continues, brushing a hand against my waist. “Hold your arms up like earlier – yes, that's it,” he murmurs, tugging my shirt up and over my head. I'm sure every inch of my body has to be flushed pink by now. Not because I want him taking my clothes off. Absolutely not. No way. 

The little monster in the back of my head grins wickedly. Because you absolutely fucking do.

I tip my head back, unable to keep watching. That only makes it worse. Now I can feel him with alarming clarity, every nerve in my body focused on his tender touches. I'm blindingly aware of my thin, forest-green bralette – some soft cotton thing that I picked because of the color name, and not because I've come to love the color green – as it clings to my skin, delicately cupping my small breasts.

“I'm sorry if I'm hurting you,” Loki continues in a low, clenched voice. “I'll be done in a moment.”

“It doesn't hurt,” I breathe, trying to stay as still as possible. The bandage – and his arm – loop around me, wrapping completely around my torso until he can grip the other side.

He encircles me with his arms. I can’t breathe. 

Two long fingers press into my side, holding the cloth in place; I tip my head back, overwhelmed by the intimacy. His hands brush against my skin with every circle his hands make around my torso. 

Surely he can hear my heart thundering against the inside of my ribs. It threatens to rip through my stitches and burst out through that fresh opening. Loki’s fumbled slice weakened the dam; if I’m not careful, I’ll pour out through the torn seams. A lifetime of painstaking restraint wells up behind a crumbling levee. 

“All right.”

I tilt my head down. He's checking his handiwork, eyes downcast. Dark curls tumble forward as his head leans down, falling loose from their usual careful slicked-back style. I imagine myself brushing those curls back from his forehead, lifting his face to look at me, demanding he tell me exactly what he’s thinking. But nothing about my allyship with Loki has ever been so straightforward.

His impossibly broad left hand lightly rests against my right side, his long fingers stretched wide across my torso.

He lifts his eyes. The slight red remnants of his earlier outburst are fading, and the soulful eyes piercing my heart are so dark and ancient that I’m frozen in place. Some hint of a thought lingers on his slightly parted lips.

His dark eyebrows arch upward slightly; curiously. 

My jaw softens, my comment or quip long forgotten. He notices, and his gaze drops to my jaw. No; to my lips. Oh.

Loki tips his head forward, brushing his lips against mine. He’s soft and hesitant, achingly restrained. Cautious.

I catch his lower lip between my own, pushing into him. He hums contentedly. The sound rumbles deep in his chest. Oh.

He slides his hand down to brace against my back, pulling me forward ever so slightly. Cupping my jaw, his long fingers sliding into my hair and beneath my ear and I’m lighting up at every touch. I relax into him, his cool fingers perfect against my flushed skin. I wrap my arms around his neck and wind my fingers into his curls. They're exactly as soft as I imagined they would be.

I've wanted this for longer than I would admit to myself. I've wanted Loki for months, wondered how his hands would feel and his lips would taste and his hair would twist between my fingers. Every aching hour spent sparring with steel and fists and sharp words and barbed grins, my wolf among the woods, the predator sharpening his prey. 

My broken boy who burns the world just to spite the ashes. 

If Loki is a monster, then let us be monsters together.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki god of mischief #tom hiddleston #loki smut #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #love is a dagger / fic #love is a dagger #loki fluff #loki laufesyon x reader #loki x oc #loki x reader #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki series #loki of asgard #mcu loki

[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)

#ask #luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #luke skywalker fanfiction #star wars #luke star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #star wars a new hope #star wars empire strikes back #star wars return of the jedi #star wars headcanons #luke headcanons #fluff #lots of fluff

[notcaycepollard]

I just saw your Barbie jacket and fell in love, such beautiful work!

I want to get into sewing but have no idea where to start, do you have any tips?

Yes! FYI, I had the privilege of learning to sew at a really young age, around 10-12, thanks to 1) learning the basics from my mum 2) having a second-hand sewing machine I could futz around on as I pleased. But I truly think anyone can learn to sew, it does not have to be a childhood skill.

If you want to try it out before committing to buying anything except fabric, there are almost always community or adult education classes or courses that can teach you basics on their machines. Depends where you live but you might find them through your local community college or high school night class, library, YMCA/community centre, or even by asking at a fabric/craft store.

I highly recommend taking a couple of classes if you're a complete beginner - they can teach things like laying out and cutting patterns, threading a machine, the basic stitch and finishing options, etc. Often they can also teach you how to use your own machine, if you've bought one but you're a beginner.

If you want to try at home, at minimum you will need:

A basic sewing machine - you can very often find good second-hand machines online (ebay, craigslist, local buy/sell Facebook pages). Mine is a Janome and I've had it for almost 20 years, but the old 70s steel Singer machines are fantastic in terms of longevity.

A pair of reasonably sharp fabric scissors. You do not need to pay a million dollars for the best scissors, but going up a level from basic craft scissors, and keeping them only for cutting fabric (no paper) will make your cutting-out experience a lot easier.

A packet of sewing pins. For pinning down patterns and seams. I like the glass-head pins since they don't melt if you iron over them.

A tape measure for measuring yourself and checking your seam width, hems, etc.

An iron and ironing board (or table with a thick towel laid down, if space is a real problem).

A flat surface to lay out and cut your fabric - dining table or floor both work fine.

A needle for hand-sewing - to sew on things like buttons.

A box of empty bobbins to wind your bobbin thread onto.

In terms of patterns - there are a huge range of indie pattern companies online now (meaning they're not the big commercial patternmakers like Butterick). Most often, you can buy their patterns as a PDF and print it out on your home computer. In all honesty I much prefer indie patterns to commercial - they're often a lot more up to date with style, and usually not as expensive - but they can also be limited in terms of sizing, the range of style options, and some people really like a printed paper pattern instead of having to print your own. I recommend Papercut Patterns as an indie option that's great for beginners.

Indie instructions can also sometimes be a bit confusing (I find Etsy patterns the worst for this) although often you can email them and ask - or Google "[name of pattern] sew along" for a video tutorial. You can also find step by step video or blog post tutorials for pretty much every sewing technique, including things like putting in a zip, sewing buttonholes, etc.

Once you've picked your pattern, you'll obviously need fabric. There are a million people online who espouse the virtue of sewing with old bedsheets from thrift stores; in all honesty I don't love doing this because 1) I get a huge amount of joy from beautiful fabrics 2) if you want to make things that look 'professional'/store-bought, bedsheet cotton is not always your best friend. BUT it is probably the cheapest option for fabric, and a very good way to start or to test that a pattern fits and you know how to make it before you cut it out in the nice linen that cost $30 a yard. Using thrifted fabric is also obviously really eco-conscious, although a lot of fabric stores (especially independent ones vs chain stores like Spotlight or Joann) make a point of selling 'deadstock' fabric - fabric leftover from a clothing designer's run.

That's probably enough to start, honestly just fuck around and have fun with it, screw up a few times, lean into the imperfection. I still regularly scrap projects that aren't working for me, no shame in doing so as long as you're enjoying yourself!

#sewing

[pants-magic-pants]

✧⊹JARETH BALLROOM COAT⊹✧

[This post is part of a series about constructing Jareth's entire masquerade ball costume. Visit the master post here.]

Fabric Selection [Part 2 of 2] The Drama of the Lining

Hello all you fine goblins, goblinettes, masqueraders, bog creatures(?)... I'm back to ramble a lot, and unless you are really into sewing or want to make this coat, this post will probably bore the hell out of you but by all means here it is.

Firstly I want to say that I'm part of a Labyrinth cosplay group now, have a beautiful Sarah waiting for me in just a state above, a masquerade dancer who is already my good friend, and we'd love to do a dreamy photoshoot for everyone at a ballroom or wedding venue somewhere between us. However, I'm financially strained. I'm working extra shifts, offering commissions, etc, but it's only doing so much. If you've made it this far and have been appreciating any of my content, please consider tipping the blog. All the posts have a button that looks like this ($). Please help us unite. Please please, throw a dollar into my guitar case, won't you?

ANYHOO! I'm not good at lining, as I think I've mentioned. There's a lot more I need to learn to get it looking good and structured, and in this case there was so much gravity working against it too. I also am sure you notice that there are ghastly black stitches across the middle of the pleats on the inside... had thought that wouldn't be showing... whoops.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

We’ll start with the creamy, slightly sparkly, crimped(?) fabric that lines the tail first. It doesn’t appear to be lurex/foiled silk or satin, as it seems to be even lighter weight than those fabrics. That’s the first thing that I would say is important about picking this lining: it needs to be something SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT.

The reason being that, at least for the way I did the pleats, there was as much of it needed as the velvet, as it all got folded together. Even if you didn't do it this way, you would only want to add the least amount of extra weight as possible, using something that is still durable and isn't going to blow every which way.

That made the search pretty limiting, as did the fact that it needed to be opaque, flowy, and non-stretchy. Originally when I began searching, I was looking for things like organza or chiffon with crimps/ridges, which looked very pretty, but they were too sheer unless layered, and layering would have made them too stiff. 

After doing further research post-completion of the coat, viscose seems like it would have looked and behaved correctly, since it's soft, light, non-stretchy and not sheer, but apparently it isn't the most environmentally friendly fabric, so it’s something to consider. There's also cupro, though I've never gotten my hands on either of these so it's hard to say that definitively. It’s supposed to have a similar appearance and drape as silk, but it's not quite as shiny. It's opaque, and unless it's mixed with elastane or rayon it's not supposed to be very stretchy either, which leads me to…

What not to use: a stretchy fabric, like for any lining on any project. I already made that clear, but did I follow my own advice? Not this time. I got fed up with fabric drama and settled for a very pretty but stretchy foiled fabric, hell if I know what it was because it was late one evening at Jo-Ann Fabric, and I was Over That Shit™ and suffered a lapse in judgment. The result was slight warping from over-handling, and the entire seam between it and the inner facing was bubbly. I’m still kicking myself. Shoulda’ gone home. Shoulda’ said “no, Jo-Ann.”

Here's what I used. Yeah, it's pretty right? But that's all it is.

Another thing to note is that there are subtle ridges in the bottom lining. Not pleats, but like, crimping? It’s a very similar texture to Sarah’s dress. Searching for terms related to ridges would help find something similar, and as for colors, I searched for mainly creams, or borderline beige. Sometimes “champagne” also yielded good results. It’s definitely not white or even ivory, as white will turn the color scheme of the coat way too cold, stark, and sterile. Ivory (while warm-toned) may have the same effect. 

It helped me to look at a color wheel and decide the most complimentary combination based on the exact shade of blue that my velvet was. The ballroom coat’s actual shade of blue may seem to vary based on the photograph, but after seeing a lot of reference photos, I started to be able to tell which ones had been, em, tweaked, enhanced, etc. and that tended to be the ones that presented it as electric blue or leaning towards turquoise. The true shade seems to be like one shade cooler than true-blue. Am I making sense?

Given that, the lining’s shade of cream would need to be basically a pure cream color, not leaning towards rosy/orange NOR towards green on the color wheel, in order to be complimentary. However, for anyone who’s making the coat who wants to use a warmer shade of blue for the velvet, this is perfectly fine, it just will change just about every other color choice that you make, down to the color of the jewels and buttons. You may find that all your other blues need to be warmer shades, and that a rosier cream lining (champagne) looks best. 

Before moving on to the top lining, I want to mention that there is - strangely – a piece of cream colored tulle in the back? Not sure how that looks if you were to open the coat and look in, and since I couldn’t think of a way to make that look good, I didn’t include it. 

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

The top lining! We can’t see what’s in there, so this comes down to intuition and preference. I wanted a fully lined coat that looked good and had an aesthetically pleasing transition from one fabric to another, so I pretty much lined the top as if it was its own mini jacket, and I chose satin in a slightly lighter shade of cool blue. A little too light to be called navy but I’m sure people still would call it that.

I wouldn’t recommend using the same fabric used on the tail for the top because the fabric for the tail seems too textured to be smooth enough to get in and out of without issues. Best to stick with classic lining: silk or satin, in blue or a neutral that would match something else on the coat. Black, cream, maybe even dark/metallic grey or silver? The extra challenge of using a shade of blue is that you’d have to be very discerning about whether or not it matched. I had to take the velvet with me everywhere when making my decisions.

Almost nothing featured here is what I used, but here's me being diligant and bringing my swatches everywhere.

Not only did the color have to match, but the texture and amount of shimmer also mattered. Super matte silks/satins seemed to anchor down the splendor of the sparkling velvet too much. The really shiny fabrics looked best. I settled for something a little more subdued, but okay. It was okayyyy. Again, I was Over It™. 

Well, was that super interesting, or what?

#labyrinth #labyrinth cosplay #jareth cosplay #jareth the goblin king #coat construction #jareth ballroom coat #coat lining

[zacharybosch]

Tell Me if You Feel It

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

Fresh, is the word that immediately springs to mind, along with soft and bouncy and unspoiled, and Ed doesn’t say any of them. “Just something. Not a bad thing. Nice to have someone I can show the ropes to.”

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hello and welcome to my ed/stede brokeback mountain AU! E-rated, 7k one-shot, nobody dies but it is bittersweet ❤

title is from Supermoon by case/lang/veirs, please also check out my spotify playlist for some additional sad cowboy vibes

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read Tell Me if You Feel It below or on ao3!

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The great flock of sheep rolls across the high pasture like clouds on a stormy afternoon. It’s a cooler summer than most he’s had in his so-far short life, colder still up here on the face of the mountain, and Ed tucks his jacket a little tighter about his body. He twists his mouth to curtail his smile as he watches Stede, this shiny well turned-out boy, trotting circles around the herd and standing in the saddle to show off and wave his pretty little hat, high peals of laughter carrying away on the wind. Ed’s not been up here since the start of the season, his role as camp tender requiring him to stay further down the mountain, but the sheep needed fresh grazing and moving a flock this size takes more than one man. Nice to have some company for the day besides, and Stede seems happy enough to have him there.

Ed chews on the cheroot sticking out of his mouth. He won’t light it yet; only got a few left and the man from the ranch isn’t due to meet them with supplies for a couple more days, but he savours the taste, bitter tobacco and something leathery and old. His horse, a sweet-tempered mare with a ruddy chestnut coat, whickers softly and shifts her hooves against the earth. Impatient to be off, tired of the saddle and the man on her back, but Ed rubs a soothing hand on her neck and she’ll stop and wait for as long as she’s told.

Stede comes trotting over, pink cheeks puffing out beneath the wide brim of his hat, and his own piebald mare flicks her eyes at Ed. “Beans for supper?” he asks, even though he doesn’t have to, since they’ve been up here a month now and consistently eat through the good stuff days before the next scheduled supply run.

Ed plucks the cheroot from between his lips and tucks it behind his ear. “Beans for supper,” he agrees, then clicks his tongue and presses in with his legs and points his horse on the trail back to camp, knowing Stede will follow behind.

At camp, Stede brushes down the horses while Ed gets the fire going. Some of the firewood’s a little damp and Ed mutters idle curses as he tries to encourage the struggling flame, but soon enough it starts to catch and he slowly adds logs until it’s burning strong and bright.

The beans aren’t so bad. They cook them in the cans and eat from them too, spoons clacking against the cheap metal, no point dirtying pots and bowls for this. Stede always looks thoughtful when he eats, and Ed supposes it’s because this is all a novel experience for him; it’s clear Stede comes from money, with his jeans still dark and stiff at the seams, boots that have only just now started to crease after a month of wear, gold and teal stitching bright on the shaft. Begs the question why Stede is even here, what a well-heeled boy like him could possibly be looking for up in the wild mountains.

They’ve talked some in the month they’ve been up here, although not much and never for long. Practical concerns mostly, what the weather’s doing and which horse has a stone in its shoe and how soon should they move the sheep on to the next pasture, never going too personal save for one time Ed caught sight of a coyote prowling the camp, big son of a bitch that had already taken several of their lambs, grabbed his .30-30 Winchester and got it clean between the eyes first try, and Stede whooped and hollered and breathlessly asked where he learned to shoot like that. Only one other time he’s taken a shot that clean and Stede wouldn’t like it if he knew about it, so he just shrugged the question away and kept his talk superficial, tended the camp and minded his business while Stede rode in and out each morning and evening.

Stede’s not the kind of company Ed would normally choose to keep; always difficult to know where you are with white boys, not to mention rich ones, even if they smile and shake your hand with a litany of pleasantries, and it’s oftentimes too much work to stay on their good side with no reward to show for it so Ed just doesn’t bother. But it’s been lonely up here too, and the solitude can eat a man up from the inside out if he’s not careful about it. Ed needs company more than he cares to admit, and over the metal scrape of spoons in cans and the jumping crackle of the fire, he starts to think maybe that need could be met.

He kicks the conversation off with the blandest thing he can say, safe and cautious and still more personal than anything he’s allowed in the past month. “Did this last summer, the herding. Thinking I might go for next year too, if they’ll have me back again.”

Stede immediately perks up, sitting to get a better look at Ed across the fire, pushing his hat back with an excited, thoughtless gesture. “An old hand then, are you? It’s my first time here.”

Ed looks down at his can and smiles as he scoops up the dregs of food. “I can tell,” he says, and maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because that’s just the kind of inoffensive and gentle poking that gets boys like Stede so wound up, so he qualifies it with, “Not that I mean anything by that. Just something about you.”

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

Fresh, is the word that immediately springs to mind, along with soft and bouncy and unspoiled, and Ed doesn’t say any of them. “Just something. Not a bad thing. Nice to have someone I can show the ropes to.”

“You are good with the sheep. They’ll be pleased when it’s your turn up the mountain, I think.”

“I spent my whole damn life sleeping with sheep, been nice to get away from them for a while to be honest,” which isn’t all that honest, because Ed finds a good deal of comfort in the dumb beasts with their serene yellow eyes and distant, soft bleating. Growing up on a lonely, windswept ranch, earth blown flat in every direction as far as the eye could see, no children about and no safe place to be other than wandering with the sheep, far from the house and the darkness that lived inside.

“My daddy owns ranches, but we never lived on one,” Stede says, as though plucking Ed’s memory from his head and placing his own alongside it. “A whole lot of them, all across the state. He worked hard to make a good life for our family and now he hates me for enjoying that life, hates me for not working hard like he did. Thought he might like it if I put some work in here, lighten up his dim view of me.”

“Is that so,” Ed says, face neutral and heart beating at Stede’s honest, ready admission.

“I hope I’m doing a good job.”

If a man can hate his own son for the simple fact of his existence, then there’s no job in the world that can be done good enough to gain his favour back. Stede is still trying to shut that barn door, but Ed knows the horse has already bolted. “You are.”

Stede smiles at him across the fire, a forlorn thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s kind of you to say, Ed. I know I could do better.” Quiet settles between them for a minute, just the crackle of the wood and the rush of sparks as the pile of logs collapses in on itself a little more. “To tell you the truth, Ed, I’m dreading going back home at the end of the summer. I don’t think he’s waiting for my return. Pleased to be rid of me, most likely.”

Nothing Ed can say to that, nothing real that will make a lick of difference. What platitudes can he give when his own father hated him just as much? “Do just fine on your own, I reckon. A man’s gotta leave home some time, anyway. Better to do it now, strike out when you’re young.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“In a way. Choice was made for me, really.” Normally Ed wouldn’t go into it, or he’d spin some fanciful yarn about seeking his fortune, answering the call of the big wide world. But Stede told him something true, and Ed wants to give a truth back. “My folks aren’t around. Old man kicked it some years ago. Mama went last year, bank tried to take the ranch to pay off all the debts we got left with, stress of trying to fight it sent her to the grave earlier than she should’ve gone and then the bank just took the ranch anyway. I put some work in at a few places since then and they’ve usually been willing enough to give me a space to lay my head at night.” Ed pushes the long tail of his braided hair away over his shoulder, taps his spoon against the side of his empty can, anything to do that isn’t looking at Stede’s open, interested face. “Do just fine on my own.”

“It’s lonely, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Can be.”

Ed isn’t quite twenty; Stede only just. Little more than boys really, too young still to be carrying this kind of weight with no idea yet how to ease their burdens, but it’s good to have a friend where they hadn’t thought to find one.

Spoons rinsed in the stream, blue shadows stretching long over the packed earth of their camp, Stede wheels his horse about in the muted dusk light and canters off up the trail to spend the night with the sheep. A week or so more and they’ll switch, and Ed will be the one to sleep up on that lonely mountain slope, while Stede stays and tends the hearth with a tent big enough for two. He wonders if Stede will ever glance up to watch Ed riding about on the slopes, a little dark spot in the steep meadows, the same way Ed has been watching Stede.

He sits up a while and smokes his cheroot in the gathering gloom. It eats through the stock of firewood, and he’ll have to spend most of tomorrow replenishing it, but he keeps the campfire going until long after night has fallen, a pinprick beacon for Stede to look down at and know someone is waiting for his return.

*

Stede comes in to camp mid-morning, just as the chill starts to yield to the heat of the day. Ed is down in the stream at the camp’s edge, freezing naked in the shallows as he crouches to wash his only shirt and the rest of his body, and he hears the sound of hooves but doesn’t look up at it. Stede will grab some food and refill his canteen, take a few minutes to go into the tent under the pretence of putting on a clean shirt but Ed knows it’s so Stede can fix his hair with a fresh helping of pomade, and then he’ll head back on up the trail to spend another day with the sheep.

But this time Stede lingers, comes out of the tent with his new shirt and neat hair and circles ponderously round the campsite. He glances repeatedly at Ed, fusses with his gloves and the horse’s bridle, and then decides he needs to freshen up at the stream as well and Ed wonders, dangerously, why.

Ed scrubs the hard bar of soap under his arms, splashes at them with the icy mountain water, then pulls his hair from its tight braid and wraps the red cord tie around his wrist for safekeeping. The color is vivid against his skin as he combs wet fingers through his hair, shaking out the grit and dust of the trails. Upstream, gaze drawn by the bright slash of color or maybe something else altogether, Stede watches, and turns away when he’s caught.

“See if I can’t shoot us a couple of cottontails, have us a nice supper tonight,” Stede says, as he pats water from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and goes to haul himself back up into the saddle. “Maybe the good whiskey, too. Still a few drops left.”

They won’t be eating rabbit tonight, Ed knows for a certainty. Stede can hit a big slow target and not much more than that, but there’s no good reason to snuff out his optimism and besides, the whiskey is good. “I’ll skin ‘em,” Ed says, as Stede’s already cantering away, and only when the sound of hoofbeats has melted into the forest does he rise from the stream and lay his wet shirt out on the banks to dry.

He spends the day replenishing the stock of firewood, shivering at first with no shirt to wear and then sweating as the sun beats hot on his back and the exertion of the axe takes its toll. He chops, and thinks about the little travel case filled with Stede’s shirts and stowed in the corner of the big tent, how he could just go in there and take one and wear it. He chops, and wonders what Stede was thinking when he packed it, if he could’ve known how anyone else out here with him besides Ed would’ve sneered and judged him for it. He chops, and thinks about fine blue cotton, white piping, pearly snap buttons.

Early evening, with the sky just beginning to drain pale and his own threadbare check shirt dry and back on his shoulders, Ed is half-heartedly wondering if it isn’t too late to ride down to the river to try and catch a fish or two when Stede comes trotting into camp with a brace of rabbits hanging from his saddle. He holds them aloft triumphantly, grinning at Ed, and Ed laughs, short and loud and full of delight. “You got ‘em!” he says, and slaps Stede’s thigh because that’s what’s in reach.

“I got them,” Stede replies, pride in his voice, and his leg is solid, flexing briefly under Ed’s touch before the mare walks on towards the hitching post.

The campfire catches easily and builds to a strong blaze in no time at all. Ed skins and dresses the rabbits with the quick, thoughtless efficiency of muscle memory, and soon enough they’re enjoying the richest meal they’ve had all month, washed down with the whiskey passing liberally back and forth. Stede pulls out a harmonica, this ridiculous and luridly-painted thing that Ed had inwardly rolled his eyes at first time he saw it, but Stede’s good humour for it is infectious and Ed husks out a few bars of some silly country song, voice stumbling a little over the words and inventing those he can’t remember.

Night rolls in without them even noticing, too caught up in the simple pleasure of good food, good whiskey, and a good companion to share it with. Stede is sparking like a fire and wobbly on his feet, and insists for at least a minute that he’ll still go and ride up to the sheep, but then he looks at the dark line of trees and the charcoal shadow of the mountain against the sky and decides a blanket down here by the fire will do him just fine.

“I’ll just curl up here by the fire, grab a little shut-eye and be right as rain before you know it. I’ll go up to the sheep at first light.”

“You’ll freeze your fuckin’ balls off out here,” Ed says, head buzzing and handing over a blanket anyway. “Just come sleep in the tent.”

“No, it’s your tent, Ed, I couldn’t impose. Besides, nothing like forty winks under the stars. Invigorating!”

Ed sighs, drops a couple more logs onto the campfire, and bids Stede goodnight. A brief hour or two later, awoken by the wild yipping howl of a coyote and then kept awake by the incessant chattering of Stede’s teeth, Ed sticks his head out of the tent flap and demands Stede quit his shivering and get inside. The campfire’s burnt down to softly glowing embers, and Stede rises quickly, as though already poised and ready and simply waiting for the invitation. He stumbles towards Ed through the messy remains of their supper, and once inside he sighs relief into the blankets. Ed shifts to make a little more room, and they both settle back into sleep.

The stars wheel across the sky, chased by a moon that’s one day from full. The horses, pleased to be spending the night together, nuzzle and lean into each other at the hitching post. Partially-burnt logs crumble and sink a little deeper into the ashy remains of the campfire, as the last of the embers slowly dim and wink out of existence.

Unthinking in the dark of the tent, blurry with sleep and moving on instinct, Ed reaches behind himself to find Stede’s arm and curl it around his torso. It’s good for a few moments, nestling back as he’s pulled closer, warm and comfortable with Stede’s breath puffing softly against the nape of his neck, and then it’s not; Stede stiffens and bolts upright, panicked. Ed, quick to wake and reckless, sits up and reaches for him, and reaches again when Stede reflexively pushes his hand away.

They hang for a moment perfectly still, eyes locked across a short distance that stretches for miles. Then Ed pulls hard at the sheepskin jacket he’s been sleeping in, yanks it off his shoulders and he thinks Stede gets it now, can see understanding in the shadow of his eyes as Stede grabs and holds him tight at arm’s length, taught on a string ready to snap. Moving carefully, like he does with skittish horses and barking dogs, Ed wraps his fingers around Stede’s wrist and drags his thumb over the thin skin, pressing into his hammering pulse.

It’s all Stede needs. He pulls Ed towards him, and breathing hard in each other’s space, they fall quick into the steps of a dance that Ed knows well and Stede is learning as he goes. Ed’s already unbuckling and unbuttoning, jeans loose and open as he gets to his hands and knees. Stede fights with his own belt, lets the hiss of his zip fly say the words that his mouth can’t form yet, but he’s moving no less fast or urgent, pulling at clothing to clear the way, and then he’s right there pressing hot and hard against Ed’s body.

It’s rough, easing the way on nothing but spit and a prayer, but Ed can take it, he’s done it before. Likes it like this sometimes, feeling it the day after and knowing it happened. Stede’s breath is on his neck again, short and sharp and hot like the hand that yanked his jeans down to his thigh.

This is the only way it could’ve happened. Maybe they’ll do it again and take their time to roll in the blankets all soft and sweet, but it had to start with this; rough handling in the dark, driving forwards eyes shut, taking the most direct route to the other side where possibility lay waiting for them.

Ed’s never come so quick or untouched before, the immediacy of the encounter overloading his brain and sending him straight there when he barely has his wits about him. Above, pressed tight along his back, Stede grabs Ed’s waist to steady himself as his own hips grind and stutter and still.

For a few breaths neither of them move, and then Ed’s shaky arms give out beneath him and he sinks to the blanket. Stede says nothing as he slips abruptly from Ed’s body, but he lays down too and curls in towards Ed with a careful few inches between them. The tent is hot from their exertion and Ed can feel every single part of his body fevered and glowing and alive, but he doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes shut and breathes in and out, deep and slow. In the humid air, beneath the weathered canvas and above the musty blankets, Stede smells like horse, dry grass, and the good whiskey.

*

Rain came and went at some point in the night, and Stede rides out early the next morning with hardly a word, disappearing into the dripping trees. Ed takes his chestnut mare and two of the pack mules down to the road at the river crossing, picking their way carefully down the mountainside over the steaming, fecund earth, meets the man from the ranch and loads up their supplies for the next week. Ed wonders if the man can tell, if he can look at Ed and see the mark of Stede’s hands on his hips, the scalding red burn of his breath on the back of his neck, sore to the touch and wanting it.

The man from the ranch sniffs as he reads over Ed’s request list for the next delivery, mutters just like he always does that he’ll have a hard time getting it, but he’ll be back next week with most everything they’re asking for. He sniffs again, nods to himself, dismissing Ed with no parting look or word and gets in his dusty pick-up to drive off. Ed climbs back into his saddle and begins the long trek back to camp, the river rushing loud in his ears.

Back at camp, Ed busies himself stowing the provisions and brushing down his horse and the braying mules, and more times than he cares to admit looking up the mountain to catch a glimpse of Stede, a tiny speck in the great swathes of green and white and grey.

The golden hour before sunset is just beginning to spread its burnished light across the clearing and Stede still hasn’t arrived back to camp yet, but Ed knows he’ll come and knows why he’s leaving it late. He gets the fire going, puts yesterday’s rabbit bones in a pot with water from the stream, peels and slices a few potatoes with his sharp little knife, opens one can each of some over-processed, under-colored meat and vegetables. It all goes into the pot, perched precariously on the grill stand above the fire. There was a block of lard and some flour with the new supplies, coarse stuff that the ranch owner’s wife likely didn’t want, and Ed thinks he can probably cobble together a fair enough dough for biscuits to cook on the hot stones at his feet. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s preparing for supper, but he’s thinking harder about it than he’s probably thought about anything in his life and he wants Stede to like it.

When the hoofbeats come the sky is pink and orange, grey-lavender clouds gilded copper at the edges. Normally one for a perky little trot or canter, Stede enters camp at a slow walk, reins in one hand and something small and curious bundled in the other. He slides from the saddle, ties his horse to the hitching post and pats her briefly on the neck, leaning in when she presses against him.

At the fire, Stede looks at the two logs that serve as their benches, and sits on the one where Ed isn’t. It’s not a statement, just nerves, and Ed looks at what Stede’s got in his hand: a few scrubby little wildflowers, small bursts of petals in yellow, purple, white.

“From up on the mountain,” Stede says, even though there’s nowhere else he’s been today. He reels off their names and starts to go into the Latin too, then seems to think better of it and says instead, “Not much to look at but they smell sweet as anything.”

Ed puffs on his cheroot, flips his lighter end over end between thumb and fingers while he considers the stew bubbling over the fire, then takes the can that held the processed vegetables and holds it out silently to Stede. The flowers go into the can, Ed stands the can on the log bench, and he can see Stede’s smile from the corner of his eye.

They talk little while they eat around the fire, mopping up stew with Ed’s middling attempt at stone biscuits, sharing a can of peaches in syrup for dessert with no small amount of skittering glances and almost-touches, not drinking the whiskey despite having a new bottle and waiting patiently for it to be too dark for Stede to ride out to the sheep. Speech comes in stops and starts, shying at intimacies, until Stede says, “I have a gal back home. You know.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, knowing the script, “so do I,” even though he doesn’t have a gal and doesn’t want a gal, but knows that he should and knows that one day he’ll have to.

“We’re just— passing the time.”

“Yeah,” Ed says again. “Scratching an itch.” But if Stede gets the itch the way Ed does then it takes a damn lot of scratching and ends up worse than when you started. All you wanna do is scratch and can’t think of nothing else.

They don’t discuss it any further than that, and why would they, what need is there? They both know what they’re doing and no-one else is up here to demand an explanation of them. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

Night is fully upon them, the sky deep and black and fathomless with no trace of the lingering sun; just the blazing spray of stars and the huge, glowing moon, bathing everything silver and blue. It’s their permission to look at each other, look away, look again and hold it this time. Ed goes first, takes the little kerosene lamp and lays himself down in the golden tent with his bare back on the scratchy wool blanket, and knows Stede will follow.

When Stede comes he pauses at the tent flap, hat in his hands, shy as a gentleman asking a sweetheart if he may have this dance. Ed sits up and reaches for him like he did last night, but this time Stede doesn’t push away, just lets Ed guide him in, touch his cheek and bump their noses together, rasping stubble as their mouths move haltingly in something that wants to be a kiss but isn’t quite there yet. Stede clings to Ed like he can’t stand the fact that eventually he’ll have to let go, and Ed whispers “it’s alright, it’s alright,” just a breath in the still air around them, no louder than the campfire that crackles beyond the tent.

They ease down to the blanket, propped on their elbows, face to face and a scant inch between their bodies, legs tentatively brushing and beginning to entwine. Ed rests his palm softly against Stede’s chest, circles a finger around the pearly snaps on his shirt, and pops them one by one at Stede’s slow nod. Stede still has his boots on; Ed’s toes curl and stretch in his bunched woollen socks.

The tail of Ed’s braid hangs over his shoulder and trails against his chest, endlessly pushed aside during the day but somehow always finding its way back, and when Stede puts his fingers to it Ed thinks he’ll just push it aside again; but instead Stede takes one end of the red tie cord between his fingertips, and pulls slowly, gently, until it slips from Ed’s hair. Ed holds so still, a faintly disbelieving puff of breath escaping his lips as Stede puts the cord aside and strokes tentative fingers through the already unravelling braid.

“Look at that,” Stede murmurs, the fluffy wave of Ed’s hair now completely loose and tumbling over his bare shoulder, the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the strands. “Lovely.”

“Don’t need to charm me,” Ed says shakily, wanting all of Stede’s charm and more besides.

“I know,” Stede says, soft and a little bashful, like he hopes Ed will allow him the indulgence anyway. “Have you done this before?”

There’s already a tacit agreement between them that this summer up here on the mountain exists outside of time and the real world, different rules and different lives and a different way to think of things. But asking about real life is dangerous, and even knowing this the desire to answer still claws raggedly in Ed’s throat, desperate to be given voice. Instead, he kisses Stede properly, hard and insistent. He’ll figure it out in his own time, whether the realization comes tomorrow morning or ten years down the road, Stede will think back on this and he’ll know that Ed has done it before.

Ed slips a hand beneath the fabric of Stede’s shirt and peels him out of it, his warm fingertips chasing away the last of the nighttime chill that still lingers on Stede’s skin. They lie down and pull their bodies flush and begin to move on instinct, thighs slotted together, a slow exploratory grind of hands and hips while they kiss and kiss and kiss. Stede makes noises, tiny breathless things, and he does what they both did the night before and wordlessly pulls open the button of his waistband, sends the zip fly hissing down.

Another breath, another moment of stillness to stop and look at each other; Ed drags his eyes from Stede’s face to his open jeans and back again, and Stede blinks and licks his lips and nods.

Ed curls his hand inside the denim, sliding over the soft, furry skin of Stede’s backside, and he squeezes and Stede cries out and then they kiss, again, wet and hungry. Ed grabs and pulls and Stede goes where Ed hauls him, sliding a leg up and over to straddle Ed’s hips. He’s sweet and excited about it, nervous beyond hope but so eager to learn what Ed has to teach.

Hardly any instruction manual required for what they’re doing. The body knows even if the mind is unsure, and they press together in a slow grind. Ed pulls his own jeans open, heavy buttons of his fly popping one by one and they’re maddeningly close, just a flap of fabric to fold this way instead of that and then they’d be touching, really touching, but neither of them makes the move. It’s a barrier they didn’t have to think about the night before, when everything was dark and happened so quickly and they touched themselves but hardly each other. Here now, the kerosene lamp bathes them in a light they can’t hide from, throws warm shadows between them at the final frontier. For a while they just stay as they are, teetering in the moment, not pushing forward nor pulling back. But soon enough practicality forces them over that line they were both too wary to be the first one to cross; Ed’s button fly is little worry, but Stede’s zip has sharp little teeth and with the insistent force of their grinding hips, it’s an accident begging to happen.

“We’re taking these off,” Ed says into the press of Stede’s mouth, tugging at one waistband and then the other, and this way they’re crossing the line together, no-one to go first and risk the other not following. It’s a tangle of hands and legs and Ed has a couple inches in height over Stede, but Stede is still long and wiry in that way young men often are, like they’ve been stretched too much one way and not the other. Slim legs, Ed notes, pale against his own, less hair.

Stede’s dick, pink and full mast, is heavy alongside Ed’s, nestled and warm. Ed puts a careful hand at the back of Stede’s knee, slides it up his thigh and digs a thumb into his hip, then across the hard plane of his stomach and down. Like their first meeting outside the dingy trailer that served as the ranch office, firm handshake in the hot afternoon sun while dust from the road whipped about their feet, Ed takes Stede in hand and holds him tight.

“That’s—” Stede tries, but the rest of the sentence isn’t forthcoming. Bracketed above Ed haunch and elbow, his back ripples as he finds the rhythm of Ed’s touch and pushes into it. Between the slide of their lips Stede admits, “Never kissed anyone like this before.”

Truth be told Ed hasn’t either, not really. Kissing is for romance, and romance is in short supply at the places he’s been. “Feels good?”

“Feels good,” slips sweetly from Stede’s mouth, as they rock and rub and moan together. “I, can we—”

“Yeah?” Can’t even let Stede get all his words out, feels like it doesn’t even matter what he might be asking for because the fact he’s asking is more than enough and Ed will say yes to any and all of it.

“Like last night, I want it.”

“Yeah, yes, I can take it again—”

“No, I want it,” and Stede presses himself harder into Ed’s hips.

“Oh shit, fuck, okay, have you—” can’t ask, shouldn’t ask, of course he hasn’t. “There’s things we should do. We need to prep.”

“It didn’t seem so difficult last night,” Stede says with this coy little smile, and Ed could ride a thousand good-tempered horses across a thousand summer mountain ranges with bluebirds singing and whiskey flowing from the springs, and none of it would make him feel like this.

“Think about— how it is with a woman. They have their own way of keeping things moving easy down there. We gotta improvise.”

At Stede’s uncomprehending look, Ed twists his torso to reach Stede’s travel case and the little grooming kit that he knows is stashed inside. Stede doesn’t get off of him or rise up even one inch to allow space to move, and Ed likes being pinned under him like this, likes Stede heavy and solid in his lap.

“This’ll help,” Ed says pointedly, prying the lid off of Stede’s tin of hair pomade and swiping a finger through the slippery oil.

“Oh,” Stede breathes, a little worried crease fluttering between his eyebrows. “Last night, I only—”

“Don’t worry about it,” and he can’t say ‘I’m used to it’ and definitely not ‘I like it like that’, but he can say again, “This will help you.”

“Oh,” Stede repeats, and Ed can see his brain ticking over as he figures out the answer to ‘Have you done this before?’ “Okay. Alright.”

They sink into another kiss, Ed trailing slick fingers down Stede’s flank and around to stroke against the tight furl of his entrance. Ed shakes as he goes, possessing all of the experience and so all of the fear too; fear that this is the point where it will end, that Stede will come to his senses, pull back, accuse Ed of seduction, perversion and worse. But Stede simply melts against him, takes Ed inside his body like he’s spent the last month waiting for it, and Ed shakes a little less and moves a little more.

It’s Stede who eventually reaches between them, when they’re overly hot and slick with sweat and about ready to shoot off like summer fireworks, pulls his palm up and down Ed’s cock a few indulgent times and then pushes it behind him and up where he wants it.

Like a lock and key they fit together, shaped for each other and sliding easily into position, but it’s a moment more before they try to move in this new configuration. Just looking and breathing, a sweaty palm to a hot cheek, a barely-there whisper of, “You’re here, this is happening, I’ve got you.”

Stilted at first but gaining confidence, Stede begins to move above Ed, following his body’s instinct up and down, back and forth, still trying to kiss even as their mouths bump and jolt and miss their mark. He sits up in Ed’s lap, chasing a better angle, brow furrowed above closed eyes and open mouth, and Ed thinks he’s never seen something so beautiful. Pink skin in the warm lamp glow, coppery curls tangled and bouncing, strain in his thighs as he tries to build momentum and can’t quite manage it.

“Come on, cowboy,” Ed says, with that wild runaway mouth of his. “I’ve been watching you ride this past month, I know your seat’s better than that.” But Stede’s uncoordinated in his movements, doubting the way his body goes, and Ed gets it, he does; it’s hard to be up there in the driver’s seat, being looked at like this with nowhere to hide. So Ed pushes up on one hand, presses his forehead to Stede’s and holds his hip to guide the lift and roll. “That’s it,” he breathes, words soft in the space between their lips. “Ride a horse, you can ride me.”

“Nothing like this,” Stede sighs into Ed’s mouth, cradling his head, hair spilling over his fingers. “There’s nothing like this.”

“Not a damn thing in the world that feels like this,” Ed agrees, kiss to shuddering kiss.

Stede is an accomplished horse rider; he has a straight back and fluid hips and long, strong legs, and he uses them well. He meets Ed push for push, grind for aching grind, peppering kisses over his jaw and down his neck, but he still can’t quite keep the pace they need to get where they want to go. Rough hand splayed against Stede’s sweaty back, Ed begins to tip and roll and Stede clings to him as they go.

Landing with a small puff of breath and a sweet little laugh, Stede is relaxed and easy on his back, pulling Ed against him, taking him back inside his body with nothing shy or hesitant about it. Ed grins against his mouth, kisses him hard and picks up the pace full-throttle, pulling Stede’s leg up to curl around his waist and driving into him, the jut of his hip bones against the creamy, freckled skin of Stede’s inner thighs.

Beneath him Stede moans, a sheen of sweat on his chest, hands gripping hard at Ed’s shoulders, his neck, whatever he can reach. Their kisses are barely kisses, just hot, gasping slides of lips and tongues.

Ed’s body is lit up, fire-bright and coiled tight, brain and mouth not working in sync as he babbles, “I’ve never— It’s never felt like— God, Stede, do you—” and then white-hot, breaking through, his orgasm comes crashing in like a summer storm, deep and thundering, rolling through his body, and he holds himself tight against Stede as he pulses inside, filling and marking him.

His head is thick, fizzing with electricity, only Stede’s wrecked voice cutting through, “Ed, Ed, please—”

He murmurs into the crook of Stede’s neck, “Hold on, I’ll get you there,” holding himself up on shakily-planted elbows, still pressed in heavily between Stede’s thighs. Ed grips Stede’s cock, slippery between his fingers, and strokes him firm and quick.

“Not far to go,” Stede says, breathless, the rapid rise and fall of his chest in time with the thrust of his hips as he moves to meet the rhythm of Ed’s rapid strokes. Hands at Ed’s back, nails digging in, he drags a matching set of long welts over Ed’s shoulder blades as he comes, arching up against Ed’s chest, clenching around him with his trembling thighs. Stede holds him hard enough to bruise, and Ed wants it, and when eventually they peel apart and lie flat on their backs, side by side and panting, Stede tangles their fingers together and Ed wants that too.

The tent is hot, the air syrup-heavy against their naked skin, and before long Stede crawls on wobbly knees to the opening and ties back the flap. He sits for a moment to enjoy the cool air, framed against the triangular slice of their shadowy camp, the black trees, and the brilliant night sky, and he looks back at Ed.

They don’t need to say it; they both know that they feel it.

*

After the rough efficiency of their first time, after the sweetness of the second, they fall into an easy pattern, initially only inside the tent but then outside it too. Up in the high meadows above the treeline, no work down at camp that can’t wait until tomorrow, rolling in the grass in the hot afternoon sun; suppertime around the campfire, potatoes sizzling in the dented pan, a little smoke and a little whiskey and an easy, familiar slide into unhurried intimacy; in the chill dawn, pale ghost-light and mist, back up in the saddle after another night spent leaving the sheep to fend for themselves and leaning down to steal a parting kiss. A hundred domestic scenes played out in miniature, more than just a warm body to press against at night, all fueled by the knowledge that none of it will last and the foolish hope that maybe it could.

And all the while Ed can’t grab the reins on his thoughts, galloping away a mile a minute to places he absolutely should not go: what if Stede came back next summer and they got to do this again? What if he found where Stede lived, paid him a visit, and they went away for a while, just the two of them in some remote cabin, no work to be done and all the time they wanted to hunt and fish and fuck? What if they got a ranch, built up a little cow and calf operation together down in the valley, or maybe out on the plains? A herd of their own, a bed of their own, a life of their own.

It’s staggering, how much Ed wants it. No way to unthink any of the things he’s thought, not now he’s looked them in the eye and allowed them to make him ache. And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Once you acknowledge it you really start to feel it, and then you have to deal with the fact that you’re never going to get it, and there’s no way it won’t hurt now. They’ve not been merely passing the time, they both know that. They’ve been trying to live a whole life in one short summer, taking what they can because it’s all they’re allowed to have.

It’ll end because it has to end; no two ways about it, the color and heat of summer will drain from the land as the sheep are brought down off the mountain, and life with its relentless march onwards will demand that they act in roles that allow no space for the tender thing growing between them. The day will come, soon, and it’ll hurt, and maybe it’s best to end it like they started, pushing through it rough and quick; easier to watch a bruise fade, a raw scrape heal over, skin knit back together. Because how can you know when something’s done and healed if you could never even see the mark of it to begin with, if all you had and all you’ve got is a shift beneath the skin, a terrifying feeling that something has irrevocably changed and no clue how to fix it?

The day will come. But for now there’s sheep to watch and the camp to tend, and so long as they remain on the mountain life will wait a little while for them yet.

#ofmd fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #my fic

[leftistfeminista]

compañeras keep the resistance alive

In the darkness of my cell, where hope is just a thought A prisoner of my beliefs, where freedom has been fought They take away my dignity, with cruel and mocking eyes Their twisted, sadistic pleasure, a cruel and endless prize

They ask me to dance for them drenched in perfume To twirl and spin and entertain, in this haunted, lonely room But I refuse to give in, I will not be their toy I'll stand with dignity, in the face of their dark joy

For I am more than just a body, a mere physical form I am a warrior of the people, with a heart that's brave and warm I hold the ideas of Marx, and Lenin's visions true And even in this prison, I'll fight for what I knew

For I am more than just a form, Of beauty meant to please and warm I am a warrior of the mind, With Marxist theories of mankind.

And though I wear this lace and silk That barely covers all my ilk It cannot take away my pride For I am strong, I will not hide.

So let these guards call me a toy, Or a plaything for their cruel joy, For in my heart, I know the truth, That Lenin's books will help me soothe.

With every stitch and seam of my underwear I hide a secret, one that brings me care. A page, torn from the words of Lenin's lore A symbol of hope, in this prison I endure.

Through the tears and sweat, through the pain and fears I keep this page, and my soul is clear. For in the midst of this sorrow and strife These words from Lenin, they bring me life.

And when I share it with sisters so bold, Their eyes light up, and their hearts unfold. For in these pages, we find our might, And against the cruel guards, we put up a fight.

No longer do we cower, or bow our heads, For in this secret, our spirits are led. From these words of wisdom, so strong and true, We draw our strength, and our dignity too.

So let the Pinochet's guards sneer and jeer, For in our underwear, we have nothing to fear. For we are marxist women, proud and bold, And Lenin's pages, in our hearts we hold.

With torn pages of Che's books in hand I stand proud, in my underwear so bland But within me, a fire burns bright A flame that will never be snuffed by night

For I am a revolutionary, a fighter for the cause With a spirit that refuses to be crushed by cruel laws I share these pages with my compañeras so strong Together, we stand against the Junta's wrong

From Che's words, we draw our power A guerrilla spirit, in this prison tower We are not mere toys, to be objectified We are warriors, with dignity and pride

So let the Junta guards leer and taunt For they cannot break us, they cannot daunt For within us, a revolution burns bright Guided by Che, we shall win this fight.

And yet, despite the pain, I find a spark within, A flame that flickers, fueled by memories of home. Where comrades fought, where friends still hold the line And Lenin's words still guide us to a brighter dawn.

In my mind, I'm more than just a body to be used, I'm a fighter, a rebel, a revolutionary soul. And though they strip me of my clothes, they cannot strip The courage and the strength that I have learned to know.

So I'll take a deep, slow breath, and I'll raise my chin, And I'll find a way to bear this burden day by day. For I know that soon, the dawn will break, the chains will fall, And I'll be free, once more, to march on to victory's way.

And until that day, I'll keep my tears inside, And I'll pour my soul into each whispered, secret thought. For though I may be broken, I am not defeated, And I'll never let the world forget what I have fought.

The lace, it taunts me, a symbol of my plight, A declaration of their power, of my defeat in sight, I am but a woman, a political prisoner too, Subjected to their whims, with nothing left to do.

My tears, they flow, a river of my pain, A heaving, sobbing wail, my soul in vain, For how can I find dignity, how can I feel whole, In this state of undress, my spirit so dull.

Yet still I dream, of freedom and of might, Of revolution's call, a beacon shining bright, Of Che and Lenin, whose words give me strength, In this dark and lonely place, where I am at length.

I am more than this, more than just a form, A body for their pleasure, a plaything in the storm I am a woman of fire, of passion and of fight A rebel in my soul, a beacon shining bright.

So I hold my head high, though I wear this shame, And I keep my spirit strong, my soul a blazing flame For I am a communist, a fighter to the end, And I will not be defeated, my dignity I will defend.

In this cell of iron bars and broken dreams, Where I lay exposed in ragged undergarments My faith in the Party remains steadfast, Its iron discipline my unyielding bulwark.

The guards may sneer and call me weak Reducing me to a mere object on display But they cannot strip away my dignity Or shake my belief in our cause.

For I am a comrade of the Communist Party of Chile A leader among my sisters in the struggle And though we may be imprisoned, Our spirit remains unbroken and free.

Our movement for equality and justice Is bigger than the cruel hands of Pinochet's Junta And though they may own our bodies, They cannot touch our souls.

So I stand here, proud and defiant, In my tattered underwear and unwavering resolve And I whisper to my sisters: "Hold fast to the faith, for our victory is near."

For though we may be reduced to trophies on display Our spirit cannot be conquered And our faith in the democratic centralist party Is stronger than any chains they forge.

So let them mock and sneer and try to break us, For we are the true leaders of the revolution, And our strength is born from the power of the party, Guided by the teachings of Lenin and Che.

So let us hold our heads high, And keep the faith, no matter what may come, For we are the children of the revolution, And our victory is certain, no matter the cost.

In my cell, I stand proud, though stripped of all my clothes My spirit remains unbroken, for my heart overflows With the fire of a revolution, a passion bright and bold That will not be crushed by Junta hands, no matter how they hold.

Though I stand exposed, in just my underwear, The guards may mock and sneer, but I do not care For I am a leader, of the Marxist-Leninist crew And my faith in the party's discipline, shines bright, anew.

I remember the battles we fought, the struggles we won The courage of our sisters, and their bravery begun For they are here beside me, our party comrades and compañeras And together we will fight, our struggles, no one will hinder.

Our cause is just and true, our hearts and souls, entwine For we believe in a world, where all are equal and divine And though the Junta may mock, and our bodies they do disrobe Our spirits remain unbroken, our passion, will not be slowed.

Let the tears fall, and our voices, they may wail For we are soldiers, in this fight, our spirits will not pale For we are sisters in arms, our love, a bond so strong And in this cell, we stand proud, our beliefs, our fight, goes on.

#Political Prisoners #women's poetry #feminist poetry

[somediyprojects]

DIY Curtains

Project by Brett Bara:

If you love textiles and want to incorporate a little DIY action into your life, there’s no better place to begin. Curtains can instantly give a room a facelift, and you can sew your own in a mere afternoon, with literally the most basic stitching skills.

First, a word on sewing machines

Right about now is when many people start freaking out about their sewing machine. They have one, but it’s been collecting dust for years…. Or they have one, but they’re not sure how to thread it… Or they want to buy one, but they don’t know what type to get. Or they don’t want to buy one at all, but they’d still love to make stuff out of fabric.

Please: don’t be afraid! Sewing machines are very simple at their core, and once you understand the fundamentals, you’ll wonder what you were ever worried about. If you are unfamiliar with using a sewing machine, the best way to learn is to have someone show you. Reach out to crafty friends and family; I bet you can easily find someone who’d be willing to spend an afternoon initiating you into the ranks of the stitchies. Another way to learn is to check out your local fabric store, where classes are most certainly offered. I promise you that you can master sewing machine basics in just a couple of hours—go for it!

And if you don’t have a sewing machine, you can absolutely make this project with a good old fashioned needle and thread. Hand-sewing can be wonderfully meditative and it’s a great activity for unwinding while you watch TV at the end of the day, so give it a try!

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get started!

What You’ll Need

Fabric (determine what kind and how much by reading below)

Sewing thread to match your fabric

Sharp scissors

Measuring tape

Straight pins

Sewing machine or sewing needle

Iron and ironing board

Choosing a Fabric

If you’re new to sewing, I recommend starting with a basic medium-weight fabric such as cotton or a cotton-linen blend. Its straightforward texture makes it easy to work with.

Of course, there’s a world of amazing fabric out there for you to try, and once you are comfortable with sewing, you can apply this same basic curtain recipe to almost any type of fabric your windows desire. When choosing a fabric, consider the necessary function of your curtains: do you need them to protect your privacy or block light? Do they need to be machine-washable (a good idea for kitchens or windows that are frequently open, especially in cities where lots of dirt comes in through windows)? Do you want them to help keep out cold drafts, or do you merely desire a hazy sheer? All of these functions can be accomplished simply by choosing different types of fabric.

Measuring Your Window/Determining How Much Fabric You Need

Determine the length you want your curtains to be by measuring from the curtain rod to the spot where you’d like the bottom of the curtain to fall. Add 18” to this number; this is the length of fabric you need for each curtain panel. (The extra 18” will give you enough fabric to hem each panel, plus allow for fabric shrinking during pre-washing.)

Now, determine the width you need. Most fabric is sold in widths of 43” or 60”. If you don’t need a particularly full or gathered curtain, you may decide that one width of fabric is enough for your panel. If you prefer a more gathered look, you’ll want the fabric to be anywhere from 1.5-3 times wider than the actual window width.

Preparing Your Fabric

If your fabric is machine washable, you should wash and dry it to pre-shrink it before sewing. This is an important step; if you don’t pre-shrink before sewing, the seams may pucker unattractively the first time you wash your curtains. Of course, if your fabric is not machine-washable, you should skip this step.

Finally, before you start cutting or sewing, iron your fabric thoroughly. You’ll need to remove all wrinkles and creases in order to measure and sew accurately.

Cutting the Fabric

My dad the carpenter always says measure twice, cut once. I prefer to measure four times, triple-check my math, measure once more just in case—then I cut! With that said, for each curtain panel, cut a length of fabric that is the distance from your curtain rod to the desired bottom of the curtains, plus 8”.

If you are making a panel that’s wider than the width of your fabric, cut two lengths as described above and sew them together length-wise to make one wide piece of fabric.

Hemming the Sides

Take a look at the finished edge that runs along both sides of your fabric; this is called the selvedge edge. On some fabrics, the selvedge is different in color than the rest of the fabric (often it’s white); sometimes the selvedge is also a little different in texture. It’s generally a good practice to trim off the selvedge edge before sewing, as is can sometimes pucker in a seam.

Next, turn the fabric under 1/2” to the wrong side (back) of the fabric. Iron this as you go.

Then, turn the fabric under another ½-1” and iron this as well. (I chose a narrow ½” hem because I didn’t want my print pattern to be chopped off by the hem, but a 1” side hem is more standard. Your choice!)

Pin this double-folded edge in place, inserting one pin every 4-6”. Always insert the pins perpendicular to the seam you will be sewing, with the heads to the right of the seam. This allows you to remove them easily with your right hand as you sew the seam.

Sewing the First Seam

Time to sew! Stitch a simple straight seam down the side, placing the stitch line about 1/8” from the interior folded edge of the hem.

Hemming the opposite side edge

Simply repeat the above process on the other side of the curtain panel.

Sewing the Bottom Hem

Turn under ½” of the bottom edge to wrong side and press.

Turn under 5” more and press; pin in place as described for side hem.

Stitch the hem, approximately 1/8” from interior folded edge. When sewing this seam, make it extra secure by back-stitching at the beginning and end of the seam. To do this, sew the first 2-3 stitches of the seam, stop the sewing machine, press the Reverse Stitch button on your machine and sew 2-3 stitches in reverse, the proceed to sew the rest of the seam. Repeat at the end of the seam. This process ensures that the seam won’t unravel. (Why didn’t we do this on the side hems? Because those seams were going to be finished inside the top and bottom hems, so it wasn’t a concern that they’d unravel.)

Sewing the Curtain Rod Pocket

All that’s left to do to finish the curtain is to make the pocket for the curtain rod. This is done almost exactly like the bottom hem.

At the top edge of the curtain, turn under ½” to wrong side and press. Turn under another 2” and press again; pin in place as described earlier. Stitch seam approximately 1/8” from interior folded edge, back-stitching at beginning and end of seam to secure.

And you’re done sewing! All that’s left to do is hang your curtains and enjoy your crafty flair.

#diy #crafts #home decor #x

[woolandcoffee]

You know, I do think that as a society, we need to reevaluate our relationship to sewing. Like, that post that says everyone should learn how to do some basic sewing even though it's difficult is a perfect example. Basic sewing isn't difficult. It just isn't. Yes, sewing techniques like pattern drafting, tailoring, or crafting a coture gown are certainly not something that a beginner is going to pick up overnight, but genuine beginning sewing isn't hard. Not that long ago, in the U.S. at least, it was standard to teach young children the basics of hand sewing. Even after that was no longer standard educational material, plenty of parents taught their young children the basics of sewing a seam. Sewing isn't rocket science. Most people, with enough practice, can learn even complex sewing techniques. Anyone can learn to hand fell a seam, straighten a hem, do a running back stitch, sew on a button, etc. Treating these things as though they are difficult, in my experience, leads to further alienation of people from their clothing. If all sewing is regarded as difficult, then it makes it harder for people to want to learn. It makes it harder for people to create a participatory relationship with the maintenance of their clothes. On the other hand, if basic sewing is seen as a valuable life skill that any adult could quickly learn, then it makes that learning so much more approachable.

Look through the notes on that post and you'll find lots of people saying that they're good at "shitty sewing" or that they can mend something in a pinch, but it doesn't look good. I really want to push back on that. Because all of our fast fashion clothing is made using machines, we are accustomed to seeing our clothing finished in certain ways. That is going to influence what we think "good" sewing should look like. But here's the thing. Those fast fashion items are not well made (not a dig at the laborers btw, no one could make clothing well in the conditions that they work under. No one). Overlock stitches are not the be all, end all of good sewing. I make most of my own clothing, and almost all the clothing that I make includes noticeable hand-finishing. The seams and hem on my wool skirts are slightly bulky because I turn and fell down my hems and seam allowance by hand. Those skirts look handmade. If you're evaluating them by how they compare to fast fashion, my hand sewing probably looks "shitty." But the thing is, my hand-stitched seam is going to last so much longer than the seam on a fast fashion garment. My hand-stitched hem isn't going to get pulled apart because exposed overlock stitches get caught on something. Maybe that button you sewed onto your Shein blouse doesn't look exactly like how all the other buttons on the blouse do, but I'd wager its more secure. Your occasional hand sewing isn't shitty, it's hand sewing and it's okay that it doesn't look like it was done by machine.

Sewing isn't difficult, and hand sewing isn't worse than machine sewing. Check out some YouTube videos, ask your grandma, check out a sewing manual from the library or Archive dot org. And when someone compliments the cool way you've patched your jeans, or remarks that they could never mend their own skirt, please tell them that of course they can do it because sewing isn't hard.

#woolly rambles

[deepautumncolors]

Back in 2018, I picked out some matching towels and washcloths for my wedding registry at Bed Bath & Beyond. (Nobody bought them for us, so we used gift cards to buy them ourselves when we got back from our honeymoon.) Sometime earlier this year, the edge on one of the washcloths became unraveled almost all the way across so I took it out of our rotation and set it on my dresser with the intention of sewing it back together at some point. I'm not a very domestic person, but I have sewn up a few holes in shirts before with the use of my very limited sewing supplies (two mini travel kits) and the help of YouTube.

One end of the thread was still attached to the cloth and there was a long piece of it from when it had unraveled, so I wanted to reuse the same thread because it would be the same color. But there was a big knot in the middle of it, so yesterday I spent a little time untangling it and actually made some pretty good progress. I untangled it as much as I could, but I still couldn't get a few spots to come undone. Luckily, I ended up with a fairly long piece on the other side of the knot, so I cut around the knot to get a second piece of thread.

I started by putting the piece of thread that was still connected through the needle. I don't know the name of the stitch I did, but I just went in and out along the seam. When I only had a little bit of thread left, I knotted it a few times and used the needle to get the knot as close to the bottom as I could.

Then I used the second piece of thread to pick up where I left off until I got to the end. I knotted that a few times too and snipped off the extra thread, and I was done!

I think I'm ready to audition for Project Runway now. LOL! 🪡🧵

I'm very pleased with how it came out, and I've been wanting to get that done for a long time! I don't know why I waited so long. Where's that post that says something like, "It only took me 15 minutes to complete a task that I had been putting off for 6 months, but I will learn nothing from this"? 🤦🏻‍♀️

It's so nice to take care of things that only need to be done once. So many things are endless because they have to be done over and over. I vacuum, but the rugs get dirty again. I wash the dishes, but we eat again. I do laundry, but the clothes, sheets, and towels need to be washed again. I clean the litter box, but the kitties poop again. Everything is ongoing and temporary. That's why it feels so good to get something done permanently.

Shoutout to @ohmyg0sh for helping me figure out how to get started! Thank you again, I appreciate you! 💜

#personal

[talisidekick]

Catear Update

Alright, alright. This took a bit. A lot of personal stuff happened that delayed the progress on this. I'm sorry. But I made a promise because you all voted on that stupid poll (and almost made me wear a tail in public), so here's the progress:

After spending over $50 on a 12in. by 12in. square of 2in. long rust-coloured faux fur (I'm never buying from the US again, it was $10 for the fur, but like $40 in shipping) that took a month to arrive, I took a look at like hundreds of videos that were completely unhelpful in assisting me make catears at all. I then asked my spouse for help because I ... embarrassingly don't know how to sew ... and we started with something simple that I forgot was probably step 1 ...

[Start ID: A photo graph from my terrible Samsung J6 camera of a cardboard piece cut from a cereal box with a bad tracing/template of catears in pencil on it. There's a pair of pliers with blue grips, a red mechanical pencil, some shaping wire, and a wide plastic headband atop it. /End ID]

... drawing a template on spare cardboard. My spouse was also smart(er than me by a lot) and bought some plastic headbands that are just ... way more comfortable than the metal wire ones for like $9 CAD. The band is wider and it hurts less. With a shitty template and apparently we had wire for some reason? I was expecting to have to go out and spend like $15 CAD on some but hey, we hoard shit 'cause we're poor and it pays off.

With the sewing machine set up, Watch came to pay a visit to supervise.

[Start ID: Another shitty picture from my Samsung J6 of Watch, my black cat with yellow eyes, peering through at my spouse (off camera) through the sewing machine. /End ID]

She later discovered she didn't like the sound of the sewing machine and ran off. But you can see a bit of the faux fur we're dealing with on the left.

It's a good time to mention my spouse decided to get super high AF because they're off for a few days and despite being ... inebriated as heck, they powered through. There was only one fuck-up, and I take the blame for that. Some of the fur didn't get stitched right so we'll have to redo the seam, but a less high Witch from the following day has found an easier way to rectify that issue than just trying again and seeing what happens. I don't understand it, but they're confident so I'm going to learn what the heck they were talking about by seeing sometime later this week (I hope). The current state:

[Start ID: A picture (still from my terribly Samsung J6 camera), of all the tools used: a comb to manipulate the fur, pliers to shape the wire, a pencil for the template, pins to hold the fabric together, scissors to cut through thick fabric, a pin cusion that looks like an orange with an attached red chilli-pepper pin sharpener, bent wire, a sewing machine, a headband, and the current status of the catears being stitched together to vaguely look like catears. /End ID]

Part of being a hoarder ... sorry "stingy" is that we had some faux fur in white from some tiny pillow-case we just never got around to getting a pillow for. This worked perfect for the inside of the ears. The stitching done on this is amazing and has a little loop so the wire can be threaded through. I explained this idea poorly to my spouse who then had a brainwave mid-job and executed it 10x better than I had badly explained it ... please note, while high as heck and with no concept of time. We had to stop here for now because reality just wasn't sticking for my spouse at this point, so I cleaned up so our cats wouldn't get up to mischief. As explained earlier, there is a flaw with one of the ears, it'll have to be restitched, but apparently there's a way to fix it involving a sort of 'holding stitch', not sure what that means, but I'll find out when we do this later this week (hopefully).

The ears, as they stand, actually don't really "need" the wire to hold their shape, the stitching does all the work here. The wire will just be there for stability and to somehow attach it to the band (not sure how yet, we're crossing that bridge when we get to it). We're apparently not using glue for any of this because my spouse decided to go for durability. Which I agree with. These may just be my every-day ears for the next bit.

Anywho, there's the progress update some of you have been wanting. I hope to have a finished product soon. We've learned a lot on this, and I do want to make more so the next set will be completely done by my hands (ideally), but right now my spouse is here because I can't sew for shit and they decided to use this as a tutorial for me.

#talisidekick #talisidekick things #catears

[phantomgl1tchh]

tear out my heart..

“Tear out my heart and tell me it wasn't for nothing.” //

They gripped the protagonist's wrists, wrestling them away from their shoulders, prying their fingers away from their clothes as they grasped desperately for a semblance of human connection, the spark they had, something. They stared back at them, wanting to tear that familiar face they’d once felt safe around, one they wished they could move past.

“Just stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” they’d said, voice breaking as they lowered their old friend's hands away from them and back down to their own body, away from the safety and comfort of their own. As much as their paths diverged, as much as their lives changed, and as much as they didn't click anymore, they wished no ill intent to them, they just wanted them to stop; to turn around from where they came and forget about them, their countless years together, years spent learning of each other. It couldn’t be the same anymore. Please.

The protagonist stared at them desperately, a sickening look of despair and hurt adorning their face, scraping away any of their normal personality and dumping it at their feet, leaving dark shards of shattered and splintered glass in their wake as they stared up at them, they looked them in the eye for a moment, lost in gray as they remembered the last 10 years. The look didn't last long at all, they averted their gaze, breaking past their emotions– trying to– break past their emotions. Don’t make it harder than it has to be… please.

“Then tell me why, tell me what changed.. What happened? What changed?” they let out a sputtering sigh, slowly flittering their gaze back to those eyes, gray as they always were, like the dark storm clouds on a rainy day, washing the Earth of fire and soaking the ground with its ever-lasting water, hydrating the dry vegetation; eyes that always looked back and listened intently about whichever topics were brought up between the two, they that looked at them skeptically whenever a joke was told between them, eyes that closed when they heard something utterly ridiculous then opened again as they focused on their driving. Eyes now holding countless years and months of memories and pain, the hurt spilling out at the seams, ripping apart at the stitches and the insides spilling out, getting caught in the breeze and lost in the wind, gone forever. They looked away again, debating their words.

“I just… our lives are too different now, we just wouldn't get along, things’ve changed, I can’t see us working well anymore… I'm sorry.” they kept their eyes to the ground, their brows scrunched as they glared at the debris beneath their feet, the debris that would normally get stared and speculated at. They once would’ve giggled at the out-of-place wrapper, making up fantastical assumptions about how it got there and who might’ve dropped it. Now they just stared at it and its brightly colored orange film, it swayed in the light breeze before it floated off, a dull and painful ache in their chest. They looked up, seeing the familiar gaze once more, their eyes snapping to each other, no malice, no anger, just confusion and hurt crossing both sets of eyes. Stop. 

The protagonist let out a shuddering breath as they brought their hand up to the back of their neck, scratching as their eyes scrunched closed for a moment, hair blowing in the wind as they debated their next set of words; all silent before they spoke up, barely audible, murmuring, “… is that really what you think? Is it what you want?” their eyes opened, staring quietly as they patiently awaited an answer, their face held no bitterness, anger and hurt yes, but aimed to their own person and not the one ending this arrangement. Please tell me. They looked the protagonist in the eye, wanting this to be over so they could go about their separate ways, never to see each other again, “It has to be this way.. It won't work any other way.. It's not just you or me.. We just live different lives now,” they said, staring into their eyes with equal hurt, as much as their lives were different and as much as they knew they couldn’t live compatibly within each others company, it hurt like hell. 

The protagonist nodded, their hand dropping to their hood, pulling it up and over their head, covering their head of hair as they looked at them once more, nodding, understanding, “Alright… I’m sorry.” they muttered calmly, they looked back before taking a few steps back, beginning to walk off and leave; content with leaving this piece of their past behind, content with leaving things as they were right now; content but upset, as is to be expected.

They followed after them, wanting to explain more, to get them to understand better to get them to at least stop for a minute, just a minute longer.. Please.. They caught up to them quickly, their voice raising a little bit to say more, “It's not- not you or me it's just..” Their old friend– Protagonist– stopped and turn around gently, looking over at them as they listened to their words before their lips twitched, interrupting them. Stop cutting them off. Their voice raising up, desperate and pleading as the words fell from their lips before they could even process them, before they could even think about what they were saying as word vomit spilled from the seam of their lips, their words desperate but not angry, not accusing, just pleading, “Just.. just look at me and tell me it wasn't for nothing, please don't tear my heart out for nothing, please tell me our time together meant something… please. Please.” their voice broke at the end of their sentence, they tried to keep up their nonchalant persona even now, rapidly blinking away tears and bringing their sleeve up to their face, the fabric of their hoodie soaking them up, leaving their eyes red, “Please…”

They looked back, their lips pressing together as their brows upturned slightly, nodding along to their request. It wasn’t a lie, they couldn't do that to them, not now. “…it.. Wasnt for nothing.. I was glad to have known you.” their voice falters at the end of their sentence as they turn their head away, not knowing what else to say now. They took in some deep breaths as they kept staring at the ground, wanting to shrivel up and hide from the world.

The pro- Protagonist sighed, nodding their head as they look up at their past friend, understanding and accepting their new heart-shattering life, they felt as if someone had clawed their way into their chest, their memories, their mind and had ripped out a large portion of their life, of their soul. They took a few steps back, the gravel crunching under their feet “Alright.” the sound of gravel being disturbed met both of their ears as they both walked off, effectively leaving parts of their lives behind, leaving their life in that fateful gravel lot.

“I’m sorry.”

// a/n: hi, im kinda hoping for,, i dont even know, to put it plainly this is a vent and i just need to get my fucking thoughts out; neither are in the wrong here

if anyone does decide to use this or to imagine their characters this is purely a platonic piece and id like to keep it that way

no hate to anyone this "vent" is about,

#creative writing #original character #original content #original fiction #original story #authors #reading #pro #protagonist #vent #vent tag #venting #vent post #character prompt #could be interpreted as hero x villain but i dont want anyone to mark one person as hero or villain