#a little less than that because the sewing machine foot on my sewing machine is a smidge more than 1/4 inch

[somediyprojects]

DIY Zippered Throw Pillows

Project by Brett Bara:

Throw pillows are another fantastic way to incorporate cute textiles and DIY flair into your home without a great investment of time or money. If you’ve ever gone into a fabric store and wanted to buy everything because it’s just all so gorgeous, then pillows are a great way to put those fabrics to work in your decor. Bold or loud prints that would be too much used in large scale (like in curtains) can be just right for a little pillow pop on a sofa or bed.

I’m going to show you how to make a zippered pillow cover, which is easier than it sounds, I promise. It looks super-professional AND has the added bonus of being easily changeable—I love the idea of making tons of different pillow covers and just swapping them out whenever you want a little change in a room.

The best part? You can make the pillow shown here in less than an hour! –Brett Bara

A Word on Zippers

Ok, I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but installing a zipper is REALLY EASY. (There are many ways to install a zipper —some more refined than others—the method I’m sharing here is basic and very simple!) BUT, if installing a zipper feels like it’s just too much, don’t give up. I’ll give alternate instructions at the end for how to make a pillow without a zipper. Everybody happy now? Let’s get started!

What You’ll Need

½ yard fabric (if your pillow is larger than 16”, you’ll need more fabric)

1 pillow form (buy this at a craft store or upholstery shop)

1 all-purpose zipper about 4” shorter than the edge of your pillow

Thread to match your fabric

Seam ripper

Sharp scissors

Straight pins

Tape Measure

Sewing machine

Zipper foot attachment for your sewing machine

Selecting and Preparing Fabric

Almost any type of fabric can be used for a throw pillow, but for beginners I recommend starting with medium-weight fabrics that are smooth in texture, like cottons or cotton-linen blends.

I’m using a Japanese print from the fantastic Etsuko Furuya for Echino line.

If your fabric is machine-washable, wash and dry it before sewing. This will pre-shrink the fabric, which is necessary to prevent the seams from puckering during future washings.

Finally, thoroughly iron the fabric before beginning.

Cutting

Cut two pieces of fabric that are the size of your pillow form plus 1” in length and 1” in width. So, if your pillow form is 12×16”, you’ll need two pieces of fabric that are 13×17”. This allows for ½” seam allowance on all seams.

Installing the Zipper

Place both pieces of fabric together with the right sides of the fabric facing each other and all corners aligned. (Be sure to situate both pieces so that the print pattern is facing in the same direction.)

Center the zipper along what will be the bottom edge of the pillow, since you’ll want the zipper to be on the bottom edge of the finished pillow. (Here, my fabric is flipped with the bottom edge facing up, just to make it easier to work with). Place a pin near each end of the zipper, just INSIDE the metal stops at each end.

With a ½” seam allowance, sew the two segments on the outside of each pin. (This should be a short space of just a couple inches between the pins and the corners of the fabric.) Reinforce these seams by back-stitching at the beginning and end of each seam.

Next, change the stitch length on your machine to the longest length, which will allow you to baste the next seam. (Basting is sewing a long stitch which will later be removed; the long, loose quality of a basted stitch makes them easier to remove than regular stitches) With the stitch length set to long, simply sew the space in between the two short seams you just made. (Do not back-stitch to reinforce basted seams.)

Iron this seam open.

With the wrong side of the fabric facing up, place the zipper right-side down, aligning the zipper teeth directly over the seam. Pin it in place.

Change your machine’s presser foot to the zipper foot. Consult your manual for help with this if necessary; usually the feet snap off and on rather easily.

A zipper foot (shown here on the right) can be different for every sewing machine model, but it often looks like half of a standard presser foot (shown on the left). It allows you to sew right along the edge of the zipper teeth neatly and easily. The zipper foot has a little sliding part that changes it to a right or left position, so just slide it accordingly depending on whether you are sewing the right or left side of the zipper. (That means you have to pop off the zipper foot after sewing the right-side seam, slide the zipper foot thingie over to the left position, then pop the foot back on the machine. All this only takes a second once you get the hang of it!)

Note: Be sure your stitch length is back to normal length for the remainder of the sewing. Starting at the bottom of the zipper on the right side, with the zipper foot in the right-side position, sew down the side of the zipper. When you get near the end, stop the machine. Leave the needle in the work, but raise the foot, and gently move the zipper pull back behind the needle. Then lower the foot again and sew to the end of the zipper. Backstitch at the end of this seam.

Next, change the zipper foot to the left position, and repeat this process on the left.

And your zipper is installed! (That wasn’t so bad, right?) The seam is still basted closed, so from the right side, use the seam ripper to gently remove the basted stitches. (They’ll pop out really easily; just pick out any remaining thread pieces that are left dangling.)

Change back to the standard presser foot. Fold the two pillow halves so that they are aligned with right sides facing each other and all corners and edges meeting. Pin in place. Sew around all three sides with a ½” seam allowance. (The fourth side, of course, is the side with the zipper installed.)

Here’s how to sew around the corners: when you reach each corner, leave the needle in the fabric and raise the presser foot, then pivot the fabric 90 degrees, lower the presser foot again, and continue sewing.

Clip the fabric at the corners. (Removing the excess fabric here helps give you a nice, sharp corner once you turn the pillow inside out.)

Turn the pillow cover inside out, ironing the seams flat.

Insert the pillow form, and you’re done!

NOW FOR THE NO-ZIPPER PART

If you’d rather skip the zip, just use your sewing machine to sew the two pieces of fabric together around three edges, plus about 2” on each side of the fourth edge. Clip the corners and turn right-side out, iron the seam flat, then insert the pillow form. Using a needle and thread, hand-sew the opening closed. Of course, this pillow cover won’t be removable, but it will still be lovely!

#diy #crafts #home decor #x

[firespirited]

Ladies, gentlemen and enbans,

Meet my beautiful new second hand cane!

I've been procrastinating about buying one for a while with various foldable or footed ones in wishlists and today... there it was. and while I can't use it much due to the shoulder pain, it's already helped me stand in place longer than possible without it.

Sis saw a Facebook post about an indoor garage sale for today, within my walking abilities *but* up the hill (we live on one side of a three side "bowl" of foothills so technically everything is pretty much up or down but this hill is like 12 degree incline in parts)

I said I'd consider this adventure if we could do a trial run. So we made the trek with the dogs. Lily remembered that she could run, a huge yellow lab gave her a massive rock she was carrying in her mouth, there were acorns everywhere and a nice lil bridge at sitting height for us to stop and rest.

So today, we set out in the rain, minus dogs, to the unknown just a house with stuff for sale : would it be stuff left from a move, a death, just decluttering, expensive fancy stuff, kids stuff?

We arrived early (turns out dogs sniffing around takes up an extra ten minutes) and watched as half a dozen cars pulled up, which is wild. People are never early round here! guess the antiquing folks like to be there as soon as the doors open.

Two middle aged ladies ushered us all into their yard and then into the teeny tiny house to three rooms divided by a staircase, none of it seemed to follow geometry. Two daughters selling their mother's various collections to make space: mugs, books, vinyls, paintings, cat sculptures, silverware and lots of fabric findings. She had been a seamstress. There were tins filled with buttons, I would have bought some but knew I had to carry it home.

One seemed a little panicked after running around setting things down in the yard so I helped with a frame and asked how she was doing with all this and we chit chatted for a while. From what I understand at least one of the daughters is living there on a higher floor, the cats don't need rehoming and one had to be forcibly removed from a comfy nest in the fabric stash just before everyone arrived. 😁 They're doing ok but the clutter was overwhelming and they hoped some of it might sell and be taken away, simply, without third parties or listings. Quite a few of the furniture pieces got claims within the 45 minutes we were there so I think they'll be fine.

I saw the cane in a set of three at the entry to the yard within 20 seconds and I knew it was the one, it carried me through the rest of the visit in any case. Didn't ask about other medical equipment (Medical buyback doesn't give you much and buying from the medical shops is expensive so it's advantageous to all parties. I got my wheelchair for double the buyback from a dude who didn't need it anymore and it was less than a third of the price). But I get the impression she was fairly able bodied with maybe a little help walking only.

There was no sewing machine in sight so either it's gone to the daughters or it was sold for a lot more than today's low priced bits and bobs. I was kinda hoping I might get to witness an antique Singer in the footpedal desk or the square looking 70s Singer in the case when I heard the word seamstress - granny used to have both when I was little.

Clothes, shoes and grooming items were all missing too. The ladies might not be at the point where they feel ready for that yet. Maybe they needed the clutter 'space' to be able to do a more personal sort out.

So quite the adventure. I didn't get the "shop overload" because the lights and sound were normal, items were in boxes with the price per item or to ask (understood to be under 10€) no confusing pricing between washing liquids per wash, per litre, per kilo and special offer (aka what's the catch). It was cramped but no people megastress either so that was manageable.

I did start thinking about what we leave behind on the way home. Did chat a little with sis about our most prized treasures and how they're imbued with value that no one else would know about by just looking at them. We both felt a little gloomy over that so switched to talking about the types of person we'd seen.

#saf #disability blogging #mobility aid #cane user #Ramblings

[backstage-if]

A little father’s day gift after the results of this poll :)

On a serious note, I’m warning that Wille and their parents don’t get along that well and this is (kinda) featured in here. Also, it’s a little longer than a drabble.

Under the cut:

2022. 

Wille Eccleston is leaving this town in seven days. No more, no less.

Neither of her parents know about it yet. 

She isn't planning on telling them at all, at least not until the very last day. That scenario is clear in her head. Next week, she will be getting hold of her bags, the rest of her needlework money and then follow to her best friend's house with a simple "By the way, I'm moving", or something close to that. She won’t give them enough time to react or put together any sort of emotional speech about how they will miss her. 

It isn't a plan, not exactly, but this is all she has. 

The moment her sister, Rebecca, enters her room, Wille is working on the last costume she will ever make for her old school’s theater group. 

"Lend me a dress," her sister barely says, competing with the loud noise made by the sewing machine, then Rebecca herself turns it off unprompted. “Mom said I could choose one of your dresses!”

Wille annalyzes her sister's frame for a minute, the girl is even shorter than she was at her age. 

"It won't fit you, we both know that. Mom must know it, too." 

"Let me have it, Willow!"

She pretends to think about it for a second, "Nah." 

Rebecca stamps her foot loudly on the wooden floor and, at that sound, their dad's head appears at the bedroom's door, a confused expression on his face. 

"Did I hear an argument?”

It has happened way too many times at this point, especially considering how few years they have been on this Earth together, but Wille already learned that, unless she makes a point of being the first one to say something, Rebecca will have no problem throwing her ‘mean sister’ under their parents’ bus. 

"Rebecca never gives my stuff back, she proved it too many times."

His confusion turns into weariness, maybe even impatience, "Can't you just... get it from her room when you plan to use it?"

Wille doesn’t have time to come up with an answer that doesn’t spoil her plans, because she can register the exact moment in which her dad sees the bag by the bedroom's corner. 

"Hey, what is this?"

Silence. What is there to say? 

"Willow, what is this?"

The truth. Maybe.

"Okay. Fine, you win. I'm moving."

"...What? Does your mom know that? Did I know that? It doesn't seem like something I would forget if you told me."

"I haven't had the opportunity to talk to her yet. I will. Tonight."

"That's not-" he seems to remember the girl right there, watching the scene unfold with wild brown eyes. "Leave, Rebecca."

"But I wanted to-"

"No, you didn't. Go to your room, go."

She exits with a frown, but not another word. After the girl leaves, Wille’s dad gets inside the bedroom and closes the door. He stays standing with his arms crossed, staring at her as if he can’t decide whether she is lying or going insane. 

"Where did that idea come from? No, of course. See, I’ve always said that friend of yours and her crazy mom weren’t-"

“Don’t say it,” Wille raises her voice at that and he stops whatever he was going to say, at least. “I talk about moving almost every day, why is it such a surprise to you?”

“We thought you were joking!” her dad mumbles something incomprehensible, then says louder. “You can’t just move.”

"Why?"

Deep down, she knows what is coming. Wille can hear the words even before it’s out there in the world, but, for a moment, she hopes her dad will surprise her and say something different. 

"Who will take care of the store?"

In the end, she is right.

It stings a little, even if it shouldn’t anymore. Once again, there is no worry about Wille herself, only that hell of a store. Always the same.

"You and mom will, as you already do. You don't really need me here, dad, I would be a terrible manager."

Just say both of you will miss me. Say that I'm your daughter and you love me and I should stay because of that, instead. 

"And if something happens? If Lucas breaks an arm and I have to take him to the hospital or if your mom, God forbid, falls ill? What then? We close it, just like that?"

She stays quiet.

"Willow, honey- We don't just do what we want to! Believe me, I know a thing or two about that. Sometimes we… Well, we have responsibilities and we have to stay. Life chooses for us."

Finally, she turns to him and tries to ignore what is implied in his words. He stayed for the family and now he wants her to stay for the business. It’s supposed to be a never-ending story. 

She says, "I'm going anyway."

"Oh my God, you’re so stubborn. Do you even have a plan? Any plan?"

Yes. Her train tickets are already bought, their not-fancy but surely affordable apartment is simply waiting for Wille and her best friend by this point and, if her dad can’t tell by the bag that gave her away in the first place, almost all of her clothes are already packed. Still, she lies to him, "No, but I'll figure it out."

"I really don't get what is w-" he stops mid sentence, then opens the door. "Nevermind. Good luck telling you mom that. Don't leave the dirty work to me."

"I won’t."

"She might… I don't know, she might even talk some sense into you. You're 22, for God's sake, you're too old to be this inconsiderate."

He closes the door loudly and leaves, and Willow doesn't bother screaming after him that she is actually 24. 

A week after that, she is the one leaving.

#ch: wille eccleston #about the characters #extra-canon #f!wille for this one #backstage if

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | 6. Sharing Food

I used this prompt for my original characters, Nathan and Patience: the story is under the cut.

Word count: 1,411

“What did you want to cook?” asked Nathan, the instant Patience set foot in the kitchen. He was enveloped in a comically large apron, impressive given his height.

Distracted, Patience said, “Did… did you make that apron? Did you literally just make an apron that was too large just for the fun of it?” He smiled charmingly. “Of course.”

It was floral, and not precisely what she would have expected him to choose, but the pink flowers suited his oven-flushed cheeks. “I didn’t even know you sewed, but I’m not particularly surprised when I think about it.”

“I don’t, much, but I wanted an apron the way I wanted it, so I made it. I even hand-sewed it; that’s not machine stitches you see there.”

Patience took it up and examined it critically. “Very neat,” she said in surprise. “I completely thought that was machine sewing.”

“Success.” He grinned at her, and Patience grinned back, taken by his expression. She was maybe a little bit obsessed with her boyfriend, all things considered. Then again, he was a pretty good sort of fellow, the reason they were going out. She wouldn’t have settled for anyone less than him, because the only way that could have ended was badly, and she had no wish to have a relationship that important end badly if she could help it.

She suspected she got into her head too often. Shaking away the thought, Patience replied to his earlier question with, “Do you have any suggestions?”

Her boyfriend blinked back at her, then realised what she was asking. “Oh! Um, not really. Unless you wanted to make migraine soup.”

Patience laughed. “Soup out of a migraine?” she quipped.

“You know what I mean,” Nathan grumbled.

“That doesn’t stop me from laughing at you.” She offered her most charming smile.

“I would not have it so,” said Nathan, and bowed in a courtly fashion to her. “Listen, if you didn’t say that kind of thing where it was clearly noticeable I’d be filing for divorce already!”

She quieted, and he grimaced. “I didn’t—look, Pat, I’m sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll try not to again.”

“Thanks.”

That little awkwardness past, Patience brightened and said, “So—do you have a cook book of some kind that we can look through?”

“That’s an excellent point. Mum does.” He fished out three large tomes and dumped them on the kitchen table, and he and Patience pored over them for several minutes, flipping through the books at varying speeds, before Patience said, “How about this?”

‘This’ was a recipe for the curiously named Linzer cookies, which Patience had never seen before, and which Nathan quickly said he had never made. “They do look interesting, though.”

“A bit like yo-yos,” she said, examining the recipe. “Except more exciting because look at that centre. It’s so pretty!”

“Food is to eat but also to look pretty,” he agreed. “Do we have all the ingredients? Flour, yes—almond flour, also yes—salt, yes—butter, let me check—powdered sugar, yes—brown sugar, yes—eggs, yes—vanilla extract, yes—almond extract, let me check—fruit jam, yes. Butter and almond extract, then—” Nathan went in search of the pantry, and returned victorious. “We have both butter and almond extract, apparently. You’re in luck, Patience, because we usually don’t have almond flour but there was some marked down a lot at the shops the other day, so Mum grabbed it while it was there.”

“Wonderful. It wasn’t for anything particular, was it?”

“No, just while it was so cheap as to be cheaper than normal flour. Convenient, isn’t it?”

“Exceedingly.” She waited, awkwardly, while Nathan fetched everything out of the pantry and fridge, then said, “Um—do you have a spare apron?”

“Oh! Yes, there’s Mum’s.”

Patience picked up the dark blue apron, put it on and glanced quizzically at his brilliant pink one. “Pink for girls and blue for boys, whomst?” she said.

“Nothin’ doing, this is mine,” he said, adopting a threatening attitude.

“I wasn’t about to take it away from you,” she replied placidly.

“Just as well. I shouldn’t have let you. Besides, it’d look ridiculous on you.”

“It looks ridiculous on you,” she said fondly. “Not that that’s a failing.”

“Good: I wear my ridiculousness with pride.”

Patience stepped closer and kissed him quickly. “That’s what I love about you.”

“I know.” He kissed her back, and their plans were slightly delayed.

Once Patience extricated herself from the deep embrace they ended up in, she tied back her hair and said, “Well, we should probably get onto cooking those biscuits—”

“They’re cookies, dear, read the recipe.”

She rolled her eyes cheerfully at his nitpicking and said, “Whatever they are. We should cook them.”

“Are we allowed to mix the ingredients together first?” he asked plaintively. This time Patience laughed.

“First we need a mixing bowl,” she said, reading the instructions.

“Ahead of you.” Nathan put a glass mixing bowl on the bench with a gentle clink.

“And whisk the flour, almond flour and salt together.”

“Whisk,” he said, and got out a wooden spoon.

“If you do your mixing, then, while I cream the butter and sugars? It says to use a mixer but I reckon I can do it well enough.”

“I believe in you,” he encouraged her.

She flashed him a smile, then picked up a tablespoon and set to work on it. Nathan was done much more quickly than she was, but watched her attentively and was ready with the first egg yolk as soon as she proclaimed it done.

“I can take over if you want,” he offered, but she shook her head. “Maybe in a bit when the going gets tough.”

“Of course,” he agreed. Patience mixed in silence until it was done, then separated it into two batches.

Once they had shaped the first batch, Nathan read the recipe. “Okay, time to chill.”

She grinned. “Excellent.”

They passed the time until the cookies were ready for the oven in a theological discussion about the terminologies used for God in the Bible. At ‘God of my refuge’, the timer went off and both abandoned their discussion reluctantly, promising one another that they would come back to it later.

They rolled out the dough in companionable conversation, but not about the theological discussion, since Patience wanted to be able to cross-reference and find exactly where each term was used, which she couldn’t exactly do with floury hands. The biscuits they made a perfectly round shape, with small heart shapes in the middle. Nathan made a heart shape with his hands after handing the cutter to Patience. “‘Cause I love you,” he said romantically.

“Love you too,” she retorted, face lighting up with a smile.

“Great, glad to hear that,” he said, looking a little flushed as he kept on cutting out circles and handing precisely half of them to Patience for the additional heart.

Once they were in the oven, they returned to their seats. Patience was the one to remember the timer, which Nathan said was just as well, since he’d forgotten about it and the cookies would be rather blacker than intended if he’d been the one to remember.

While they were cooling, Patience picked up the Bible again. “Where’s that verse about the Lord being a strong tower that the righteous run into?”

“Psalms, I’m pretty sure. Maybe Jonah. Probably Psalms though.”

“Why Jonah?” she mused, already flipping through Psalms slowly and scanning for the desired verse.

“I don’t know. I always get it mixed up with Jonah’s prayer, but I don’t think it’s in there at all.”

“No, neither do I—aha! Found it. It’s not in Psalms at all. I thought suddenly that it might be in Proverbs so I checked. Eighteen, verse ten.”

“Thanks for finding it. Isn’t it interesting?” Nathan added, glancing at her. “The many different ways God is revealed as a—a thing? You know, I can’t remember the word but you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. Not just merciful and gracious and all that, but as a refuge, a hiding place, a strong tower. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Exciting seems the wrong word to me,” he demurred.

“Well, it’s exciting to me,” she said firmly. “D’you think the cookies will be cool yet? I want to en-jam them and try them.”

Nathan laughed kindly at her. “They won’t be cool for a while, Pat.”

Nathan and Patience were using this recipe for their cookies! I've never made it but it looked fun. The bit about terminologies used for God was stolen from a conversation I had the other day with... someone on Chrumblr but I forget who. If you see it, hope you don't mind lol. Tagging @stealingmyplaceinthesun@graycedelfin@pilgrimsofworship and @choasuqeen

#februfluff2024 #nathan #patience

[v-as-in-victor]

OK. Mostly the diagnosis of ADHD has given me access to helpful medication. But it is also a lens that I gotta learn to use to move through the world a little more easily.

I just spent fifteen minutes with a ratcheting screwdriver trying to fix something that wasn't broken because I didn't have any visual schema for it in my head and therefore hadn't noticed that I just needed to put a part back in for it to work. An 8" diameter part that was sitting less than a foot to my right.

So I guess two things: I wouldn't make that mistake with a tool/appliance that I cared about because I would have learned what it does and what parts it has, very intentionally. E.g. espresso machine, sewing machine, serger. And I wouldn't have made that mistake if I stopped when I noticed something was wrong, and looked around my immediate environment to see if there was a CLEW.

R and I have talked about my learned helplessness around fixing stuff, and sure, some of it has to do with controlling ex. But I bet some of it has to do with needing to make conscious efforts to do things that happen naturally for other people. Seeing. Remembering.

#adhd #it's so frustrating #because it seems like i'm just an unobservant idiot #whereas i'm an unobservant person whose brain just isn't gunna bother with details that don't interest it

[san-sews-seams]

DIY Handkerchiefs

Since I’ve been doing a lot of these recently (and I keep forgetting what dimensions I’m cutting) I figured I’d do a quick write-up of how I’m making my linen handkerchiefs.

I’m dIYing them because I specifically want linen fibers. If you just want cotton, you can honestly get them pretty cheaply wherever. I just have yet to find linen for less than like, $10 per hanky, and even that’s more like pocket square size. Without including the cost of my labor and equipment (because IDK how to estimate that) these come out to between $2-$8 each, depending on the size.

I started off doing the hems by hand, and have now switched to a rolled hem foot on a domestic sewing machine just because it’s WILDLY faster.

I use the lightweight linen (3.7 oz/yd2) from Fabrics-Store, and I usually buy 2 yards at a time for hankies. Dimensions are VERY approximate because it depends on your seam allowances etc.

For Medium: 14"x18", 16 per 2 yards

Divide width (58″) by 4 across

Divide length ( 2 yards /72") by 4

A great all-purpose largeish pocket size! My go-to, since it's a good compromise in terms of fitting easily in a pocket, while still being useful for drying hands or holding a sandwich or whatever.

For Large: 19"x24", 9 per 2 yards

Divide width (58″) by 3 across

Divide length ( 2 yards /72") by 3

Honestly an awkward size, as it's not quiiite a standard bandana. But if you want something large for a hanky,  or a smallish tarot/altar cloth, this is a good size.

For Extra Large: 26"x28", 4 per 2 yards

Divide width (58″) by 2 across

 Divide length ( 2 yards /72") by 2

This size is really a small tablecloth. I really only use this size for a tarot/altar cloth. It would be good for a little picnic cloth too, I think.

To cut: Skip the pre-washing on this one! I always do for garments and sometimes for quilts, but I’ve found that the sizing in the fabric as it arrives from the warehouse helps, and you have less ironing to do overall.

If you don’t have a huge cutting table and rotary cutter set-up, the easiest way to do this would be to fold your yardage to the desired shape and cut along the folds, cutting several layers at once. Honestly I don’t know how to describe this better, and since I doubt anybody but me will use this, I’m not going to try.

To hand sew: I used the Purl Soho rolled hem tutorial. Honestly, this goes very quickly and easily! The only caveat is that this goes much better if you draw threads to cut exactly on-grain, which is a huge pain in the ass. Aside form a needle and thread, the only extras I would recommend is some kind of thread gloss or conditioner (the end of a beeswax candle is fine). If you’re doing the large or extra-large, I might recommend a sewing bird, OR just pinning one end of the side you’re working on to your couch or a pillow to keep some tension going.

To machine sew: You want a rolled hem foot. I think the one I use is 6mm? It was in a large mixed set of inexpensive snap-on feet I ordered on ebay, and it works just fine. The only thing you might want help on is starting and ending the corners, which you should just look up on youtube.

#san sews #sewing #hand sewing #handkerchiefs #Embroidered handkerchiefs #well. it's the set-up for my embroidered handkerchiefs anyway

[casspurrjoybell-24]

My Mate - Chapter 5 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Looking up from where I was sewing my bag, I watch Jasper chuckle at something Kelly Webb was whispering to him.

I had the urge to stick fabric pins in her but that was a morbid thought and I'm a better person than that.

Thinking it wasn't as bad as actually doing it though.

Right?

The prick of the needle going through my finger mad me hiss and I lifted my foot from the pedal so the machine would cut off.

Sticking my bleeding finger in my mouth, I looked back up at Jasper.

He really is beautiful.

He had this prettiness about him.

His lips are full and a soft pink, his eyes a little wide and made him seem interested in everything that was said to him.

Sighing dreamily, I wondered how it would be to kiss him.

I bet his lips are soft.

I hate having to wait a whole week until my birthday.

Why did we have to wait until we're eighteen anyways?

Oh right, perverts.

There's been some cases of Werewolves luring unknowing pups by telling them they're their mate.

That's why these days it's one of the first things we learn.

No one is able to find their mate until they're eighteen.

It's just the way things are.

"Get to work, Mr. Frey."

Looking up, Mrs.Ellis was glaring at me and I quickly got to work on finishing my bag.

After class, I hurried to pack up and followed Jesper out into the hall, determined to follow through with the plan I'd thought up in my head.

It had taken a lot of thought.

Keeping me up last night thinking of all the ways it could go wrong.

"Jasper," I called, gaining his attention before he could disappear in the crowd of giants.

He turned around and I waved my hand so he'd know it was me calling him.

He politely waited and even smiled at me.

"Hey Torin."

I almost purred like a stupid cat.

"Hey," I paused to take a deep breathe after running that great distance to get to him.

"I was just wondering... well," biting my lip nervously, I sighed.

"Do you maybe want to hang out?"

Would it be weird to pat myself on the back?

I'll do it later.

Jasper looked down at me with a raised brow before looking up when someone called his name.

I turned around to glare at Bradley down the hall.

"Ugh, sure, text me," Jasper said, patting my shoulder, before walking down the hall to join his stupid friend.

I bounced on my toes quietly squealing.

Why didn't I do this sooner?

It was so easy.

Plus he touched me.

I'm going to faint.

Walking through the halls with a huge smile and a new pep in my step, I exited the school to make my way home.

I'm going out with Jasper Killian.

It has to be perfect.

What should I wear?

Maybe something a little suggestive but not too much so because I'm modest, I promise.

Before we know it, we'll be mated after having a huge ceremony, then we'll get a big family home and fill it up with six pups.

No more, no less.

"What has you looking so smug?"

I was so far gone in my thoughts, I didn't even see Robert as I walked around his shiny car to cross the street.

I turned around and moved closer to his car so I wouldn't get run over by some teenager.

They drive worse than the elderly.

The Alpha male was surrounded by high school girls all eager for his attention and I watched them with distaste.

Robert crossed his arms on top of the car, that stupid smirk on his lips.

They didn't look as soft as Jasper's.

"Oh nothing," I said, still smiling.

Nothing was going to wipe this smile off.

"Jasper just agreed to go on a date with me."

Not in so many words but same difference.

Robby didn't need to know that.

"Bullshit," he laughed, unbelieving.

I gasped and placed a hand over my chest dramatically.

"Don't curse at me, Robert."

"With every day that passes, you turn more into your mother," the big idiot said, laughing up a storm.

My smile slipped and in place was a glare I directed at him.

"You're... you're just jealous," I snapped, stomping my foot.

Robby raised a brow and opened his mouth but before he could get any words out, I rushed to change the subject.

"What are you doing here anyways, daydreaming about the good ol' days?" I sassed.

"Actually, I'm here to pick up my brother. Want a ride?"

"No," was my immediate answer.

I've decided that I can't stand him.

He's always around, not to mention the groping and scenting in my mom's kitchen.

She'd have a heart attack if she knew what that Evil Alpha Werewolf did to her pure pup.

"Not even if Jasper's going to be in the car?" he taunted.

I pouted, knowing he'd changed my mind.

He smiled, knowing this too.

Every since he discovered my crush on his brother, he's used it against me in some way.

Robert walked around the car and opened the door for me, moving the seat up so I could crawl in the back.

He didn't move back and I had to squeeze between him and the door to get in, the whole time with a clear look of annoyance on my face.

He only laughed while fixing the seat and sliding in behind the wheel.

My Mate better pamper me with love for all the times I've had to deal with his insufferable brother.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

I pulled my backpack off and sat it on my lap, digging through it until I found what I was looking for.

The doctor said to give them to someone who needed them.

Who needed them more than Robert?

"I believe you need these."

I slapped the bag of condoms against his chest and waited until he grabbed them.

Robert looked at the bags contents before turning in his seat to look at me.

"What are you suggesting, Tory? That I should use these...with you?"

He seemed to be dead serious.

My face burned as I sputtered out nonsense and shook my head in denial.

Robby watched me do this before bursting with laughter.

"Aren't you going to need these? After all, you have that big date with Jesper," he teased, tossing the bag back at me.

"No. I don't do those things," I cried, fumbling with the bag as some spilled out.

"Sure. There's no telling what you think up in that dirty mind of yours."

"My mind isn't dirty," I yelled right as the car door opened.

I was pretty sure my face was going to catch on fire as Jasper ducked down and glanced between us curiously.

Then his eyes lowered to the handful of condoms I'd picked up off the floor.

My mouth opened and shut.

"Torin wants to know what size you wear," Robert said to his brother with a straight face.

That was it, in that moment, I decided I was going to kill Robert Killian.

[tj-crochets]

The log cabin pride quilt is complete! I just need to wash it* and then I’ll get it in the mail

*I try to only make machine washable quilts (because I don’t like hand washing blankets) and I make sure to wash them before I send them so that if I have a seam unravel or failed to catch the edge of the quilt top in the binding somewhere, I can find it and fix it before I give it to someone else. Also because the only flat surface in my house large enough to make the quilt sandwich is the floor, and my dog likes to try to help lol

#sewing #handmade #quilt #log cabin pride quilt #pride quilt #trans pride quilt #log cabin is the pattern and I can link the video I used to make this #it’s 55ish inches square #a little less than that because the sewing machine foot on my sewing machine is a smidge more than 1/4 inch #so the strips don’t quite end up 5 inches wide #I maybe could have gone with solid fabrics for the rainbow side instead of patterns? #because it’s a busy enough quilt pattern it might’ve been better with solids #on the other hand…who doesn’t love patterns? lol

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Stolen Stamps

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Stolen Passport Oneshot

“You took me on a trip just to break up with me so I stole your passport” - Prompt from @dailyau

I don't know where this came from, it just kinda happened, enjoy! Minor Chaolaena, Rowaelin endgame

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2494 words

*******

The faint hum of the air condition filled the meticulously organized room in the back of the post office.

“Ms. Galathynius,” A deep, accented voice addressed her.

Her gaze on the tall bookshelf in the corner jerked back to the man sitting across from her behind his desk. His hands were crossed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of a tattoo that wrapped around his muscular arm. She tried not to watch as the muscles shifted as he leaned forward when he spoke to her.

“Can you please explain to me why you were trying to mail a very,” He paused, glancing at the messily-wrapped bundle on the center of his desk, “suspicious-looking package to the Adarlan embassy in Antica?”

Aelin opened her mouth to try to explain, but no words came out.

He raised a silver eyebrow and waited.

She sighed, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

***

The cab ride to the airport was a blur. So was the flight, and the ride to her hotel. It wasn’t until Aelin locked the door of her hotel room and set down her bags, that the events of the day finally hit her.

Whether it was adrenaline or shock or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Aelin fell back onto the bed and rubbed her face, groaning. She thought back to that morning when everything had been fine.

Fine, not great, just fine. That’s how things always felt with Chaol, just fine.

Her brain was still working through what happened when she jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Shit. What did I do?”

Aelin scrambled towards her purse and rummaged through it. She couldn’t find it; maybe she didn't take it. She turned the bag upside down over the bed and watched as her things fell out. She pushed aside her little paperback mystery novel, her lipstick, her boarding pass, she moved aside a wrinkled coupon and froze.

“Fuck.”

***

After wearing a track into the carpet with her pacing, Aelin decided to call Lysandra. It was going about as well as she expected.

“Lysandra, I did a bad thing.”

Aelin chewed her fingernail between her teeth, a bad habit she couldn’t kick when she was stressed, as she tried to tell her best friend what just happened. She was standing on the small balcony of her hotel hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind. So far, it wasn't doing a great job.

“Aelin,” Lysandra’s voice sounded amused through her phone, “This is you were talking about, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin ran a hand through her hair. “I did a petty, horrible, impulsive, really bad thing.”

There was a long pause as Lysandra seemed to realize how serious Aelin sounded.

“Okay. Now I’m getting worried.” Then a sharp gasp, “Was it illegal? Have you been arrested? Are you calling me from a foreign prison?”

“Lys—” Aelin tried cutting in, she wanted to stop the hysterics before her friend’s imagination got out of hand.

“When you told me you were going on a trip with Chaol I thought you’d be spending time on the beach, not using me as your one phone call from a dirty jail cell hundreds of miles away!”

“Lysandra!”

“And where’s Chaol? Is he there with you?”

“Lysandra, stop! I haven’t been arrested, I’m not in prison, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.” Aelin closed her eyes and sighed, trying to scrounge up some guilt but failing. “Actually, it's because I’m feeling great that makes what I did so much worse, because I don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” Her friend's voice echoed in her ear. “If you’re fine, then tell me what happened and tell me why you’re calling me at,” she paused and groaned, “six in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Aelin winced, “I’m still on a different time frame.”

“Still? Where are you now? Are you not in Antica anymore?”

“Slow down, Lys.” Aelin loosed a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m back in Terrasen.”

“What? When did you get back?” Lysandra sounded confused, and Aelin couldn't blame her, after all, she was supposed to be in Antica for four more days.

“Today. Less than an hour ago. I’m at a hotel, I just needed to clear my head.”

After a moment of silence, Lysandra asked again, “Where’s Chaol? Have you talked to him about whatever this is? Not that he’d help much “Lysandra muttered the last part, but Aelin still heard.

Here we go, Aelin thought, “No. We broke up.”

“What?” Lysandra was definitely awake now. “Really? Oh, honey, I’m sorry if you’re hurting, but good for you, I never really liked him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aelin barked a wry laugh, “He dumped me, actually.”

“He dumped you?”

Aelin barked another laugh, getting angry as she told Lysandra the rest, “Get this, that bastard invited me on this trip specifically to break up with me”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Yeah, and honestly?” Aelin took a deep breath, feeling a mess of emotions as she explained. “I can’t blame him.” She amended herself quickly at Lysandra's sound of protest, “I don’t mean about taking me on a trip to do it, because that’s fucked up, but I mean the actual breaking up part. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, it was more about who would pull the trigger first. Come on, Lys, you knew I was more excited to spend a week on the beach than to spend a week with him.”

Lysandra snorted, “Yeah, Ace, I knew that. I was hoping you realized that, too.”

“Well, I did. So, I left. I’m back in Terrasen, there was no way I was staying there with him any longer, that would’ve been too weird.”

Aelin could hear Lysandra’s coffee machine buzz to life through the phone and suddenly wished she had a cup of coffee. Once she figured this mess out, she’d go find a cafe.

“Right. Okay,” The brunette’s voice rang out, “let me get this straight, Chaol took you on a trip solely to break up with you, and now you’re back in Terrasen while he’s still on the Southern Continent. I’m still not seeing what exactly you did that’s making you freak out.”

At that, Aelin flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over her face, groaning.

“I know breaking up with Chaol is for the best, Hellas, I feel relieved. But at that moment, I was so angry. I was furious that he’d take me on this trip instead of just doing it at home like a normal-fucking-person—I mean, who takes a break-up vacation? Anyways, when I was packing my things to leave, I, kinda, sorta, took something of his.”

“Aelin…what did you do?”

Aelin looked at the foot of the bed where the remains of her purse were strewn over the blanket. Her eyes caught on two matching little booklets with gold seals on them.

“I stole his passport.”

***

“Ms. Galathynius—”

“Aelin, please.” She cut off the silver-haired man behind the desk.

The only change in his stoic demeanor was a small twitch of his lips. “Aelin. Can you explain what exactly you’re trying to mail, that looks like that—”

‘That’ being the layers of spare newspaper she found tucked away in her hotel room haphazardly wrapped and tied with the thread from the complimentary sewing kit, also from her hotel room. She hadn’t been able to find any tape. Aelin thought if she brought it to the post office then she could re-package it with actual materials, but she’d chosen not to unwrap it before getting there. An obvious mistake.

“—to an official, protected, government Embassy?” His voice was stern and his green eyes steady.

This looked bad. Aelin could easily admit that this looked really bad.

She placed her hands on his desk and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. “I can explain. It's definitely not as bad as I’m sure you think it is.”

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She caught sight of the nameplate on the side of his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn—”

“Rowan, please.”

Did he sound amused?

Taking confidence from that, she sat up a little straighter and said, “Rowan,”

His mouth quirked a little higher as she said his name.

Clearing her throat, she started again, “Rowan, you can open the package, I assure you it's nothing bad. It’s just a passport.”

One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, “A passport?” He asked doubtfully.

“Yes, a passport. That’s why I was trying to send it to the embassy. It belongs to my b—ex.” She stumbled over the last word, still unused to Chaol’s new title.

He—Rowan—looked even more intrigued.

“You’re mailing your ex their passport, but decided to wrap it in the most suspicious, threatening way possible?”

Aelin winced. “I didn’t have many options.” She chuckled, remembering trying to tie the string together in the hotel bathroom’s fluorescent lights. “I thought I could fix it once I got here, but I didn’t even have a chance to ask for materials before being escorted in here.” She waved a hand vaguely and looked around his office.

Rowan was fully smirking now. He leaned back in his chair and watched her for a long moment. “It is my job to confiscate suspect packages. Especially when those packages are being sent to, say, a government building.”

Leaning forward slightly she smiled and told him, “Well, you seem to be very good at your job.”

Gods, was she flirting? She and Chaol literally just broke up. But she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Rowan. Not with the way his pine-green eyes lit up with amusement or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted in his chair. Not to mention that tattoo; she was a sucker for tattoos—and she’d never told him this, but it always disappointed Aelin that Chaol never even considered getting any ink.

Good gods, she was flirting. And not very well.

Still smirking, Rowan leaned forward and asked, “Care to tell me why you’re sending your ex their passport?”

Was it her imagination or did he say ‘ex’ like it was the most interesting word in his question.

She couldn't stop the small smile twisting her lips. “I don't see how the ‘why’ of it is any of your business.”

Rowan surveyed her and Aelin tried not to blush under his gaze. She couldn't stop herself from comparing him to Chaol, he never made her feel this flustered with just a stare. Rowan's eyes tracked her face, tracked the way her cheeks heated, and she tried with all her might to fight the blush.

She wasn’t a teenager with a crush, she was a woman who knew how good she looked and was very attracted to the man whose eyes had not stopped roaming over her. She fought down the blush and flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him.

He seemed to like it and his grin widened before putting on a faux stern face.

“I try to be as thorough as possible, Aelin,” Gods, the way he said her name made her toes curl. “It would make things easier if you explained why. I could finish my paperwork quicker, get this thing sent off, and we’d both be free of this passport and your ex.”

Wow, he wasn't beating around the bush. She liked it.

He sent her a slow grin, “I’d be able to take my break at nine, and go for a cup of coffee.”

The way he said the last part left no room for guessing what he meant. He wanted to take her out for coffee.

A small part of her hesitated, she had just broken up with Chaol. But on the other hand, he took her on a fucking breakup vacation, so screw him and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted Rowan. She wanted to go get coffee with Rowan.

So she smiled, winked at him, and said, “I’m mailing it back to him because I stole it from him.”

Rowan’s smile faltered and he blinked.

“You what?”

“I stole it from him.”

He stared at her another moment before a chuckle escaped his lips and he was shaking his head but smirking.

“You stole his passport.” He sounded very amused as he wrote a note down, most likely for the report he’d have to file.

“Yup,” Aelin’s grin turned feline, “He took me on vacation to break up with me, so I stole his passport and left him there.”

Rowan stopped writing and looked at her with raised eyebrows, “He’s still there? You have his passport, and now he’s stuck,” Rowan glanced at his notes, “in Antica?”

Aelin laughed; a loud, cheerful, sound that filled the office and pulled a small grin onto Rowan’s lips.

“Okay, I’m sure you think I’m a bit crazy,” Her grin didn't falter, “but it was impulsive and as soon as I realized what I actually did, you know, kinda leaving him stranded there, I tried to send it back to him. I couldn't remember what the hotel was, so I figured the embassy would be a good choice given it's a passport, and he is from Adarlan.”

“He’s from Adarlan, you’re not?” Rowan asked.

Aelin smirked, “That’s what you got from what I said?”

He matched her smirk, “That's what I want to know.”

“No,” Aelin shook her head and glanced out the window in his office, “I’m from here, Terrasen is in my blood.”

It seemed like that was the answer Rowan was looking for. He smiled, wrote down a final note, and looked back at her.

“I think that’s all I need right now, Aelin,” Again, the way he said her name sent butterflies flitting around her stomach.

He stood up and she did the same, pulling her purse back over her shoulder. He walked around his desk and opened the door for her.

“Aelin,” Rowan’s voice made her pause as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes, Rowan?” she looked up at him expectantly with a small smile.

“I take my break in half an hour, there's a coffee shop just down the block, if you want to hang around or come back then, I'd like to take you out for coffee.”

Aelin smiled brightly at him and nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

He grinned and held her gaze another moment before she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Rowan?” She turned back to look at him but saw he already—or still—had his eyes on her.

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to use express shipping on that, it's fine if it takes a couple days.”

The sound of Rowan’s deep laughter followed her through the doors.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #aelin #rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #au #fanfic #travel #passport #dailyau #lysandra #chaol #throne of glass #tog #oneshot

[writinglizards]

My Heart Just Knows

Sequel to Don’t Stop (I Can’t Turn the Feeling Off)

Summary: Jaskier pays Geralt a visit at his studio after a long day. Geralt makes it very good for them both. 

Paring: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, Dom/Sub play, use of the word ‘sir’, semi-public sex

Read on Ao3

As their relationship progresses, there's...a slight change. Geralt texts more often, more openly. He tells Jaskier when he's having a bad day, when he's worried, when he's struggling with this, all of it, and he gives Jaskier the opportunity to connect to him, to reassure and explain. And in return, Jaskier does his best to be a little more manageable. He doesn't smother him in attention, doesn't text incessantly, or call, or make a general nuisance of himself. They're...they're finding a balance.

They go on a few more dates, little things that end in sweet kisses and sometimes a frantic fuck at either Geralt's apartment or Jaskier's house. It's good. It's good, and Jaskier's terrified of when and how it's going to end. He keeps telling himself that they both want this, that it's not likely Geralt's just going to break it off, suddenly tired of the attention that comes with Jaskier being a popstar after he’s had his fill of Jaskier's body. He's not...he's not like that, Jaskier knows. It doesn't make it easier to deal with, but texting Geralt about it does, so he continues to do that.

Bad day, Geralt texts him sometime shortly after 1 pm, you wanna meet up for dinner? I'll pay.

Sure. You thinking that Nilfggard place downtown again?

If that's what you want, yeah. Just wanna see you.

Jaskier's chest is tight as he reads over the words. "Hold still," Yen tells him, pinching his bare shoulder aggressively. He flinches, whining, and she smiles only a little meanly at him when their eyes meet in the mirror, "you can moon over Geralt later."

"Yenna--"

"No, don't you 'Yenna' me, Jaskier. Later. You've got another interview." He grumbles in response, shoving his phone between his thighs to eliminate the temptation of looking at the texts again. "And if this goes well enough, I'll cancel the 3 pm interview."

"Really, Yen?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. Her smile softens just a little, goes a little more genuine around the edges.

"Mm. But only if this goes well. And that includes hair and makeup, you imbecile, so hold still." He does, smiling all the while. He knows she's offering to cancel the later interview so he can meet Geralt at his studio as he closes down for the evening. He also knows if he points that out she'll overload his schedule just to prove a point. It's practically a game.

The interview goes well enough, and Yen scowls only a little when he comes back to the hair and makeup room with his best pout in place.

"Yenna--"

"Oh, shut up, for Melitele's sake. I already canceled," she says before he can even ask, and he can feel the smile on his face, stretched so wide it hurts.

"You're the best, Yen."

"I'm aware," she says primly, "now sit back down. We've got a meeting to catch in an hour and you can't wear stage makeup to it."

By the time she drops him off at Geralt's studio building, he's exhausted, but looking forward to it. They haven't talked much since setting up dinner tonight, and Jaskier's hopeful Geralt will want to take him home (or let Jaskier take him home). It's...it's been a while since they've gotten off together, although they've seen each other plenty. And they haven't fucked in even longer.

He rides the elevator up, shifting from foot to foot anxiously until the doors snick open on the correct floor. He ducks into the office less than a minute later and is delighted to find Aiden at his desk with Lambert in his lap, very obviously making out.

"Hello darlings."

"Son of a--fuck," Lambert yelps, tumbling out of Aiden's lap and directly onto the floor. Aiden fumbles a hand out to catch him but he's laughing and he's not much help.

"It's been a good day for everyone, I see."

"Hi Jaskier," Aiden smiles, helping Lambert up who shakes off his hands immediately, glowering.

"Listen, popstar--" he starts in, aiming for intimidating, but the effect is diminished by the way Aiden melts behind him, smile soft and fond, "--Geralt doesn't know. You can't--"

"Can't say anything? My lips are sealed." He mimes pulling a zipper closed in front of his mouth and Lambert fumbles to a stop, confused.

"...Really?"

"Really. It's not my place to go blowing your big secret, dear." He winks over Lambert's shoulder at Aiden, who erupts into snickers, a hand clamped over his mouth.

"And what do you think is so funny, kitten?"

"I--I just--" he has to pause to breathe, to calm himself down, "We've been dating three years and Jaskier's been dating Geralt two months and he already knows. Lambert--"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he grumbles, but even he's grinning a little now.

"Am I missing something here?"

"It's a secret only from Geralt," Aiden tells him helpfully, "everyone else knows."

"Ah." That's... "is there any particular reason?" he asks. Lambert shrugs and Aiden grins broadly.

"Geralt told Lambert not to harass me two days after we started dating and it was just...too funny to correct." Lambert snorts a laugh and Aiden's grin softens as their gazes catch and hold, "And here we are."

Jaskier's chest tightens watching them. It's clear they care about each other, clear they love each other, and he's...he's happy for them, he is. He just hopes...

"Aiden, when's that next appointment?" Geralt's voice calls from somewhere in the workroom, making Jaskier jump and Aiden roll his eyes.

"He canceled," he hollers back, dragging Lambert back down into his lap with a grin, "you're cleared for the day." There's a vague rumble of assent from the other room as Lambert beams and twists back to press a kiss to Aiden's throat, swinging a leg over the armrest of the chair to lounge back in his lap, Aiden's arms around his waist, his back to Aiden's chest.

"You aren't afraid he'll walk in and catch you?" Jaskier asks, and Lambert laughs.

"Pretty boy's real focused at work, popstar," he grins, "why, I've--"

"Okay," Aiden laughs, slapping a hand across Lambert's mouth, "no lurid details, thanks." Jaskier can't help but laugh.

"Ask me again when princess isn't here," Lambert grins, elbowing Aiden playfully. Aiden slaps at his chest vaguely.

"Behave."

"I always behave, kitten."

"Mm, no, you don't," he says, but he still presses a kiss to Lambert's cheek, "now are you gonna let me work or are you gonna have to go sit in the car until I can get off early to pick puppy up from daycare?"

"Fuck you," he mutters, cheeks tinged pink, and Jaskier bites back a laugh. Ah. So that's what that means.

"Do you think he'd mind if I--" he trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the back room, and Aiden refocuses on Jaskier, smiling.

"Nah, go right ahead. I'll shout before anyone comes in, no worries." The wink he sends Jaskier implies he knows very well what they've gotten up to in the past. Jaskier fights down the blush burning in his cheeks as he steps through the door.

Geralt's stitching together an outfit across the room at one of the large, industrial sewing machines, humming softly under his breath. It's a tune Jaskier recognizes, one of his songs.

"Aiden?" Geralt asks, not turning to look, and Jaskier's chest aches with how much he loves him, this quiet, attentive man.

"Try again, love," he says softly, and Geralt swears. Jaskier laughs as he pulls the fabric away from the machine and snatches up a stitch ripper.

"Couldn't have waited another fucking minute, could you?" he grouses, "you ruined my seam."

"Mm, I'm sure you can fix it," Jaskier grins, crossing the room to press up behind him, drop his chin onto Geralt's shoulder, "I believe in your very capable skills, darling."

Geralt grumbles irritably, but he also turns to kiss Jaskier sweetly, so he can't actually be that mad.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Good boys get their last interview of the day canceled so they can come visit their very important other half," he murmurs, kissing along Geralt's throat, "and I've been such a good boy, sir."

"You want me to put you in your place?" Geralt asks, and it sends a shock of heat straight to Jaskier's core. He'd just been teasing. They haven't...Geralt's not really interested in dominating and Jaskier hasn't slipped on him since that last time with the dildo. The thought of it--

"Don't tease me, love," he murmurs, kissing Geralt's throat again as he pulls away. He twists to look at him, expression thoughtful.

"I'm not."

"Geralt. I know you don't...you don't like that."

Geralt twists, getting his hands around Jaskier's waist and tugging him forward, thumbs pressing into the jut of his hipbones just above the waistband of his trousers, "It doesn't do anything for me, but I--you like it. And I like to see you feel good." It sends a shiver down his spine.

"Aiden's in the other room," he whispers, but it sounds like a weak protest even to his own ears.

"And my last appointment canceled. Aiden won't come back here because he doesn't want me to give him any extra work." He says it matter-of-factly, but he's not pressing, just...offering.

"What about dinner?"

"We can get something after, if you want," he murmurs, pressing his lips to bare skin peeking from the deep v of Jaskier's shirt. He sinks his fingers into Geralt's hair, petting gently.

"Will you take me home afterward?" He's...a little nervous about...about after. He doesn't play as a sub often for a number of reasons, one of which being his sub drop can be...bad. Most people don't want to deal with that.

"Of course," Geralt hums, lips barely brushing his skin, "whatever you need from me, Jask," and that's...

"Please," he gasps, tightening his grip in Geralt's hair, "sir, please."

Geralt breathes out quietly for a moment, and then his shoulders straighten as he pulls away. Jaskier lets him go.

"Go kneel by the couches. Don't touch anything, yourself included. If you're very good, I'll take care of you after I've fixed the problem you caused. Understood?"

Jaskier swallows hard and nods. Geralt just raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go sit."

Jaskier feels a little thrill go through him as he crosses the room, settling down on his knees by the client couch. Geralt watches him critically until he's settled and then he nods, more to himself than to Jaskier, and resumes his work on the sewing machine.

It's a unique thrill, to be on the other end of their play, to have Geralt ignore him. He's already hard and aching in his trousers and watching the curve of Geralt's shoulders as he works is only getting him more wound up. He shifts, biting back a whine, and the sound of the sewing machine stops.

"Do we have a problem over there?" Geralt asks, tone severe, and his stomach clenches so hard it almost hurts.

"N-no, sir," he mumbles, forcing himself to stillness. His hands settle on his thighs and he squeezes sharply, trying to calm himself down. Geralt stares at him for another long minute before he turns back to his work. Jaskier lets out a breath.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the slow rush of breath in his lungs, the easy inhale, exhale pattern. He tries to focus on that rather than the burning under his skin, his own arousal. At some point, every exhale becomes a whine, but he's so far gone he doesn't notice until Geralt snaps at him.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks, and when Jaskier's eyes snap open, he's not even looking at him. He whines again, louder, unable to help himself. "Answer the question, Jaskier."

"N-no," he admits, and something in him roils to admit that he can't be good enough for him, can't--

"You need help?" Geralt asks, tone a little softer, and Jaskier sobs, nodding.

"Please."

Geralt sighs, a long, slow exhale, and then he's standing. He pauses to scoop something up from a nearby table before approaching Jaskier.

"Will this work?" he asks, presenting a scrap of fabric for Jaskier's approval. It's soft and silky from the looks of it, and Jaskier nods, tilting his head back and letting his mouth fall open as if to take Geralt's cock. Geralt groans.

"Cheeky," he mumbles, thumb pressing temptingly against his bottom lip, "misbehave and cause distractions and still think you deserve my cock in your mouth." He takes the cloth and winds it tight before shoving the fabric gently between Jaskier's teeth.

He moans as the fabric presses against his tongue, soft and silky like he knew it would be. Geralt stretches the ends of it back behind his head and tips his head down with one hand, knotting the fabric tightly but not so tightly it causes undue stress on his jaw.

"How's it feel?" Geralt asks, "nod if good, shake your head if it needs adjustment." Jaskier hardly waits for the question to be out of Geralt's mouth before he's nodding, tongue pressing against the fabric as he works his jaw testingly. There's a little give, but not too much. It's perfect.

"Good," Geralt says fingers settling on the hinge of Jaskier's jaw and digging in just a little, "you stay quiet and let me finish my work, and then we'll see what you've earned." Without another word, he turns and crosses back to his sewing machine. Jaskier could cry.

He tries to be good, but it's so fucking difficult. He's hot and hard in his trousers and Geralt looks so good, shoulders pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his back as he bends over the sewing machine and Jaskier whines around the gag.

Geralt starts humming again and Jaskier forces himself to focus on that--the pleasant melody of it, the way it makes his chest tight with fondness. He lets himself get lost in the sound, and when the sewing machine stops humming, he doesn't even notice.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice is soft and his fingers along his jaw are gentle. He can't remember closing his eyes, but opening them takes an enormous effort. "Good?"

"Hmmph," he mumbles through the gag. His tongue feels thick, his thoughts syrupy. He's not sure when he slipped into subspace but it's...pleasant. To put it mildly.

"Will you behave if I remove the gag?"

"Mmph."

"Alright," he says, as if Jaskier had answered with something intelligible. His fingers shift gently through Jaskier's hair before unknotting the fabric and easing the gag, damp with saliva, from between his teeth.

He gives him a minute to work the stiffness from his jaw, one hand cupping his face gently as he does so almost automatically. His half-lidded eyes are locked on the clothed cock not a foot from his face and it makes his mouth water to think of getting his lips around it. He hopes Geralt thinks he's been well behaved enough to let him suck him off.

"Color?" he asks, and it's so hard to make words work, but--

"Green," he rasps out, voice wrecked. Geralt hums.

"You were very good after the gag. Do you think you deserve my cock?" he asks conversationally, and Jaskier sways forward without really meaning, cheek pressed to the front of his trousers, "Answer me, Jaskier."

He rubs his face against the firm bulge of him, like a cat, moaning. He can't do much else.

"In your mouth?" he asks, voice low, and Jaskier moans again, soft and shaky. Geralt hums in response.

He doesn't say anything, just unbuttons his slacks, holding Jaskier back with one hand in his hair as he works them down his hips enough to pull his cock free.

Jaskier moans again, mouth falling open when Geralt rubs the head across his slightly parted lips, one hand around the base of his cock and the other still tight in Jaskier's hair. Distantly, he knows what comes next, but right now all he can process is the slick of precome on his lips and cheeks. His tongue flicks out to lick the taste from his lips. Geralt groans.

"You're so pretty on your knees, sweetheart," Geralt says, and it ignites something hot in Jaskier's gut, something ravenous. Geralt uses endearments so rarely. To hear it now lights him from the inside and Jaskier shivers with it. "You going to be good and let me fuck that sweet little mouth now?"

"Please," he rasps, barely loud enough to be heard, but Geralt makes a soft noise.

"Good boy," he breathes, and Jaskier chokes, gut clenching tight, "hands on my thighs. Don't want you tempted to touch yourself." He whines softly, but follows the directions, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of his slacks and bunching them under his hands.

As soon as he does, Geralt presses forward and Jaskier's jaw falls farther open, his length sinking between Jaskier's lips.

"Fuck," Geralt sighs. He stops about halfway and Jaskier mumbles incoherently in protest as he pulls backward before thrusting forward again, only a little deeper. "You feel so good, Jask."

He does his best to be good for him, tonguing along the length and sucking at the head as he pulls back, but it's hard to be present enough to do a good job. Mostly he just lets his jaw go slack as he whines around his length, lets his mouth and throat be used as Geralt presses in until he bottoms out, Jaskier's nose pressed to his pubic bone and buried in coarse white curls.

"Your throat's so tight," he groans above him, working his hips in short little circles as he bumps against the back of his throat. Jaskier's gone lax--he can feel the fullness, but it's only distantly uncomfortable. His fingers flex in the fabric of Geralt's trousers and his dick pulses hotly and he just...floats.

"You want me to come down your throat?" Geralt asks, breathless, and Jaskier whines, unable to respond. He does, he does, but-- "Words, Jaskier."

Geralt tugs him off his length, the red, swollen head of his cock bobbing enticingly before his lips as he pops free of Jaskier's mouth. He's enraptured with the slickness of it, the way precome beads needily at the head, the string of saliva still connecting his swollen lips to the plumpness of him.

"Words, Jaskier," Geralt repeats, tone severe, and it breaks him out of it, just a little.

He glances up at him through his eyelashes, mouth hanging open. His dick aches and his throat aches and he wants so badly for Geralt to find his pleasure in using him--wants to be good.

"Please," he forces out, "come down my throat, sir."

It's all the encouragement Geralt needs. He growls roughly as he shoves his dick back between Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier sucks and laves greedily at him, desperate to feel his release hit the back of his throat.

"Not gonna be long," Geralt warns, voice rough, and Jaskier moans brokenly, fingers tightening in his trouser fabric again.

Geralt shoves his hips against Jaskier's face twice, three times, before spilling. It's messy and thick and more than he was expecting--he chokes a little even as Geralt pulls back, gives him room to swallow.

"Shh," he's soothing, grip gone gentle in Jaskier's hair, "I know, 'm sorry, sweetheart. Swallow, love, you're fine."

Geralt's thick fingers wipe the tears from his eyes, the ones he didn't know were there, as he swallows, panting roughly.

"You did so well, Jaskier," he murmurs when Jaskier's mouth is empty again, breath rasping in his lungs, "so good for me, thank you, sweet." He shivers.

They don't move for several moments. Geralt guides Jaskier's forehead to his hip, lets him rest his head there as he catches his breath and presumably decides what to do with him. He's so hard it's painful and he can barely breathe for how badly he wants Geralt to finish him off.

Despite that, he's also aching for Geralt to deny him, to tell him he was good but not good enough, to have him sit, ignored and untouched, until his arousal dies, until he's no longer burning for it.

"How should I reward my good boy?" Geralt asks, fingers carding gently through Jaskier's hair, and he can't help but whine. Maybe someday he'll tell Geralt about how badly he wants to be denied, but right now-- "what do you want, Jaskier?"

"Wanna get off," he slurs, voice wrecked. He hardly sounds like himself.

"Do you deserve for me to jerk you off, or should I let you rub against me instead?" he asks, and the thought of that, of not being given what he really wants--

"Please," he mumbles, unable to give voice to it, "please, sir."

"You'd like that?" Geralt asks, tone conversational. Of course he knows Jaskier would like that--they've talked a little about his need for denial, talked about how hot he gets for humiliation. Geralt obviously doesn't know quite the extent of it and Jaskier had thought Geralt was choosing to go easy on him. Now he knows he's just playing the game.

Geralt steps back, settling on the client couch, and widens his thighs. Instinctively, Jaskier shuffles forward to press between them before Geralt hauls him up to straddle his thigh, knees resting on either side. He threads Jaskier's arms around his neck and Jaskier shakes with his effort to hold still.

"You don't touch yourself," Geralt says softly, "you keep your hands around my neck. I'll touch you if I want. You can move, but you're going to come in your pants, understand?"

The shivers trembling up his spine intensify and he nods, hiding his face against his arm and Geralt's neck. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, palms settling on Jaskier's hips, "get going, then."

Geralt's hands fall to rest on the swell of his hips, just holding, and Jaskier has to encourage himself into movement, rocking forward gently. Geralt doesn't reprimand his speed or give him directions, so he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to bite back a whine. He doesn't want to upset Geralt, wants to be good, wants--

"Hey," Geralt whispers, lips brushing Jaskier's temple, just a gentle graze, "follow what your body wants, Jaskier. There's no rules here." It's exactly what he needed to hear and he whines openly when Geralt encourages him to move faster, to chase that white-hot feeling burning in his gut.

He snaps his hips forward, grinding his cock along the press of Geralt's thigh, shifts to grind harder up against his stomach for a minute before resettling along his thigh, panting hard.

"There you go, Jaskier," he breathes, squeezing his hips gently, and Jaskier could cry for how good it feels, "good job, sweetheart, just take what you need."

"'M close," he gasps out, twisting his face to press his lips to Geralt's cheek. He hadn't been asked to kiss him and he hadn't been told it wasn't allowed, so--

"Yeah? Come on, Jask, what do you need?"

"You," he sobs out, and Geralt turns to meet his lips with his own, kissing him slow and sweet as Jaskier grinds hard against his thigh and comes in his pants, shaking and gasping into the kiss.

He rides out the feeling with shocky little rocks of his hips, eyelids fluttering, and Geralt holds him through it, palms sliding up his back and then back down, even and controlled. It's grounding and it's exactly what he needs to force himself back into control, to pull himself out of the fog of needy subspace he'd fallen into.

When he pulls back, finally, Geralt's watching his face closely before he breaks into a soft smile. "There you are," he says, voice soft and reverent, "how was it, Jask?"

"Good," he says. The word is inadequate to describe the way his entire body feels light and fuzzy, the wave of tiredness suddenly tugging his eyelids down. Geralt smiles.

"Yeah, I bet," he leans forward to kiss him, quick, "I was...okay?" Oh. Oh.

"You were perfect, love," he says, because it's true, "thank you. I wouldn't...I wouldn't trust just anyone to dom for me anymore. You did a very good job." Geralt doesn't respond outwardly with more than a nod, but Jaskier can see the way the praise lights him up from the inside, the way his smile pulls a little wider, eyes crinkling just a little more at the corners.

"Thank you, I'm...not as comfortable. Domming." Jaskier knows. They've talked about it, a little bit, about how Geralt doesn't really get the idea of finding pleasure in the power. "This was...good," he says haltingly, and Jaskier perks up.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he affirms, before ducking his head, blush spreading up his cheeks, "I...liked seeing you take your pleasure...because of me." Ah.

"You just love to spoil me," Jaskier mumbles, cupping his face and leaning forward to kiss him, soft and sweet, "no matter what role you take. My good boy."

"Ah--" Geralt makes a soft noise at the praise, pressing into Jaskier's kiss for one quick, heated moment before he pulls away, "we should...uh. We should go. I could take you home?" Geralt asks, voice low.

"Sounds like a plan, darling," Jaskier can't help but grin. His pants are sticky and uncomfortable, come rapidly cooling, and he's not looking forward to the walk back to the car, but--

"Here," Geralt says, pulling away to move to the other end of the room and rifle through a set of drawers, "go change." It's a simple skirt, colorful but not flashy, and Jaskier can tell just from looking at it that it's his size. His heart skips, chest tightening.

"You made this for me?"

"Mm," he's not looking at him, "I did." Jaskier laughs breathlessly and he feels...so light.

They leave the studio a few minutes later, Jaskier's soiled pants in a bag. In the front office, Aiden's behind his desk and Lambert's across the room in one of the waiting chairs. Interestingly, his hair is mussed and his shirt buttons are a little off.

"Lambert, don't harass my employee," Geralt burrs, tugging Jaskier after him, their arms linked, "Aiden, you can go home early, whenever you're ready."

"Will do, boss man. Thanks!" He catches Jaskier's eye and fucking winks.

He doesn't say anything about it until they're in the elevator.

"So Aiden and Lambert," he starts, not intending to give away their game but just...prod Geralt's own assumptions (he's not sure how Geralt doesn't know they're fucking, honestly) but Geralt breaks him off with a groan.

"Aiden and Lambert are...weird. Especially together. It's best not to think too hard about it," Geralt says, and Jaskier's lips twitch. They're in for a long con, alright. "So, my place or yours?"

"Mine," Jaskier purrs, leaning up to nip Geralt's jaw. Beneath his lips, Geralt shivers, "we haven't got to use my bed yet."

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #rating: explict #everyone pretend i did not blow way past when i promised this one lmao whoops #its been a crazy two weeks yall

[20dollarlolita]

Also, follow-up from previous ask: I'm also interested in any advice or things you have to say about box pleats or knife pleats for a Lolita skirt or tutorials about horizontal pintucks/tucks around the circumference of a skirt and how to execute that with precision and attention to detail. --Thanks!!

So, the Reader's Digest New Complete Guide to Home Sewing, which is a book I recommend everyone get, has seven entire pages dedicated to pleats. These pages demonstrating several techniques for the best way to execute precise pleats.

While my first suggestion is to get this book and read it (It's about $10 if you get it used), here's a quick summary of what they say about basic pleats:

Mark where your pleats are going to go. Mark both the fold line and the placement line. Baste the pleats closed by hand, and keep them basted while you construct the rest of the garment. You can topstitch the first few inches of a pleat if you like and the application allows it. Un-baste the pleat only when you absolutely must.

As for calculating the math of pleats, it's pretty simple, but it took me a long time to realize that it was simple. For any pleat of any width, if you unfold it, the flat fabric will be 3x the width of the folded pleat. This is true no matter what, but it took me a long time to realize it. This is also convenient for lolita fashion, because our normal skirt math is that a rectangle skirt's hem should be 3-3.25x the measurement of the waist. This means that you can just butt every pleat right up next to the ones on either side, and you'll have a waist that's 1/3rd the measure of the skirt flat.

When you're doing long lines of pleats like that, little gaps between the pleats do add up pretty quickly. If each of your pleats has a 1/8" gap between it and the next pleat, you gain a full inch in your waist within eight pleats. That's the real importance of the hand basting.

What the lolita community often calls pintucks are actually technically just called tucks. We generally do tucks that are 1/8"-1/4" wide, while pintucks are as small as they can possibly be.

When I do tucks, I don't actually measure them ahead of time. I'll press where I want the fold of the tuck to go, and then use my presser foot's edge to make sure I'm sewing straight along that fold. I can get a pretty wide variety of tuck widths just by adjusting my needle position. Then, I can measure from that tuck and press a new fold for the next tuck.

Blind tucks, where the tucks meet up exactly with each other, are less common in lolita than spaced tucks. Lolita tucks often have the width of one tuck in-between the fold of one tuck and the stitching line of the next.

If you're doing tucks on a bodice, the easiest way is to determine where you want the spacing on the tucks, then apply the tucks to the fabric before you cut out the piece. Once you've sewn your tucks down, you can place the pattern piece over the tucked fabric and cut it out that way.

Generally, tucks are done straight on either the lengthwise or crosswise grain. If you do tucks on the bias or curved tucks, the top edge of the tuck starts kind of folding and looking strange. Because of this, you generally can't put them on a circle skirt or a flared hem.

The exception to that is machined pin tucks.

Magic gizmo here. You put a twin needle in your machine, and sometimes you have to finagle with the tension a bit. The foot has grooves in it that will let you sew a pintuck a precise distance away from another pintuck. Some have a plate that goes on your machine and forces the fabric up to make a slightly more pronounced pintuck.

While it's not common in lolita, you can also do pintucks with the rolled hem setting on your serger, by folding the fabric and serging along the edge. This gives you a pintuck that's encased in thread, so you can use a colorful thread (embroidery thread and metallic thread both are very cool) and make a contrasting pintuck. One of the fun things about making our own lolita is that we can play with unconventional techniques and if they look good and don't draw you out of the lolita aesthetic, then they're good.

#lolita fashion #handmade lolita #long post #skirt theory

[marvelsimp]

The New Kid: Friend or Foe

The New Kid Masterlist

Ch. 5

Genre: Fluff? Pairing: Peter & Lesbian!reader, Avengers & Reader, (eventual Wanda x Reader it’s a slow burn) Warnings: violence(training), blood, stabbed, strong language Description: Y/n is getting used to living in the tower and makes an unlikely friend Reader’s Powers: Healer, telepath, and empath. Word Count: 2278

“You can’t pull your punches, Y/n/n.  In a real fight, you’re gonna have to fight for your life.”

“You know my whole power set is pacifist.”

“That’s why I have to train you,” said the slightly annoyed red-haired woman. “Now get your head in the game and let’s go again.”

You scoffed; you were frustrated that you had to do this.  That you had to learn how to hurt people.  You took a moment to stretch and you both went back into your fighting stances to start again.

You went to punch her face, but she dodged, she then raised her leg and tried to kick but you caught her foot.  She quickly got her foot free before you could do anything with it.  This went on for a while, you both got some good punches and kicks.  You did land on your ass a few times, but you got up each time and went back to it.

“Time out”

Thank god.

Steve walked in. Oh god no. You knew what was coming, you were gonna have to fight Steve.  You very dramatically fell on the floor and spread out. “Come on, Nat. This is creeping up on child abuse,” you laugh.

You earned a chuckle out of both of them.  Steve stood above you and offered you his hand to which you accepted. Nat went onto showing you some simple moves to help you fight someone bigger than you after about an hour you finally got to go and get a shower and really start your day.

The last week and a half passed by quickly.  Peter stayed at the tower for the first few nights but went back home once school started.  But he would come after patrol and he still video called during homework, like usual.  

Most of your time was spent in one of the labs.  You have been helping Tony with one of his suits as a way for him to familiarize you with the machines and programs.  Bruce did less hands-on work he worked on calculations for his own projects and did some work for SHEILD.  You went down to the Med Lab a few times to give Dr. Cho some blood samples or some information about your powers.  She took a small sample of skin, fat, and muscle from your thigh, but it healed within a minute like nothing ever happened.  

You also spent some time in the gym, which you hated but the others made it a little more fun.  You were really only doing it to get ready for training with Nat.  When you first went in you had no clue what you were doing.  Sam, Bucky, and Steve were doing some training exercise when you entered but Sam quickly saw your very clueless face and walked over to help.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi.”

“I’m assuming you have no clue what you’re doing?  You look as clueless as I would if I went up to the Tech Lab.”

“That obvious?”

He let out a chuckle.  Sam gave you some stretches to warm up and then showed you how to use some of the machines.  He gave you advice on how long to use each machine and told you that if you needed anything just yell.  The rest of your time in the gym you watched the three men do whatever they were doing.  Sam and Bucky’s bickering was very entertaining and so was Steve yelling at them to focus. You were there for around an hour every day until Nat started to train you.  You very quickly learned that you grew muscle faster than the average person and you weren’t sore for very long.  

When you weren’t in the lab or the gym you were probably in your room playing a game or you were talking to Wanda while she was making a meal. “So, are you the assigned cook?” you joked.  You’d only ever seen Wanda prepare meals since you got here.

Wanda just shook her head, “Not really.  I just enjoy it, so I usually am the one to cook.  But Bruce sometimes cooks and so do Steve and Bucky. When I first joined I helped Steve add a bit of flavor to his meals.  Thank god I didn’t live in the 40s.” She laughed a little, you love her laugh and smile, they seem to make the room a little brighter.

You weren’t a cook yourself so you didn’t help too much, but you would talk to her and get her something if she needed it but usually, she’d just use her powers.  

That’s really the only time that you see Wanda, most of her day is spent training.  She’s Strange’s apprentice.  You still haven’t met him, for someone who can make portals you’d think he’d pop in at some point.  You asked Wanda about seeing him, but she told you that you need to be invited or it needs to be something important.  She warned against pissing him off because it takes a while to get back on his good side.  But she told you she’d mention it to him.

You got into a rhythm of training, breakfast, tech lab, lunch, med lab, tech lab, supper, and Video games, the library, or more time in the tech lab.  It was rarely thrown off.  Every few days someone would go out for a mission or return from one.  Nat only missed two training sessions, so Bucky stood in.  You enjoyed training with Nat, but Bucky made sure to put some fun into it.   At first, he seemed so cold but after some warming up, he really was just a big Teddy Bear.  He can still be an ass though.

Your days stayed on this loop for another week until Thor returned with Loki.  No one fully trusted Loki so Stark ended up putting a tracker on him that Wanda enchanted so that Loki couldn’t remove or deactivate it… he was not impressed.  Well, he was, just not pleased.

“You must be Lady Y/n,” Loki smirked.

Thor whacked the back of Loki’s head. “Be good,” he whispered.

Loki just let out a mischievous laugh, “Don’t worry brother.”  Loki turned back to you, “So you’re the one who discovered me? I wouldn’t expect a mere mortal would be able to find me out... not even THE Scarlet Witch did.”

“You’re impressed?” you scoffed. “Or maybe a little jealous.” You knew that he’s the god of mischief and you aren’t gonna deal with any of his shit, you’ve got enough going on.

“No,” he defended, “Just interested.”

“I’m a telepath and empath,” you explained, “and a healer.”

“Oh! So, you cheated!”

“What do you mean cheat? Your thoughts were so loud you were giving me a headache!”

“I will get my revenge.”

He’s going to so annoying, isn’t he?

Loki was surprisingly quiet over the next week until you went to the tower’s library.  

The library itself is a whole floor, it has a copy of every book you could think of.  It even has a librarian who is almost constantly putting up new releases.  It’s a bookworm’s dream.  

You wanted to find a physics book or two and you weren’t against finding a new queer fantasy book.  You returned your books and asked Mx. Anderson where you could find what you were looking for and they quickly gave you directions and suggestions.

You found and picked out a few physics books and then made your way to the young adult section. The queer books have a rainbow sticker on the spine.  You picked out a few then headed to leave, you walked into the “classics” section and there was Loki on a couch reading with a pile of books next to him.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Hello,” said the Asgardian who didn’t even look up from his book.

You bent down a little to sew the cover of the surprisingly thin book. “Oh, you’re reading Shakespeare!” He was reading Hamlet.  “My favorite is Romeo and Juliet. Have you read it yet?” He finally looked up from his book.  “No,” he seemed a little confused, “But I did read a few others of his work and I think that is in my stack.” He turned to find it. “It has such odd language compared to the rest of you.”

“They were written like four hundred years ago,” you explained, sitting next to him.

“Ah, language does change quite quickly.”

You nodded in agreement.

“What are you reading?” he said pointing at your stack of books.

“Oh, uh um. These big books are physics books, and these smaller ones are fantasy romance.”

“Hmm, you don’t seem to be one who reads romance.”

“Well, I’m really more into it for the fantasy elements but I do enjoy a good romance.”

He gave you a smirk,” Besides Romeo and Juliet and any of Shakespeare’s works. Do you have any recommendations for me?”

You went on to recommend some classics and some more recent books.  He listened to every word and asked a few questions.  You didn’t stay long; you were tired and just wanted to dive into one of your books.  You would usually be in the lab at this time, but it was nice to have a few hours to yourself before dinner.  

“Knock, knock,” said a voice at your door.

“Hm?” you looked up. “Peter!” you set down your book and ran to him for a hug.  It had been a while since Peter had come to the tower.  He hadn’t even been introduced to Loki, formally that is.  ‘How’s my favorite bug!”

Peter let out a laugh, “Good! You’re acting like we don’t talk every day.”

“Video calls and in-person are completely different things! Anyways what are you doing here?”

“It’s Thursday aka movie night.”

“Oh, yeah!”

You and Peter walked out of your room and went to the common space to eat dinner.

“Lady Y/n,” said a booming voice.

“Yes, Thor!”

“Would you and the Man of Spiders like to sit next to me and my brother?”

“Yes, we’d love that,” you laughed.

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never had ice cream!” you practically yelled at Loki.

Everyone was surprised with how comfortable you and the trickster were with each other, especially Peter.  

“What’s with you and him?” Peter whispered.

“We bonded over books,” you whispered back. “Your girlfriend would like him.”

Peter smiled, he’s pleased that you’re getting along with everyone and most of all that you’re happy.  

The rest of the night was nice, it was just like the last two movie nights.  Dinner, talking, movie, and then Peter had to leave to finish his homework or go on patrol.  

The next week was just like you had gotten there but Loki had decided that it was a perfect time to really embrace his title.  He started to pull little pranks, nothing too bad or really anything that went beyond a little annoyance.  Or at least he didn’t until today.  

It was Saturday so you slept in because you thankfully did not have to go to training.  You were about to leave when you noticed a box on your desk.  It was about the size of a backpack.  So, you decided to open it and when you looked inside there was a black cat with emerald eyes.  Who got you a cat? You like cats and like…thanks?  But still, who would get you a cat out of nowhere? You picked up the cat and as soon as you did it started to transform, and you felt a sharp pain in your side.  The cat continued to transform into of course… Loki.  The raven hair man quickly sprinted out of your room to the common area.

You looked down and there was a fucking kitchen knife in your side.

“You bitch! I like this shirt!” you yelled while running out of your room.

When you entered the common room, Loki was nowhere to be seen.  But Nat, Bucky, and Steve were there.  “Where did he go?”

“Who?” Nat turned around and saw the knife in your side.  Her eyes widened, then she looked fucking pissed.  “What the fuck! Are you okay?”  The men's emotions followed the same track.

“Oh yeah,” you said nonchalantly.  You pulled the bloody knife out of your side.  Some blood soaked into your shirt’s fabric, but you weren’t worried.  But you do like this shirt… that bitch is gonna pay.

“Do you want me to kill him?” said the brunette man bluntly.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” You rushed into the elevator and told Friday to take you to Loki.

The elevator lowered to the Library. Of course.

“Sorry, Mx. Anderson!” you yelled while running by their desk. “There will be yelling and possibly blood shed!”  You already know where he is.  He’s in the classics.  

There he was sitting on the couch, nonchalantly reading the Iliad.

“You’re a fucking bitch you know?  I really like this shirt!” you waved the knife in your hand around.

“Oh please.  You’re a healer, you’ll be fine.”

You crossed your arms, “LOKI. My fucking shirt.”

He raised his arms in defense. “It just a blood and a slight rip.”

You walked up to Loki and took off your shirt, thankfully you were wearing an undershirt that you didn’t care about.  You handed the shirt to him.  “Fix it then.”

He accepted the shirt and scoffed. “Fine.” He waved his hand over the shirt and it was now good as new.

“See, that was easy.” You grabbed the shirt and started to walk away.  “And don’t stab me again! I think two assassins would very happily kill you!”

NEXT CHAPTER 

Ice Cream or Blood

#The Avengers #avengers #loki #avengers x reader #reader-insert #x reader #lesbian reader #avengers x platonic!reader #peter parker #peter parker x platonic!reader

[allisonreader]

A breakdown of different sewing machine brands from my perspective; an incomplete and biased list.

I am not going to go into Singer here, as I think I’ve already made my sentiments clear about the brand. Though, who knows, maybe I’ll feel the need to rant about the cheapness and low warranty on them. Because they have terrible warranty and I just cannot suggest that you buy one. We see too many that come in for repair and it just isn’t worth the amount you pay for it.

Though sewing machines are like cars, their prices depreciate with time.

(Also, I’m not going to mention any prices because they won’t be accurate outside of where I live which is Canada. And sale prices can and do vary by store. Depending on what kind of deals each place gets from the companies.)

Though since I started with the mention of Singer, I’ll go into Husqvarna and Pfaff next. All three brands are apart of the same company (SVP) which merged/was bought in the late 1990′s/early 2000′s. This is what caused the most problems among the brands, was this grand reshuffling. 

Husqvarna/Viking is the newest of our main brands that we carry at my work. As such I don’t know as much about them as I do about the other brands. I can’t claim to know the older machines as well, since we’ve only been servicing them since we started selling them. They are decent machines. Not among my favourites. I find that their computerized interfaces are a bit cumbersome to navigate, depending on the machine. The high ends are a little bit better than the low to mid range. That’s mostly because on the high end machines they’re touch screen and a little more direct to get to you different stitches and settings. They do have some fun decorative stitches on their machines. Though the embroidery machines I do have a bit of an issue with. The stitch quality can be hit as miss at times and in general isn’t as nice as other brands. The biggest problem I have with their embroidery machines though, is how loud they are. When embroidering the machines make an absolute racket. They sound like a galloping horse. Which might be a slight exaggeration, but only just. It is not a machine you want to listen to if you’re sensitive to sound at all, like I tend to be.

It is something that is shared with the Pfaff embroidery machines. Though I do find that in general the Pfaff embroidery machines tend to have better stitch quality in embroidery, less difficulties. I also find their computerized machines in the low to mid range are easier to navigate then the Husqvarna. Though I also do have a clear bias to Pfaff because it is the brand I have used the most and have learned to sew on. Almost all modern Pfaff have a built in walking foot which they call an IDT (integrated duel feed). Which works with the feed dogs of the machine to help keep fabric from shifting. Which is an extremely nice feature to have when it’s not a clunky accessory. I feel like I should have so much more to say about Pfaff, as it’s the brand of machine that I do my alterations on at work, and I do love it and the creative stitches they have on their higher end machines, but I’m just kind of blanking. Oh, one nice thing about Pfaff is that all their presser feet; for the most part, fit almost all of their machines the same, which is more than I can say for some brands (cough, Janome, cough). Though Pfaff (and Bernina) have too many different styles of bobbins. Which is annoying. So depending on the machine, if you up grade, you might have to change bobbin styles. As Pfaff currently has four different bobbin styles.

Janome. Boy do I have a beef with Janome. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with their machines. They’re fine, but they’re very much geared towards quilters (which I am not). I have found their machines over priced for the features that they have (for many years already in comparison to other brands). Though some of that; on some of their machines, could be made up for with the accessories that their machines come with. Part of my dislike/near distain for Janome does not come from them machines themselves, but the fact that customer service from the company can be A STRUGGLE at times. They’re just not my favourite company to work with and dealing with warranty issues with them, can sometimes be like pulling teeth. Not to say that there aren’t issues with other companies, there definitely is, but for certain things, Janome makes me want to pull out my hair the most, in general. Anyways, back to their actual machines, before I start ranting about the company again. Honestly, their machines can be fairly easy to use. Especially their embroidery machines. They have symbols that are easy to understand. Which makes them a bit easier to use than a Pfaff, Husqvarna, or Bernina. All which take a bit more thought to use (particularly the Bernina.) I’m also not a fan that their newest top end machines are flat beds and don’t have free arms. I mean, you don’t absolutely need a free arm, but they do make certain sewing projects easier. (Again, coming from someone who mostly sews garments and mending garments.) They’re not bad for noise, as they certainly aren’t as loud/clackety as the Pfaff and Husqvarna. They also don’t have as fun of stitches as the Pfaff and Husqvarna. Which for most people isn’t that big of a deal, but I like the fun, extra wide stitches that you can get on other machines. I’m not even going to talk about Janome's marketing, where they have machines that you can only get online or in certain countries, which is frustrating to deal with at times. Anyway, the take away you should get from Janome is that they are a good quality sewing machine that will last you well, but has questionable warranty issues when they pop up on the rare occasion. The machines are reliable, if a bit plain and pricey at times for what you’re getting. I could go into more, but I won’t.

Baby Lock, my beloved. (Baby Lock is their own brand, not under an umbrella of another.) Definitely among my favourite brands. They have some of the quietest machines. Have some of the best needle threaders, do some of the nicest buttonholes and lettering, AND personally, has some of the best warranty service (speaking from experience). Again, a bit biased as I OWN a Baby Lock sewing and embroidery machine. I also find that they are among the easiest to use. All their symbols make sense for the most part. Their layout on the machine’s screens makes sense and it gives some of the easiest and most built in editing options for embroidery. Even on the entry level embroidery machines they give you a level of control that you don’t get on most other brands. Basically, if you know how to work a computer, you’ll easily be able to work a computerized Baby Lock. Though they’re not generally the most heavy duty machine out there. Brother also comes out of the same factory as them, so they’re very similar at times, though I really can’t say much about Brother machines as I don’t typically deal with them. Baby Lock also has some of the best sergers. They are the company that first came out with a domestic serger. Their sergers are among the easiest to thread. Because if you know anything about sergers, it’s that those loopers can be a struggle to thread, particularly the lower looper. Baby Lock has two ways of dealing with that. The first is on their most basic serger where the front of the machine opens all the way up so you can easily get to all the points that you have to thread. On their models up from that, they thread with a puff of air. It’s only been in the last few years since their patten on their air threading tech has been up, so now the other brands have it as well, but Baby Lock is still the nicest.

Bernina is in many ways the most expensive brand. You’re on average going to pay at least twice as much for any additional accessories in comparison to the other brands, and probably three times as much for the bobbins. Service on them is more expensive too, as they are extremely complex machines (the higher end ones). They are the Cadillac of sewing machine brands. They are also the most different in computer layout for their machines, so it takes thinking about maneuvering about the screen a little bit more. Their stitch quality is absolutely wonderful and those machines will handle pretty much all of your thick projects like butter. There truly is a quality of machine that is worth the price, if you’re able to handle the price. Because they are so expensive though; in our store, we only carry a couple of the most popular models. Which we sell a lot of to Hutterites, who do A LOT of sewing, as the mainly make all their own clothes. Otherwise I don’t have much more to say about them. Other than they do have a neat embroidery feature where you can place an embroidery design part way out of the hoop on the screen, and it will only sew the part that is in the hoop.

I’m going to leave this there. I’m sure there’s a bunch more that I could of said, but I wasn’t going to go into specific models of each brand. So there is my fairly long ramble about the different sewing machine brands. Just my personal, very biased opinions on the different brands. Which is highly subjective as (to bring up the car comparison again) a sewing machine is like a car, just because one person likes driving a Volvo, doesn’t mean the next person will. Personal preference is a huge thing with the machines. 

#thoughts on sewing machine brands #Baby Lock- Bernina- Husqvarna- Janome- Pfaff- Singer #I sell sewing machines for a living as part of my job

[lnc2]

tongue tied (1/?)

Summary: Chat Noir’s podcast is a viral success.

A/N: This is for @labyrinthofchaos  who wanted to see my dumbass idea fleshed out into a full story.  Thank you for being patient with me <3 I hope it was worth the wait.

AO3

It started with a black envelope on her balcony.

You’ve been cordially invited to paw-ticipate in Le PodChat…

Marinette rolled her eyes, checked the box marked No, thank you and doodled a sad kitten in the corner before resealing the envelope and leaving it tucked under one of her plants.

She knew the invitation was imminent.  Ladybug may have refused to be a part of his little side project in a permanent or official capacity but that didn’t mean that Chat Noir didn’t talk her ears off about future episodes all the same.

“Think about it, bug!  Akuma victims coming forward to share their stories– what it was like, what Hawkmoth said, how it felt when they ultimately and inevitably fell at the hands of their favorite heroes.” Here he waggled his eyebrows as he leaned forward on his baton.  “How awesome would that be?”

Ladybug smiled, pushing back her eager partner with the pad of her finger.  “I think you’ll find people are less willing to come forward about being akumatized than you anticipate, minou.  Most people would rather forget the whole thing, not broadcast it to strangers.”

“Exactly!  But think about the good it could do if we got people talking about it?” He was all hands in his excitement, frantic waving that nearly managed to catch her in the face.  “People like Chloe Bourgeois won’t be able to shame people into being reakumatized if we can just normalize the experience right?”

“But it isn’t normal, Chat.” She sighed.  “At least it shouldn’t be.”

“And we’re working on that, my lady.” He said, his voice gentle.  “I just think this might be another way to help out. Ease the emotional pressure cooker everyone is under.”

After that, there was really no arguing with him.  After all, Chat Noir wasn’t wrong and any and all help that they could provide to prevent future akuma attacks would make their jobs easier in the long run.  What had started out as a biweekly way to blow off steam quickly transformed into something Bigger. Marinette couldn’t say she was surprised– everything Chat touched seemed to spiral into more.

When he first broached the idea about starting a podcast hosted by the Ladyblogger Ladybug had laughed.  They’d brainstormed silly ideas throughout patrol only for her to realize her partner had been entirely serious.  In the end she’d capitulated to his kitten eyes on the condition that this was his thing.

“I have enough on my plate as it is, Chat.  I can’t promise to be on every episode with you.”

His eyes sparkled when he bowed over her hand.  “Any time you can spare is perfect, as always.”

What Ladybug hadn’t anticipated (although really she should have) was just how successful this particular scheme would be.  Calling Le PodChat an overnight sensation did a disservice to how quickly the premier episode managed to crash the Ladyblog’s servers.

Alya was over the moon.

“I don’t know whose ass I kissed in a past life to get this lucky but you won’t find any regrets here.” She squealed the following day at school.  “How many journalists can say they have literal superheroes dropping by on a semi-weekly basis to shoot the shit? Nadja Chamack  wishes  she had so much exposure.”

That much at least was true.  She’d heard it from the cat himself who had been more than a little frazzled by how much attention his little side project generated.  That evening on patrol he’d been a nervous, twitching agitated wreck as not one but  two  news outlets had reached out offering to be the “legitimate” homes for the podcast.

“I’d never move it of course,” He said, tail waving with his hands as Ladybug watched him in amusement. “I couldn’t do that to Alya. But the fact that they even offered…!”

It was his good-natured nervous Q&A on the fourth episode that ultimately brought her aboard.

  “Okay, last one.” Alya said, clearing her throat. “Cattheclysm87 wants to know, are you guys always Ladybug and Chat Noir or do you have lives outside of the mask?”

There was a pause, longer than the previous ones.  Chat Noir tapped his claws against a hard surface.

“Chat?” Alya prompted.  He laughed and Ladybug could practically see him shaking his head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about what my lady would say.  What she’d  want  me to say.”

“And?”

Chat Noir sighed.  “Probably something about keeping our identities a secret.  And something about how our lives outside the mask are something that makes Paris worth protecting.”

“Do you agree?”

“Naturally.” He said.  Even if she couldn’t hear it in his voice, Ladybug knew he was shrugging here. “But I think my life inside the mask is just as important to me.  Some days even moreso.”

Alya pressed him.  “Oh?”

If she hoped to glean more however Chat Noir wasn’t going to cooperate.  At least not today.

“Of course!  I don’t know of anyone in Paris who wouldn’t give their left foot to spend time with Ladybug.”

Alya laughed. “She can come by and collect mine any time.  I’ll be waiting.”

 Ladybug’s first appearance on Le PodChat the following week landed them at #1 on French Twitter’s trending topics something that she regretted almost immediately when #ladynoir hit #3.

  “Good luck beating cataclysm with a fork.” Chat Noir’s sneered.

Ladybug laughed. “If you don’t think I could fork you up you have another thing coming.”

“I’m just saying, my lady.  There’s not much good your lucky charm can do if it’s in ashes.”

“And  I’m just saying it will be pretty hard for you to destroy anything when I’ve got you all tied up.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Is that a promise?”

 Alya had been insufferable for weeks after that.

“God can’t they just date already?”

Her frustrated wails were muffled by her pillow but Marinette heard the familiar lament all too well. She rolled her eyes and continued fidgeting with her sewing machine.  At this point she knew it was a waste of breath to point out that no matter how often Chat Noir flirted with Ladybug there was nothing at all romantic between Paris’ superheroes.  Her best friend had shipping goggles and nothing Ladybug  or  Marinette could say about it would dissuade her otherwise.

“Like, seriously,” Alya continued, propping her chin up with her elbow and waving frantically with her free hand.  “The UST between them is just unbearable.”

“Then why do you bear it?”

Marinette’s dry remark was met with a pillow thrown to the back of her head.  She turned and scowled at her best friend who scowled right back.

“The only thing worse than witnessing their obliviousness would be not being able to see it at all.”

She giggled. “Of course.”

Alya ignored her.  “Besides, Le PodChat is fucking killing it in ratings.  The Ladyblog hasn’t seen this much traffic since I posted that picture of them kissing after Nino and I were akumatized.”

Marinette valiantly squashed her waspish retort at  that  reminder and said, “Activity has been pretty high lately.”

“Try  astronomical.” Alya shot her a sly smile.  “And just imagine, you could be a part of it all.”

Marinette groaned.

She knew this was coming.  After she’d rejected Chat Noir’s invitation to come on the show and talk about her experience working with “Paris’ Best and Bravest” during Nathaniel’s akumatization, her partner had been a cauldron bubbling with curiosity.

“Why do you think she said no?” He’d asked Ladybug on patrols, after akuma attacks, before one of her occasional drop ins on the podcast recordings.

Ladybug could only shrug.  “Maybe she’s shy.”

Alya laughed.  “Nah, there’s only one thing in this world that Marinette’s shy about and public speaking isn’t it.”

“Oh?” Chat said, looking ready to dive into what Ladybug knew would be a too revealing conversation.  Fortunately Alya didn’t take the bait and merely waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it.  I’ll get her to agree.”

Silently, Ladybug laughed.

Because if there was one thing Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not going to do it was agree to be a guest on her crime-fighting partner’s internet radio show.  Not when her alter ego was also a frequent guest on said podcast. She didn’t know how much of her identity was protected by the miraculous but she wasn’t willing to test it to appease Chat Noir’s whims.

It would only take one perceptive binge listener (or an overly eager feline partner) to notice that Ladybug and Marinette’s voices  sure do sound alike …

Pfft.  Yeah, no.

“Not gonna happen, Als.”

“But whyyyyyyy,” Alya whined, sitting up from her prone position on the chaise to shoot her best friend her patented puppy dog eyes.  They were nearly as devastating as Chat Noir’s. Marinette was unmoved.

“I’m not embarrassing Nathaniel like that.”

She pouted.  “But he’s with Marc now.  I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Even if he said he didn’t, the answer is no.”

Thankfully Alya knew when to drop the subject.  

Unfortunately for Marinette, 

Chat Noir did not.

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #marichat #ladynoir #le podchat #labrinthofchaos

[from-red-string]

Instinct

I'm so nervous for posting this for Day 3, I worry if anyone would read about Ana and Mora since they're not even secundary characters, they are just extras not in my heart but in the show, and this made it harder to write it. Anyway, it's here and I hope you like it.

Shout out to @sapphire374 for easing my worries and beta reading it 💛

Find all fics for Soy Luna Ficweek 2021, here

Day 3

Prompt: “Is this the second time we’ve both gotten stuck in the same elevator?”

Summary: The first time Ana and Mora got stuck in the elevator was when they stopped talking, a week later when it happens again: is it the time to rebound? or something more?

Warning: unfortunately it's not canon. Tino and Cato don't exist, they have never seen them, no one knows them in this fic

Genre: angst

Pairing: Ana and Mora a.k.a the lesbian moms

---

Another silent morning in the apartment, a rare situation for Nina. From what she could remember, there has never been a quiet day home ever since they moved in. Mora's sewing machine, some random song playing as background noise, or just Buenos Aires' downtown being crowded and busy. Although she appreciated the silence, it's odd, the girl is not used to it anymore.

Now both her mom and auntie didn't exchange a word, Mora has been working on arranging some photoshoots, she woke up for lunchtime and only came back late at night, while Ana left early for her meetings then arrived at 4 pm. Seems like they had it all planned out just so they didn't have to face each other. 

Nina didn't know what happened between them but hoped it would go away soon.

Well, unexpectedly it got different from other days from the beginning. When Nina left her room, Mora was awake and making herself breakfast. The girl checked the clock again, still at 7 am.

"Good morning, cariño" Mora smiled at her while Nina approached to sit on the chair.

"Morning." She reached for the bread slowly, hesitant. Her instincts told her to move carefully. "I thought I'd only see you later." Mora laughed but it was too stiff.

"I have to drive 3 hours to check for some special fabrics I'm looking for." The redhead tried to show excitement, however, such a rush manner showed her nervousness. Nina knew it wasn't about the fabrics. As soon as the clicks sound of Ana's heels started, Mora stands up. "I really need to go. Bye, darling." And left through the door carrying her purse, phone, and keys.

"Good luck there." Nina greets her and takes Mora's plate away immediately. She'd rather not step into whatever happened. Ana comes from her room in a rush and Nina wide her eyes when her mom gets to the front door. "Mom, you can't leave without eating."

"I'm late already. Sorry, cariño. I'll be back early. Bye… Hold the door, please!" Ana fleed before Nina could react. The girl opens the door to check on them but they were already gone. 

The silence from home followed them into the elevator. None dared to look up from their phones. Mora started to tap her foot impatiently when she noticed the elevator was slow today. 

"Can you stop?" Ana asked, staring at her screen.

"Oh, good morning. Now you can see me." Mora smirked, still avoiding Ana's face, kept tapping her shoe.

"More like I can hear you. Always so noisy."

"Can you? It didn't seem like that last week." The snark got the fashion designer, she provoked back looking at Ana and waiting for a reaction but she got nothing. "Back to ignoring me. Hope Mario has a better shot talking to you than I do." The lack of response from the lawyer building up her annoyance. "Even though we live together and have been friends for a lifetime. You rather believe in him than..."

"Give me a reason," Ana said, losing her temper. The elevator stops, slowing down. "I need a plea." Walking side to side in this shiny box they were failing to realize they were trapped in.

"My instincts are not a good one. I don't trust him." Mora decided to watch her friend through the reflection, pretending to fix her hair in the mirror.

"Of course not." Ana laughed at her. "Do you think I can defend a case based on your feelings? A judge would accept it, declare him guilt for you." Her voice was cold, but the rage -boiling inside was still audible.

"You're not a judge, Ana." Turning around she steps in Ana's way, staring at her. "Ain't a case but your life." Each word was another step forward, the lawyer's back hit the wall, but she wouldn't give up on a debate, her index finger touched Mora's shoulder.

"That's exactly the problem." This time the designer was the one walking backward. "My life is never good enough for you. I can't even decide on Nina's life without you around." Mora's jaw dropped and she stuttered, with a non-comprehensible sound coming from her mouth. "Not even a boyfriend." That's the moment Ana breaks, lowering her head and resting on Mora's shoulder while the other was glued on the wall, still recovering from shook, nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around her friend's body. 

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't… mean to make you feel less..." trying to find words at that moment was completely useless, not even in her wildest dreams she would have imagined she made Ana doubt herself. Her friend's knees seemed to give up and her body weighted, they sank to the floor while Ana let out all she needed to. It's been ages since the lawyer opened herself like this, they were best friends, Mora knew Ana has been holding up for who knows how long, well if that's even considered opening up. 

All the signs Mora neglected before came down on her. Ana has been distant for months, she pushed Mora away, anytime they were alone and approached each other, Ana would step away like her skin burned from the contact.

Mora kept Ana pressed against her body until the very last tear she had, waiting for her to calm down. Once Ana's sobs were more spaced, she raised her head displaying her red cheeks, Mara's heart stings with this scene, her hands capture Ana's face moving toward her until their forehead touches.

"I'm sorry, I..." Shutting her eyes, unable to face the tears that still shine on her lover's face. Guilty fell hard on her shoulders. Ana fought to be an independent woman who could support her daughter without her ex's money, Mora watched how much she struggled to get there, yet the main person who helped her in all her lows is also the same who stuck her nose in all her matters, Mora was both a guardian and a butcher. Now that she has to take a good on her actions, Mora told Nina she should follow her heart and go after Gastón if that's her desire, while Ana, Nina's mother, had explicit disagreed about this idea. She should've considered that maybe she wasn't helping Ana see another point of view but making it harder to care for her own daughter.

There was an even worse thought haunting her, she told Nina to go because she feared Gastón would repeat her story, going to another country and losing the love of her life, forever wondering what would have happened if she stayed. That thought scared her, she denied it to herself but it had lived in her mind for so long.

When Mora went to Germany, she made her choice, decided to go on an adventure instead of staying with Ana. She was young, by the time believed they would still be the same through distance, their relationship wouldn't change, but that's not what happened. It came out to be harder than she thought, they never revealed themselves as a couple, it was so natural for them to be together like that, the sneaking out, sleepovers, kisses, and loving moments were part of their friends, they didn't feel the need to label that. Once distance came into the scene, it got complicated, both noticing how much they missed each other, although not willing to give up on their paths, not labeling their friendship made it easier to move on, no one but them knew what went on inside those walls, they just had to keep going. They never stopped talking completely, they called each other every other week updating about their lives, never talking about their relationship, how they missed each other's touch.

When Mora visited Argentina, she learned about Ana and Ricardo's relationship, they were dating, that's when what was between them seemed to be forgotten by Ana. Mora was happy for her friend, of course, but they never left her mind.

Nothing happened while Ana's married, Mora's life went on. Both of them supported each other, and were always around. Nina's birth was emotional just like all the previous months Mora spent by Ana's side. They never regretted the choice that took them to that day.

Then suddenly came the divorce, not long after Ana needed a place to stay with Nina, Mora's house was always open for them, so they started to live together. 

The intimacy level acquired from sharing the same place made them go back to their old ways. Little by little, their old friendship came back to the same mold from when they were young. Sometimes they kissed after drinking some wine, sneaked to each other’s bed after Nina went to bed, or just cooked together and held hands during dinner. Plus, small touches in public, taking care of Nina, going to the supermarket. Small domestic daily moments that made them feel comfortable. 

Mora finally had it in her hands, everything she imagines. Then, Ana backed away, slipping through her fingers. None of them said a word about it, the unspoken words lost in the silence.

"I'm sorry," She repeated, opening her eyes again, Ana shook her head, scaring Mora. "Ana..." She had to admit it, she knows it wasn't right to push her own experience on Nina.

"You were right." When Ana said that, More dropped her hands confused. Ana leaned back against the wall, now sitting by Mora's side and looking to the elevator's door. "Thiago is a liar." Mora was even more lost. Who the hell is Thiago? "He is married." Ah, he is the boyfriend. It wasn't that deep for Mora, nothing personal, she just felt it in her that guy shouldn't be trusted. She felt a little proud and bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from smiling. Ana looked at her frustrated. "You're annoying, I can see you smiling. Yes, you told me, whatever." Watching Ana complain was the same as seeing an old picture, Ana was still the girl from school days behind the successful lawyer and tough mom facade.

"Ana," She waited for Ana to look at her. "It was an instinct." 

"Shut up!" The answer didn't surprise Mora, but the small that followed it did. Ana closed her eyes and faced the ceiling, the smile glued on her face. "It's not that I don't want you in my life, you were always there for me." She faced Mora again. "But when it comes to Nina, don't disagree with how I raise my kid. She's a teen, just wants echo to confirm her ideas, they don't know the consequences."

"Nina is really responsible, you should give her more credit." Mora couldn't stop the words from coming out. When Ana narrowed her eyes, she raised her hands in defeat. "She had an amazing mom to teach her." Added with a wink making Ana laugh, she approached her face to Mora. The designer became extremely aware of the short space between them, a few inches to no distance at all.

"She's 17." They exchange looks. Too meaningful, too painful. That's the same age they separated.

"Why didn't you go?" It came out as a whisper, due to the almost non-existent distance Ana could hear perfectly, Mora should've stopped herself. That was a forbidden question. Ana immediately pulled away, looked at the elevator's screen.

They weren't working.

She picked up her phone to look at the hours, then looked at her watch. 20 minutes since she left the apartment since she left to her next meeting, she doesn't have to worry about it for the next 40 minutes. 

"Why are you up so early?" Ana questioned only now noticing how weird this scene was. 

"It's time to look for fabrics." Mora answered, snapping out of her thoughts. 

"You'll drive for 3 hours again? You should've scheduled it for later, you don't drive well when you're sleepy, it's early for you." Her worries were real, Mora wasn't awake before 10 am at least. Listening to her made Mora feel a little warmer and a wide smile appeared without her consent. "How can you drive? You didn't even notice we were stuck in here." Mora really didn't notice.

"Is this the second time we’ve both gotten stuck in the same elevator?” Mora joked that both of them laughed. "One time for the present, two times for the past." 

"Yeah, this time is fixing what the first time did." Ana reached for Mora's hand, intertwining their fingers. Mora caught her breath. A voice came from the speaker above the floor screen.

"We're sorry for the inconvenience. The elevator will be moving in a few minutes." Ana recognized the janitor's voice. Mora was stuck looking at Ana.

"We'll be free soon." Ana stood up, keeping their hands locked, then noticed Mora's eyes on her face. "Is there something on my face?" She turned to the mirror. Her mask was ruined, her cheeks were reddened and glistened from the tears, hair fell from the elegant ponytail she caged them earlier, her lipstick was smugged. She was a mess, but in Mora's eyes, she was beautiful. "I'll need to go home and fix myself." Noted annoyed.

"No, I can do it." Mora raised from the floor, got her make up from the purse to work with it. Ana decided to let Mora paint her as she desired, feeling a bit nervous but she wanted to show Mora she trusted her. Ana knows Mora is feeling bad for today's argument already and she saw every wince of pain that flashed in her dark eyes every time Ana rejected her touch.

Mora focused on making Ana's make up, trying to tone down her ideas for Ana's face and making something that would make her comfortable and pretty. It worked well until it was time to work on her mouth, Mora decided on a lip tint, in this case for her own sanity, lipstick would demand too much time working on a painting she wanted to ruin, too tempting. Her hand started shaking, Ana noticed it too but before the suggestion of doing it herself came out, Mora put the lip tint in her pocket.

"I forgot the hair. Lips are the grand finale." As soon as Mora had to reach her hand for Ana's she noticed that was a terrible idea. While Mora pulled the lawyer's hair free, Ana shivered at the quick contact of her hand against Ana's scalp. Memories from other moments those same fingers touched that place rushed back to her mind, her eyes closing to better appreciate the feeling. Mora saw this reaction and rested her hand on Ana's neck, watching the reaction until she couldn't help but lean in and close the gap between them, crashing her lips on hers quickly. The kiss was chaste, as fast it came, it ended. 

Seeming to Ana as if her imagination had created the feeling because when she eyed Mora, the lip tint was back and she was ready to place it. But the beam on Mora's lip couldn't be denied. It happened, an instinct told Ana it did.

#soy luna fic week #after posting this i'll disappear because ahhh i'm nervous #be back tonight

[coffeeismyblo0d]

By The Society's Needs

TW // Minor Misgendering

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound rang through Aspen's already tired ears, reminding them of what was to be expected, and what was not to be expected. They turned,  looking at their annoyingly loud phone which displayed the time: 7:05.

Aspen slammed their hand down on the phone, sighing softly as it shut off the alarm,  which felt glorious to them this early the morning. They heard the loud yelling of their neighbors,  who were just on the other side of the thin walls.  They also heard a rather loud thumping noise, of which they desperately hoped was a exercise  machine upstairs, despite knowing the truth behind it.

Aspen launched themselves up, stretching their arms and back out. This had been part of their routine for a while, the only exceptions coming during sick days, which were few in numbers, fortunately. Aspen looked around their room for a moment,  trying to find what they were looking for amongst the littered sketches of outfits to be.

"Ah yes,  there you are." They held their rediscovered binder up in triumph,  despite being alone at the moment. Their binder was special to them of course.  After all, it sealed a lot of insecurities about their body away with what little changes it made.

Aspen hopped on one foot as they tried pull both the binder and a sock on at the same time. Of course, this was a major struggle for them, as the binder was a binder, and a sock is on your foot. Both were on opposite points of the body.

Aspen turned toward the full length mirror in their room, despite one sock halfway off of their foot. They hummed, tilting their head at themselves.

"What should we go for today bud..?" They looked at their succulent.  "Of course,  you're throwing a fit.  I'm sorry but too much water might kill you." They giggled softly, clipping the binder back enough so it fully reduced everything.  "There. I think that will look great."

"And we'll go...." Aspen looked at the closet full of outfits,  outfits that fit many different moods and aesthetics. They grabbed an outfit that included items sewn by them themselves, such as overalls, an 'ugly' sweater, and others that went along with them. Aspen chose a pair of short boots as an addition to the outfit, smiling. "I think I'm going to look great today. "

They turned towards the clock on their bedside table,  which had been handpainted by a local artist. The clock read 7:15. Aspen smiled.  "Right on track, I am."

Once done getting dressed, Aspen grabbed their bag and walked out the door,  rubbing their eyes.  How they were still tired, was a question that would likely be left unanswered.

"Let's hope you start..." Aspen muttered, turning their key in the car. They let out a sigh of relief as it turned on without stalling as they attempted to turn music on.  "Thank you..."

They started their drive to work,  groaning as their music refused to load. "At least the car started, that's all I could ask for.." They muttered, eyeing their bag of fabric and other assorted sewing items. A bag that hadn't been touched in a long time.

"Someday buddy, someday." Aspen patted the bag, waiting in traffic. Their eyes drifted over for just a moment,  seeing the scammer like looking teen on the sidewalk. Every place had scams,  even if you lived somewhere remote. And the bustling city was no exception to this rule, especially downtown.

As soon as they were able, Aspen continued driving. They loved yet hated the activity.  They loved it because it gave them inspiration,and they hated it because it was terrifying.

Another reason to hate driving was where it took Aspen. The job yet to enlighten them was kept only because of Aspen's license. A license that Aspen wishes would have been nonexistent,  and would allow them to live a life. A life where their own business was possible.

The job may have felt constricting,  but Aspen didn't want to get into a deeper hole than the one they were already in financially. The job supported them. There was no way-if they were sane- that they would quit.

"Astroplanes." Aspen muttered as they pulled up to the big building. "The bane of my existence."

The building itself wasn't decked out in anything too special.  The logo was in neon lights, but that was otherwise it for the dread filled building.  Remove the logo, and it would likely be unrecognizable next to it's store counterpart.

The inside of each building was different in it's own way, aside from the store being the store,  and the building being where everything was designed.  The employees at the store seemed much more interactive and alive, even if on their last strain of life. Where as in here, they seemed dead, with few of the employees cheerful.

"Morning." Aspen's coworker waved,  sipping her coffee as she walked past them. "The big lady is here today." She sighed. "Just warnin' ya kid."

"Well that's great. " Aspen smiled,  sounding cheerful to their fellow worker. Inside,  they were screaming in rage,  because corporate officials were always unpleasant.

Aspen sat down at their workspace, pulling out the sketchbook they saved for work. It was filled with ideas they wanted to fulfill,  but couldn't,  and ones they didn't quite enjoy, but knew were required to produce into a true product.

In Aspen's eyes, fashion was fluid,  and had no limits.  There was no feminine or masculine in what they saw, because they wanted their demographic to wear what they saw as validating. There was no limit to how 'crazy' a look could be in Aspen's head. Everyone should have their size that fits and look great,  was something along the lines of Aspen's thinking.

Astroplanes differed very much from one of their many overworked employees,  as one expensive company does. They marketed everything towards women, and made everything feminine.  There was nothing super crazy,and looks lacked simple,  yet amplifying touches,  such as a single patch.  The sizes for what was sold the most didn't expand far, and many things marketed as plus size were not considered as fashion as the mainstream products.

Aspen had nothing against the clothes themselves,  because an outfit looks great to someone no matter what the outfit is made of.  It was the way that Astroplanes went about their products,  and how employees and customers alike were treated that didn't sit right with Aspen.

They couldn't help but wonder what went through someone's head to not acknowledge the truth about companies like Astroplanes. Then again,  they knew it'd be pointless to point out flaws, as they'd just get squished like the tiniest ant outside of it's hill.

Aspen sighed as they stared at the blank page, tapping the eraser of their pencil on the woodtop desk. They started sketching,  looking at the figure they had drawn.  They continued to sketch, drawing whatever they pleased, ignoring the tall slim woman in the background.

The result was spectacular,  in short. It displayed a colorful suit,  of which did not particularly define the model's identity.

"What is this?"

"I-" Aspen turned,  met with the bright red face of the company's owner, who was clearly angry. "It's my own design ma'am. "

"We can not have this." The woman scoffed. "This is far beyond the goals of my company!"

"I apologi-"

"You absolute digust of a woman!" She spat, her eyes narrowed.  "I never want something like that ever again,  especially from you."

Aspen resisted the urge to reach up and punch the company's owner. They were beyond angry at getting yelled at for a design, and offended by the incorrect use of pronouns,  when they had a very visible pin on their jacket reading 'THEY/THEM'.

"Yes ma'am. " Aspen responded,  trying to sound as kind as possible after the last moment.

They watched the woman walk away. They let out a sigh of relief and rolled their eyes.  They flipped to a different page in their sketchbook, starting on a completely different design from the supposedly troublesome one.

The rest of the day would go along fairly smooth for Aspen,  with nothing other than the usual annoyances bothering them, sucha as a lazy coworker complaining that no one would get fabric for them.

Aspen sat alone while on their lunch break, listening to music as usually did. Nothing else had changed from doing it's normal way of doing things. Unless you counted Aspen constantly thinking about the event that had happened earlier, at the beginning of the day, then that counts.

"Still sucks here." Aspen muttered, looking at the building as they left, long after their last free breath of air while on lunch. "Things never change,  do they?"

They turned on a random Spotify playlist once they got in their car,  tossing their work bag into the passenger seat of the car. They sighed, turning the key to their car a few times to get it to start.

"At least I have my car, right?" Aspen muttered to themselves,  backing out of the parking spot before having to halt to a stop, with their coworker Tammy trying to get out of the parking lot.  They heard indistinct yelling,  a car horn,  and then screeching tires.

'They never fail to amaze me.' Aspen thought,  their green eyes staring at the road. 'I wonder what goes on in the small mind they possess. '

They left the parking lot,  just letting their thoughts whizz by as they pleased,  in fear they would focus on the bad of the day. The music helped,  serving as a good distraction that didn't distract Aspen from driving.

Thankfully,  the drive home was not too bad for Aspen after all. They didn't die.

They fixed themselves a quick dinner once they had changed into more comfortable clothes after getting home. The dinner in question  as really just a hot pocket,  but Aspen could care less.

They checked their plants and made sure they were alright, watering the ones whose soil was dry.  They stretched their torso out, sighing as their shoulders became less tense and relaxed.

They then watched a bit of whatever they felt like watching. Aspen knew they didn't have particularly good taste, but could care less at that moment.

Aspen went to bed once they had finished watching their show, curling up in a ball on their side underneath the warm blanket. They managed to fall asleep after twenty minutes of empty thought,  knowing the next day would be the same.

#story #nonbinary #original work