#But it has a pin back so if you can't sew

[bipinlor]

WHO ARE YOU. WHY WERE YOU IN A BATHROOM DRAWER. ARE YOU JUST A FAKE BUTTON THATS ACTUALLY A PIN? WHAT ARE YOUR SINS???

[love-toxin]

The way you write Tommy is just UUGH

I just wanna pin him down and ride him until he has nothing left to give :((( like gimme his chunky babies!! 😭🙏

oh noooooooo........my gears are turning......tommy with an obsessed s/o that wants to bump uglies constantly......MMMRRRROOWWWW!!!

he's so flattered, but so edgy about it cause momma can't overhear him engaging in premarital sex!!! especially not the type you like where it's just messy and raw and rough and you leave spit and slick everywhere, all over his hairy chest and his lap and your clothes. you have to do it in the barn in the hayloft and its STILL loud, still so sloppy he has to carry you in the house just so none of his family notice the dark stains on your clothes.

but can he complain? no. cause you're the only one who's ever seen him as a man and not just a mistake, and it's not like he doesn't like seeing you so needy all the time. you could be doing this to any other guy but you wanna do it to him--him! a nobody, a wretched defect like him! you must be an angel. or maybe you're a devil cause you fuck as nasty as one. he loves the scrape of your nails through his hair as you drag them down his sweaty chest, when you're perched like a pretty sculpture on his lap. his thighs jiggle every time you bounce on it--his cock, that's what you call it--and you can't help but grip them, squeeze them for balance but also cause you just love the feel of him everywhere. his belly doesn't bother you nor does the grime and sweat caking his skin, nor the dirt under his fingernails or his maddening, untrimmed bush that radiates out to his thighs like a curly black cloud.

it doesn't matter if he's been working in the slaughterhouse all day, shoveling pig shit, or doing any of his other messy chores. when you give him that look like you wanna eat him right up, he's completely at your mercy and he loves every fucking minute of it. you look at him like he's a piña colada in the desert and you'll die if you don't get a sip.

and that's before you start getting hit with baby fever. suddenly, almost out of the blue, you're picking through baby clothes in the trunks upstairs and finding old rattles and toys that are barely holding together. Tommy's baby bottles that Luda Mae kept and never threw away cause she could never bear to part with her sweet baby's things, even after he'd grown up and out of them. it's the sentiment that really gets you and then you're stuck thinking about babies, not just about what Tommy was like when he was that young, but what your babies together might look like. would they have his nice dark hair? his height? would they be hardworking and loyal like he is? would they be so committed to their family they would...

well, that part isn't important right at the moment. you're more concerned with making the babies than anything else--that's the fun part, after all. you keep dropping hints here and there but it's when Tommy finds you sewing together a stuffed bear he loved as a boy that he really starts thinking. you're so gentle with it. you clean him up and polish his little button eyes and patch up a hole on the arm where Hoyt 'accidentally' burned it with a cigarette while he was drunk. you put him back together and he looks almost brand new, newer than when he first had it and Luda Mae tenderly plucked it out of the dumpster to give to him for his birthday.

he gets it then. that night is deplorable when you two sneak out to the barn. Tommy's just as riled up as you are and when you realize he's not just fucking you for pleasure--this time, he's fucking to breed--your sobs and choked-up squeals have to be muffled by his thick fingers stuffed in your mouth. he hooks them and drags your face closer to his chest for you to suffocate between his pecs, cause he needs both hands to grip your waist and jam you down on his cock like he's shoving a cork back in a wine bottle. you're just so little compared to him and such a tight squeeze, he can't help getting a little rough when he wants in! it's just prepping you for birth. you're gonna need to squeeze out plenty of kids for him after this, and with his size? they're gonna be little monsters to try and deliver, just like he was.

but you love him and that's why you're doing this. that's why you let his nuts drag down your ass on every deep, near-painful thrust, and why you let him beat your cunt like he hates you when there's nothing but pure love and possessiveness in his eyes. that's why, when you squirm to get away, he knows you don't really mean it and slams your hips back down for you to howl like a cat in heat. that's why he can't let you sleep until sunrise, when you're half-conscious and spasming with leg twitches, cause the seed pooling in your tummy hasn't stopped leaking out from every time he's planted his roots into your squishy womb. he's gotta make sure it takes just in case you change your mind. once you get pregnant, then you really are part of the family--you'll be a Hewitt just like all the rest of them, birthing the next generation of Hewitts to keep the family roots strong <3

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot. 

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street. 

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all. 

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart. 

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. 

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding. 

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is - 

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you. 

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again. 

But you can’t. 

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance. 

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him? 

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence. 

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time. 

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain. 

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Seamstress (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Prince Aemond is your favorite client.

Warnings: Seamstress! Reader x Aemond. Smut. Mature language. Age gap, though not specified, and everyone is of age.

A/N: I was thinking about how something always felt off when writing Aemond. So, experimenting a little here.

The nerves and excitement don’t go away, even if this has to be the tenth time you are asked to do it. You feel yourself alight with pride. This is your moment.

Since you were no more than a little girl, you had always wanted to become a seamstress. You dreamed of making beautiful dresses for the noble ladies to wear, handsome gambesons and shirts for the lords. Years have passed since then, and you have become a renowned dressmaker, having fabricated gowns for Houses such as the Lannisters and the Arryns alike, but being asked to dress the royal family still thrills you.

You feel as if you were a little girl, wandering the halls of the Red Keep. It's no matter if you have done this before, you still feel the same sense of accomplishment. Besides, getting to work with your favorite client is always a joy.

The Queen has confided in you that you are also his favorite. Prince Aemond refuses to wear anything you haven't personally sewn. Your job is harder that way. You can't distribute the more menial tasks to your sewing girls, having to sew every stitch yourself. Yet, at the same time, it fills you with accomplishment when you manage to meet his expectations.

“Chin up, my Prince.” You say, softly pushing his jaw upwards. You go on your tiptoes, placing the pin on the cloth near his throat. He would look stunning in a linen shirt, with such a beautiful neck and shoulders. But alas, the prince is not one for light colors.

“How long will this take?” One of his hands, big and broad, goes to your waist. To steady you, surely. Yet, you cannot help but get distracted by the touch. It has been so long since you have been touched in such a manner. “I have to go train before noon.”

“Prince Aemond.” You warn, softly fixing the fall of the cloth. “These things take time. You can't just wear anything to the coronation.”

“I am not the one getting crowned, am I?”

You fix a button. You do not like the way the shape the outfit is giving him.

Taking a step back, you examine the clothes with a critical eye.

The pants need to be taken in. You kneel, tightening them around his waist and thighs. When your hand reaches his inner thigh, you notice that he has a bulge in his trousers. Your eyebrows raise. Unsure if it is what you think it is, you smooth the fabric around his hips.

His hand goes to your cheek. You look up, searching his face. Prince Aemond’s eye is dark, almost all pupil. He looks like he could just eat you up. His thumb brushes over your lips. As if in a trance, you open up.

You would be ashamed of reacting this way to any other man. But not with him. Not when he is as equally desperate, hungry for you.

It’s not something that's encouraged, bedding nobles. You would rather not end up with a bastard on your belly, shamed and unable to work. Your entire thing, what sets you apart from other seamstresses, is that you are a respectable woman.

But even respectable women feel desire. Even respectable women want to be worshiped and adored.

“Come here.” Prince Aemond pulls you to your feet. Then, he kisses you, hungrily. You start to take out the pins off his clothes, throwing the shirt away. The cloth gives as if it was nothing, long gone are your patterns and pins.

He lowers your bodice and hikes up your skirt. You grin. This is not new, either. It still fills you with the same thrill as it did the first day. Prince Aemond had not taken your maidenhead, nor had you taken his. But it had been you who had taught him, sitting on top of his hips and rolling your hips until you milked him dry.

There is something about teaching others about pleasure. You understand now, why men savor maidens so much. You can teach them to love and please just how you like, aim their thrust just at the angle you need to reach your own peak.

Prince Aemond kisses you hungrily, licking into your mouth as if a man starved. That, too, you taught it to him. Back then, his kisses had been all teeth, all clumsy head movements. Designed to conquer through brute force rather than seduction.

He kisses down your throat, sucking a bruise right between your collarbones. You sigh, quietly. He nips at your skin, determined to force a sound out of you. You have found out he thrives on praise and recognition, starved as he is.

He pushes harder, kissing the spot he knows makes you melt. You reward him with a soft moan. You have never been one for loud demonstrations of passion, and it shows, but it only makes more valuable to him the little sounds you let out.

You feel yourself start to get more and more wet. Your cunt throbs between your legs, slick and ready for him.

“Put it in.” You plead. “My Prince, please.”

“You are such a demanding thing, for a commoner.” He grunts, biting down at your shoulder. There is no room for complaint because he is entering you in one smooth thrust. You let out a keening sound, half pleasure, half pain. You can feel him grin sharply against your skin, face still hidden on your shoulder.

He rocks more than he thrusts, as he holds you open with one of his hands. This way, your pearl is exposed and rubs against his pelvis each time he moves.

His face remains hidden, and you feel his hair tickling against your skin. You feel the urge to nip at him as he does you, but you don't dare. He is not yours, nor are you his. Not only is it not allowed, but it would anger him. Prince Aemond, no matter how much he enjoys your body, does not think himself your equal.

He is above you, or so he says. If he likes to live in delusion, you won't be the one who stops him. It's not you, at the end of the day, who leaves these chambers looking wrecked. It's not you who melts at praise, at being told he is good.

“Like that?” Prince Aemond asks, cockily, as he watches your mouth slacking with pleasure.

“Right there.” You tilt your hips upwards, chasing your own peak. He fucks into you, mindlessly. He has a one track mind when it comes to these kinds of things. Thrives on watching you fall apart, as if it makes him more, as if it fills his pride. It's a good thing, in a lover, but you shudder to think of what this man could do only to be able to feel proud of himself.

It takes only a few well-planted thrusts before you are shivering and shaking against him, mouth open into a silent scream. He groans, pleased, coming out of his hiding place to give you a chaste kiss.

You straighten yourself. You thumb a pink, puffy nipple between your fingers and lean in, to coo right on his ear.

“You did so well.” You kiss his earlobe, softly taking it into your mouth and tugging. “So good for me.”

He trembles against you, face going back to hide on your neck. You wish he allowed you to look at him in moments like this. Prince Aemond probably looks wrecked. You can see it in your mind's eye, how his eye fell closed, how he has to bite his lip so hard to not let out a sound.

The view you get makes up for it, though. His back is arched so hard it must hurt, to make up for the height difference between the two of you. His hips snap into you so hard, you think you might end up with bruises from his damn hipbones.

Your prince has a beautiful body, honed from years of training. He is also all sharp lines and angles, hipbones, jaw, cheek. It is why you enjoy dressing him so much. His pale skin and light hair would really shine in jewel tones, but he refuses to use anything but dark.

“You are so good. No one makes me feel like you do.” You whisper, softly scratching at his scalp. You keep your touch gentle and sweet, and that seems to be his undoing. He tenses up and gives a little grunt, and soon, you can feel the telltale wetness between your legs.

You congratulate yourself on a job well done. You kiss the top of his head and start fixing your dress. On the floor, there is a mess of pins and cloth. The patterns will not be able to be salvaged, and you have another appointment in less than an hour. You need to bathe.

With no other choice but to walk out, you kiss him one last time.

“Come see me later, for the clothes.”

And he does come. But you get distracted again. He ends up going to the coronation in one of his everyday outfits. The Queen pays you regardless. She knows how difficult her son can be.

[gingerjolover]

Detangle - Julien Baker x fem!crew!reader

Synopsis: Julien's gf helps her get unready after BG's Halloween show at the Hollywood Bowl :') (jesus!julien x crew!reader)

G's notes: gf is lowkey a costume designer? she's crew, but I'm putting her on the same part of the team as makeup artist! also thank you guys for being patient, if only you could see my WIP in google docs rn....

wc: somewhere around 875?

warnings: RPF, jesus!julien, slightly smutty, some light kissin n touchin, no fundamental physical descriptors?

There are very few things that could tear your eyes away from watching your girlfriend headbang onstage while dressed as Jesus. In fact, the entire thing feels like a fever dream. From sourcing the angel costumes for the band, hand-bedazzling Lucy's jacket, sewing Phoebe's veil, and then soundcheck, the lead-up to the Halloween show has felt like a whirlwind.

You're entirely unfocused, eyes parading down Julien's body, only half listening to the cues for an outfit change. "Here," your assistant says softly, eyes sparkling while watching the stage in admiration. She's handing you the boys' original jackets in order of who comes off stage first. You smile at her, grateful she's paying attention while you ogle the somewhat sacrilegious display onstage.

It's within minutes everyone is rushing off to side stage, clothes flying everywhere. Lucy is undoubtedly the easiest to change, so you work with her quickly, carefully adjusting her halo on her head before switching out her white suit jacket for Julien's original jacket. "Thank you," she whispers, kissing your cheek lightly before dashing off, Julien appearing in front of you.

"Hi pretty girl," she says out of breath, leaning in to kiss your lips quickly, already stripping off her robes.

"Jay, leave them on...no don't do that, your hair!" you excalim, Julien obviously was not listening to you earlier when you were standing between her legs bobby-pinning the crown to her hair. "Sorry, sorry-I" Julien stammers as you help her readjust the robes on her shoulders, sliding Phoebe's original jacket over her, "It's okay, you having fun?" you ask with a big smile, kissing her gently.

"The best time ever, I love you," Julien mumbles agaisnt your lips, kissign you once more on your cheek before winking and heading back out.

Your assistant is rushing Phoebe back onto the stage when you both stand beside each other, taking a deep breath before watching the rest of the show. It goes by in a blink. Before you know it, everyone is filing off stage, much slower this time. Julien, Lucy, and Phoebe walk off holding hands, doing a quick but tender group hug right off-stage before they separate, and Julien comes bounding over to you, immediately scooping you up and spinning you around. "How was it?" she asks, mouth already attached to your neck. You can't help but giggle, holding her head as she finally puts you back on the ground. "It was amazing, as always," you say.

"Oh god," you say, looking at her hair, your fingers assessing how tangled the crown is in her hair. "Not God, just me...actually, I'm the son of God," Julien says, eyes wide in a cocky smirk, holding out her arms.

"You're so..." you start, moving Julien further backstage and into the room where y'all got ready. "Sexy? Intelligent? Holy?" Julien rattles off, wiggling her eyebrows as she walks backward, trusting you to walk her in the right direction. "I was going to say ridiculous, but the first two definitely," you smile, eyes twinkling. "Not so much the third one," you giggle. "Oh, why's that?" Julien smirks, sitting in the hair chair in the empty "glam" room. "I don't think it's holy to dress up as Jesus," you start to say, Julien looking up at you with wide, almost glassy eyes, a look common post-show. "And your underwear," you snort. "What about my underwear? It says for God's eyes only," Julien goads, leaning back in the chair, watching you grab a comb and some detangler. "God wasn't the only one looking," you smirk, standing between her legs. "No, he was not," Julien groans, holding onto your hips, "You did a lot more than look," Julien mumbles, smile widening.

"Don't get all worked up," you murmur, smirking, starting to detangle her hair, pulling one piece that was particularly tangled when she all but squeals. "Ow, babe," she exclaims, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed as she leans back a pace, staring at you offended.

"What?"

"That shit hurts!"

"Well, maybe if you didn't headbang so hard, your hair wouldn't be intertwined with your crown right now," you scold softly.

She grumbles, letting you get about 75% of the crown out of her hair before she's whining again. "You're tugging too hard, princess, my neck hurts."

"Me tugging isn't making your neck hurt, seriously Jules, you headbang so hard on stage, and I'm scared you're gonna get whiplash."

"Can't help that I'm a rockstar," she mumbles, finding your eyes before rolling them teasingly before hissing when you pull a chunk of hair.

"Stay still," you giggle, kissing her nose softly. Within 5 minutes, the rest of the crown is out, and you're handing it to Julien so she can keep it. "C'mon, we can pack up and get you unready at the house. Sounds like backstage is filling up," you comment. You can hear the voices of the various friends and peers who came to see the show down the hallway.

"Thanks, angel," Julien whispers, smirking softly as she uses the pet name, hopping off the chair and pulling you into her arms, dipping you ever so slightly to press a passionate kiss to your lips. "Vacation time starts now," she whispers teasingly, her hands in the back pockets of your pants, squeezing gently.

[nightlyrequiem]

Hello dere :3

small request b4 they close ‼️‼️ could we have some Valeria x designer reader? I think it would be tooth-rottingly sweet for Valeria to reluctantly try on everything her girlfriend makes -- from ballgowns to suits.

And designer reader fucking adores her, and constantly makes her fancy clothes, with colours perfectly, primmly picked out to match Valerias skintone, eyecolour, manicure, tattoos, and all.

Hello hello hello :3 Valeria would definitely try on whatever thing Reader has made at her request. She's this strong, brute of a woman but with you? Oh, she's just so soft. It helps that your designs are so well done too.

Also, much apologies for the wait 🫂

Designer!Reader x Valeria

Out of the two of you, you're definitely the more fashionable one. You can take one look at someone and already know what colour or style would suit them best. Valeria doesn't care all that much about matching patterns and colours and what goes best with her undertone. You do though. Valeria is your favourite person in the world and such a good model too.

You've made a few designs inspired by her. Pieces with little scorpion inspired details. Snake details. Any animal you can vaguely associate with her. You make Valeria try on every single one.

You like to make pieces based off of animals in general. Foxes, cats, moths, peacocks, swans. Those are Valeria's favourite to model for you. The peacock one in particular. There's something so special about seeing your eyes light up as you see your ideas in the flesh. Or rather, on flesh.

She acts like she doesn't like doing it, but secretly she enjoys how much you hype her up. She struts down the hallway of your shared home in elegant gowns and dresses and suits that she'd otherwise never wear. A part of her wishes she had more time or the safety to dress up but in her line of work she has to stay lowkey. The less attention the better.

I've heard bigger chested girls have a harder time finding dresses and tops that fit them properly. (I wouldn't know because I'm not even pushing a B cup. 👎) Now, it's no secret that Valeria's chest is on the bigger side. She's found quite a few tops and dresses that she loved in her size, only issue was, they didn't fit her chest right. So, you being her loving girlfriend with the ability to sew, tailors her clothes.

You tailor her pants too. Adding on extra pockets for her and secret sheathes for her weapons.

Back to designing. In your expert opinion, Valeria suits dark red and green the best. Most of the pieces you've made for her specifically heavily features those colours. Some are pink though, to pay respect to her favourite colour.

Valeria has let you dedicate an entire room to your hobby. Mannequins, shelves full of all kinds of fabrics, needles and pins, a sewing machine, an iron and ironing board. Valeria partially regrets that decision for the sheer amount of time you spend in it. Although it's great when she's too busy to be with you.

Valeria has one suit that you made her that she wears for every formal occasion. Never during a cartel meeting, because she simply doesn't respect anyone enough to dress up, but for dates or events. Dark red and tailored to perfection, severe lines to match her sharp attitude. You wish she'd wear some of the other things you've made but you can't bring yourself to complain when she looks that good. It's like she was born to wear that suit.

[the-kr8tor]

This is the fancier potioneer I know! Congrats for the 1 year lovie 💕

May I request some cardamom with elder berries in a heart shaped bottle (and a hint of baby's breath)? Hobie and fem!Reader going back a couple years at their daughter's school party that happens to have an elegant mail at display for the high-school sweethearts 🥹 feel free to decide who sents who a letter! I can just imagine Billie and Ramona going giggles watching their parents fall in love all over again!

Potion coming right up just for you!!! Thank you for requesting bleaky! 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), CW food mentions, Dad au, twin au, Billie and Ramona au, Dad! Hobie, Mom! Reader, older! Hobie, FLUFF!

Katy's 1 year celebration 🎉

Excited screams and the smell of cotton candy greets you as you enter the twins' high school. You still can't believe that they're already in their freshman year when it felt like it was just yesterday you were teaching them how to tie their own shoes. Now they know that and more. You're incredibly proud of them as you weave through the crowd, seeing their familiar silhouette in their booth. Students and teachers passing by, holding snacks and treats from the nearby food stalls. A few parents are scattered here and there, they're probably here for the same reason as you, to support their kids.

Your smile gets wider and wider as you see their pink and red booth that is covered in glitter and hundreds of hearts. Sure enough, when you get close to the line, Billie and Ramona look at you simultaneously. Their grins identical, both inheriting their dad's adorable dimples that you adore so much.

“Mum!” Billie screeches, wildly waving at you. She's clad in a full blown cupid outfit, dressed in your old, or how she puts it ‘vintage’ white with pink accents leather jacket. The wide legged hot pink pants that she begged you to buy for her fits her perfectly, she even sewed pink hearts all around it to emphasize that she is cupid, and cupid is her. “Skip the line!” Beckoning you over, she acts as if she's shooting her pink spray painted toy bow and arrow at you.

“Don't shoot at mum!” Mona scolds her sister like she had actually aimed a real weapon at you. Instead of her sister fully dressed for the part, Mona's outfit isn't as loud. She had burrowed Hobie's old cherry red leather jacket, still clad in hundreds of pins, and spikes around the shoulders. You had bought her a top at the same time you bought Billie her pants, it has hearts embroidered on it, all in rainbow colours, fluffy and in 3d. Her eyes are in the same sparkly eyeshadow that Billie has, dusted with vibrant pink and ruby.

You walk over to their table, it's littered with pink scented papers and envelopes. There's a basket of candied roses nestled under Billie's arm with a few letters tied around the stem. The entire booth is chaotic, both familiar and unfamiliar faces are helping out in their mail booth. Mona is in the front counter while Billie stands on the side, beckoning people over to their booth.

“You made it!” Billie happily envelopes you in a hug, gogo boots thumping on the ground. She smells oddly like your perfume.

“I couldn't miss it, Bee!” You pat her back to release you, yet she still clings to you like she's ten years old even though she has gotten way taller than you and her own sister. “What time is the big dance number?”

“At one pm, mum.” Mona says, busy and occupied as she tends to customers.

“Not even a hug, Mon?”

She looks up at you briefly, puckering her lips and making kissing noises. Teenagers. “Sorry, mum, I'll hug you in a minute once Thena comes back.”

“Who's Thena?” You ask the still clinging Billie. “Shouldn't you help your sister?” You glance towards the frantic Mona, but she's composed, getting the rhythm of everything. She takes the cash, gives them the stationary, and then points them towards a more befuddled spectacled boy who looks like he's about to collapse from pressure.

Billie takes one look at Mona and then back towards the boy, then to you. “Nah, they've got it.” You furrow your brows at your daughter. “Trust me, when Mon mon’s in the zone nothin’ can stop her. She's a well oiled machine who has kicked me in the shin twice when I tried to help.”

“You were not helpin’!” Mona adds, “we're filled with messages! Go start deliverin’, Billie!”

“Oop,” Billie chuckles, “Full first name, I think she's mad mad.” She whispers to you. “I'm waiting for dad, Ramona!” Teasing, her sister gives her the stink eye. Billie in reply sticks her tongue out, to which Mona shakes her head at. “Where's dad anyway? I wanna show him my bow and arrow!”

“Parking, he's having a tough time finding a spot.” You answer, picking a stray eyelash off her sparkly cheek. “He'll be here, don't worry. And he has the camera fully charged so he doesn't miss a second of your dance.”

Billie giggles, Mona smiles at the conversation. “It's not just us dancin’, mum, it's the whole school. There will be a lot of people.” Billie thanks you with another squeeze as she hasn't left your side.

“Still, he has every milestone recorded since your birth, he's not gonna stop now.”

“Billie, the bloody letters!” Mona interrupts, huffing at Billie's groan of protest. “Now!” She flicks her eyes at you, “please?” The butterflies in her hair look like they're actually flying when she moves her head.

“Only because you asked nicely!” Billie pouts, “I’ll be right back, mum! Tell dad I went around, okay?”

“I will, go, have fun delivering letters!” You wave her off.

“Oh it's my favourite! It has always been my dream to be a delivery woman!” You laugh at her antics. “Oh and Mon don't forget the thing!” She saunters off, running after a student who probably has a letter in her name.

“I won't!” Mona yells back.

“What thing, baby?” You walk beside her, patting her aching shoulders.

“A letter,” she grins mischievously at you, there's a glint in her eyes that you've seen in Hobie's eyes. Sliding a pink paper and a gel pen over to you, she raises her brows playfully. “It's on the house, mum, special courtesy of the best daughters in the world.”

“The best of the best.” You smile, trying incredibly hard not to peck her temple or you might end up embarrassing her. She also smells like your perfume. “But first, do you want help? I don't know who Thena is, but it looks like she's still not here.”

“Please.” Mona sighs in relief, “I'll give you a bundle of chocolate roses.” She scooches over, giving you space.

“No need, I still have a ton left from your dad.”

The line thins as you help Mona, and in between customers, you've written a letter full of love for Hobie. Thena, who you now know is a sophomore finally arrives with help. She lets Mona actually enjoy the event just as when Hobie arrives huffing with a frown. The crowd parts for him like he owns the school, it's his saunter, you always tell him. He's in his normal punk garb, to the detest of some parents but the students seem to love his style, including you who still falls head over heels at the same leather clad man.

“Hi, dad.” Mona, more tired, plops on her dad's side after squeezing the life out of you. Her cheek is pressed on his side as he rubs soothingly up and down her arm.

“I know ‘m like a broken record, but what did I miss?”

You open your mouth to reply, already magnetized to his other side, his arm around your waist as the three of you walk around the event. But Billie's voice suddenly pops out of nowhere.

“Mon mon bein’ a girl boss!” She collides into the three of you, Hobie chuckles, patting her head. She ducks away though, “don't mess up my hair, dad!”

“I wasn't.” Hobie meets your eyes. “And to think I used to do her bloody hair.” The twins walk ahead of you, whispering to each other.

“Teenagers, Hobie, we've got teenagers now.”

He makes a face, pulling you closer, watching his girls giggle amongst themselves. “I know, I think we need another one to balance them out.”

“With your back, old man?” You pinch his side, grinning at him. He doesn't miss the innuendo filled comment.

Hobie leans his face close, pierced lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Who you callin' old, huh? This old man can still lift a bloody plane.”

“Sure, sure, So you keep telling me.”

He blows hot air in your ear, chuckling lowly as you gasp. “You wanna bet?”

“Later, old man.” You wink and you're already walking beside his girls, arm in arm, teasing him with a simple look.

—

You sit on the bleachers, lap full of snacks, buttered popcorn, corndogs and a couple of blue coloured drinks that you cannot fathom the flavour of. The seat is high up, overlooking the entire field where all the students wait on the sides. You'd be scared of the height but you're used to it now because of Hobie's impromptu dates on skyscrapers. Hobie slides over next to you, sweat clinging on his brow, arms clutching more friend food than anyone could even consume in one go.

“Are you sure your heart can handle all that?” You tease again, and he looks at you tenderly, eyes shining in the afternoon sun, reflecting the school flags waving above. After all these years, you still can't get over the fact that he looks at you like that, like you're his whole world.

“‘m a growing boy, love.” You hand him the camera from your purse, “and maybe ‘m preparin’ for tonight.”

“Nothing happens tonight, Hobs if you eat that whole blooming onion on your own.”

“You want some then?” He shakes the packaging.

“Of course I do.” You playfully scoff, taking the treat from Hobie as he laughs.

You two eat your fill, leaving some for the girls after the show, knowing that they'll be starving by then. One after the other, students from different grades take turns showing their own choreographed dances. Thankfully it's the girls' turn after the one you're currently watching.

“What's in this?” He asks, shaking the half empty blue drink.

“You're almost done with it and now you're just asking?” You say with your mouth full of cotton candy.

“Well, do you know?”

“It's blueberry.” You shrug.

He takes a sip, smacking his lips together. “Nah, I don't think so, lovie. I think it's all chemicals.”

You chuckle, knowing his next words. “Don't—”

“I think it's radioactive.” He fakes a gasp.

You still laugh wholeheartedly after the umpteenth time of him using the same joke.

“You laugh at radioactive material?” He says, mock disappointment.

“Well, I sleep with one every night, so…” there's a twinkle in your eyes.

“Fuckin' cheeky.” He grabs the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. “Y’know the girls got that from you.”

“And what did they get from you?”

“Except for my charms and handsome dimples? My brain.”

“Ah yes, of course—” before you could smooch him, the same boy from Billie and Mona's booth suddenly appears, his tall lanky frame blocking the sun, red hair brighter than Hobie's boots.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Hobie asks, and the poor boy practically shakes where he's standing.

“Y/N Brown?” He asks, already handing you a pink letter from his basket full of perfumed stationery.

“Yep, that's me. Thanks.” You look at the letter with confusion. “Looks like I've got a secret admirer.”

“Who?” Hobie acts, “and is he an adult so I can fight for your hand?”

“Shut up.” You laugh, opening the letter gingerly. Reading the affectionate words carefully.

“Hobie Brown?” The red haired boy asks again, Hobie looks up at him. “Mr. Hobie Brown.”

“No Mr. Brown ‘ere, bruv. But I'll take it.” His smile eases the boy, but he still skedaddles out of the bleachers. “He looked like he was about to piss himself. Does he know the girls, love?” He looks back at you with tears in your eyes. “Love?”

“H-how dare you write this love letter so well.” You sniff, he smiles. “This is so good! I-I haven't heard you call me cherry in so long, Hobie. And now that y-you wrote it….”

“Deep breaths, love.” He wipes your tears with his thumb, and a few people look at you weirdly. He doesn't mind, he can fight.

“You’re an asshole, I love you so fucking much.” You suddenly hug him, arms around his neck, face pressed on his skin. “You’re so right, the girls got your charm.”

Hobie holds you, knuckles running along your back. “And they got the rest from you.”

You lean back, tears still clinging in your lashes. “Don't read mine, it doesn't compare to yours.”

He shakes his head, staring at his love. “Even if you wrote it in wingdings I'll still read it.”

“It might as well be.”

“Too late, already reading it.”

“What—?” You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, he's reading it behind your back. “Ass.”

He blinks, eyes glimmering, clearing his throat. “Well, that's—”

“Shit? Horrible? Almost twenty years together and I still can't form coherent words when it comes to you?”

“No, I mean the last one is accurate, but,” he inhales. “‘m glad you chose me, love, and ‘m glad you kissed me back even after I kicked and broke your uni's doors open.”

“I kissed you back because I always hated those doors.” You joke, he laughs as he cradles your face in his hands. Those hands you've loved no matter how rough it gets. “And I always wanted to do that.” Not a joke, a full confession like you've said to him all those years ago.

Hobie tucks in the letter inside his jacket, right above his heart and you place yours just like he did, mirroring his movement. He gently pecks your lips, it's done immediately but not without love, it's full of it, filling your heart.

“I owe you a proper kiss when we get home and without a thousand people watching.”

“Okay, looking forward to it.” You nod, holding his warm palms.

“And without our girls screaming with their mates.”

You blink as Hobie gently moves your head towards a handful of girls bouncing for joy and yelling ‘otp.’ Whatever that means. Billie shakes Mona by her shoulders, you don't have enhanced eyesight just like your family but you can definitely see their eyes filled with happy tears.

“So this is their plan.” You say while Hobie loops his arm around your shoulders, head placed next to yours. “They are cheeky.”

“They got that from you.”

[toomanythoughts2]

Murderface reads to me as someone who would have a battle jacket.

Like, his vest he wears everywhere, even as a kid, gives me battle jacket vibes. But because he had like no money growing up, the only patches he could get were from shitty bands that he didn't really like for either really cheap or by stealing them. He also can't sew, so he would either beg his grandma to do it or use safety pins. But it was a hot mess with patches, buttons, and layered fabric. Just all over the place.

But once he got into Dethklok, something he had to do was get rid of the patches/buttons/fabric because it was advertising other bands, and they couldn't do that. It's the one time he actually listened to Charles and Nathan about something pertaining to the band. So for years, he went without adoring anything on his jacket, but he still collected patches/buttons/fabric from concerts they did go to. Especially once he was able to actually go see bands he loved and got their merch, he was all over their merch table.

He would dream of how to configure the best-looking battle jacket in the world. But he still wasn't allowed to wear one because it's advertising. So, years go by, and Murderface's dream of creating the best battle jacket fades away. Until Toki picks it back up. Toki had always wanted one of his own, but his inexperience and fear of being made fun of stops him. But he collects all kinds of things that he loves and will even collect patches for Murderface. Toki knows they can't have battle jackets, so he makes them in secret. They're crudly made, but they have a lot of soul put into them.

Somehow, Murderface finds Toki making one. And Toki is afraid that Murderface is gonna make fun of him or that he's gonna get in trouble with the band, but he does neither. Murderface tells him that it's looks off balanced and to switch the patches around to make it flow more coherently. And that's when Toki realizes that he could use Murderface. They have a talk, and Toki hears all of Murderface’s love for his jackets and how his dream is to make the best one. So Toki suggests that he make them anyway, and that Toki will help him. Charles and Nathan just said you couldn't wear them, not not make them.

So Murderface starts constructing battle jacket after battle jacket with Toki, using all of his collected pieces. Toki sees this as an arts and crafts club and loves spending time with Murderface making jackets. Murderface helps construct the pieces together while Toki sews or pins the pieces. Toki even learns how to put in metal studs or spikes.

The band realizes that they've been spending a lot of time together and find out that they've been making jackets together. Soon enough, it's a group activity. Pickles brings out some of his old battle jackets of when he was younger. Skwisgaar shows the band pictures of different variations of his early jackets that were destroyed sometime in his childhood. Nathan brings in his own collection of patches/buttons/fabrics to make his own. Nathan has choice paralysis though so the band has to help him map out the jacket. It's the most coherent the band has been in a long time, working on making their own jackets. Charles is shocked the next time he sees them when he realizes that he got through an actual productive meeting.

Bonus: The band makes Charles a battle jacket out of the leftover scraps and patches and buttons to show their appreciation for his hard work. Charles accepts it then shows the band his own jacket he made decades ago from his closet.

[asewingthing]

Sizing up a hoodie or sweatshirt

I had an old hoodie I wanted to wear more often, but it's always been a little snug (the price you pay when the merch table at a show has limited sizes remaining but you HAVE TO GET A SOUVENIR - and also support the band). I realized I had another hoodie I didn't wear very much, and decided to sacrifice it to size up the other!

The black stripe is the sacrificial hoodie bit, which overall made the original hoodie about 6 in larger all around (3 in strip added under each arm). Keep in mind, this method makes the torso larger, but also the sleeve size. I bet that's helpful to most people, but if you wanted to not size up the sleeve so much, you could probably cut your strip so it's narrower as it goes down the sleeve. But not to a fine point! Just a little narrower on one end than the other. You still need to have room to use your serger on both seams.

I looked up tips for adding a gusset under the arm. It was not an ideal solution; I ran into a pet peeve in my searching. When folks yadda-yadda over the fiddliest bit of the process. No! Please tell me how exactly you pivot around a point with a stretch stitch and then serge the rest of a seam!! I was not about to try to figure that out with no clear tips.

So, I decided to approach it with the skills and tools I was most confident using (not confident in my ability to use the right kind of stretch stitch around a corner at an armpit seam. I knew it would fall apart!).

NOTE: I used a serger for the entire process. I opt to use an embroidery needle or similar to pull the tail back up into a few stitches rather than try to sew over the tail ends. It's not as quick but I know it works and I have more control. I'm not going to cut into something by accident either!

ANOTHER NOTE: You HAVE TO use 2 sweatshirts or hoodies that are the same length from the pit to the BOTTOM HEM. If the length from the pit to the arm cuff hem is somewhat off, that's okay. When you're done, you could always cut off the cuffs and serge on a new one. But you can't so easily do that on the bottom hem on a hoodie with a zipper.

See how the cuff is misaligned here. I could cut off the cuff just above the grey seam and serge on a new strip of ribbed knit if I wanted it to look cleaner. But this was close enough, and also who wants to chop off its character? Someone who's probably no fun at parties, but probably better than me at filing their taxes, that's who.

HOW I DID IT

I essentially added a strip from one hoodie into the under arm/side of the other. If you're wanting to be precise, you can measure how much extra room you want to add, divide by 2 and that's how much you'll harvest from your sacrificial hoodie. The serging will eat some from each seam; consider how much you are comfortable serging off and add that math in for yourself. This one was about 3" wide on each side, as I feel comfortable to serge with taking off just a whisper.

I used a marking tool and a ruler to mark a consistent 3" wide cutting line from hem to cuff on the black hoodie. You'll be cutting a straight strip so don't eyeball it! If you're making it a little smaller at one end than the other, an even better reason not to eyeball it!

You can only remove up to where you come in contact with a pocket, zipper, or other component. Pick up a hoodie and look under the arms and you'll see what I mean! Here's as far as I cut due to the location of the pocket on the black hoodie:

Here's what that black hoodie looked like after I cut out the strips. Daniel was quite amused by it looking like a pelt and/or some kind of punk wizard's cape:

Mark which strip is meant for which side before you move on, so you don't get frustrated later! THIS IS IMPORTANT!

Next, you have to cut open the hoodie that will be gaining these strips. At first, I was carefully seam ripping the side seams but that is SILLY! Don't do that. Just cut it, your serger will be removing any old seam bits.

Right sides together, pin your strips in place. IMPORTANT! Make sure you're using the correct side of the old hoodie to the new one! R with R, L with L.

IMPORTANT ALSO!! Make sure the underarm pit seam intersection is aligned! Start pinning from there, and work your pinning out. AGAIN! the length from this pit junction to the bottom hem should be almost exactly the same or this will give you a headache.

(Pay attention to your pits, to avoid getting down in the dumps.)

Time to serge! You can squinch and fudge the seams a little as you serge to make them line up a little better. Just don't pull or yank on them much, or your knits will be forever wonky.

Here's what it looks like on the inside:

I hope this is helpful to others and you get more wears from things you love! If you need to find a hoodie or sweatshirt to sacrifice, hit up a thrift store. Just be sure to bring your hoodie with you as you shop, so you get one that is almost exactly the same length from hem to hem.

[powderblueblood]

everything looks better on me (especially you)

eddie's missing something and lacy gets a new accessory. (825) cw: fluff the house down, thank GOD these two get to be CUTE for once in their stinking lives. happy valentines day palentines part of the hellfire & ice universe

that looks familiar.

the note bounces over your shoulder, landing in a crumpled little ball for you to unravel on your desk. first period. monday. history with kaminsky, enforcing tyrannical rule by reading about the ottoman empire at an excruciating pace. the morning is passing at it's usual torturous tick, only helped by the warm reassurance of eddie, sat in place behind you.

you make sure to shake your stupid hair all over his desk as you pass back your reply.

oh, this old thing? you like it?

eddie holds his breath as he watches you slide the slip of paper by your ear for him to snatch, fixated on the flow of your neck to your shoulder. said flow, which he so frequently admires, is now obscured. a wrap of fabric around your neck that he knows well. real well. super well. part of the uniform well.

you'd thought it'd be a cute look--a coquettish little necktie element to set off your otherwise rote skirt-and-satin blouse set. a nod to sexy librarians, contrarians, know-it-alls with edge-- oh, okay, fine. who are you fucking kidding. you wore it around your neck because you knew it'd make eddie's dick twitch from a thousand yard reach.

you knew it'd make him go all doe eyed and grin stupid and maybe even make him do that thing where he hides behind his hair. you love that. it makes your heart flip like a speed freak olympian. makes you want to shove him to the ground and make out with him until he suffocates.

you knew it'd be a statement, too. i'm intentional about every single thing i've ever put on my body. i want you. i want this.

you reach up and wind the end of eddie's bandana around your little finger.

you think you hear his breath hitch. (you totally do.)

you look really pretty.

eddie catches you off guard, y'know. with his earnestness. with how hard he means things.

really pretty.

he'd left his bandana on your bedroom floor the night he stole away out your window. remember? "i'm coming back for you, lacy doevski?" all that? well, you'd found it after getting third-degree cross examined by your father and lay awake with it held close to your face. it'd gotten caught on a pin or something and tore, so you darned it back together with your limited sewing skills. you didn't want to give it back right away--it's such a part of the eddie munson ensemble that it made you feel like you had a real piece of him with you, 'til you could see him again. which was only 48 goddamned hours, but let's slice off a little slack here.

and so came this morning. and you wound it under your collar, tying a windsor knot.

you feel him lean in a little closer to tuck the note next to your shoulder.

really REALLY PRETTY.

pretty enough to meet me in the bathroom? you write, tossing it back to him with a stretch. you don't wait for an answer as the bell trills.

moments later, eddie has you pinned against the wall of that bombed out boy's bathroom (say thank you lack of school funding!), pressing his lush, pink lips to the line of your jaw.

he makes your whole body feel as tingly as tv static.

eddie's forehead finds yours and you don't have anything in you but to sigh and smile, just a breath away from his mouth.

"hello," you say, watching the sparkle in his dark eyes.

"hi," eddie mumbles, grinning away. he brushes a knuckle down the side of your face. "pretty. pretty. you're so pretty, lace."

god, even the way he says it knocks you clean out. pritty. like there's some tennessee twang still left in the highest reaches of his voice.

your lashes flutter. you're lightheaded and girlish and you can't for the life of you stop smiling.

eddie's smile breaks into a little laugh, breath brushing against your nose.

"what's so funny?"

"you like something i wear," he croons, fingers brushing the knot of the bandana, settled beneath your collarbone. "you like me."

"so what if i do?"

"you like me. i melted you."

"i wouldn't call this melting," you chuckle softly, but your eyelids drop and chin tilts back as eddie brings his mouth to your neck. "this is defrosting at best."

"you tryin' to say you want it... wetter?"

"shut up, eddie."

"i could get you so soaked with this wit alone..."

a delicate snort. "ladies and gentlemen, the friars club presents..."

"mm, you lost me."

"i'll tell ya later."

his hands travel all over your body, groping you with a sweetness driven by desire. eddie is all want when it comes to you; wants to touch you, talk to you, listen to you, lay with you. bug the shit out of you.

and you want him too, is the thing. it's reciprocal. you're wearing it right around your neck.

you could both die happy before fourth period.

[shhh-secret-time]

Kenny McCormick

27 y.o (He/They)

Soul Synergy: Flowers grow on your skin wherever you soulmates been injured.

Headcanons:

¤ The only reason he's able to go to college is because of Kevin.

》 Kevin goes into the military as soon as he can, since then he's put money to the side for Kenny and Karen

¤ Kenny still works multiple jobs at a time to give back. Feels like he can't just accept the money

¤ He didn't actually go into college until he was old enough to adopt Karen, he couldn't leave her behind

¤ Going for Robotics/Mechanical Engineering

》 I always saw Kenny as the kind of guy who is a savant at things he cares about, so even though he's not a great test taker he's phenomenal in the field

》 He's the kinda guy that stays up until three in the morning going down the Wiki rabbit hole. Next time someone hangs out with him he's going on about snail facts.

¤ If he ever does find the time to himself he spends it on his car.

¤ Bought an old police car from the scrap yard and has been working on it since

¤ Once he gets it up and going he uses it for street racing, earns a little extra cash that way

¤ Absolutely does everything in his power to keep Karen away from that scene

》 She eventually finds out and starts going to watch his races, cheering her brother on

》 His number one fan (I'm crying)

¤ Keeps his parents at an arms length. To the point they don't even know where Kenny and Karen moved to

¤ When Kevin comes home they visit him often. The siblings get together for holidays, birthdays, and breaks.

¤ They moved into the same apartment complexes as Stan and Kyle. They're upstairs neighbors

¤ Will jump down from his balcony to theirs when he comes over, instead of using the front door like a normal person

¤ It isn't until he starts street racing that he joins Stan's board game nights. Now that he's got the extra time

¤ Loves DnD night, but he's the kind of player that's absolutely silly. Has lost two characters already

》 Is the best role player at the table! Has made the table burst into tears over the death of his characters

》 Makes these dorky guys and then makes you fall in love with them.

》》 Definitely flirts with his friends, claims it's in character.

¤ He'll drive Karen anywhere she wants to go until she gets her license. He doesn't want to be her parent but he can't help but worry

¤ His phone is cracked to hell, but he doesn't really care. As long as he can see the screen well enough and make calls it's fine

¤ He collects bottle caps, he doesn't know when it started but he likes picking them up and turning them into pins.

¤ Started using mint/candy tins to keep his stuff in. They fit in his pockets easier

》 In the tin: pair of headphones, chapstick, lighter, a note from Karen, stickers, and a really cool rock he found

¤ Probably has another tin that has sewing supplies, he still has a habit of sewing things back together rather than getting rid of them

¤ His Heelyz are his favorite pair of shoes. He wears them every time he's about to race, says they bring him good luck

》 They were a Christmas gift from Stan, it's the only reason he owns them

¤ Usually has rags covered in oil or grease tucked in his pants, the chain on his pants has little charms. Things Karen has made him and keys.

¤ He had three piercings on the shell of his ear, but when Kevin left for the military he took it out and gave it to him.

》 Said he'll put it back in when his brother comes home.

¤ He's trying to stop smoking but it's a losing battle.

¤ He's still running around as Mysterion with his inability to die.

¤ The power changes as he gets older. He now wakes up wherever he deems home to be. It's not something he can choose, it's what his heart thinks home is

¤ So he wakes up on the couch of his little living room, Karen sleeping in her room.

¤ His body reverses back to when he first got his Soul Synergy

¤ Kenny doesn't get his Soul Synergy until he's in his late twenties.

¤ Doesn't really know why it took so long for it to show up but he's not complaining

¤ I don't think he freaks out when he first sees plants push through his skin

¤ It's alarming for sure, but he just kind of looks at it

¤ It isn't until he notices the scars on his body left from the plant don't go away that he takes it seriously

¤ He tries to keep some of the plants, but he doesn't exactly have the knowledge on how to take care of some of these plants

¤ He gets a little sad when they die

¤ When he finds his soulmate he's more attentive to his body

》 Not just where the flowers grow from, but he's better at taking care of himself

¤ He can't stop being Mysterion. He knows people still need him, and he needs this, but he's not as reckless with his body.

He's sitting in class, zoning out again. Whatever the professor was going on about was a distant thought. The tired behind his eyes weighed him down. He had his head leaned back against the wall, his hood pulled up to add a little extra comfort. Trying to stay awake, he's bouncing his leg. The motion doing very little to keep him awake.

But the sleepy blonde doesn't stay that way for long. The familiar feeling of plants pushing their way from under his skin up into the surface wakes him. He sits up almost in an instant when an orchid breaks the flesh, poking out of his mask. From the side of face, another one blooms and stretches out towards the sun.

No blood. But the side of his face stings, the feeling of a handprint buzzes where the petals touch.

Kenny stands up abruptly, cutting the professor off with little to no care. His hands nearly miss grabbing his bag from the way he beelines it to the door. As fast as his legs carry him, he runs out of the room leaving behind petals, leaves, and the protests of his professor.

(Here's the blank ♡ )

[hidefdoritos]

Galaxy Print Knee Patches

I've just spent two hours locked in mortal combat with my machine, but I emerge victorious with awesomer pants!

Yep, we're working on the same tac pants as always. I have two other pairs of solid black pants, so I can confidently decorate these to match my primarily black-and-blue wardrobe.

Step one was cutting two 9-by-9 patches. (I thought about doing cool hexagons for about 30 seconds and then couldn't decide which way to orient them, so no.) I did my usual trick of putting cardboard in the leg of the pants. Then I folded the edges under slightly and pinned down all around. (Retrospect: Since I didn't iron those folds, I should've used more pins. They kept trying to unfold as I sewed.)

Step two was finding this bobbin of variegated purple thread from my grandma. Rather than hand-winding it onto a spool, I just put it on the machine. Seemed to work!

Step three was realizing this was gonna be difficult. The knee parts of the pants are already two layers thick, and I'm adding another folded layer on top of them. Plus, wrestling the heavy pants under the machine. Eliza has a lovely feature where the bottom comes apart to help you get into sleeves and such, but cramming this fabric in was still a pain.

The above photos are called "Why I'm not a quilter." Also, they show how much trouble Eliza was having with the fabric. The stitch lengths are uneven, I kept hitting pins, and every time I stopped and started, she pulled to one side or the other. On the very first seam, in the first photo, I tried to turn around and do a second row of topstitching, but it came up so uneven that I quit immediately and unpicked it.

Also, she's had this worsening problem where, when I finish a seam, I can't pull the fabric away without turning the top tension back to 0, or the thread will just break. This necessitates remembering to put the tension back to 4. Remember that.

Of course, it wouldn't be a proper sewing project if I didn't sew the pant leg shut on the final corner. So I pulled it off the machine, unpicked it, and went back over it again.

And forgot to reset the tension to 4! Just look at that mess on the back.

I clipped the loops and just sewed it all down again in eagerness to be done. It's a tad noticeable, but I don't care. It's done!

And here's the end result!

Would it be neater by hand? Probably! Is Eliza due for a spa day at the repair shop? Yes! And am I thrilled with the end result?

ABSOLUTELY!

[raayllum]

Do you have any headcanons of callum being protective/considerate/thoughtful with rayla? I'm so in love with how gentle he was with her this season.

Callum planting flowers from the Silvergrove in the castle gardens as a surprise and then convincing her to take a 'moonlit' stroll with him one night once they're ready so he can show them off

It's non traditional but he knows the main reason she hates the water is because she always feels unsteady on her feet so he gets her a grip mat for the tub so she can feel more centered

Redoing her braid for her whenever it comes undone and stitching up little tears and frayed edges in her clothing/cloaks because he knows how to sew

On that note: getting her a new cloak because her old one is tattered and doing up the clasp for her / tugging her in close by the hood for nose and mouth kisses if he's not smiling too much

Him and Ezran collecting a whole bunch of things during the timeskip to save up to give to her so that the castle can feel like home

So many forehead kisses and just gentle hand squeezes. Three squeezes means "I love you" and he'll trace the words onto her back or side sometimes when they're just laying together

He definitely talked privately to Opeli (and probably the guards) after the 5x01 throne room debacle and gave them a piece of his mind / new protocol to follow when it comes to them being concerned about Rayla's actions (ficlet here)

For that matter: absolute death glares to anyone who gives her a hard time at the castle / any diplomatic function (and probably almost causes a political incident or two over it)

Him murmuring the sappy love poetry he's read in her ear even when she rolls he eyes and can't quite hide her smile, working up his nerve to write personal poems of his own for her

Little things he did this season like being the one to handle the reigns of their mount the bulk of the time as soon as they started sharing because he knows she's not a morning person and is a light sleeper, so she holds onto his middle and he lets her doze for most of the day whenever he can

Requesting mints at inns they stay in that don't have any already / using magic to carve the soap into little shapes if they aren't that way to begin with and leaving them, once again, as little surprises for her to discover

If/when Rayla wants or needs time away from Stella (sparring perhaps) the cuddlemonkey is almost always with Callum and he makes sure she's cared for too. She's fussy about getting brushed and hard to pin down thanks to the six hands, so he'll usually help get her sitting still while Rayla does the actual grooming

Him using cooling spells for her when it's hot on summer nights (like in 4x07) and heating his hands to lay on her tummy when she gets period cramps

Normally he'd never throw his weight around as a prince, but he absolutely will on her behalf, whether it's getting something she wants from a servant tea/food wise or making sure they are treated well / have a nice place to stay while travelling

"It's none of your concern--" "It very much is her concern, and watch your tone."

Giving her his scarf whenever it's cold, of course

Making sure she's not overworking her bad wrist and giving little massages to that and her ankles when she's been doing a lot of jumps/movements that day, especially as they get older

His sketchbook is equally hers (even if she uses it far less often of course) and there's a few pages near the back designated for her to leave notes or doodles or whatever she wants when she's bored and/or he's not using it (he's very proud of how her drawing has improved)

Getting heavy duty enchanted blinds from Lux Aurea for her room so it can keep the sun out so she can sleep in / can give her room more of a twilight light quality so it can remind her of the Silvergrove (if she wants)

There are some meetings he can't get out of as crown prince but they're long and boring so he does his best to convince Rayla to go and spend her afternoon doing something she wants. (She usually stays for at least the first half anyway to support him and Ez)

Drawing memories and stories she tells him about her family and then giving her the pages so she can hold onto / remember them

Rayla still having a hard time articulating how she's feeling sometimes and getting upset/angry/embarrassed when it comes out wrong, so he takes her hand and gets her to take a steadying breath and start over with a gentle "Try again. What are you meaning to say?" if she says something obtuse/that comes out wrong

Ofc taking care of her when she's sick no matter how disgruntled or snotty she gets and reading to her quietly/stroking her hair until she falls asleep

Taking her to his favourite places in the castle/kingdom/Pentarchy for dates and private times to hang out alone, insisting on carrying their picnic basket because he's a Prince, Rayla, and chivalry isn't dead

Callum working very hard to learn traditional Moonshadow elf (no matter how much she teases him for his pronunciation) so he can use it to propose to her

[20dollarlolita]

Quick guide to inserting zippers into garments without hand-basting.

Because I know that no matter how many times I tell y'all that you need to hand-baste, you're not going to do it.

Quick note: zippers are ALWAYS easier to put in when the zipper is several inches longer than your seam. This lets you put the slide out of the way when you sew. When you're done, you can pull the slide back down and then cut the excess tape. For every zipper where it's even vaguely possible, I get a long zipper, center the bottom of the tape at the place where you want the zipper to end, and leave extra tape hanging at the top. I don't know why zippers tell you to shorten them at the bottom. It's lies. Don't believe it.

Centered zipper:

You'll use the centered zipper application when you're putting a zipper in the center back or center front of a piece. There's a different application method for side seam zippers, which we'll go into later.

I start all zippers by machine-basting the seam closed. This is especially important on dresses, where you need the seam between the bodice and the skirt to match up. If your seam looks good basted shut, it will look good when a zipper is in there. So set your seam length to the longest, and baste the seam shut.

A note on seam allowances: You need your seam allowances to be big enough for the zipper to fit on. If your garment was made by someone insane and deranged who put a 1/4" seam allowance in a zipper seam, and you're only just not realizing it, you're going to need to sew twill tape or seam binding onto your seam allowance to make it big enough.

Put the zipper tape onto that seam. You want the center of the teeth to line up with the center of the seam. It's called the centered application for a reason.

When you're pinning from this viewpoint, you're best equipped to make sure that the teeth are perfectly centered. I'm going to recommend pinning with the pins perpendicular to the zipper teeth. You'll see why.

However, you can't actually sew the zipper from this side, with any kind of precision, so you'll need to do the flip.

So, go ahead and flip your garment so that you can access the right side. Next to each pin that you have on the wrong side, put a pin next to it on the right side. You can then remove the wrong-side pin.

And yes, you do need to do it like this and not just pinning from the front. It won't be centered. Trust me. It won't be centered.

Zipper foot time. When you're sewing a zipper, you will ALWAYS sew from the top to the bottom. Put your zipper on the side of the tape where the points of your pins are.

Quick note: is your machine still set to a basting stitch? Now's the time to change it, and not after you did 13" of sewing. Ask me how I know.

Here's where you're going to decide how wide you want the lap (the fabric flaps that cover the zipper) to be. For a lot of people, this is a style choice. I like mine more narrow, and I like to just eyeball them. As long as it's straight and not stuck in the teeth, all options are fine.

The reason that we're starting on the side with the points of the pins is that you can slide the point of the pin out of the way to sew over them, and then slide them back into place so that they hold the zipper in place for the other side.

Once you've sewn down one side, cut your thread, bring your foot back to the top, and sew down the other side. (If you keep sewing and go up, your lapping will be wrinkled when you're done).

Once you hit the bottom of your zipper, sew a couple of stitches across the bottom, connecting the two lines of stitching. If you're using a nylon coil zipper, you can just sew straight through it. If your zipper has metal teeth or big plastic ones, sew this connecting stitch just below where the teeth end.

Now you just take your seam ripper and take out the basting stitches, and you're done!

What about that extra zipper tape at the top? Well, if you're putting the zipper in a seam where there will be a top facing, top hem, application of lace, or anything else, you can trim the tape and the hide it in that facing/hem/lace/etc. If there's absolutely no way to hide the top of the tape, you can stitch around the top of the teeth on each side, so that the slide doesn't come off, and then trim the excess tape off.

Side application:

If you're putting a zipper in a side seam, you don't want to center it. I mean, you can if you want to, and it'll probably look fine, but it's not the technically correct application.

In a centered application, both seam allowances cover the zipper tape and hide it from view. In a side application, the front seam allowance is longer, and covers the zipper tape. The back seam allowance is just along for the ride.

Like the centered zipper, this one starts by machine basting the seam shut.

Not everyone starts their side zippers like this, but I think that it's important because it keeps the waist seam even on both sides. People who don't like this method are going to point out that my method here does make your seam allowance 1/8" smaller than what you baste. If you think this will really mess your work up, remember to sew this seam at 1/16th" smaller than you would normally sew it. I don't ever bother with that and it never has made a difference to me. If you don't want to do it like that, you can just hand-baste this in. This is a no-hand-baste tutorial, so you're on your own for that.

You're going to pin this in a different place. On the centered zipper, you wanted the seam to be in the middle of the teeth. In the side application, you want the seam to be right along the edge of the teeth.

You'll also note that I'm pinning differently from how I did the centered version. Here, I have the pins with the points facing the top of the zipper.

So, always sewing top to bottom, we're going to sew down the side seam. We pointed all the pins at the top of the seam because now you can pull them out as you go.

It's hard to tell when you're just doing a sample like this, but we're going down the seam attached to the back of the dress.

Remember that "it takes 1/8" off the side seam" statement? Here's where it happens. We're going to take the front seam allowance, and just sneak it a little bit more over the edge. You're just going to roll it so that it covers that previous line of stitching. Then you're going to pin in place and sew down the other side. At the bottom, just like you did with the centered zip, you're going to turn a right angle and sew along the bottom, closing off the lapping.

I find that my favorite width of this is to sew where the fold of the lap to the line of stitching measures at about 1/2". If you're not good at eyeballing this, some people like to use tape as a topstitching guide.

Just like with the last one, time to take out the basting stitches that hold the seam shut, and there's your zipper.

Invisible zipper application:

NO.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Kat's OG/HC ::: mitsuya would MAKE the teddy bear for the first date thingy.

A/N ::: You. Guys. I'm so giddy about this that you'd think I was the one who just went on a date with Mitsuya. I'm so fucking happy with this - like, I just smiled the whole time I was writing it. Thank you again, @katkitkats for the HC's.

⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣ Funsies ⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣

⍣ I've Been Loving You Too Long // Otis Redding I wholly believe that Mitsuya has a deep appreciation for music and would listen to this song like a dummy who's deep in love. Listen if you want the full effect of the high I got while writing this ⍣

(For the best experience put it on repeat or read really fast lmao - sorry, my sense of timing is horrific).

⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣ TEDDY BEAR PREP ⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣

⍣ Doesn't see the appeal of buying stuff that he can make for you.

⍣ Can make anything he puts his mind to - up to and including a teddy bear.

⍣ Would start out by searching for just the right kind of fabric (I think he'd use minky - so freakin' soft and cuddly and lasts forever and ever if you're good to it - a lot like love 🤔 - it's just insane)

⍣ Works out all the details, drawing out a pattern that he can pin fabric to, cut around the design, sew it together and add the finishing touches then stuff it.

⍣ Hand stitches the bear's arms and legs with an "X" pattern so it looked like "real" stitches, using a special type of embroidery stitch for its little eyes and nose (the nose would be pink and its eyes would be one of each of your eye colors).

⍣ Finally, it would be done a few days before the big first date.

⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣ THE DATE ⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣

⍣ Would pick you up on his bike.

⍣ Has an extra helmet (in whatever your favorite color was because he just so fucking thoughtful I can't stand it) and leather jacket for you if it was cold.

⍣ The reservation would have been made 2 weeks in advance - even though it's at Smiley and Angry's Ramen shop.

⍣ Took the little bear over there the night before because he wants it to be brought out with dessert.

⍣ Wants to impress you by walking in and saying "2 for Mitsuya, please *slips Angry some 💴 for the best seat in the house*.

⍣ Will offer you some of his dish (from his chopsticks/eating utensils!) and ask if you're sure you don't mind giving him a bite of yours, even after you shove it at him - he has 2 little sisters and knows how sacred food can be sometimes.

⍣ Waves at Smiley and Angry to signal he's ready for dessert and the handmade bear to be brought to your quiet little corner/window table.

⍣ Hands you the cuddly snuggly bear and the first thing you notice is not how soft the bear is, but how warm his hands are. You don't want to let go but he seems so proud of this gift that you take it from his hand and hold it close to your heart.

⍣ Tells you about how he made this design and bear specially for you, the fabric was special ordered and it was sewn/hand stitched by him (by the very same warm hands you didn't want to trade for).

⍣ Blushes when he points out the bear's eye color (he didn't even have to see you again or ask anyone what your eye color was because he remembered). You blush back when you tell him it's the first thing you noticed about it.

⍣ Gives you the first, middle and last bite of the cute little dessert the boys whipped up for you two.

⍣ Pays for EVERYTHING.

⍣ Asks what you want to do now - you want to just ride around on some back roads and cling to him - "Go for a ride?" you suggest instead of just prattling off the truth.

⍣ Was praying that you'd say that.

⍣ Smiled so hard when his prayer was answered.

⍣ Rides out to the near middle of nowhere and parks next to an empty field and lays out his jacket for you to sit on while you two stargaze and talk about your interests.

⍣ Catches you staring at him but plays it off like you two just looked at each other at the same time because he was staring at you once and he low-key hoped you wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

⍣ On the ride back to your house, at every stoplight or stop sign he will pat your hands that are wrapped so tightly around his waist and ask if you're "Doing ok back there?"

⍣ Feels his heart skip a beat or two when you just hold him tighter as he takes off again.

⍣ Walks you to your door and stands on the steps below your front porch while still holding your hand.

⍣ Kisses you between your first and second finger knuckle in such a manner that you're so wildly turned on by the gentleness of the gesture that you jump off of the steps and plant a huge kiss on his lips.

⍣ Smiles the whole way back to his place, vowing to never wash his jacket, his hand or his mouth again.

⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣ CUTE BONUS ⍣⍣⍣⍣⍣

⍣ He wrote a little note and sticks it in the center of the bear's belly in all of the batting: "Y/n, I know this is only our first date. But I think you're a really special and beautiful person. I am so excited to see what is in store for us. - Takashi)

@kazutora-kurokawa @southside-otaku @darkstarlight82 @arlerts-angel @viburnt

[heartfullofleeches]

cows heat hcs?? (like rootbeer, banana, eggnog etc :3)

I only do one character per NSFW sheet and I'm choosing Eggnog. Squeezing general nsfw with the heats. I got way too carried away because this is the love of my life right here. (mention of consensual somo and stalking [they kinda live in the walls afterall])

As some may know Eggnog is an.... odd character. In regards to the bedroom they are more confused and a little worried than anything at first You are the first person they've felt these things for so they don't have much experience, plus it's confusing why you would bed with them to start with. So soft and warm, meanwhile their skin is so cold and nowhere near as nice to touch. By laying with you, they become a little more comfortable with themselves since if someone like you can love them - they are capable of so much more than they believe.

Eggnog kinda just like to watch you sometimes. They tried to be a bit more respectful at the beginning of your relationship, but as you grow closer they can't look away. It starts as them wanting to learn the ways you like to be touched, but something about you pleasuring yourself or being relaxed in the tub is quite pleasant.

They try not to bite you as it's hard for them to control the force, but Eggnog absolutely loves to taste you. They lick and nip at you without their teeth as a daily activity, but the second your clothes fall their tongue isn't leaving your body. An agreement is made if you sleep without underwear or a shirt any bare skin is fair game. They will eat you out until the sun comes up if you just expose yourself to them like the fine course you are. The makeouts with this one are next level

Eggnog hand makes any "special" clothing you like to wear. They are a fan of cow print obviously, but they have a love for rabbits and sometimes sews a tail onto the back of the frilly outfit they make you.

During heats Eggnog has two stages. Lethargic and desperate for your care, and a feral, frenzied creature with no objective other than to breed.

During the first one, Eggnog barely moves besides clinging onto you and begging to make the ache go away. They like it if you use your mouth similar to how they cater to you, but really they just want to be completely enthralled in whatever you have to give.

On the opposite side of the table - you will be pinned to the whatever surface they got you on and worshiped while they ravaged you until their body gives out. That previous rule of no biting is thrown out the window here. Eggnog is mostly nonverbal during heats, but they will grunt the occasional "Mine" or "Love you." when they can. They speak a bit more when submissive, but it's most whines for more and for you to never leave

In heats and out, Eggnog steals things you aren't using for... private use. A shirt you never wear in your collect - still smells like you so it's theirs. They have their own little horde of items in the attic, careful not to get any fluids on them when they miss you too much and are in need of anything resembling you to get by.

Cuddle the creature. Eggnog wants to be ad close to you as possible and the afterglow is one of the times they feel relaxed. They're the type of drift off immediately after sex, but not before locking their long limbs around you first.