#CLAWS my way through the finish line of putting this shit ass blog together FOR REAL

[sunlessea]

i Am starting to follow people & pick up more interactions here btw so as a side note i threw this in my rules / blog info :')

this blog is tentatively starting to follow more people because i was waiting to have more bios & character info filled out before i did so. hence why 90% of my blog is only writing with one person. it took a long time to flesh out my muse roster, that's why. :')

so like pardon my blog being in a weird state during this transition lmfao

[demonio-fleurs]

As a sewist who got her start in cosplay, I would love to hear about your handmade Spider-Gwen suit!

mfw i completely forgot that i ever said something about that on this blog (it doesn't help that the day this was sent i had mentioned/showed the suit to customers at my store so i was like "ah shit, did they find my tumblr??")

so yeah! i made a handmade spider-gwen suit before the pandemic. sadly, it was never completely finished. the only thing i had left to do were the legs, but i had also slightly fucked up the collar and arms so like, a month before the pandemic i decided to restart. and then the entire world shut down, i went into a deep depression that i am only just now clawing myself out of, and sadly my gwennie cosplay has sat in a box gathering dust for the last three and a half years. but lemme walk through my process anyways!

unfortunately, i can no longer find the instagram account of the cosplayer who inspired me to make my own cosplay. i don't know if i unfollowed her at some point (unlikely) or she deleted/got deleted, but in 2019 there was a fairly popular cosplayer on instagram who made her own spider-gwen costume from scratch, and posted her progress updates, which helped me out a lot!

but basically, i started with a simple spandex/zentai hero suit pattern that i bought from joanns, and modified it to fit my needs. my method for making the black/white contrast was, instead of just sewing the black and white parts together/hemming them together, i would use reverse appliqué to make it look more seamless and cohesive. you can see an early version of this here . i would make two versions of each piece for the torso -- one white, one black -- sew them together, then trim away the white and reveal the black!

it was HARD! doing a ^ turn on a sewing machine is incredibly difficult, and i had only a few months practice. but it was so much fun to troubleshoot, and when i finally got it "right" i was so happy! unfortunately, i only focused on the torso portion of my bodysuit, and not the rest (which will come up later) and once i felt like i got the reverse appliqué and the technique needed to do those harsh turns on a sewing machine, i moved on to the expensive materials.

for the fabric, i used yaya han's scuba hexagon stretch fabric in white , and then simple four way stretch fabric in a black faux leather for the black and a basic pink fabric designed for leotards for the pink undersleeves. it was pretty simple and easy to use, although very nerve wracking to make those first cuts! i also spent a LOT more time focusing on the back of gwen's suit, as i felt like in my practice run it didn't feel right. i was OBSESSED with the comics, so i spent hours just studying how robbi rodriguez drew gwen, how the lines worked, and i think i went through 3-4 drafts before i finally settled on a pattern for the back that i felt "fit".

the entire process of building what i thought would be my final suit was slow but rewarding. for the pink undersleeves, i basically made a simple square pattern, traced it on a massive swath of fabric, then went thru with puff paint and spent an hour painting the fabric! that kinda bit me in the ass when i was assembling the suit, as the puff paint was hard to sew through. if i had to do it again, i would just do the puff paint later or find some alternative method of making the blue spider lines stick out. once the torso, arms and collars were done, i sat down one day to assemble the entire upper half, and ended up with this! as you can see, it isn't the best and there's a lot i could have done the better (the entire gap at my arm pits and collar stick out the most to me) but it actually looked really good when i put it all together, i am incredibly proud of how the lines ended up, and how smoothly it all came together.

at first, i wanted to still assemble the legs together so i could have a semi-functioning suit for sakura con 2020. but i already had at least two easy/casual cosplays i could do, so my second plan was to do another attempt at a spider-gwen suit. you see, after discussing it w/ some other friends, i came to the conclusion that the problems i had with my suit stemmed from the fact that i took a pre-existing pattern and made modifications to it, when the existing pattern was not designed for that. if i was going to make a home made suit that worked, i'd either need to spend a lot of time w/ cheap fabric and pattern paper to make my own pattern, or find a pattern that could be modified to how i needed it to be without having the same problems. i then found this pattern on etsy, bought it, and began working on it. i bought new, cheap fabric, resigned myself to the fact that i'd want to do a full test of the pattern with the cheap fabric and not just the torso, and started working on it! i got the torso cut out and ready to go....

right as the world came to an absolute freezing standstill in march 2020. and sadly, despite making promises to myself again and again i haven't touched my spider-gwen cosplay since. i fell into a really bad depressive spot, lost my entire living situation, and just haven't been able to get that drive back. my commute to work is also significantly longer than it was pre-2020, so i am gone from the house for 10hrs a day and i don't really have the time i used to. i have made a promise to myself to at least start casual cosplay again in 2024, with the plans to revamp my 616 Gwen Stacy cosplay in the next couple of months (although that means having to trim bangs again -- uGH). i do not know if i will ever go back to a handmade spider-gwen cosplay, but if you want, you can always look at my highlight reel on my insta (linked above) to see the full process of me making my spider-gwen suit.

[bonesofapoet]

Blood of the Holy

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: hey hi hello, if some of you recognize this format + writing style but not the blog, i used to share my work on my main @ladyofstardvst​ and caved on making a writing blog. yall dont need to sift through my non-writing shit just to find my work. i’ve never written for this nerd before but here we are with a study of a sort! be kind! i take requests now! tw for blood, implied violence, swearing

word count: 1894

ao3: here

Most people couldn’t stand the neon in the dark.

It was garishly bright, it was harsh, it was annoying at best. The sign would blink and linger behind your eyelids, stain the shadows in the dark like sunspots, make an impression that washed out the relaxing calm, the blanket of the night.

It keeps most people awake, Matt Murdock explained on that very first night. It doesn’t bother me, obviously. Take the bed. It’s not as noticeable in the bedroom.

But it didn’t bother you either. The contrast caught your eye on the second night; the colors would paint the monochromatic neutral tones of the apartment, how they would mix and melt into the chipped brick walls, the trim, the beams of the ceiling. How if you were in the right place – the right cushion on the couch, far enough back into the kitchen – it looked like a painting come alive right before your eyes. Something that would go on to live in a local indie gallery, something inspired by vaporwave, or whatever they were calling neon nostalgia these days.

Still. Silent. Chiaroscuro. Art in the wild.

It was like clockwork, the blinking. The colors coming and going at the first peek of evening shadow, only to blink right off at the first knock of the sun’s rays on the horizon.

After the third, fourth, tenth, twentieth nights it had become a comfort of sorts, namely for the days Matt Murdock wasn’t there to press you into the wall and kiss you senseless, or weave each other stories under the moonlight with a nest of blankets and concrete beneath you. When he wasn’t there to ghost his fingertips over your skin as you drifted off to sleep, so painfully content that you always wondered if this beautiful man with a devastating secret would be the end of you.

You never knew, but he often asked himself the same thing.

Then there were days that damned neon was the only constant about Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

Moments of lovesick peace would only last so long.

Your skin would crawl on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Mug of tea, coffee, something stronger cradled in your hands while your mind wandered, your feet wandered, your eyes drifted around this space of his, this little hideaway of yours. You would always hear him before you saw him, adrenaline spiked and oh so weary. Some nights he was covered in so much blood you didn’t know where it ended and his own crimson suit began.

“You’re still awake,” he would say, scowl tugging his mouth down, always sounding surprised. As if it was unusual, for you to be restless on the nights he donned devil horns to go hunting.

And you’re still alive, would be your reply.

He would stay close until dawn. You would gravitate toward him just the same, moths to flame, flowers to the sun. Conversations were hazy and hushed in the early morning-late night blur. They walked that fine fragile line between this is not okay, Matt, and you know you can’t shove me away as easily as everyone else, you stubborn ass.

Unspoken vs spoken. Horror vs love.

Clockwork, nonetheless.

Until one day, the clock shattered.

Matt Murdock doesn’t come home.

Then it’s days. Weeks slipped into months. Months slipped into a blend of minutes, moments, denial casually catching hold within as you found yourself still in his apartment – your little hideaway - watching the steady blink blink blink of the neon sign through the dirty, frosted window panes of the kitchen. Then the living room, then the kitchen counter. Cold tea, day old bitter coffee, something stronger untouched and unloved in the mug that hung loosely in your hands.

Those feelings of heartache and unease and an angry I fucking told you so lingered at the back of your mind, the tip of your tongue. The last time you saw him had been reenacted so many times, it began to feel like a dream. A nightmare. The flesh made into ghosts. Phantom lips brushed yours in such a gentle, such an urgent way that your pulse began to spike at the memory. The loss. The longing.

You thought about how you had gotten here, of all places, here – this apartment, this man’s life, both of you entwined with secrets and lies that could end both of you forever-

Everything was safer in the dark. What Matt Murdock hadn’t known – well. That wasn’t how he had met his end, after all.

It was almost too much to think about, on some occasions.

Until one day, when the clock began to tick once more.

You heard him before you saw him, the familiar cadence of his footsteps descended from above. The quiet slide of the roof access door snicked open and closed in the unholy hours of the night, the unholy hours of the morning.

The silence was new, however, and your eyes drifted up to see a shadow at the top of the staircase, frozen and tense and so very familiar.

“You’re still awake,” he said, and the tears were suddenly there; the ones that could never come, the ones that never seemed to leave. They were present, and the noise that left your throat wasn’t coherent, wasn’t normal, but a strangled laugh escaped your lips anyway.

“You’re still alive,” you replied. If not for the routine, your answer wouldn’t have been so intelligible. “You’re alive.” came the raspy whisper.

His silhouette nodded, began to limp down the stairs into the apartment proper. Began to finish his long journey back to you, back to everything, really. The mug in your hands was no more – placed safely, if not hastily – on the table, and you met him halfway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet and so very hesitant as he clawed off the scarf covering his eyes. “I’m alive.”

There’s the hint of a smile that catches in the neon blink, one that you dreamt of sometimes, on the long nights. Shared breaths, lovesick grins, stray tears being gently brushed away followed in a fog, in a rush, in slow motion that threatened to dismantle so many things about his time away.

And then -

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He’s holding your waist, fingertips splayed, grip firm if only to convince himself that finally – finally, he’s here, you’re here, you're together. Your own hands slid to his shoulders, but you stepped back to keep him a few inches away.

Your gaze was hot and strong and analytical – Matt could feel your eyes as they saw bruised skin, torn clothes, battered, bloody knuckles. He’s been in worse shape, both you and he knew that, but he also knew he was no drawing, no painting, nothing close to a work of art worthy of a museum either. There were bloody, violent masterpieces under guard at the Louvre more worthy than he.

Had he asked you, you would have disagreed.

He can’t see the sorrow drowning the color of your eyes or the way softness carved a home on your expression, carefully melting away the tension, the anger, the fear. He can’t see you, but he does and even after all this time he still knew how to read the air around your mood shifts and the lilt of your voice. Still knew that after all he’s put you through – he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, Atlas freed at last.

He may have lost touch with many things, many people, but not once had he ever lost you.

“I’m sorry,” he began, emotion becoming thicker in his voice with every breath, every word that tumbled past his lips. It had always unsettled him, how you could unearth what he tried to hide, tried to bury.

Moths to flame, flowers to the sun.

He condensed the happenings since the building collapse after his stint with the Defenders, his words spilling out quick and quiet, rushed and worried.

But if he hadn’t finished what he started, what was he doing here? What was he doing with you? Why now?

“Let me – let me get this straight. Were you going to let us think you died, until – when? You got your shit together? Killed Fisk?” his fingers tightened where they held you, unseeing eyes wandered anywhere and everywhere except right in front of him, right on you. You knew that look. Your voice softened. “Or were you just going to disappear? Like this meant nothing – like this means nothing? And as grateful as I am that you are – why are you here, Matt?”

He shook his head, ignored the cracks that broke open his heart like dropped glass. Your name spilled from his lips like a holy hymn that golden haloed angels could never hope to sing. No one could recreate the most divine sound in all of creation. Matt Murdock would always swear you were a goddess incarnate, no matter how sinfully blasphemous it was. “You mean everything.” he pulled you into him, moved so his face was close to yours.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after, and you deflated in an instant. The amount of times a variation of this conversation had been voiced between you – you would never know. It was like a renegade wildfire: possible to lessen, impossible to tame.

It was as quick as the changing of the seasons, how he took on the urgency you’ve only witnessed a handful of times - when he allowed you in the presence of Daredevil himself. You remembered what he asked of you lifetimes ago, between hushed words and bloody gauze, hands slick with red and a needle poised between your fingertips. How if danger ever came to your door, you would listen and you would trust, and you would let him do whatever it took to keep you safe.

To keep you both safe, you tried to correct. He would nod, and you would ignore that he never agreed to such a thing.

“We need to go,” was all he said, but you knew. You remembered.

The strongest jolt of fear slammed into you, bleeding a black and white, us and them mentality. It threatened to smother the blinking neon, the bright washes of blue and white felt muted, felt so very distant when you realized that someone was coming here, someone figured it out, figured it all out.

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you hoped for.

Us vs them.

“So it’s finally happening.”

Matt’s hands fell away from you, one slid to twine your hands together and squeezed. He was solid, he was grounding. You looked into his eyes. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he took his free hand, lifted it to brush your cheek with tattered knuckles, bruises blossomed like night blooming flowers. He left a trail of soft burning flames when he traced a path down to your jaw where he stopped and cupped your face ever so gently. “That’s the one promise I knew I’d never break.”

Fear melted away when you closed the distance to kiss him, felt that heavy soul twine with yours; all was suddenly right with the world for the first time in a long time, even if the anguish of this city was about to come crashing down on your shoulders all over again. It tore at your heart, this kiss, because it was so very reminiscent of the first time he ever kissed you. Bright eyes, flushed faces, the thrill of something new ignited all around you. The future painted with vivid neon instead of muted pastels. It felt bittersweet, and you knew down in the marrow of your bones that this could very well be the last thing you would ever share with Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “I trust you.”

Once those words were in the open, there was no going back.

Your secret could wait.