#Equivalent Sewing Machine Foot

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

Hey! So I have recently come into the possession of an older sewing machine (happy that it’s at least something that won’t break on me too soon 🤞). Sewing is something I’ve just started to get into—we’re talking still learning the machine stages lol. I’m starting to plan out some projects I’m interested in trying, and I wanted to ask you if you have any suggestions advice about starting that? I imagine this is a really broad question, but honestly any advice would be appreciated 😅

Ooooh, congrats on the new machine! The advice I'd GIVE and the steps I FOLLOWED are actually very different.

What came to mind as good starter projects were things like simple drawstring or elastic-waist sweatpants or skirts, pillowcases, quilted hot pads, or a half-circle cape. But my first machine sewn projects were parts of cosplays like Crona and Mettaton.

My modus operandi is usually to find a project I'm really excited about and dive in head-first, learning a ton along the way as I inevitably mess up. I can offer some general tips:

Buying things like needles, bobbins, and trim in bulk online is SO much cheaper than any brick-and-mortar store. Ditto with sewing machine feet! A rolled hem foot changed my life.

Cotton broadcloth (quilting cotton) is inexpensive and easy to work with, but in my experience rarely ends up looking very nice as a garment. Pick something else for shirts.

Don't use a straight stitch (inelastic) on knit fabric (elastic). Always zigzag. I forget this all the time. And have to re-do my stitching all the time.

If your machine has been working fine for a while, and then SUDDENLY starts acting squirrely or missing stitches and stuff, change your needle.

The sewing machine equivalent of "turn it off and back on again" is rethreading your machine. Do that as soon as anything goes wrong.

Don't sew over pins. People will tell you that you can. That's how you get a shard of a needle in your face.

[dandelionsandderivatives]

Advice on finishing seams without a serger?

I don’t really want to own a serger and I feel like they’re fairly recent machines anyway. There must be a better way to finish seams?

For my skirt I just turned the fabric twice and hemmed so it would be a nice finished edge. The issue is that then when I attached two seams, the poor needles had to go through 6 layers of fabric and sometimes I was at a corner and they had to go through so much it didn’t fit under the foot. There must be something I’m missing because this wasn’t even a thick fabric.

HALP PLS!!! 😭😭

Hello! I'm so sorry for the late response; I've had a few disruptions to my regular schedule in the last few weeks, and I wanted to give this a good, long, thorough answer. You absolutely don't need a serger; I'm pretty sure my grandmother has never owned one, and she's still wearing things she made back in the early 90s. I'm not as good a needlewoman as she is, but most of my stuff has held up at least as well as its storebought equivalent.

(Probably) the easiest and simplest option is just to zigzag over the edges of your fabric with a sewing machine. A serger essentially rolls sewing the seam, trimming seam allowances, and zigzagging/overcasting into one step. Depending on what you're making, you might want to trim seam allowances after sewing the seam, and then zigzag over the raw edges, or, if you've got a lot of short seams that won't fit nicely under the machine after you've sewn them, you should be able to zigzag over the raw edge of the fabric before you sew the seam. (The issue with the second option is that you'll have the full seam allowance left in there, but if you're doing that sort of precision piecing I expect the seam allowance will be narrow enough that it doesn't matter.) This doesn't necessarily have to be a zigzag stitch proper; my mother's machine does a finishing stitch that looks a bit like a blanket stitch, and I've seen other variations. But practically every machine made after 1970 or so has a zigzag, so you'll probably have the equipment to do it. The key part is that you want to catch the edge of the fabric inside the stitch, so that the stitching thread is binding the last few threads of the fabric together.

The hand-sewing equivalent to this is whipping (whipstitching) the edge of your fabric with needle and thread. I generally don't put my handmade clothes through the dryer, but all of the ones I've finished with this method have been fine in the washing machine. Most of them have survived at least one trip through the dryer unscathed. I suppose you could also do a blanket stitch, but that seems like an unnecessary amount of work.

Other methods:

Seam binding: I haven't personally tried this one. It's usually used for heavier fabrics that won't be lined (a single-layer blazer or skirt, etc). I'm sure it has other applications, but I haven't seen it often.

Pinking: This is the old-school way to finish seams. I haven't really tried it myself.

French seams: These are annoying to do on a curve and can add a good amount of bulk, but they're a very clean finish. Usually used on lingerie and other lightweight fabrics (doing this in coating weight sounds like a nightmare but also a really good high fashion concept).

Flat-felled seams: This is the way the inside of your jeans is finished. Historically it was often used for shirts, shifts, and other high-wear areas where you wanted to avoid chafing. It's somewhat similar to the French seam.

All right, now for Sewing Confessions: I'm pretty lazy when it comes to finishing my seams. I started sewing with historical stuff that wouldn't get washed super often and vintage dresses, all in quilting calico. (This is generally a bad idea but for some very specific eras of fashion it can work.) My most-washed historical piece was probably my chemise, which was sewn from old sheets. I didn't bother to do much finishing on any of these, partly because I didn't know how, and partly because I didn't really want to flat-fell all the seams in my chemise if nobody was going to see it. (Now that I'm thinking about it, I may actually have flat-felled most of my first chemise. I made a second one fairly quickly.) The other fabric I worked in was cotton flannel for nightwear.

With all of these pieces, the fabric began to wear out/get shabby long before the seam allowances frayed enough to make anything structurally unsound. I have popped a few stitches here and there which could have been saved by a more robust seam, but in general I didn't have many problems. Once I was sewing in nicer fabrics (silk and rayon, especially), I started to have issues with seam finishing. So far, simple hand-overcasting has stood up well for most of these. My usual sewing machine is straight-stitch only, so zig-zagging hasn't been an option for most of these. They've held up fine so far.

Maybe if I got some really nice fabrics, it would be a different story; I'm not telling you not to finish your seams! But bargain-bin cotton flannel, in my experience, wears out too quickly to make conscientious finishing worth it. Don't stress too much about it! I'd advise, from what little I've seen of your sewing posts, to stick to a good zigzag, or whatever finishing stitch on your machine looks interesting. If you want to be strictly historical, try pinking or flat-felling, depending on era and context. When you make some really nice sheer blouses, then maybe pull out the French seams. When you're doing a pair of wool trousers, try seam-binding tape. Go forth and sew boldly!

[embroidery-pro]

Brother Innov'is 15 vs Juki HZL-353zr: which one to choose?

Do you want to invest in a sewing machine, but can't decide? We invite you to discover the Brother Innov'is 15 (equivalent to the Innov'is A16) and the Juki HZL-353zr. This will allow you to fully understand their respective advantages and disadvantages and to decide which one to choose according to your different criteria. It can be based on your level of sewing, depending on your goals or simply as a result of the comparison between the two sewing machines.

Electronic or mechanical sewing machine?

These two sewing machines already stand out on this point. Indeed, while the Juki is mechanical, the Brother is electronic. Here are the main differences between these two types of machine: Both machines are accessible at exactly the same price of €314, so this will not be a criterion of choice. It may also seem more difficult to handle, since all the settings must be made manually. This type of machine is recommended for beginners, because it allows you to understand the general operation of a sewing machine. The electronic sewing machine is distinguished by its ease of use. It has many features and is generally quite intuitive.

Brother Innov’is 15

First of all, we invite you to discover the Innov’is 15 sewing machine from the famous Brother brand, which offers machines with a good price/quality ratio. Presentation It is therefore an electronic sewing machine model. It offers 16 different stitches, as well as 3 styles of buttonholes made completely automatically and with a reinforcement stitch in the middle. With its aluminum frame and LCD screen, it has the typical design of Brother sewing machines. It is possible to adjust the stitch in length, in width, but also the thread tension. It is designed to simplify your task thanks to its speed regulator, the automatic needle threader, but also the simplified installation of the bobbin. Advantages and disadvantages The Brother Innov'is 15 is a sewing machine that seduces its users not only with its design, but also with its features. It is a beautiful device with quality components. Its LCD screen makes it easy to use. It is a fairly intuitive sewing machine with which you can progress, since you will have no trouble mastering the different features. High sewing speed of 850 rpm Nevertheless : The Innovis 15 is 7.4 kg against 7.1 kg for the 353zr, it is not high enough for it to be a determining criterion. If you want to sew very thick layers (several layers of leather for example), the power of the machine may show its limits, even if this type of seam is rare, it must be taken into account. No hard cover for transport.

Juki HZL-353zr

Here again, we invite you to discover a sewing machine with a great reputation, because Juki has been able to position itself as a creator of innovations. To take advantage of the know-how of this Japanese company which not only offers industrial sewing machines, but also family machines, we are going to give you more information on the Juki HZL-353zr. Presentation This is a family and mechanical sewing machine. It provides 21 stitches, a rotating flat hook and allows the automatic production of buttonholes. It is equipped with an aluminum frame and an ABS protective cover. Its retractable claws allow you to indulge in the practice of quilting. The training is done thanks to 7 rows of claws. You also have the double presser foot lift for heavier fabrics. Advantages and disadvantages This is a very complete mechanical sewing machine. We appreciate its ease of use, which makes it ideal for beginners, but not only thanks to its many features. Its use is effectively simplified thanks to the free arm for sewing trouser bottoms, for example, but also thanks to automatic threading. Stitch length and width are adjustable. We appreciate that it comes with a rigid case, while many machines have a simple soft cover to protect them between uses. It is a powerful sewing machine that has the bare necessities. Nevertheless : Its power is really amazing in reality, capable of sewing several layers of any type without worry. Sewing speed limited to 750 rpmWhich machine according to its level in sewing? Depending on your level of sewing, you can opt for one or the other. It will depend on your brand preferences, but especially if you want a mechanical or electronic sewing machine. Following the sewing craze of recent years, it remains very important to think about its expectations and objectives. . Nevertheless, to start well, it is recommended to favor a mechanical model like the Juki HZL-353zr. For more experienced seamstresses, the model offered by Juki is also a good choice since it allows a wider range of decorative stitches, however its competitor has more styles of buttonholes. Fans of electronic machines, for their part, will prefer the model offered by Brother. The model to choose according to the objectives and scalability The Juki HZL-353zr sewing machine is a sewing machine that not only allows you to start, but also to progress. Indeed, the different functionalities allow, as it is taken in hand, to be able to do more and more things. In addition, you can experiment with quilting. It involves sewing wadding between two layers of fabric to obtain padding. You will also have the possibility of making decorative stitches to bring a touch of originality to your creations. Enough to discover the pleasures of sewing, but if you prefer to own an electronic sewing machine, you will not be disappointed by the Brother Innov'is 15 which will also offer you many possibilities, see more with its 3 styles of buttonholes. Which sewing machine to choose between these two models? Between these two models, you will understand, it is not easy to choose. It will mainly depend on your affinity with one or the other brand, but also if you prefer an electronic or mechanical sewing machine. They are both in the same price range and can suit different seamstress profiles. They are also two brands with a great reputation that offer reliable and quality sewing machines. The Juki allows you to take advantage of more decorative stitches and greater power, but it will be slower and you will not have the 3 different styles of buttonholes. Read the full article

[needleman1]

135x17, DPx17, SY3355 Sewing Machine Needles Singer Brother Juki Walking Foot Industrial Round Point 130/21

Pack of 10 New Industrial Sewing Machine Needles. (ROUND POINT) (WALKING FOOT)

Needle System: 135X17 Singer Size 21 - Metric 130

Equivalent style numbers :

DPX17 135X17, SY3355, 2167

These Organ needles will fit many different models of sewing machines including :

Artisan: 29, 611, 618, 797, 2618, 2698, 4400, 4420, 6191

Brother: B220, B430, B838, B797, B798

Chandler: DY-337

Consew: 206RB, 223, 224, 225, 239, 244, 254, 255, 277, 288, 289, 339, 358, 382, CP206R

Feiyue: FY5318

Juki : DNU-241, DNU-1541, LH-527, LH-1162, LH-1182, LK-980, LU-562, LU-563, LU-1510, LUH-521

Mitsubishi : DU-100, DU-110, DU-120, DY-339, DY-340, DY-349

Sailrite : 111, Big-N-Tall, Professional, Ultrafeed LS-1, Ultrafeed LSZ-1

Singer : 111G, 111W, 153W, 168G, 168W, 211A, 211G, 211U, 211W

Yamata: FY5318

We stock many different types of sewing machine needles, parts, 

and supplies for the cutting, sewing, finishing, and embroidery industry.

Feel free to contact us anytime. 

You can typically expect a response within 1 - 2 Hours

All orders are carefully packaged and shipped through USPS

LOC202

https://www.etsy.com/listing/836726353/135x17-dpx17-sy3355-sewing-machine

[artificialqueens]

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!! 

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about. 

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up. 

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories. 

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl" 

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?" 

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie" 

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both  comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness. 

 A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.  

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?" 

"It's not my favorite" 

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!" 

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.  

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"  

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.  

"She was implied" 

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right. 

 On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things. 

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?"  The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out" 

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class" 

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

  "I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her. 

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction. 

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?' 

   After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies. 

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice 

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

 "Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy" 

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure. 

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness. 

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything.  Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile. 

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be. 

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light. 

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork. 

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?" 

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain. 

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better" 

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering 

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat" 

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together. 

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin" 

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!" 

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed. 

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet. 

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

  ***

  Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile. 

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important. 

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor. 

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.  

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her. 

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out. 

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out.  "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind. 

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day. 

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her. 

"You good Scarlet?" 

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair. 

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled 

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee" 

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus 

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable? 

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

 "OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all," 

"Uh huh" 

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace. 

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement. 

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!" 

"No it's not!" 

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it. 

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself? 

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic" 

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little. 

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?" 

"What?" 

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

 ***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. 

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are" 

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

[poepoe-thebunny]

Rudy/Tony and Fam during Quarantine

Cause this is where my life is at, apparently. I thought I escaped the “quarantine fever writing” that everyone else got. Apparently I was wrong. 

After another visit to the castle, the Thompson’s end up there in quarantine once miss rona hits the world. Thank god for WI-FI and working remotely, even if his parents look vaguely like zombies due to time zone differences. Tony can’t talk, his online schooling schedule is all sorts of weird and he’s pretty sure his teacher just wants to sleep until the whole thing is over. Honestly Tony can’t say he blames her. 

The Sackville-bagg clan, as it turns out, is a surprisingly overprotective bunch when they need to be, especially now that they have accepted their humans into the fold. Even with catching up on modern medicine and germ theory, they won’t allow anything to happen to their precious humans. 

(AU/headcanons incoming??

Rudy/Tony: 

- Think Rudy was protective before? Think again. 

- Rudy is over 300 years old, he’s old by human standards and he has met people who are old by vampire standards. He’s seen Things(TM) ok?

- He has been through more than one plague in his life. He has seen what it can do to the sick and the poor. He knows it’s a different now, that life-saving machines exist, that they’re working on a vaccine, that soap is widely available. 

- But he also knows it’s not. 

- Tony? Not going anywhere as far as he is concerned. Say hello to your prince, Rapunzel, cause Rudy is keeping Tony up in that tower if it kills him (again). 

- He knows where all of Tony’s masks are, and where he puts the extras. 

- He’ even shops online for masks with Tony, finding cool hand-sewn, gothic looking ones for Rudy himself to wear. He’s not sure if Corona even effects vampires, but Tony likes finding stuff to match his “aesthetic’ and it keeps his mortal happy. 

- He waits on his mortal hand and foot in between videogames and watching Netflix. (Tony likes How to Train Your Dragon and Paranorman, Rudy likes The Little Prince and Kubo and the Two Strings.). 

- Rudy’s first introduction to Tumblr is through Tony, and at one point they reach the Plague Doctor Aesthetics. While Rudy hasn’t spent much time in Italy, he doesn’t think they’re very accurate, and complains as such to his mortal. 

- Rudy is surprisingly easily offended about historically inaccurate things, and it sends Tony into laughing fits. 

- Rudy is Bad At Memes. Like, just in general he doesn’t always get them, and when Corona Memes become a thing he’s just constantly confused. Poor Rudy honestly. 

- Tries to learn to cook healthy human food, except he hasn’t had any major kitchen experience in 200-odd years and it comes out as a disaster the first few times he tries it. 

- It turns into a teaching session between him and the other adult humans, turns out the old couple who owns the castle like to feed people. Rudy walks into Tony’s room with a tray piled so high Tony can’t see his head. 

-Always offering to fly around the castle to get things for Tony, even if he isn’t sick. 

- TikTok dances. Tony shows him, then teaches him. Rudy is shockingly good at them, but Gregory thinks he’s cringy. 

Gregory: 

(Not me flexing my love of the good big brother trope, absolutely not, nope)

- Surprisingly rather take charge about the whole thing, he’s come around to the Thompson’s and the old couple. 

- While his parents help when they can, they sort of take a step back, and let the three siblings explain what’s happening in the world to the clan (if they are there). Being the oldest, Gregory sort of defaults to being the leader. 

-Checks in with the Thompson’s, as well as Otto and Emma (The old couple who run the place.) Asks if they need anything while they work/are in school etc. 

- Warns the clan to be very careful when visiting, not just for the Thompson’s, but also because Otto and Emma are getting on in years and could become sick very easily. Always asks for a heads up before a family visit. 

- Won’t tell anyone but, late at night if he’s not busy, he’ll do things around the castle for the humans, especially upkeep for Otto and Emma, while they sleep. 

- Dusting hard to reach spots like chandeliers, organizing books in the old castle library, moving heavy furniture and stuff since he can fly. 

-Low key drags Rudy and Anna into helping him clean 

(”But Gregory, this is our home now too! I’m sure they don’t mind.” 

“Humans are fragile, and they’re letting us stay here out of kindness, so don’t be rude. Clean up after yourself little brother.” 

“He’s right you know.” 

“Of course I am. And don’t think you’re getting out of cleaning the rafters Anna, and stop leaving your books everywhere for them to pick up.” 

 ‘hmph.” )

- Of the vampires he’s lowkey the best at cooking human food. Tony, Rudy, and Anna just walk into the kitchen at night and Fredrick is just watching his eldest, genuinely amused, as he dances around the kitchen in a “Kill the Cook (Too late, I’m already dead)” apron, blasting out dad rock from the stereo. 

-Bonds with the Thompsons over cooking human food, especially Tony’s dad after he teaches Gregory what an “air guitar” move is. 

-Gregory discovers pinterest food aesthetics, and is a machine of baking, mixing, and decorating sweet candies/cakes/brownies. He wants his food to look pretty dang it. 

- Anna and Rudy just watch, silently judging him. 

Anna: 

- She’s just thriving tbh. 

- She has internet access now, and her brothers have never been more terrified. 

-If Gregory is the vampire equivalent of a pinterest mommy, Anna is the vampire equivalent of creepy diy aesthetic tiktokers. 

-Not like, bloody horror diy, but like, the subtly creepy but still sweet kind, like the Addams family or Coraline. 

- She learned needle arts with her mom, so she’s out here sewing Coraline dolls, or patchwork dresses a la Nightmare Before Christmas cause she CAN. 

-Makes her own handbag with those felt cartoonish vampire faces and big fake bat ears on the side. 

-Learns more modern patterns and stuff, but will make masks for the humans as gifts, cause she doesn’t want them to get sick. 

- After watching Coraline together, she made “Other Me” dolls of her brothers, button eyes included, and stuck them in their coffins. She would make them “move’ by flying them around to different rooms when her brothers weren’t looking, just to freak them out. 

- Spoiler alert: it worked. They ran to Tony for help and she laughed over it for days. 

- Anna loves adventure books to Rudy’s poetry and Gregory’s fables/folk tales. She hates being excluded from her brothers “adventures”. 

-Tony introduces her to comics and video games and she just lives her best life. 

-One of her favorite comic book character is Cassandra Cain/Blackbat/The Orphan.

- She loves books like Matilda, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Giver, as well as games like the Lara Croft/Tomb Raider series. 

-VICIOUS at video games, this girl has no mercy, she will blue shell you so hard. 

The Adults: 

-Life is Hard(TM) right now, but the Thompson’s try to make the best of it. They’re very grateful to Otto and Emma for letting them stay. 

-They’re both working remotely, so they’re a little messed up sleep schedule wise. But that’s ok, their vampire friends don’t seem to mind. 

- Freda teaches Dottie how to make proper tea, cause she likes it and Dottie is sort of addicted to caffeine. Dottie teaches Freda how to make mochas and smoothies, Dottie likes mango-pineapple smoothies and Freda likes hot white chocolate mochas with cinnamon. 

-Surprisingly, Frederick and Bob become pretty good friends. Frederick understands the stress of having to care for your family in very uncertain times, and the two men bond over unsure parental decisions. 

-Bob is also surprisingly good at making Frederick loosen up, much to Freda and Dottie’s amusement. While initially awkward, they have a surprisingly snarky and sarcastic sort of friendship. Frederick deadpans insults at him and Bob cheerfully annoys him into Being Nice For Once while being completely aware of the fact that he’s annoying Frederick. 

-Meals where Bob cooks often consists of him singing oldies into his spatula, making bad impression of certain singers, including Elvis and Cher. He is occasionally joined by Tony and Gregory, making the entire family laugh. 

- Anna’s bones may be old, but she can hand sew like a goddess, and has occasionally taken to fixing up the kids’ torn clothes, as Dottie can barely keep straight lines and Freda prefers knitting. 

- Someone (read: Freda) mentions that Frederick can play the cello, and after a rousing performance, it turns out that Otto can play an accordion, and of course Bob can play the guitar. A jam session occurs as the kids just stare in utter bewilderment.

- Tony’s grandparents were kinda hippies, so Bob and Dottie know a lot of oldies and folk songs, which while different than from what they normally hear, Otto and Anna connect too. They swap songs back and forth, and it turns out Dottie can do a mean Loretta lynn impression. 

- Dottie likes the Beach Boys, and teaches the others how to Twist. As in, the dance, and Freda actually likes it quite a bit. 

[fabricdragondesigns]

things i wish i had known: sewing edition

in no order, more or less as i thought of it.

Basic cleaning and maintenance on your sewing machine is much easier than you think.  there are limits of course and its no substitute for a pro when you need one, but  i have gotten a “non working, free” sewing machine back to work thanks to a class on machine maintenance taught by my local quilt/sew n vac place. (Steve’s Sewing and Vacuum in King of Prussia PA) There are specialty sewing machine feet for EVERYTHING most of them are well worth it. yeah i know what they cost, i use Bernina. ($$$) a few are not that worth it unless you do some specific things and some kind of double up... so do your research, but  the “right foot for the job” makes things SO MUCH EASIER. There are also specialty needles for everything. they are way more important than you think. You aren't changing your needle enough no, you aren't. and you need to change your needle even more often on some fabrics like silk and anything with hard bits.  i used to buy needles in the packages at the store on sale in huge bunches and get stared at.  (now i buy them in the industrial packs of 100 plus)

Your scissors are probably dull. certain fabrics are harder to cut, and for some scissors (most even) going from heavy denim to thin cotton or etc is a recipe for disaster.... but its also a truth that some things dull your scissors very fast.  scissors need to be sharpened or replaced . SO DO ROTARY CUTTER BLADES!  

You need a pressing station set up near your sewing area.  if you don't have room for anything else get a small iron, and a wool pressing mat... or set your sewing machine up on a pressing table. 80% of the difference between “home made” and “wow you made that?” is proper pressing at EVERY step. i know, i hate it... its still worth it.

You need silk pins. (or equivalent quality) The pins  you have been taught to use, or that came in a sewing kit, etc are TRASH, unless you are using them to stick pins in a map.  they are too big, too dull, and the plastic heads (if any) will melt if you iron them. GLASS or METAL or SILICONE headed pins only, ultra fine and ultra sharp. You can use clips instead of pins especially important on fabrics like leather, pleather, vinyl, and etc.  where pin holes are there forever. Interfacing can save your life, but you have the wrong interfacing i can almost guarantee you have a heavy, stiff interfacing when you think about it.  that stuff is only good for things like purses, and reinforcing pattern tissue (next post)  you want  a much lighter interfacing than you think.  if you have any doubt get a sample of fabric and a bunch of samples of interfacing and try then out. (label them) I’m a fan of tricot fusible myself, but it varies.

Interfacing can save your patterns. iron  your patterns flat, make them all nice and smooth, and then iron fusible interfacing to the back of it.  now it won’t tear, and you can avoid tracing off all the markings for a while. Stabilizer is not interfacing, but you want some of that too. you can use some interfacing as stabilizer, but... wash away, and tear away stabilizer are often sold for machine embroidery, but are a godsend when working with difficult fabrics or for doing certain techniques like scrap lace. Real linen, real silk, and real wool are not that expensive. I am talking about 100% not ‘mostly something else with a tiny bit of linen or wool thrown in’ but the real thing.  if you try to buy them at  the big chain stores, yes... if they even HAVE any its horribly expensive.  if you buy from a good fabric store, or a specialty mail order place, its going to cost you about the same as decent denim or good quilting cotton.  (Actually Linen, at least, is available much less expensively than big name quilting cotton)

corollary: most ‘inexpensive cotton’ is not worth buying. now if you are making a baby bib, which will be spit on and destroyed in a couple months to years? use any fabric.  For  quilts you plan to actually have quilted ($$$ or TIME), for  clothing you intend to wear,  basically for anything SERIOUS? cheap cotton won’t last. there are a handful of exceptions, the rare jewel in the  inexpensive big box store racks, but go put your hands on a really good cotton and then compare it to its  discount relative, and you will see why you shouldn't waste your hard earned time and energy on poor material.

Sergers a cheap serger is only good for swearing at.  spend that money on  getting a better sewing machine, or the best feet to mimic a serger function... or take out a loan and buy a GOOD serger. if you are very very lucky someone bought one and never used it and will give it to you, but... if you have been crying in frustration over your serger? it honestly may be them, not you.  (see if your local sewing shop  has a serger class... if they look sort of appalled or pitying  when you tell them the brand or model and then say something like “ Oh... ah... well bring it in and I’ll see if we can get that straightened out”  said in a tone like your grandmom just asked you to fix her email.... you probably need a new one)

[almosttenaciouscreator]

When Did Socks Become a Thing?

You may have noticed that women basic socks aren’t what they used to be. Think back: for a long time socks were just something you used to cover your feet. Possibly black, probably ankle-height and definitely an afterthought. Socks are now an important part of your outfit at the least, the making of an outfit at most.

Socks have become an area of diplomacy and woke-signalling – the Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau is perhaps the biggest name to use socks in this way, choosing pointedly themed ones for public occasions. Or a telling insight into a political mind: Boris Johnson was criticised recently for not washing his lucky socks, emblazoned with a ruler of the Neo-Assyrian empire King Ashurbanipal, often enough.

Socks are such a basic item that they're easy to take for granted...and leave on the floor, shove under beds, or lose to the dryer monster. (It happens to the best of us.) But socks actually deserve mad props for keeping our wiggly and sometimes stinky feet dry, warm, and free from blisters, so in honor of National Sock Day, here's a little history of how they became a thing and some guidelines on what kind to wear and when…or not.

Until the 17th century, men basic socks were called stockings, but according to Wikipedia, the modern English word sock (first recorded in 1690, btw), evolved from the Old English socc which evolved from the Latin soccus…"a lightweight shoe worn by ancient Greek and Roman comic actors." Socks are worn on our feet (mostly) and come in various lengths, fabrics, colors, patterns, and styles, depending on their intended purpose, i.e. thick wool socks for skiing, thin wool dress socks for business, and short white socks for running. But the first socks were actually made from leather or matted animal hair – called "piloi" in 8th century BC Greece. A thousand years later in the 2nd century AD, the Romans were the first ones to sew woven fabrics together and make fitted socks ("udones").

The oldest surviving socks are a red-orange pair from between 250 AD and 420 AD that were excavated from Oxyrhynchus on the Nile in Egypt. They were made with the nålebinding technique, which means "knotless netting" and uses a single thread...the precursor to modern-day knitting and crochet. And they have split toes specifically for—gasp!—wearing with sandals. (Which the ancient Romans and Greeks did more or less exclusively, so they get a pass on any fashion judgement.) Speaking of Egypt, socks were so important that alongside all of the gold and jewels, King Tut's tomb supposedly contained several pairs made from linen.

In the Middle Ages, socks were brightly-colored and started becoming more of a fashion statement. As trousers got shorter over the next few centuries, socks got longer…and more expensive. So expensive, in fact, that by the end of the first millennia, socks were actually a status symbol among the nobility, and had also become highly ornamental. #FunFact: a fancy design that's embroidered or woven on each side or the outer side of a sock beginning at the ankle is called a clock. Who knew?

As societies progressed, so did basketball function socks, and they were made from wool, silk, and cotton, depending on a person's economic class (nobles = silk; peasants = wool). Besides being a display of wealth, socks served an important utilitarian purpose since even nobles faced harsh conditions at times. (Indoor heating wasn't a thing until the 20th century, so keeping those piggies warm was essential…frostbite didn't care if someone was wealthy.) Peasants especially were exposed to the elements way more than we are today and needed to protect their feet from the wet and cold. (They also bathed less often, so if you think your teen's basketball socks are stinky, just imagine the funk of a 16th century pair.)

Socks were so critical to life that mending them—called "darning"—was a very important skill. Cold feet led to frostbite which could lead to gangrene which could lead to death, so when a sock had a hole in it, it most definitely got fixed! As early as the 12th century, the heel of a sock was the last part made, which made it easier to replace when it wore out…a very common practice. Sock owners took their maintenance seriously.

The knitting machine's arrival on the scene in 1589 was a game-changer since six pairs of football function socks could be made in the time it took to create one previously, but socks were still hand-knit alongside the machines for another couple hundred years. A tiny percentage are still made that way today. Socks were historically held up with ribbons or ties or by garters since elastic wasn't a thing yet. Until Jedediah Strut's Derby Rib machine in 1758, that is, but it was so expensive that it took almost two more centuries before more socks were held up by elastic than garters. To put it in perspective, in 1899 England, a pair of socks sold for the equivalent of $15 today…a LOT back then.

The next biggest thing to happen to socks was—drumroll please—the 1938 introduction of…nylon. The blended fabric was born, and synthetics changed the sock world, along with the rest of it. With socks now being made from recycled plastics, their evolution has come full circle in the last 80 years. The most common blends today include cotton, wool, and polyester or nylon, but socks are also made with silk, spandex, bamboo, and other fabrics.

Another big moment in the evolution of socks was globalizing production. In 2011, the Datang district of Zhuji in the Zhejiang Province of China was known as "Sock City." Why? Because it was producing 8 billion pairs of socks each year, which was a third of the world's annual total. Finding accurate sales numbers is challenging but suffice to say that BILLIONS of pairs of socks are sold each year for even more billions of dollars, the competition is fierce, and socks are almost as high-tech as electronics in some facets of their engineering.

The Rules of Socks

We've established that socks come in all kinds of fabric configurations and all kinds of styles, some of the common categories being: dress winter floor socks, athletic socks, hiking socks, ski socks, knee socks, tube socks, ankle socks, foot socks, boot socks, novelty socks, booties, slipper socks, tights, and pantyhose. There's no question that with the help of socks, shoes protect your feet from debris, disease, injury, and the elements. But sometimes, it's the outer world that needs to be protected from sweaty or smelly feet. To that end, businesses and venues with dress codes will usually tell you if socks are required (that would be yes 98% of the time). But what about when it's completely up to you? Socially and hygienically, are there times that you should always—or never—wear socks? (That would also be yes.)

Seriously, lost socks are a real and quantifiable phenomenon. But quantum physics theories aside, the average person loses 1,264 socks over his or her lifetime, so where do they GO? One clue is the way that some socks take a detour and mysteriously show up within the next couple of laundry loads. So, they weren't really lost, they were stuck in a fitted sheet, stuck to a sweater, stuck under the upper rim of the washing machine basket, or otherwise occupied for a bit. The socks that are actually lost could be under the bed, they could have fallen out of your gym bag in the locker room or landed in a gutter when you were walking, someone might have thrown a sock away because it had a hole and they didn't know how to darn it, they could be stuck to something neatly folded in a drawer somewhere, or they could actually be IN the washing machine in a hose, filter, or other part, especially if they're small, and ditto with the dryer! (Yes, really...certain models can literally eat your socks.)

[ddaenggtan]

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3  monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.  

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you.  Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

[dolls-and-cats]

Beginning sewing project: rectangular pillow

Supplies:

*Fabric

*Fabric marker (with ink that disappears when wet)

*Sewing machine and thread

*Sharp fabric cutting scissors or pinking shears

*Smooth surface to cut your material (I used a ruled fabric mat on top of my washing machine. A card table would also work fine).

*Ruler or other straight surface (I couldn't find my ruler so I used a firm piece of cardboard).

*Iron

*Cans of food or something else you can use as a weight.

*polyfill to use for stuffing

*chopstick or butter knife

*pins

1. Iron your fabric. It seems like a pain, but it will help your fabric lie flat for cutting and sewing.

2. Decide on the dimensions you want your final product to be. I want a pillow that is 20" width by 10" height. I'm going to cut a big rectangle for both the front and back of the pillow, which will be folded on the bottom of the pillow. The fabric I cut needs to be 1/2" bigger on each side and 1/2" bigger at the top and bottom for seam allowance. So I'm going to fold my fabric in half and I want to cut that folded piece 21" wide by 10.5" height.

If you're not trying to match another pillow, the exact measurements don't matter a lot.

3. I'm going to put my folded fabric on the surface where I'm going to cut. I make sure to line up the raw edges of the material when I fold so that I'll have a 90° angle. I hold the fabric down with cans before cutting.

If you don't have a cutting mat with ruler marks on it, then use a ruler and your fabric pen to draw a line to cut before you actually cut. Your goal is to cut out a rectangle, folded on the left, that has nice right angles.

After you make the inital cut, hold the ends together or measure to make sure the height on both sides is the same and the length on both sides is the same.

This is the hardest part, so pat yourself on the back when this is done!

4. In the pictures above, I have right sides out. Now I refold it with right sides together. I'm going to use a fabric pen and ruler to draw out the place I'm going to sew.

I'm going to sew a straight line on the height of one side of the pillow. When I start, I always sew backwards a few stitches and then forward. That's the equivalent of tying a knot so that the thread doesn't come out.

When I get to the top of the height of the pillow (on the left in the image), I make a nice 90° turn. I do this by leaving the needle at the bottom of the stitch so it is piercing the fabric. Pull the presser foot up, turn your fabric so that the line you want to sew faces you, put the presser foot back down, and keep sewing.

I sew along the width of the pillow toward the center (hopefully you can see the purple line drawn, on the left, in the image below). However, don't sew all the way to the center. Leave yourself 3 or 4 inches open in the place where the scissors are pointing, which will allow you to turn this inside out later. Do the same on the second height of the pillow, making the 90° turn and coming along the width but leaving the opening where the scissors are pointing.

5. When you've sewn the two folds of fabric together, right sides together, along the purple lines in the picture above, cut the corners just a little where the scissors are lying in the picture below. Be careful not to cut into the line where you've sewn; you're just trimming the corner of the seam. This will reduce bulk when you turn this inside out.

6. You are in the home stretch now. Turn your fabric inside out through that several-inch hole you left in the middle of the width of the fabric. Use a chop stick, butter knife, or your closed scissors to carefully poke the corners of the pillow so they will be at right angles.

With right sides out, iron this again. It will help the fabric lie flat for sewing.

7. Stuff your pillow with the polyfill.

8. Now it's time to close up the hole and finish the pillow.

You now have right sides out, so you need to fold a little bit of seam inside on both pieces, where I show the pin. It will help to iron those seams folded in before sewing them. After you've sewn to close up the hole, keep going so that you sew a rectangle around the whole stuffed pillow, right sides out.

Now your pillow is done!!

[wild-battlebond]

Appmon Ep37 Liveblog

The Ultimate Four Appmon are attacking, with the goal of destroying the App Drives. With only one minute of Ultimate-grade time, will Haru and the others be able to defeat them...?!

there’s some Appmon that kind of seem to lose sight of the the whole app thematic (mostly higher grade ones) and the Ultimate Four are some of them. Biomon and Beautymon make sense, a medical app (probably used by doctors) and a beauty tip app, but what is a camouflage app (Fakemon) and a mind-control app (Charismon)??? for Fakemon, it seems like some kind of prank app, like one of those apps where it makes your screen look cracked or full of liquid, would’ve made more sense, and for Charismon the only fitting thing I can think of is maybe advertisements?

the Buddy Appmon are at a distinct disadvantage here... not only are they limited to only one minute of fighting, unlike the Ultimate Four, but since the Ultimate Four are aiming for the App Drives they also have to spend more focus on protecting their buddies than fighting.

the way Charismon talks to Haru... (paraphrased) “none of this is your fault, you never should’ve been involved, it’s all Minerva’s fault”. all to sew seeds of doubt in Haru and his confidence in his own ability and his trust in Minerva. (I mean, he should probably question Minerva’s motives every now and again, but y’know)

well there’s Yujin. he spent literally the entire day being late.

I have been thinking about Unryuji Knight’s little monologue here for ages... Leviathan, and by extension Unryuji, wants to attain peace and equality by making everyone the same, just gears in a machine. it makes me think of how some have said that equality is not exactly giving everyone the same tools, but rather tools that suit their needs and lets them reach equal footing with everyone else. but the thing is, besides this, Unryuji’s not exactly wrong. it would be good for the world to be peaceful and for inequality to end — just not in the immoral and stifling way he’s trying to go about it. we also kind of see more of how Haru wants to protect the world as-is, as a protagonist often does. it seems more like he falters at the idea of the world changing than anything else (though this is probably off — his reaction is kinda hard to read)

I find the use of the phrase “evolution” here to be interesting, since it kind of evokes previous Digimon series where evolution was a good thing. it’s also interesting that the phrase “fusion” is used as that’s the Appmon equivalent of evolution. on the topic, I think it would’ve been cool if the final grade of Appmon had been an Appmon + human App Fusion instead of God-grade... Like a positive, symbiotic version of what Unryuji is talking about. (and i’m just biased towards that kind of fusion, lol) Because, the App Drivers do already coexist with the Appmon, and are better for it as their combined abilities and bonds are much stronger than the sum of their parts. so it would’ve been cool to see a completely realized version of that.

I’m not entirely convinced that everyone’s fights actually took 1 minute (i guess i’d have to go back and time it all if i really wanted to know) but the idea that all of that was jammed into just one minute is really cool

kinda feels like the Appmon were in a stable condition until the App Drives got smashed, like the App Drives being destroyed was the nail in the coffin. what makes this interesting is that the App Drives serve as a physical symbol of the bond between buddy pairs — wrecking them was like forcibly severing that bond, and that’s what leads to the Appmon’s death.

I wonder if the other Appmon had parting words that we didn’t get to see...

Well, that’s it! Show’s over! The Appmon are dead! Nothing more to see here!

[momtemplative]

MASKED.

1.

In a house with two young kids, our quickest sanity-stabilizer in this COVID era was to head outside and go for a walk, or a bike ride, or to roller skate. We’d pay close attention to the proximity of passers-by, but typically the grassy fields by the bike paths were an open canvas for the kids to blow off some steam. And we’d all return home a bit winded and slightly more stable. 

Then, a little more than two weeks ago, a strong recommendation came from Governor Polis for everyone to wear masks in public. But what, pray-tell, was “public” referring to? 

Here’s what the CDC endorsed: wearing cloth face coverings in public settings where other social distancing measures are difficult to maintain (e.g., grocery stores and pharmacies) especially in areas of significant community-based transmission.

So that’s what we assumed Polis recommended as well. That night we even had a happy hour gathering with our neighbors, all at least 6-feet-away, but without masks. We didn’t feel like we were being sneaky or non-compliant, we were simply following the guidelines as we understood them. 

But then we started seeing people in their yards wearing masks, and on walks wearing masks— in addition to 6-feet! There was an eerie infiltration of mask-wearers, and, with that, the non-verbal communication of an abrupt change of protocol. Our sacred, oft-traveled, 1,000-step bike path that loops around the block started to feel unfamiliar, as if it were a movie set peppered with strangers, wearing homemade cloth curtains over their cheeks. 

We quickly felt like a minority out there with our bare faces.

2.

An afternoon walk was once a favorite time of day—quarantine or not. Quickly though, in light of the current mask situation, and before I began to wear one, my brain started to get stuck in a grinding pattern of managing everyone else’s whereabouts in accordance with my own. I noticed that I was judging those who were masked, at least in part because I was sure they were judging me. 

Their judgment and my judgment felt cut from the same cloth: judgement as a way of controlling the uncontrollable. There is so much confusion about protocols. So much fear of the radio broadcast of white noise and speculation that is to be our future. All these feelings get lumped together into just trying to do it right. I returned from one particular walk stiff as a board and deeply grumpy.

“Jesse,” I said, “I’m not going on a walk again without a mask.”

3.

I opted out of any domestic sewing of masks at first, and started with my old-lady cardigan tied around my face like a waist. I then upgraded to a bedazzled bandana that I bought to fill Opal’s Easter basket last year. I love the happy fabric, but it wouldn’t stay up over my nose for anything beyond the liquor drive-through (my singular biweekly errand). Store-bought masks are not an option. They’ve been back-ordered for weeks and if the stock is replenished, it needs to be saved for the blessed healthcare workers.

By the next weekend, Jesse and Opal wore masks that they made from a YouTube video, using mustard-yellow t-shirts and rubber bands, while on a bike ride. That ride turned out to be very brief because, according to Opal, it was so hard to breathe. 

4.

The solidarity and confidence that come from wearing a mask are helpful and significant, sure. But the act of wearing a mask changes the experience entirely. 

On a purely physical level, it muddles your peripheral vision, steams up your glasses, makes it hot and very hard to breathe. 

On a social-emotional level, the masks create a real separation between people. It feels similar to being at a costume party—even if the invite list includes most of your friends, everyone is suddenly anonymous. 

I walked behind two people (in masks) and a dog from a block away that I thought were my beloved next door neighbors. I even hollered at them. (They didn't hear me.) Then I got closer and realized it was a different dog and very much not my neighbors. It’s all very disorienting.  

5.

One week in, and Opal has taken Polis’s suggestion as gospel. Of course, I don’t blame her. Sometimes when we are out and about, so is the rest of the neighborhood. During those times, the mask feels safe and dare-I-say comforting. (Like we are good, complaint citizens. Go us.) But other times, there is nobody outside. I tell Opal, “Sweetie, we can keep our masks around our chins until we see someone (dozens of feet away!) and then put up our masks.” 

Opal’s reply: NOT A CHANCE.

I try to imagine what it would be like to experience all this at age ten. What other such details has her system become accustomed to over the last month? Zoom call playdates, online school, little sister around all-the-effing-time. Maybe some feelings come out sideways? Maybe everything seems overwhelming and busy even though very little is happening?

In the olden days, before COVID, any sort of outdoor trek was soul-nourishing for all of us. It ticks a lot of boxes: sunshine, fresh air, exercise for me and the dog and the kids, a brain reset. Now, masked, such an activity is beyond taxing. Ruth has no desire to keep her mask on and she’s a runner. We can bribe her with a lollipop to stay in the stroller, but the girth of the BOB, along with the leashed (80-pound) dog requires skill and intentional footing on an average day. Trying to juggle it all through a face-drape is the emotional equivalent of walking through tar. A guaranteed headache.

Returning to our backyard, with its creaky swingset and patchwork yard, and removing our masks (along with the associated invisible constraints) is beyond restorative.

“That’s the best part about a mask,” Opal said. “Taking it off and having the air taste so fresh and cold again.”

6.

On Sunday morning—a few days ago and two solid weeks into the mask-in-public rules of conduct—the kids were scattered on the floor watching Frozen while I folded laundry and Jesse tinkered away at the sewing machine. Project: to sew face-masks that fit each of us properly. It was a lovely scene of the times. I would imagine Norman Rockwell painting such an episode if he were alive during COVID. A family of four (plus cat, plus dog) in their natural weekend habitat. Slow to dress, sipping juice or coffee, and, sewing face masks.

“Ruth,” Jesse said, “Come on over here and try this on to see if it fits.” Ruth scurried over to him to try on her mask like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Later that day, I walked our dog wearing the mask Jesse so lovingly crafted for me (after three fittings). It was exquisite, hands-free, spacious around the mouth. He even used the sweetest yellow-petal, summer dress fabric. When I returned, I kissed him straight through the mask.

7.

In spite of a good fit, it still takes exponentially more effort to greet someone while masked—you have to yell or over-gesture to compensate for the fact that both of your faces are completely erased. Because we wear ours primarily outside, most people are in sunglasses with their masks. But if not, they are far enough away where eye-reading is not an option. It’s all a straight-up guessing game.

More often than not, for the sake of simplicity, it’s just me and the dog these days. Typically, I have my dog’s leash in my left hand, and a steamy bag of his shit in my right that gets carried for countless unpleasant blocks. This is due to the lack of public trash facilities on the neighborhood routes I find are easier to navigate within the guidelines of 6-feet-between. Bike paths are pretty tight if there isn’t open space to veer off on either side. And now I’ve got my mask on, and fogged-up sunglasses. The uniform is similar to that of someone on Halloween in a last-minute ghost-sheet costume, with just the eyes cut out, cobbling along with both hands full. This is not a “path is the journey” sort of moment. I’m lucky if I can twitch out a head-nod or an elbow-wave to a passer-by.

It feels important to counteract the separation that has become synonymous with health and life. But I’d be lying if I said I was able to muster a greeting every time.

8.

In our culture, masks (when not worn in a medical setting) often represent sinister actions—bandits or bank robbers or the KKK who want to hide defining features.

For many Asian countries, mask-wearing was a cultural norm even before the coronavirus outbreak. In East Asia, many people are used to wearing masks when they are sick or when it's hayfever season, because it's considered impolite to sneeze or cough in public.

The 2003 Sars virus outbreak, which affected several countries in the region, also drove home the importance of wearing masks, particularly in Hong Kong, where many died as a result of the virus. Says the BBC news: “One key difference between these societies and Western ones, is that they have experienced a contagion before—and the memories are still fresh and painful.”

I recently read a story about two black men who were wearing masks at Walmart—fully in compliance and trying to keep themselves safe—when they were accosted by police. It hit me like a whip how individualized each of us are experiencing this pandemic. I skoff at my mask because it’s a pain-in-the-ass. But I’ll never be faced with also having to weigh the risks of racial profiling.

Delving further, I read that to-mask-or-not-to-mask has become a way to take a political stance. Trump supporters carrying “My body, My choice” signs, with an illustration of a crossed-out mask—this is a common image to see in the media right now.

The Washington Post said: “Even as governors, mayors and the federal government urge or require Americans to wear masks in stores, transit systems and other public spaces to contain the spread of the novel coronavirus, the nation is divided about whether to comply. And it is divided in painfully familiar ways — by politics and by attitudes about government power and individual choice.”

So, clearly, it is about so much more than just a mask.  

9.  

This just in. 

In a press conference that took place a few days ago, April 20th, Governor Jared Polis and state epidemiologist Dr. Rachel Herlihy outlined how life may change in Colorado as soon as next week, when “shelter-in-place” shifts to “safer-at-home.” They are essentially the same, just with a select few businesses opening with strict distancing rules and incremental shifts toward less physical distancing over all. Polis mentions nothing different about mask-wearing. Meaning, still wear them in public, especially if you can’t get 6-feet-between, especially if you’ve been exposed or have symptoms.

I noticed an immediate difference on my walk following his announcement. There was a family of four playing frisbee in an open space without masks! My initial feeling was wait, WTF? (And yes, I realize we are living in a strange state of affairs for my initial reaction to a beautiful family frolicking in a field to be contempt.) There was a man throwing a ball for his dog in a park that still had many visible CLOSED signs—also NO MASK. (Again, WTF??) I then gave a wide, grassy birth to a group of mask-free bike riders. 

I notice my mask feels more like a burden on my face without the unifying solidarity of everyone doing it. We all seem to be getting different memos.

There’s a huge relief that people are back to having faces, to be sure. I miss people. I love faces. But I have to admit that in spite of my hemming and hawing, I’d gotten used to feeling protected. It’s impossible to make sense of any of it. Even little Ruth came in yesterday and gave a tiny cough. “I’m sick,” she said, “Since I didn’t wear a mask today.” 

Circling back to the facts, the only thing worth grasping at right now, I am challenged to find any bit of news to suggest that our household need to be wearing masks while out on walks—under any level of regulation thus far. Neither Jesse nor myself are working outside of the house. We don’t visit with friends or family. (Big sigh.* We miss everyone terribly.) The odds of us being silent carriers are beyond slim. We are not immuno-compromised. So wearing masks these last few weeks—while still on socially distanced walks—could probably be categorized as an act of cultural alignment, an act of doing everything we can for the cause. 

As of right now, this moment, I do not see our mask-wearing as being impactful to our macro OR micro community. So, for the sake of preserving the sanity of our tiny culture for the long haul, I vote that we wear our beautifully-Jesse-crafted masks on our chins, like flattened feathers at the ready. 

“As it (the “safer-at-home” regulations) rolls off April 27, we need to figure out how to run the marathon now that we’ve run the sprint,” Governor Polis said in his most recent press conference. “I hate to break it to you, but the easy part was the sprint.”

[lark-in-ink]

I’m actually not sure where on the scale of efficiency and flexibility a switch over from knitting needles to industrial knitting machine is. 

Like, I know that with spinning, the labor efficiency difference between a drop spindle or even a single user spinning wheel (typical hobbyist equipment) and an industrial spinning machine is ludicrous.  With weaving, once again, at this point a single technician can supervise dozens of automated looms.  A major component of the industrial revolution was the point at which people figured out how to automate looms enough that one person was running more than one loom at once. 

With sewing, though, it’s like that third level of efficiency does not exist.  We have the extremely basic equipment (hand needle, equivalent to drop spindle or a simple warp weighted or backstrap loom). We have the complex, specialized equipment that must be run directly by a single operator (the sewing machine, equivalent to a spinning wheel or floor looms with foot-operated heddles).  But we just... do not have that third step.  It doesn’t yet exist. Maybe with advances in robotics we will within a few decades, but at present outside a few very specific and specialized applications it’s just not there.  A custom tailor who works alone or with a handful of other people may literally be using the same damn model of machine that a giant factory does, the only differences being that they will be doing a series of different operations on one or a few garments rather than, say, attaching the left sleeve to the left shoulder on hundreds of identical garments for an hour.  Every advantage in efficiency that the factory has over a small workshop comes at a direct cost, either to the consumer (your clothes are neither custom fitted, nor made to your specifications), or to the workers (in that human beings are generally pretty miserable doing the same tiny task over and over for eight to fourteen hours) or, and this is the major point of “efficiency” in overseas clothing production, in terms of the workers’ wages. 

anyway that is My Rant As Usual but the previous post I reblogged had me thinking, that I’m not familiar enough with industrial knitting equipment to know where sweaters and socks and such fall on that scale, how much actual gains you get and what the trade-off is. 

[embroidery-pro]

Janome Facility 21 test and review

Introducing the Janome Facility 21 Sewing Machine

The Janome Facility 21 sewing machine is a mechanical sewing machine, offered by one of the biggest brands in the industry. As with all its references, Janome has endeavored to offer a qualitative, complete and robust machine, with its cast aluminum frame and its metal spool holder. As its name suggests, this model is easy to use and has 21 different programs. The seamstress thus finds on the Janome Facility 21 all the useful functions for her works, both for everyday sewing and for her more personalized and original creations. The features are all as easy to access as each other, since they are selected using a simple wheel. The stitches on the cover of the sewing machine guide the seamstress in her choices and thanks to the box of accessories supplied with the Facility 21, she can get to work quickly. The technical characteristics of the Janome Facility 21 Here are the main technical characteristics of the Janome Facility 21 sewing machine: mechanical sewing machine; well-known brand; cast aluminum frame; 21 programs including utility stitches, jersey and decorative stitches; 1 automatic 4-step buttonhole; stitches adjustable in width up to 5 mm and in length up to 7 mm; presser foot adjustable to several heights; electronic rheostat; automatic needle threader; twin needle; reverse function; 2 wire cutters; special fine adjustment for delicate fabrics; metal winder; lowerable feed dogs; worktop lighting; carrying handle; free arm; adjustable thread tension; several presser feet included: zig-zag foot, straight seam foot, zipper welt foot, invisible hem foot, automatic buttonhole foot. accessories supplied: protective cover, needles, bobbin holder and bobbins, seam ripper, screwdriver, etc.; instructions in French; weight: 6.5 kg; dimensions: 41 x 28 x 16 cm. Its strengths The Facility 21 is a Janome brand sewing machine, one of the most popular in this field. It is recognized by the most experienced seamstresses for its quality, in particular thanks to its metal parts. The availability of spare parts at many retailers, and their availability for 10 years, are also real assets. With 21 different functions, Janome's Facility 21 can be used for everyday sewing work but also to go further thanks to decorative stitches such as zig-zag and twin needle. The presser foot adjustable to several heights makes it possible to sew all types of fabric, from the finest to the densest, including elastic materials, and even on several thicknesses if necessary. A special function makes it easier to sew very fine fabrics, which require careful handling. The adjustable thread tension and the reverse function also help to achieve perfect seams, along their entire length and including the bar tack. The stitches are adjustable in width and length, which is worth highlighting because other competing sewing machines of equivalent range do not offer it. To ensure that the seamstress can work in the best conditions, having everything she needs to hand, Janome has integrated options directly on the cover of the Facility 21 sewing machine, like its two thread cutters , and provided with a box of accessories. Despite these multiple functions and options, the ease of use of this model of Janome sewing machine is assured. A manual in French is delivered with the machine. The settings, exclusively by knobs, are easy to make. Getting started with the Janome Facility 21 sewing machine is quick. Something to reassure beginner seamstresses in particular who might be perplexed by a more complex-looking machine. The carrying handle and its average weight make it easy to move. With a maximum recommended price of €235, the Janome Facility 21 sewing machine offers good value for money. Its weak points For a machine of this quality, we would have appreciated if Janome had provided a protective shell rather than just a cover to securely store the Facility 21. The one-step buttonhole tends to become more popular on sewing machines. Here, it remains carried out in four stages. The accessory box has the merit of being present. However, it is still quite small. The seamstress will probably have to provide additional storage to store her spools of thread, scissors and additional accessories. What type of seamstress is it for? Beginning seamstresses will be the first to be seduced by the Janome Facility 21 sewing machine. It is indeed a good choice to learn how to use a sewing machine, while making a lasting investment. Because with 21 different programs, the beginner seamstress will already have plenty to satisfy her sewing desires and needs. But it can also be suitable for more experienced seamstresses who sew occasionally or are content with routine sewing work. Our review of the Janome Facility 21 sewing machine Thanks to the metal parts that compose it, we find Janome's usual signature on its Facility 21 sewing machine. It is an excellent machine, robust and functional, with which seamstresses, beginners but not only, make a choice. more than reasonable to equip yourself well. All the useful functions are at your fingertips, at a very reasonable price. Ideal for getting started in sewing. We have therefore reserved a special place for it in our selection of the best Janome sewing machines available in 2022. Read the full article

[needleman1]

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[galacticslimey-blog]

The Best Equivalent Sewing Machine Foot

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