#Linen Supply Market

[mitalipingale]

https://bundas24.com/read-blog/136435_hospital-linen-supply-market-size-analysis-and-forecast-2031.html

The Hospital Linen Supply Market in 2023 is US$ 10.25 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 14.37 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 4.32%.

[painted-flag]

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)

Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.

The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy. 

If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.

Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality. 

Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone. 

You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection. 

One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily. 

You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands. 

“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look. 

Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight. 

‘I have honour.’

‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’

‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’

‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’

To you, it was all a load of horseshit.

“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears. 

“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.” 

There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind. 

“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him. 

“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair. 

If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home. 

It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you. 

The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration. 

“Father?” You questioned.

He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him. 

“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.” 

“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”

“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”

“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.

You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?” 

He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag. 

“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has. 

“How long will you be gone?” You asked him. 

“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner. 

That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin. 

After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight. 

Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed. 

Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

 Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing. 

You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space. 

The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you. 

Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him. 

“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing. 

He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”

“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult. 

“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that. 

“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief. 

“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his. 

He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.” 

Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity. 

“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation. 

“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated. 

“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid. 

“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further. 

“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space. 

“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it. 

Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack. 

For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day. 

This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house. 

Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with. 

You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach. 

The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you. 

“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.” 

Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods. 

Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly. 

It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds. 

Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved. 

You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding. 

“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened. 

Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.

There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.

“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel. 

With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries. 

Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall. 

At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it. 

“Father?”

He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.

“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements. 

A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer. 

You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human. 

“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones. 

“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins. 

“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones. 

“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice. 

“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted. 

“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself. 

The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father. 

“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat. 

“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed. 

“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight. 

The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl. 

What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch. 

He was not a monster, just a man. 

Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things. 

Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw. 

The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor. 

“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock. 

“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs. 

You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small. 

When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?

He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?” 

“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out. 

He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside. 

“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt. 

“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in. 

The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison. 

“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave. 

“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”

“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with. 

“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words. 

With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”

He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear. 

This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ if you want to be added to any taglist, click here.

series taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @aisselasstuff @whodis? @void21 @l-uminescent @idontlikelizards @poppinspops @nixtape-foryou @bluryar14 @mynameisjxlia @asteria33 @ganymede-princess @poppinspops @arriettys-song @ggukiespace @scrumptiousloser @gcdofchaos @collectivefae

[starblightbindery]

This is the bookbinding kit that I wish I had when I first started out. The goal was to put all of the hard-to-source supplies in one newbie starter kit--only the good stuff that we fanbinders actually use. (Also, I really, really wanted a storage pouch celebrating our hobby.) THE FANFIC BOOKBINDING STARTER PACK

So we've got:

Bone Folder

Awl

Hole Punching Guide

Bookbinding Needles

100% Linen Thread

Raw Beeswax

Linen or Ramie Tape

Mull

Pre-Made Endbands

Corner Miter

Resource Brochure

Fanfic Themed Pouch

Olfa Knife (optional, but so useful!)

I figure most people already have things like rulers and brushes at home, and other things like glue and boards are easier to source separately. I'm hoping this kit takes the stress out of finding all of the fiddly bits from people who are new to the hobby. (Seriously, why are Lineco products so expensive!!!)

I'm hoping to use this space to blog more about the kit as time goes by. It was several months in the making. Local fanfic binders in the SoCal area helped me figure out what to include and what to leave out. Their feedback on what to include in the resource brochure was invaluable.

I sourced materials from China, India, Poland, Lithuania, and even my local farmer's market. I taught myself 3D modeling to design the corner miter. I corresponded directly with linen and mull manufacturers. I learned a lot about bone folders. Fanbinding is an act of resistance, liberation, and celebration. We're creating codices and preserving what we love. I don't bind in the fandom that inspired v.2.0's theme, but I know a lot of my fellow binders do. It was important for me to put the progress pride flag and trans pride flag on the kit to stick it to you-know-who.

[gingerjolover]

HOLIDAY REQUEST SEASON EEEE HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! okay so we know that julien definitely isn’t enthralled by the holidays because of the stereogum interview buuuut i cant shake the vision of julien and soft!gf facing off in a (ginger)bread (see what i did there!!!!!) house battle like idk i could just imagine soft!gf running errands at the store, coming across a gingerbread house kit and being like…..yes!

omggggg... also i see what u did there teehee

im gonna hc this bc this is sooo cute

i feel like soft!gf and julien compromise a lot in their relationship, like they show up for each other in many different ways even when the other isn't super stoked

jb shows up for you EVERY. CHRISTMAS. like yeah she doesn't love christmas but she looooves you so she indulges your every whim during the holidays

if we are in the same universe (soft!gf and julien have moved to LA and the house needed renovations/the end of touring/lots of events taking place and so on, so their holiday party/housewarming is taking place around the holidays) then you are zooooming around running errands trying to prep

thankfully munagenius is helping a lot and you thank your lucky stars for bff!kelli bc boy does she come thru for you

but it's exactly like that, soft!gf sees these gingerbread kits at like world market or something and there's a sale on traditional ones but then there's a midcentury modern kit and a camper one (these are real)

so you get a couple of the traditional ones (maybe for a mungenius hangout or group date night) and then get some of the cool ones

and you come home so excited and julien is matching your excitement because she doesn't like christmas but she likes how excited you get around the holidays and the constant twinkle in your eyes

julien greets you in the driveway, one of your dogs at her calf as she waits for you to park, her tattoos out and about in her linen button down

"didja buy the whole store?" julien asks teasingly, her hand pulling you into her by your beltloops, kissing your cheek and jaw in quick succession

"we have like 25 people coming over jay," you say unamused but unable to fight the smile at her affections, starting to grab bags

but boyfriend!julien is lowkey jacked and can get 95% of the bags in her arms as she quickly waddles into the house

julien is rifling through the bags when you get inside, pulling out the gingerbread houses before you can even butter her up

"i saw them at the store and i thought it would be so fun...look," you say grabbing the midcentury modern house and showing her the box

julien sees how excited you are and loves a good craft so she acts like its such a chore but once dinner has been eaten and the dishes have been washed, julien is putting plastic down on the dining room table and organizing all the supplies as if it was her idea

and lets be real, julien gets into it, okay?

soft!gf is a little genius so there's extra icing and candy and toppings for the houses on the table

and julien is constructing a masterpiece, murmuring to herself, "need a good foundation...good bones," or something like that

"i bet i could build us a real house baby..." "im sure you could jules."

and somewhere between letting the houses set and decorating, julien gets competitive

"i thought you wanted us to decorate it like it was our real house jay?"

"i do but im just going to do it better than you :)" and she smiles so sassily you're like fine, game on

and julien is soooo messy

she has icing all over her hands and on her cheek

and she's popping candies into her mouth left and right

"jay stop i needed those for my roof!" "you're roofing too slow babe, 's not my fault"

and there's Christmas music playing softly in the background, the dogs are sleeping underneath the table at y'alls feet and as it gets dark the Christmas lights husband!julien so diligently crafted around the house on a timer go off

and for the first time in a long time julien looks around and is so genuinely happy with the christmas-ness of her environment

and its silly like her and soft!gf are literally making replicas of their house out of inedible gingerbread and its so christmassy it should make her sick but she sees the streaks of icing on your cheekbone and how you've placed little m&ms in a repetitive pattern on the roof of your gingerbread house and she decides that the focused look on your face with your tongue peeking out, an almost ethereal glow behind your head from the Christmas lights is worth dealing with some of the lingering anger and resentment she has during the holidays if it means she can create new traditions with you and learn to love Christmas

<3 sorry its late guys

i feel like ive forgotten how to write and post and im in my imposter syndrome era ;P

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 6.7k. ao3

coincidence number two: you're running errands. he's a civilian for the afternoon. previous. masterlist.

You make your reward purchases before your necessity purchases. They are of the same vein— the new lip gloss tube and new mascara will serve their purpose when your currents run out. The record you’d found at the vintage store was warm and vibrant, welcoming to the ear. They’ll stun and impress at the next cocktail hour you host. 

It would have been a crime to part without it. 

Just as it would have been a crime to not part with the extra gelato that hadn’t been on your grocery list, to have exited the grocery store without your arms over flowing with bags. Flowers spill from the top of one of them— pink and white and orange for your kitchen table. When you get home you’ll combine them all in one of those artisanal vases you’ve acquired from more flea markets than you can count. 

Marauding as a civilian, Rex spends his afternoon off wandering the streets of Theed. He knows upon any close inspection he’s anything but, but the day is young. The sun is nearly high in the afternoon air, casting the streets in a harsh glow. The fountains trickle consistently, the water gleaming under said beams. Mothers sit on the edge of the stone, careful to not get their skirts wet, while their children run around. 

The oncoming lunchtime is signaled by elderly folk dressed in expensive linens eating their lunch on the iron wrought chairs outside of their favorite bistros and cafes. Rex’s gaze lingers over their habits, over the way they seem so at ease with each other. 

He’s not looking where he’s going. 

With your gaze turned towards the sliver of sea visible through the buildings, you collide straight into an unfamiliar body. 

“Oh! Pardon me,” you say quickly, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Rex says, voice melted by the late spring sun. 

The sunlight illuminates Rex directly, making his hair seem blonder and his skin darker. His eyes are all amber encrusted, sparkling in the light. In turn, the sun has haloed you, showcasing your aura around your body, from the natural frizz of your hair to the bronzed shine on your shoulders. 

“Oh.” “Oh.” 

Rex’s brows pinch together in recognition, just as yours furrow. His lips form a perfect little ‘o’ as yours pull down on the corners. Surprise morphs to disappointment.

“You never called me,” is the first thing out of your mouth, once you recognize who you’re talking to. 

“I–” Rex can’t seem to find the words. Have you always had a mole on your cheekbone? A trifecta of them on your shoulder? Rex clears his throat, snapping himself out of his reverie. It had been dark when he was with you last, after all. “I would, but comms are monitored at work.” 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse,” you sigh. 

“No, no, I’m being honest,” Rex says, all too quickly. He ignores the little voice in his head that reminds him that if he had wanted to, he could have easily arranged for a secret call. That he knows all the right people for that to happen. “Really. And work’s been real busy.” 

You don’t look impressed. Your eyes rake over his body, both out of irritation and to remind yourself why you had been so keen on getting a call in the first place. “Has it been?” 

Yes. There had been rebel groups on the Outer Rim that needed the Republic’s help with fending off the Separatists. Not only had Rex been off station, he’d been off communications with everyone. “I’m no liar.” 

Your gut– which has an eighty twenty chance of being right– seems to confirm this information with you. 

“No?” 

Rex shakes his head. “If I’m bein’ honest, I’m not smart enough to be a liar.” 

That has you twisting your lips to squash down a smile. Your gut, the same eighty twenty one, tugs and tells you that he’s lying about that one, though. 

He’s cuter in the daylight, your brain supplies you with. Then: He didn’t call you. 

“Well, I should get going,” you say, shaking your hair out of your face. “Um, it was nice seeing you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” The words roll off Rex’s tongue before he can stop them. He calls your name after you, with a simple request: “Wait.” 

Oh, he remembers your name. You turn your attention back to him. He’s caught it again. Your grocery bag digs uncomfortably into your arm. 

“Let me get you lunch. As an apology for not calling.” His eyes seem softer in the harsh light, a please behind bronze irises. 

“I have to take my groceries home, I have sorbet.” 

Rex glances at your bags before coming back to your face. “Let me carry it for you, then.” 

There’s a part of you that wants to put up a fight. Say you’re a big girl, that you can do it by yourself. That he blew it when he didn’t call you back. Instead, you feel something tug at the back of your mind. Something that you can’t quite place. So you sigh, so you shrug the canvas bag off your shoulder and pass it over to him. What harm can come? He’s already been there. 

Rex accepts the bags as if they’re made of feathers. He adjusts them all to make sure he has a good grasp on everything. It’s all rather seamless. You linger to admire for a moment.

“After you,” Rex says. 

The comment snaps you back to the present moment. 

Your eyes linger on him one last time, before you adjust your purse and lead him down the cobblestone roads. 

“So, what work have you been doing?” You ask, making quiet conversation as you walk. 

“Classified information,” Rex replies. 

You hum. “Communication is monitored, classified information… You must be pretty high up on the chain.” You lift your hand to eye level to demonstrate. 

“I am,” Rex confirms. “‘S not much to talk about though.” 

“Well, it sounds like you can’t talk about a lot of it.” Your voice is light at the comment. “So what can you talk about?”

Shit. What can he talk about? Rex thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I guess not much.” 

“Shame. What are we going to talk about over lunch?” You unlock the gate to the courtyard, then climb the stairs to your apartment. 

“I’m reading a book on military strategy,” Rex supplies, watching as you unlock the door. “But I don’t think that’s something you’re interested in.” 

“Does your whole life revolve around work?” You ask, posing the question once you’re in the kitchen. 

Yes. As a matter of fact, it does. His whole reason for existing revolves around work. 

The sorbet slides into an empty spot in the freezer. The flowers replace old ones in a vase. Your kitchen table has an open magazine on it and a data pad. It feels like only yesterday he was in here, and maybe that’s because yesterday he woke from a dream that took place here. 

You’d made him coffee. Placed it in front of him with a kiss to his forehead. He woke to a battle alarm going off. 

Lunch is taken at a little cafe with a white awning. You know the worker behind the counter well, enough to be on a first name basis with her, as you order. You know the restaurant well enough that you immediately head to the outdoor area, taking a seat so you’re still able to people watch and enjoy your company. 

“You must go to lots of places all over the galaxy,” you note, watching as Rex pours water for you both. 

“Nowhere too fun,” Rex says, taking his seat. 

Unimpressed with the answer, you take a sip of water. “Where was the last place you went, then?” 

Rex debates if it’s classified information. It’s already happened, it’s not as if he’ll be returning anytime soon. And either way, you’re a pacifist. Not like you’ll go running to the Separatists with old news. 

“Ryloth,” Rex says. “What I was doing there, though—”

“Is classified,” you finish for him. “That’s fine. What’s it like?” 

“It’s hot. Wet, too. Even in the desert. The atmosphere holds water in it like a sponge, so as the jungles produce water, it seeps into the atmosphere. And that’s how it rains in the desert areas and why it feels wet all the time even if it’s dry.” 

“I didn’t take you for an environmentalist.” 

“‘S just interesting.” Rex tries his hardest to downplay his knowledge. 

“I think it’s interesting too. Two years ago we had a twi’lek from Ryloth showcase his work at the gallery. All of his art was drawn with the different clays found there.”

“There are a lot,” Rex says. Some of it is even flammable. He watches with rapt attention as you fumble around in your purse for your sunglasses. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, the sun is just really bright,” You say, holding them open and with the leg near your lips. 

“We can swap spots if you’d like,” Rex offers in a heartbeat. 

“No, no. I like the sun. It’s like I’m photosynthesizing.” 

Rex thinks it’s an apt description. If you were a flower, you’d be the prettiest one. He doesn’t know much about botany, but he thinks you’re comparable to an orchid. Maybe the cattleyas, with their delicate, ruffled petals that match the flow of your hair. Or the oncidiums, which look exactly like women dancing where the blooms join together. Or even the laelias, with star dripped petals that resemble legs spread— 

“I don’t get a whole lot of sun,” Rex says, stopping his train of thought. 

“That’s a shame. Why not?” 

“Normally on a fleet ship.” 

You lean forwards. “What’s space like?” 

Rex blinks. “Have you never been?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

The idea baffles Rex. Only staying on one planet for an extended period of time? For a lifetime? It was unfathomable to him. Your food arrives, as he ponders over how different your life is from his. Then again, perhaps in a different life, he’d like to stay in one place. Especially if it was a planet as nice as Naboo. 

“So, what’s it like?” You press. 

“It’s… Well. It’s big. Really quiet.” 

“What about the stars?” 

“There’s lots of ‘em. Really tiny. Looks kind of like static.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “I’ve always wanted to get off the planet. I’d love to travel… My friends and I had a trip planned to Coruscant but we could never agree on dates to go.” 

“Between you and me, it’s not all that exciting. I mean, it is exciting, but it’s… Loud. Visually and audibly.” 

“We just wanted to go clubbing,” you confide.

Rex chuckles. “I stand corrected, you would probably enjoy it.”

“But honestly, the travel scares me. Hyperdrive? Terrifying. I don’t even like to go on the boats here.” The admittance feels silly. Who doesn’t dream of intergalactic space travel? 

“Really?” 

You nod seriously. “Nowhere I really want to go that I can’t get to on foot.” 

Oh, that’s endearing. “And where do you usually take yourself?” 

“Not many places I haven’t seen you at.” 

Rex chuckles nervously. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’m a creature of habit.” 

Your eyes descend down to his plate— He’s barely touched his chicken and rice. It’s good, you’ve had it before. Not your favorite thing on the menu, it’s no pesto before you, but it’s good. 

“Do you not like it?” You ask, gesturing towards it with your fork. 

Rex glances down. “No, I do. It’s just… it’s too good.” 

Normally too good implies that it’s deserving of scarfing down the first serving and savoring the second. You wait, expectantly, for elaboration. 

“Compared to rations it’s… I don’t like to tempt myself. Remind myself what’s out there.”

You blink at him. “Really?” 

“Makes it easier.” 

Rex doesn’t do temptation. He doesn’t indulge in local meals filled with seasonings— the cumin and the masala that Jesse lunges after when he’s on a planet. Fried foods, fresh and sizzling and on a skewer are something that he watches, mouth watering against his will, while Fives and Tup eat as much as they can afford. He doesn’t do top shelf liquor, he doesn’t do liquor at all. He only drinks the beer that’s brought to him. 

You think back to the conversation from last time. No pretty women. No art. Now, no food. No good food at least. You doubt military food is very good. 

“I would have thought that you would want to indulge. Do you want to try mine?” 

Rex also doesn’t do hook ups. Not typically. Not unless a mission’s gone really bad, not unless he wants to bury himself out of the pain only to lie in it uncomfortably. He doesn’t do coffees after, he doesn’t do run-in lunches. 

“Sure,” Rex says. You push your plate toward him, and he reaches over and takes a forkful. Normally the motion is done over a steel table under fluorescent lights, when the rations are especially bad and it’s important to have everyone join in on the misery. 

Once more: It’s too good— fresh basil and lemon. Rex shouldn’t have taken a bite. He wants another. He wants another. 

“You should let yourself indulge,” you say, pushing your plate further towards him. 

He takes another bite. “What are you doing after this?” 

“Laundry,” you answer truthfully. “And then I was going to paint.” 

“You paint?” 

Before you can stop yourself, the words are leaving your mouth: “Do you want to come by and look?” 

Rex needs to be back at base in two hours. He’s been entrusted by his General to escort Senator Amidala back to Coruscant. Then, he’s been entrusted by his General to get back on the battlefield, witness more death and destruction and lovelessness. 

“I can spare a few minutes.”

Rex tries your wine before he leaves. The crisp notes dance along his tongue, citrus and gooseberry fermented to perfection. He takes one last bite of his chicken, moist and juicy, and rice, soft and flavorful. 

The last time Rex had been in your apartment, it had been by the guidance of the moon. Then, scattered from the dutifulness of his mission with your groceries. Now, under the relaxed sunlight, he has a better view of the intricacies of your railing, the floral swirls soldered together. The fountain in the center of the apartment courtyard bubbles and flows. The mosaics of the tiles are clear in the light: blues, greens, oranges, stark against the light grout.

Your keys join the others in the little tray by the door. Your shoes come off, as do his, and the two of you head through your apartment. There are paintings Rex passes that he hadn’t recognized the last time he was here. Not that he was looking, by any means. His attention had instead been focused on you. 

But the paintings. They’re watercolor and oil, still life and landscapes encased behind class in treated dark oak frames. 

The doors to your balcony are open. Sea breeze filters up from the ocean through the doors, rubbing against the sheer curtains like a playful, large kitten. You get good sunlight in your apartment. It warms the room with both light and atmosphere, streaming in through the windows. 

“Are you not worried about bugs?” Rex asks. 

You turn around to face him. “Bugs?” 

“Yeah. With the…” He gestures at the open doors. 

“We don’t live near a swamp. And anyways, it costs too much to run the air conditioning.” You turn back towards the doors and head out through them, letting Rex trail behind you. 

Suddenly a spark of nervousness crawls through you. You play with your fingers, glancing out over the quartier of Theed you live in. Then, you gesture towards your painting where it’s leaned against an easel with a now dry watercolor palette beside it, suddenly feeling silly. Why would some random man– because Rex is still some random man– care about your art?

“Well. This is what I’m working on right now,” you say. 

Rex first notes the craftsmanship of the worn easel. The natural grains in it. The only metal being the small hinges. The painting, however, is another story entirely. 

“It’s pretty,” Rex says. The watercolors are delicate dabs of life. You’ve captured what must be the sunrise over your little neighborhood view. The blue-hued warmth spreads over the delicate buildings, creeping over inked lines. 

He doesn’t have much else to say. It’s pretty. The flowers are larger. 

“It’s really pretty,” Rex repeats. 

Your cheeks warm. “Thank you.” 

You glance over at the painting, then over at Rex, hesitantly. His gaze slowly leaves the painting to meet yours. 

“I wish I had better words to convey how pretty it is.”

You swallow under his gaze. 

“Pretty is just fine,” you say, “I remember: no art. No pretty woman, no dancing either.” 

Rex feels his face warm. The tips of his ears go pink. “There’s more to me than that.” 

“I’m saying it as a reason why you can only describe it as pretty.” It, because you don’t want to presume he was talking about the painting. Part of you hopes that he wasn’t only talking about the ink. Part of you hopes he was also talking about you before him. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you espresso.” 

Rex watches with rapt attention as you twirl a piece of your hair around your finger. He forgets, in his gazing, to reply. 

“I also have limeade. That is, if you can spare the time.” 

He can absolutely spare the time. “It’s whatever you want to make.” 

You check the analog watch on your wrist. Delicate, your chosen color of jewelry. 

“Let’s have espresso. I’ll make us double shots, it's just a little too late to take a nap.” 

The prospect, the idea, of napping is a new one to Rex. He’s never had one offered to him, never seen one ever partaken in. Meditation over naps. One could sleep when they were no longer part of this world. 

Sitting back at your kitchen table, Rex watches with great interest as you make the shots. You have specific mugs you let the brew pour into, and specific saucers you rest them on. From the pantry you receive two sweet looking cookies, setting them on the saucers. 

Saucers in hand, you look over at Rex. His fingers are lightly feeling a flower petal between them, thumb rubbing over the soft, colorful leaves. Cut at their base to decorate the water vase, the monochrome flowers are a quiet accent to the brightness of your kitchen and the appliances within. You almost don’t want to disturb him. 

“Let’s have them on the couch,” you suggest, voice as gentle as seafoam. Rex’s gaze immediately flits to you, his hand dropping just as quickly. You watch with fondness. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah,” Rex says. “We don’t have plant life on the station.” 

“I have more in the living room,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the other room. Turning, you head there, letting Rex follow behind you. 

The saucers are set atop mosaic tiled coasters on the coffee table. You busy yourself in front of the stereo, picking through albums until you find one for the mood, sliding the record from its case and resting it upon the disc. Acoustic bossa nova fills the room. Crossing the space, you cross your legs on the couch, letting Rex take the cushion right beside you. 

Your knees barely touch. It causes your breath to hitch, just ever so faintly, in the back of your throat. 

“It’s called a monstera deliciosa,” you say, in reference to the subject of Rex’s gaze: the large, green beast of a plant in the corner of your living room. It’s almost too big for the space, despite the fact that– “It won’t stop growing. I keep having to cut off leaves and propagate them for my friends. Or I leave them in cheap little pots on the side of the road for people to take.” 

Rex looks at you from over the espresso cup. 

“It just won’t stop growing,” you say. 

Rex doesn’t know exactly what to say. You must love it a whole lot seems a little too personal. Seems a little too on the nose. It’s pretty seems overused, but it’s what comes out of his lips. 

The giggle that escapes you is one you can’t help. You cover your mouth with your hand, holding the sweet little cookie between your fingers. Your hand had originally been on a path to dip the treat into your coffee, but the detour was needed. 

“She is.” 

You take a bite of the cookie.

“You must love it a whole lot,” Rex says, letting the comment bubble up through him. 

Glancing over at the plant, you take her in for a moment. All green stems, fanning leaves with teardrop holes in them, as if gravity was pulling them open. 

“I’ve had her since I was in school,” you comment. 

Rex reminds himself that it’s a normal thing to go to school. That not everyone is plucked up from a young age to undergo various trainings and trials to make them soldiers– peacekeepers. 

“What did you go to school for?” Rex asks. 

“Art history,” you say, still looking at the plant. Then, you look back to him. “Then back again for Gunganese art history. And then again, one last time, for a focus on art during the Suffering Period.” 

Rex nods. 

“Someday there will be an art historian who will study all the art made now,” you note. 

“And what do you think she’ll notice?” 

Humming, you ponder over the answer. You take a final sip of your espresso. Lean back against your couch. Gaze up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.” 

Rex studies your profile like this hypothetical historian will study the present. 

“I think she’ll think it’s interesting how war is portrayed,” you finally decide on, turning your head to face Rex. “But we don’t have to talk about that.” 

“We can, if you want,” Rex says. 

Your eyes flit down to glance at his hands, then back to his face. “Have you looked at art recently?” 

Rex has to take a moment to think. He finishes his espresso. “There are some pieces in the Senate building on Coruscant. I’ve never really…” Suddenly he feels embarrassed. “I’ve never really paid a lot of attention to them.” 

“Are they boring?” You ask. Then, coming to your own conclusion: “I bet they are. All the good art on Coruscant comes from the lower levels.” 

“I thought you’d never been?” 

“I haven’t, but I’ve acquired art from there. It’s all so… If it comes from the upper levels, it’s too perfect. The stuff from lower tells a story. There’s real emotion there.” 

“How come?” 

You shrug. “No idea.” 

Rex nods. “I have a brother who likes art. He draws on napkins and stuff.” 

“With a pen?” You ask, a little surprised. 

Rex nods again. “Yeah.” 

“I didn’t know they had those on ships,” you say, the words leaving your lips before you realize how ignorant you must sound. No reason not to dig the shovel in a little deeper. “I thought everything was done with holograms and screens.” 

“Yeah,” Rex chuckles a bit at that. “Most of it is. At least ninety-eight percent of it. The other two percent is Tup drawing.” 

“He must draw an awful lot to make up for two percent of all the activities up there.” 

We all have our hobbies would be a lie. “He doesn’t get a lot of sleep. Or, he doesn’t get as much as he should.” 

You rest your arm over the back of the couch, head against your knuckles and shift your entire body to face Rex. “That’s kind of the essence of art, though. Finding time for it no matter what. I bet she’ll be studying whatever she can find of his work.” 

Rex doesn’t mention that it would all look like he’s drawn the same person over and over again. Instead, he mirrors your position. 

“Really?” 

You nod. You glance at his chest, then back to his face. “Yeah. I’m almost certain of it.” 

Rex moves his hand to rest on his knee. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask. 

“Hm?” Rex’s eyes seem to go into focus again, as if you’ve called him back to the present. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask again, no hard feelings. 

“I think they both have their own pros,” Rex says. 

“Do they have cons?” 

“No,” Rex says, quick to shoot that question down. 

A smirk pulls up at the corner of your lips. Just barely noticeable. “No?” 

Rex shakes his head. They’re not on a cruiser light years in the sky. They happen to be yours. Safe from the spoils, or lack thereof, of war. And he’s been enjoying his time with you. All two times he’s met you. 

“C’mere,” you murmur, reaching your hand out for him. Your fingers are just out of reach of his collar. “Did you know that coffee is a slight aphrodisiac?” 

Rex takes in your lidded eyes, your widening pupils. “Only slight?” 

Your gaze dips to his lips, his collarbones, his eyes. 

“Only slight?” Rex prods, leaning forwards. Your fingers catch on his collar, pulling him closer. 

You nod. Rex doesn’t stop leaning in. 

Rex enjoys himself. 

He’s laid over you on your couch, leg slotted between yours. One of your hands is on the side of his face, able to feel his jaw work as his lips pass over yours. The wind brushes through your open balcony door, sprawling over his back. There’s slow, lazy music playing on your stereo, and your bodies move in time with it. 

The urgency that Rex should be moving with is nowhere to be seen. His hips roll against yours lethargically, and one of your legs is thrown over his hips. There’s coffee and sweet cookie on both your lips, slipping and sharing between taste buds. 

Each pass of his clothed and poorly concealed hardness causes gravity to pull your legs wider, the universe eager for your pleasure. It’s been years since you’ve indulged in the pleasures of the body while the sun was still out, and it’s better than you remember it being. 

Perhaps it's because Rex takes up space. He consumes you, soap and faint shaving cream infiltrating your senses. You wonder if it’s too heady to be taken in the middle of the day. If you’re too grown, if that’s something that only teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. 

“When do you have to leave?” You ask, pulling back just a millimeter from his lips. 

Rex glances over at the analog clock sitting on your mantle. “Forty minutes.” 

You place a hand on Rex’s chest, gently pushing him back. Rex slides back, sitting on his knees. Worry flashes in his eyes, brows furrowing. 

“Gonna go grab you a condom,” you say. 

Rex’s ears go pink. “Really?” 

“Unless you have objections.” 

Rex doesn’t have any objections. The only thing he can object to is the lack of time— only forty minutes. Less, truly, because he has to be walking out the door in forty minutes. Now, thirty-nine. 

You return, little foil between your fingers. 

Before you can sink to your knees between his legs, Rex’s hands are on your waist and maneuvering you to sit on the couch beside him. 

Before you can question his actions, Rex’s lips are back on yours. His hand slides over yours, taking the packet from you. With his hand on your back, he gently lowers you backwards against the couch. 

Bunching your skirt up, you expose yourself to him. Your panties are embarrassingly dark, damp at your core from just a little bit of kissing. 

Rex has that look on his face, the one where his brows are pinched and his mouth is slightly open as if he’s both shocked and deeply appreciative to be in this situation. His thumb drags over the growing wet patch, and his brow furrows. 

You’re shaven. Velvet soft. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

In turn your brow furrows.  “What do you mean?” 

“You’re… You shaved.” 

“I’m waxed.” 

Rex blinks at you. You sit up on your elbows. “I went on a girls trip to the beach. So I got a wax beforehand. I got back in yesterday.” 

It’s more information than Rex needs. He simply nods. 

“What?” Insecurity begins churning in your stomach, taking over the heat that had been building. Rex’s eyes flit up from your cunt. 

“Nothing,” he says, fingers dipping under the waistband on your panties. He slides them down, sighing upon seeing your exposed pussy. He’s missed this. He’s been thinking about it, been thinking about you. 

You giggle. “Have you been?” 

Rex’s eyes widen. “Did I say that out loud?” 

Grinning, you nod. “Yeah, you did.” 

A ruddiness fills Rex’s face as he flushes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you admit, though you feel your body warm in embarrassment at the statement. There was a reason you were so insistent to feel him inside you again. 

Humming, Rex runs his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushing them further apart. “Really?” 

You nod. You wrote about it in your diary. 

Rex doesn’t share that he’s thought about you so loud it’s earned him more than one reminder about Jedi sensitivity from his General. The last being on an airship after a battle. General Skywalker had bumped him on the shoulder, mumbled that he could hear him. 

He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Rex’s lips glide over yours, his tongue dancing in the tang of your pussy. Your fingers rack over his hair, scratching at his head. His tongue swirls around your clit, lips closing in after it. 

Essence escapes from your cunt, trickling down your smooth skin. Soft moans escape from your lips, floating into the warm air. 

Your body hungrily accepts the finger that slides inside you. Sitting up on your elbows, you want to watch, watch this mysterious man who’d rather be on his knees at work. His brows are furrowed in concentration. You squeeze around his finger and he moans into you. You wonder if he’s also gotten ahead of himself, if his mind also races forwards, thinking about the next instead of the present. 

It’s loud, all the slick and saliva swimming together. Rex’s tongue is dutiful and steady, his fingers working in tandem. 

Rex’s eyes crack open to gaze up your body. He ends up meeting your heady stare, the rise and fall of your chest. He pulls away, his fingers still working in those easy motions. 

“Come here,” you beckon, pulling the hemline of your shirt up to expose your breasts. You haven’t forgotten the array of hickies you were left with, the days of forgoing low cut tops. 

Rex seemingly misunderstands, instead shooting straight for your mouth. He swallows a moan, one that bubbles out of you as his fingers continuously beckon your closer towards a climax. 

A third finger slips inside you when his lips finally wrap around an under stimulated nipple. You groan through a bitten lip, arching your back into him, hips rolling into his hand. It feels good. So much better than your own. Thicker. Longer. Better reach. 

Better than your friend’s slender fingers after a drunken dinner on the beach. Rex seems to remember you. Remember all the crevices inside your body, remember the basics of what you like. Like he’s been replaying that night in his head, like a poet and their haiku.

“Rex, please… Want you inside…” you insist through a sigh, squeezing around his fingers. 

Rex lifts his head. “But you haven’t cum yet.” 

Your jaw goes slack. Rex’s cock throbs at the plumpness of your lips, puffy from biting. 

“It’s polite,” Rex elaborates. 

“We don’t have very long,” you reply. “Next time you’ll call me and—” Your breath hitches as Rex’s fingers grind into you, curling upwards. “—and we’ll have more time.” 

“Next time?” Rex likes the sound of that. He slowly removes his fingers, and brings them to his lips. It’s utilitarian, the way he’s after the taste. But he has to commit it to memory— He isn’t sure there will be a next time, that there will be a phone call. But now, the sun is soft and you’re sweet on his tongue and on his eyes. 

You nod to answer his question. One of your legs slides off the couch as you sit up, grabbing the condom off the table. 

“I wanna do it,” you say, eager to feel the weight in your hand. 

Rex chuckles, enamored and a little self conscious, at your enthusiasm. His pants and briefs find their way onto the floor and he takes his shirt off for good measure too. 

Your eyes linger on his dog tags, glinting in the afternoon light. Instead of calling attention to it, you take his cock in your hand, all warm and heavy, and swipe your finger over the head, through the pearly bits of precum crying there. 

Rex gasps. His chest heaves, rising up and down as an arm stretches across the back of the couch. 

You want to kiss it. Kiss the fat tip, let your tongue lace through the seam. But you had tried to earlier, wanted him salty in your mouth so he’d be relaxed, and had been, quite kindly, redirected. 

So you pump him once. Twice. Three times for luck. The condom glides on, sucking against him. Almost too small. 

Rex takes you on your back, with one leg lifted above his shoulder and the other hanging off the couch. His movements are shallow and even, pressing you further and further towards the armrest. His dog tags swing in your face and you’re caught with the unexpected urge to bite them. 

Rex glances from you, out the open patio doors. A few birds flock along the horizon. The sun is setting. He sits back, hand resting on your thighs and watching intently as your breasts bounce with every thrust. 

He glances over at the clock on your mantle. Fifteen minutes. He swears to himself. This is why he doesn’t like quickies— He wants to be buried in your warmth for as long as possible. 

Taking his tags in his teeth, Rex leans back over you as his thrusts speed up and harden. You cry out in shock, though it quickly warbles into pleasure, as your core tightens in pressure and then suddenly, without warning, snaps. Your legs shake around him, pussy pulsing around his throbbing hardness. 

Rex’s mouth opens in surprise, tags dropping. His hips slow as his attention focuses on guiding you down from your high, but you’re quick to shake your head. 

“N-no, keep going,” you urge. “Want to feel you cum.” 

“But—”

“No buts,” you breathe, hiking your hips up slightly. “Please, it’ll feel so good.” 

Rex nods and pics up the thrusts again, returning them to his original speed, the one that had made you cream around him. Your hand travels between your bodies, fingers rubbing desperately at your clit as you feel a second, stronger orgasm approaching. 

“I’m going t’cum again,” you warn. 

“Fuck,” Rex swears, then quickly apologies. His hand finds purchase on the back of your thigh and presses you open, creating more of a stretch. 

You swear this time, brows knitted in pleasure. With each thrust you can feel Rex’s balls, wound tight, slapping against you. 

Without thinking, you clap a hand over your mouth as your second orgasm shakes through you. Rex ducks his head, chasing his own high in erratic throats before he moans directly into your breast. 

You feel light, like you’re floating. Too light. 

You’ve painted Rex’s groin and the v of his abs. 

“Sorry,” you breathe. 

Rex shakes his head, falling against you. His face rests in the crook of your neck. “Don’t worry about it.” 

His cock twitches inside of you. 

You let out a breathless laugh. With gravity, your head turns to the side and you look at the clock on your mantle. Your cunt throbs around him, and he exhales sharply. There’s a little twitch in response. 

Part of you, the dirty naughty part, wishes there was more mess to clean up. For Rex to dip his head down and lap through, for him to—

Your train of thought is cut off by a sudden yet slow loss. Rex eases himself out, hands on your knees. Immediately, your hole pulses at the sudden loss. 

“Sorry,” Rex says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Your heart, once more, flutters. 

“‘S fine,” you murmur, tossing an arm above your head. The sun soothes over your body, urging you to close your eyes. 

Instead, you watch as Rex disappears into your bedroom, then your bathroom, and returns with a warm washcloth. 

It all feels so natural. Just like last time. 

His hands are steady as he cleans you up and then himself. He tucks himself back into his pants, then his shirt, then moves to grab your underwear off the ground. 

“Leave it,” you say softly. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Oh.” 

You move your legs so Rex can sit back down on the couch, then you place them in his lap. 

Mournfully, Rex replies with a hand on your shin, “I have to get going.” 

“You sat back down,” you point out. 

You’re right. He did. 

Rex’s hand rests on the inside of your calf, rubbing softly. He bows his head, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of your knee. 

“Poor baby,” you murmur, reaching to scratch your nails against his hair. Rex raises his gaze to yours. “Have to go back to work on such a beautiful day.” 

The day is beautiful, Rex can agree. It’s gorgeous. Stunning. He presses another kiss into the daylight that streams across your skin. 

“Tell me about the rest of your day,” you coo. 

If you were a Separatist spy, you’re the best one they have. Rex melts into your words, crawls up your body to place more kisses against the soft skin. 

“Just some escorting work,” Rex says. “Easy stuff.” 

“No danger?” 

“Shouldn’t be any.” 

Rex hovers above you. Your lashes glide closed and then open as you gaze down Rex’s body before back up to him. You cup his face in one hand, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. 

“That’s good. Are you going to call me this time?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is almost a purr, your thumb sliding down Rex’s bottom lip. 

Rex nods. There’s a hypnotic rhythm to his breath. “I’ll call you. The next time I’m in Naboo.” 

“You can send me a text, too.” 

“I want to call you.” 

You swallow. 

“I’ll call you,” Rex promises. He lowers himself slightly, unsure if he’s allowed to get a kiss or not. This is a hook up, right? 

Your lips meet his half ways for a long peck. 

“Good boy,” you say against his lips. 

Rex nods again. “I have to go.” 

“I know.” Your breath mingles with his. “You don’t want to go.” 

Rex shakes his head, agreeing with you. He doesn’t want to go. You press a brief kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll hear from you soon.” 

Rex nods. Slowly, he eases off your body, eyes leaving even slower. 

“You don’t do this often,” you note. 

“No, I don’t.” 

You readjust your clothes so you’re decent again. Pantyless, but decent. You sit up on your knees, dancing your fingertips along his ears. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you murmur. There’s a feeling in your stomach that he won’t leave on his own. 

Rex stands, and your hand dribbles off him, landing in his own. He helps you stand, letting go as soon as you’re upright. It’s a careful walk to the front door, where Rex puts on his shoes and you don’t. 

“Bye, Rex,” you say. 

Rex returns the departing words, your name rolling off his lips. He turns, steps through the threshold, and heads down the stairs. He’s in the courtyard before you close the door. 

[crystalbeetle888]

Voyage into the Unknown Pt.5

Master List Pt.4 - Pt.5 - Pt.6

It was an early start for the company the following morning, Thoirn wanted us out of town by lunchtime. “You will accompany me, and I shall purchase your travelling items” Thorin states, throwing on his armless fur coat over his armour. I finish getting ready, throwing on my denim jacket, and walk with him down the stairs and outside to meet up with the rest of the company. The dwarves turn to greet us, well, Thorin mostly. “I will be acquiring the appropriate gear and attire for Y/n today, the rest of you, stock up on food, we meet by the gate at high noon” Thorin explains to the group who nod along before dispersing, except for Fili and Kili who make their way over. Looking over at Thorin panicked, I coughed, gaining his attention away from talking to Gandalf. I shoot him a pointed look and tilt my head towards his nephews. He seems to catch the point, stepping around me and between his nephews and I. Thorin has a quiet conversation with them before they look over and nod, before turning around and walking off. Thorin returns to my side  “What did you tell them?” I ask. He glances at me briefly “You need not worry yourself, come, let’s get your supplies” He briskly walks away not waiting for me to catch up. Groaning, I chase after him. The streets bustle with people on their way to work. Vendors line the streets with stands of food, spices, linens, and other miscellaneous products. I catch up to Thorin as he struts over to a store with a hanging sign in front, ‘Tailor’ it reads. ‘Damn his little legs move fast’ I think to myself. 

Thorin holds open the door as I enter, a young looking girl no older than sixteen sits at the counter “Morning young masters, what can we do for you?” she smiles “She needs to be fitted for two tunics, preferably linen” The young girl nods “Aye we can do that, and just what colour would the lady prefer?” she jots down some notes in a small leather-bound book. “Uh, grey or blue I suppose?” I look at Thorin who shrugs in response. “Mmh Hmm” The girl hums jotting something down, “Alright Miss, this way, we’ll get your sorted in no time, your husband can sit outside” she calls over her shoulder at Thorin, as she whisks me away into the back of the store. Through some draped curtains, is a sectioned off room with a stool in the middle, and a table with an assortment of sewing equipment off to the side. “Well, go on, stand up there” She says impatiently, and I quickly hop up. “You haven’t done this before have you?” She asks, “What gives you that impression?” I question her, “Your silly clothes” She says like its obvious, as she begins to take my measurements, around my arms, waist, bust, and neck. The girl flurries around the room, measuring, taking notes, walking in and out the room, and grabbing different fabrics, before she finally settles on something she likes. “It’ll only take a jiffy to sew these up for you” She says looking at me expectantly. “Uh-” I stutter. “That means you can go now, come back later” She smiles awkwardly. I nod and hurry thorough the curtains and out the store, Thorin leaning up against the wall outside. “How did it go?” he asks standing up fully, “She said to come back in a ‘jiffy’” He nods. “Let’s get your other items, then we’ll return here” He says leading the way. Following behind him again we wander from store to store. He buys me a short brown leather cloak, with a fur lining, a pair of leather arm bracers, leather and fur boot covers, a brown belt with both a sword sheath, with a sword of course, and a small matching pouch, the tailored shirt, and thick cotton trousers. Thorin also buys me some miscellaneous items for the journey. "These aren't Dwarvish make but they'll have to do" He hands me off the items "Because Dwarvish is better?" I ask shoving the stuff into my pack. He gives me a look "Of course it is".

Walking back though the market and towards the front gate, the company stands around idly chatting with one another. Once arriving at the group, Thorin walks over to Dwalin and Balin and I join Bilbo. “Morning mate” I smiled at him. Bilbo looks up at me “Good evening actually- goodness what happened to your face?” He whispered panicked, “Nothing. It happened last night” I shush him. Bilbo looks shocked “Did Thorin-” He hesitates to continue, covering his mouth with his hand, “Gosh no, I- ran into trouble last night, but I’m fine really” My answer doesn’t seem to put him at any ease. Luckily though, Thorin calls for the company to move out before Bilbo can mother me any more.

The company mounts their ponies, and I my new full sized horse I affectionately named Minnie, as she was black and white. Trotting away from the town, I continue to make small talk with Bilbo throughout the rest of the day, avoiding the dwarves so as not to let them see my bruised face. ‘Don’t need to give these old farts an extra reason not to like me’. 

Despite Thorins’ generosity it’s obvious that they’re not convinced I’m capable of contributing anything worthwhile to this journey. The mens’ constant 'check ins' over the last nine days makes this painfully obvious. However nice it is to be looked out for, these men still think I’m useless, and it is beginning to wear on my nerves.

Thorin stops the company in a small clearing, next to a slow dribbling waterfall. “We make camp here for the night” He calls out. Groans can be heard from the  men as they dismount their ponies and tie them to some trees. Gloin and Oin wander off to collect firewood, Bomber, Bofur, and Ori prepare dinner, Nori and Dori tend to the horses, Bifur and Dwalin attempting to catch some fish, Fili and Kili attempting to hunt some rabbits, and Balin, Thorin and Gandalf ruminate over the map, leaving Bilbo and I to do nothing.

I huff in frustration, 'I won't be useless' I think, trekking over to Thorin “I want something to do” I interrupt their conversation, the old men turning to look at me in surprise. “No” Thorin responds shortly. “Thorin, I refuse to be useless” I argue. “How about you tend to the ponies lass?” Balin says, hoping to defuse the situation. “No, she needs to rest” Thorin repeats firmly in his decision. “More than the rest of us Thorin?” Balin questions. Fed up, I flick the hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear, Balin finally piecing it together “Oh Thorin, she won’t break” He chides him “Go on lass, find a way to help out ” he smiles warmly at me. I smile back, and prance away towards the ponies, finally happy to be taken seriously.

Meanwhile, Balin gives Thorin a very pointed look “What happened to her face?”. Thorin sighs “She was confronted by some Wild-men last night” he explains “She apparently dealt with it herself”. Thorin wasn’t just upset by her injury, a woman under his watch is his responsibility. Whether or not he wanted her there, she was his concern now and she deserved more respect and care whilst amongst the men. At Least that’s what Thorin believed. “Just because she got hurt doesn’t mean she’s helpless” Balin lectures him “Mahal knows you earned a bruise or two from battle” he chuckles to himself much to Thorin's dismay. “She is not like us, the race of men is soft”, Balin looks at him knowingly “You might just be surprised by her” he suggests, knowing just how difficult he is to impress and stubborn Thorin can be.

After feeding, brushing, and watering the ponies Bofur calls out for dinner. Rabbit stew, made from the catch Fili and Kili brought back. Sitting down by Bilbo I patiently wait my turn, wooden bowl in hand “Here, let me wait for you” I look up to Kili extending his open hand “Thank you” I say passing it to him. He grins and wanders off to wait. Bilbo coughs, gaining my attention “If I may comment, I don’t think you should hide things from them” he gives a pointed look “If you were injured would you want them fussing?” I side eye him discreetly. “Point taken” he laughs quietly “Seeing how they coddle you, makes me feel better about how they treat me” I look over at him, clearly agitated. “Really?” I roll my eyes. Kili returns, strutting over confidently holding the two bowls “Here you are my lady” He hands it over before sitting down next to me. I look at Bilbo who stares back awkwardly. I huff and tuck my hair behind my ears, revealing the bruised side of my face. Turning back to Kili, he doesn’t seem to notice as we converse over dinner. Until, he offers to take our bowls to wash, down by the lazy river with Bilbo, “What happened?” He asked, concerned “I’ll tell you later aye?” I reply, smiling gently. He frowns, eyebrows furrowed intensely “As soon as I return” he points at me, before collecting the rest of the bowls from the company and heading down to the river.

After some time Kili and Bilbo return, the rest of the company dispersed, doing their own thing. I lay on my bed-roll looking up at the stars, campfire to my side as Kili approaches with his bag. He sits next to my laying form and sets up his bed-roll an arms length from mine before laying down quietly. A long moment passes before he speaks “What happened last night?” he asks quietly. “Some Wild-men harassed me and the Innkeeper's daughter so I bashed them” I whisper back. Kili reaches over and gently takes my hand “I’m sorry, that happened, I-we should have been there for you” I squeeze his hand in comfort “You can’t always be there, plus I’m a big girl, I can handle myself” I joke. He gives an airy laugh “Yes you are” A moment of silence fills the air. “Did you rough them up good?” He turns to look over at me, and I smile before laughing “I fucked them up so bad”. He lets out a loud chortle “You know I’ve never met a woman that utters such profanities” I smile cheekily “Just part of my culture mate” I state proudly, really emphasizing my Australian accent.

“Is that the outback culture?” he asks “Yes, are you spying on me Master Dwarf?” I joke. Kili laughs sheepishly “I might have questioned Bilbo about you” I squeeze his hand “You could have just asked me” He smiles over at me, the glow from the fire illuminating his face with golden light. His deep brown eyes gleaming, his long flowing hair cascading over his wide shoulders, glittering in the light. His hand is calloused yet gentle as it holds mine, toughened by his laborious training. Kili stares back at me, basking in the warm silence.

Across the fire Thorin sits, watching his youngest nephew chat up their human companion. “How long do you think it will take him to braid her hair?'' His older nephew asks in Khuzdul. “Not long at this rate” he replies. “And you are okay with this?” Fili looks at him questioningly. Thorin gives him a knowing look “Only time will tell if she is his one, and he will need to make that judgement himself” he takes a long puff from his pipe. 

Honestly, Thorin wasn’t sure which one of them was more oblivious to their own budding feelings at this point. Fili hums in thought, the two smitten adults across the fire continue to talk amongst themselves, holding hands, until they eventually fall asleep next to each other.

Master List Pt.4 - Pt.5 - Pt.6

[jortschronicles]

Coronet V: Sheep and Bears

Armiger Runa Bjarki fought for me at Vindheim's fifth coronet tournament, after fighting for me for the first time at Vindheim's fourth coronet tournament.

This will be a bit more of a costuming diary than anything, detailing my process from design, to drafting, to learning new arts, to the finished project, and what I learned along the way.

Our arrangement began prior to Vindheim's 4th coronet tournament, arranged by my wife and Runa's teacher much in the style of an arranged marriage. Runa would fight for me in exchange for me making our coronet garb, giving me an excuse to step up my garb game and enjoy some pomp and circumstance and giving Runa a growing closet of fancier garb. Our arrangement stipulated that I get to make Runa wear Pink, sometimes at least.

Our first outfits were pink and orange with black accents, which is TECHNICALLY Vindheim colors (dark Or, light gules, and sable :P) and includes the pink and orange which I have become associated with in the kingdom. These outfits would not have been possible without Dvorianka Anastasiia and Boiarynia Koia, who loaned me veils and undergowns, gave me instructions on drafting and assembly, and zhuzhed me incessantly day of to make sure the Rus impression was both up to their standards of accuracy and made me feel pretty.

A fun fact about this procession, we were the first ostensibly f/f entrant couple in a Vindheim coronet tournament, we were dressed as lesbian flags, and our procession was riddled with pride flags. Overall, a good day.

I created the following patterns for Runa's and my outfits, respectively:

Our arms:

Time passed, the second coronet tournament was fast approaching, and per our agreement, the next set of outfits would be Vindheim/ Free Company / Runa's own colors. Rather than struggling with pens and sketching over and over and over, this time I simply made "dress up dolls" in GIMP to present design ideas to my fighter, which included the following:

I cannot recommend this process enough. I just sketch outlines of my design on paper, upload into GIMP, adjust levels and brightness, then set the alpha channel to white. Under the lines layer, I make a series of layers in neon colors of each of the "sections" of color I might want to adjust, which allows me to bucket fill to make different designs.

After selecting a design, I obtained stamp carving supplies and sent them to Runa for her to carve my fleece and her bear, the animate charges in our arms, to be applied to the final product.

I commissioned trim by trade from a local to me, Lady Kenda, to accent the borders of the red facings. I only asked for 6 yards. This would prove to be a mistake, although the trim itself was LOVELY

My first attempts to use the stamps were...fraught. Many inappropriate jokes were made about the sheep, in particular. Koia and Anastasiia troubleshooted the problem remotely and provided better paint, respectively, resulting in the superior stamping on the right.

Not a single picture I've taken captures the depth and warmth of the brown in the bears, unfortunately. In natural light, they're clear, vibrant, and a warm coffee brown. In every photo i've taken, they're barely there. With stamping conquered, so began the cutting, serging, and assembly.

I used the crimson and the black linen from OKC fabric market, which are both soft, mid-weight linens with an apparently short staple, but are plenty affordable for my needs. After cutting and labeling all t he pieces with chalk, I ran them through the serger to keep the pieces from fraying while I work. This also let's me be lazy and not do any seam finishing at the end of the proecess, when I may be very pressed for time.

I prefer to attach the two body pieces at the shoulders and apply the neck facing ASAP, as it's easier to cut and turn before the entire tunic is assembled. I also attached the facing to the cuffs before attaching the cuffs. I lay everything flat, attaching gores to the sides of the gown and tunic, then I run one seam each up from the hem to the cuff. The exception to this is the side on which I include my pocket, since I like to have my phone, emergency meds, eye drops, and lip balm on me at events. Runa's tunic does not have this pocket, but her pants have both the cell phone pocket and the Jameson pocket. I should make a post about these pants at some point ;)

I didn't bother turning in the edges on much of the facings of my gown, anticipating applying trim over the top. Then I looked at how much trim I had left, and quickly decided to trim both of our sleeves, the bottom of my skirt, and the neck facing on Runa's tunic.

To the places I did not actually add trim, I embroidered the edge with a tacked herringbone stitch to add visual interest. Luckily, it turns out this particular design delights my fighter, is fairly strong, and has a very pleasant texture to the little hamsters in the brain.

Overall, I'm incredibly satisfied with this result and look forward to wearing so much Rus in the future. I finally feel comfortable enough with the construction of both of these tunics to offer them on commission locally.

Some more glamor shots:

Endless thanks to Dvorianka Anastasiia Dmitrieva Sokolova and Boiarynia Koia Karasova, my Rus Mamas and tolerators of many midnight questions about stamping and styling.

So what am I on to next? Med Fair cotehardies. I'm currently handsewing the supportive underdress for my own impression. Fingers crossed I maintain my sanity!!

[fatehbaz]

In 1678, a Chaldean priest from Baghdad reached the Imperial Villa of Potosí, the world’s richest silver-mining camp and at the time the world’s highest city at more than 4,000 metres (13,100 feet) above sea level. A regional capital in the heart of the Bolivian Andes, Potosí remains – more than three and a half centuries later – a mining city today. [...] The great red Cerro Rico or ‘Rich Hill’ towered over the city of Potosí. It had been mined since 1545 [...]. When Don Elias arrived [...], the great boom of 1575-1635 – when Potosí alone produced nearly half the world’s silver – was over, but the mines were still yielding the precious metal. [...]

On Potosí’s main market plaza, indigenous and African women served up maize beer, hot soup and yerba mate. Shops displayed the world’s finest silk and linen fabrics, Chinese porcelain, Venetian glassware, Russian leather goods, Japanese lacquerware, Flemish paintings and bestselling books in a dozen languages. [...]

Pious or otherwise, wealthy women clicked Potosí’s cobbled streets in silver-heeled platform shoes, their gold earrings, chokers and bracelets studded with Indian diamonds and Burmese rubies. Colombian emeralds and Caribbean pearls were almost too common. Peninsular Spanish ‘foodies’ could savour imported almonds, capers, olives, arborio rice, saffron, and sweet and dry Castilian wines. Black pepper arrived from Sumatra and southwest India, cinnamon from Sri Lanka, cloves from Maluku and nutmeg from the Banda Islands. Jamaica provided allspice. Overloaded galleons spent months transporting these luxuries across the Pacific, Indian and Atlantic oceans. Plodding mule and llama trains carried them up to the lofty Imperial Villa.

---

Potosi supplied the world with silver, the lifeblood of trade and sinews of war [...]. In turn, the city consumed the world’s top commodities and manufactures. [...] The city’s dozen-plus notaries worked non-stop inventorying silver bars and sacks of pesos [...]. Mule trains returning from the Pacific brought merchandise and mercury, the essential ingredient for silver refining. [...] From Buenos Aires came slavers with captive Africans from Congo and Angola, transshipped via Rio de Janeiro. Many of the enslaved were children branded with marks mirroring those, including the royal crown, inscribed on silver bars.

Soon after its 1545 discovery, Potosí gained world renown [...]. Mexico’s many mining camps [...] peaked only after 1690. [...] Even in the Andes of South America there were other silver cities [...]. But no silver deposit in the world matched the Cerro Rico, and no other mining-refining conglomeration grew so large. Potosí was unique: a mining metropolis.

Thus Don Elias, like others, made the pilgrimage to the silver mountain. It was a divine prodigy, a hierophany. In 1580, Ottoman artists depicted Potosí as a slice of earthly paradise, the Cerro Rico lush and green, the city surrounded by crenellated walls. Potosí, as Don Quixote proclaimed, was the stuff of dreams. Another alms seeker, in 1600, declared the Cerro Rico the Eighth Wonder of the World. A [...] visitor in 1615 gushed: ‘Thanks to its mines, Castile is Castile, Rome is Rome, the pope is the pope, and the king is monarch of the world.’ [...]

---

For all its glory, Potosí was also the stuff of nightmares [...].

Almost a century before Don Elias visited Potosí, Viceroy Francisco de Toledo revolutionised world silver production. Toledo was a hard-driving bureaucrat of the Spanish empire [...]. Toledo reached Potosí in 1572, anxious to flip it into the empire’s motor of commerce and war. By 1575, the viceroy had organised a sweeping labour draft, launched a ‘high-tech’ mill-building campaign, and overseen construction of a web of dams and canals to supply the Imperial Villa with year-round hydraulic power, all in the high Andes at the nadir of the Little Ice Age. Toledo also oversaw construction of the Potosí mint, staffed full-time with enslaved Africans. [...] Toledo’s successes came with a steep price. Thanks to the viceroy’s ‘reforms’, hundreds of thousands of Andeans became virtual refugees (those who survived) and, in the search for timber and fuel, colonists denuded hundreds of miles of fragile, high-altitude land. [...] The city’s smelteries belched lead and zinc-rich smoke [...].

The Habsburg kings of Spain cared little about Potosí’s social and environmental horrors. [...] For more than a century, the Cerro Rico fuelled the world’s first global military-industrial complex, granting Spain the means to prosecute decades-long wars on a dozen fronts – on land and at sea. No one else could do all this and still afford to lose. [...]

By [...] 1909 [...], mineral rushes had helped to produce cities such as San Francisco and Johannesburg, but nothing quite compared for sheer audacity with the Imperial Villa of Potosí, a neo-medieval mining metropolis perched in the Andes of South America.

---

Text by: Kris Lane. “Potosi: the mountain of silver that was the first global city.” Aeon. 30 July 2019. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[aghsupply77]

Customizable Hotel Bedding Supplies: How USA Suppliers Help Hotels Stand Out

Introduction

In today’s competitive hospitality industry, creating a unique guest experience is key to standing out. One often overlooked yet powerful way hotels achieve this is through customizable hotel bedding supplies. USA suppliers are stepping up to provide tailored solutions that align with a hotel’s brand identity, enhance guest comfort, and leave lasting impressions. Here’s how customization is reshaping the landscape of hotel bedding supplies in the USA.

1. The Power of Personalization in Hospitality

Guests today expect more than a comfortable bed—they want an experience that feels uniquely theirs. Customizable bedding supplies allow hotels to deliver on this expectation by incorporating elements that reflect their brand identity. From monogrammed pillowcases to unique color schemes that match the hotel’s aesthetic, personalized bedding makes a statement. This attention to detail not only enhances the guest experience but also fosters brand loyalty and positive reviews.

2. Branded Linens as a Marketing Tool

USA-based hotel bedding suppliers are increasingly offering options for branding linens with hotel logos, slogans, or designs. This subtle yet impactful customization reinforces the hotel’s image and creates a cohesive look across rooms. When guests share photos of their stays on social media, branded bedding becomes a silent ambassador for the hotel, amplifying its marketing efforts and visibility.

3. Custom Sizes and Materials for Unique Needs

Hotels with distinct room layouts or specific guest demographics often require bedding that deviates from standard dimensions or materials. USA suppliers cater to these needs by offering custom sizes and fabric choices, such as hypoallergenic or organic options. This flexibility ensures that hotels can provide bedding that meets their unique requirements, further enhancing guest satisfaction and differentiating themselves from competitors.

4. Elevating Luxury with Exclusive Designs

For high-end hotels, luxury is all about exclusivity. USA wholesale suppliers are helping these establishments stand out by offering exclusive designs, such as embroidered patterns or high-thread-count sheets in bespoke textures. These luxurious touches elevate the guest experience, making it memorable and aligned with the expectations of premium clientele.

5. Sustainability and Customization: A Winning Combination

As sustainability becomes a priority for travelers, many hotels are looking for bedding options that reflect their commitment to the environment. USA suppliers now offer customizable eco-friendly bedding solutions, such as linens made from organic cotton or recycled materials. By combining sustainability with personalization, hotels can appeal to eco-conscious guests while maintaining a unique identity.

6. Cost-Effective Solutions for Every Budget

Contrary to the perception that customization is expensive, many USA suppliers offer cost-effective solutions that suit various budgets. Whether it’s adding subtle branding to standard bedding or creating entirely bespoke designs, hotels can find customizable options that balance quality and affordability. These solutions allow hotels of all sizes to differentiate themselves without breaking the bank.

Customization: The Key to Hospitality Excellence

Customizable hotel bedding supplies are more than a luxury—they’re a strategic tool for standing out in the crowded hospitality market. USA suppliers are empowering hotels with tailored solutions that enhance comfort, reflect brand identity, and cater to modern guest expectations. By investing in personalized bedding, hotels not only elevate the guest experience but also position themselves as memorable, forward-thinking establishments. As customization becomes the norm, hotels that embrace this trend will set themselves apart as leaders in the industry.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Bought by a Shelby

home sweet home

Don't engage if under 18*

_________________________________________________

Finn brings his wife home

Chapter Text

He’d taken Letitia shopping before going home and showing her their apartment. Grateful he’d brought his own car for their shopping trip. She was more talkative with just the two of them.

He was pretty sure she now knew all of Birmingham since she pointed to everything and patiently waited for him to tell her what it was and how people were.

She had been so overwhelmed by the stores. An open market would be better and he’d found a few. She’d purchased some wool and knitting supplies. He’d helped her pick out linens for their bed and bought her clothes.

He felt proud when she asked him for his opinion on literally everything. She bounced around unbothered by the fog, smog and large masses of people. She only had eyes on him. He loved the feeling. He felt powerful, seen and important being around her.

“What do you like to eat, what do you think of this color? Would this look okay on me standing next to you?” His head was almost spinning but he’d never had this much fun shopping with a girl, ever. She drugged him to every stall ohhing and ahhing like a child. He loved seeing the world through her eyes.

It wasn’t harsh, violent or cruel. Just new, exciting and sweet.

He had however been unpleasantly surprised to find out she couldn’t read or write. He loved music, to be read to and he now knew she wasn’t coming to work with him.

He’d drug her into a book store and was reading titles and covers to her. She seemed interested until he was flipping through the black and white pages.

His soul had been crushed when she told him she didn’t understand how he could see these things, they were just scribbles to her.

He found it really tragic. She had a beautiful voice and he’d caught her humming in the car. Everyone, even Ada, had smiled on the way back to civilization.

He wanted to hear her sing and read to him. He was considering a tutor or figuring out a way to teach her letters and numbers, how to write, It was overwhelming.

He could hear Ada's voice in his head.” It doesn't have to be done all in one day Finn.” He knew that. It was just something to figure out sooner rather than later.

“It’s getting dark Love. Let's head back yeah. We can make a list together and figure stuff out later, yes.” She jumped towards him and hugged him tight. He found himself melting into her and squeezing her back. He hoped it stayed this easy between them At least for a while.

************************************************************************

She walks around the house several times. He felt so overwhelmed by how underwhelming everything was. He really didn’t have much furniture or anything nice. He spent most of his money on Myra and stuff for her or cocaine. Letitia had come with nothing and he enjoyed spoiling her today.

She placed a green cloth on the table with some candles. In the dining room. She’d bought a plant but the Chinese lady assured him it had no toxic qualities. So now when you walked in there were two small little pops of color.

They had a small living room next to the bedroom and bath. She’d bought a little cream throw and placed it over his chair. He felt bad for a moment only having one place to sit until he’d realized she could sit on his lap while he read the paper or listened to music on the gramophone.

He had a red rug from Polly, chair, fireplace and one old mirror above the mantle from Polly's house. He couldn’t take much when Tommy was clearing it out after she’d passed. It hadn’t felt right to pick apart the bones of her home just because she’d died. He also had a lamp and a wooden magazine holder. Out of all the rooms this was the one he spent his time in other than the bed.

She’d put a vase with red roses on the mantle. He grinned. He’d told her he liked blues, greens and reds. She seemed to pick those out even in garments for her to wear.

She had a small bottle of oil for her hair. That's all she wanted toiletry wise. He’d try again to buy her perfume around Christmas. She didn’t smell like much of anything but wood smoke at the moment from the campfires they lit to cook and keep warm.

He’d been pleased by the bedroom. She bought all manner of bedding. Apparently she had a canopy at home which kept the bugs out in the summer and heat in the winter. She’d layer and add a few candles and roses. Layers of whites, creams, laces and pillows. It looked like Heaven.

Myra had never once suggested this. It was warm, inviting and cozy against the dark brown woods in the room.

______ (*Finn’s thought and 1920’s attitude/ not authors) __________

She stood back and waited for him to inspect it. Her hands were clasp up by her face, she was so excited. God, she was cute.

“It's an amazing luvie, honestly. Feels like a home now. One day soon I will get some pictures and art for the walls, yes.” She preened and bounced at his praises. He couldn’t stop smiling, his cheeks were starting to hurt. If this is what John felt after he married Esme, then he understood the concept of love at first sight.

“Come er.” He swept her up into his arms and kissed her lips. He wanted a deeper kiss, she smacked him when he nibbled on her lower lip. Her eyes were wide and she covered her mouth with her hands.

“What the fuck was that for?” They both stood stunned. He could tell her heart was thundering in her chest. He’d kissed her at the altar but she’d turned her head blushing furiously. It dawned on him that she’d never been kissed.

He shook his head. Mountain gypsies were definitely their own people.

“It was just to deepen the kiss luv, Jesus.” he touched his cheek. She’d gotten him good. No doubt it would be red for a few hours. Her eyes were on her feet.

He hugged her tightly again and lifted her chin up, her brown eyes glistened with tears.

“It’s okay Lettie, you just scared me was all. I was just trying to slip my tongue in. Give you a proper kiss.” He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He’d seen so much before he was eleven, even walked in on his brothers a few times and their whores. John was especially bad at locking his bedroom door.

“A proper kiss?” Her large doe eyes blinked up at him.

“Yeah, When I kiss you, on the lips, open your mouth a bit and let my tongue in. put your lips over mine. Follow my lead, yeah.” He grinned. He’d never had to tell anyone how to kiss before.

She was a quick under study even if she was still a bit stiff. He placed his hands on her waist and explored her a bit with his hands. She pushed away against his chest rearing back when he grabbed her firm ass.

“God, you're so beautiful Lettie. You look like a fairy princess that I stole from the woods.” Finn bent down and kissed her neck and face. She leaned into him but woodenly.

“Did they tell you what happened on your wedding night?” He felt like an ass asking. Sheepish and young but he knew more about sex out of them both, he had the most experience.

“Yes, a bit.” She blushed her cheeks going crimson flushing out against her ivory skin.

“Just trust me and listen eh. I’ll go slow and try to be gentle, yes.” She nodded as he pulled back.

“ I’m going to get you out of this dress, then you can help me out of my clothes.” He was amazed at how confident he felt and sounded. Most of the time girls made him feel silly or would ruin the moment. She was so innocent and unsure she just stayed quiet and trusted him. There really was a person for everyone.

He untied her sash on her dress, mindful that her hands almost came out to stop him. He had to go slower than he'd even thought he wasn't sure if he had the patience. He didn’t want to fuck this up. Slow was worth it in the end for someone like her.

He gasped when he slid the dress off her shoulders and it pooled on the floor. She was stunning and well proportioned for such a thin girl. Her waist was more defined than he’d realized. Being buried under blankets and layers did her no favor. He loved her small pert little breasts and her ass, God, it was perfect.

He leaned in kissing her, feeling her melt into him this time. He was now warmer than her and very aware from her little goose bumps forming on her pale creamy skin that he needed to get her under the covers soon. It was much warmer here then the mountain but it was a different, more vulnerable type of cold in their bedroom.

He pulled back giving them both time to catch their breath. He pulled the chains off his arms and started unbuttoning his shirt. He was pleasantly surprised when she helped him with the buttons undressing him faster.

She wanted him too.

After she’d stripped him of his shirt and he’d tossed it she started kissing his neck and running her soft long fingers up and down his chest, waist and back just taking him all in.

He ran his fingers through her hair encouraging her to keep exploring. He’d never had someone worship him like this. He could wait to touch her back.

She got to the band of his pants and her head went down. She was faltering now.

“It’s okay. Go lay down in the middle of our bed, I'll be right there.” She bit her lip, that drove him crazy, he was already hard for her. Now he was severely uncomfortable. When she turned her back he dropped his trousers and boxers. The air didn’t discourage his raging erection at all. He was happy about that.

He walked around the bedpost and smiled down at her. She reached out and stroked him. He moaned and she pulled her hand back.

“Put your hand back right now Lettie!” He sounded firm even to himself but that had felt amazing. She hadn't pumped him just to get him to get off like other girls. She had a light touch and a long soft stroke.

She was pink all over from embarrassment.

“It’s okay, it felt amazing luvie. Really really good.” He sat down next to her pulling the covers down further. “I’m going to stroke you too, don’t be embarrassed okay. We're married now, there's nothing dirty between us.” She nodded weakly with her head against the pillows. He was thrilled she wasn’t trembling. He’d slept with the grocers girl several months back, she acted like a little rabbit. He pulled out half way and had refused to be with her. She made him nervous and upset, Lottie was just waiting for him obediently. He stroked her gently until she sighed and relaxed. He planted kisses on her stomach, thighs and legs.

Her hands roamed around his shoulders, arms and into his thick hair. She was affectionate and attentive.

“Alright, try not to clench, I’ll move when you nod okay. I’ll go slow but Lettie, I mean it, try to relax.” She nodded and he slowly pushed, watching her face never taking his eyes off her. She was listening beautifully.

“Okay, I'm in luv. Try to match my thrust a bit, lift your hips yeah.” Finn buried his face in her neck as he stroked gently in and out.

Her pace wasn’t perfect at first, he hadn’t expected it to be. However as pressure and pleasure mounted for them both of them were in sync.

“God, I’m so glad I married you. I promise you’ll never be hungry again, I'll take good care of you princess.” She came just before him, arching off the bed and then wrapping her legs tightly around him holding him in her deeply as the aftershocks elicited little sighs and moans of approval from her.

“Oh, good girl. Good girl.” He panted into her hair as his releases spilled over him as well. ______________________________________________________________

[cloudselkie]

Shay's 2023 Tarot Purchase Round-Up

Unfortunately, I don't have time for a huge review post this year, but here are my top 10 favorite tarot decks that I purchased this year!

10. Dreams Within Dreams Tarot

- This was a Kickstarter I backed last year. The art is beautiful and the artist stated that they were inspired by their favorite anime growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s. The only reason this deck isn't higher on the list is because I found that the whiplash between some cards being fan art and some being original art was too much for me to really connect with it.

Where to buy: Kickstarter exclusive, but still available in various Etsy shops

9. Stars Lighting Up the Night Tarot

- This deck came out of nowhere and instantly became a favorite. I love the night scenes and the multiple versions of some cards so you can customize the deck. It also has the linen card texture I love! I purchased the limited edition version just to get that texture!

Where to buy:

8. Titanic Tarot: Risen Spirits (Titanic Tarot 2nd Edition)

- This version massively improves on the first (which I already loved) by removing the borders and including updated art for the pip cards that better represents the full story of the passengers of the Titanic, including before the voyage and after.

Where to buy: Mostly out of stock, but still available at some Etsy shops and online magic supply stores

7. Sleepwalker Tarot

- I ended up getting the mini because it was all that was left, but I wish I had the full size. The art is so beautiful and Iove how calming the subjects are with their eyes closed. Also, I found the full size and will definitely be purchasing!

Where to buy:

6. Witch Sister Tarot

- I waited TWO YEARS for this tarot and the art alone was worth it. I love the artist's previous deck, and stumbled on some of the art for this one on Etsy while looking for devotional items for selkie and for the Cailleach. It's finally out! The only downside is that it's a Llewellyn deck and has their usual thin cardstock.

Where to buy:

5. Shadowscape Tarot

- An oldie but a goodie. I finally got this after a few years of eyeing it, and it's definitely a great choice for being a mass market deck. Stephanie Pui-Mun Law's art is beautiful. Reminds me of old Amy Brown paintings, but far better executed.

Where to buy:

4. Starspinner Tarot

- I ADORE the art for this deck. It reminds me somewhat of CLAMP art. The art is also inclusive and bright and the deck has four different lovers cards so you can have whatever flavor you wish! This one is also mass market but great quality.

Where to buy:

3. Cozy Witch Tarot

- Of course I expected this deck to be cozy, but I was surprised with just how much I like the whole package. The card subjects are diverse not only in skin color, but in body type as well, which really stood out and made this deck one that I came back to often. The only downside is that the cards are slightly larger than standard size, so they can be difficult to handle at times.

Where to buy:

2. Monsoon Tarot

- This deck honestly has the most beautiful art of any deck I own. I'm always discovering new details in the cards and they range from cozy to dreamlike to grotesque in all the right ways. The cardstock also has that linen/playing card texture over them which makes shuffling a breeze. I use this less to read and more to just wander through and look at.

Where to buy:

1. Spirit Keeper Tarot

This one is hard to get a hold of, but so worth it. I happened to check in while the author still had some of the current edition left in stock after pre-orders on her website and managed to snag one. I LOVE working with this deck. The art is great, but the companion book is really what makes this deck incredible. The book goes over a lot of the inspiration behind each card and the symbolism. The author is of Chinese descent, so she has tied both western and eastern concepts to each card, which she lays out in the book. This has been the main deck I have read with since I got it. S tier deck.

Where to buy:

[mitalipingale]

https://theomnibuzz.com/hospital-linen-supply-market-size-analysis-and-forecast-2031/

The Hospital Linen Supply Market in 2023 is US$ 10.25 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 14.37 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 4.32%.

[mrbexwrites]

Heads Up, 7 Up

Tagged by @scifimagpie over here- thank you so much! I'm currently beta reading her latest WIP, and if you love some dystopian sci-fi, you should check her out if you're not following her already!

Passing the tag onto some new friends: @ink-enchanted @andromedaexists @puttingwingsonwords @keysandopenmind @serotoninshift @rickie-the-storyteller @emberlyric

From Blood Enforcer, a mid-scene block as I'd stopped to look something up, ended up getting distracted, and procrastinating on Tumblr. Y'know, the usual writing process ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It's also more than seven lines, but rules, broken, etc etc.

With the additional countermeasures I had added- protective glyphs and runes- I figured I could hold out here for at least a year if any Infernal entities came for me. I had stored up enough canned food, bottled water, weapons, ammunition, medical supplies…I would survive for a while.  The living space itself was no bigger than a studio apartment, and it has been laid out as such. I put the leftovers from Annie in the small under-the-counter fridge freezer  in the kitchenette that framed the back wall. A small circular window, about eight feet above the floor, let in the rising moonlight. An old persian rug filled the floor space, and kept my socked-feet warm as I collapsed onto the camp bed, tucked tightly against the left-hand wall. I stared up at the exposed brick of the archway, tracing an angelic glyph with my left hand, allowing a soft glow to fill the room. I could get up and turn on the lights that hung from the ceiling, but I just didn’t have the energy.  I groaned into my pillow, burying my face into the soft material. Annie had bought me some nice bed linen as a gift, and Hadley had found the rug at an old flea-market for me. Con, knowing me the best, had gifted me a pressure canner, so that I could preserve my own food.  “It’s from all of us,” he’d said as I’d unwrapped it. I’d used it to start my supply cache, and sat atop my very limited kitchen space. I considered rolling off the bed and getting something to eat, but instead reached under the bed, my hand finding the hip flask I had stashed there.  Arnauld had never taken back the pass to his penthouse, and when I knew he was in meetings, I went and helped myself to his expensive whiskey collection. 

[giverofempathy]

hii do u have any advice/resources for how to start making ur own clothes if ur not really good at sewing yet?

Hello!! I'd love to help out, so here is my advice and some resources!!

My biggest piece of advice is to just do it! I know it seems very intimidating at first but you will get better the more you do it. Making mistakes is how you learn so don't be afraid to mess up, and the good thing about sewing is that you (usually) can just take it out and try again!!

I advice you to begin with sewing very simple things. The easiest piece of clothing would be a skirt because the shapes are very simple and the seams are mostly just straight. It's also good to make some things just for the hell of getting better at sewing and using to learn your machine. I'd recommend making maybe a totebag or a pillowcase, or look up "simple sewing project for beginners" on pinterest, there are some great projects to be found there!!! When I first started as a fashion tailor student we began by literally sewing straight lines onto a strip of fabric to get to know the machine. It's a very good practice to get the hang of it!

I also advice you to work with non-stretch materials such as cotton or linen or anything blended with that. Stretchy fabrics are incredibly hard to work with and will give you so much frustration so I wouldn't start with that!

Then it's also very important to measure yourself right so you make the right size. If I use a valueable fabric or I'm not 100% about the size I make a mock-up which is a sort of quick version of the final garment to check if the sizes are all good. Mock-ups are usually made from a cotton fabric or a muslin.

I also advice you to make something that you actually wanna wear because that makes it so much more fun!! I've done a few projects that I wasn't really that excited about and that really made it harder to finish it.

As for resources, the website of Mood Fabrics has a whole lot of free patterns that you can download and print out at home. I have used a few of them and I would suggest to double check sizing because I've had trouble with that but other than that, it's an amazing site to check out! https://www.moodfabrics.com/blog/category/free-sewing-patterns/

Etsy is also a great source to find PDF patterns and is usually very cheap. You can also look into some sewing magazines, I think those are great because you get quite a few patterns for a great prize!

(I draft a lot of my own patterns since I learned to do so in school but I wouldn't recommend starting out with that since it is quite complicated. You can of course find books on this if you're interested in it and I would really recommend it when you're more experienced since you'll be able to make any thing you like!!)

Then there's also sewing supplies. So I would recommend a really good pair of fabric scissors. I also have a magnetic pin cushion which is amazing because you can just throw them on there and they'll stick! It's also important to change out your machine needle regularly since they get dull and this can affect the quality of your sewing work. A measuring tape is also of course very handy to have. A seam ripper, too. And I recommend buying good quality sewing thread, it really makes a difference!! I usually go for the Gütterman brand.

Than lastly for fabrics, I don't really have any sites I recommend to get fabrics from because I always go to my local fabric market. Like I said before I do recommend working with non-stretch fabrics since they are much easier to control. Usually patterns give some recommended fabric options so definitely look at that!

And I wanna say that not being good at it yet is okay! I've been sewing for many years and I still make mistakes and have things I wanna get better at. The most important thing is to have fun!!

Aahhhh this came out longer than I intended but I have a lot to say on this topic!!!! I wish you good luck on your sewing journey 🫂💌 and again the best bit of advice I have is to just start. Doesn't matter if it's ugly at first, you will get better the more you do it!! If you ever have any more questions you can always ask me ���🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[nicetown]

Choosing Sustainable Curtains

Curtains are an essential part of any home decor, providing privacy, insulation, and light control. However, many curtains on the market are made from unsustainable materials and have a negative impact on the environment. If you are interested in making your home more sustainable, choosing sustainable curtains is an excellent place to start. Here are some things to consider when selecting sustainable curtains for your home.

Material The material of the curtains is the most crucial factor to consider when choosing sustainable curtains. Some sustainable materials to consider include organic cotton, linen, bamboo, and hemp. These materials are grown without the use of harmful pesticides and chemicals and are renewable resources. In contrast, synthetic materials like polyester and nylon are made from non-renewable resources and contribute to pollution during the production process. When choosing sustainable curtains, look for materials that are natural, renewable, and chemical-free.

Production Process The production process of curtains also plays a role in their sustainability. Look for curtains made by companies that use sustainable production methods, such as reducing water and energy use and minimizing waste. Some companies also use ethical labor practices, which ensure that workers are paid fairly and work in safe and healthy conditions.

Dyeing Process The dyeing process of curtains can also have a significant impact on the environment. Curtains that are dyed using synthetic dyes often contain harmful chemicals that can pollute the water supply and harm wildlife. Look for curtains that are dyed using natural dyes, such as plant-based dyes, which are non-toxic and biodegradable. Some companies also use low-impact dyes, which reduce the amount of water and energy used in the dyeing process.

Energy Efficiency Curtains can also play a role in energy efficiency in your home. Look for curtains that are thick and have a tight weave, as these curtains provide better insulation and can help to reduce your energy bills. Additionally, curtains that are lighter in color can reflect sunlight, keeping your home cooler in the summer months.

Durability Sustainable soundproof curtains should be durable and long-lasting. Look for curtains made from high-quality materials that are well-constructed and can withstand daily wear and tear. When curtains last longer, you won't need to replace them as often, which reduces the amount of waste generated and the resources used to produce new curtains.

Recyclability When it's time to replace your curtains, look for curtains that can be recycled or upcycled. Some materials, such as cotton and linen, can be recycled into new products, while others, such as bamboo and hemp, can be composted. Additionally, some companies offer programs where you can send in your old curtains for recycling or upcycling.

In conclusion, choosing sustainable curtains for your home is an important step in making your home more eco-friendly. When selecting sustainable curtains, look for materials that are natural, renewable, and chemical-free. Additionally, consider the production process, dyeing process, energy efficiency, durability, and recyclability of the curtains. By choosing sustainable curtains, you can reduce your environmental impact, save money on energy bills, and create a more comfortable and healthy home environment.

[send-me-off-to-sea]

The smartest marketing decision ever made was changing the name for pleather (y'know plastic leather) to vegan leather.

Sure, the ethics behind buying leather are a little more nuanced because this is a product that necessitates the death of a creature. But pretending that a "vegan" leather jacket, which will disintegrate in 3 years, is better for the planet is completely batshit.

Anyways, back to wool. There really is no good reason to buy FAKE & PLASTIC crafting supplies.

Acrylic is a low quality material and wears out extremely fast.

There's not any major differences in the overall price and cleaning of these two products.

Should it catch on fire there's now plastic melting all over you.

Plus the wool harvesting process is beneficial for the sheep that grow it!!!!

If you truly need a sheep wool alternative consider using cotton, hemp, linen, or alpaca wool.