#and i want to wear it but its wool and really warm

[dick-chugger]

Need it to be winter, I want to wear my gayass overcoat

[daddykinkkinard]

! crossposting from my twitter !

bucktommy costume analysis 👔

hi ! i'm a fashion student and am really interested in costume design so i wanted to do a (long) post on tommy's style and how i think buck might be influenced by it in s8 as seen in "buck's britches." :))

[about tommy]

tommy's wardrobe is entirely functional and indicative of his dedication to his work. it's practical, useful, and speaks of his can-do attitude.

all his signature clothes (henleys, shackets, canvas jackets) have historical traces to being used as workwear.

(1) henleys - this one, ironically in the philippines it has its own term in our local language. it's called a camisa de chino and is used by laborers. although i live in a different country, i'm sure its use case is still the same for other countries as it's historically deemed the workman's undergarment.

also: yes. tommy is technically right. there were henleys in the 80s. even in the 1880s. so what we're learning here now folks, is that he's a smartass little shit.

(2) shackets - historically, also an item used by the working class. they were mostly worn to prevent any possible stains on inner clothes from their work (i.e. dirt, grease, grime, etc.)

(3) canvas jacket - although this was only seen in 7x04, it's more likely that he still owns a lot more. (waxed) canvas jackets are traditional workwear often used as weatherproof outerwear or heavy duty rainwear.

as a form of fun speculation, i'd like to think some of these items are also in his closet:

contrast collar canvas jacket

an authentic flight jacket

overalls, but only for when he fixes up the car

denim trucker jacket

if anything, who better to listen to when talking about tommy's clothes than tommy himself !

here's lou's cameo for me describing tommy's closet as rugged, practical and useful :))

[about "buck's britches"]

now to the "buck's britches" post. two notable items of clothing:

the famous flight jacket

baker pants.

now here's the thing about buck:

buck doesn't wear utilitarian clothing. in fact, he doesn't wear woven clothing all that much. he wears knit. knit polos. sweaters. hoodies. he is not a workwear person. in fact: he's a comfort person.

that's his primary reason for style that's a testament to his own character. buck is widely recognized as the more radiant and funny character. he has charisma and is very inviting, which is accompanied by his choice in clothing.

soft, warm, comfortable.

which goes back to the photo ostark posted on his instagram story.

(1) flight jacket - here's where i have to go and burst everyone's bubble for a bit. this is only a flight jacket because it's labelled as such. but categorically, it isn't. flight jackets are the classic term for bomber jackets.

bomber jackets (and flight jackets) were workwear used by the military, characterized by garterized cuffs and hems and short bodices. for pilots, they were interchangeable. but modernly, they have some more definable features.

characteristically, flight (or aviator) jackets are leather with shearling or sherpa collars. bomber jackets are the modernized version taking the silhouette and cuff designs and making them more accessible through material choice (linen—like buck—nylon, silk)

(2) baker pants - as the name suggests, it's a piece of kitchen workwear often in twill (which i'd assume is what oliver is wearing), denim, cotton or linen. it's characterized by the topstitching to outline the pockets and diagonal pocket openings (vs. the usual curve).

so very evidently: buck has been influenced by tommy's style. he's wearing woven material versus knit for one. if i were hopeful, i'd say they're exploring one another's style because they're sharing a closet.

[character analysis]

woven fabric as a material is sturdy. it's more structured and does not stretch. think: cotton, linen, rayon, wool, denim. what this means for buck is that, by virtue of being tommy's boyfriend he is introduced to structure, groundedness and maturity.

tommy's closet is filled with utilitarian clothing and workwear. he, as a character, is known to be emotionally grounded and mature and it translates to his clothing.

buck adapting the defining features of his wardrobe shows how much tommy has helped him get off his hamster wheel.

in fact, even the inverse can be noted. when buck asks for a second chance and practices communication towards tommy. he's wearing a woven buttondown. and in emphasizing tommy's desire to make buck comfortable, he's in a hoodie. neither of which are common for one another.

buck and tommy, even through subtle clothing choices are becoming part of one another's world and that makes me so soft as someone whose love language is fashion.

[wishful thinking]

perhaps maybe we could see tommy in a fully casual sweat set? i know that they might be protecting lfjr but man. if i see a hoodie on him. (nqueso, if you can sneak me a photo of him in knitwear ill love you forever i just want to prove my theory right i wont even post it)

if they are putting buck in this sort of attire, my guess (or hope) is that they have tommy ease up too.

it would be nice to show buck's effect on tommy as much as tommy's effect on buck because tommy's an established character and has a backstory that the writers could explore.

so if the 9-1-1 costume designers ever see this:

please put tommy in a sweat set. or a hoodie. (not a zip-up one, im talking real hoodie). i'm willing to compromise with overalls. i see what you're doing with buck's wardrobe, and love it. maybe tommy's could soften up too :))

thanks for reading ! 🫶

[inkedinshadows]

An Angel on the Ice

A/N: happy @acotargiftexchange to you, @duskandcobalt! I'm your Secret Santa, finally here with your gift! I had so much fun getting to know you and your love for this wonderful couple. I'm so so sorry I made you wait till the very end, I've been busier than I expected. BUT!! I have a second little surprise coming for you in the next few days (probably on Christmas day). I came up with the idea while writing this fic, but I didn't know how to include it here, so it'll be a little drabble on its own. Without further ado, here's your gift. Enjoy! And congratulations for guessing what Az's surprise was!

Pairing: Azriel x Elain

Summary: Azriel takes Elain to the Illyrian mountains for a romantic surprise.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: fluff, fluff, FLUFF

The cold winter air hit Elain in the face as she stepped out of the little art shop and onto the street.

The snow that had fallen during the night still coated the cobblestones, blanketing everything in a thin layer of soft white. It had brought along the cold, so freezing that her wool hat did little to warm her.

Azriel followed her outside, a wing already curling protectively around her, drawing her closer to his side. Except he was carrying the bags full of the presents they'd bought for their family, and she was still walking a couple feet away from him.

“You know, you don't have to carry all of the bags,” she said, reaching out with a gloved hand to relieve him of some weight. “I can hold some.”

He moved his hand further away, out of her reach. “I know you can, angel,” he said with a soft smile. “I just don't want you to. You're cold. You should keep your hands in your pockets.”

“I'm wearing gloves,” she pointed out, though she didn't try to grab the bags again. She knew Azriel wouldn't let her. “I'm not cold.”

A small dimple appeared on his cheek as he smirked at her. Even after months together, Elain's heart skipped a beat at the sight, her fingers twitching at her side with the urge to touch it and place a soft kiss there.

“Then why are your nose and cheeks red?”

She rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “My sister was right. You Illyrians really are overprotective mother hens.”

Yet even as she said it, her hands slid back into the pockets of her coat. Azriel's smirk grew at the movement, but he didn't comment.

“We have to earn that title somehow,” he said instead. Elain laughed, and his smile became softer. “Let's go home.”

Home. There was a time when she'd thought the Night Court would never be her home. Only three years ago, it had felt impossible. Turned Fae against her will, shoved at a male she didn't know or want, with powers she had no idea how to control, and a broken engagement on top of it all… she'd felt hopeless.

But as she'd learned how to accept and navigate her new life, Azriel had been there to help her through it. Something had slowly changed between them, a feeling that grew inside her until she could no longer pretend it wasn't there. But acting on it had led to a denied kiss in the dead of the longest night of the year. A broken heart, that feeling of hopelessness again, and then the explanation, the argument with Rhysand, the rejection of her mating bond.

Elain stole a glance at Azriel. Just a Winter Solstice ago, he had told her it had been a mistake. And now here he was, carrying their bags full of presents, on their way to the small house they'd bought a few months ago.

“You're staring, angel.”

She couldn't help the smile that blossomed on her lips. “You're just so beautiful to look at.”

She knew the effect the words would have on him, but by the Mother, she would never get tired of the way his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. It was visible even now, when they were already reddened by the cold. It happened every time she called him beautiful, and it was one of the many things she loved about him.

“How many presents do you still have to buy?” she asked him, changing the topic to make him feel more comfortable. If they were at home, she might have teased him about his blush, but not in public.

“Just a couple,” he answered, the flush already disappearing from his cheeks. “But I know what I'll get them. The only one I miss is Cassian.”

“You can always get him beef jerky this year too,” she joked, avoiding an ice patch on the cobblestones.

Azriel glanced at her. She knew he was making sure she didn't slip on the street. Overprotective mother hen, indeed. Yet she immediately stepped back into the warmth of his wing around her.

“I might, actually,” he finally replied, no hint of joking in his voice.

She turned her head to look at him, her brow furrowed. But he looked completely serious. “You can't gift him beef jerky, Az! Two years in a row at that.”

“Why not? He likes it.”

Elain shook her head in disbelief. “Because he's your brother. You always come home with a new present for me, but you can't think of anything different for your brother?”

Azriel smirked. “I'm not in love with my brother, angel.”

It was her turn to blush now. She knew he loved her, of course. They'd said it before a thousand times. But Azriel had his own way of saying it when she least expected it — reminding her whenever he could, catching her off guard and making her heart beat faster every single time.

“You know that's not what I meant,” she mumbled. She preceded him up the few steps to their front door, her fingers stiff even inside the gloves. She fumbled with the key for a moment before she managed to turn it in the lock.

The warmth of the living room welcomed her inside, the smell of the bread she'd baked that morning still lingering in the air.

“It can be difficult to come up with something new and different after five hundred years,” Azriel said as he followed her in. He set the bags down before turning to face her. “You'll see.”

Elain took off her gloves, then her hat, his words swirling in her mind. “You know, it used to scare me,” she mused. “The thought of having eternity in front of me.”

Azriel watched her carefully. “But now it doesn’t?”

She shook her head, stepping closer. “No.” Her arms wrapped around him, and she rested her chin on his chest, tilting her head up to look at him. “Because now I get to spend it with you.”

His throat bobbed. She was the one who'd caught him off guard this time. At a loss of words, Azriel buried his fingers in her hair, angling her head so he could lean down and capture her lips in a kiss that left her dizzy. The kind of kiss that usually meant they would take things up to the bedroom. Or whatever nearest surface they could find.

But he pulled back instead. Elain's heart was already racing in her chest, and she was rising on her toes for another kiss when he spoke again.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She stopped, lowering herself onto her feet. “Winter Solstice is still a week away.”

With the holidays nearing, he’d stopped getting her little gifts out of nowhere. He said he wanted to wait because everything had to be perfect this year. Their first Solstice together.

“It's not a present,” he replied. His hand slid from her hair to her cheek, and she had trouble focusing as his thumb brushed her lip. “It's something I want to do with you. I wanted to wait till Solstice, but now it just feels like the right moment.”

Elain could only nod. “Okay,” she whispered.

His chuckle was a low rumble that resonated deep in her chest. “What happened, angel?” he asked softly. “Where did your voice go?”

“You're… distracting me.”

It took her a moment to snap out of it, to find the strength to step back and let his hand fall away from her face. But she didn't miss his smug grin at her admission.

She cleared her throat, trying to clear her mind as well and focus on Azriel’s surprise. “What do you want to do?” she asked as she reached for the first button of her coat.

Azriel's hand gently caught hers to stop her. “Keep it on,” he said. “We need to go back outside.” At her curious look, he added, “I want to take you to Rhys's cabin.”

Well, that was certainly a surprise.

“Rhys's cabin?” she repeated, even as she slid her gloves back on. “Why?”

He smiled, offering her the hat she'd hung on the coat rack. “It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, angel.”

“Right,” she chuckled. She made sure to grab a warm scarf as well this time before silently offering him her gloved hand.

Azriel took it in his larger one, and then they were winnowing out of Velaris and deep into Illyrian territory.

The first thing Elain noticed was the cold, her breath forming a faint puff in the air. Then she took in the snow that covered everything, white and bright under the afternoon sun.

Azriel's hand tightened around hers, and he guided her toward the cabin just a few yards away. The snow reached their calves, and never before had Elain been so glad to be wearing boots.

“I'm starting to question why you brought me here,” she mumbled, struggling to wade through the snow even as she followed directly in the path his footsteps left behind.

“I'm sorry, angel,” he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise it'll be worth it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, sizing her up as if he was pondering picking her up and carrying her to the cabin. But a few more steps finally brought them to the door, and he ushered her inside.

Her breath caught as she looked up.

Every wall was covered in paint, drawings in a style that she immediately recognized as her sister’s.

“Are those…?”

Azriel nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes. Feyre painted them.” He let go of her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Wait here. I’ll get what we need.”

Elain watched him disappear down the hallway, wings tucked tight against his back. She sank onto the couch, admiring her sister’s artwork all over the room, its colors adding warm to the otherwise bare place.

Azriel was back in a matter of minutes, two pairs of shoes in his hands.

As he walked closer and took a seat next to her, she noticed the thin blades attached to the soles. She frowned even as she accepted the pair that he offered her. “What are these exactly?”

He was already working on swapping his boots with the new ones. “You’re asking a lot of questions today,” he quipped with a smile. “Put them on, angel. They’re Mor’s, but they should fit you. You’ll find out what they're for soon enough.”

Elain let out a dramatic sigh, hiding her own smile as she leaned down to take off her boots. “You’re lucky I love you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I never once doubted it, angel.”

When she was done, he helped her stand, giving her just enough time to balance herself on those strange boots before he winnowed them again. She instinctively gripped his arm to steady herself as they reappeared on the shore of a frozen lake. She looked around, her eyes searching the snowy expanse, but there was nothing in sight expect the white mountains.

Before she could ask anything — despite knowing how slim her chances of getting a straight answer out of Azriel were — he stepped back. Right on the icy surface of the lake.

Elain gasped, expecting the ice to give way beneath him and send him plunging into the freezing water below.

But nothing happened. The ice didn't even creak under his weight. Azriel simply stood there, a smile on his beautiful face, and extended a hand toward her. “Come join me, angel.”

She hesitated, glancing down at his feet. Though she was standing on the same thin blades, she wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t fall flat on her face if she tried to step forward.

“Why are we stepping on the ice?” she inquired, hoping to buy herself a little more time.

“We're skating,” Azriel explained, finally giving her an answer. To demonstrate, he glided backward a few feet, his wings flaring slightly to steady him before he slid back toward her. He gracefully stopped right at the edge of the lake. “You should give it a try.”

Elain didn't move. He made it look so easy, but who knew how many times he had done this before? He also made wielding a sword look easy.

“You won't fall, Ellie,” he reassured her, as if he had read her mind. He reached out with both hands. “And even if you do, I'll be here to catch you. I promise.”

She might not trust herself, but she trusted him — trusted that he would always be there to catch her if she fell. So she took his hands and slowly set one foot on the ice, then the other.

Azriel smiled at her, his fingers firm around hers. “That's it, angel. We'll take it one step at a time. Just bend your knees a little and follow my lead.”

She did as he asked and when he moved back, he gently pulled her along. Her feet glided over the surface of the lake, leaving faint lines behind.

He gave her a few instructions, guiding her further from the shore, never letting go. Slowly, Elain became more confident, more stable on her feet as she got used to the movements. It reminded her of a dance, one that could be elegant and beautiful when someone was skilled. She made a mental note to tell Nesta about it later.

“Where did you learn to do this?” she asked. Azriel was holding only one of her hands now, and they skated side by side. Still slowly, but they had gained some speed. “It doesn't seem like a typical Illyrian activity.”

Azriel laughed. It was that beautiful, deep laugh he reserved just for her. “You're right. It's not.” His laughter softned, but its warmth lingered in his voice. “It's common in the Winter Court. Viviane taught Mor a few centuries ago, and she taught the rest of us.”

He slowed them to a stop, shifting to stand in front of her. “I never thought I would, but I took a liking to it.”

Elain smiled up at him. “I think I like it too.”

“I thought you might.” He brought her hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “Want to try skating on you own?”

She thought about it for a moment, then she nodded. “Alright. But don't wander too far, okay?”

Azriel's smile was bright and soft. “Never, angel.”

He let go of her hand and moved a few feet away from her. At first, she faltered without his grip to steady her, but she quickly adjusted, his earlier instructions echoing in her mind.

For every step she took toward him, Azriel moved further back. Elain felt like a child learning to walk, her movements awkward but growing more confident with every push of her foot. Soon, gliding over the ice came naturally. And Azriel was always there, his hands outstretched to catch her if she fell. But she didn’t.

When he stopped and she reached him again, his hazel eyes were bright with pride and love. “You did it, Ellie.”

“Yes,” she replied, already intertwining their fingers again. “But don't let go of my hands again.”

Azriel's brow furrowed. “Why? You did great. You didn't even stumble.”

“I know.” Elain smirked, unable to hide her own satisfaction from her little accomplishment. “I just want to hold your hand.”

His expression softened, and a smile spread across his lips. That adorable dimple appeared once again, and with it came back her need to kiss it. Damn skates, she couldn't rise on her toes with those on.

“I will never let you go, angel,” he promised.

And he didn't.

Elain had no idea how much time they spent on that lake. It was just him and her, lost in the snowy mountains in the middle of nowhere. The silence was broken only by their laughter and quiet words. It felt as though they were the only two people in the world, free from worries and duties, lost in this moment, in each other, in a love born from quiet understanding and gentle touches.

The sun was setting by the time Azriel came to a halt, wrapping his strong arms around her. “We should probably get back,” he murmured, his voice soft as if to preserve the moment. “It's getting late.”

“And cold,” she added. Without the warm sunlight, the already cold air had turned into a freezing bite. Her scarf and hat didn't help much, and even Azriel's warmth couldn't stop her gloved hands from stiffening.

“We could take a hot bath,” she suggested. “Or I could make us some hot chocolate and we can cuddle in front of the fireplace.”

Azriel smirked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “And losing the chance of seeing your gorgeous body? I think I'll choose that bath, angel.”

Elain's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. “I… didn't mean it like that.”

His face fell slightly as worry creeped into his eyes. “You know we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, angel. I'm sorry if I assumed—”

She cut him off with a soft smile. “Az, I just hadn't thought about it. I'd love to take a bath together.” She cupped his face with her small hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “Take me home, Shadowsinger.”

His arms tightened around her, and he winnowed them away without another word, her laughter echoing in the now-empty glade.

dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

[miasmaghoul]

Nun forced fem on either SwissDew or Raindrop

yeah sure here

(idk what this is its barely nsfw lmao uhhh warnings for forcedfem, religious fuckery, mention of safewords without use of them, mostly implied corruption kink)

"It suits you."

"Does it?" Rain smooths nervous hands over the front of his habit, flattening imaginary wrinkles. "It feels so..."

"Pious?"

Rain gives a hum - it's not the word he had in mind, but it isn't wrong. Rain adjusts his veil as he takes in his reflection, turning to take in every angle in his floor length mirror.

It's odd how bare he feels considering how little skin he can see. His face and hands stand out beautifully, pale and sharp against rich black wool. That's all the uniform reveals, though. Nothing about this ensemble could be called flattering, and yet Rain can't stop looking. Can't stop tracing the shape of his sleeves and frowning at the one stubborn curl poking out behind his ear. The rosary hanging from his belt clinks when he moves to tuck it away, silver and red beads glinting in the firelight.

"I was going to say severe," Rain murmurs, fingering the inverted silver cross hanging around his neck. "But...I suppose that works too."

He feels the need to speak softly like this, to keep his voice low and his words gentle. He isn't a particularly loud ghoul as it is, at least not often, but something about seeing himself look so...reserved demands it.

Rain licks his lips, and finds the sight of it in the mirror to be borderline obscene.

"And how does it make you feel?"

The words are followed by the creak of a chair and steady footsteps on hardwood, a confident but easy stride, and Rain's heart skips against his ribs. The footsteps stop beside him, in what should be his periphery, but their owner remains hidden by the starched edge of Rain's wimple. He can't make himself turn to look, occupied instead by watching splotches of pink bloom on his cheeks.

"I...I don't know," he admits, and it's the truth. There's an odd stew of feelings swirling around in his skull, a bizarre blend of shame, discomfort and the most blasphemous sort of pride. His fingers tremble as he tugs at the knot binding his belt, a mindless distraction.

"Take your time," flows into his ear, velvety smooth, "but I want an answer."

Rain nods, sighing as he lets his eyes slip shut. Just for a moment. Maybe two.

He really didn't think this would be so hard. He knew it would be different - how could it not be? - but the heaviness in his gut is so much more than he was prepared for. He's been dressed up a thousand ways from Sunday; lingerie, pretty dresses, elegant gowns and the sluttiest costumes Swiss could get his greedy hands on. He's worn makeup and press-ons, learned to walk in the highest heels and had his waist cinched by corsets until he was ready to faint.

It all pales in comparison to the simple garments he wears now.

"...small, I think," Rain practically whispers, once the words find his tongue. It's the closest thing he can think of to describe the tightness in his chest. "It's like..." Rain wrings his hands together, the motion obscured by his oversized sleeves. "It's like I don't belong in this."

"That's because you don't," comes his very amused reply, and a gentle weight settles against his forearm. Rain stares at that elegant hand in the mirror, wide eyes caught on the place skin turns to fitted sleeve. "That's part of the fun," that hand thightens, a rough thumb arching over the inside of his wrist, and that voice feels like a red hot poker when it adds, "Sister."

The word makes him gasp, makes his stomach flip, and Rain wobbles in place. Has to reach out to catch himself on the body beside him, and he earns a soft chuckle in response.

"Easy, easy."

Rain feels the words as much as he hears them, radiating through the palm he's planted in the center of a lightly muscled chest. He shivers when a warm hand rubs over his spine, a familiar motion that has completely different connotations right now.

"You're safe," he's promised, quiet and serious. "I've got you."

Rain nods, takes a deep breath as he pushes himself upright, but he can't make himself open his eyes. He knows what's waiting for him when he does, and some part of him doesn't want to see it. If he sees it, it's real. A fantasy made real - not his own, but one he's been eager to help fulfill for ages now. Ever since the night he wrung this desire out of the ghoul supporting him, had pulled the words from his throat with precise rolls of his hips and a perfectly placed hand on a long throat.

"I've got you," he's assured again, and it's so genuine that Rain can't hold back his whimper.

"Sorry," he huffs, shaking his head. "It's...it's a lot."

A hum answers him, a warm palm cups his cheek, and Rain leans into it easily. Soothed by familiar skin and spiced cologne that settles flayed nerves.

"Rain," he says, and it's so gentle that he almost cracks an eye open. Almost. "We don't have to do this. You know that."

He does. Of course he does. One word and he's out, done, able strip himself of fabric that feels far heavier than it truly is. It would be easy, and there's a first time for everything. The word sits on the tip of his tongue, just behind sharp teeth.

"I know," Rain breathes instead, finally straightening up and crossing his arms over his stomach, "I know."

The hand on his spine remains, grounding, and Rain focuses on the feel of it. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth until the tangled mess in his belly unravels, until the pressure in his head subsides. Until he can face the body beside him and brace himself for what he's about to see. One hand fiddles with his rosary, nervous energy poured into a silent prayer he says at every midnight mass.

He can do this.

He can do this.

When Rain opens his eyes, it's as devastating as he thought it would be.

"Oh," he sighs, hot from his scalp to the soles of his feet, and the soft smile it earns him makes Rain's chest hurt.

He doesn't know where to look, too many details for his already frazzled brain to absorb; the shiny tips of polished loafers, a perfectly fitted black cassock, a blood red stole embroidered with goat heads and a sharp collar. Rain's eyes stick there, glued to that simple white square, and every inch of him tingles in a way he can't explain.

"Satanas," he says without really meaning to, and Rain is immediately rewarded with the warmest chuckle.

"Blessed be," Dew replies, and Rain feels more of the tension drain from his shoulders. He tears his eyes from that little white square with great effort and finds the other ghoul's face lined with mirth. His copper eyes sparkle in the glow of the fire, and something about it makes Rain shiver.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, taking in every inch of that handsome face. Dew's pulled his hair back, tied it into a tight knot at the base of his skull, and all it does is make him look more authoritative. "I didn't -"

"Stop," Dew orders, one palm raised, and Rain has never fallen silent so quickly. That one little moment makes something familiar start to bloom at the back of his mind, and suddenly it's just a little easier to deal with the invisible weight on his shoulders. His eyelids feel just a little heavier.

"Sorry," Rain mumbles once more, but it's only out of habit. Dew ignores it, tips his head, and then that warm palm is back on his cheek and Rain has a fleeting thought about what his habit will look like once he's inevitably tenting it.

"Tell me you want this," Dew says, voice even. He strokes Rain's cheekbone with the tip of his thumb, and Rain wishes he would push it between his lips instead. "Tell me you want it," he says again, fingertips tracing the edge of his coif, "or we'll change and -"

"No," Rain interjects, more sudden than even he expects, grabbing at Dew's outstretched arm. The cassock feels so soft, somehow plush and warm against his fingers. "No, I - I do," Rain promises, too flustered to keep his voice from shaking, "for you, I - I want to -"

He's silenced by the pressure of one long finger against his parted lips, by a soft shushing noise, and then Dew's close enough that Rain can feel his warmth. He tilts his head up, gives Rain a hungry look, and Rain can't describe how miniscule it makes him feel.

"You'll tell me if that changes?"

"Yes," Rain promises, breathless, and he nods so urgently it nearly dislodges his wimple. "Yes, I promise."

As soon as the words escape him, as soon as Dew nods his acknowledgement, Rain swears he feels the air shift. That warm hand leaves his face as Dew backs away two steps, head held high. Rain feels unbearably cold in his absence, but he knows Dew will have him hotter than he can handle soon enough.

"Look at yourself," he instructs, nodding towards the mirror. "Tell me what you see."

Rain turns on autopilot. Swivels on his heels until he's facing himself once more, all harsh lines and dark fabric. He straightens his cross, his veil, and wonders how much redder his cheeks will be by the end of this.

"I see..." Rain licks his lips again, but he can't watch it this time. "I see...purity," he supplies at length, the word syrupy thick on his tongue. "I...I see innocence."

Rain wonders if Dew will make him look at himself like this afterwards too. Once he's been used up and drained dry, left woozy and weak and with nothing in him to argue. The thought makes him queasy as much as it makes him throb, and Rain stares at the spot on his habit that he knows his cock is starting swell behind.

"Do you?"

Footsteps again, intentional. Slow. Stalking up behind him, teasing fingers trailing along the edge of his veil just enough to feel. Dew appears in the mirror beside him, and the sight of the two of them together makes Rain's knees weak.

He's starting to get why Dew wanted this.

"Yes," Rain huffs, nodding once. There's a tingle caught in his spine, between his shoulder blades, a shudder he can't quite shake out.

"Yes what?" Dew asks.

"Yes, Father," he replies, a swift exhale, and Dew looks so very pleased at the way he sways.

"Well I've heard otherwise, dear Sister," he lilts, and then he's moving. Stalking slow circles around Rain a fox ready to tear into a particularly fat hen. "In fact," he adds, coming to a stop right in front of Rain. Reaching out to slip two fingers under his chin. Lifting his gaze so all he can see is Dew's neutral expression, wild eyes and that fucking collar. "There's a rumor going around that you're a regular Jezebel." Rain winces, and Dew gives him a falsely sympathetic smile. "A common whore masquerading as a lost little lamb in need of guidance."

"N-no," Rain whispers, giving his head the tiniest shake. "I - I promise, Father," he manages, already starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges. "I'm - I'm pure, I'm -"

Dew shushes him, and then he's gone. Floating away on sure feet and gliding back to his chair. Rain watches the way his cassock billows around his legs, catches glimpses of tight-fitted black slacks beneath it, and when Dew snaps his fingers Rain follows with silent obedience.

Dew looks positively regal in the oversized armchair he's pulled in front of the fireplace. He sits with his back straight and both hands folded on his lap. Rain doesn't think he's ever seen him look so powerful, so commanding of attention, not even on stage.

"Kneel, Sister," Dew commands. "Kneel and confess your sins." He tips his head and Rain's breath catches in his throat. "Kneel," he says, "and let me decide if you deserve forgiveness."

Rain drops so hard the floor shakes.

[bilehwit]

Just read your Bilehwit Au on Ao3 and was greetes by the amazing ref for the lamb here on tumblr!

And yes i absolutely love it when people explain clothing choices in character design especially since you wrote Lamb culture is based on the Old English pls do ramble 🙏

Well hello!! This my first ask from someone I've never met before, so I'll ask you to please be patient with my wild trails of thought.

This will be a long one, but I'll focus on two main outfits - the daily wear and the ritual outfit, as they have the most symbolism.

The easiest one is obviously the leaf outfit - cute, I love it so much!

The leaf was chosen for its symbolism in English mythology. The tree itself is well beloved as a symbol of strength and a symbol of fertility - acorns are often depicted as lucky, and an oak full of acorns is a good sign of fertility!

I also chose oak because I think they're very beautiful trees - they can live for up to 1,000 years, and they can grow to 30 meters wide in their leaves. That's amazing to me. They also smell nice, and I remember climbing them when I was little, so it's nice to share the oak with my lambsona.

Next, let's talk about the sacrifice outfit - it's oddly bridal, no?

Well it's intended to be!

The use of white/silver to denote Purity is an old concept, but white wedding dresses in England were only truly popularised after Queen Victoria wore the colour to her wedding - previously a mourning shade.

I chose silver satin as the fabric, and a simple design, as I wanted a bridal look but also something that felt sleek and pure. Bilehwit is a virgin (virgin sacrifice in all ways) and it's a cruel trick to play.

Also, Shamura in my fic struggles to see/differentiate between objects, so having an all white lamb made it easier for them to stay focused.

So while this outfit feels bridal to us, the symbolism in fic is more that it was easier than dying fabric, just raw spider thread spun into a dress.

Shamura did make the veil themself, though, for reasons you will see later ;3

Now, we get to the heavy hitters! First up, the daily outfit.

Now, Anglo-Saxons were all about those layers! So this outfit actually has more layers than you'd even think.

Under the base dress is a thin cotton chemise, or under dress, made to soak up the oils of the skin and sweat, changed most often. Bilehwit would use these as pyjamas in the summer months, too, to keep cool while covered and decent.

The next layer is the linen, with the thin dark band. This would be a slightly tighter layer to the body, and would be long sleeved to offer protection from the sun and the cold. Linen would be the lighter colours, as they'd be protected more, and linen was used as a middling layer to hold heat in winter. Air would be trapped between layers and keep people warm, and also it protected them from any scratchy wool. The woven ribbon at the bottom is decorative.

The next layer is my favourite. This is the red layer, the thicker dress, made often from wool or from linen again. This is made from wool, using a technique called naalbinding, which is what the Anglo-Saxons would have used, as they didn't knit like is common today.

Anglo-Saxon embroidery and weaving was actually really well known in Europe for its fine work and was gifted to Emissaries and Kings. The weaving and sewing business in England went hard as hell, and it's where most people would be employed for personal use or as gifts.

The embroidery of flowers on the cuffs of the red dress, as well as the colar, are those of Achillea millefolium, or 'Red Velvet', flowers. These tiny buds are native to Europe, western Asia and North America, and are small blooms that self seed and explode into colour. I chose them after seeing the flowers on a sketch, and decided that I had to include them.

Red in flower language is always to do with romance and passion. I wanted Bilehwit to show that desire, as they are a hopeless romantic at heart, and they also just feel a deep-seated loneliness that they want filled. The red flowers are the only flowers they've ever been given, and they've spent hours tracing the embroidery threads and staring silently at the sky.

The final apron layer is just that - an apron. It's a thin, boxy piece of fabric that is played on top to ensure the front of the dress stays somewhat clean, and there is a secret pocket behind it that they store honey-sweets in for children (and themself). Just a length of plain cut cloth!

Tied together with a woven belt, this outfit is my second favourite - I love every detail, and when I can talk in fic about it, I will spend thousands of words trying to detail what it means to me, and probably failing.

The final outfit now, one that definitely won't be seen in fic for a good long while - the Fancy/Ritual set.

Look at ittttt ahahahahagahqabqgagagquipqguqugjv

Okay, keysmash over, serious time!

Now, this outfit is interesting, because not only does it have embroidery and styles of old English culture, it also has mixes of Indian influence too!

"Well, that's random to add," I hear you murmur, and you're right. Why would I add that?

Well, because originally I was going to make Narinder have a more Egyptian vibe! I thought; ah, perfect, he'd do great as a Sphynx cat, the Egyptians loved those cats.

See, as it turns out, Narinder is actually a Sanskrit/Hindu name. It's a form of the name Narendra, a masculine name that means "Lord of Men". It's a very formal name, and one I immediately knew I had to switch things around for.

Following this, I was also able to determine the domains and cultures of each other Bishop, by tracing back names and meanings! That's a whole other post I fear.

Back to the dress!

The outline is far more recent than Old English, medieval style dresses, and that's because, uh... I wanted it. (This one is not very historically accurate. Forgive me.)

I wanted a mix of English style embroidery and Indian embroidery styles. Will come back and edit in which style I went with specifically, but I wanted the ritual set to be a touch more dedicated to Narinder, with darker colours, and more Indian fusion embroidery.

The black is velvet, the red is silk, and the white is linen - why? Again, it looks cool.

I can't lie, I have very little explanation for this besides the fact it looks bangin'.

But yes!! That's all my explanations at this current point in time for outfits! However, if you have any further questions, please ask away, and I will happily detail everything and anything about my AU and fic! Thank you for joining me on my rambling!

[angel-egg-egl]

I’m curious- why do you use linen fabric sometimes? I’m a fan of linen personally (super breathable!) but I’ve always associated cotton with lolita; I can’t really think of many/any uses of linen by typical lolita brands. (But I could definitely be misremembering stuff!) Is it particularly suited to the patterns or for other considerations? (Also- I love that you give us fiber content and breathability for fabrics and use a lot of natural fabrics and cotton lace! I’ve been super disappointed by brands recently that are all synthetic so I love seeing people make stuff in cotton & co)

the short answer is blah blah blah natural fabrics only blah but the long answer is it's unbelievably inexpensive even at consumer level, readily available, and comes in a TON of really gorgeous colours, so i like to use it to practice newly drafted patterns bc i wont feel like i wasted a rare or expensive fabric if i mess up.

its also just generally a very well behaved fabric to sew with! its lightweight, so i can sew through several layers of it at a time without issues, it doesn't really stretch or shift around, so i often don't even need to pin it much, and it gathers beautifully in the gathering foot i use. also, both sides of it are the same, so I can be really lazy sewing it since i can't accidentally sew the wrong sides together LOL. tldr: it's practical! (if you're curious, it's robert kaufman essex linen!)

that said: one of my serious goals with the Brand was to use natural fibres as much as possible, especially cotton (cotton velveteen, cotton burberry, cotton prints, cotton sateen, cotton corduroy. i'm looking for a good cotton knit for cutsews tbh)-- in fact, the only polyester I've used so far has been in the gobelin fabrics, which tend to be poly-cotton blends (i do seek out high cotton ratios when i can!). i always use cotton lining, as well!

my stance on this point is simple: i live in a relatively warm climate, and i don't tolerate heat very well, and i was getting incredibly tired of having a ton of brand items i couldn't wear 90% of the year because i Knew the fabric was going to have me sweating. i've also heard many other lolitas online complain about how rare cotton releases are these days. ultimately, i want to make things that i (and the people around me) wish were more common! it's why so many of my designs are fully shirred, mid-length with longer sizes available by request (as mainstream brand has been skewing longer recently, much to the lament of my shorter friends), and made with old school style fabrics-- these are all things i hear people wishing for!

anyway this got kind of long, but basically the thing that makes me happiest is solving problems? so, if i can make some good comfortable staple pieces to flesh out someone's wardrobe so they can like, go shopping or eat dinner or whatever and still be comfortable, i'm accomplishing the mission.

to end this on a more fun note, here's a list of natural fabrics i'd like to work with more!

-wool (particularly angora!)

-silk (especially silk chiffon and silk organza)

-ethically sourced and/or upcycled fur (for capes and mufflers!)

-cotton sateen

-dobby/karami fabric

what kind of fabrics and materials do you guys want to see?

[sachermorte]

Roland, it's been too long since you talked about fashion.

What are your fashion do's and don'ts?

And what fashion rules are bs in your opinion?

I could have sworn I talked about fashion fairly recently but looking back, it was last month already. That simply won't do. Obviously from a menswear perspective. If you're looking for more traditionally femme advice I can do my best, but no promises. Cut because I wrote too much.

Fashion Don'ts

❌ artificial fibers ❌

Take a look at the two blazers below.

They are, upon first impression, quite similar. Two buttons. Notch lapel. The same pocket flaps, the same seams down the front to contour to the body. Even (roughly) the same color.

Look closer. You see the strange sheen to the jacket on the left? The way the thread cuts into the fabric, causing it to almost look puffy on either side? The odd cast to the draping? How it almost, just a little bit, looks like it's been sewn out of a parachute?

The jacket on the left was sewn out of polyester. Now, polyester has a number of benefits, such as water and fire resistance. That's because not even the water or the fire really wants to touch it.

Now look at the jacket on the right. It drapes well, yet maintains its structure. It doesn't pull any funny business around the seams. The texture adds an interesting detail to the rest of the outfit and anchors it firmly in the textile tradition. It's warm. It's comfortable. That's because it's made of wool.

Unfortunately, plastic clothing is not only cheap, it's increasingly the only option available. Even luxury brands use it, and extensively at that. But if you're aiming to look stylish, if you want someone to look at you on the street and go "oh wow, that person looks truly lovely", there's no reason to choose polyester, acrylic, or nylon over natural fibers. Cotton, wool, linen, silk, angora, cashmere, leather. These are your friends. I promise you, they're your friends.

❌ slim fit ❌

There was a time (a dark and terrible time) when people thought that it was acceptable and fetching to go out in public looking as if they'd been shrink-wrapped into their clothes. This is one of those fashion trends that comes back every few years alongside other truly gruesome horrors, such as plucking your eyebrows too thin or wearing capris. It's all very mid-2010s. All very r/malefashionadvice, the pants cut so slim you can hardly sit down in them, the jackets that pull uncomfortably at the buttons.

This is not attractive. They look uncomfortable. It unbalances the frame, for one. The gentleman on the left looks like he's about to hulk out of his shirt (and his tie is too short. for shame!). The gentleman on the right has skinny little toothpick bird legs.

Contrast these gentlemen from the 1980s and 1990s.

Perhaps the shoulders are a bit large for our modern sensibilities. Perhaps the pleated trouser causes you to raise an eyebrow. These are matters of personal taste upon which reasonable minds can and do differ.

But look at the cut. Look at how breathable everything looks. The jacket gives you room to maneuver. The pants aren't about to cut you in half every time you take a seat on the bus. These gentlemen are wearing their suits as opposed to being imprisoned by them.

If pre-y2k men's tailoring interests you, I invite you to watch some films and shows from the 80s and 90s. You'll really develop your eye for these sorts of things and can apply what you've learned to your own wardrobe.

❌ athleisure ❌

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. The American need to wear sweatpants and workout gear everywhere they go, come to haunt and infect us all. It's the drawstring waists on suit pants. It's the insistence on the most hideous running shoes I've ever seen with every outfit. It's the "performance" fabrics on clothing you're going to wear to the office or to a wedding.

If I have to see fits like this for very much longer they're going to have the in the motherfucking Hague. They will. I promise you they will.

Anyway. Now that we have that out of the way.

Fashion Dos

✅ dress up ✅

Next time you have somewhere to be, work or school or a party or just walking around town doing nothing of any consequence, dress one or two levels above where you normally would and see how you feel.

You can start slow with this. Wear a tie and some corduroys with your usual casual jacket and sneakers. Try a blazer with your jeans and graphic tee.

People, at first, may say "oh, what are you all dressed up for", but after a while they just get used to it and stop commenting on it. I regularly wear full suits to my teaching job where my colleagues wear jeans. It's just my thing. They don't know me any differently.

My life noticeably improved when I started dressing to impress for more or less every occasion. And it makes me feel great, besides.

✅ buy secondhand ✅

As I mentioned before, the Polyester Plague is among us. It lays heavy on our backs. Even formerly nice or luxury brands are beginning to adulterate my (dear, beloved) natural fibers with this crap. I saw a "wool blend" coat being sold in a shop the other day. You want to know how much wool was in it? Seventeen percent. 17. One-seven.

Used to be, I would go window shopping even in budget stores like H&M and it would be an absolute struggle to not spend money I didn't have on things I didn't need. It was a discipline exercise for me. I was sweating each and every time.

Now? Not so. There's nothing in any of these stores worth buying. Nothing at all. This is why we buy secondhand. We have Humana and Carla and Vintage Shop as chains here in Vienna for fairly decent prices, alongside a smattering of independent stores. With a good eye and a thorough education in 80s and 90s television shows, you too can pick up some truly glorious finds.

But watch out! Even in our thrift stores, some of this shit is still SheIn. Be watchful.

✅ intentionality ✅

I know so many people with a closet full of clothes. Good clothes, nice clothes. But so, so often they lament to me that they have absolutely nothing to wear.

This is because they have clothes. They don't have a wardrobe.

Which colors do you like wearing? What places can you be found in your everyday life? Are there clothes you just won't wear, either because of the color or because of a fit issue? Thank them and let them go. Are there things you'd love to wear more often but you have no idea what to wear them with? You might need more basics.

If I can give you any hard and fast rule here, it's this:

Never buy a piece of clothing unless you can imagine three different outfits you could wear it with.

I want to buy a chocolate brown blazer? I could wear it with a white shirt, patterned brown pants, and brown boots. I could wear it with cream trousers, brown loafers, and a tan turtleneck. I could wear it with green trousers, brown boots, and a cream shirt. Don't make up hypothetical pieces of clothing. Everything above is something I already have in my wardrobe. I could take home that brown blazer today and wear it for half a week straight, minimum, just with things I already own.

Also, if a piece is "off", in some way, if it's just a hair too tight or the shoulders are a little weird or the color washes you out a little bit or it's kind of itchy, and you think that it's fine, it's not that big of a deal...

Put it down. I mean it. Put it down. Never take home a piece that you aren't happy to wear as it is here and now, unless you're literally going to take it to the tailor that very weekend. You'll never touch it again. It'll rot in your wardrobe, gathering dust.

Fashion Rules (that are BS)

1. Outfit repeating. You have clothes to wear them. You have a washing machine. Of course you're going to repeat outfits. Especially if you really liked how you looked in them. If someone calls you an outfit repeater ask them why they're an outfit rememberer.

2. Silly color rules. Any color combination can be made to work if you're intentional about it. Of course if you go wearing brown shoes with a black suit there's not a force on earth that can save you from my wrath. But if you intentionally combine brown and black, that's always lovely. "Don't wear white after Labor Day" (which is in September in the US for some reason)? Angelic all-white winter looks steal my heart away every time. "Blue and green should never be seen"? What are you talking about? They look wonderful together.

3. The idea of "timeless dressing"

People think it's "old money" now. Sad beige. White. Gold. Oversized t-shirts. A few years ago, everyone's idea of timeless was totally different. Swinging from minimalist capsule wardrobes to "fifty pieces everyone's wardrobe should contain". It's all made up. It's all capitalism. Wear what you like. Wear what makes you happy. Wear what's functional for you and your wardrobe. You don't have to answer to anyone as long as your clothes work for you. Even me.

Although I might judge you.

Just a little bit.

[minhosimthings]

To bring the Stars down

Synopsis: In which you have a late night stroll with your lover

Pairings: Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, mention of food, did I mention fluff

A/N: HYUNJIN BRAINROT WOOHOO. Look it's his fault HE JUST HAD TO POST THOSE BF CODED PICS ON INSTAGRAM DIDN'T HE. I'm telling you, they got instagram accounts to make us more delusional. Also I know this is really short but look my brain couldn't write anything more without me giggling every two seconds. This is for my darling @astraystayyh . May this make you as delusion as you make me everyday 😚

The night sky is an interesting thing isn't it? To describe the night sky is to describe a prism. Many sides, one surface, yet a thousand colours passing through it, making it a painting no frame could handle. And yet humanity has been afraid of it, fearing what the dark may bring. Of course it may bring chaos. But hasn't anyone thought about how it could bring calm? Calm as in to look up at the stars and wonder which one loved which? For when you love the stars, why would you be afraid of the night?

"Darling?" Hyunjin's eyes slowly shot open, feeling his legs being attacked by an invisible force, the invisible force being you, fidgeting around and twitching in your sleep. Hyunjin leaned slightly over to you, watching as your eyes were screaming to open up. Your breathing was shallow, and your forehead was covered with cold sweat, glistening under the influence of the soft moonlight coming in through the windows.

"Darling." He shook you by the shoulders gently, "Darling wake up." You could feel Hyunjin's warm hands caress your head as your eyes shot open, your body almost about to fall off the bed. "Nightmare?" Hyunjin whispered into your ear, voice raspy, as you sunk into his comforting embrace, like a ship succumbing to the sea. You hummed in response to him, not being able to get words out of your mouth. Your throat felt dry and all you wanted to do was stare up at the ceiling.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Hyunjin said, keeping his tone quiet, as if he was talking to a broken child. "No." You mumbled, as Hyunjin drew shapes onto your back with his finger, "Just want you." It seemed childish to you, to admit that you needed a person to comfort you when you were upset. It was as if you were a child, throwing a tantrum because her birthday balloons were green instead of pink.

Hyunjin smiled into the crook of your neck, where he has buried himself, like a rabbit burrowing itself into a hole. "Do you want to go for a walk?" Hyunjin suggested, loosening his grip on your waist, "See the pretty stars?" "Please." You sighed, letting out a breath which was trapped in you for what seemed like a cosmic year.

You dressed yourself quietly as Hyunjin stood outside in the living room, having dressed himself at the speed of Helios' chariot. "Wear a scarf my muse." He picked up a scarf of deep red wool from the hat rack, an unusual place to keep scarves, "I don't want you getting sick and missing our pottery date this week." He added as an afterthought. It made you smile softly, the way he would try to cheer you up. It reminded you of the time you first asked him the lingering question, 'why do you love me for who I am instead of who I pretend to be?', and he answered with something that you swore would have been the cause of your tombstone, 'Because you cannot love a rose, without pricking your finger on its thorn." He kissed your forehead, "Because you cannot paint a picture without having a flaw." He moved down to your nose, "Because the stars would never be beautiful without the night sky." Great first kiss wasn't it? A memory you'd hold onto for all of eternity.

The wind was chilly tonight as you roamed the streets with Hyunjin, causally willing away time. The lights from the few shops that still remained open, slightly blinded you, as you could see the owners contemplating whether or not to shut down for the night.

"Wait here darling." Hyunjin squeezed your hand before disappearing round an alleyway, leaving you all alone on the bench. The streets were quiet, an invincible fact considering that it was nearly midnight. Your eyes lingered up to the sky, tracing all the stars which rested on it, quite akin to freckles dotting someone's skin. You spotted a peculiar figure along the far right. No one told you Venus would be visible this late tonight. It decorated the sky well, like the mole on Hyunjin's face, which you would have loved to curl up in, like a cat snuggling up in her bed.

"Ta da." You heard a voice behind your ear. Hyunjin was holding a bouquet of magnolias, with tiny periwinkles gently poking out the corner. "I got us hot chocolate too." Hyunjin put two paper cups down on the bench, slightly adjusting his scarf. You took time in amusing yourself on how his cardigan and scarf made him look like an old suburban grandma, who'd knit the prettiest sweaters for her grandkids for Christmas.

"What's going on in that pretty mind of yours?" Hyunjin interrupted your train of thoughts, stiring his hot chocolate with the plastic stick. "Nothing." You smiled, "Just you and your stupidly beautiful face." Hyunjin raised a hand upto his chest, faking an expression of shock, which made both of you laugh out loud, the sound echoing through the night. The winds of Notus, Boreas, Eurus and Zephyrus ran through time like an expatriate, as you sat and sipped on delicious, gooey, melted chocolate. The best invention man ever made, you thought.

"Want to talk about it now?" Hyunjin quietly mused as you edged closer to him on the bench. You let out a breath and let your head lean on his shoulder. "I had a dream that you fell into a blackhole-" you started to realise how silly it all seemed, "-and that you never came back and your last words were 'How could I ever love you?'" Hyunjin stayed quiet for a while after you said your words. "it's silly." You mumbled, wearing a defeated look on your face. Hyunjin turned to look at you, his face all pink from the chilliness of the atmosphere. "Well I guess I can't go to work tomorrow." He sighed dramatically. "Why not?" You chuckled, sensing that he was about to do something silly. "Because-" his eyes widened, "-I have to find dream Hyunjin and destroy all his paintbrushes! How dare he do that to the love of my life!"

Your face widened into a grin as you laughed out loud, holding your stomach. Hyunjin's eyes crinkled as he smiled widely, his plan of making you happy working. "You wouldn't ever destroy paintbrushes." You gasped for air, loosing too much in the process of laughing, "Even if they were owned by someone you hate." Hyunjin merely shrugged at your words. "When it comes to you, my muse-" he embraced you tighter, "I would destroy the night sky to bring the stars down."

[tsun-bun]

Decided to dip my toes back into writing and tumblr for @queengiuliettafirstlady and @candied-boys Ikemen Advent event! Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Prompt: Woolen Clothes Just wholesome Black Army shenanigans! (+ a lil Red Army at the end) I wanted to write something cosy! No particular pairings or anything Word count: 996 ------------------------- Though cold winds blew outside, it was warm and lively as ever in the Black Army headquarters. It wasn’t yet Christmas day (weeks away, even), but nonetheless the officers and Alice had been summoned by Seth for “Santa Seth’s Super Special Gift Extravaganza ☆”.

“… Seth, your naming taste gets worse every year,” Luka remarked as they all made their way inside the lounge.

“Bah!!” Seth shook his head dramatically. “This is why I have to get you in the spirit of the season, Luka!!”

“What’s it even supposed to mean? Ya got us gifts already? Ain’t it a bit early?” Fenrir tilted his head, confused.

“That’s why it’s special ♪” Seth chirped. “Now, now, everyone, please sit.”

At his instruction, they all took their seats, some more begrudgingly than others. Without further ado, Seth clapped his hands together, and spun about to fetch the presents. With a flourish, he gave each of them their own neatly-wrapped box - complete with glittering bows and cute name tags, of course.

“Don’t open them just yet!” he tutted, mostly to Fenrir - whose fingers were already itching to unwrap his present as soon as it landed in his lap. Beside him, Ray lifted up his own, giving it a shake to try and puzzle out what was inside.

At last, after twirling around the room, Seth was left only with one present to hold: suspiciously, his own.

“Wow, you really went all out, Seth!” Alice exclaimed, admiring all the sparkles and decorations. Of course, he had added extra ribbons specially for her.

“Aahh I knew a sweet girl like yourself would appreciate good presentation!”

Sirius regarded the present with more skepticism. “Shall we open them now?”

“Don’t you need your reading glasses first, old man?~” Seth ignored Sirius’ warning glare. “Okayyy, everybody, you can open them!”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was that of torn wrapping paper: Fenrir eagerly digging out his present, Ray unable to quite contain a bit of childlike enthusiasm either, Sirius reluctantly (but nonetheless carefully) unfolding the paper, Alice teetering between excitement and worry as she tried not to ruin Seth’s hard work present-wrapping… while Luka unwrapped his with some sense of dread, as if something might leap out at him.

Soon, they had all opened the presents to reveal… Christmas sweaters. Though they were matching, they were all personalised to some degree: the wool dyed different colours and woven into festive patterns, alongside the more… unique choices, clearly willed into existence by Seth himself.

“Ta-daa!!” Seth triumphantly lifted his sweater up, his signature shade of green, patterned with cute little foxes in Santa hats. “Aren’t they just adorable?”

Sirius was the first to speak up. “Seth. What is this?”

His sweater proudly declared “Santa’s FAVOURITE DADDY”, decorated with silhouettes of his “children” - the Black Army brats and Chutney.

“Sirius, it’s fashionable for a refined older gentlemaaaaa–”

Seth flailed his arms as he ran away from Sirius, still clutching onto his sweater, its sleeves flailing around behind him.

“How many times do I have to tell you brats that I’m only 30?”

“I’m sorry, daddy Sirius~!” Seth called out as he wiggled away from the grumbling “old man”…

“Woah! Look, Ray, ours match!!” Fenrir excitedly held up his sweater against Ray’s - the Ace of Spades had a strange combination of dogs and guns. Even dogs WITH guns. Ray’s had a variety of kitty cats in regal poses, wearing crowns and capes fit for a King.

“… Not bad,” Ray decided with a smile, quietly satisfied to match with his bro.

Having escaped Sirius (for now), Seth nodded enthusiastically at them. “Right?! I thought we could all wear matching sweaters for Christmas day! Aren’t they sooo cute?”

“… Seth,” Luka spoke without looking up from his sweater.

“Yesss, darling angel?” Seth gazed down at him, eyes glittering with hope.

“Can I give mine back?” Luka casually destroyed that hope.

Seth looked appalled, wailing. “Nooo!! How could you say that?!”

“Luka, you have to admit, it is very cute…” Alice gently nudged him, a gleam in her eyes as if she was already picturing him in it.

It was alarmingly cute. With chubby-cheeked hamsters and angels, hamster angels even, with halos and wings, the wool all soft pastel colours.

“That’s the problem, Alice. And matching sweaters… aren’t we too old for this? It’s cheesy.” Luka pouted.

“But it’s perfect for the angel of the Black Army!” Seth chimed in.

“Please stop calling me that…” Luka muttered, blushing already as he imagined the future fawning he’d be subject to.

“Hmmm… I don’t know, I think it’s a sweet tradition,” Alice joked, showing off her own sweater, decorated with all the cute little candies and desserts she made and enjoyed in Cradle.

Ray reached over to ruffle Alice’s hair with a grin. “Just perfect for our resident sweets-lover, huh?”

Sirius rolled his eyes with fond exasperation before suggesting: “Well, if it’ll make the little lady happy…”

Luka sighed, relenting. “I guess I can wear it for one day…”

Seth brightened up immediately, pulling them both into a hug. “Yippee! We’ll be one big, festive family! ♡”

—

A few days later, somewhere in Red Territory, Edgar struck up a conversation…

“Have you heard from Luka recently?”

“Hmph, of course!!” Jonah replied, offended to even be asked. “I have to be well-informed to pick out the perfect gift for my dear baby brother.”

Edgar smiled so innocently that it could only mean he was about to say something very, very devious. “Why, then you’ve surely heard the Black Army officers are wearing matching sweaters this year–”

The sentence was barely out of his mouth before Jonah stormed off to go... shopping?

“Geez… how’s he planning to match without even seeing ‘em?” Kyle rubbed at the back of his neck, watching Jonah zoom off into the distance.

Edgar smiled enigmatically. “Oh, that’s half the fun of it.”

“Huh. Well, he’d better not come back with embarrassing sweaters for all of us…”

[theworldofkree]

what is Clara's full outfit ?! (what different parts of it are called/what she wears !)

Clara's outfit is based on 1700s lower class fashion. The images below are so old I had to take screenshots lol, but show what her clothes are like from underwear to outerwear.

Here's a deeper description:

For sleepwear her nightgown is called a shift. Her underthings are a pair of stays (similar to a corset, but older from the 18th century/the 1700s.) Her socks are called stockings and go up to her knee/thigh (they have a little designs on the ankle called clocks), then she adds a pocket because her skirts dont have a pocket sewn onto them.

Her skirt is called a petticoat (most skirts were called this in the 1700s, it didnt nessessarily mean a fluffy underskirt like we think of today. In summer/on hot days this is all she needs, to protect her from the sun/from stains she may add a neckerchief around her neck and add an apron.

In slightly colder weather she could add knitted arm warmers and a shawl. If its even colder, she'll layer more skirts on top of each other and wear a jacket called a "short gown" these were worn by women daily in the 1700s, more often than Clara wears one, and was usually pinned closed so they could fit a changing body over the course of years.

Then, of course, are the heavy wool cloaks and scarves that keep her warm in the coldest months of the year.

This isn't 100% historically accurate (especially with the knit stuff, knit scarves, and shawls weren't really a thing in the 1700s) but I love historical fashion and wanted to use my knowledge for the story and Clara's wardrobe!

[diabolik-art-blog]

The shelter of the future [ Part 01 ]

AO3: Part 01

Admin: A short one-shot based on Ruki's DF route. It has 3 parts and I will post next part tomorrow. I present this to my girl Afra @afra-blueraz . We miss you girlie. Please get better soon. We all love you :3. This was requested by @its-irsaa-fyp 😘.

The weather was cold and dark and the rain was getting heavier and heavier every moment. All the people were wearing warm clothes and jackets made of leather and warm wools and continued on their way. Most of the couples used a common umbrella and their hands were tied in each other's hands.

In the middle of a merciless storm and heavy rain, a thin and pale girl was standing next to a shop. Her clothes did not look very warm. The body and all the clothes were wet because of the rain and she was hugging her arms to get a little warm. Her wet hair was falling on her face and water was dripping from the corner of her hair. In the darkness of the night, her face could not be seen well, but if someone looked at her carefully, they would realize that she was crying.

Yui: (Ruki-kun, please hurry. I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Please come back faster. What will happen if they find us?)

Ruki had stolen the person he loved the most from the Tsukinami mansion and now he wanted to run away with her. Yui had been imprisoned by the Tsukinami brothers for months. Shin had brutally tortured her and her whole body was scarred. Yui had become very mentally unstable and was very scared.

*flashback*

Shin approaches Yui and he slaps Yui so hard that Yui falls on the ground and blood comes from the corner of her mouth. Tears in her eyes and she can't even breathe regularly.

Shin: Do what I said or I will kill you.

Yui could not speak a single word. She had endured all of Shin's tortures and knew how cruel he was and would really kill her if she disobeyed him.

Shin approached Yui with slow steps and while Yui tried to get up from the ground with her weak arms, he pushed her to the ground again. He wrapped his arms around Yui's slender neck and began to squeeze with all his might, but was careful not to break her neck.

Shin: You will do what I said right now or you will never be able to breathe again.

Yui's eyes turned black and she struggled for her life.

Yui: O... O... Okay...

As soon as the word left Yui's mouth, Shin let go of her neck and Yui was panting frantically.

Yui: *cough* *cough*...

When Yui caught her breath, Shin was looking at her expectantly with an evil grin on his face. She stood up with tears in her eyes. Her hands and feet were shaking. She slowly raised her delicate hands and started taking off her clothes. Until she felt the caress of a hand on her bare skin.

Shin: Good girl... let me help you take off the rest.

*End of flashback*

Yui had tears in her eyes as she remembered the bitter memories. She was immersed in her own thoughts and did not notice that people were looking at her. To the lonely girl who is wet and shivering in the rain.

Yui felt the caress of one hand on her shoulders again. But this caress was not familiar. She turned to see a strange man looking at her with concern.

Man: Young lady, is something wrong? Let me help you.

Yui was horrified to see the strange man. She stepped back to defend herself.

Yui: Don't come near me. Do not touch me.

Man: I want to help you.

Yui was scared and didn't know how to react. Without being able to think straight, she started running even though Ruki had told her to wait for him. She ran as fast as she could and cried until she reached a dead end.

Yui sat next to the garbage and hugged her knees. Tears flowed from her eyes and wet her innocent face. She was shaking and crying because of the cold and fear. Her pained face showed that she had suffered a lot.

Yui: Ruki-kun... please... come back...

While she was crying in the dark alley, a man approached her and held an umbrella over her head to protect her from the rain. He slowly began to caress her head and though Yui's attention was drawn to her. Yui looked up and saw Ruki.

Ruki: Yui... I told you to wait for me.

Seeing Ruki, she jumped into his arms without any hesitation and started crying again. She was hugging Ruki with all her heart. It was as if she was drowning and Ruki was her lifeguard.

Yui: Ruki-kun.... *Sob* ... Ruki-kun.... *Sniff* ... Please.... *Sob* ... Don't leave me alone...

Seeing how scared and cold Yui was, Ruki frowned. He considered himself guilty of these events. He should never have left Yui alone in that hellish mansion. He should have gone earlier to save her.

Ruki took off his jacket and threw it over Yui's shoulders and hugged her tightly. He pressed Yui's head to his chest and gently caressed her and kissed her wet hair.

Ruki: Don't worry, Yui. We are not apart. No one can separate us anymore.

Yui relaxed in Ruki's arms and took a deep breath. Ruki looked at the tickets he had prepared. They didn't have much time, they had to leave this city faster. To be with each other and stay together forever.

After Yui calmed down, Ruki gently wiped the tears from her face and kissed her cheek. He helped Yui put on his jacket. And while holding her delicate hand, he held the umbrella over her head and they started to move to escape from this hell together.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompt from here (but randomized)

[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4]

[Read on AO3]

Day 05: Warming up

Such stuff-verse, wc 940

The air is freezing when Gale finally locks the stage door at the Abbotts behind him, and he’s immediately hit by a chilling gust of wind that makes him shiver in his winter coat — he even regrets, for a split second, that he refused John’s offer to wear his hideous sheepskin to get to work tonight.

The winter show this year was particularly long, and lonely since John wasn’t feeling very well and Gale insisted he’d stay at home — he would’ve loved it, a medley of Christmas stories from all around the world. It’s late, past midnight, and the moon shines bright in the dark blue sky but there’s a heavy, wet smell in the air that heralds snow.

“You’re sure you don’t need a ride?” Marge asks him, half her face buried in her wool scarf. “I wouldn’t want you freezing to death on me.”

“I can manage, thanks,” Gale answers, putting his warm gloves on and unlocking his bike. “Besides, I don’t want to leave the bike here all night. I’ll be alright, I promise,” he adds, catching his best friend’s worried look.

“Text me when you get back,” Marge relents squeezing his arm, then scurries back to the car where Rosie is waiting for her; they blink the headlights twice as a goodbye and Gale waves back and watches them drive away, already regretting not having accepted the lift.

The streets are blissfully empty this time at night, everyone already in the safety of their own warm beds, so Gale zips around quickly on his bike, breath coming out of his mouth in visible puffs. Christmas lights blink lazily from railings and windowsills, and scattered around there are snowmen and Santas pointing the way, guiding him home to John. There’s a small tree in their building’s lobby, scantily decorated and with its lights turned off, a garland on the front door or Benny and Brady’s apartment one floor below theirs, and a huge MERRY CHRISTMAS sign on their own front door, John’s proud purchase, obnoxiously loud with sequins and tinsel. Gale feels a little bit warmer just by looking at it.

He unlocks the door quietly expecting to find the flat shrouded in darkness, but instead he’s greeted by the soft glow of the multicolor lights of their tree seeping in from their living room. With a sigh Gale removes his scarf and gloves and hangs everything on his hook, a shiver coursing down his spine at the sudden change in temperature; they’re supposed to switch off the lights when they go to bed, it’s a fire hazard to keep them on all night, but he figures John wanted him to feel welcome once he got back.

Once he gets to the living room though, he sees that’s not exactly the case: John is asleep on the couch, one of his mum’s knitted blankets draped over him. On the carpet by his feet there’s Meatball who greets Gale with a sleepy wag of his his tail — he wasn’t supposed to be with them tonight, Benny must have brought him to John to keep him company cause he was sick; to complete the picture, their cat Hubble is sleeping all curled up on a pillow above John’s head.

John’s sleeping soundly, which is still rare and worth celebrating in Gale’s book; he looks so peaceful Gale feels a tender squeeze to his heart as he steps closer, careful not to wake him.

John’s nose is a little red and chapped where he’s been blowing it all day and he’s slightly paler than usual but he doesn’t look worse than when Gale left earlier; he’s not even feverish, no extra heat coming off his body just his usual warmth, Gale checks with a light press of his lips to his forehead as not to stir him with his icy cold fingers. He’s also wearing one of Gale’s hoodies, he notices as another wave of tenderness traverses him, and that’s what makes him cave.

He really should just wake him up, gently shake him awake and walk him to their bedroom, sink into the mattress with him under their thick duvet and sleep in his warm embrace until morning; but he looks so cozy there, and Gale’s so cold and tired to the bone all of a sudden. He toes off his shoes, flicks the switch of the Christmas lights and scratches Meatball’s head, then lifts the blanket and quickly slots himself next to John trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.

“Spaghetti?” John mumbles, thinking it’s the cat that wants to sleep with him.

“No, just me,” Gale murmurs back, and brushing a kiss on John’s cheek. “I just got home, go back to sleep.”

One blue eye looks blearily at him, eyelid fluttering. “Wh’time is it?”

“Late. Show was never-ending. C’mon, let’s sleep,” Gale insists and burrows closer until the icy tip of his nose touches John’s jaw. The other hisses but doesn’t pull away; he pulls Gale closer instead, enveloping him in a warm hug that thaws the ice that had seeped through to Gale’s bones and he can’t help but let out a sigh of satisfaction as warmth floods him.

“‘re frozen,” John slurs. “Should’ve taken the jacket,” he adds, already slipping back under.

“This is better,” Gale whispers mostly to himself, listening to the steady rhythm of John’s heartbeat and basking in his warmth, and their combined smells on his hoodie. Feeling is slowly returning to his hands and feet, them tingling in a way that would be uncomfortable if the rest of Gale wasn’t absolutely at peace. “This is so much better.”

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

Note: this excerpt is too long for Tumblr’s alt text character limit, so for this poll, the alt text is below the read more.

Edit: The results are up here!

It's funny how the nature of an object—let's say a strawberry or a pair of socks-is so changed by the way it has come into your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. I might feel grateful for the sheep that made the wool and the worker who ran the knitting machine. I hope so. But I have no inherent obligation to those socks as a commodity, as private property. There is no bond beyond the politely exchanged "thank yous" with the clerk. I have paid for them and our reciprocity ended the minute I handed her the money. The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don't write a thank-you note to JCPenney.

But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted by my grandmother and given to me as a gift? That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship. I will write a thank-you note. I will take good care of them and if I am a very gracious grandchild I'll wear them when she visits even if I don't like them. When it's her birthday, I will surely make her a gift in return. As the scholar and writer Lewis Hyde notes, "It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people."

Wild strawberries fit the definition of gift, but grocery store berries do not. It's the relationship between producer and consumer that changes everything. As a gift-thinker, I would be deeply offended if I saw wild strawberries in the grocery store. I would want to kidnap them all. They were not meant to be sold, only to be given. Hyde reminds us that in a gift economy, one's freely given gifts cannot be made into someone else's capital. I can see the headline now: "Woman Arrested for Shoplifting Produce. Strawberry Liberation Front Claims Responsibility."

This is the same reason we do not sell sweetgrass. Because it is given to us, it should only be given to others. My dear friend Wally “Bear" Meshigaud is a ceremonial firekeeper for our people and uses a lot of sweetgrass on our behalf. There are folks who pick for him in a good way, to keep him supplied, but even so, at a big gathering sometimes he runs out. At powwows and fairs you can see our own people selling sweetgrass for ten bucks a braid. When Wally really needs wiingashk for a ceremony, he may visit one of those booths among the stalls selling frybread or hanks of beads. He introduces himself to the seller, explains his need, just as he would in a meadow, asking permission of the sweetgrass. He cannot pay for it, not because he doesn't have the money, but because it cannot be bought or sold and still retain its essence for ceremony. He expects sellers to graciously give him what he needs, but sometimes they don't. The guy at the booth thinks he's being shaken down by an elder. "Hey, you can't get something for nothin'," he says. But that is exactly the point. A gift is something for nothing, except that certain obligations are attached. For the plant to be sacred, it cannot be sold. Reluctant entrepreneurs will get a teaching from Wally, but they'll never get his money.

Sweetgrass belongs to Mother Earth. Sweetgrass pickers collect properly and respectfully, for their own use and the needs of their community. They return a gift to the earth and tend to the wellbeing of the wiingashk. The braids are given as gifts, to honor, to say thank you, to heal and to strengthen. The sweetgrass is kept in motion. When Wally gives sweetgrass to the fire, it is a gift that has passed from hand to hand, growing richer as it is honored in every exchange.

That is the fundamental nature of gifts: they move, and their value increases with their passage. The fields made a gift of berries to us and we made a gift of them to our father. The more something is shared, the greater its value becomes. This is hard to grasp for societies steeped in notions of private property, where others are, by definition, excluded from sharing. Practices such as posting land against trespass, for example, are expected and accepted in a property economy but are unacceptable in an economy where land is seen as a gift to all.

Lewis Hyde wonderfully illustrates this dissonance in his exploration of the "Indian giver." This expression, used negatively today as a pejorative for someone who gives something and then wants to have it back, actually derives from a fascinating cross-cultural misinterpretation between an indigenous culture operating in a gift economy and a colonial culture predicated on the concept of private property. When gifts were given to the settlers by the Native inhabitants, the recipients understood that they were valuable and were intended to be retained. Giving them away would have been an affront. But the indigenous people understood the value of the gift to be based in reciprocity and would be affronted if the gifts did not circulate back to them. Many of our ancient teachings counsel that whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again.

From the viewpoint of a private property economy, the "gift" is deemed to be "free" because we obtain it free of charge, at no cost. But in the gift economy, gifts are not free. The essence of the gift is that it creates a set of relationships. The currency of a gift economy is, at its root, reciprocity. In Western thinking, private land is understood to be a "bundle of rights," whereas in a gift economy property has a "bundle of responsibilities" attached.

[bevanne46]

Can You Make a Quilt Without Batting?

Quilts are usually sewn from multiple layers of fabric, each layer being stitched to the next in a sandwich effect, batting is one of these layers. Batting is a type of material used to provide stability, support, weight (depending on the type of batting you use) and warmth to your finished quilt.

There are several types of batting available: cotton, polyester, fleece, wool, silk, bamboo, foam and blended battings. Each one offers its own benefits and drawbacks. Learn more about each of these different battings in the link at the end of this post.

I have found polyester batting to be the least expensive but it can be puffier than cotton so many people don't like to use it because they want their quilts to lay flat. Cotton batting is the most popular but may shrink and fall apart over time. Fleece batting works great when using the Quilt-as-you-Go Method. Wool batting is expensive but very durable (check it's washability). Silk batting is softer than cotton and polyester (check it's washability). Bamboo is considered eco-friendly and biodegradable but isn't always cost effective. You can also use old blankets, flannel sheets or foam as batting. Some people like to cut their own batting from bolts. Others prefer to buy pre-cut batting (cut to the size quilt you are making. ie: baby, twin, queen, etc.) These precuts are often found in cotton, wool or bamboo.

Whatever method you choose, there are pros and cons to each option. So, Yes, you can make a quilt without batting.

On many occasions I have made quilts with a heavier weight top, ie. polyester fabrics instead of cotton fabrics (Memorial Quilts from clothing, or Military Quilts from uniforms). When making these quilts I will sometimes forgo the batting and use a thick fleece backing instead. The fleece gives the quilt it's warmth so the batting isn't necessary, however, if using fleece for a backing you will want to quilt your quilt (do your top fancy stitching) before adding the backing because the fleece may bunch when trying to quilt it. I also like using flannel for backing which is less thick than the fleece but still warm and soft.

I have also used a flat fleece batting for the Quilt-as-you-Go method then used a Flannel backing to make the quilt light weight but warm.

How Does Batting Work In Your Projects? When you sew two fabrics (a top and a bottom piece) together with batting, it creates a sandwich effect. The batting in the center of these two fabrics helps to hold the fabrics together (clinging effect) and helps to stabilize the whole quilt and the edges. This clinging effect helps to prevent the seams from being pulled and thus coming apart over time due to wear and tear.

The batting adds loft, softness, weight and warmth to your quilt. You can find batting in a variety of styles, sizes and thicknesses.

Is Batting Necessary in Quilting? No. Some people prefer not to use batting in their projects. They think that batting makes quilts too heavy and bulky. It all depends on what fabrics you are using for the quilt, what kind of look and what level of thickness you want to achieve in your quilt. If you’re looking for a lightweight quilt, then you probably won’t need batting. If you want your quilt to be thick and sturdy, then you’ll definitely need batting.

Washability Also keep in mind how you will be "Washing the quilt", when picking your batting. Check the washing instructions on your fabrics and your batting. If a fabric is Hand Wash Only, do you really want to put it in a quilt that will be used often? Hand wash fabrics are fine for Wall Quilts or Decor Quilts but not ideal for baby or kid's quilts where they may need to be washed more often.

Different Fabrics Shrink at a Different Rate A lot of quilters prefer to prewash all their fabrics before they measure and cut. Honestly, I don't prewash my cotton fabrics (unless it is red or hot pink, as those colors may run) but I always prewash my flannel before cutting because flannel shrinks at a different rate than regular cotton. After your quilt is complete, I Always Recommend: Machine Wash your quilt in Cold Water on Gentle Cycle Do Not Bleach, Tumble Dry on Low Heat or Hang to Dry

Cost You will find that some battings can be very costly. This is another reason I prefer to use polyester batting, it's less expensive than cotton or wool. However, if you need an even cheaper way and want batting in your quilt, pick up an old blanket from your local Thrift Store. It can be a polyester, fleece or wool blanket. Just be sure to wash it before putting it into your quilt.

Quilting your Quilt (Fancy Top Stitching) The thickness and puffiness of your quilt will determine when or if you can actually Quilt your quilt. Some battings and thicknesses of the sandwiched quilt can make quilting more difficult but not always impossible. If would plan to do Long-Arm Quilting on your quilt you will need it to be flatter so will want to use a small loft batting like cotton or bamboo. However, if you are like me and don't have a Long-Arm machine or can't afford to pay for this I do my own quilting. The Top Quilting doesn't always have to be a Fancy-All-Over Stitch. I will often just do a Straight-Line Fancy Stitch (zig zag or such) following my seams.

And, I have found an alternative to the Quilting process when using thicker materials.

When making my quilt tops with fabrics other than regular quilting cotton (polyester, jean, silks, nylons, etc.) or when using a fleece backing, I have found it's best to do my quilting before I add my backing. Fleece will often bunch when trying to do fancy stitch work on it because it slides more. This is how I do this:

The sandwich process (like mentioned above) is done by putting your top piece together then adding a layer of batting and a backing. My method: 1st layer is my top quilt piece, 2nd layer is my batting, 3rd layer is a plain cotton sheet (100% cotton often purchased from a Thrift Store). I then do my fancy quilt work on my top. Once this is complete, I add the backing. Then all I need to do is sew a few strategic lines (often just stitch-in-the-ditch lines) to hold the backing to the top sandwich piece.

Alternative to Quilting You don't have to do a Fancy Top Stitch to your quilt. Many people prefer to Hand-Tie their quilts instead. Hand-Tying is the process of using a large darning needle, yarn or embroidery thread and sewing in a few strategical places through your layers then tying these threads leaving a tuff like piece on top.

An Alternative to Batting Do you have a favorite duvet, maybe a Down filled duvet you love but want a quilt top? You can create a beautiful quilt without batting and add an open end backing to create a quilted duvet cover! Just be sure when doing your measurements you add extra space for the button or zipper closure at the bottom of the cover.

Tips For Making a Quilt *Measure twice before cutting then measure again just to be sure! *Use a needle size appropriate for the type of fabrics you are using. You may want to use a large eyed needle when sewing through multiple thick layers of fabrics. *Change your needle when starting a new project. A dull needle will cause lots of issues. *Use Fabric Chalk to mark your lines before cutting is using scissors. Although, I highly recommend using rulers, squares and a Rotary Blade when cutting for a more accurate cut. *When sewing multiple rows of blocks together, match up your inner corners not your outer edges. You can always trim excess off the edges if needed. *Use Pins to hold your fabric in place but remove as you come to each pin. Sewing over pins can break a needle. FYI: I prefer the 1 ½ - 2” pins, especially when pinning several layers together. *Sew slowly. Don’t rush yourself. Take your time and pay attention to detail. *Keep your quilts away from direct heat sources like radiators, fireplaces, and hot water pipes. These things can cause your quilt to shrink and the fabric will become brittle.

Best quilt batting, types of batting and how to choose batting for a project By: Author Olga Balasa https://www.ageberry.com/best-quilt-batting-types-how-to-choose-batting/?epik=dj0yJnU9RjhJZWU1YWVYRHBuUGtjN3c2UElIVkl5YnpER21wT0wmcD0wJm49cTRtcE5PVmJpaW9MUU90b2lUNGR2dyZ0PUFBQUFBR1pjempr

[beechersnope]

Summer of Cum Days 4/5/6: come inflation, facial, coming in public

seb/mick with a bonus dash of foot/pantyhose/pregnancy kink, 1118 words

***

Seb is so fucking weird about trains.

Mick secretly hates them. Finds them claustrophobic and slow. An impatient itch has wormed its way under his skin since they sat down in their car. Having Seb sitting across from him only makes it worse.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asks her once the novelty of watching the countryside fly by out the window finally wears off. It hasn’t taken long; Mick has been half-distracted by the peek of skin between the top two buttons of Seb's cream-colored blouse.

There’s nothing inherently obscene about the outfit as a whole—the pastoral scene depicted on Seb’s wool cardigan is almost childishly innocent, and the flowy skirt adorning her lower half extends several centimeters past her knees.

Seb shrugs. She leans back against the seat, the blouse drawing tighter over the swell of her breasts. “Paying homage to our shared cultural heritage, of course. You don’t like the design?” She reaches down to examine the milkmaid sewn over the pocket on her lefthand side.

“That’s not what I mean,” Mick replies, his mouth suddenly going very dry.

The blouse is almost see-through whenever she pulls it close against herself. It’s not overtly noticeable unless you know what to look for, but Seb has been picking and pulling at the fabric since the second they got on the train, as though trying to find exactly the right angle to reveal the dark shadow of her nipples. Seb almost always goes braless.

“No?” Seb replies, still playing innocent. “You’re right, it is a bit stuffy in here.” She reaches down, undoing the next two buttons on her blouse, letting the front hang open until all Mick can see is the slight curve of her small, flat tits every time she moves.

“Seb,” Mick pleads in a quiet tone.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been half-hard since the station, maybe even longer. Seb had kept a warm hand on the curve of his inner thigh on the car ride over, and Mick had done a good job of keeping himself under control then, with the driver right there in the front seat, but now he didn’t have that buffer anymore. It didn’t matter that they were on a public train and that theoretically, anyone could walk in on them. He can’t take it anymore.

Mick reaches down to palm at the swell of his erection through his jeans, whimpering at the pressure—too much, not enough.

Seb tsks. But she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Pull your cock out,” she says instead.

Mick almost swallows his tongue. “Right here?”

“No one can see you. Just me. And do you really want to show up in front of a bunch of cameras with a stiffy in your jeans? Come on, Mick, I’ll take care of you.”

Mick’s hands shake as he unhooks the button on his waistband. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as his dick is freed from the restrictive confines of his jeans, but that relief is quickly outweighed by the nearly painful throb of his dick as even more blood rushes downward between his legs. He only gets like this with Seb, so hard it actually hurts.

“Pull your jeans down a little,” Seb says next. “I want to see your balls, too.”

Mick immediately obeys. He keeps the pubic hair above his cock trimmed short, knows Seb likes the way it looks, but he shaves his balls completely smooth, because he knows she likes that, too, the way they feel smooth and velvety against her tongue, inside her mouth. They’re already drawn up tight against his body, and it takes a bit of finagling to get his jeans down far enough to give Seb a full and unobstructed view of his package.

Seb gives a little hum of satisfaction once Mick’s cock and balls are fully in view, but it cuts short once he wraps a hand around his cock. “No,” she says, and that’s all it takes for him to let go. She doesn’t say anything else as she bends down to unlace one of her brown leather boots, and Mick just watches, silent and wide-eyed, waiting.

Seb has nude-colored pantyhose on underneath her skirt. She gives her toes a wiggle once she kicks off her boot, stretching the digits against the sheer fabric covering her feet for a second before extending her leg across the space between her seat and Mick’s. The car is small enough that she doesn’t have to fully straighten her knee to reach the apex of Mick’s thighs with the sole of her foot.

“My pussy’s so wet for you,” she tells him as she drags her toes up the length of his cock, pressing firmly with her foot and grinding his cock against his belly when she reaches the head. “Your cock’s so pretty; I love it. Love your little pink balls, how wet you get for me.”

Mick lets out an abortive whine as his cock spurts out what feels like an entire pint of precum, the slick liquid dripping down his shaft, soaking into the fabric of Seb’s pantyhose, easing the friction against his dick with every stroke. He can barely remember how to breathe.

“Wish I could ride you like this, let you fuck my ass and come inside,” Seb continues. “Want you to fill me up. You always come so hard, I bet if I plugged myself up after I’d look pregnant.”

Mick’s vision starts to blur.

“You want that?” Seb taunts as her foot strokes him even faster. “Want the journos taking photos of me big and round with just your come?”

That’s what does it, the thought of Seb’s taut stomach swollen because of him tipping Mick over the edge before he even realizes it’s happening. His whole body feels painfully tight, like the come is being dragged out of every part of him, and maybe it is—he’s shooting for what feels like entire minutes, in hot splashes against Seb’s foot, Mick’s black hoodie, his own face.

Mick shudders through it with Seb continuing to milk him from the base of his cock to the head with the flex of her foot, draining every last bit of come until it finally slows to a pathetic dribble that slides back down his shaft and soaks into his pubes. He tips his head back against the seat when it’s over and draws in a long, rattling breath.

“Still got an hour left before we get to the station,” Seb says casually as she flicks some of the come dripping off her toes back onto Mick’s already ruined hoodie. “Think you can get it up again?”

[discount-elysium]

Pale Static Exchange Gift

Happy Pale Static Exchange @nonsal! I wrote a fic for your requests. You can read it on ao3 here, or under the cut below, whichever you prefer! I hope you had a lovely holiday season, and that you enjoy your present!

FIC: (You are) the life I needed all along

PAIRING: Harry/Kim, Harry & Kim

Summary: Harry invites Kim to a nice dinner, and it does not, in fact, go spectacularly wrong.

YOUR APARTMENT’S SHOEBOX OF A KITCHEN - The room is warm, the dough under your hands is pleasantly sticky and forming well, the radio is softly playing, and you’re in the middle of making dinner for your favorite person.  Life, for the moment, is good.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Outside of your window, the grey expanse of cloud hangs low and dismal over the rain-dampened street.  Few people brave this temporary lull in the downpour: a man rushing to meet his sister, a woman coming home early from work, two sticky-faced children sharing an adventure.

Revachol no more sleeps than her people do–but perhaps even she’s afforded a moment’s repose, in all this rain.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - And you, Harrier Du Bois, have a stew pot full of broth, several pounds of farmer’s-market-Lynne’s best chuck, onions, carrots, potatoes, and a fuckload of herbs cooking on the stove.  From the smell of this kitchen right now, you might as well be the best cook that ever lived.

YOU -

Fuck yeah I am!  I’m a superstar chef.  Gorący Kubek eat your heart out.

Admittedly I did once light my kitchen a little bit on fire.  But it was a very little bit!  Barely worth bringing up any more, really.

…I do okay.

YOU - For a moment, you put a little more force into kneading your bread dough than is probably strictly necessary.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Aw, who cares about the kitchen fire?  That was two months ago.  Might as well have happened to a different person.

HALF-LIGHT - There’s still scorch marks on the counter.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - And?  Nothing here’s unblemished, including Harry, but that’s not the point.  Can’t you feel the saliva pooling under your tongue, Harry?  Can’t you smell the air?

PERCEPTION (Smell) [Easy: Success] - It does smell very nice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Thank you.

YOU - Of the various pastimes you tried your hand at post-Martinaise–and there were many–

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Knitting, journaling, bird-watching, cooking, drawing, wood-working, knitting again–

YOU - Cooking is the only one that seems to have really stuck.  It does you good, having something to keep your hands busy that produces tangible results.  It doesn’t hurt that recently, those results have been delicious.

And today, you’re finally going to do the thing you’ve wanted to do for months!

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Failure] - Sleep with Kim!

VOLITION - Khm.  Ah.  The other thing Harry’s wanted for months, Feel-good.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No one appreciates genius in its time. :(

VOLITION - …

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - …fine.  Feed Kim your food.

YOU - Homemade bread and stew may not be the fanciest fare, but they’re still good, and you’re confident that you can make them well.  Kim’s going to come over to dinner and eat something you’ve made him, and he’s going to enjoy himself.

LOGIC - This is going to go over better than the scarf did.

YOU - You pause, momentarily, in your kneading. 

EMPATHY - Hey, he said he liked the scarf!  

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - No, he said it was ‘thoughtful.’

EMPATHY - Which is a way to say you like something!

LOGIC - If he liked it so much, why doesn’t he ever wear it?

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] - It was a little…lumpy.

INLAND EMPIRE - Warm, soft white wool, cloud-like under your fingers.  You were in the craft store for a case and touched it in passing–you left without it.  That night you thought of aerostatic pilots with long white scarves to ward off the chill of interinsulary travel; you thought of Kim, blowing warm air over his cold fingers in alleyways and turning up the collar of his coat.  You went back to that little store a day later.

HAND EYE COORDINATION - I did my best!  Speaking of which–

YOU - Idly, your hands move.  The warm dough stretches, elastic under your hands.  You’ve oiled a bowl already; you put your dough into it for its first rise and cover it.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Like the pupa in its chrysalis: warm, enclosed, waiting for change.

YOU - With your stew cooking and your bread rising, there’s not much else you need to do in the kitchen.  You putter out to your living room with the intention of tidying up, but it’s…honestly not that bad?

COMPOSURE - Khm.  Yeah.  That would be from the compulsive nervous cleaning you already did a few hours ago.  I can only hold this ship together so much, and luckily this time, the nervous energy was constructive!

LOGIC - Kim’s been to your apartment before, Harry.  He’s seen it worse than this.

YOU - The only other thing you were planning to do was pick out a post-meal board game.  You don’t have very many board games–they’re expensive–but you’ve started a little collection since Martinaise, and you’re hoping Kim will want to play one tonight.  You think you’ve narrowed it down to two options, Beyond the Pale–

ENCYCLOPEDIA - A two to four player semi-cooperative game about aerostatic pilots lost in the Pale, desperately trying to repair their aerostatic while fending off possibly-hallucinatory creatures from the Pale–but the pilots may have hidden motives…

YOU - And Tailor Made.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - A shorter, but very charming two to four player game about sewing custom blankets to attract various cats to sleep on them.

YOU - But maybe only giving Kim two options is too restrictive?  Maybe you should just pull your whole collection out and let him pick?

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] - Harry.  Try taking a deep breath.

YOU - You take a deep breath.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - You can breathe deeper than that!  Put your diaphragm into it!

YOU - You take a second, deeper, manlier breath.  Then you take another, because real athletes always give 110%.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Your hands stop shaking.

YOU - Oh.  

EMPATHY - Yes, oh.  

YOU - I was panicking, wasn’t I?

EMPATHY - Mmhm.  Want to make a guess about why, Harry?

YOU -

What is this, introspection?  Self-awareness?  I don’t like it.  Real men keep their mysterious emotions bottled up inside their chiseled and rugged chests until they, for unrelated reasons, abruptly die of bleeding ulcers or heart attacks.  (Opt out)

I can do this.  I can have a whole entire thought about my emotional state and I probably won’t even cry about it.  (Opt in).  

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - In the halls of Precinct 41, Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare is abruptly struck by the irrational feeling that he owes Patrol Officer Judit Minot 5 reál.  He shakes his head, and the baffling certainty passes.

YOU - In preparation for this terrifying new endeavor, you take a quick lap of your living room.  Then you close your eyes very tightly–

LOGIC - Is that really a necessary step?

EMPATHY - Shush.

YOU - And you confront the question.  Why are you worrying?

YOU - 

Because you want tonight to go well.

Because since minute one of your haphazard reentry into this world, it’s been a little bit about Kim, hasn’t it?  Not all about Kim–he would hate the thought of that–but a little.  His Kineema called you back to life.  When everything in the world was terrifying and nonsensical, he was a steady point against which you could orient yourself.  You rebuilt yourself painstakingly, and he didn’t help, exactly, but he gave you grace.  He was gentle with you when you stumbled.

And in the months since Martinaise, he’s continued to be your friend.  He’s not perfect, and neither are you.  There have been arguments, and doubts, and low points.  But when you need him to have your back, he has.  Every time.

And it’s not that you want to repay him, exactly, because you don’t owe him.  But tonight, you want him to feel warm, and well fed, and appreciated.  You want him to feel good with you.  Because of you.  

….because you love him.

YOU - You get the oddest feeling that there was a more honest choice you could have made–a thought there you turned back from fully confronting.  But that’s a silly thing to think about!  Haha.  Ha.  Phew.  Emotions sure are hard.  Good thing you won’t be looking directly at yours again any time soon.  

EMPATHY - …Harrier.

YOU - Anyway, that was a productive realization: you really want tonight to go well!  And you definitely know exactly what you can do to make that happen, and to not have to think any more deeply about this whole thing: make dessert!!

EMPATHY - …I give up.  I don’t get paid enough to manage this mess.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Amen, brother.

…

YOUR APARTMENT - By the time Kim knocks on your door that evening, you’ve got the stew ready in the nicest bowl you own, homemade bread waiting on a cutting board beside it, and a berry crumble ready to pop in the oven once dinner gets started.  Your slightly-lopsided kitchen table is as neatly set as your mismatched silverware allows for.  Your apartment is clean.  Your boardgame choices are set out.  You’re all set to woo–khm.  What an odd slip.  You’re ready to impress the hell out of Kim.

KIM KITSURAGI - Kim knocks on your door at 19:30 on the dot, precisely on time.  When you open the door–

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - HE IS WEARING THE SCARF.

KIM KITSURAGI - With his collar turned up, and the scarf tucked in around his neck, the lumpiness of it is less noticeable than it was in your memory.  He looks warm, and comfortable.  For no particular reason, your breath catches in your chest.

YOU - “You look nice!”

KIM KITSURAGI - Taken slightly aback, Kim blinks.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Failure] - Uh, shit.  Uh–try saying more?  That’ll fix this.

YOU - “In my scarf, I mean.  Or–your scarf.  Because I gave it to you, so it’s–it’s your scarf.”

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - Kim’s smiling, now.  It’s small, but it’s there.

YOU - “I should probably invite you inside.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “Yes, detective.  Unless you’re planning to serve dinner on your doorstep.”

YOU - You lead Kim inside, and offer to take his coat.  Kim shrugs out of his coat and scarf and watches with a faint air of confusion as you hang them up on coat hooks for him–something he could very easily do himself.  Out of the bright orange jacket which you sometimes privately think of as his armor, Kim always looks a little softer and smaller.  It’s a good look.

KIM KITSURAGI - When you pull out a chair at your kitchen table for him, Kim goes still, briefly.  His dark eyes search your face for something, and you’re not sure exactly what he sees.  “Detective,” he says.

RHETORIC - He sounds almost wary.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] - Unable to bear the weight of his gaze, you wave vaguely towards his seat at the table.  “Go ahead.  Sit down, get started.  I’ll just–uh.  Pop in the crumble.”

YOU - If you take longer than you need to, strictly speaking, to find your oven mitts, open your oven, and set the dessert in–if you wait until you’re sure you’ve heard Kim’s weight settle into his chair, and the click of serving utensils–well.  Hopefully the other detective in the room isn’t going to call you on it!

KIM KITSURAGI - By the time you join him at the table, Kim has in fact started eating–he, like many other people who grew up in the years following the Antecentennial Revolution, doesn’t tend to leave food sitting long before tucking in.

INLAND EMPIRE - Memories of hungrier days linger long after they’re gone.  You’d know, Harry.

KIM KITSURAGI - He passes the cutting board towards you, an evenly-cut slice waiting for you there.  “It’s all very good.  Thank you.”

COMPOSURE [Challenging: Success] - The sting in your eyes comes as a surprise, but you blink, hard, and manage to push it back before you do something horribly embarrassing like cry over Kim complimenting your food.

KIM KITSURAGI - Kim settles a hand on your elbow, gently.

REACTION SPEED - Not fast enough for Kim not to notice, though.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is an excellent detective.  From the moment you opened your door, he’s been gathering evidence: your uncommonly clean living room, the way you took his coat, the way you pulled out a chair for him.  Nothing you do goes unnoticed.  He’s coming close to a conclusion, now.  

EMPATHY - Are you actually willing to hear it?

YOU -

Distract him.  Open your mouth, say something outrageous, and draw his attention away.

[Volition: Challenging] - Look at Kim, and wait for what he has to say.

VOLITION [Challenging: Success] - You steel yourself.  It’s difficult to meet Kim’s eyes–those eyes that, for all their far-sightedness, see so much–but you bring yourself to do it.  You wait.

KIM KITSURAGI - “Detective.”  He pauses a moment, then, “Harry.  You know you don’t need to impress me.”

YOU - “Can’t I want to?” Suddenly the words are bubbling up at your lips, urgent.  “Don’t you deserve to be impressed, Kim?”

RHETORIC - You know that sounds like–

EMPATHY - Shut.  Up.

YOU - “I just want you to stay.  For good food, and for berry crumble, and for–to trounce me at board games, after.  I want you to have a good time with me.  Is that too much?”

PERCEPTION [Challenging: Success] - Kim lets out a very controlled breath.  He’s looking at you very steadily.

KIM KITSURAGI - “No, Harry.  That’s not too much.”  His hand tightens for a moment on your elbow, and then he lets go.  He takes the bowl from in front of you, and ladles stew into it, setting it back in front of you full.  “Eat, before it gets cold, hmm?”

YOU - The rational thing to do would be to do as Kim says, but instead you say, like a child in need of reassurance, “So you’re staying?”

KIM KITSURAGI - There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, now, that you cannot fully parse.  “Yes, I’ll stay.”  He looks away with a smile–an almost private little curve of his lips.  “We have plenty of time.”