#anyway if this was helpful or OP has more questions lmk???

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

At risk of having completely misunderstood what it is you wanted, here are some progress photos from the 1830s waistcoat with a shawl collar that I made in June/July using this Black Snail pattern.

hey guys quick question, how the fuCK do you stitch a shawl collar

the physics are evading me and i am Frustrated

[artificialqueens]

Fantaisie in F minor, Op. 49 (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Writworm42

A/N: 3 years after a life-changing and career-ending attack, Sasha comes back to the piano with Anetra's help.

TW transphobic violence, though not written about in detail. Chopin is my absolute favourite composer and in tough times, I cling to his music. I hope I gave him a fitting tribute. Title is one of his pieces; I tried to pick one that fit the fic's mood, but lmk what y'all think! I highly encourage everyone who's not familiar with his music to listen to the songs named in the fic as well, they're all beautiful.

Thank you Athena for beta-ing & hyping me up. Please note, I'm not a guide dog user, but I did try my best to research. If anyone who is a guide dog user has any feedback for me, please let me know!

It makes the news the night it happens, and stays on the news for weeks.

First transgender winner of International Chopin Competition attacked at awards ceremony. Even three years later, the thought of it opens a pit in Sasha’s stomach that makes bile rise in her throat. The hospital stay where all the nurses treated her coldly, where she didn’t speak the language they spoke to each other, sometimes right in front of her, and only knew what she was told despite having so many questions. The way she had been only half-conscious most of the time between the painkillers, anesthetics, and ICU delirium. The pain, so much fucking pain. Being wheeled from surgery to surgery, never knowing when the last one would be.

Blinking and blinking and blinking, but seeing nothing but clouds and muted colours. A fog she’d never be able to get out of, no matter how many ophthalmologists she consulted. 

She brings her hands to her face, the phantom burn of acid tearing over the bumps of her scarred skin as her throat tightens, her heart speeding up. Her mind’s eye was 20/20, suddenly maybe more. She could see the crowd on their feet, hear the thundering applause, feel the weight of the award plaque in her hands. See the shine of the gold medal as it extended towards her, only for a collective gasp to draw her attention away, away from her joy and towards a man’s face twisted in disgust and anger, the open jar in his hand flying towards her--

“Baby, baby, breathe. Breathe.”

Sasha blinks at Anetra’s voice. The music that had been playing on the radio came to an abrupt stop. Chopin’s Grande Polonaise Brillante. The piece she’d been trying to forget for three years. 

“You’re safe,” Anetra repeats, “It’s okay. I’m here.” 

Sasha feels the phantom pain fade, replaced by the prickle of hot tears at the corner of her eyes. It strikes her as incredibly ironic in a cruel way--of all the things that attacker had taken from her, he had somehow managed to miss her lacrimal ducts. Or maybe the surgeons had just saved them. She supposes she should be thankful--no, knows she should be. And she is, most of the time. 

It’s just that right now, she feels ugly all over again.

Sasha’s psychologist had encouraged her to start listening to Chopin again about six weeks ago. It had been extremely difficult at first; she barely made it through half of the Wrong Note Etude before Anetra had to step in and help Sasha calm down. But it had worked—slowly but surely, with Anetra by her side, she could make it through a playlist without needing to do much more than deep breathing. And even though sneak attacks from the radio were difficult, just picturing Anetra leading her through a breathing exercise was enough to help her come out the other side unscathed. 

“Would it help if I hold you?” Anetra asks, as if the answer isn’t almost always yes. Sasha nods anyway, leaning in for Anetra to wrap her in a hug.

“We can reschedule, you know--if it’s not a good day, I mean.” Anetra says quietly after a few minutes, stroking her fingers through Sasha’s hair like she knows she likes. It’s a tempting offer, but Sasha just shakes her head.

“We already reserved the music room,” she sighs. “Besides, if we waited for a good day…”

Anetra nods, not even needing Sasha to finish the sentence. They set today to reach this goal so that there would be a firm time, less room for Sasha to second-guess and back out just like the last two attempts.

She’s made up her mind--for better or for worse, she’s going to sit at a piano today.

“I think I’m okay now,” she pulls away from Anetra after another minute, heaving herself up to stand again. “I’ll go get ready.”

--

The drive to the community centre is relatively short, but feels like an eternity for Sasha. They drive in relative silence except for the occasional yawn or sneeze from Sasha’s guide dog Busby, a chocolate lab with as much personality as Sasha and Anetra combined. They don’t dare put on any music for fear that something upsetting might come on the radio, and Sasha can’t think of much to say, anyway. So she reaches her hand out into the back row for Busby to move towards and hit his snout up against, allowing the cold, damp feel of his nose to ground her. 

“We’re here,” Anetra advises as they turn into the parking lot, and for a second, Sasha falters. They’re doing this, they’re really doing this. it’s freeing to think of, yes, and she’s proud of herself, but… The battle’s not over yet. They’re still in the parking lot. They have to actually walk in, have to actually open the door to the music room, have to actually walk up and sit down and then what if the piano bench isn’t big enough for the both of them, what if there isn’t even enough space for Busby to sit by the piano and he has to stay by the door and so she’s trapped, trapped sitting on a bench because she doesn’t know her way around the room and Anetra will be far and Busby will be far and it’ll be a disaster--

“Hey.”

Sasha jolts to attention at the sound of Anetra’s voice and the feeling of her wife’s hand on her shoulder. 

“The room has an upright, I think it’s a Yamaha. It’s arranged on the far side of the room so there’s room to move around freely. The piano bench fits two and Busby can sit beside you.”

“How did you--” 

“I know you is how,” Anetra laughs. “I visited the room last week just to make sure all the logistics would be smooth for you. For us,” she adds, moving her hand down to grab Sasha’s and give it a comforting squeeze.

“I love you,” Sasha sighs, the warmth of gratitude and affection flooding her chest.

“I know,” Anetra says, and Sasha just knows she’s smiling. 

They walk into the community centre together, Sasha holding Anetra’s hand in an iron grip. Even though she can’t technically see, Sasha swears she can feel a million pairs of eyes watching them as they move through the building. She can’t decide which of her insecurities is worse; the bitter anger that people might see a mangle-faced freak with a victim for a partner, or the painful dread that they might see her as a pitiful charity case with a saint of a wife. If they even see Anetra that way; Sasha swears that every time they’ve been out since they came back from Poland, people have assumed Anetra was her aide instead of the love of her life.

“We’re here,” Anetra gives Sasha’s hand one more squeeze as they come to a stop, Busby guiding Sasha right to the door of the music room and pointing his nose to indicate the location of the doorknob. Not that he needs to; before Sasha can reach out for it, Anetra has swooped in ahead of her, throwing open the door and stepping aside with a theatrical ‘ milady.’

“You’re such a dork,” Sasha snorts, giggling a bit despite herself as she steps inside. It’s strange; maybe it’s because she can’t really see, but as she’s walking deeper into the room, nothing plays in her mind and there’s no anxiety in her chest. She knows there’s a piano, yes, but somehow, for a split second, she convinces herself that the room is empty, just a regular room with nothing special or scary in it.

That is until Busby guides her to the piano bench, allowing her knees to graze its edges, and her heart drops into her stomach. 

Breathe, Sash. Breathe . She closes her eyes and inhales shakily, imagining the things that make her feel calm just like her psychologist taught her. Listening to her favourite songs. Red velvet cake. Her family back in Hawai’i. The soft feeling of plumeria petals against her fingertips and sun-warmed sand between her toes. Her and Anetra’s honeymoon in Tahiti, making love under a deep orange sunset. 

“I’m coming beside you,” Anetra warns, careful not to disrupt Sasha’s fragile attempt at inner peace, for which Sasha is incredibly grateful. She relaxes a little further, opening her eyes by sheer force of habit so as not to feel surprised by the sudden warm presence of her wife beside her. 

“Take your time, angel,” Anetra murmurs, reaching for Sasha’s hand and giving it another squeeze. “We have the room for an hour, we can just stand here that whole time if that’s what you’re up to doing.” 

“If I do, Dr. Da Luca will make me come back again next week,” she jokes, even though it’s definitely true. Though Sasha supposes that she’ll have to come back next week regardless of whether she succeeds today or not; that’s the key to exposure, Dr. Da Luca keeps reminding her--consistency and repetition.

She’s trying not to think about that right now, though.

“Would it help if we put on music?” Anetra chances, and honestly, Sasha isn’t really sure, but she nods anyway, willing to try. She’s curious, anyway, what kind of music Anetra will pick--Anetra’s a mood-listener, someone who forgoes genre or artist to pick solely based off of the vibe she feels. And considering that Sasha has absolutely no idea what to call the vibe in this room right now, if Anetra can provide some clarification, well. She’s sure Dr. Da Luca would support that. 

“Remember when you taught me this song?” Sasha can hear the grin in Anetra’s voice as Go Tell Aunt Rhody starts playing off her phone, and Sasha can’t help it--she bursts into the kind of laughter she never would have thought she’d be capable of in this moment. 

 “Yeah, I remember,” she rolls her eyes, giving Anetra a playful shove on the shoulder, “It took you three days to get the hands-separate version even remotely acceptable. Which honestly was pretty impressive. Just, you know, for all the wrong reasons.” 

“Hey! I got it in the end, didn’t I?” Anetra protests in mock offense. “Pretty damn well, too, I would say. Hands together, even!” 

“And I was very proud,” Sasha giggles. 

“You know, I think I still remember it, actually,” Anetra continues pensively. “Move over, let me check this out--”

Before Sasha can even think about what’s happening, Anetra is plunking her way through something that sounds more like one of Busby’s more theatrical whines than any song Sasha’s ever tried to teach her. It’s absolute chaos, and as much as Sasha knows Anetra’s doing it on purpose, she also can’t help but try to step in.

“Oh my God, stop, that’s not how you do it--”

“Mhm,” Anetra’s hands come off the piano, her voice smug as it suddenly hits Sasha that she’s not standing anymore. She’s not hovering, not bending over to correct her wife. Instead, she’s… 

“Did I… Am I…?” 

“You did it, baby!” Anetra squeals, practically throwing herself onto Sasha and squeezing her tightly. “I’m so proud of you.

“Oh my God,” Sasha laughs in disbelief. Her heart is pounding, and her throat feels tight, but she did it--she really, actually did it. 

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Anetra keeps hugging Sasha, holding onto her tightly as tears begin to gather at the corner of Sasha’s eyes again. She knows they’ll spill over if she tries to speak, so instead, she just puts her head on Anetra’s shoulder, sighing contentedly as Anetra brings a hand up to stroke her hair. 

“Neech?” she finally says after a few minutes, when the beating of her heart has fully calmed and her throat feels relaxed again. 

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you play it again?” Sasha buries her face deeper into Anetra’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of her perfume.

“Oh, you want a little bit more of this?” Anetra’s voice is dripping with mischief as she begins to bang on the keys again.

“Fuck off,” Sasha laughs. “No, for real this time. Just… play it again.”

So Anetra does, and it sounds absolutely beautiful.