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ashlovesfood · 4 months ago

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Rearrange My Guts!

Tags: Dinner, cooking, reassurance, gentle, eye contact, we gonna keep playing eye contact or you gonna holla at ya boy? arousal, sticky slick, kissing, marking, hickies, Bruce and Clark are HORNY freaks, rough fucking, oral sex, face fucking, multiple orgasms, cum, Bruce is rough and Clark is gentle, switching positions, eyes rolling back, EVERYONE is FREAKYYY!

Visuallll (Doesn't match story but its okay!) (″･ิ_･ิ)っ

Clark Kent, one of the top reporters in the world, sharing you with Bruce Wayne- excuse me? It started off with you at work, texting your husband on break while you ate a quick snack. He was talking about one of his friends, a highly known writer that was currently visiting Gotham for an interview.

That’s when you decided to be friendly, and suggested dinner with him to help and try to get along. Maybe that’s where things started to take a slight turn… Bruce was hesitant at first, not being the hugest fan of sharing a dinner with his friend, but he agreed at last. Clark wouldn’t make a bold move right?.. As you got off work to start on dinner, the idea of making delicious roast potatoes and steak came to mind.

You started off with chopping the potatoes into cubes, seasoning the chunks with salt, pepper, and garlic, then drizzled the pan with olive oil. The kitchen oven warmed up nicely as you opened the door, a warm heat wave hitting you quickly. Potatoes were done and needed to cook, now came the steaks.

This process was somewhat challenging, your brain overthinking about what Clark would like and what not so you asked Bruce.

“Yes baby what’s wrong?” Bruce was in his office, cleaning his desk off and powering down everything in the building to go home while he listened to your voice. “Hi B. Sorry, just- listen what does Clark like for steak? I’m just- need to get it right for dinner or I’ll mess up and everything’s going to be ruined and,” “Sweets. Calm down and take a breath, just please wait. I can reassure you that Clark likes anything on his steak and he doesn’t have any allergies, he’ll eat anything handed to him. Medium rare is perfect for the steaks. Pretty big guy if I do say so myself honey, just trust me- he will like anything you make so do not overthink it okay?” “I- okay. Thank you, handsome. Really need that right now.”

You took a breath, letting the calm moment resurface so you could continue with tonight and not stress out. The call ended with Bruce saying that he and Clark would be coming at the same time, his voice giving you reassurance one more time before hanging up. The small heartbeat in your chest faded into a calm beat, the feeling of being helped by Bruce made you calm down instantly.

As you prepped the steaks with salt and pepper, the skillet was warming up waiting for you to place the meat in. It smelt fresh of food around the manor, the warmth bringing a welcoming feeling. “Oh the potatoes!” You grabbed the cute oven mitt from the hanger, sliding the door open to grab the pan of fresh roasted potatoes. The smell was heavenly, you smiled at your cooking and placed the pan on the counter to let it cool down. Sizzling brought you back to the skillet, the steak was seared on one side and you flipped it revealing the beautiful brown color. You added butter, thyme, and garlic into the pan letting the sauce infuse into the steak for a delicious flavor.

The door clicked open, and you heard voices. “Bun, are you here?” Bruce placed his coat on the chair and told Clark to follow him. “I’m in the kitchen!” The aroma of fresh steak wafted around in the air as Bruce and Clark walked in, your back turned to them as you watched the steak. “Good evening, Mrs.Wayne.” The heat turned off as the steak was perfectly cooked in the skillet, the butter basting the meat to make it extra juicy.

“Please, no need to be so formal with me. Call me by my name.” You gave him a polite smile, looking at his eyes through his black rimmed glasses. “B, can you cut the steak and I’ll set the table? Would you both like to drink wine?” Your eyes flipped to both of them as they answered, being fine with wine.

The cabinet above the fridge was holding the wine, your fingertips barely grazing the handle. Clark stepped behind you, reaching the cabinet door and pulling out the bottle of Bordeaux, his front pressing down on your back. Bruce eyed Clark but didn’t say anything as he placed the meat on the plates, a slight smirk wiped on his face. You shuddered at the feeling, the layers of fabric separating skin to skin contact. “I’m sorry- didn’t mean to get so close..” He placed the Bordeaux onto the counter, adjusting his glasses while he stepped back. You awkwardly chuckled, pretending like it never happened and that your panties were not kind of damp.

“Dinners ready, both of you.” Bruce’s voice cut through the air, a shiver running down your spine going straight to your pussy. “Oh thank you Bruce..” You coughed to clear your throat as you walked towards the table, sliding the chair out to sit. All of you sat down to eat, having a light conversation about work, the background playing your soft dinner playlist.

“The food is delicious. I, you’re a really good cook Mrs.Wayne.” Clark complimented your skills, a slight blush washing over your features. The wine was definitely starting to catch up.. Bruce eyed you silently, then looked at Clark. They made a look that signaled something, their eyes diverting back to you. You felt your thighs clench together, why was the air so warm and sticky now?.. It smells like Clark’s cologne and Bruce’s scent, and arousal shoots through your body.

The dinner was abandoned as all of you fumbled around in the hallway, Bruce had his boner rubbing against your ass cheek while Clark was nipping at your neck. You moaned in ecstasy, the sound making them even harder. Clothes were strewn across the stairs, reaching up the floor of your bedroom. Clark took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand as he watched you on the bed. Bruce was taking his time, making out with you while he rubbed your nipples, the cold air making them harden.

“Mnghh! N-Need you both..” You panted under the kiss, Clark and Bruce chuckled as they watched you tremble with pleasure. Bruce took your mouth, slapping his cherry red tip on your cheek, the small dribble of pre on your face. “Oh bunny.. ‘M gonna fuck you so damn good..” Bruce shoved his cock into your mouth, hitting your gag reflex making you roll your eyes back. Clark was in between your thighs, lapping at the slick that coated your skin. “Taste soo good f’me ma..” Clark’s mouth was sucking and licking up all your juice, his long tongue prodding your hole making your arch.

The pleasure was too much, too fast, too filling. Your first orgasm felt like a train wreck, you convulsed as Bruce and Clark kissed and marked your body, bite marks and hickies littered your skin. “M cummmingg..!” Bruce released his load into your throat, the hot ropes of fresh cum making his tip sensitive. Clark was rutting against the sheets, his pretty pink tip leaving a wet spot on the bed.

“Oh fuck- Bruce, switch w’ me..” Clark could feel all 10 inches throbbing with need, his pink tip leaking with precum, as Bruce was shooting blanks into your mouth his cherry red color he slipped out of you. You were panting, your eyes heavily lidded from the pleasure. “Ngh- no more, pleasepleasepleasee!” Your body was flipped instantly, Bruce was lining his tip up to your pussy while Clark was about to abuse your mouth. They looked at eachother, and used your holes at the same time.

“Hngh!” It made you feel so full, both holes being used like a fleshlight to their own will. The heavy sounds of grunts and groans filled the room, it smelt like musky cologne and the sweet smell of your delicious pussy. “Milking me so good bunny- Fuckfuckfuckfuck..!” Bruce sped up his pace, thrusting into your tight walls faster than before sending electric shocks through your body. Your eyes were rolled up into the back of your head, and you moaned around Clark’s base while he fucked your face.

It was overwhelming, the feeling of having your holes filled with giant cocks, and Bruce was allowing it! “Ma- use your tongue f’me..” Clark was using your throat to his will, the tip twitching as he felt the edge of his orgasm about to burst. You licked the veins that ran up and down, another orgasm or two making your body shiver. The slick was lubricating Bruce’s dick, his thrusts sloppy and rough, he’s about to cum. “Gonna cum in this sweet pussy..” Bruce groaned, his hot load filling your womb to the brim, it was soooo damn hot.. Clark followed shortly after, his abs clenching as another load was released into your body, the taste of his cum was lingering on your tongue. You whined when they took out their dicks, shaking from the aftermath of your body. “Mm.. I’ll use your dicks next time..!”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N Releasing intro post by tmrr ★~(◠ω◕✿)

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andyoullhearitagain · 1 year ago

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Every Starfleet Uniform Ranked By How Annoying The Sleeve Is To Sew, Part 2

Part 1

6. TOS Men's Uniform:

Here we have 1. Quite a severe curve 2. with a zipper in it 3. an invisible zipper at that 4. with pattern matching through the zipper at the collar

5. in velour (slippery). Woof.

7. Disco:

OK we've got two points of pattern matching, but they don't have to be too precise because they've got this round shiny striped piece between them. Of course that piecing means we're basically setting a sleeve in twice, but I will concede that the stretch will be more forgiving than a woven would be. Add in the piecing on the bicep and two different sticky rubber-y fabrics for further difficulty.

8. TNG Version 2B and Voyager:

All the work of a tailored sleeve with an added inverse corner in an intersection of four seams.

PLUS two points of pattern matching, which is very tricky in an armsyce because you're trying to get the pitch right. You can see in TNG they often have trouble with it and have either a jog in the pattern matching

or too much ease in the wrong place to force the pattern to match.

They seem to have figured it out by Voyager though. I'm also fairly certain they have raglan shoulder pads in them instead of regular ones, which isn't really harder I guess but is a bit odd (no shade, they're incredibly flattering).

9. DS9/ TNG Movies:

All the difficulties of the TNG armscye and now we've added trim, meaning we really have four points of pattern matching instead of two. I could be persuaded that the contrast pieces are applied over the upper sleeve piece instead of pieced, which is easier than what TNG is doing.

10. Enterprise:

I think this is regular raglan sleeve and not some kind of half raglan/half set in sleeve like we see in TNG. Either way it's a bit easier than the TNG sleeve because the trim and yoke are applied on top and top stitched. But we've still got that mitered corner in our bias trim and our four points of pattern matching on the shoulder seam. And then we've also added like four zippers!!!

11. Picard:

What did the stitchers do to this designer? FOUR inverse corners (I guess at least it doesn't intersect a seam this time) PLUS the piecing at the cuff, PLUS all the pattern matching at the armscye, and all in stretch (I think). The only reason it's not the most difficult sleeve is because it looks fairly flat and I bet if you do a nice tight hand baste you can get everything lined up on the first try. Also this is not strictly speaking part of the sleeve but those little corners in the yoke? Good grief.

12. TNG Version 2A:

Never in my life have I seen an armscye like this. What is this even called? How do you construct it? I suppose I would sew the sleeve pieces together, set them in the armscye, then sew the raglan/yoke pieces together at the shoulder seam and then stitch them all the way across the front and then all the way across the back. But good grief. The ONLY other sleeve I could find remotely like this is this 1940s Simplicity pattern (it's on ebay if you want it).

With a few added seams you can imagine what these pattern pieces must look like.

13. TNG Version 1:

All the malarkey of 2A except you've got to do it in spandex. I'd pick wool any day. We also have a second yoke (?!) so now we have to do that little inverse corner TWICE and also add piping. Never in my life have I done an intersection of piping correctly the first time.

And then on top of all that it's ugly. Terrible sewing experience. Worst sleeve in Star Trek *bangs gavel*.

#star trek #yelling about costume design #armscyes #sewing

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multi-fandom-imagine · 10 months ago

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Day 2: Breeding

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Character: Stanford Pines

Warnings: Breeding kink, cream pie, unprotected sex

Ford couldn't quite place why he wanted to breed you so badly.

Maybe it was due to his age, he certainly wasn't getting any younger. It's not like he was ever given the chance to settle down and have kids, not with all the crap he went through.

But now, meeting you, falling for you, he really couldn't contain his urges anymore. The only thing he could think about was breeding you. He wanted to have you.

He needed to have you.

Nose pressing into your neck, hands clutching your thighs tightly. Ford continues to thrust into you, your legs draped across his hips. Your moans, your little whimpers were driving him insane. "You're mine....everyone will know you're mine." His hand tightened on your hips.

"F-Ford" your voice stuttered as you did your bast to match the mans thrusts, nails digging into his back, your mind in a fog. You've lost count of how many orgasm's Ford has drawn from you, your body already slicked with sweat. Your breath in ragged pants. "Ford I."

Silencing you with a kiss, Ford thrusted a few more times. The familiar sensation pooling in his stomach as his thrusts became erratic, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. "So good...you feel good." He whispered.

Picking up the pace, another whine escaped your lips as your orgasm hit you. Your walls tightening around his cock, a deep groan leaving the mans lips. A shudder rushing down his spine, hips still thrusting as he released inside of you.

Cum coating your walls as he filled you, his tongue gliding across yours. Breaking the kiss, Ford let his thumb glide across your swollen lips. "I'll never tire of that look."

Slowly pulling out his softened cock, the man couldn't help but feel satisfied watching the cum seep out of your pussy. "Such a good girl...get some rest...I want to continue this."

#drabbles #drabble #smut #gravity falls smut #ford pines #stanford pines #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #female reader #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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unintentionalseductress · 11 months ago

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Sleep is overrated for Xavier and can you feel how much I want you for Zayne if these haven't been requested yet please🫶🏽❤️

Hey anon! Sorry I'm getting to this kinda late, I was sick and just started to feel better. Normally I'd say limit one prompt per request but since I didn't get that many I'm writing both (and because I'm a sucker for these two).

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.”

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

--------

Xavier:

It was a rare day off and Xavier was snuggled into you, your back pressed comfortably against his chest. You knew being a hunter drained him and that sleep was a luxury for him. However, you were just needy enough today that the sight of him getting ready to fall asleep was making you antsy. You turn in his arms, pushing your face up to his.

Blue eyes already heavy from a long's day work blink at you. "Are you ok?" His long fingers idly play with your hair, pushing it back behind your ears, a sleepy smile twisting his lips.

"Xav, are you planning on going to bed already?" You run your fingers down the front of his tshirt hoping to rouse him but he yawns loudly as the question is asked.

"I was. I'm sleepy."

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.” You hold your breath waiting for his reaction and see a little twinkle in those captivating eyes.

"Better ideas? Like what?" Curious, he props himself up on his elbow to look at you.

"Oh you know...just...cute little ideas..." You boldly trace your fingers further down his chest, running bast his belly and suggestively give a light stroke at the front of his pajama pants. His sleepiness evaporates in an instant, every nerve in his body at attention.

"What are you doing angel?" he asks tentatively as you stroke him again, then reach out to cup him in your palm, feeling the softness morph under your touch.

"Isn't it obvious?" you tease then start pulling down the waistband of his underwear and pajamas at the same time. Pink dusts his cheeks but he allows you to do so, covered only by the blanket. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, his newly hardened cock now in your grip and pump him enticingly.

"Does that feel good?" you murmur sweetly in his ear, hot breath tickling him as he lets out a groan. Xavier manages to nod and you continue playing with him, stroke after long stroke of your small, soft, hand bringing him closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

His hips start to roll on their own accord, matching the pace of your hand as you bite and kiss his neck.

"Mhhmm...that's so good angel..." his voice pants, thick with desire as your dextrous fingers continue to pet him. Precum leaks from his tip and you gather them to further lubricate him, movements growing slick and fast. Heat gathers in his abdomen and he can't control the noises he makes, hoping for it to come to peak soon.

A low, gravelly moan escapes him as he orgasms, spurts of cum erupting from his tip and falling messily onto your hand, little spasms punctuating his pleasure at the base of his cock.

He gazes at you in adoration and you grin.

"Still sleepy?"

Zayne:

Your arms are wrapped around Zayne's neck as he kisses you, tongues mixing and lips desperately locked against the other's.

It hadn't been that long since you'd had sex but the two of you had a hard time keeping your hands off each other, growing clingier as the day had progressed. Zayne's intentions were made clear from the moment you stepped into the car, his broad hand caressing your thigh as the other remained on the steering wheel. Your bare bodies are flush against each other and you feel tight hardness pressing against your thigh.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He rasps, grinding himself on the soft plushness of your legs, his head bowed against your collarbone. "You make me...so weak for you..."

His lips capture yours possessively as his fingers dip between your wet folds, gently stroking before inserting a thick finger into your leaking core, his thumb coming up to rub circles on your clit. Your lips part to let out a sigh of pleasure, struggling against his actions, the sweetness gathering in your pussy too good to describe.

Your nails tighten on his back , leaving marks, whining needily. "Zayne don't stop...that's perfect..."

"I have no intentions to stop if it's making my pretty girl feel good," he says in a smooth whisper and you bury your face into his shoulder as you cum, pussy spasming around his fingers in harmony with your clit. Colors fade in and out of your vision as you ride out the waves of pleasure before collapsing back onto the bed. Zayne licks his fingers clean before positioning and sheathing himself into your warm cunt.

Both of you hiss in pleasure as he bottoms out, stretching you deliciously. "Can you take it?" He asks as he starts to thrust.

You nod dizzily, your brain turning to mush as he strokes your inner walls.

"That's my good girl."

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repulsiveliquidation · 11 months ago

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Melted Ice Cream || Leah Williamson and Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut 18+, cunnilingus, food play, fingering, Daddy Alexia. player on player, reader only mentioned.

Based on the poem ‘Melting Ice Cream’ by Michael Faudet in his book ‘Playing with Matches."

orgy spinoff. Should I continue the orgy and work on the last part?

“Could you get the door, love?” you yell from the kitchen, basting a steak that was seconds away from medium rare. Leah rushes to the front door, heart pounding in her chest. She’s been waiting weeks for this date and she’s over the moon the special day is finally here.

Leah opens the heavy door and rushes at the person that stood behind it. Strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, stepping into the delicious smelling house.

“Ale, finally,” Leah sighs into Alexia’s neck, feet touching the ground again.

“Hi amor, missed me that much eh?” Alexia teases, pecking Leah on the lips. Leah rolls her eyes and scoffs, taking Alexia’s bag into the master bedroom. The Spaniard searches for the kitchen, following the scent of butter browning and rosemary burning.

The figure slicing away at cucumbers doesn’t hear or see the guest she has in her home, occupied with her cooking the perfect meal for her newest lover.

“You’re realistically the only thing I’m hungry for tonight,” Alexia says cheesily as her arms snake around your middle. You’re startled but relax into her arms, leaning back into her chest as her lips leave little kisses on the shell of your ear.

“I’m sure Leah’s got something planned that should whet your appetite,” you quip, turning around in her arms. She looks down at you proudly, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s searing and full of lust, lips molding into each other perfectly. You both get lost in each other when someone clears their throat.

“I’m beginning to feel very left out here, Ale.”

“I’m sorry darling,” Alexia pulls away from you and saunters over to Leah. “Can I show you how much I've missed you?”

“Baby?” you ask, reaching into the cupboard to pull out your mandolin.

“Yeah?” Both of them answer and it sends them into a fit of giggles, leaving you shaking your head at your silly girls.

“You’ve got twenty minutes, angels. Not a minute more.”

“That’s plenty,” Alexia says, taking Leah’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got time to kill.”

Alexia leaves the door wide open, picking Leah up and throwing her onto the fluffy bed. Alexia notices the array of toys laid out on the nightstand, along with a strap that looked appealing but would have to wait till later.

“Wait here.”

Leah looks up at the Spaniard and nods, getting comfortable on the bed. Alexia goes back into the kitchen and rummages through the freezer for something; you hear a bowl and silverware but decide to pay no mind, the asparagus in front of you wasn’t going to blanch itself.

Alexia comes back into the room and Leah’s eyes narrow when she sees the bowl in her hands.

“What’s that? I swear if you’ve brought me in here to share the soup she’s made I’ll shove you back on a plane to Spain.”

“No,” Alexia smirks, setting it on the bed. “Strip.”

Leah is still understandably skeptical but does as she says, pulling the Barça jersey (which she secretly wore only in the house) off over her head. Leah arches off the bed and pushes her gym shorts off, legs spreading wide open for her girlfriend whose eyes turned dark.

“Good girl mommy,” Alexia praises, standing at the edge of the bed. She takes a spoon of whatever was in the bowl and eats it, before leaning over Leah and kissing her.

“Mmh,” Leah moans, swapping the cold dollop of ice-cream between their mouths. The sticky sweet vanilla ice-cream melted and made their kiss sweeter than it already was, leaving them wanting more.

“That was so hot,” Leah whispers, watching eagerly as Alexia feeds herself more of the sweet treat.

Alexia smashes her lips onto her lovers again, now climbing onto the bed. One hand holds herself above Leah while the other makes itself busy between Leah’s legs.

Alexia feels Leah’s arousal spike, folds sticky and warm like their mouths were as the ice cream was swallowed. The ceramic bowl didn’t hold its temperature well, so there was melted ice cream around the scoop. Alexia, feeling a light go off in her brain, gathers a spoonful of it and drizzles it all over Leah’s chest.

“Oops,” Alexia teases, watching as Leah’s skin prickles with goosebumps. “Guess I’ll have to clean up this mess I made.”

“Yeah, you s–should,” Leah whines, head tilted down to watch Alexia lick up her mess.

Alexia kisses Leah all over her chest, marking her with hickeys. She drags her tongue through the ice cream, sucking up the pearly white mess.

“You taste so good, bebita,” Alexia praises, suckling on Leah’s breast. She kneads the other gently, flicking her tongue over the hard nipple. Alexia reaches for more ice cream, taking Leah’s breast back into her mouth to play with.

Leah writhes and whines, lips begging for Alexia to touch her where she needs.

“Please Ale, lower…need you lower…”

“Ale?”

Leah’s brain short circuits and she sputters, feeling Alexia’s fingers go back to her clit.

“Daddy, please…”

“That’s better,” Alexia praises, fingers rubbing Leah’s clit faster. Her free hand slaps Leah’s breast hard which sends painful pleasure through the England skipper, her clit throbbing harder and harder. Alexia could feel it and it stroked her ego more than she dared to admit.

“Tell Daddy where you want it mi vida,” Alexia coos, fingers teasing Leah’s entrance. “Hurry baby, we don’t have much time sí?”

“I–In my pussy Daddy, hurts…” Leah whined, back arching off the bed as Alexia’s thick fingers slipped into her pussy. She lets out a deep sigh and chuckles deliriously, hips grinding down onto Alexia’s fingers.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me no?”

“Yes Daddy, only for Daddy,”

“Oh? You’re not good for her too?” Alexia teases, fingers pressing hard on Leah’s sweet spot. Her other hand presses down on Leah’s hips and holds her down, the captain squirming in her hold.

“I am! Good for you both,” Leah whimpers, eyes rolling back into her head when Alexia finger fucks her hard all of a sudden. The Spaniard smirks and pumps her fingers into her lover faster, watching as the skipper falls apart.

Alexia stops, taking the last bit of cold ice cream into her mouth before turning her attention back to Leah. Without warning, Alexia shoves her fingers back into Leah, a third slipping in alongside the other two that were pruning from how wet Leah was.

“Alexia!” Leah screams when Alexia suckles on her clit. The cold contrast of her mouth and the heat from all the blood that flooded her core was too much for Leah and she is sent head first into the most mind numbing orgasm she’s had in a while.

Leah’s thighs shake, her body jolts and her hands grip Alexia’s hair hard. She begs and begs for Alexia to stop but she doesn't until everything has been taste tested first.

“The ice cream only made you tastier darling, remind me to bring sprinkles next time,” Alexia grins, licking her lips. Leah laid there starstruck, desperately trying to wrap her head around what she just experienced.

“Girls! Dinner’s ready!”

“Coming!”

Alexia helps Leah clean up quickly, helping her throw her Barça jersey back on.

“How much did she pay you to wear that?”

“There were a lot of zeroes.”

#woso #woso smut #fc barca femeni #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #leah williamson #daddy alexia #leah williamson smut #alexia putellas smut #leah williamson x alexia putellas

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noirandchocolate · 4 months ago

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Of course Red Heart would break MY heart by discontinuing the yarn I use for our most popular dice bag! ToT Like Bast said, there’s just TWO left so nab one while the nabbing’s good!

Going forward the cable design will be the same but the yarn will be very different! I hope the new bag will also find fans. <3

Attention!!

The yarn @noirandchocolate uses for the Rogue dice bag has been discontinued! There are only two rogue bags left with this particular purple/gray variant. We'll be searching for replacement yarn, but going forward the rogue bag will have a different look. Same pattern and still in the purple family, but different.

So! If you're a fan of the original Rogue dice bag, grab it while you can here on our Etsy page! There's only two left, so grab one for yourself before they're gone for good. Thanks!

#crafts #knit #especially lame because this yarn was so dang cool and really matched with bast’s rogue sticker #stay tuned for an updated listing and debut of the new look once I find another yarn!#it’ll likely be a much simpler color scheme though—a colorway like this one is proving hard to find

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angelacostumery · 9 months ago

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let's make some sleeves!

don't worry i'll put it below the cut, no one should be confronted with the horrors of drafting them on their dashboard without giving prior consent.

those first few photos are of the final mockup and the final sleeves. the first mockup was more to gauge length and the final width I wanted the cuff to have, so it looked like this.

I wanted this to have a specific lantern shape with limited gathers because this fabric is thicc so I sewed a 1/2" dart at each of the marked points, taking the bottom edge in by 11" in the process.

I ended up shortening it a lot just above where the darts ended, which left me with this.

I knew it would be easier to have a single seam going horizontally than sewing a dozen darts into each one, so I was prepared for this development. I probably could have drafted something much closer to this from the start but I wouldn't want to seem too competant.

I took out a lot of volume on my next mockup and settled on something very similar to what you see above.

then they were cut out from faille, the seam was covered with 1/2" horsehair braid to give them a bit more body.

now, for the velvet layer, I didn't want a visible seam. It sort of ruins the flow of the fabric's pattern AND the fabric's pattern runs in vertical stripes which don't lend themselves well to the curves of the sleeves.

so instead I fussy cut out pieces and overlapped them until they formed the correct shape without any obvious breaks.

It was only after I got these pinned and partially sewn that I realized I forgot to add the gold overlay beneath them and had to re-do it all.

I kept trying to machine-baste together the edges and the sleeves were like "no."

the faille folded over the seam point after I finished since the overlay was like 1/4" too short in some spots, because I didn't baste all the layers together before cutting them out and sewing them together (like I usually do).

I ended up doing it by hand, all but two of the "short spots" will be hidden in seams and the others were patched with additional appliques.

I sewed the appliques to the fabric below the horizontal seam, but this created issues with the drape when I attempted to carry it further up, so the layers are independent above that seam point, save for the top edge where they are basted/eventually seamed onto the bodice..

these will be finished with matching cuffs and cotton lining.

the bottom edges were gathered from 22" down to 19" prior to the underarm seam being done up, so most of the shaping comes from the piecing, not the gathers.

(the top edge is gathered a similar amount at the armscye.)

When going to baste together the top edges I decided to shorten the lining by about an inch at the center and tapering down to nothing at the underarm. This forces the fashion layer to puff out a little bit more.

Then they were sewn on and probably some other stuff happened that I forgot. Anyway, voila!

#what is the opposite of a tutorial #drafting #draping #sewing #sleeves #lantern sleeves

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Time for Cheer

Warnings: non/dubcon, dysfunctional family, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: After your Christmas is ruined, you find an unlikely saviour.

Character: Jonathan Pine

Day Eight of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - finding your home away from home

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It wasn’t the transmission, it was the fuel line,” your father snarls.

“Then why did replacing the transmission fix the problem,” Aiden spits back.

They’re having another of their pointless arguments. It’s more of a weighing of the egos. It’s not entirely unusual for them to spend hours trying to one up the other or prove the other wrong, but you thought Christmas might be a respite. That assumption seems foolish the more you think about it. There’s never been a good enough excuse to just stop.

Your family has never been like other families. There are no cute matching sweaters or festive photos. The only tradition is to see who you can make feel the worst. You know better than to tell either of them to cut it out, otherwise you’ll just be drawn into their race to the bottom.

Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Dinner. Every year you fight to make the perfect spread and every year, something ruins it. Usually, your family.

Last year, your dad couldn’t get over the ‘watery’ gravy and the year before that, your brother whined because someone put beans on his plate and he hates green beans. For an adult, he sure does act like the same seven-year-old brat that used to scream about bathing.

You feel just as stagnant. The holidays are just the stamp on the year, sealing your lack of progress. Year after year and you’re still here. Still filling the hole your mother left all those years ago. You can’t even blame her. You can only blame yourself for not following her lead and running for the hills.

Vivien arrives just as you baste the turkey and check the temperature. It’s only noon and there’s some hours to go. Your father and brother don’t stop arguing even as the churlish voices of children rise in the entryway. Your sister’s children are another obstacle to your endeavour.

“Hey, Viv,” you say as your sister appears in the doorway.

“Any wine?” She asks.

“There’s beer,” you shrug. You don’t drink, she knows that.

“Beer?” She mutters.

“I don’t know. Dad could have some whiskey hidden in the garage--”

“Whatever,” she huffs.

“You can put the pies on the counter.”

“Pies?” She echoes, “what pies?”

You brace yourself and take a deep breath. You face her, “you said you were bringing pies.”

“No, I said they had the pumpkin pies at the grocery, I never said I’d bring them,” she shakes her head.

“No, you said--”

“Why would I bring the pies? I have three brats to take care of a husband. I got enough to spend my hard-earned money on,” she sneers.

You flinch. Hard-earned? You don’t remember the last time she worked. She calls you about every other week to complain that Chuck’s overtime still didn’t break even.

“It’s fine,” you go to the cupboard and take out your emergency can of apples. “No pumpkin but I’ll figure something out. Maybe crisp?”

“See, you got this,” she says as she goes to the fridge and steals one of your father’s Molsons.

“Viv,” her husband calls from the other room as something crashes.

“Ugh, he can never do anything by himself,” she mutters as she cracks the tab.

You shake your head. Your father’s holler joins the chaos of voices. The kids whine as one of them cries, and your dad yells about whatever’s broken.

You won’t be lured into the storm. Vivien couldn’t offer to help you in the kitchen. This is her chance to get drunk and let her husband wallow in the destruction. Your father never lifts a finger in the kitchen past opening the fridge and your brother would only get in your way.

As you forge on, you can’t help but wonder why you bother. What do you ever get in return? Not even a thanks and you only end up cleaning the mess after. Well, what other choice do you have? You’ve been pushing the same boulder uphill for almost twenty years and you still haven’t gotten over the apex.

You manage to scrounge enough together to fill a pan with the impromptu crisp. You have everything prepped and ready to cook in intervals; bean casserole, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, corn, and carrots. Even if everything else is a mess, dinner should be good.

You open the stove and slide apple crisp in next to the turkey. It won’t be your best work. As you shut the oven door, there’s a sudden clatter behind you. You spin as the bowls hit the floor and their contents scatter with the shards of broken glass. Viv’s oldest, Cameron, swings around his hockey stick, stomping over the mess.

You stand stunned and paralysed. You blink as tears burn behind your eyes and your hands shake in horror and rage slowly builds from your stomach to throat. You can only stare at the clueless child as he wiggles the stick proudly.

“See what I got for Christmas?”

You sway. He’s eleven years old. He knows better. Or he should.

“What the hell is all that nonsense?” Your father yells as he clamours into the doorway. “Now whatcha gone and done--”

As he turns the blame on you, you wince as if you’ve been slapped. Cameron once more swings around his stick, playing with a sliced carrot like a puck. Your father’s voice fades into the back of your mind as your vision narrows.

“You fix it. I’m done.” You shake your head as you swallow down your devastation. “I’m done.”

“Done? What d’ya mean done?” He snarls as you brush past him. He follows you down the hall to the front door.

“It’s over. I’m not doing it again. I’m not cooking for you animals anymore,” you rip your jacket off the hooks and shove your feet into your well-worn boots. “You want a Christmas dinner, figure it out yourself.”

“You can’t just walk out.” He slurs.

“I’m going.”

“Where? Huh? Going to find your mother?”

You stop and face him. He knows it’s low but he doesn’t care. He always throws her in your face, like you ever had a say in what she did. You scowl. Before you can explode with the fury boiling in your chest, a knock comes at the door. Great, now you have witness to the storm. You don’t need another police report. Better deal with the neighbour.

“Well, maybe she’s nicer than you,” you retort and spin around.

You pull open the door and swiftly flit out, swinging it shut to muffle the bluster of shouting and smashing. Worse than Paula coming to complain about the noise, it’s the landlord. Of course.

“Oh, Mr. Pine,” you greet in a fragile tone.

“Hello, I see Christmas is in full effect,” he remarks kindly on the rabble behind the walls.

“Sure is,” you utter. You look him over as he holds a wrapped basket. You don’t expect him. Especially on the holiday. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“I bring holiday tidings. I hate to disturb you and your family but I’ve been making the rounds of my tenants and it’s been a bit more taxing than I would expect.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow.

“This is for you. And your family,” he pushes the basket toward you. “Just a little gesture.”

“Uh, wow, you...” you slowly take it, admiring the ribbon tied around the red plastic wrap, “that’s very generous but... I don’t have anything to give you.”

“It is not given in the spirit of reciprocity,” he assures. “You know, I sadly could not make it home for the holiday but I’ve got many to share it with here so I thought I would.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” you say. “I’m uh... on my way out actually so I’ll just leave it here.”

You turn and put the basket on the wicker chair near the window. You feel Pine watching you. You turn back to his pensive gaze. He wears a nice grey coat and a deep blue scarf with silver edging. He is a perfect contrast to the disaster of your appearance.

You zip up your coat to hide the food smear across your sweatshirt. You pull your hat from your pocket and tug it down over your hair. You near him and force a smile.

“Thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy unwrapping all that later.”

“Well, where are you off to then?” He sidles to the end of the steps, making way for you.

“Um. Just going for a walk.” To be honest, you don’t know where you’re going. You didn’t make a plan. You just need to get out.

“Would it be terribly rude to invite myself? It isn’t often I get to stroll through the neighbourhood.” He dips his chin down as the bitterness turns the tip of his nose pink. His blue eyes are pale but bright in the snowy atmosphere.

“Uh, sure. Not much to see around here,” you shrug and descend the stairs. Your anger subsides for the roiling embarrassment nipping at your nape.

He follows you down and you drag your treads along the walkway heavily. You turn down the street and he comes up next to you. You’re quiet as you wallow in agitation and humiliation.

“Sounded like a very hectic affair,” he muses through the whistling winds.

You snort. You can’t help yourself. “Yeah.”

He hums as you carry on in a lull. You can appreciate that he doesn’t push it and yet the silence, welcomes your annoyance. You sigh.

“It’s awful,” you breathe.

He chuckles, “family can be a lot.”

“Yeah, well, mine is just... we don’t even like each other.” You rub your cheeks as you speak. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not your problem.”

“Well, as you can see, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. You are my last stop.”

“Hm,” you sniff. You mull your temper and consider going back. The thought just sparks another flare in you. You shake your head at the idea. “They ruined dinner. Again. Every year--” you stop and click your tongue. “I can’t go back. Not today. So, I guess I’ll figure something else out.”

“No? But surely, they would miss you.”

“No, only what I do for them,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said, we’re enemies more than we are family. Not that it’s your problem.” You get to the end of the street, where the dead-end sign stands. “Look, you’re really nice bringing that by but you should go enjoy your Christmas somewhere warm. Alone. In peace.”

“Ha, it seems we envy each other for what the other has,” he remarks. “You romanticize my solace and I can’t help but covet your lack of.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, I should get the car cleared off. I’ll probably drive it down to the train station and sleep there.”

He tilts his head. You realise what you’ve said as his forehead creases, “you say it as if it common.”

“Won’t be the first or last time,” you say. “Look, you’ve heard enough of my problems. Really, I’m already embarrassed so please, just go.”

He clicks his tongue, “and yet I fear I cannot.” He insists, “you see, I was raised to be a gentleman and that includes never leaving a woman in despair so, I cannot allow you to spend your Christmas behind the tracks. So, either I stay and we shiver together,” he gives a moment to quake in the frigid air, “or you come with me, gather your wits, and maybe a bit of warmth.”

You scoff louder than ever, “and why would you do that?”

“Well, it is Christmas,” he suggests, “and I am your landlord so is it not my onus to house you?”

You laugh sardonically. He grins.

“Come on, I have to confess, I don’t do well in the cold and I cannot feel my hands,” he drawls.

You drop your chin and turn your hands out, “alright. Twist my arm.”

“I would if I could bend my fingers,” he jibes.

🎄

Pine lives further than you expect. You suppose you never thought much about it. Where he’s concerned, you only ever worried about making rent. Yet, subconsciously, you built up a man in his sophisticated condo, like a king in a tower.

Instead, he drives past the city limits into the sparse rural lands where houses are set far apart around thickets of trees. It’s not entirely without sense. Out here, the wealthy can build without the confines of a city lot.

He turns off toward a countryhouse with brown and white siding with black trims. The Tudor-style stands out amid the more farmhouse style facades. He pulls into the plowed lot as you stare up at the immaculate structure. The property he lets to you stands in a lowly contrast. You can’t help another twinge of insecurity.

“Um, thanks... for this. I really appreciate it.” You wring your hands as he shuts off the engine. “I feel a bit stupid now.”

“I wouldn’t. Sounds like you’ve a lot to be unhappy about. To think you’ve put up with so much for so long, a weaker person could not. Myself included,” he assures.

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. You mirror him in all your movements, taking his lead as you step onto unfamiliar ground. You come up the front steps of the house and he unlocks the broad wooden door.

He lets you inside and you take your time slipping free of your boots. He leaves his salt-stained leather shoes on the mat and hangs his jacket on the rack in the corner. He takes your coat and puts it next to his. You pinch your thumbs between your knuckles anxiously as you look around the spacious and finely curated interior.

“I’ve tea. Or hot cocoa. My mother sent me a specialty frother as a token of her absence,” he offers.

“Oh, I'm okay,” you twist around as you examine the walls. “It’s a very nice house.”

“A very nice but empty house,” he agrees. “I spent so long with the design and construction, I hardly thought of filling it up with more than things. Far too much for only one person.”

“I guess everyone has different problems we don’t think of,” you say. “Like you said before, I’m whining about my family yet yours is so far away.”

“Ah, yes, funny how we rarely get what we so desire,” he slithers. “So we covet what others have so much we cannot see any possible flaw.”

“Right.”

He waves you further inside. You’re quiet as he takes you on a brief tour; a front room, dining room, a large kitchen you could die for, a den, a back office, and that’s just the first floor. He brings you upstairs and shows you a guest room.

“You might stay in here. I’ll find some clean sheets.”

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” You insist. “Thanks, again. Uh...”

“I’m not much of a cook, but I could put together something. Cheese toasties and soup always do me well.”

“Sure, that sounds great. I could help,” you suggest.

“Only if you truly wish to,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather stay busy.” You reply.

He nods and takes you back down to the kitchen. The meal isn’t very hard to put together. Melted cheese on toast and a jar of the gourmet soup they sell at the more expensive shops. It’s tasty too, warm and comforting even.

Yet, you can’t help the glimmer of guilt in the back of your head. Your sister is probably throwing a fit, your father too. They’re ranting and raving about you walking out. Comparing you to your mother, as they always do to the worst people they know. It’s that dagger they keep sheathed until they’re ready to cut deep.

Pine jars you from your worry as he takes your empty bowl and plate. You sit up at the table and thank him. He gestures you to stay before you can get up.

You wait in the dining room. You put your hand in your hands and yawn. You feel like you did when you were a kid. When one of your friends invited you over and you realised how much better their house and their life was.

“Tired,” Pine muses, “well, I will make up your bed then.”

“Really, you don’t have to do all that,” you lift your head and bat away the fatigue.

“I do,” he counters. “Shouldn’t take me very long. Feel free to explore. Or if you are so inclined, I've left a bottle and glass on the counter.”

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet of you.”

He goes and you stay just as you are. You feel like you could taint this place if you stray too far. When he returns, you feel sluggish.

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A book to read?”

“No, I think I’ll just lay down,” you get up and push the chair in. “I’ve already taken so much.”

“Taken, you say, as if I’ve not given freely,” he smiles. “I’ve left you something to sleep in as well. I’m afraid my selection is limited.”

“Thanks, uh, again,” you rub your neck. At this point, it’s becoming a chant. Thanking him for everything.

You go upstairs and gently close the door of the guest room. He’s right, the house feels sonorously empty. It’s so big, that it’s almost desolate. You replace your clothes with the button-up he left over the duvet and climb into the lush bed. Even that makes your own seem like little more than a wooden pallet.

It doesn’t take you long to sink into a sleep full of violent illusions. You’re back at home, your father yelling as you try to pick up the spilled potatoes, only for the glass to cut your fingers and stick in your flesh. No matter what you do, you can’t do more than slice yourself up, the blood smearing your skin and dripping onto the cracked tile.

You wake with a start. Your heart races as you’re startled at the unfamiliar surroundings. It sets in that you’re not at your father’s house anymore and you calm. You languish beneath the fluffy duvet and dread climbing out from beneath it, but your bladder demands it.

You finally get up and near the door. It has to be late. You inch open the door and listen to the hallway. You creep out, expecting the floor to creak like the boards at home, but your feet only pad lightly on the polished hardwood.

You find the bathroom down the other end of the hall and swiftly pop in and out. On your way back, you stop near the side table where a small boxy clock stands. The digital face shines the time. It’s just after midnight.

You squint as the background changes behind the numbers. Fancy. You tap the screen curiously and the time disappears. It’s one of the smart devices you’ve seen in the Black Friday ads. But the next image, startles you. It’s all too familiar.

You blink at the sight of your family’s living room. Your father’s passed out in his old recliner and the corner of the rug is bent over. There’s wrapping paper strewn across the floor and Chinese food containers littered over the table. Cameron is sleeping on the couch as your brother continues to drink in the armchair and stares at the television.

But why is there a camera in your house? You shakily bring your hand up to touch the screen again. A menu comes up; Favourites. You tap the first option ‘bedroom’. The next image nearly makes you scream. It’s your bedroom. Your sister’s taken over the bed with her husband. The moonlight shines on them through the window as the camera’s night vision limns their slumbering figures.

Your heart hammers. How could this be real? You pinch your thigh and squeak. You’re not waking up.

“Restless?” Pine’s voice has you stalk straight. You lurch on your feet and face his shadow as it looms at the other end of the hallway.

“Mr. Pine,” you greet.

He slowly struts out of the shadows. You wince and lean back on your heel. He clucks as you try to cover the screen with your hand. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. In the dim, you can see the outline of his naked torso above a short pair of boxers. You gulp.

“It isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he says quietly. “I meant to woo you a little...”

“What... Why...”

“Why... what? Darling? Why would I want to give you a proper home? Why would I keep a close eye on such a sad soul?” He hums, “well, as I said, I was raised to be a gentleman, and this house is dreadfully empty, don’t you agree?”

You gape at him, horrified and confused. What he says cannot be true. It cannot be real. Why? Why you? Has it all been a ploy? Was he just waiting and watching for the moment you cracked?

“Mr. Pine,” you utter.

“Please, darling, call me Jonathan,” he comes closer and swipes your hand before you can allude him. “It only feels right, doesn’t it?”

You writhe in his grasp but cannot escape him. You look around at the walls and the isolation of that place sets in. No, it didn’t make sense, after all. A man like him should be in a condo, in the city, not out here where the trees hide him from civilization. Where the roads are endless and treacherous. It doesn’t make sense, not unless he means to go undisturbed. Unless he means you to go undiscovered.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he purrs as he brings his hand up to cradle your head, “I give to you the greatest gift at all. A true home, a true family. We will build it together.”

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #the night manager #navy and roo's sleepover

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