#but this is the size it could be to fit the backing fabric lol

[tj-crochets]

Once again, my phone does not want to photograph the colors accurately, but here’s my next quilt top! It’s a rainbow sudoku* baby quilt and those fabrics to the side will be the backing for maximum rainbow. There’s a much more visible difference between the two darkest colors in person, it’s just a very overcast day lol

*my friend suggested it, a quilt where I cut out squares of nine fabrics, assign each fabric a number, and arrange the squares according to a finished sudoku

[yanderenightmare]

Modern day soft (well, as soft as he gets lol) bf sukuna hcs PLEASEEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: NSFW, underskirt peaking, ish innocent reader, not really hcs but anyway

♡ fem reader

He starts liking you by chance and entirely against his own will. Having a girlfriend is not something he had in mind.

He'd have girls then and there, don't get him wrong, easy one-night stands out on the town if and when he urged for it—even had a couple of sluts on demand he was familiar with—girls he knew would let him fuck them the way he wanted to, but they weren't any special.

And then there's you, who, by all means, shouldn't be any special either. But goddamn, you stick out like a sore thumb, how could he not notice you? The way you handle the back alley bar as if it's a cozy little day café with your fresh-out-of-college appeal, he can't help but think—what on earth is a sweet thing like you doing working here at the wrong side of town after hours?

Well, at least you can pour a drink. But still, what was the owner thinking hiring someone like you—a little lady in a skirt who can't even reach the top shelves without standing on a stool? It's almost to laugh at, and he would, but... sitting on his usual spot right at the counter, he's able to look straight up your skirt and see your pretty pink panties and that awfully teasing way it cups your cunt.

And it's absurd! Because he's seen and done so many depraved things in his life, seeing up a girl's skirt shouldn't be any different, but then that's exactly it—you were different. Not like any of the sluts he's had on his belt, you're... well... you're many things, but a slut isn't one of them. But he would love to make one out of you.

He gets a little drunker than usual nowadays—always requesting top-shelf stuff. You think he's a real big spender—completely unaware he's doing it all for a glimpse. Sitting there, twirling his bourbon, daydreaming what it would be like to have someone like you in his bed. He bet you would squeal a lot—you seem like the type who'd whimper his name and cling to him. You'd whine if he pulled your hair, cry if he slapped your ass, and be real shy if he made you cum on his tongue.

It's a nice thought. He might have jerked off to the image in favor of calling on one of his arrangements. But a thought was all it was. A girl like you would never do anything like that with a guy like him. After all, working at a shitty place doesn't warrant you need to stoop to the same standards. And you were still no closer to fitting in.

You'd been a little wary of him at first. Always by the counter right next to you—rough voice and a chronic harsh glare. His face tattoos didn't help either—looking like a seasoned gangster even though he couldn't have been all that much older than you.

No matter how much you pour him, he never seems to get very drunk. But it's not all the strange either, given the size of him—bulked and built like a bear. His muscles are so big you can see every cut of them through his tank—it's a surprise the fabric holds. He barely even fits through the door.

But he's a quiet guy. Studious. It seems he's always got something weighing down his mind, and given you're the bartender, and he's your best-paying and most regular customer, it might be high time you took it upon yourself to ask him about it.

"'Penny for your thoughts, big guy?" you ask, rubbing the residue from the bottom of a glass.

He doesn't seem like he's going to answer, and you feel regret for even having asked in the first place—like, geez, why would a rough and tough-looking guy like that share any of his thoughts with you? What were you thinking?

"Why do you work here?"

You stop to look at him, blinking. You didn't exactly expect a question in return. "Uhm," you hum in nonplus, unsure how to answer. But then again, the truth isn't so hard to relay. "I dropped out of college."

You have to giggle at the raised eyebrow he gives you.

"Don't look so shocked," you say, busying yourself with wiping down the dew rings left on the counter. "I just found out it wasn't for me. All those sheep walking the same path, eating the same grass, listening to the same boring shepherd... I thought I'd enjoy being a wolf more."

He scoffs softly, more so in acknowledgment than appraisal, you think, then looks down into his glass—his expression as dour as always, unreadable.

"You don't look like a wolf," he mutters at last, taking an indifferent swig.

Of course, you could have left at that. You knew most people would find your reasoning silly, but if you were to be a wolf, you'd have to flash your teeth, puff your chest, and prove it.

And so you do, "Well, that's 'cause I'm still in sheep's-clothing!" A smirk on your face as you fold your arms atop your chest with a raised chin. "But you better watch out! 'Cause one of these days, you'll walk in here, and I'll be even fiercer-lookin' than you."

That stunts him—even more so than your speech earlier. This time, he isn't even able to keep the surprise off his face. Who would have thought you'd be this brazen? Definitely not very sheep-like, even though you look it.

He scoffs again. Maybe he'll help you out...

"Oh yeah?" he grins—and it's the first time you've seen it. Almost a sneer, but way more charming than that—loud and unapologetic with a voice to match. "How 'bout you come to my parlor after your shift, and we get started on dirtying that pristine sheep fur of yours?"

And to his surprise, you don't even waver.

"It's a date."

That night, you get your first tattoo and your first time seeing stars, being folded flat like fresh laundry, and made to cum on a stranger's tongue piercing until screaming.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[aethersea]

I've always wanted to learn bookbinding, ever since I was a wee little nerd, but there are a lot of things I've always wanted to learn, and this one has both a daunting upfront materials cost and a daunting upfront research cost. however, my sister is a jewel among siblings and gave me for christmas last year a handy dandy bookbinding manual, a block of good paper, and a little bag of tools.

but I still didn't have a suitable workspace, nor any of the many important tools and materials that she didn't include in her gift. so I just read the manual and pined. until maybe a month ago I got fed up with pining, flattened a cardboard box for a cutting mat, and went to town.

and I'm real proud of myself, so here's me rambling, plus photos!

I went to the thrift store and got glue + some fabric to bind the cover, went to Michaels for a paintbrush (and later went back for a metal ruler lmao it's amazing how useful it is to have a straightedge for cutting the paper), and...could not find material for the cover boards. so I went home and pined some more. but the urges were too strong, so after a couple hours of moping I got a stack of printer paper at the grocery store (I could not bring myself to use the good paper for my first, inevitably weak attempts, I just couldn't do it) and started making a little booklet. which was a great idea, it turned out, since it makes for good practice with cutting the paper, measuring things, punching holes in the signatures, etc.

I have a big box of greeting cards from Michaels, which I used for the covers. it didn't feel like I was making a Real Book, so I got some colored paper from the stationery store and used that for end papers.

so fancy~

galvanized by this success, I ordered a stack of chipboard online to use for cover boards; and once I was confident that I could cut paper without making it look too stupid (getting that straightedge ruler sure helped lol), I made signatures out of the good paper, left them under some heavy books overnight since I don't have a book press, and then punched holes in them! (huzzah for this nice video on getting the holes right)

my sister's gift included good linen thread. it's unwaxed, but after some poking around on r/bookbinding it looks like that just means I'll have to be more careful to avoid tangles and keep good tension. I am fine with this. I can be extra attentive. (I considered just running it over a beeswax candle, but one commenter said if your wax has paraffin in it, it could melt in a hot car, ruining the spine. I can't guarantee my candle is 100% beeswax, I didn't make it, so maybe we just move on.)

I don't have good linen fabric to use for the tapes, but the important part there is that the fabric be thin, sturdy, and not stretchy. the probably-cotton I got from the thrift store fits the bill, so it'll do!

this is a french link stitch, which I got from this exceedingly good tutorial. apparently it's strong enough on its own that for a book of this size, I don't actually need tapes, but I'd already cut the things so eh here we are. and tapes plus french link will make it a stronger binding still (according to a friendly redditor on r/bookbinding), so we carry on.

specifically we carry on to the gluing step. now as I mentioned, I do not have a book press, and you....kinda need one for this step. you need to hold the book block in place with the signatures facing upwards, pressed together hard enough that the glue won't run down between them and stick the pages together (though you do want the glue to get between them just a little, just for like a 16th of an inch). you at least need some clamps and a couple boards to sandwich the book block with.

but you know what? I'm not a professional, this is my first ever book, if it's a little bit off it'll be fine. so we grab all the heaviest books off the bookshelf and improvise.

it's fine! I'm sure it's fine! and just in case it's not, I've tucked a bit of cardboard underneath to catch any glue that drips down so it won't land on the floor. see? I'm prepared! I'm acing this.

and actually, it really was fine. I used clear elmer's glue, applied with a flat paintbrush from the art supplies aisle at Michael's, and frankly I liked the way the flat paintbrush let me slip glue in between the signatures. I did poke around on a couple bookbinding sites to see what kind of glue I should use, and the gist is that although there are better options than this, elmer's glue is perfectly serviceable, and the main downside is it's not archival grade. but I don't need my first bookbinding attempts to last 200 years, that's fine.

the next step is to add the mull. mull is a specific type of fabric – extremely loose-weave linen – and the idea is to paste it down over the spine to essentially hold the tapes and signatures all in place in relation to each other.

but I don't have mull! so I'm using more of the thrift store probably-cotton, because it's thin enough and not really stretchy at all. I'm sure this will be fine too. I painted a layer of glue onto the spine, then left it to dry a bit while I measured and cut the fabric, then painted a generous stripe of glue down the center, where it'll affix onto the spine. then I added a bit more glue to the spine, just to be sure, and pressed the mull into place, rubbing it thoroughly to make sure it's firmly affixed to every signature, with no creases in the fabric or air bubbles beneath it.

honestly I might have overdone it on the glue. I've never done this before, I don't know! I think it's okay, though – I tried not to ever let it become a thick layer, just a slight coating, since the danger of too much glue is that it might crack once dry and weaken the spine.

and now we leave it in the press overnight to dry, and pick up the next step in the morning!

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day five: size kink

>>> so obviously there is no other option size kink and toji fushiguro are synonymous in my book! i do call him zen'in in this so i guess we can be mama fushiguro lmao! i hope you guys are having a good time with kinktober so far :D

>>> starring toji (zen'in) fushiguro x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: size kink duh, daddy kink i'm not apologizing anymore, reader is stuck in a washer, doggy, oral (fem receiving), reader is used to shit men lol >>> wc: 2.3k >>> event masterlist

toji is massive, in every form of the word. he’s tall, towering over most people he comes across at his looming stature. most of the time, tall people were lanky and lean, slender with limbs that stretch for days. he didn’t fit the stereotype. toji was beefy, his biceps were the size of your head and his hands could cover your entire face. his arms aren’t where it stops either, his chest is broad; he’s so impossibly wide, always struggling to find clothes that fit him right. not that you mind too much of course, watching those poor t-shirts try to contain him rile you up to no end every time. he was always there to grab whatever you needed off of high shelves, changing lightbulbs and dusting the ceiling fans because it was all too easy for him to do. he was ridiculously strong, able to open even the tightest of jars and sweep you into his arms like it was nothing. it wasn’t like you ever overlooked toji’s size, it’s just that you never thought yourself all that small. 

in fact, you struggled with your figure a bit, never quite knowing where you fit in for most of your life. boys either made you feel too insecure over your size or only ever wanted you for that curvy and voluptuous figure. at first, toji was no different, knowing how to talk at a beautiful girl when he sees one. he approaches you, lays out some dirty and cheesy pick up line that’s not even remotely close to original, and is honestly surprised when you snort through your nose and roll your eyes. 

“i had more hope outta you, you were actually cute.” you sneer, quickly turning to keep walking down the quiet streets without any more trouble. and that was it–you really weren’t going to give him a second glance even though you admitted he was attractive? he had never really been turned down before, his looks alone enough to open any door. seems with a body like that you were used to gross one-liners. 

“hey, little lady, wait.” he said, his voice a little softer than it had been when he was hitting on you before. you had already walked a few feet away, but noticing the slight change in disposition, you halted. “maybe that was a bit much, i got ahead’a myself.” he says, tilting his head down in an apology. “let me make it up to ya?” 

your eyes narrowed at him. his arms were folded over his chest, the fabric of the struggling shirt expanding to its fullest potential. his hair ruffled a bit with the warm breeze that blew through, the color of his locks as dark as the night sky—though his eyes shone like the stars above too, something in the green expanses of the hazy orbs twisting your gut and making you decide that if anybody deserves a second chance, it was this sexy stranger. could you even be that angry at him for his lewd comment when you were eyeing him down too, only thinking of his physical attributes?

at your hesitation he speaks again. “let me walk you home. it’s late, and like i said, you’re very pretty.” he raises his brow as if asking one final time. you breathe some air out through your nose, suspiciously looking him up and down at the offer. “no funny business, just protection, little lady.” he swears with his hands by his head. 

you hum, nodding your head for him to follow you as you start walking, hips swinging and hair swaying. when he thinks back on it maybe he fell in love right here, watching you stomp towards your house with way more attitude than your tiny body should contain, doing your damndest to try and play hard to get. but toji’s no fool. he follows you, he increases his strides to catch up with a small effort, but he’s walking beside you with a smug look on his face. 

he makes meaningless chit-chat, learns about some of your hobbies and about your job. he gets your phone number, and apologizes one last charismatic time before you shut the door of your apartment and he’s walking back home, thinking of how he rarely plays the long game for a woman. but he knew you were worth it, the perfect little thing to brighten his days. 

unlike you, toji realized how tiny you were immediately. sure, you were curvy and your chest and ass definitely were not small–you even had a little tummy to you, but you were just so short and compact, he knew he could manhandle you like a toy. not to mention how cute and bratty you were, he was all but compelled to be your man and fuck that attitude right out of you. 

so the long game he played, talking to and courting you like a proper adult, though it isn’t long until you’re accepting him into your home and letting him tame that bratty streak of yours. 

and you’re so glad you decided to give the ginormous stranger another go. he earns his place in your heart and in your home in under a year, and you’ve been grateful for his presence around the house. he makes you feel safe and protected, your own personal security guard. no place could be safer than those hulking arms trapping you to a chest at least two times as wide as yours. his hands always felt so warm and rough against your frame, seeing them against your body always made you feel like the daintiest thing in the whole world. god, and the way those enormous fingers moved inside your little hole—

maybe that’s why you thought you thought you could rely on the burly man you’ve come to love to be the perfect boyfriend he’s shown you he can be, despite the weird looks you get walking around in public with toji zen’in. you never minded the whispers or the rumors of his reputation, you knew him better than anyone, another reason you thought that when you screamed out his name for help, that he’d come running to your rescue. 

to which in part, he did, to his credit. when he heard your voice far away in the laundry room hollering for him, sounding a little too afraid for his comfort, he was there in an instant. but rescuing? nah. he couldn’t help but laugh at your compromising situation. you’re face first in the top load washer, your top-half completely invisible, ass and legs squirming in the air. of course you’d fall in, the height of the washer was something you often complained about; you had to basically crawl inside the machinery to get clothes in and out, and it annoyed you to no end. now, the worst had happened and here you are. you couldn’t even just push yourself out due to how high your legs dangle, you’d surely fall. 

you know what they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and as good as toji has been to you, he can’t repress the perverted fantasy his mind drums up at the sight of your tiny body stuck in the washer. you kick your feet harder at the sound of his laughter, to which he can only belly chuckle harder.  

“you need some help, darlin’?” he teases, large hands wrapping around your ankles, halting your kicking immediately. he holds your legs there by his thighs, standing between them. he smirks down at your fat ass jiggling and recoiling as you try to squirm your way up the washer. he chuckles at your failures and the sounds of frustrations that follow, until you finally whine out for help. 

“toji— just get me out of here.” you pout flatly, folding your arms over your chest inside the barrel. he chuckles deeply again, sliding his hands up your bare legs until they came across the mounds of your ass. he squeezes the flesh almost tenderly. 

“but little lady,” he hums as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs. he has to kneel to get the garment completely off, but he doesn’t mind. he decides kneeling is advantageous for him, especially once he sees your pretty little hole clenching around nothing, just eager to be filled. “ya look like a little toy from down here,’nd i’m thinkin i oughta play.” he has to spread your ass cheeks a little bit to see you in all your glory before he leans in to lick a stripe from glistening slit to your puckering asshole. he growls at the flavor, something he just can’t stop himself from doing no matter how many times he gets to taste you. you can feel the soft tickle of his hair against the insides of your thighs, the searing heat of his tongue making your squirm back against him in a desperate search for more. 

you should have known toji would be greedy, taking advantage of your inability to move and abusing that to the fullest. he laps at you, shoving his fat tongue into your tiny little hole, fucking it wider for his cock to use. after all these months of him fucking you open, you were still so tight and small. you hug even his tongue, silky wet walls making his eyes roll back a little bit. his large hands hold your asscheeks, kneading like a kitten making biscuits, even though it felt more like a lion pawing at you. you taste so good, it has his cock jumping against his zipper and begging for freedom. he decides to deny himself that simple pleasure, focused on driving more of those cute little whimpers from your lips. the tunnel of the washer was amplifying all your sounds, and he felt the torture of not having your tiny cunt wrapped tight around his cock every passing second. 

you were panting, beginning to feel dizzy from being nearly upside down. every stroke of toji’s tongue massaging your fluttering entrance and the intensity of his deft fingers flicking your clit combined sent you spiraling, both physically and literally, towards the edge. he can’t help but lean back and watch the way you fuck yourself back on his mouth for more, picking up the pace of his fingers to send you over your limit. it’s so cute to watch your thighs clench down and shiver as you cum, screeching and begging for his dick next. 

and who was the feared sorcerer killer to deny such a sweet request from his beloved? his pants are off, belt clinking against the floor. you ready yourself, feeling the rough warmth of his hands envelop your sides and his hips cleave your thighs apart yet again. he’s so strong, he doesn’t even have to use his hands to toss you around, positioning you exactly the way he needs you to fuck you into pieces. his cock splits your lower lips and he unceremoniously bottoms out, eyes clenched shut at how your tiny cunt grips him. your jaw drops with the feeling of being so full at once, his cock just as broad and long as the rest of him. he kisses your cervix before he’s even started moving and you’re already squirming and crying like always. the stretch burns, every time feels like your first with toji. especially like this, you’re bent in half and he’s so deep in doggy that you’re seeing stars—though that could be due to the dizziness swirling around your head. 

“so tight f’me like always, gorgeous.” he chuffs, drawing back to the tip and plowing his length back in, entranced by how you clench and release around him. you mewl your acknowledgement, your hips eagerly moving back against him for more friction, his strokes deliriously slow. 

he notes your impatience, amused. 

“need more, little thing?” he teases, licking his smirking lips at the sound of your pathetic whines and kicks. you nod eagerly, realizing he can’t see it. 

“yes, daddy, please! need you to make me cum–” 

before you can finish your sentence, he’s punishing you for asking for it. this angle is so unforgiving, you can feel every vein decorating his shaft as he destroys you, the tip colliding with your womb so hard it has your toes curling and vision going white. his grunts are so low and delicious, a reward for the perfect pussy you offer him nightly. it’s so good, he can’t stop until he beats your insides into the shape of the dick making you scream right now. 

your ass bounces around his thrusts, absorbing every snap of his hips into your unsuspecting and fragile body. he loves watching you break, like his own personal little doll.

“cum–daddy oh my god i’m gonna cum so hard!” you whine, thrashing. 

“oh coat this cock, babygirl.” he groans, feeling himself letting go, unable to fight back against your vice grip anymore. “cum with me, need to feel it.” his head falls back as you spasm around him, the vision of your little pussy accommodating his size too much to bear. 

“god, please toji!! cum, cum, i need it so bad.” you whimper, your voice so breathy and tired, so beautiful as you beg for his load. it’s already established that he can’t deny you, so he doesn’t. he slides his cock in and out of your slick one last time, hissing as his balls tighten and explode into your cunt, white-hot and heavy. it fills you to the brim like it always does, even when his enormous dick withdraws from you and the mix starts to escape down your thighs you still feel impossibly full. 

finally, he rights you onto your feet, his strong steady hands keeping you upright as you wobble a bit. when your vision stops spinning and you bring yourself to open your eyes again, you’re met with toji’s smirking face. his eyes are lazy with amusement and love as he looks at you, giving you an affectionate pat to the head. 

“kinda wanted to leave you there ‘nd keep usin’ ya like that.” 

[ellecdc]

Bro I found you through your Poly! Moonwater fics. They fucking awoken something in me. You're writing is literally amazing and I need more lol. No pressure, I know you already have one where the reader likes to party but maybe the boys taking care of reader after getting high or being plastered? Like after a girl's night or something?

No pressure if it doesn't strike your fancy. Have a great day!!

hahaha this was so fun - I'm so glad you love moonwater as much as I do!!! Thanks for your request <33

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who comes home from girl's night

CW: mentions of drinking, drinking games

The sound of the door opening didn’t rouse Remus from his slumber on the couch, but the sound of the door closing did.

Remus sat up quickly and immediately regretted it; his back twinging in pain from the crumpled position he had fallen asleep in waiting for your return home.

Remus’ heart swelled pleasantly at the sight of his book having been plucked gently from his hands and his place marked with a Tesco receipt after he had fallen asleep with it in his hands, very clearly Regulus’ doing.

Regulus seemed to have fared better than he, still (appearing as though he was) passively reading from his book even at the sound of you struggling to enter your shared flat.

His heart shrunk right back down to normal size, however, when he went to stand to greet you at the door and his boyfriend stopped him with a gentle but firm hand on his wrist.

“Sh.” Regulus said, looking past Remus to the hallway you had yet to appear from.

“What?” Remus whispered back, still slightly confused with sleep as it slowly left his body.

“Just listen.” Regulus insisted, placing a bookmark in his own novel before shifting to give Remus (and the still empty corridor) his full attention.

Remus listened bemusedly at the sound of your heavy breathing and what sounded like you trying to take your shoes off. His fingers itched to help you with the buckles he knew always gave you trouble, but he acquiesced to Regulus’ narrowed eyes.

He heard what sounded like you leaning against (falling into) the wall with a quiet yet surprised “oh!” slipping from your lips, causing Remus to smile. 

His smile grew when he saw a matching one on Regulus’ face. 

After hearing your shoes be tossed aside, you clumsily headed towards the living room when you tripped (over likely nothing) causing you to teeter into what Remus knew to be a coat rack which gently bumped into the wall. “Oh, fuck shit balls.” You scowled quietly before you broke out into a fit of quiet giggles.

Regulus’ hand came up to his mouth in a failed attempt to smother his own laughter as your giggles turned into a reproachful “sssssshhhhh” at your own expense.

“Is she shushing herself?” Remus asked Regulus which was answered with a nod of his head yes as his shoulders continued shaking. 

Finally you turned the corner of the living room, sloppy gaze surveying the room as if confirming you weren’t about to be scolded for stealing cookies past your bedtime. 

Suddenly, your eyes fell on the forms of your two boyfriends, and though Remus couldn’t see Regulus’ face with his back turned to him in favour of facing you, he could only imagine that his smile was half the wattage of Remus’ own.

“Hi!” You whispered in reverence at them, as if still attempting to tame your enthusiasm for the sake of your other non-existent flatmates. 

“Hi, dovey!” Remus cheered and made for you, pulling you into his chest where you all but melted in your drunken state.

“Hi!” You cheered again; giggles muffled into the fabric of Remus’ jumper.

“How was your night, amour?” Regulus asked as he stood, barely pausing to press a kiss to your head before making his way into the kitchen.

“Good!” You cheered, clearly only willing (or able) to come up with one-word answers for your boyfriends. 

That was fine by Remus, he’d spend the next four weeks slowly coaxing the details of tonight out of you if it meant he got to keep holding you like this.

Remus chuckled fondly and placed his umpteenth kiss into your hair. “Did you have fun?”

You let out a pleased sigh which seemed to cause you to deflate further as Remus struggled to keep you upright. 

“S’much fun.”

“Oh, for heaven’s- come on, amour.” Regulus admonished as he re-entered the living room with a few tablets in one hand and a glass of water in the other. 

He put both down in favour of hoisting you out of Remus’ faulty grip and helped you sit back onto the couch where you sloppily beamed at the two of them.

“Hi.” You repeated, cheeks flushed from bashfulness or from drinking, Remus wasn’t sure. All he knew was that you were fucking adorable.

“Hi, amour.” Regulus said again, obviously just as willing as Remus to speak to you in only greetings for the rest of the night. “Think you can drink some water and take these for me?” He asked as he held out the glass and tablets.

You seemed nearly too eager to obey and nearly soaked the front of your dress as you brought the glass to your mouth and drank greedily. 

“Easy dove, don’t forget to breathe – no, not at the same time.” Remus scolded, cringing as you nearly choked.

You pulled the glass away and heaved in dramatic breaths as if you’d been holding your breath since the moment you walked in.

“Wow.” You said dopily. “I was really thirsty.”

“I can get you more, cheri. Take the medicine first.”

Your eyes opened comically at that as you looked to Regulus bewilderedly. “Why do I have to take medicine? Am I sick!?” You asked, eyes suddenly glassy in a way Remus did not like.

“No, no dove. It’s preventative, so that you don’t get sick.” Remus placated, sharing a startled gaze with Regulus.

You sighed in relief and opted not to ask any more questions as you took the pills, which both boys were thankful for.

“I’ll go get you more water, love. Rem, do you think you can help her upstairs?”

“It’d be my pleasure.” Remus said shooting you a wink. Usually, it was very hard for Remus to fluster you, but right now you looked like you could melt into the furniture from the slightest glace at him.

He loved it.

He loved you. 

The stairs were a bit of an issue but the two of you made it up them eventually with perhaps only one bruise to Remus’ shin for your efforts, which Remus considered a victory.

You were in one of Remus’ t-shirts and sat on the edge of the bathroom counter when Regulus walked in with a full glass as well as a jug of water. You looked like you could cry at the sight of it.

“Thank you.” You cooed around your toothbrush as you used your free hand to make grabby motions to Regulus. 

He was quick to obey your wish as he moved to stand between your legs and brushed some of the hairs away from your forehead. Remus took your moment of distraction to brush his own teeth

“I’m glad you had a fun night, lovie.” Regulus said quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to your head.

“Me too.” You hummed in agreement.

Regulus took a makeup remover wipe and began working at your face as you continued brushing.

“Who all was there?” He asked conversationally. You turned to your side to spit and rinse so that you could tell him.

“First it was just me ‘n Lily ‘n Marlene.” You slurred slightly, closing your eyes like a cat getting scritches on their forehead as Regulus worked your makeup off. 

“Mhmm, but more showed up?” Regulus continued.

“Mhm.” You parroted. “Then Dorcas and Mary came before Pandora and Barty showed- showed up.” You explained, having to pause for a tired sigh at the end of your sentence.

Regulus’ hand froze in its task of removing your makeup to look at you incredulously, causing Remus to choke on his toothpaste as he laughed. 

“I thought you said it was a girl’s night?” Regulus asked plainly.

“It was.” You responded quickly.

“And you said that meant there were no boys allowed.” Regulus continued as Remus spat and rinsed.

“Right.” You agreed.

Regulus sighed in exasperation. “Then why was Barty there?” He deadpanned, cautiously resuming clearing the makeup from your skin.

You scoffed dismissively. “Barty doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t Barty count?” Remus asked, though he clearly found this conversation to be much funnier than his boyfriend did.

“Just doesn’t.” You said with a shrug, sleep stretching the vowels out funnily as you swayed slightly with your eyes closed.

“Well...that’s just not fair.” Regulus said simply, discarding the makeup remover wipe. Remus pouted commiseratively at your dejected face at the sudden loss of Regulus.

Remus was quick to correct that as he wet a washcloth and grabbed your facewash.

It was a very awkward way to wash your face in this way, but Remus was more than happy to have another excuse to touch you – he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he missed you while you were out. 

“And did everyone else have fun, dovey?” Remus asked as Regulus took his turn to brush his teeth.

“Mhm. We went to three different pubs, and we danced, and we even sang karaoke at one of them! And then Barty would scare away the guys who tried to dance with us, which was very nice of him.”

Remus beamed at you even though your eyes were closed as he massaged the cleanser into your face.

“That was very nice of him, remind me to thank him next time I see him.” Remus replied, shooting Regulus a cheeky wink.

Regulus rolled his eyes and finished brushing his teeth, letting out a long-suffering sigh as he “supposed Barty could attend girl’s night if he really wanted to.” 

You named all the songs (that you could remember) that you had danced to or sung tonight as Remus and Regulus helped you finish your skin care routine and climb into bed.

“Oh! And then we played this drinking game called Medusa, where you all look up at the group at the same time, and if you make eye contact with someone you have to shout Medusa and drink!” You mumbled excitedly as you snuggled into Remus who was curled up behind you and you pulled Regulus’ arm into your chest like you were snuggling a teddy bear.

Remus could see Regulus’ lovesick smile as he used his thumb to move some of your hair away from your forehead.

“Yeah? Who lost?”

“Barty.” You answered quickly.

Regulus’ eyebrows furrowed but the corners of his mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.

“Every time?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you guys manage that?” Remus interjected from behind you, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“We all decided to look at Barty every time we looked up, that way he’d always be looking at someone and he’d always have to drink.” 

Remus let out a boisterous laugh as Regulus chuckled and pulled your hands to his lips in order to kiss your knuckles.

“You girls are menaces.”

“Yeah.” You agreed on an exhale, melting into the mattress as sleep pulled at your consciousness. 

“Perhaps it’s better we don’t get invited to girl’s night, yeah Reg?” Remus mused quietly over your head, reaching out to caress Regulus’ face.

“Better Barty than me, I suppose.” Regulus mused, pressing a kiss to Remus’ palm before reaching over to turn off the lamp.

You must’ve already been close to sleep because you whimpered pitifully at the loss of Regulus. 

“No, no, amour. I’m right here, tu vas bien.” He cooed quietly, pulling your arms back into his chest. “I love you.” He whispered, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to your nose.

But you were already asleep. 

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: bloodties (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, comfort/angst, fluff, wound description, healing, cuddling, religious punishment mentioned, threats, cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, bucky barnes needs a hug, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: woo!! finally the second part to this section!! comfort and fluff as promised w a little bit of angst. you guys are not ready for what i have planned for future chapters woohoo!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

When the coal boy finally came around, you were going to strangle him.

Despite its tiny size, your flat seemed to be leaking heat by the second. The last of your coal had long burnt out, leaving you shivering and elbow-deep in a dirty, lukewarm water bucket. Bucky had faded in and out of consciousness as you tended to him. A poultice had been made and lathered across his marred back, bandages holding the paste in place.

The gangster had moaned and groaned, half-consumed by fever as you cleaned the filth from his skin and hair. A satisfied grumble escaped his swollen lips while you massaged soap into the dirty locks, your fingers carefully working from root to end. His eyes would flutter open, bruised and bloodshot, watching you work with silent awe.

With some effort, you had roused the man long enough to get him to clamber into your small, rickety bed. Sweat glistened along his bare chest, the fever leaving him restless as he writhed between your sheets. Between laying a cool cloth along his brow, you worked on getting his clothes cleaned and hung up to dry. You knew you had none spare that would fit the hulking size of the gangster, so he would have to survive in his undershorts until his clothes dried.

You fished his stained but clean shirt from the bucket, wringing out the fabric. In the dim light cast by your candles, you could make out your breath as the depth of the night fully descended upon you.

You were filthy, tired, and cold. With a sniff, you rubbed the back of your hand across your forehead. The work had kept you warm for a short time, but now your sweat and blood were running cold. Across the room, Bucky had settled for the moment. He lay on his belly, bandaged back exposed to the skies as his breath rose and fell raggedly.

A small flash of guilt churned in your stomach upon fully looking at the damage you had caused. It would take days for the burning sensation and agonising pains to pass. The skin would never be the same, molten and twisted in appearance.

Maybe you should have denied him. He could have never truly known what he was asking for when he came to you for help.

You cast aside the thoughts with a frown.

Your knees were stiff, the muscle and bone aching as you unlocked them from your kneeling position. Hands shaking and goosebumps raised across your skin, you quickly darted across the room. Your nightgown was filthy with gods knows what from helping the gangster.

You did not check if the man had roused as you pulled it from your head in one swift motion. You did not particularly care if he gazed upon your nakedness. The man had been inside of you, with his fingers, his cock—your nipples peaked, maybe not just from the cold.

You cast your gaze back once you had slipped on a new and clean nightgown. Your eyes followed along the curve of his bicep, the solid muscle along his shoulders that disappeared beneath the bandages. Most of all, you looked at his face, still oddly beautiful despite the cuts and bruising. He looked vulnerable, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

His eyes were closed, thick, dark lashes brushed across his cheeks. His brows were drawn slightly, the ghost of a wince crossing his features.

Maybe it was the lack of clothes that was the most jarring. Even while he was inside you, he had remained clothed, as if he always had a piece of armour upon him. As if even at the height of pleasure, a thought lingered, worrying about his safety. Always had eyes in the back of his head, always watching and waiting for an enemy to strike. Did his sleeping form before you mean he trusted you? Or was he simply too injured to fight the exhaustion that clung to his very soul?

Outside, a frigid wind howled as it tore through the winding streets of The Warrens. You took that as your cue to stop lingering, shivering, and feeling pathetic.

You clambered into the small bed beside him, curling up by his side. Heat radiated off him, his sticky, hot flesh pressing against your own cool skin.

Bucky’s fever would be enough to keep the both of you warm.

—

By the time you awoke, Bucky’s fever had broken.

The gangster still lay on his stomach, but his head now rested just below your sternum. His tousled hair spilled between the valley of your breasts, an arm lazily draped across your middle. Hesitantly, you tilted your head, raising your own arm to gently hook it around the back of his head. Your fingers wound through his strands of hair, nails carefully scratching along his scalp.

You leaned your head back, a short sigh escaping your nose as you stared at the ceiling. Bucky let out a low hum, still half-asleep and bleary, responding to your touch. The vocalization sent vibrations across your skin, deep into your bones.

In a moment of selfishness, you savoured the quiet and the sensation of his weight upon you. Your digits explored deeper, splaying down his neck as you gently massaged. He hummed beneath you again, a small moan tugging from his lips as your fingertips moved lower. You dared to work the rhythm across the tops of his shoulders, ghosting along the edges of the bandages where the skin was untouched.

“Bucky,” you whispered. The gangster jerked beneath you as if startled that your touch wasn’t a dream. His head tilted, and he inhaled a sharp breath, wincing as the movement tensed his back muscles.

His eyes cracked open, vivid blue against the bloodshot whites. As he looked up at you, his entire being seemed to grow rigid. You tried not to take it personally.

“How’s your back?” you questioned, reluctantly withdrawing your hand from his hair.

Bucky contemplated your words, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. He winced as he reached the split, the tender flesh not quite scabbed over. He spoke up, voice croaky and strained. “Bad.”

“I’ll make you somethin’ for the pain.”

Bucky didn’t reply, only making a pained noise as you slid out from under him, prying yourself from his touch. His limbs were frozen in place, muscles rigid as if every small movement brought agony. You got the sense that he did not remember clambering into your bed, nor you joining him.

You shuddered from the cold, wrapping your arms around your waist. Your thin nightgown did little to ward off the chill, and you could see your breath with each exhale. You felt the gangster’s gaze follow your every movement as you tip-toed across the cold hardwood floors to your dresser. You quickly pulled out a pair of socks and an ugly, oversized knitted sweater to throw over your shivering frame.

“I'll need to go out soon and hunt down the coal boy,” you explained as you moved to your desk. “I’ll get word to Steve or Sam too.”

You gathered some fresh herbs from your woven basket, sorting through the leafy greens and selecting what would be most effective. You weren’t particularly knowledgeable about potions or botany, but you knew enough to understand what worked best for the task at hand.

“No,” Bucky’s gravelly voice spoke up from behind you. You paused your movements, casting your gaze back to meet his.

“No?” you questioned, rubbing your chilly hands together with a disapproving frown.

“I don’t need Steve or Sam comin’ here with their… pity,” he explained. It was the most words he had spoken since he awoke, slightly muffled due to his face being half-pressed into the sheets.

You stalked forward, lowering yourself to your knees next to the bed. Eye-to-eye with Bucky, you sighed slowly, running a hand through his hair once more. His eyes closed, satisfied like a purring cat. “It’ll take a few days for your back to heal proper. I can help you here… I just worry they’ll go huntin’ for you if they don’t know you’re fine.”

He contemplated your words for a beat, lids fluttering as he reluctantly met your gaze.

“They can’t come here. They can’t see me like this.”

A strange sadness clawed at your gut at his confession. A man so feared that he could not be vulnerable in front of even those closest to him. The weight of expectation was heavy, and the fear of mutiny was even heavier.

“They won’t be able to get past my wards,” you reassured him, your fingertips ghosting across one of the gashes on his face. “I’ll just tell them you’re here, and you don’t want to be disturbed.”

He huffed out a pained laugh. “They’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ you, doll.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Well, they’re not far off, now are they?”

—

Now that Bucky’s fever was broken, the both of you were rather grateful for a roaring fire. 

Your tasks outside the bubble of comfort that was your flat went smoothly and briskly. You had slipped the coal boy an extra coin to ensure your coal was delivered to your flat efficiently and had remained tight-lipped about your frustration with the lad. One look at his sickly, pale mother, and you realized your order had slipped his mind with good reason.

Locating a Smog boy had gone easier than the first task. You slipped one of Bucky’s boys a note, instructing that it be delivered to Steve or Sam. Bucky had managed to scribble out some nonsense, explaining where he was while keeping out the details of his near-death experience. He hadn’t gone into depth but indicated he was worried Steve and Sam might go after The Penance Boys themselves if enlightened. Bucky had rather sternly muttered that he couldn’t afford rash or stupid decisions in such situations.

From the glance, you managed to get at the note, it read like Bucky’s absence was due to him being lost between your legs rather than a brush with death. You could already hear the sneering voices of the gangsters the next time you saw them.

Returning home, you found Bucky continuing to slip in and out of consciousness. During the hours he was awake, you made sure to give him tonics for the pain and broth to fight off hunger.

Little words were exchanged between you. The gangster only blinked at you in surprise as you settled some spare blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. As easy as it would be to clamber into bed next to Bucky, you no longer had the excuse of the cold. With him being more sentient than the night before, you suspected he would be more likely to call out such actions. You could already imagine the flush of embarrassment and the mocking words he would use.

As you arranged the makeshift bed, laying out the blankets and fluffing the pillows with meticulous care, Bucky's confused voice broke the silence, cutting through your thoughts. "What’re you doin’?"

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his bewildered gaze. His eyes, still heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched your face for answers. "I thought it might be better if I stayed by the fire tonight. Give you more space to rest," you explained, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing deeply, lines of concern etched into his features. "You don’t need to do that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual harshness. "Come here."

His tone held no trace of mockery, only an earnest invitation. You hesitated, unsure of what to make of this sudden shift. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Slowly, you moved towards the bed, and Bucky shifted, wincing as he rolled onto his tender back. You carefully climbed in beside him, your movements tentative.

Bucky settled his head in your lap, his body sinking into the mattress with a deep, relieved sigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he looked almost peaceful. Your hand instinctively went to his hair. The strands were soft under your fingers, and you ran them through gently, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

The moment was fleeting, a mere whisper on the breeze. You pressed your back up against the wall, watching as his brows twitched, eyelids fluttering as the ghost of a scowl crossed his bruised face. You pressed your fingertips to his temples, wishing you could extract whatever thoughts plagued him.

In the quiet, you murmured, "I have my wards up once more. No one’ll disturb you."

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open again, and he met your gaze. There was a wary look in his eye, and with little hesitation, he spoke up. "You have strong wards. You keep everyone out. Don’t you have any visitors?"

You could only assume it was the tonics you were giving him for the pain. The gangster was loose-lipped, practically putty in your hand as you contemplated how best to reply. He sighed again, a sound of contentment, and you marvelled at the transformation. You let your hand travel from his hair to his stubbled jawline, tracing the rough edges tenderly. His skin was warm under your touch.

“No,” you replied simply, gaze cutting away as you looked across the room with a frown. “I don’t have family, ‘least none that I speak to. My parents are dead.”

There was a brief pause as your nails circled his adam’s apple, then dragged back up to his jawline once more. “My mother from sickness. My father… well, he drank himself to death.”

Bucky shuddered beneath your touch. “I take it your father was a cruel man?”

“Yes.”

“He was the one in your memories? At the brothel?” He questioned further, and your frown deepened.

“Yes,” you repeated, surprised he had cared enough to remember. Your mind cast back to his strained reaction to your memories, the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. You wondered if Bucky saw his own demons within you. “The only kind thing my father ever did was…”

You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. Your fingers entangled through his hair. Was this a story that needed to be told? You cleared your throat, locking your gaze on the fireplace as you spoke. “My mother was a priestess in a coven or a cult…  however you view it. They were terrible people, obsessed with cruel ideas of worship. They believed in sadism and suffering. Sacrifice. They praised those who could withstand torture for hours, believed that when the rapture came those who suffered most would be saved.”

Bucky was silent as you continued your tale. “They believed a witch would be born into their ranks, a witch with unbelievable powers that could raze cities with a single look. She would bring upon this rapture, save them from this place. They were all blinded, of course. The only kind thing my father ever did was get my mother away from that place.”

There was a long pause between the both of you, only broken as you looked down to find him staring up at you with a frown. Your breath caught in your throat. Despite the fogginess in his eyes from the pain tonic, there was a strange clarity in the way he held his gaze.

“I take it your father was much the same, cruel and a drunk,” you dared to muse.

Bucky’s face contorted into a glower, eyes darting away. “I don’t like to speak of my father.”

You noticed how the gangster almost began to cower from your touch, shoulders and neck rigid against your thighs. “Tell me of the others in your family then.”

“Well, there is Becca, my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.” His tone was surprised, wary even. Even if outwardly he was standoffish, you noticed how his muscles relaxed.

You persisted with your soothing touch. A small feeling of delight thrummed in your chest as you noticed how his eyes rolled back, obviously pleased by your fingertips massaging into his scalp. “No. You’ve mentioned her before. You said she's… sensitive to magic.”

“My mother has this theory that someone, somewhere down the line, was a witch.”

“Magic is known to skip generations. It can manifest in unexpected ways.”

“Yes… well,” He stumbled over his words, a small grunt slipping past his lips as you massaged a particular spot along the base of his skull. “Becca and my mother are very alike. Sometimes too alike. It’s infuriating to deal with them when they have both made up their minds.”

“But you love them regardless?” You asked, the ghost of a smirk playing across your lips.

“I don’t think I’m a man capable of love.” Bucky paused, as if hesitant to confess. “But yes, I do.”

—

In the days that followed, your bedtime ritual continued, leading to slow, comforting mornings where you woke up with your limbs entwined with Bucky's. Each day settled into a steady routine: you prepared food and tonics for the gangster, watching as he slowly regained his strength. You found a strange solace in the rhythm of those days, his presence a constant, grounding force in your otherwise solitary life.

The mornings were a blend of quiet intimacy and simple tasks. The sun’s early light would filter through the fog, casting a soft glow over the port. Bucky’s breathing, once ragged and laboured, had become steady and strong. You would gently untangle yourself from him, careful not to disturb his rest, and begin the morning routine. 

Bucky’s recovery was gradual but noticeable. He moved with more ease each day, his strength returning as the bruises faded and the fever’s grip loosened. You found yourself engaging in more conversations, sharing stories over meals, and even exchanging the occasional joke. His laughter, though rare and often accompanied by a wince, was a sound you soon came to miss.

It was not entirely a surprise to wake up alone in your bed one morning. The hollow pit in your chest, however, was undeniable. Though you would not admit it, you clung to the hope that Bucky had merely gone downstairs to wait for you to wake, or perhaps stepped outside for some fresh air. But as you searched your tiny flat, it became painfully clear that he was gone. No words, no note, no messenger—just a cold, empty space where he had been.

You should have come to expect it, yet the absence of any farewell stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

Spring finally rolled around, but the cold persisted, mirroring the chill that had settled within you. On your occasional excursions to the market or to see clients outside your home, you remained bundled up against the lingering frost. The Smog Boys hardly spared you a glance, their eyes always scanning for other threats, and you never caught a glimpse of Bucky weaving through the fog and alleys. His disappearance was a gaping void, a reminder of your isolation.

A flicker of hope would spark each time you had a visitor at your door. Clients, workers, the coal boy… yet not a single Smog Boy. As quickly as you had come to despise the gangster and how he called for your services at any whim, you also found you quickly came to miss those late-night summons. 

But the knock at your door this night, the face that greeted you as you swung open the door… it was a face that left a fit of dread in your stomach. 

Rebecca Barnes. 

You had never met the woman, but with one look you knew. You could recognise those features anywhere. She stood in the doorway with an unyielding, cool confidence. She was a striking figure, tall and lithe, with the same piercing blue eyes as Bucky. Her raven hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, a few rebellious strands framing her sharp features. Over her shoulders, she draped a dark, fur-lined coat, the fabric gleaming softly in the firelight. Much like her brother, it seemed she had appeared from the fog like a wraith, not a speck of ash to be seen across her clothing or hair. 

She smiled. Wide. It unsettled you, the way the smile did not quite meet her eyes. “May I come in?”

The woman did not wait for a response, nor did it seem she intended to wait either. She brushed past you without a care, the fibres of her furs tickling your forearm as she passed.  

“What’s happened?” You ask, unable to hide the worry in your tone. Becca didn’t involve herself in Smog Boys business, besides some surface showing of her face. Bucky had made sure his sister and mother would never be incriminated in any crimes, and that they were always to be protected. 

Becca Barnes did not turn up at anyone's door, not without good reason. 

Rebecca placed her purse on your dining table with a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion. Her eyes locked onto yours, unblinking and intense, the calculating gaze of someone who always knew more than they let on. Her lips curved into a thin, tight smile. “My brother.”

Your stomach dropped as if a trapdoor had been opened beneath you. 

“Your brother?” you repeated cautiously. You took a hesitant step forward, your hand instinctively reaching to close the front door behind you, as if doing so could keep the impending storm contained within your tiny flat.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through the dim light of the room. She took a step closer, her movements fluid and predatory. “Do you care for him?”

“What?”

“I said,” Rebecca's voice was low, measured, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “Do you care for him?”

You paused, your body frozen in place. The silence stretched taut between you, a razor-thin wire ready to snap. Rebecca shook her head, a small, almost pitying smile playing on her lips. She let out a soft tut, a sound of mild disappointment. 

“I’ll get to the point, shall I?” Her tone was clipped, businesslike, as she stepped forward. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “You’ll stay away from him. You hear me?”

Your brows furrowed, and you took an involuntary step back, confusion and defiance warring within you, trying to make sense of the sudden, stark command. Rebecca’s eyes flashed with impatience. She closed the distance between you, her posture rigid, her movements calculated. She loomed over you, her presence both intimidating and inescapable. 

“This would’ve been simpler if you remained one of his whores,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. Her chin lifted. “You already fucked him, so I suppose that’s out of your system. But you’ll stay away from him, witch. There was enough grief with the last one, the traitorous bitch she was. I cannot afford to have another one of you messing’ with family business.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but the words caught in your throat. “I don’t know what you think has happened between us—”

“Oh, I know what has happened.” She interrupts, her voice brittle like breaking glass. “You’ve somehow infected his mind. It’s the only reason he would’ve come to you when he was injured, that he allowed himself to be a victim of your magic.”

“He asked me for help–” You begin to insist. 

“Help?” She barked out a laugh, a harsh sound bubbling from her throat. “How do you call what you did to his back help? Those scars will never heal fully, you’ve ruined him.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “He knew I’m not a healer–”

“I know what you did.”

Rebecca’s voice cut through the room, silencing you. The silence that fell between you was thick, suffocating. 

“I know what you did to those coppers. I know how they beat Leofric’s son to death in front of you. So you blitzed them out of existence. There were no bodies to recover because you turned them to mist.”

The accusation hung in the air, a dark, undeniable truth. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“You think that’s what I’ll do to Bucky?” you asked, your voice defiant.

“I don’t think, I know it.” Rebecca’s gaze was unwavering, her expression unreadable. “I know your breed, and I warn you that I’ll destroy you if you compromise what my brother has built. What my family has built.”

“Respectfully, you do not know me,” you replied, your voice steady.

“Maybe I don’t,” Rebecca conceded, her tone cold and detached, “but I know a threat when I see one.”

She clicked her tongue as she picked up her purse, the sound sharp and final. “Within the next few days, you’ll receive a message asking you to attend a family meeting. You’ll politely decline. You'll continue working for my family, but you’ll keep your distance.”

You could feel the anger flaring up your throat, hot and fierce. “And what’ll happen if I don’t? What if I tell him what you’ve said today?”

Rebecca’s smile was a chilling, sickly sweet curve of her lips. 

“Then I’ll kill you,” she said simply, her voice a soft, deadly whisper. “When you least expect it, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Bucky won’t be wise to any of it. Do you truly think he would believe a witch over his own sister?”

Becca turns, adjusting her coat with a practised flip of her wrist. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floors as she strutted to the front door. "I do like you, spirit-raiser. We could be friends if you remember your place."

As she walked out the front door, turning to close it behind her, she flashed one last smile. "Just remember, you’re nothing to us."

[stellarspecter]

Who Is That Brand New Babygirl?

@stevieweek Day 1: Stobin | Day 2: Gender Euphoria | Dice Roll: 7. Lingerie

(since there were 10 extra prompts provided, i decided to roll a d10 each day for an extra prompt along with the daily theme! and i combined day 1 and day 2 because i didn't get anything out yesterday and it fit my idea anyway lol) (also divider by @/thecutestgrotto)

read on AO3

“How about this one?”

Stevie took the lacy scrap of fabric that Robin had shoved in her face. “I like the color.” The panties were blush pink, with a wide band of lace at the top. 

“There’s a matching bralette, too.” Robin pointed across the aisle to a rack of bralettes, some of them the same color as the panties she held in her hand.

Stevie flushed. “I don’t know…” Wearing panties was one thing, but a bra? “I don’t even have any growth yet.” She gestured aimlessly to her chest, where the hormones she had only just started taking still had yet to work their magic.

“That’s why it’s a bralette, not a bra. No cups,” Robin explained. “Think of it like a training bra. My mom made me start wearing them in middle school and it was kind of weird, but it does make you more used to wearing one. And feel more grown up, which I guess you don’t really need help with because you’re already an adult, but you know. More like a woman.” She stopped talking with that look on her face that meant she was trying to hold in a patented Robin Ramble™. 

“I thought you hated bras,” Stevie pointed out. Robin always made a point of complaining about her bra digging into her ribs, and at this point Stevie thought there might be more of them scattered around her house than in Robin’s, since she always hurried to take them off when she walked in the door.

“I do, but that’s because of the underwire. These ones don’t have that, see?” Robin showed her the simple elastic band at the base of the cups. “Bralettes like this are usually pretty comfortable unless the lace is too scratchy or something.”

Stevie hummed in acknowledgement and ran her fingers across the pink lace. It was soft to the touch, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it might feel like sliding across her skin, under her shirt, a secret from the rest of the world.

She really wanted it.

But what if it wasn’t right? What if she put it on and looked in the mirror and all there was staring back at her was a man playing dress-up, brutish and muscled and ridiculous? She didn’t think she could take the disappointment.

“I…” Her hand hovered over the rack, that fear holding her back. 

“Here, we’ll get a few sizes,” Robin said, businesslike as she combed through them and plucked a few out. “You can try them on in the dressing room and see which one you like best, okay?”

“In the dressing room? But won’t someone — I mean, they’ll see that I have —” She stumbled over her words and just waved her hands at the pile of lace in Robin's hands. 

Robin considered it for a moment, and then shrugged. “We can say it’s mine and you’re just helping me. Come on.”

With that, she led them to the back of the store, where a bored employee pointed them towards an empty fitting room all the way in the back, much to Stevie’s relief. They shuffled into the little cubicle together, the closeness not even close to a problem for them.

Stevie fingered the edge of her shirt nervously. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean what if —” She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. “— what if it doesn’t fit?” She finished lamely.

“Then we go back out and get another size,” Robin answered. She seemed to understand the unspoken fear beneath her words, and took Stevie’s hand. “I’ll bring the whole lingerie section in here one by one if I need to, okay? We’re not leaving until we find something you feel good in.”

Stevie let out a shaky breath and squeezed Robin’s hand. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this.” With a burst of confidence, she whipped off her shirt and threw it down on the little bend built into the wall. Robin cheered like she was at a sold-out show, not in the back hallway of a department store where other people could definitely hear them. It made Stevie laugh, though, which was almost certainly the point, based on Robin’s satisfied smile.

She pulled a bralette off of its hanger and stared at it for a moment. Would the thing even fit over her head? Were her shoulders too broad? It didn’t have a clasp, so she had to try. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and put it on.

“Let me help you with the straps,” Robin murmured, soft hands fiddling with the fabric stretched across her back. After a moment, she smoothed her hands across it and stepped away. “Perfect.”

Stevie’s eyes watered under her closed lids. “Perfect?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Robin whispered, gentle in a way that most people who knew her probably didn’t think she was capable of. But Stevie knew her down to her bones, and she got this side of Robin that barely anyone else got to see — the caretaking, loving, protective side of her that knew the nuance of a gentle touch. “Perfect. You wanna take a look?”

Stevie nodded, heart pounding in her chest, Robin’s hands on her shoulders, steering her towards the mirror. She felt paralyzed with the weight of the moment, this one thing that could make or break her whole transition. What if it didn’t fit her? What if she didn’t fit it?

But Robin had said she looked perfect.

Stevie opened her eyes.

In the mirror in front of her stood a woman. Brown hair just brushing her shoulders, moles dotting her tanned skin, blue jeans starting just under her belly button. The blush pink bralette cupped her breasts — her pecs — her boobs in a gentle curve. The wide lace band at the bottom secured it all, and the thin straps drew attention to her shoulders, yes, but also to her delicate collarbones and throat framed between them. The woman in the mirror reached a shaking hand up to feel, and at the first touch of lace to her fingertips, Stevie couldn’t help but sob.

“Oh, Stevie,” Robin said, bundling her in her arms immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you want to find a different one? Just tell me what you want, I’ll go find something for you, okay?”

“No, it’s — it’s perfect,” Stevie sobbed, tear tracks rolling picturesque down her cheeks. She hoped they wouldn’t drip on the fabric. “I just — I look like a woman.” 

“Oh,” Robin breathed. She smiled softly over Stevie’s shoulder in the mirror. “So you’re finally seeing how the rest of us see you, huh?”

That made her start crying all over again, her smile staying fixed on her face. “I — Really? You’re not just saying that or buttering me up, you really — you really see me like this?”

“Really really,” Robin confirmed somberly. “I mean, I don’t know why you said you didn’t have boobies. Have you seen these?” She brought her hands up to Stevie’s chest, stopping just below the end of the bralette to frame them. 

Stevie huffed out a wet laugh. “I guess they do fill it out pretty nicely.”

“You guess?” Robin said incredulously. “We gotta find some measuring tape so we can figure out your actual cup size. I bet you’re a B cup already, at least. It’ll be crazy to see how they look in a year.”

“Oh yeah,” Stevie said faintly. “I’m — going to get bigger.” She stared at herself in the mirror intently, analyzing where she might change. “Should we even be shopping this early? I’ll probably grow out of it in a few months.”

Robin shrugged. “It’s a rite of passage, Stevie. Every girl has their first bra. Their first training bra. Then their first real bra. Then they realize bras suck and stop wearing them. Then they realize they’ve been showing full nipple in public on accident for the last week and regrettably, go back to it.”

“That last part might just be you,” Stevie teased.

“So what if it is, it could happen to anybody!” Robin said indignantly. “But seriously, it’s normal to have to go bra shopping a lot while you’re still growing them. I’ll keep going with you, if you’d like.”

Stevie smiled at her in the mirror and caught her hand. “I would like.”

Robin met her eyes through the glass, warmth pouring out. “Awesome.” She stepped back and cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s have you try on the other sizes, just in case, and then maybe we can go find a couple more colors? I think they had some more in this style.”

“Okay,” Stevie agreed. “Thanks for doing this with me. And for being such a good friend.” She took the bralette off and turned around to hand it back to Robin, only to be met with her suspiciously shiny eyes.

“Of course, Stevie,” Robin told her. “Anything for my girl.”

[gasterofficial]

@kanrix too many pictures to put in a reply or anything so i'm just gonna make a post FHLDSKJFHDLSKf this also goes out to anyone else who could benefit from my little gaster cosplay tutorial fhjkghkfg

aight this is the earliest picture i have but basically I cut an oval out of 4mm foam, and used scrap pieces of the same size foam that i just had laying around to do another layer on top for added support and thickness. after that i did my best to roughly mark where my eyes, nose and mouse were and cut the eyes out so that they would line up with my own, and used the markings for the mouth and nose to cut a hole into the inside of the mask for my nose to fit into. the mask has a higher layer of foam only on the very tip of the nose because i had to keep my nose from sticking out or pushing the mask too far off my face lol.

anyway after all of that i used a heat gun to heat the foam (WITHOUT melting it and preferably in a well-ventilated area) on both sides and then held it to my face in position to help it mold better to the shape of my head. it looked like this when i was done (i also cut into the upper layer of foam to make the eye scars)

after that I covered the entire thing with this amazing thing called foam-mo, it's basically like foam in a water-based binder that behaves like craft clay. it's easy to work with and SUPER lightweight when it dries and it's absolutely perfect for making organic textures

it lost a bit of the dimensionality in the drips after it dried, but I just went over it with another layer where I wanted more texture, and used a dremel tool with a sanding bit to sand down parts that I wanted more depressed.

then after that were the first and second paint jobs. this included using an ultra dark carbon nanotube ink in the scars to get them as black as possible (and matte). after the second paint job I used a type of fabric called "speaker cloth" to cover up the eye and mouth holes. I hot glued the speaker cloth down from the inside and then painted over the fabric on both sides with fabric stiffener on the mouth hole ONLY (it can make it harder to see through the eye holes) since the mouth hole is so wide and is most subject to the shape distortion from how the mask was heat-shaped.

then finally the last paint job which included final shading touchups AND some extra work with white puffy paint, which I used to give the effect of the face dripping down.

the very last step was adding the pupils as a dot of intense blue glow in the dark paint. it took a few coats to get it thick enough, and then on top of the bead of glow in the dark paint i added a tiny dot of plain white paint to make them pop even more. add a 1/2 inch elastic strap around the back of the mask glued down on the inside and you're done!

also, here's some pictures of the first glove I painted, if the reference would be helpful. The gloves were sewn using a self-made "hand turkey" pattern from tracing the shape of my hand onto paper. it's not a perfect pattern, but it's serviceable enough for stretchy fabrics. and I did use a stretchy fabric: white moisture-wicking athletic wear fabric, because I was worried my hands would sweat a lot. and I was right! but this choice of fabric makes that much less of a problem. and also makes you feel like your hands are freezing off (being in the void simulator ig)

the painting job was done with just plain black and white acrylics mixed with a fabric paint medium. i traced the finger joints where my fingers actually creased, and just kind of... did my best to make the palm holes match up lmfao

As for the cloak and robe, I did sew those both myself, so I can't point you to a seller. BUT what I CAN do is tell you what patterns and fabrics I used and whether or not it was worth the intense labor of love! (short answer, for the cloak? yes! for the robe? NO.) I'd have to go dig up the patterns though, so let me know if that's of interest to anybody

but yeah, hope this post is informative and potentially helpful!

[al-astakbar]

Can I request a size kink with a sprinkle of choking w our favorite blueberry man 🥺 (your thrawn fics made my day lol)

> title ☆ Lucky

> summary ☆ The warlord Grand Admiral Thrawn chooses you to keep his bed warm.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings ☆ size kink; big cock; size difference; very mild choking (consensual hand on throat, no squeezing or breathplay); butt plug; mildly dubcon because of the circumstance/power imbalance

> posted on ao3

You are lucky to be a warlord’s prize. Luckier still that the warlord in question is Grand Admiral Thrawn.��

“I frighten you,” he says. Not a question. 

You nod, because he does. He’s broad shouldered and tall, his uniform stretched over his back and chest and as you stand in front of him, the top of your head barely reaches his collarbone. He gazes down at you from such a height, his red eyes glowing and his expression glacially, ominously calm.

But he intrigues you for all the same reasons. Perhaps that’s why he had chosen you. 

Perhaps he could tell how your pulse had spiked the first time you’d ever seen him. How your breath had caught at how sharply handsome he was, and how very alien he seemed, with those unsettling, bright eyes and blue skin and forehead ridges. Even more than his stature, Thrawn commands power. It is honed and imposing, evident in every movement, every word.

He had pointed to you out of a lineup, silently. An elegant, almost lazy gesture of his white-gloved hand. He wanted that one-- you-- and two of his stormtroopers had hauled you off to his shuttle. 

He steals you away from everything you know. You did not think he would be so gentle with you. 

“Come,” he orders, indicating his lap. “Sit.”

In thin socks and your thin shift, you approach him, heart beating wildly. This won’t be so bad. He only wants you close, a little pet to keep him company. He chose you, he explains calmly, because you looked like you might be particularly responsive to stimulation… and he was right. 

Trembling, you don’t dare flinch away from his touch. But he quickly convinces you that you wouldn’t want to. Why had you ever wanted to? 

He plays with you absently for a while, running his fingers through your hair. Palming your breasts over the fabric and rolling your nipples, pinching and tugging them until you whine. All the while he has a data pad in his other hand, and he punishes you with a sharp slap to your thigh if you get too loud or impatient. You feel small in his lap, like a little toy, something tactile for him to play with. 

Sit nicely, be pretty. The more you wriggle in his lap, the more you feel something firm and big pressing against your butt. Too big. Enticing. You squeeze your thighs together, desire mounting with the heady knowledge that he could so easily overpower you and take what he wants. 

After a while, when you are restless, he turns you, ass up over his knee, smooths his hands up your thighs as he pushes them apart without resistance. He hmms at the sight of you. So unashamed and needy, all slick and shaking and ripe. Instead of touching you like you want, he works a plug into your ass, tells you “we’ll save that for later”, and sits you on his back on his lap. He is careful not to hurt you, but at the same time he takes no heed of your protests. Bounces his knee every so often so you don’t get too used to the plug. He wants to make sure you can always feel it, a reminder of what’s to come. 

He gets you wet and messy on his tongue first before he even undoes his trousers. You can see his erection tenting the fabric when he stands up. Big. This promises to be painful if he isn’t careful, and you can’t will the tension out of your body, even after he tastes you and opens you with his long fingers. One fits nicely. Two of them stretch you, bigger than anything or anyone you’ve had before. Three. Too much, but he tells you that you must, because his cock is even bigger and for it to feel good, he must take the time to prepare you.

But you feel so small under him, so unyieldingly tight. 

When he decides you’re prepared enough, he stands, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He doesn’t bother fully undressing, just tucks the hem of his tunic up in his belt and-- 

You can’t help staring when pulls out his cock. 

Thick and long, and much less human than you expected. It has ridges, seemingly made for pleasure. Made to fuck deep and stay deep, to fill so you so well you’ll never be happy with anything else. The shaft is particularly thick, around the middle. You don’t know how it’s supposed to fit in you or anyone.

He lifts you easily. Urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, which you do with apprehension. 

He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, where it feels impossibly big.

“It won’t fit,” you tell him in a small voice. “Please, it won’t--” 

Instead of pressing up, he lowers you, as if you weigh nothing. You squirm at the intrusion, whimpering too big too big please~ the thick head pushes, then slips. Thrawn gives a low growl, tries again. This time, he holds you securely, lets you drop slowly. He splits you open, inch by torturous inch, until the head is in. 

He stills. “Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

On your exhale, he lets you down a little lower. 

You whine, and as you slide down more-- a little more-- you’ve never had anything this big, had never even imagined it. You throb around it, squeezing your eyes shut. Thrawn’s hands grip your ass, spreading you apart wide, but even like this the plug doesn’t come out. 

Your body does not let the thickest part of him in easily. You know better than to struggle, you just have to relax and take it, but you shake with the effort, skin bright with a sheen of exertion. 

Blood roars behind your ears. Your cunt pulses around him uselessly. 

It’s too much.

He gives a slight jerk of his hips and--

A slick, obscene sound, and your own incoherent, shocked moan. Overwhelming pressure. You’re fully speared on his cock. 

Thrawn’s approval is a purr. An unbroken string of words in his low, soft voice. In Basic, first, but he lapses to something alien.

You have your arms slung around his shoulders, which are so broad you can barely reach your hands. Your face buried against his neck, mouth slack. You’re drooling slightly, drooling on his pristine white uniform. 

“Look at me,” he says. 

You raise your head, eyes bleary and unfocused. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed purple.  

“How do you feel?” 

“G-good. And…” the plug in your ass plus Thrawn’s cock -- your body sings with arousal. “Full.” And, against everything you expected, safe. 

He smiles. “Yes, you are quite full. I can feel how you squeeze. But…You can take more, can’t you. You want more.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.”

And you melt. Lucky, indeed. 

He doesn’t kiss you at first. He waits until this moment, until you are fully impaled on his cock, to slant his mouth over yours in a hungry, claiming kiss. His lips and tongue are hot. He licks into your mouth, swallows down your little moans and answers with his own.  

He lifts you up, and your inner muscles tremble. 

He fucks you like you’re a toy. No need to thrust his hips when he’s strong enough to simply move you how he wants. Lift up- pull down. 

The pulse in your core races. Makes every in-out of his cock that much more immediate, makes you feel how you barely fit around him, you’re too small and tight and he’s much, much too large. Sweat beads across your skin, hot and prickly all over.

He’s so big, moving faster now, you can’t quite catch your breath. With every stroke his ridged cock drags a shivery pleasure over the most sensitive spot inside you, stretching you, pressing everywhere. 

He cums once, fast. His hips jerk and his cock twitches and swells and overfills you. He doesn’t stop. Barely even slows down even as his viscous cum drips out of you. And soon, with a needy, broken moan, he cums again. He’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep going, keep fucking you until he feels your pleasure unravel around him. 

When you are nice and pliant, he pulls out. Your body misses him right away. An empty ache where his cock should be. And you can’t quite stand on your own, your legs wobbly and coltish. His cum and your arousal drips down, you feel it and hear it squelching inside you. You sag against him. 

He puts you on the bed, which is neatly made with a military-style coarse wool blanket pulled over crisp, taut white sheets. 

You watch him, transfixed, spread your legs for him. 

His cock is still hard, a deep bruised purple but now streaked and sticky with his spend, with a line of it dripping down his balls too. 

Deliberate and meticulous, he undresses. Stripping off his belt and boots and tunic to fold and put aside with care. 

A uniform, on some people, lends charisma and authority they don’t actually have. Not Thrawn. He doesn’t look any shorter without his boots. His shoulders and chest are just as broad and well-defined without the sharp lines of the tunic accentuating them.

There is a perceptive gleam in his glowing red eyes. He knows his size excites you. 

He helps you turn over, onto your front. You feel the bed dip as he kneels, and you spread your legs wider, showing him the plug just above your glistening, well-fucked pussy. 

“You are proving delightfully willing.” His voice is warm with praise. “And so very… eager.”

He has to hold you up, just drags you up by your waist and pushes back in. 

You clench at the intrusion but there is no pain. Only sweet, aching fullness. 

Even better when he puts his thumb on the base of the plug and just— pushes. Pulses it into your ass in time with his thrusts while he fucks your pussy. 

He slips his arm underneath you, his hand easily spans your chest, covering your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers one and then the other. 

You bare your neck to him. His red eyes burn brighter. This act of submission intrigues him. 

He moves his hand up, and places it at your neck. Just— holds you there, forcing you to arch your back as he pumps you with measured strokes.

“More… please.”

Thrawn huffs out a low, almost desperate sound, lets his weight over you carry him deeper. On the next stroke, deeper again. 

You pant his name over and over, and he encourages you, his voice tender and soft but his words filthy. More…. Yes. Such a tight, sweet pussy, taking me so well. Already so full but greedy for more… 

At last he is as deep as he can go, his heavy balls pressed against you. He circles his hips, drawing a gasp from you, because in addition to his cock you can feel his hips press the plug in harder, deeper. 

He gives shuddering moans as he begins to thrust into you, as if he’s been holding himself back. His shaft slides fully in and out with ease, still thick and heavy, his balls slapping wetly against your clit. 

Thrawn rides you, reams you. He has hold of you by your neck, your back flush against his chest, possessing you completely. 

Heat builds in your core. Thrawn stokes it to a blaze. At the same time, his fingers tighten by a degree. Just to remind you. His control is absolute— your breath lighter, shorter— but warm and careful. 

He owns your senses. His hand at your waist slips down, finds your clit. All it takes is one little circle of his finger to make you feel— everything. 

And your mind blisses out. 

You clench around him strongly, back arching away from him as you strain but he keeps you where he wants you. 

Pleasure burns brightly through you like a wildfire, searing every nerve and for a moment, there is nothing other than pure sensation. He doesn’t stop when you cry out. He fucks you through it, praise spilling from his lips while he splits you open, enjoying how your tight, slick pussy takes all of the driving force of his cock. He draws it out, with longer, slower strokes. Until you’re whimpering and trembling, raw from overstimulation.

You could have been passed over. He could have pointed to someone else, and you’d have been shipped off to work in one of the factories like all the others.

And yet here you are. Warm and sated just from coming on a big cock and getting told what a good girl you are. The Grand Admiral lets you rest for a few minutes, brings you water, wipes your face with a soft cloth before pulling the plug out with a slick pop. You know what’s next. Your body hums with desire. Lucky. 

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added.

@thrawns-babygirl @vibratingskull @thrawns-teef-weef @aethersecho @exoplorationn @elc3004 @littlecrowtime @twilekchiss @saber-slutt @projectdreamwalker @ele-millennial-weirdo @vaarians @shoe-bag @thrawnspetgoose @nomercyforthewarrior @pb-jellybeans @twincesskorisoka @jewelliffer @cecilyjmorgenstern @mandinlore @bobaprint @bluechiss @andrakass2 @nocturneabyss @khapikat222 @echostastyass @bookipsies @jamiethenerdymonster @starryevermore @sev-on-kamino

[bmwiid]

Dawn Jeans - 3 Days, No issues!

So you've seen me post random progress pictures but the final jeans are done. I need to do a couple of smaller things, like adding the button on the waistband and hemming, but they are currently done enough that I could wear them out to the shops.

I added a couple of lil personal touches to these jeans, and I'm really freaking happy with how they look and fit.

More details under the break with images.

Now, I have made these exact jeans before so I knew the size and style I wanted. The Dawn Jeans come in three styles: straight, tapered and wide leg. Shorts too I guess if you wanna be pedantic.

So when I made my first pair, I did a leg mock-up and found the tapered looked the most flattering on me. I'm a UK size 18:

It's not the most size inclusive pattern, as this stops at a UK 20. So just keep that in mind. HOWEVER - I honestly think that this looks so good on my figure that I might just say fuck it and make another pair soon.

I went with a zipper fly because I think that a button fly can look bulky in an area I personally have issues with, and the smooth front is nicer for me personally.

There are a lot of things you can do with jeans to really make them feel like your OWN, and I added some cute gold bee patterned fabric for the pockets:

just as a little detail. I also added a ribbon tag on the back pocket for a pop of queer:

I am terrible at finishing seams, and I really want these to look nice as I end up cuffing most of my jeans now I'm middle aged and care less.

So I used the rainbow ribbon and I attached it down the outside leg to hide all the raw edges:

This also gives the added awesomeness when cuffed:

sorry for the foot, but I had to show off how fuckin' cute the jeans look when rolled up.

All in all, these took me three days to make, I didn't have to use my seam ripper once, and the end result is not only wearable but FUCKING COOL AS HELL.

I'm really hyped about my jeans, lol.

[mumms-the-word]

May prompts: I need borrowed clothing involving either ardynn/halsin or freyr/minthara

I was going to say “bold of you to assume Freyr can fit into Minthara’s clothes” and then I was like “oh wait” not that Halsin can fit in Ardynn’s clothes either but that’s what my brain gave my first lol

Ugh both are so good how am I supposed to CHOOSE? that’s a rhetorical question I know exactly what I’m gonna do

Edit: Also I’ve been informed that this event is meant to be written about other people’s Tavs and Durges but for the purposes of this request I'm just going to respond with a normal little fic!

But because I appreciate YOU I'm including some of your awesome photos of Ardynn in this :>

Story under the cut!! Warning, it is super silly.

~*~*~

Ardynn and Halsin had finally settled into their new home in the Reclaimed Lands, making a home out of a haphazard cabin that was formerly the ruins of a farmstead. To say that Ardynn loved her new life here was an understatement. She and Halsin had worked together to patch up the walls of the cabin, using a combination of old boards and climbing vines, mortal ingenuity and natural solutions. Thaniel had helped raise the collapsed roof of one room by growing a tree inside the structure, allowing dappled sunlight to stream in through the branches of the tree and the hole in the ceiling. Their home was a living home, built up and bending around a healthy tree and its roots, with flowering vines creeping up the sides and sunlight streaming in through the windows and roof. It was everything she dreamed it could be.

On this day, Ardynn was continuing to work on their home, arranging furniture and organizing their few (but growing) personal possessions. Halsin was out with the children, ambling about as a bear to give them rides on his back and play with them, and she didn't expect him back for some time. She sat cross-legged on the floor, folding away her clothes and his, thinking idly to herself that they would have to obtain warmer clothes for the winter.

After a moment, she picked up Halsin's leather and green fabric shirt, running her thumb over the patterns carved into the leather. He had taken the Emerald Grove emblem from the front a few days ago, so the front looked almost...empty. She wondered if there was something she could replace it with.

As she was examining the shirt, she noticed other markings she'd never noticed before. Pressed into the leather, near the collar, were little magic symbols, runes that were somehow familiar. After a moment of studying them, she realized they made up an enchantment to disappear or morph the shirt during his wildshapes, so that when he turned into a bear, or perhaps something even larger, or even stopped wildshaping halfway through to become a kind of hybrid man, the shirt wouldn't just rip into shreds.

She wondered...

She glanced over her shoulder, as if he might be walking into the door at any moment, and then stood up. She pulled off her own shirt and then hesitated, standing in nothing but her trousers, feeling silly all of a sudden. But the curiosity was greater, and she pulled Halsin's shirt easily over her head.

For a moment, it was comically large on her, the armholes alone big enough to fit several arms of her size instead of one. But then, just as she suspected, the shirt shrank down, fitting itself to her body until it pressed against her breasts and ribs. A perfect fit.

She moved to stand in front of a dingy-looking glass they had recovered from some wreckage a few days ago, turning this way and that. She had to admit, she looked pretty good with Halsin's shirt hugging her body. Add a few leather arm straps and maybe...

In the looking glass, she saw movement near the open front door and whirled just in time to see Halsin ducking into their home. She froze and then he froze, staring at her with eyes wide with surprise.

She didn't know what to say, and she could feel her face getting as red as her hair. This had to be the most embarrassing thing she'd ever done in front of him, bar none. But she couldn't move or unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

He blinked once, twice, and then lifted a hand as if going to gesture to her. "My heart. Is that..."

"I can explain," she blurted out, and that just made things worse because no, she couldn't actually explain. She wasn't just wearing his shirt, she was wearing his shirt that was now shrunk down and shaped as if it was tailor-made to her body.

Halsin closed the door behind him--something they rarely did except when they didn't want to be disturbed--and took a few slow steps forward. He stopped just a foot away, looking down at her. She held her breath as his eyes roved over her form, following the patterns on the leather and fabric as they curved over and around her body.

"It suits you," he said quietly. Huskily. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized that the look in his eyes was no longer confusion or surprise but...hunger. He reached up and skimmed his fingertips along her side, causing her to shiver. "In fact, I think you wear it better than I do."

She swallowed, trying to keep track of her thoughts. "I was just...I saw the enchantment runes and I..."

He didn't seem to hear her. He smoothed his hand down her arm, seemingly distracted by her. "I am tempted to let you keep it. But, I fear, it would become a distraction."

"A distraction?" she breathed.

A faint smile graced his lips and he leaned in, bringing his lips down close to her ear. "I shall be unable to think of anything but you in my clothing, my heart. Even now, it is difficult to focus."

Her heart began to race in her chest. As he pulled away to look down at her, she met him gaze for gaze and found herself torn between wanting to diffuse the situation (it was the middle of the day) and wanting to tempt him further.

Her baser nature won, in the end.

She tilted her head, trailing her fingers along the bottom hem of the shirt. "Should I...take it off?"

She felt a little proud of the way his eyes followed her fingers, only to glance back to up to meet hers, hazel eyes already faintly glowing with a thin ring of gold.

"Yes."

~*~*~

More pictures to cool everyone off 🥰

[toomuchracket]

i cannot stop thinking about ross and girlys height difference. it’s plagued my mind i fear. like his hands being so much bigger than hers (them comparing hand sizes in a sort of flirty way pre-dating and both losing their mind!!). his clothes being really oversized on her etc etc. (and of course size kink definitely comes into it, i go feral every time)

arguably this would work for any ross universe but i have girlband gf on the noggin rn so we're doing that. genuinely the first time you guys ever met, there was hand size comparison - i see it as being at some music industry dinner thing, kinda along the lines of the lunches actors go to if they get nominated for oscars or baftas, and you and ross end up sat next to/opposite each other and get chatting. he asks you who played bass on your band's newest single, and you blush profusely and say "i did, but it was a struggle lol look at how tiny my hands are"; ross's eyes go wide when you lift your hand up, and he tentatively presses his own against it like "christ, you're not kidding. could fit both of your hands in one of mine!", and your brain short-circuits because oh my fucking god look at the size of his hands!! so does ross's, and it only gets worse when you both get roped into taking a pic and you have to stand up; you're wearing heels and he STILL towers over you, and quite frankly you're fucking obsessed with it (and him. and so enamoured by how handsome and funny and sweet he is! god. you're so fucked). he actually uses the disparity between your hands as a means of ensuring you don't lose contact - before he leaves, he writes his number on your arm ("your hand's too small for me to put it there, love") and says "phone me if you need someone to play bass on a song. just so you don't strain your tiny hands trying to do it yourself, yeah?". you're like jesus christ YES and say "will do, darling. but also... i can't fit my hand around a pint glass, either. can i call you if i want a drink, and you'll help me out with that too?", and ross blushes before smirking like "anytime you want, of course". in terms of height difference... you both run the risk of developing back problems trying to kiss the other while standing, but that's easily solved by ross just picking you up to make out with you, or laying you down and doing it; that's your fave, because it almost always ends up in sex (which, like you said, is made all the more fun by how much bigger and stronger ross is than you. he's lifting you and manoeuvring you like you're a little doll, and it's the best. princess treatment in the dirtiest way!!). and then afterwards, you get to steal his clothes, and just allow yourself to be enveloped in both the fabric and the comforting smell of your boyfriend from his shirts and t shirts and hoodies - in fairness, though, you don't reserve that for post-sex, you have literally gone out wearing one of ross's tops as a dress, and needless to say he loved every second. yeah, i love this <3

[sheliesshattered]

It's been almost two weeks since my last sewing update, but I have been making progress on a couple different projects, thankfully. I mentioned in my last post that I was hesitant to cut into a king-sized 100% linen bedsheet that I've been hoarding for 10+ years. I knew I wanted to make an apron, but I also knew that it wouldn't take up anywhere near the whole sheet, and I had the thought that I might be able to get two projects out of this one sheet (and the remnants of the matching fitted sheet) if I was careful about how I cut out all my pieces. Possibly a gathered tiered skirt/petticoat, along with the apron.

I measured the two long sides of the flat sheet that had identical ~1.25" deep hems, and I found that each side was 112" or just over 3 yards long, not counting the top and bottom hems. That meant if I did side seams, I could get a 6 yard wide bottom tier for the skirt and not have to do a hem at all, just use what was already there. Not the widest hemline on this kind of skirt (I have a purchased skirt with a 25 yard hem, and years ago I made a 26 yard tiered skirt out of muslin), but with this heavy weight linen it felt like 6 yards at the hem would be plenty.

Gathered tiered skirts are really just rectangles and a bit of simple math. Since the sheet's side hem determined the size of the lowest tier at 224", I figured I would do 2-to-1 gathers and make the next tier up 112" wide, and the third tier up 56" wide. A fourth tier at that 2-to-1 gathering ratio would have been only 27" wide, which wouldn't have fit over my hips, so the skirt would have 3 tiers.

I'm a short girl at not quite 5'2" and I like to wear my skirts pretty low on my hips for spoonie comfort issues, so after measuring a purchased skirt whose length I like, I decided that between 30" and 33" inches in total length would be ideal. With three tiers that length could easily be divided into tiers that are each 10"-11" tall. I added a half inch for seam allowance (but no hem allowance on the lowest tier, since I was re-using the existing hem) to get the exact measurements for each of the pieces I needed for the skirt.

I was able to tear most of my pieces, since the linen bedsheet was nicely on the grain and tore relatively cleanly, thus saving my hands from cutting all those long pieces. I had meant to cut the top tier at 14" tall so that I'd have room to turn under a nice thick waistband too -- and then I totally forgot and cut it at 12" just like the middle tier, lol. I was able to get one of the middle tier pieces and both of the top tier pieces out of the remains of the matching fitted sheet, so I only needed one middle and two bottom tiers from the flat sheet. That left me with plenty of flat sheet left over for the apron, but I'll talk more about that in my next sewing post.

With my pieces all cut out, it was time to start the most annoying part of making a gathered tiered skirt: gathering all those tiers. I'm trying to sew with cotton thread more often these days, but for the gathers I switched back to polyester thread just for the strength. For the two bottom tier and two middle tier pieces I ran two lines of gathering stitches along the top edge, placed pins to divide each panel into quarters, and got to gathering and pinning.

With tiered skirts I really prefer to work from the bottom up, so that I'm always attaching a gathered piece to a completely flat piece of fabric, and save side seams for last. So the bottom tier pieces got gathered up and attached to the middle tier pieces, then the middle tier got gathered up sewn to the top tier.

Since I accidentally cut my top tier pieces shorter than I'd meant to, I did play around with adding a separate waistband for the top tier to be gathered onto. But I couldn't do a full 2-to-1 gather if I wanted the waistband to pull on over my hips, and the waistband made the proportions look weird, like the top tier was too long. So I ended up cutting the waistband off after I sewed it and actually shortening the top tier even a little bit more. After turning under the top edge to enclose the raw ripped edge and then turning under 3cm (~1.2") for a waistband casing, that top tier ended up being about 9" tall, and the proportions of that look much better for some reason.

Before I sewed the side seams, I decided that this skirt needs to have pockets, of course. I knew I was planning to do French seams to protect the raw edges against unraveling, so I put the pockets in with a French seam as well.

With the pockets in place, the next step was to do the side seams (including the pocket bags), being careful to match up the height of the hem and each of the tiers so everything was nice and clean and square. Then I was able to turn under that waistband casing and sew it in place -- my original plan had been put in three separate channels for narrow elastic that would result in a bit of a faux-cartridge pleating look, but actually getting the elastic strung through there turned out to be more of a pain than it was worth, so I ended up picking that out and just using a single 1" wide elastic band in the waistband casing instead.

And with that, the skirt was technically wearable, and with some fabrics I might have been happy to leave it there. But the raw ripped edges at the seams between each of the tiers worried me. I've had well-loved sewing projects just shred after many wears and washes because I left the seams unfinished, figuring I would be the only one to see the inside. Ideally I want this skirt to be in my rotation for years and years, so I decided to make the effort to finish those seams too.

My original plan had been to cover the raw edges inside with 3/4" herringbone twill tape. For some reason I was convinced that I had a bunch of it left over from a Wasteland Weekend project from 2018, only to discover that I actually only had ~3 yards left. So rather than ordering more and waiting for it to arrive (and then inevitably having some of that left over too), I decided to just make some 3/4" tape from the linen sheet itself. Since this whole skirt is rectangles on-grain and the tape wouldn't have to go around any curves, I made the tape from on-grain rectangles too, rather than bothering with proper bias tape.

With the hem and the waistband already cleanly finished, I just needed tape to cover the ~3 yard seam between the bottom and middle tier and the ~1.5 yard seam between the middle and top tier. I tore nice straight strips, trimmed off the frayed edges, and ironed the raw edges under to give me that 3/4" width. It's three layers thick in the middle but only 2 layers thick on the sides, since it isn't a proper double-fold tape.

Then it was just an issue of pinning it over the raw edges inside the skirt -- first from the inside in roughly the right place and then from the outside to make sure it lined up with the seam well.

I stitched-in-the-ditch from the outside right where the gathers met the next tier up, and then went back and did another line of stitching just slightly up from that, using the width of my machine foot (~1cm) as a guide. That covered all the raw edges inside and reinforced the seam, and gave it a nice neat appearance from the outside.

It also had the added benefit of behaving almost like cording on a corded petticoat -- the gathered seems have a lot more body and stiffness now than they did before, which gives the finished skirt a really lovely lofty structure.

The whole skirt ended up being about 31" long, right in that 30"-33" length I had originally aimed for, and when I wear it low on my hips where it's most comfortable, it just brushes the tops of my feet.

My plan is to wear this mostly under other long skirts and dresses, more as a petticoat than a skirt on its own (tho it is heavy enough and neat enough to be worn on its own, if I want). That lofty structure from the seam finishes adds a lot of floof to my other long skirts, just barely peeking out the bottom of the purchased green skirt I originally measured to figure out the length for this one, and hiding completely under my purchased 25 yard burgundy skirt but giving it enough extra volume that it doesn't drag on the ground quite so badly.

As the colder weather sets in I'm sure this will get a lot of wear under skirts and dresses (including the several dresses I'm still planning to sew in the next couple months!), but even now in the last heat of summer it's quite comfortable to wear, since it's linen. Jack commented that it seemed like a lot of work for a skirt that won't be seen (and it did manage to remind me how much I dislike gathering long lengths of fabric), but as long as it's functional and gets used often, I feel like all the effort was worth it.

While I was putting this together, I also cut out and started assembling the apron project from the same bedsheet. Even with all those pieces cut out, I still have enough linen left over for at least one more, maybe two more projects. Next up I'm going to get to all the finishings on the apron (which will be getting its own post once it's done) and keep trucking along on the handsewn eyelets for the Lengberg Castle Bra-thing. And once those two are done, I think I just might be ready to finally start on all the dresses I want to make with my new fabric.

[armory-rasa]

Gambeson project: cutting out & fitting

Lol, apparently past-Gabriel made this pattern EXACTLY to fit 42" wide fabric. Good job, team.

However, I realized this would put the diamonds oriented horizontally instead of vertically -- which, like vertical stripes, tends to be more aesthetically pleasing on clothes. I would have preferred them vertical, but there wasn't a way to arrange the pattern pieces going the other direction, and I decided it's subtle enough not to worry about it.

Be advised that this fabric is REALLY thin though, for something quilted. Like, so thin that I'm not sure it's going to be functional at all for actual combat. o_O

But that's okay -- the whole reason I picked this color was because I had a vague idea that it could double as the gambeson layer in Eivor's very stupid ""brigandine"" armor in AC:Valhalla, if I ever decided to make that:

(Seriously, just. What is going on there.)

Anyway, I got all the pieces cut out, and then pinned them together to get an idea of the size, with straight pins along the back to mimic a seam, and safety pins along the sides to mimic lacing:

....Put it on, and then promptly took it off and cut 3" out of the back, because I was swimming in it. But better too big than too small.

Still a lot of overlap in the front, but doing better. I proceeded to change the angle of how the pieces meet at the shoulder (to make it less sharply sloped, because apparently I have more muscle there than I used to), and cut the armscythe in another half inch, so it's not tugging when I bring my arms forward.

An arming jacket that fits me pretty alright!

I might use the leftover fabric to add a yoke piece over the shoulders too, if I can figure out how, because that's where most of the weight of the armor is going to be hanging, so it's the part that needs padding the most.

Another consideration, since this is aiming to be functional not just decorative, is where the strain is going to be put on the garment, and thus which parts need to be reinforced. Basically, the ties/buckles/whatever along the front, and the lacing on the sides, are going to need something stronger than just one layer of that quilted fabric to anchor them in, or they're liable to tear right out.

Since I'd been planning from the start to hem this with bias tape (....ugh) instead of folding the hems over, that gives me the option to tuck something stronger in there, like a panel of 3~4 oz veg tan, which I think will work nicely. (Bias tape also means I can keep fiddling with the exact dimensions right up until the last minute.)

TIME TO SEW! or something, idk, if you wanted to watch someone competent at sewing, you'd follow them instead of me. 🤣

......

.......fuck, I don't have blue thread.

TIME FOR THE STORE!

[bomberqueen17]

car organizer

So I wanted to make myself the kind of organizer that hangs over the back of your car seat to hold your stuff, to keep the things that ought to stay in my car in, because with my old car, I hauled so much cargo and loaded and unloaded the thing so often and wound up with so much random junk in there that I lost my tire inflator, foldable shovel, and most of the rest of it. I thought, if I just attach those to the back of one of the front seats then it doesn't matter what I do with the car, if I'm hauling baby chicks or small humans, passengers or cargo or what, I don't have to worry.

I shopped around but I didn't see anything like what I wanted, so I went down in the basement and poked around.

Thus follows not exactly a tutorial, but a description of my thought process. This took forever but if I had to do it again I could do it faster, I think.

I had a weird but perfectly-sized rectangle of heavy-duty polyester canvas (twice as long as I needed, but exactly as wide, so I could use it double thickness), some suit interfacing, and then several yards of an all-plastic but beautiful brocade I bought from Jo-Ann's back when I didn't know how to shop for fabric.

So I bought myself a new tire inflator and folding shovel, and then measured the jump-start powerbank I already own, and made pockets exactly sized for those three things. I also guesstimated a pocket for my motley collection of ratchet straps. And then I laid those out on the bit of canvas, and figured I had room for a wide short pocket across the top-- gathered the bottom, and put a channel at the top and pulled elastic through, then sewed two seams down it to hold it into three separate pockets.

I did french seams on the first square pocket then realized that made it too small so I had to piece a little extension around the back of it. Then I realized that all-plastic brocade ravels horribly... unless you run a lighter along all the cut edges. Bickety-bam instant selvege. So I melted the edges of all the rest of my fabric, and no more French seams means no more excessive seam allowances.

(I didn't exactly follow this method but I did find a good tutorial here for how to make a cargo pocket. It might have worked better than what i did, LOL. I only made one pocket pleated, and one gathered, the others I tried mostly to make to size.)

[image description: a black panel of canvas lies on a table, with three pockets made of brown/black/gold polyester brocade lying atop it, chalked around like crime scene bodies.]

Laid them out, traced with chalk, futzed with the placement. Realized I didn't have to center that top one, and if I off-set it, I could fit the ratchet strap pocket next to it.

Attached the pockets to the canvas, then spray-adhesived the interfacing to the back, then folded the canvas in half, sewed it right sides together leaving one short side open, turned it right-side out, gingerly ironed it (everything is plastic). I had some of those huge thick plastic strips they seal around big boxes sometimes in the garbage in the basement so I pulled those out, carefully ironed them flat under a press cloth, and then cut lengths of them-- it was heavy-duty stuff, I think a dehumidifier had come in the package, solid plastic an inch wide-- and used those as horizontal boning at the bottom, middle, and top, securing in place with a line of stitching above and below wherever there weren't pockets. The top, I closed up by just folding the front over the back; it was the selvedge edge, so I left that raw, and zig-zagged it shut with the piece of "boning" inside, then pushed the boning up against the seam with my fingers and sewed the other side of the channel with a straight stitch.

I could not for the life of me figure out how to measure the straps. so i went out and sat in my car with a lighter, scissors, needle, thread, a pair of old shoelaces, a length of 2" wide elastic torn out of an unsuccessful earlier make (i have a roll of the stuff... at the farm, not here), and a length of heavy-duty twill tape I don't know where I got.

I held the organizer up to the seat, safety-pinned the twill tape to the top, threaded it around the headrest, safety-pinned it to the other side. Decided it needed more support, as the upper corners wanted to flop. Used a drawstring threader to pull the shoelace through the flap at the bottom of the seat, where all the cabling for the heated seat is stored-- there's upholstery covering it, open at both sides, so I threaded the shoelace through that, just to pull the whole shebang in taut against the seat instead of letting it swing freely into the knees of whoever might sit back there. Sewed it down on one side, safety-pinned it to the other. Cut the shoelace off, then sewed the remnant to one upper extreme corner, wrapped it past the headset, safety-pinned it to the other side. Finally took the 2" wide elastic, sewed it firmly down on one side, passed it around the seat, measured it, then passed it behind the seat to sew it down un-stretched to the other side, then put it on properly. So the non-stretch fasteners are only sewed on one side, and can be unpinned on the other if I need to take the thing off.

Then I loaded it up with stuff.

[Image description: the rear of a car driver's seat, taken from the rear seat behind it, with an organizer hanging from the headrest, brocade pockets stuffed full of objects. There's a green object hanging from a keychain at the top left-- it is a folding knife patterned to look like a leaf.]

Now the things that ought to just always be in my car can (mostly) just always be there. I should check that the tire inflator works, and I should periodically charge up the jump pack, but I already checked if the foldable shovel works (it does), and I carefully bundled up the ratchet straps into bags I made out of the cuffs of old crew socks, which sewn shut where I cut the threadbare foot off make perfectly-sized padded stretchy storage bags for light duty ratchet straps.

Top left to bottom right, it's got:

Ratty old work gloves, a clipped-on keychain with a decorative rosary and a functional folding knife, a sock-cuff bag containing a multitool screw driver, a little baggie of tampons, and some Kleenex The tire inflator kit, the jump pack kit three ratchet straps, a folding shovel multitool thingy, and a bag of toiletries with spare socks, chapstick, hand cream, a travel toothbrush and dry toothpaste kit, and a couple other things-- most of it is shit that was handed out the one time I flew business class on Icelandair.

Then, to the right, around my center console, I took a vintage like circa 2004 Old Navy nylon drawstring backpack, threaded those heavy-duty twist tie things they use to close disposable coffee bags through the drawstring bit of the mouth to keep it open, sewed some of the twill tape to the top, and added a magnetic catch to hold a plastic bag in place. The magnetic catch didn't do enough so I have some half-broken old hair clips holding the plastic bag in better position: that's now my car's trash bag, and the backpack's two tiny zippered pockets hold spare plastic bags.

Now the last thing I want to do is to get some hooks to hang from the passenger headrest, and get loops attached to my snow brush and squeegee, and hang those from the hooks, because otherwise they are always scattered around the floor of my car in the way of whatever I want to do.

Anyway. Ready for the inaugural road trip Sunday, when I drive back to the farm.

[fulgurbugs]

HEY GUYS I GOT AN AWESOME NEW DOLL AGAIN

today I unboxed Vampire heart drac, who I received as a christmas gift today and basically just about died from how excited i was to see her.

the first thing that struck me is how absolutely massive she is. like even though shes the same as a regular g1, the sheer size of the skirt is just crazy.

here she is before i got her back home, I am unboxing her but i can definitely see the appeal of keeping her nib. the packaging is gorgeous, and im defnitely saving the box as well to keep it in good condition just in case. the theme of this one is a kind of AU draculaura who's become the vampire queen. and i will say, it's definitely giving that.

here's her with the plastic off and then fully removed from the box. she comes with a certificate and a saddle stand

here she is front, back, and side, so you can see how incredibly detailed this doll is. i particularly love the back of her, the loose hair, the heart bat spiderweb clasp thing on the back of her head is gorge, and the trailing fabric of her shawl is lovely as well

now, for some details

the white lace is a bodysuit that goes covers her except for her hands and face, basically. the inside has a plastic/viynl clear element to help her skirt hold the giant ballgown structure. when i unboxed her she had an additional plastic piece under there, but i removed it because you could see it through the gaps.

the face! i love love love her dark makeup, and the irridescent elements shine really nicely in person. Mine also has some of the nicest looking heart bangs i've seen, theyre super symmetrical!

i also love the way the braids frame her face and then go behind her head, making an additonal heart. the designers of this draculara did not miss with a single element. the little charms on the headpiece can even dangle freely, like holy shit. I know rooted lashes on mh dolls can be controversial, but i don't think they detract anything here, especially with the dark makeup where they fit in well.

just a couple more images of her posed! i love the vibe of this draculaura, shes extremely elegant and extravagant. I will say one thing is that the saddle stand is extremely fiddly, it took a lot of kind of cramming to get her to stand well, and i was worried i was going to break it. course, all the collector dolls have saddle stands afaik, and also a waist stand i dont think would even work on her due to the sheer size of her dress, so its kind of just a non-issue, just something i thought id mention.

I had to rearrange the shelves AGAIN to figure out where to put her and her massive dress, ended up moving barto and the yamatos to the nedno shelf and using some random box as temporary risers to help josuke and envy be seen a little better (pics are kind of from a low angle but i promise they are more visible this way lol.)

here she is next to my only other g1 drac, so now i guess i have 2 in the g1 style! you can see how their different makeup looks give them totally different vibes, imo.

of course, heres the obligatory .5 shot. damn girl ur 5head

i want to say thank you so much to my friend for gifting her to me, this is maybe the best present ive gotten like ever. holy shit. hopefully the one i send back will be received simialrly, but I'm still working on it, and ill show you all pics once im sure its been received!

peace out (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃━✿✿✿✿✿✿