#denim fabric bolts

[dippedanddripped]

Upcycled fashion designers looking for scrapfabric and fabric bolts. Email Manuel at elchalan1957@yahoo.com must use Nelson Saidy Jr in email.

[astralnymphh]

⤹ okay but on the topic of vampire!ellie, which one do you guys personally like?? has nothing to do with what i'll write next, just a curiosity + headcanons. MDNI 18+ enjoy this free vamp!ellie brainstorming content with a random side of nipple fixation!

¨༺ ♱ ༻¨

teenage dirtbag vampire!ellie in a modern realm who can't stand being in her parents suburban hell born house, tired of their cockalorum and urging for her to engage more in the vampiric branch of her family. attend the parties, go human–hunting with the other blood–ingesting addicts, try this, do that. it all irked ellie the wrong way, made her psyche boil, cause all she wanted to fucking do was you. she craves only your blood, your taste, the metallic ribbons pumping your lifeline was like a goddamn nectar to her. and you let her feed, because you loved her. you let your meat sack of a body replace her breakfast, lunch, dinner– first and final meal.

that's why you let her move in with you. cause you fucking can. now, every itty–bitty token of her life tangles with yours on the walls. pictures and awards, a manifold of knickknacks cluttering the window sills, even her clothes tend to blend with yours– an illusive invitation for you to wear her clothes without the question ever pressing her lips apart. you both are madly besotted in each other. no denial objects to that.

and, fuck, this version of ellie is hot. fitted tanks absent of a bra– pale brown pierced nipples erecting the thin fabric into a small mound. gray wash skinny jeans that fit her lean legs well, waistband cruising nicely under that peek of a v–line, fraying at the ankle hems that contrasts into those battered up converse of a similar hue. oh, and usually cloaks her shoulders up in a sable leather jacket– with your name patched in. a jacket, so prized, alwaaays winds up hurled to some isolated and cimmerian corner of your room, purely cause she lacks the care to hang it up whenever she returns home in a scramble, fangs unsheathing for blood. her knees would find themselves pressing hard into the mattress beneath both of you, centering a large gully of weight where her half–unzipped crotch and your butt meet, thirstily rutting to the point of numbing your clit through the hard denim of your pants. her zinc button just kept pounding that shit, keeping you spread wide. while dry humping you, she'd moan and groan hot on your earlobe, fangs partial hooking on the rim, "mhh– fuck n' suck, babe– can i? fuuck.." 'fuck n' suck' was just some made–up code for, well, it should be obvious. times like those, where she intends to fuck her pussy rough on you without remorse, whilst drying your organs of blood.

ohh, but i'll write that in detail one day~

gothic vampire!ellie who lodges high on a hill, deep in the mighty fathomage of her grandoise palace, steeples scaping high into the howling sky– torn asunder by a network of lightning above. you're nothing but meat and blood, princess, a feast inside regalia. every freshwater pearl, every satiny reflection of light off your dress, only made your flesh more supple in her fluorescent fern eyes. those lucifer–damned pupils though, well, let's just say you can't even measure the green pool of her eyes anymore. dilating, big black saucers, ballooning the milken white away whenever she snags a glimpse of your blood. that phantom heartbeat of hers races madly, mad of love for that color. for that glisten of liquid. so divine, she thinks. a gulp bolts down her gullet when within a measly foot of you, or, more specifically, a mere gate between the two of your noses. how else is she supposed to store her cache of sustenance?

yes, that's precisely what i'm hinting at. a holding cell. dusty and decrepit, rats abundant skittering the stone ground, and you swore cobwebs began to web themselves in your hair– now loose and unbraided. that brute of a girl would crouch on the opposing side, dangling keys on a loop sat upon her finger, ploddingly wagging like a swinging great axe. taunt, taunt taunt taunt.. is all she would skip about and do. slip into your cell quickly and play with you. kitty–cornering you and blocking you in her arms, cooing how terribly sorry she feigns to be, for jailing you up and treating you like meat. however, tides turn, and so do emotions. could it be, the dracula upon the misty cliff– has fallen in love?

turns out, witty princesses with a snakish tongue and spit to spare really turned her on. fuck, even you cursed yourself for rending your guard and feeling a magnetic pull to that hunk of a beast, clad in her midnight black, puffed sleeves and collar drawstring shirt. finely sewn black trousers and shiny black boots, curse you, for finding something about that hellishly horrid outfit so handsome on her. there's– oh, this particularly noticeable asset tp her garb as well. the black dye was nearing translucency, and if you loitered your vision directly on her chest long enough, caught in the right cosmic light, you could see that waxen bosom and her nipples, light brown contrary to her vampiric skin. haha, how humiliating it was when she caught you staring at them as she stood in front of your sat stature, being so brazen enough to ask, "something caught your eye princess? shall i strip myself of this, then?" whilst her hands mindlessly tucked under the loose hem anyway, wringing the fabric over her head and banishing it aside. "here, feel my dead heart–" swirled her voice, thrusting her hand out to grasp yours, cold as the ice age, her mitts froze your wrists and yanked them forth, pressing them flat against her breast and swiping her thumb across your contrasting warm skin, leavening with excitement as you fondle. she stows her knee on the bed adjacent to your thigh, whispering, so.. so, hauntingly, "feel that? no pulse, no life, not a spark lives within me, dear." and it was nothing vastly far from the truth. beneath her erect nipple, was no beat. eyes widening to a moon, and lips parting to steal simply too much air, you shudder. was it fear, you shuddered for, or arousal? that's a tale, for another day.

[skepsiss]

I’ve been thinking a lot about Eddie seeing the patches from his old vest onto a new less ruined one after I made that post about his PT—so my prompt for you is Steve helping Eddie resew his new vest (but he’s not really helping he’s just kind of there for kisses and emotional support hehe)

I took a little more into the "actually helping" realm, but it's still fluffy sweet. Other people can send me prrrommmppptts too! --

Eddie had never done something like this with someone else before. Sewing his ripped jeans, bags, and battle-vest had been a solo venture thus far, but it felt strangely intimate to be getting help with his new vest. The old one wasn't salvageable, but Eddie had managed to save some of the patches and pins to start again. This wasn't his first battle vest, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but he had hoped to hang onto his old denim. It wasn't to be though, so Eddie had thrifted a second (or third) hand denim jacket and ripped the sleeves off to start all over again.

"What's this one?" Steve asked, handing over a pin Eddie had gotten from hanging outside a metal show he couldn't get tickets for.

"Bad Brains," Eddie explained, taking the yellow button and running a thumb over the red lightning bolt that streaked across the front. "From New York, I think. I traded for it; no one really plays their stuff on the radio."

Steve nodded like he was going to retain any of that as Eddie debated over where to stick the pin. He settled on the front right pocket and then turned the vest over.

"You want to help sew the back patch?" Eddie asked, grabbing the swath of fabric he had cut from an old band-T. He hadn't been able to get the blood out of his old DIO patch, and while 'the bloody look' was cool, something about it made Eddie squirm. He didn't like that it was Steve's blood, or that the stain had made part of the album art unreadable.

So, DIO was retired, and Eddie instead centred his new Megadeth patch on the back of his vest.

Eddie handed over a needle and thread to Steve and then cut himself his own length. He strung the needle easily and tied it off before setting to work. Steve seemed to be taking his sweet time, and Eddie eventually glanced at him to see what the hold up was.

Steve was still gingerly trying to thread the needle, his brows pinched with frustration.

Eddie snorted lightly before turning the vest around so it was facing Steve.

"Here, you continue my line, and I'll finish this," Eddie teased gently, finding Steve's inability to thread a needle charming.

"Is it too late to say I've never done this before?" Steve asked, picking up the needle and thread Eddie had left behind and stabbing into the fabric.

"I can tell," Eddie chuckled, easily starting to work again. "You don't have to, you know. I don't mind just having some company."

"No, it's alright," Steve said slowly, obviously concentrating as he tried to stick the needle up through the patch. "What're boyfriend for?"

Eddie felt a syrupy smile spread across his face at Steve's words, his stomach tumbling around inside of him. He was still getting used to Steve calling them 'boyfriends' and Eddie couldn't help how giddy it made him each time. Sure, it had been nearly a month, but it still made Eddie feel like he was a blushing fifteen-year-old.

"If you insist… love," Eddie said, keeping his gaze down. He was trying out a new pet-name and he wasn't really sure if it was pushing things a bit too far. Love or My Love was such an intimate title, but Eddie had been thinking of it for a while now. He saw Steve pause at the use of the new nickname though, and waited for him to say something.

"Ow---Jesus," Steve said instead, and Eddie looked up to see him holding his hand up, a ruby-red bead of blood forming on his finger.

"Ah…" Eddie said lamely, smiling still as he reached over for Steve's hand. "Sticking yourself hurts."

"Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious," Steve bitched, letting Eddie take his hand.

"I thought you'd be a bit more durable… you know, with the whole… missing a chunk of your stomach, thing," Eddie teased gently, putting his lips to the wound on Steve's finger much the same way his mother would have when he was a child.

Steve didn't reply to Eddie's comment, instead sitting there quietly and letting Eddie suck on the tip of his finger.

"You want a band-aid?" Eddie asked, pulling back just a bit and then cheekily pressing his tongue against Steve's finger, holding it there with his mouth open.

"Yeah, a band-aid----what are you doing? Don't be weird," Steve chuckled, still not resisting Eddie's grip.

Eddie quirked a brow at him and pulled back, before huffing a laugh.

"Look who you're talking to. Weird is practically stamped on my forehead," he scolded, before licking Steve's finger again for good measure.

"Alright, alright, fair. We get it, Count Dracula, can we grab that band-aid?"

Eddie chuckled again and then scrambled to his feet, trotting off toward the bathroom, but not before turning around and sticking his fingers in front of his lips to replicate fangs.

"I vant---to suck yer ddiiiiccck," he teased, smiling wide when he got an honest belly laugh from Steve.

[tethysresort]

How to choose fabrics for projects (a list of advice and comments)

-Use your project to judge what fabric you want to use!  For instance, if you are making a summer shirt you should use a lighter material that has a texture like sheeting rather than flannel or wool.  If your pattern plans for stuff cut on a bias (sideways across the fabric), take that into account when you choose the fabric! 

-A lot of formal from-store patterns will suggest appropriate fabric types for that pattern.  Consider their advice, but feel free to discard it if you find a fabric you like better that will still work.  (Just make sure that the fabric will work!  You don’t want to end up with the equivalent of a swimsuit made of flannel!)

-Thick (like fleece), heavy (like heavy denim or canvas), very stretchy (like t-shirt jersey), or slippery (like polyester) fabrics are harder to work with.  It doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t use them, but you might want to get a little experience before you tackle them. 

-Choose fabrics that you can wash, and wash them before you use them!  Hanging to dry in a steamy bathroom will help a lot with wrinkles if you don’t have an iron. 

-Poly-fleece aside, choose fabrics that do NOT have polyester or other synthetics in them, in many cases the polyester is being used as a filler.  For instance, if you are making a shirt, look for your chosen weave (flannel, medium weights, twill ect) as 100% cotton, linen or even hemp. 

Polyester (and acrylic) are awesome materials - they make wrinkles fall out better and make fabrics softer.  And if you have sensory issues, you might decide that you want the blend or something pure polyester!  BUT polyester blends will tend to wear out faster.

(What I am trying to say is: choose the content of your fabric with intention and care.)

-Most fabric thickness is measured in oz/square yard.  2.6 oz/sqyd is the thinnest non-fuzzy fabric considered safe to wear or use in stuff like drapes without adding a fire retardant (thinner fabric is a fire hazard).  Some fabric mixes are considered safe too, you can look up the standards pretty easily if you are worried.  (Just be aware if your life needs to include a light gauze nighty!)

-Heavier fabrics will last longer before the fabric starts to disintegrate.  For instance, a 4 oz denim will be lighter and more flexible, but wear through much faster than a 10 or 12 oz denim.  (10-12 oz is the typical weight for older jeans, 5 oz jersey is a heavy t-shirt, most cotton sheeting is about 4 oz, plush sweatshirt knits can be 14-20 oz.)

-Silk is weird, its measured in “momme” (mm).

-If you can, support locally owned fabric shops!  They tend to have a better quality of fabric and people more knowledgeable if you need to ask questions. 

-Look for deals!  Thrift stores will often have both clothing and bedding you can pick apart and yardage from closed stores and people’s stashes.  Fabric stores will often have remnant piles and stuff (colors and patterns) that are discontinued.  By nature of my job I buy fabric by the bolt in plain white and then dye it - that is always also a possibility, too. 

Most importantly:

CHOOSE FABRIC YOU LIKE - Remember, you have to live with and like your completed project!

[methodactordonnacosplayer]

I redesigned Frankie Stein!

They're basically the kind of person I wish I was when I was in high school, a cool DIY fashion kid with a personalized jean jacket. I know using actual denim fabric on such a small scale is a big no-no but I have cut the ends off of so many jeans because I'm short and when I lose jeans to chub rub I have no idea what to do with them except cut them into jorts. I'm not going to let this fabric sit around and I figured for a big jacket that sort of swallows them up I could get away with it.

This is also one of the few times I've decided to keep the factory hair but I removed the blue streaks and curled the rest. I love black and white hair.

In an effort to preserve a lot of existing elements of this doll, i've reused some accessories because I liked the way they looked and I figured if it ain't broke don't fix it, but one of their hair clips is now a necklace charm and the ELECTRIC patch on their backpack is from their creepover party shirt. Their neon yellow earrings also remain on account of those matching the neon colors they already have on.

The bolts in their head are actually screws because i literally had to poke holes in their head and screw these pieces in, but I literally just went to my local Lowes and got the smallest screws I could possibly find.

My little backstory for this character is that they're the reanimated version of Frankenstein's first child, a daughter who died tragically, and now this new version is nothing like their predecessor. They've cut up her old clothes and turned them into something new and they're more of a loud, wacky dipshit, and they're even (gasp) NONBINARY? But slowly papa frank is learning to figure out who his child is, not dictate what they should be.

I bring this up because my vision for this and all future Monster High redesigns I have planned is that I'm going to make it kind of depressingly realistic and more like my high school experience, and I started with Frankie being a sort of confidence fantasy because it's only going to get more depressing. I don't want to get into full on edgy grimdark territory but this doll has acne and is wearing something denim. Be prepared for everyone to have acne and jeans and school-related problems that shape their personalities.

[pankowperfection]

The First Time

Summary: A string of disappointing partners finally comes to an end with JJ

Warnings: smut, teasing, oral (fem receiving), 18+

Somehow throughout years of dating, you had always managed to find the guys that didn’t care to reciprocate. Of course they always expected to receive oral from you, but they never wanted to return the favor. If they tried, they only went down on you for a few minutes before claiming it was “too hard” to make women cum and then moving on to fucking you. You were frustrated to say the least, both sexually and mentally. Then JJ came into your life.

His reputation precedes him, a supposed god at making women crazy with his talented tongue. It was all you could think about every time you were alone together, unable to look away as he nursed a beer or licked an ice cream cone, tempted by the way it moved within his mouth. Your relationship was still new so you didn’t want to come right out and ask him to go down on you, instead you waited for him to make a move while praying it would be soon.

Tonight was date night, JJ instructing you to wear that pair of jean shorts that drive him crazy and be ready for him to pick you up at 6. “Where are we going J?” you question as you climb inside, his hand settling on your bare thigh and making arousal swirl through your system. “To the drive-in baby. I know how much you love the popcorn there so thought we could lay in the bed of my truck and enjoy the evening.” His dimples appear when he smiles, doing nothing to extinguish the fire burning under your skin. “You’re too sweet J. We’re gonna need a large bucket of popcorn.” He laughs as he turns down the familiar dirt road, finding a place to park near the middle with the perfect view of the screen. 

Of course he thought of everything, throwing a thick blanket down over the cool metal of the truck bed, pillows against the back so you have a cozy spot to cuddle. Ten minutes into the movie you catch him looking at you with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to your lips. It quickly turns heated, his tongue gliding along your lower lip as you grant him access, his hand tracing random patterns up and down your inner thighs. You forget that you are in public, everything but how JJ feels touching you fading into the background. When his calloused fingers tease the edge of your denim shorts you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, not even caring if someone hears you.

He quickly rolls you to your back, skilled fingers diving behind your panties and lightly stroking over your pussy. His warm breath tickles your ear, making you shiver as he continues to tease you. “Think you can keep quiet sweetheart? Wouldn’t want someone to catch us and keep me from making you cum.” One finger dips inside your wet heat, pumping in and out slowly before a second joins in, metal of his ring providing extra pleasure as it massages your walls. “Yes J, I’ll be quiet. Please.” You aren’t sure what you’re begging for; more of his fingers, his tongue, his cock. All you care about is that release that is slowly building with each expert curl of his digits. 

His greedy mouth starts a path down your jaw and over your neck, his intention clear as he scoots lower and lower down your body. Bolts of pleasure shoot straight to your clit as he kisses his way up each thigh, taking his time to tease as you bite your lip to hold in your moans. You understand now why he asked you to wear these particular shorts, their short length making it easy for him to pull the fabric to the side. JJ places open mouthed kisses over the lace of your panties, the material soaked through with just how wet he has made you. Every touch of his lips makes your back arch, the anticipation almost too much to handle. Your hands weave into his hair, tugging softly while he traces his tongue around the edge of your panties.

“J please, you’re killing me.” You feel his smirk against your thigh, setting your legs over his shoulders as he looks up at you. “Don’t worry sweetheart, it’ll be worth the wait. Remember to be a good girl and keep quiet for me.” With no further hesitation he pulls your panties to the side. When his tongue makes contact with your entrance you buck up into his face, forcing his arm across your hips to hold you in place. He licks a slow stripe up to your clit, your body shaking from the simple movement. He works back down to your entrance, humming in approval to your taste as his tongue plunges inside of you. You suck in a sharp breath, tugging on his hair as you rock your hips into his face, meeting his thrusts. No matter how hard you try, moans and whimpers escape your lips, the pleasure too overwhelming.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, stopping your pleasure for a moment to stuff his bandana into your mouth. “Sorry cupcake, don’t want someone to interrupt us.” With a smirk he returns between your thighs, working two fingers back into your pussy as his tongue works your clit. Each flick is perfect, showcasing how he truly is a master at eating girls out. The quickness of his tongue mixed with the slow thrusting of his fingers has your walls clenching, back arching off the bed as he continues to feast on you. Your sensitivity grows as your orgasm nears, pulling harshly on his hair when he suckles your clit into his mouth. He moans and the vibrations send you over the edge, your scream muffled by the fabric as you soak his face. He works you through it, kitten licks over your whole pussy until you stop trembling in his grasp.

He kisses his way back up your body, removing the bandana and capturing your lips in another passionate kiss. “How was that baby girl? Worth the wait?” You can barely think straight, still drunk off the pleasure he had given you. “Definitely worth it. I think you broke my brain though and my legs feel like jelly.” He laughs, burying his face in your neck as his attention returns to the movie.

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[corruptedcaps]

If you can’t beat them…

As I quickly stepped into the dimly lit charity store, a sigh of relief escaped my lips. Finally, I was away from the piercing laughter and relentless taunts of the chavs who were chasing me. I looked out the window covertly and saw them arrive from around the corner, looking all around for my whereabouts. To my chagrin, instead of leaving they took out cigarettes and sat around smoking outside the shop. I’d have to wait them out so I turned my attention to the interior of the charity shop.

The racks of clothes towered above me, like a fortress shielding me from the outside world. I felt invisible here, just another face lost in the crowd of musty fabrics and forgotten treasures.

My heart still thudded with the echoes of their insults, replaying in my mind like a broken record. "Four eyes." "Virgin." "Loser." Their words pierced my fragile confidence, leaving me feeling like an outsider in my own skin. My head downcast, I shuffled between the racks, seeking solace among the secondhand garments.

My fingers grazed over the hangers, feeling the textures of worn-out denim and scratchy wool. And then, there it was—a black shiny puffer jacket, calling out to me from the corner of my eye. Its glossy surface reflected the dim store lights, creating an illusion of strength and resilience.

But as I reached for it, my heart sank. The jacket's familiarity struck me like a lightning bolt. It resembled the very uniform of the chav girls who tormented me day in and day out. It was a bitter reminder of their presence, their dominance.

Curiosity compelled me to inspect the inner tag, my eyes widening as I read the name etched onto the fabric—Stacey. Could it be? The same Stacey who had transferred schools at the beginning of the year, leaving a void in the chav gang? The same Stacey who had ruled over them with her sharp tongue and relentless bullying?

With hesitant hands, I slipped my arms into the black puffer jacket, letting the material wrap around me. In that moment, a strange sense of power coursed through my veins. The mirror before me reflected an image I had never seen—a girl transformed, her shy demeanor replaced by an air of confidence.

But then, the strangest sensation enveloped me. The jacket seemed to tighten, constricting around my body with an unnatural force. The zipper connected and ran upwards trapping me in its shiny material. Panic set in as I struggled to breathe, the once alluring garment transforming into a sinister embrace.

I tugged at the sleeves, desperately trying to free myself from its grip, but it only grew tighter. A wicked energy seemed to emanate from its very fibers, seeping into my skin and altering me in ways I couldn't comprehend. Fear mingled with fascination as I realized the jacket was reshaping me, making me something I had never intended to become. It felt good.

As I stood there, trapped within the tightening confines of the black puffer jacket, a surge of unsettling power coursed through my veins. It began with a tingling sensation, starting at the tips of my fingers. I watched, wide-eyed, as my nails grew longer, transforming into sharp, dark talons. They glinted ominously in the dim light, a visual reminder of the changes unfolding within me.

Simultaneously, my hair seemed to lengthen and gather itself into a sleek, long ponytail, cascading down my back like a dark waterfall. The reflection in the mirror revealed a stranger, a girl I could barely recognize, her once meek appearance now radiating an intense allure.

But the most striking alteration was yet to come. Thick layers of makeup materialized on my face, applied with an otherworldly precision. The once-muted features became bold and dramatic, accentuated by smoky eyes, crimson lips, and sculpted cheekbones. The transformation was mesmerizing as it was hot.

As the jacket's grip tightened further, I felt a deep, pleasurable sensation within my chest. I glanced down to witness the impossible—the subtle contours of my figure reshaping, as my breasts expanded. My insignificant small tits now became big gravity defying globes that caused the zipper to open, freeing me. However by then then I didn’t want to get rid of the jacket. Not MY jacket!

I looked at my reflection and saw in awe the girl staring back. She was a girl I would have run from, who I would see leading a pack of similar bitches, a cruel delinquent who did whatever she wanted. It was intoxicating to know that girl was me. A wicked smile curled up my perfect lips as I settled into the bitch I had become.

With a newfound confidence pulsing through my veins, I began to rummage through the thrift store in search of garments that would align with my transformed appearance and attitude. I cast aside modest dresses and skirts, opting instead for short, revealing tops that accentuated my enhanced curves. Latex leggings clung to my legs like a second skin, their sleekness mirroring the newfound boldness within me.

In the accessories section, I sought out hoop earrings, their metallic circles framing my face, while gaudy jewelry adorned my neck, wrists, and fingers. I discarded practical shoes in favor of high heels, their height amplifying my stature and emphasizing my newfound allure.

The transformation was complete, from head to toe—a reflection of the girl I once was, forever altered. I stood there, a vision of bitchy beauty, ready to face a world that would never see me the same way again.

As I confidently stepped out of the thrift store, I was ready to fight each and everyone of the chavs waiting for me. I hungered for a fight, to show my dominance. But as their eyes fell upon me, their chatting amongst each other turned into stunned silence. The transformation that had taken place within me had caught them off guard.

Their expressions quickly shifted from shock to recognition, and I felt a strange shift in the energy around us. Confusion painted their faces, mingling with a sense of dawning realization. It was as if the jacket had rewritten their perception of reality, reshaping their roles and turning the tables.

Their eyes, once filled with contempt for me, now held a hint of deference. In a twisted twist of fate, it seemed that I had become their leader, the one to whom they owed allegiance. Memories flooded into my mind of being the chav queen, a much feared and dominant force. The power dynamics had shifted, and I found myself standing at the helm of the very group that had tormented me for so long.

With an air of newfound power pulsating through my veins, I locked eyes with the chavs, a glint of mischief dancing in my gaze. A mischievous smile curved on my lips as I snapped my fingers, an audacious act that seemed to command their obedience.

Without hesitation, one of the chavs hurriedly pulled a cigarette from a pack, her hands trembling with an odd mixture of fear and eagerness. She approached me, her posture submissive, and expertly placed the cigarette between my waiting lips.

In a surreal twist, another chav stepped forward, producing a lighter as if under some enchantment. With a flick of her thumb, a flame erupted, dancing before me. As I leaned in, the fire obediently kissed the end of the cigarette, igniting it with a flickering glow.

The surrealness of the moment hung heavy in the air as I took a leisurely drag, my long fake nails looking good set against the cigarette. The smoke coated my lungs as if I had done in a hundred times before as I let out a perfectly formed ring from my enhanced lips, the tendrils of smoke curling above me like a wicked halo.

“Well girls how about we go get in some fucking trouble.” I said with a wicked smile as the girls all nodded in agreement. It was good to be the queen.

[rrlexchange]

"HOW ONE PAIR OF RRL DENIM JEANS MAKES IT FROM A COTTON FIELD TO YOUR CLOSET" - by Ikhtier Rustamov

When Ralph Lauren founded Double RL in 1993, he was inspired by the heritage of the American West and the train-hopping, steer-wrangling, gold-panning men who helped to settle it. “It’s not fashion, it’s real stuff,” Ralph has been known to say about the line in the years since. Nothing better embodies that uniquely American quality than a pair of blue jeans (made in the first place for the hard-wearing needs of miners and cowboys). American made jeans have always been a staple in the Double RL wardrobe, but the jeans made with the “East-West” denim, which crosses the globe in pursuit of perfection, just may be the gold standard. Here’s how a single pair comes together.

All denim is made from cotton, but not all cotton is created equal: the material can vary vastly in quality depending on where it’s sourced. RRL’s East-West denim is fabricated using premium grade cotton harvested in the state of Tennessee. The crop that grows there is renowned for its extra long, uneven fibers. When eventually spun and woven, that will translate into denim that’s supremely resilient, with a unique texture that sets it apart from the pack.

From Tennessee, the cotton is flown across the ocean to Japan. To Okayama, specifically, a city that is to denim what Memphis is to the blues. Today, some of the world’s best American denim is made in Japan, where a centuries-old tradition for indigo-dying and fabric weaving is combined with a dedication to maintaining and using vintage narrow shuttle looms which were largely dispensed with half a century ago. In the 1900s, all denim was made on these narrow shuttle looms: slow, noisy, and costly to maintain these looms created a narrow fabric with low-tension, resulting in strong and dynamic denim, rich in texture and finished on either end with a closed selvedge edge. By the 1950s, the fabric had grown so popular that most factories switched to more efficient air-jet looms, creating more product, faster, cheaper and at a lower quality.

To create our East-West denim, we partnered with a small Okayama denim mill that is a standard-bearer in a nearly lost art. The long-staple cotton is deftly ring-spun into a soft, lofty yarn, and rope dyed a red-blue shade of indigo inspired by jeans from the 1930s. Spun and dyed, the yarn is finally woven into bolts of fabric on wooden hanger-style shuttle looms, finished with an iconic red-line of yarn through the selvedge fabric edges. Off the loom, the fabric is then Sanforized, to reduce shrinkage, and finished with a proprietary process that retains the natural “loomstate” characteristics of the denim, creating a true “hand of quality”.

From one denim mecca to the next, the finished bolts are shipped over to California — the state where jeans got their start. Here the product really takes shape: the denim is cut and sewn into finished jeans manually using methods that were common from the 1940s-1960s, but have become rare today: chain-stitching, washer burrs, hidden rivets, and handset pockets and waistbands.

American-made thread and rivets hold it all together, while an open “busted” outseam on the outside of each pant leg leaves the selvedge edge visible as a hallmark of quality. For a finishing touch, the signature RRL leather patch is applied by hand.

Once assembled, the jeans are given a final once-over for detailing and distressing. A team of artisans in Los Angeles fits each individual pair onto a special form and rough them up just a bit. Hand-sanding is one of the best ways to give a patina of age, but that’s just one piece of the tool-kit: a finished pair of pants can undergo up to 50 steps before they head out the door, and that’s without even considering the variety of vintage-inspired washes that change with every season.

With this last step, East-West Denim goes from uniform fabric to a wear-ready pair of RRL jeans.

From field to factory to weekly rotation, East-West Denim comes to life when the jeans take on the life of the wearer, weathered by the elements and the inevitable abrasions that come from daily use. Eventually, whiskers above the legs and “honeycombs” behind the knees appear. The tell-tale “track” on the outer inseam manifests. A phantom outline appears on the pocket where you always put your wallet. And then they’re not just “real stuff.” They’re really yours.

[mxstellatayte]

metal, nuts, bolts, and a hell of a lot blaster residue (chapter 2.)

din djarin x female mechanic reader.

chapter 2 word count: 6.0k

warnings/tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader is a mechanic, found family, din djarin speaks mando'a, din and reader are both very touch starved, i don't know how fictional money works, din djarin is a bottom, smut written and proofread by an asexual, din and reader have ptsd, canon is dead and i killed it, no use of y/n

You wake, your eyes crusted over with sleep as your alarm beeps loudly at you. Your face is mashed into your pillow, your left cheek making your lips jut out awkwardly as your right arm and foot hang off of your small bed, sleeping on your stomach. It’s a marvel it’s even considered an adult-sized bed- your feet hang off of the end of the bed more often than not and your shoulders barely fit onto the narrow mattress without hanging off of the edge. Your right arm reaches up lazily as you prop yourself up, sphynx-style, on your left, blinking groggily at the bright sun already shining brightly through your window. It takes you a few minutes of sitting there on your bed, readjusting to the waking world, for you to recall the current ship in your hangar in desperate need of repairs. 

“That blasted Crest is going to be the death of me,” you mutter as you grab a pair of overalls, a dark green t-shirt and undergarments before hauling it to your bathroom and peeing. After washing your hands, you don’t bother inspecting your appearance in the shitty mirror, opting to simply start your ‘fresher. Having warm water in your ‘fresher is a luxury you allow yourself once a week, and today is that kind of day. The steam slowly floats from behind the curtain, and you step in, having stripped your pajamas while you were waiting for it to heat up. It runs over your body and through your hair, slowly saturating your body, and you sigh, finally being able to rinse most of the encrusted grease, oil and soot from your body after the day before. 

After allowing yourself a few moments of bliss, simply relishing in the warm patter of water on your skin, you add soap to your hair, then a whipped oil treatment you use to remove the tangles. It is, like many other things in your life, a routine you’ve grown accustomed to. After finishing rinsing out your hair and washing your body, you turn off the nozzle and grab your towel, wrapping it around your body and trying to drip as little water on your floor as possible. You dry your hair off as much as you can and dress yourself, clipping your bra on and sliding a dark green t-shirt over your body before pulling on your underwear and the denim overalls over your legs, clasping them at your shoulders, and wiggling your feet into a pair of socks. As usual, you stuff the small fabric pouch sitting on the edge of your windowsill in your right front pocket, the feeling of its presence comforting and familiar. It may be strange to others, but it’s something you can’t leave your house without and you’ve never quite known why. 

You open your cooler and sigh; you need to go grocery shopping, likely using credits from your payment yesterday. Why must adulting on your own be so difficult? That is one thing you miss about being a part of the Empire, hate to admit it as you may. You never had to go shopping for clothes or worry about finances- in exchange for your services, they offered you a bed to sleep in, a roof over your head, uniforms, and food, all without you having to fret over your remaining credits in your budget or whether you’d paid this month’s rent. Pulling a nutrient-rich packet of food out, you stuff it in your pocket and loop your holster, blaster still inside from the night before, through the loops on your overalls. Your feet slide into their boots, your hands tying the laces tight, double-knotting them as you always do. After ensuring your keycard is safely in the left pocket of your pants, you unlock your door and step out into the bright light, locking it behind you.

08:25, your watch reads. Late. 

Fuck.

There’s a very distinct way people walk when they’re late, you’ve noticed. Torso slightly forward, feet landing heavy with authority and a get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way aura about them. Arms swinging but rigid, face determined, and a slight bounce in their step. That walk is the very walk you’re using right now, your blaster bouncing slightly on your hip. You slide deftly through the growing crowd in the city’s streets, even this early in the morning. Children run to school, parents bidding goodbyes quickly, then calling their kids back quickly- they forgot their lunch. A young Devaronian girl accidentally runs into your leg, stumbling back a few paces before falling backwards. “Hey, kiddo. Didn’t see you there. Let’s get you up from there, yeah?” You halt your rapid pace, leaning down and offering your hand out for her to get back up. She hesitates for a moment, lifting her hand before pulling it back, looking between your face and your hand. You wear what you hope to look like a friendly smile, your heart beating loudly in your ears as you pause. After a few moments, she reaches out, taking your hand and hauling herself to her feet with your help. “You okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” She pauses, biting her lower lip as she scans your face. “Are you the mechanic my daddy says works magic? The one on the outside of the city near the north gates?”

An excited feeling bubbles up in your throat. That’s where you recognized her from. Her father, one of your most loyal (and best paying) customers, frequented your services, often needing repairs for his speeder and, on one rare occurrence, a ship he was taking off-world and needed an inspection and light fuel for. “Yeah, I am! You must be Dendo’s kid, then? Salwa?”

She beams with pride, nodding brightly. “Yeah! He’s going to help us beat the Empire!” You smile at her, still bent over and resting your hands on your knees to get at her eye level. 

“That’s awesome. We’re going to need all the fighters we can get.” The schoolteacher rings a large bell behind you, signaling the two-minute call to the beginning of the school day. “Off you go, then. And tell your father I say hi!” 

“Yeah, of course!” She waves over her shoulder as she runs up the steps into the building, bowing slightly to the teacher as she enters. Kapp Dendo, one of Nevarro’s prominent Rebel leaders, had been a customer of yours from the start, claiming that “no man I’ve ever met could hold a candle to female mechanics,” the statement making you nearly cry with pride. Your hard work had paid off, and now you had at least one loyal customer, and an influential one, no less. You stand in your spot in the city square for just a moment before you remember your task at hand: opening up shop. You swivel on your heel, speeding down the roads and weaving between the throngs of people preparing to open their stalls in the city market for the day. You wave hello to a few of your customers, seeing all sorts of people- humans, Twi’leks, a group of three evidently hungover Ugnaughts, a shockingly large ensemble of Ithorians, and even a Kaleesh. The diversity among Nevarro’s populace is nothing new to you, and before you know it, your feet have carried you to the door to your hangar. With a swipe of your keycard and a quick type of your keycode, the familiar dark metal doors open with a hiss of air, and you step through, leaving them open for customers to come and go as they please. 

Sitting down at your desk, you shuffle together papers from an old job and slide them into your incinerator, a small puff of ash rising from the small slit on the side of your desk. This desk, in comparison to the rest of your hangar, is organized, every paper, pen and notebook with scribbled notes having a place on top or in a drawer. You scribble some notes for yourself to take care of later in the day- charge bills go out today which will need to be mailed out, you need to place a new order for rations to be delivered to your house, and a note with your name on it has been scribbled in swooping handwriting, folded into thirds and left sitting on top of the pile of papers you’ve begun to inspect.

I went out to get a new radio and get something fixed in my armor. Be back by 13:00. 

Mando

Oh, also, the kid says hi. He’s in the ship if you want to watch him. His name is Grogu.

You pay the rest of the note no mind, only squealing with glee at the prospect of the small child being under your care for the day. Dropping all that you’re doing, you shove away from your desk, any papers or bills left aside for later in the day, when the sun is high in the sky and you’re sweating so much your eyes sting. Rushing into the hangar, you try not to run up the ramp of the ship, noticing the crate with the parts inside still lingering by your workbench. The child- Grogu- sits eagerly in his small pod, his large dark eyes lighting with joy and babbling as he holds out his hands excitedly when he sees you come up the ramp. 

“Hey, Grogu!” You say, leaning over and picking him up out of his nest of metal and soft blankets. “You ready to see something cool?” He giggles in joy and wraps a small, three-fingered hand around your own index finger, clearly excited. “I’ll take that as a yes. Can you control your little egg?” He nods, and you gently set him back inside, the pod whirring quietly as you step back, following you just as it did Mando. “You’re going to be safe in there, right?” Another nod and gurgle, and you grin. “Come on, then! I’ve got a lot of stuff to fix on your dad’s ship, and it isn’t going to fix itself.” 

Before you even begin welding, you ensure that Grogu is thoroughly protected, wrapping a sturdy leather blanket around his body and covering his large ears with the cap you wear on colder days. “Comfy?” He nods, looking around curiously. “Hey, you wanna make a friend?” Your foot clicks Squeaks’ pedal, stirring it awake, and Grogu giggles, the sound making you smile. After twisting your hair up, tying it back and sliding your hat over it all, you stuff all of your tools into your rucksack and shove your tablet in your back pocket. Something crinkles in your pocket and you realize you never ate your breakfast. Breaking open the packet, you opt for tipping the granola directly into your mouth rather than picking it out with your fingers, favoring efficiency over dignity. 

The majority of the repairs go smoothly, only a small hiccup when you realize that the shield system requires a manual override from the ship’s owner, and it’s currently registered to the Mandalorian’s chain code. When he returns, he inputs the override, and the shield reboot runs smoothly. The final task, which you leave for the next day, is the radio replacement. Mando successfully found a completely new radio system, and you get the impression that you probably shouldn’t ask where or how he got it. That’s how it goes with a lot of things on Nevarro: someone does something convenient for you, it seems a little bit weird how someone would come across such a thing, and you don’t ask any questions. Interestingly enough, it was almost the same way under the Empire: accept the gesture, don’t ask questions. It’s how things go and no one asks about how the system got set into place or why it’s there. It just is. 

“Everything else went well?” You’re perched on your workbench, spine bent like an Ossuan banana and feet dangling off the side as you sit on the edge, looking over the last of the documents on your clipboard before you send out the bills for credit accounts. You look up from your papers, your eyebrows releasing the crease between them when you see the Mandalorian walking up to you. Grogu walks next to him, and you find a small appreciation in yourself for how fast the kid can move. For barely reaching your knees, he can hustle when he’s keeping up with his dad. 

“Yeah, mostly. The patch in the hull ended up needing the whole panel replaced, but other than that, everything else went well. Grogu is a wonderful work companion, by the way,” you say, grinning down at the small creature. A slightly cold breeze flows through your hangar and you straighten up, shivering and stimming involuntarily, the cold setting your nerves on edge. You pull the small fabric pouch out of your pocket and begin fidgeting with it, not removing the contents (a small handful of stones from your homeworld,) but rather pushing the stones around inside the worn fabric. “You did make sure the radio’s compatible with the ship, right?”

“Yeah, I did. I left it in the crate, but it’s in its own box.” He stops a few feet from where you sit, but Grogu continues up to the workbench, then, turning to Mando, points up to you and gurgles again, seemingly asking to get up on top with you. “Come on, kid, we’ve got someone to say hi to. An old friend.” Grogu babbles something sad-sounding, and you think a little part of you dies inside, but you need to catch up on sleep and the sun is rapidly sinking, the hot day having drained every ounce of energy your limited amount of sleep the night before had earned you. 

You bid your customers goodbye, leaving them with the guest entry keycode you change with each moon cycle for security so they can re-enter after you leave, and close up shop early for the day. Your rigorous day, combined with your limited amount of food, lack of sleep, and the blistering volcanic heat, has served as a reminder that you are still very much human, and require some form of treatment to keep going day by day. On your way home, you remember to drop off your bills at the postal and stop at the grocer to order a week’s worth of food, hoping that it’ll be delivered by the time you return home the next day.

Delivered by the time the Mandalorian leaves.

You try to ignore the tightness in your chest you felt, to stifle it and shove it down. But it only results in a sinking feeling, an ick simmering in your stomach that you can’t quite smother on your own.

Revnog. Why not? You have ten extra credits sitting in your pocket, remnants from your grocery run and decide that a drink or two couldn’t hurt. Besides, you can’t remember the last time you treated yourself to a drink at the bar down the street from your home. You spot the neon bright sign out of the corner of your eye, the sign that never goes out anytime before 1:30 each night and illuminates your street in a 30 foot radius, marking one of the few establishments on Nevarro that still had an alcohol permit after Karga’s changes in government. Your feet make their way to the door and you push it open, the strangely pleasant clamor of music, chatter and clinking glasses hitting your ears and the familiar smell of alcohol- both droid and biotic- hitting your nose. The establishment is dark, but each booth, many of which are taken, are illuminated by a hanging light over the table. Instead of bothering to find a booth, you slide onto a stool at the bar and order a glass of revnog. “Bespinian, if you have it.” You flash the last four digits of your chain code, proving your age to drink, and the bartender nods with a smile and pulls a bottle off of the shelf behind her. A small part of you warms to know that she has your favorite kind as the bottle’s familiar shape pours the opaque white liquid into a glass, the slight light blue tint swirling in the glass as she slides it across the metal surface. She pulls out a small bowl of Bespinian citrus commonly used to chase the thick burn that comes with the alcohol. “Thank you,” you say, passing her five credits. 

You slouch in your seat, taking a sip of the drink and giving up the put-together look. The burn as it flows down your throat tickles and you relish in the feeling, opting to leave the feeling rather than chase it with the fruit. “I ain’t no coward,” you’d say to Mir-Le over drinks before she went off to Sorgan to live with a woman that, based on what you’d heard about her, would make her happy day in and day out. She was the first friend you had on Nevarro, one of the few people you trusted. Sure, you had friends now, the regular customers you’d become close with, but none as close as Mir-Le. Another sip down, the tangy yet sweet flavor burning down your throat. Sips continue slowly, slowly warming you up from the inside, and you let your mind go blank as you stare emptily into the swirling liquid.

“Rough day?” 

You look up with a start, the voice so close suddenly startling you out of your dissociative blur. The bartender, a kind-eyed Twi’lek with beautiful dark blue skin, dries glasses as she looks at you with a knowing smile. “You could say that, yeah,” you sigh, not quite knowing how to start. “You okay if I ask for some advice?”

“I feel like I signed up for giving advice when I took the job, as bullshitted as the advice may be. Hit me.” She sets the glass down and folds her arms, leaning onto the counter. You’re not sure if it’s the drink, the proximity, the intoxicating smell of her skin or your dry spell of not getting laid, but you can’t help but feel a stir deep in your stomach, trying not to breathe through your nose and inhale the sweet smell of her perfume, trying to figure out how to explain your current dilemma. 

You’re about to begin your vent before you realize that you never introduced yourself to her. “Shit, I never introduced myself.” You offer your name and your hand, and she takes it with a firm handshake.

“Call me Frey.”

“Hi, Frey. Okay. So you might think I’m crazy, but I think… I think I might be attracted to someone whose name I don’t even know, much less what he looks like.”

“You met him online?” She cocks a brow at you, a motherlike look on her face.

“No, he’s a customer. I’ve met him, I just don’t know his name or what he looks like. He’s a Mandalorian- one of the ones that never takes off his helmet. And he has this little kid that he brings almost everywhere he goes, and the way he treats the kid makes me want kids. I physically can’t have them, thank Maker, but I feel like if I could, I would want to have kids with him. It’s really strange and I should probably be a little bit worried about it, but I’m not, for some reason. How should I go about this? Because I don’t even know if it’s just me not getting laid in months or having very few close friends, but I just feel a kind of pull to him.”

“That is… a lot. Okay. Give me a second,” she replies, and you nod, taking a sip of your drink as she contemplates an answer. “I’m going to preface this by saying that I’m not going to sugarcoat my answer. In my experience and observations, people tend to fall faster for someone when they’re in a dry spell. That influence, that desire, often leads my customers to do something stupid and reckless, like having sex with someone they’ll regret fucking in the morning. Of course, that means more listening to them complain, but the tips are worth it.” You snort out a laugh, and she smiles. “Granted, I’m not telling you to go hook up with someone to end your suffering, but if that’s what you think will work, then go for it. What I’m hearing, though, is that your attraction to this mysterious man in armor is more romantic than sexual?”

You grimace as you take another sip, shaking your head. “God, no. Yes, he’s adorable when he talks to the kid and would clearly burn down the universe for him, but I can tell you with absolute confidence that I would not mind if he fucked me into next cycle.” You don’t bother lowering your voice any more than you already have, the bar having mostly emptied by this point. You spare a glance at your watch: 01:03. It’s late, much later than you’re normally awake, but you can’t help yourself when you lean slightly closer to Frey. She laughs quietly, her smile contagious. 

“In that case, I would offer to bring you home and treat you the way you deserve.” Your stomach drops, heat pooling between your hipbones. Without an answer, you down the rest of your drink and nod, and she laughs, pushing back from the bar. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Give me three minutes to kick these guys out and clean up real quick, yeah?” You offer a nod in response, and before you know it, you’re running back to your house, Frey’s hand clutched in yours as the two of you laugh when you stumble slightly drunkenly, like a pair of horny teenagers. 

Your fingers fumble with the lock, and before the door closes behind you, you’re getting kissed by Frey, her lips soft against yours as her hands settle on your hips. “You gonna be good for me and let me take care of you?” You blush, your stomach flipping in loops, and nod sheepishly. “Let me hear you.” 

“Yes. I’ll be good.”

“That’s my girl.”

THE NEXT DAY

You groan as your alarm beeps annoyingly at you, the headache from your hangover evident. As you wipe the sleep from your eyes, you remember the night before and smile in bliss. “Morning to you,” Frey’s voice calls, and you open your eyes slowly, eyes dilating against the bright light. Once adjusted, you see her dressing herself, tucking her t-shirt into her pants before fastening the zipper and button. 

“Morning,” you groan, your voice scratchy with sleep. “Thank you for last night.”

“Of course. It was fun.” She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and leaning back. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. I know where to find you.” You hesitate for a moment, realizing the potential strangeness in your choice of words. “At work, I mean. Not in a creepy ‘I’ve been stalking you and know where you live’ kind of way.” Frey smiles again, a light laugh escaping her lips. 

“I know what you mean, gorgeous. Good luck with the Mandalorian.” She steps out of your room, moving to leave your house. You hesitate for a moment, then realize the absurdity of staying in bed. You launch the covers off and hurry after her, catching her in your front room.

“Wait, Frey-” She turns and immediately attempts to hide a laugh, and it’s in that moment that you realize you’re still completely naked. Your front room doesn’t have many street or alley facing windows, and the ones that are present are shuttered, thank Maker. “Take care of yourself? Watch out for the shitty people out there. Nevarro has plenty- I would know.”

Frey smiles one more time, approaching you and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will. Don’t worry.” With that, she turns around the corner and you hear the door hiss, opening and closing, and you’re suddenly left in your front room on a Friday morning after a hookup, butt-ass naked and in need of food. Dressing yourself in a pair of overalls and a t-shirt, nearly identical to your clothes the day before, you remember to eat something while you’re still at home before setting out to work, ensuring that you’re on time today. 

By the time you arrive, you’ve already mentally planned how you’re going to replace the radio in the Crest. It’s going to be tricky, but nothing will beat the wire connection you had to repair last night. It had taken you far too long and you regretted promising no droids- a mechanic droid would have that done in thirty seconds when it took you thirty minutes. 

You slip your headphones on as you enter your hangar, Mando having left another note on your desk, with the same scrawled handwriting, this time in red marker on unlined paper. 

Gone to Karga’s for a deal. Back by 12:00. Feel free to start working on the ship. Kid’s yours today, too.

You slide off one of the earpieces of your headphones as you walk up the ramp and see Grogu sitting in the pod, looking excitedly at you as you enter the ship. “Come on, Grogu. Let’s look at this radio.” Upon inspection, you grin knowing how easy the repair will be- likely less than three hours plus some calibration time, which Mando will have to be present for so you can get it connected to his helmet’s audio processing unit. Grabbing your rucksack of tools and your blowtorch, you begin unscrewing the current communication system from the dashboard, wiggling it free once the panel is disconnected. It’s a mess of wires, connections and unmarked cables, but the radio unit has the different wires labeled, and you begin wrapping paper tape around them and labeling them in accordance to their function, then clamping them to the dash so they don’t fall into the abyss of the ship’s inner workings. Grogu sits on the top of the dash, fiddling with a small necklace around his neck, and you notice that it’s a signet of the Mythosaur. Mando probably gave it to him, you realize, and your heart swells with endearment before you stifle the feeling once more. 

A certain song begins playing through your headphones, and you can’t help but yank the second earpiece back on, squeal and dance excitedly when you hear the first words of your all-time favorite song.

My inner child needs a bulletproof vest

And a phone that can’t text

And twenty years’ rest.

Build a bomb shelter

Bite a belt for the stress

Never know what’s next.

You sing along, the lyrics so familiar you could recite them without the background music. Your knee bounces to the heavy bass, and when the chorus hits, you lean back and close your eyes, spinning in the pilot's seat and belting out the high notes with everything in your body. When you spin back towards the front of the ship, Grogu is watching with a wide smile, waving his hands excitedly. You hold your screwdriver as if it was a microphone, singing to Grogu as if he was an audience. When you’re done with the chorus, you return to bouncing joyfully in your seat, all work set aside for the brief period of the song. As it concludes, you smile and set your tools back to work, pushing your left earpiece back so you can hear Grogu if he needs something. 

After two more hours of fiddling with wires, soldering irons, buttons, and screwdrivers, you smile victoriously as the radio connects with your test module- you didn’t fuck up any part of the annoyingly tedious process. 

You asked me if I want to get a tattoo

Dude, I fuckin’ barely even know you

Probably never ever gonna call you

But you make me wanna die

Yeah, your outfit is a crime

And I need an exit line

“You make me sick, you make me sick! I’m sick of it!” You drum your fingers on the dash before standing up when the chorus hits, jumping with a shriek as you see the Mandalorian standing there. How did he sneak up on you? You had one earpiece off and that armor looks ridiculously heavy and loud. “Maker, you scared me.” You pull both of your headphones off and let them rest around your neck, the music continuing before you press a button on the side and it pauses. 

“How did the repairs go? The radio works?” Damn, not even an apology? Cold. You shrug it off, however, hoping that he’ll pay you and get off this ridiculously hot planet and out of your mind so you won’t end up with your emotions in a twist anymore. 

“Yeah, it just needs a calibration to your helmet’s audio processing system and then you’re all good. Repairs are done.” He looks down at you, his helmet tilted in a way that makes your insides stir. “What?”

“That was fast. I thought you’d be needing to work into the afternoon, but clearly not.” His voice sounds slightly condescending, and you frown. 

“I thought Karga put in a good word for me,” you say, crossing your arms. “That hurts.” The Mandalorian remains silent, and you realize it’s time to move on from the topic. “Anyway, if you want to set your helmet to connect to the ship, I can make sure it connects and send you on your way.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He taps a few buttons on his gauntlet and a small light illuminates, and you press a button on the radio to connect it to his helmet. A few seconds later, the light on the radio switches to blue, and his gauntlet beeps, signifying the secured connection. 

“Hang on, I’m going to double check it works two ways.” You grab your test radio and climb down the ladder to exit the ship, scurrying down the ramp. Once you’re out of earshot of the comm system, you press the button on the side of your test radio, raising it to just a few inches from your lips. “Can you hear me? Testing, check. Out.”

“I read you,” you hear through your radio, the Mandalorian’s voice clear as day. “You hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling a sigh of relief. Nothing had been royally fucked up. “I hear you.” 

Twenty minutes later, you’ve been paid and his ship has left the hangar. 

Forty minutes later, you can’t focus on cleaning up, your thoughts constantly floating towards the Mandalorian- some thoughts socially acceptable, some very much not.

An hour later, you’re mindlessly doodling shapes onto the sheets of paper that litter your desk, mentally searching for a project and hoping for a customer. 

Five hours later, you’re cleaning off your desk, wiping away countless old bills and sheets of notes and to-do lists before you subconsciously tuck the notes Mando had left on your desk, hurried scribbly handwriting in red and blue pens, into the pocket of your overalls. 

Two days later, you can’t stop thinking about the wall of Beskar and how much he clearly cared about that weird little kid.

A week later, you’ve decided to stop eagerly throwing the covers off of your bed and scurrying to your hangar, decided to stop hoping to see the battered old ship landed in your domain each day.

A month later, despite your best efforts to forget the Mandalorian’s kindness and generosity to get his ship fixed (and his really cute kid,) you can’t help but let your shoulders sink a little bit more each morning when that hunk of metal isn’t sitting where you hope it’ll be. 

Two weeks after you go to Frey’s again in another fit of desperation, you slide open your doors awaiting an empty hangar once again, but there it is: the Crest you���ve been eagerly awaiting for months, a familiar and much welcomed sight to your eyes. 

What’s better, however, is how before the ramp is even fully descended after Mando sees you through the cockpit window and holds Grogu up, the small child waving eagerly at you before looking at his dad and pointing at you, the kid is running down the ramp and hopping off the end when it’s about a foot off of the ground, then beelining it straight for you. You dump your rucksack on your workbench and kneel down, picking up the small child and hugging him gently, smiling broadly. “Hey, Grogu! I missed you!” He laughs, a bright sound you immediately adore. Mando approaches the two of you and you hold out the kid, but he waves you off.

“I'll let you hold on to him for a while. He missed you,” says the gruff voice you've waited for what feels like eons to hear. “Think you can fix up the Crest again? You worked some magic on her last time because she's been running better than ever since you did your tinkering last time.” You grin, pride swelling in your chest. 

“Yeah, I can. What seems to need some love?” So he shows you, leading you in and around the ship, pointing out small repairs and wiring that needed handling, remaining by your side the whole thing as Grogu clutched to one of your fingers in his tiny hand. 

You agree to a price, he provides the parts, and you provide the expertise and labor. It's finished quicker than he expects, and before he knows it, he's flying back off of Nevarro, a slight tightness in his heart that he won't be hearing your voice or seeing your smile for who knows how long.

So every time he can, he returns to see you, making up some bullshit excuse about how his ship didn’t sound right, just needed a refuel, something needed recalibration- anything so he could see you. It isn’t something that goes unnoticed by you, but you wave it off as friendliness, even as you bite the collar of your sleep shirt to muffle your moans as you desperately try to get yourself off on your fingers each night after he leaves, curiosity about what the tall, brooding wall of walking Beskar was like sexually left to the confines of your bedroom under the cover of darkness. 

This routine, him making up an excuse and you fixing the nonexistent flaws in his ship, becomes something familiar, about six months passing of him visiting you every two weeks or so before it happened.

You open the door to your hangar and step through glancing at the Crest sitting in its usual place, taking off your blaster and setting it on your workbench. Mistake number one. You’d walked to the hangar with your headphones on in your own little world, having slept like shit and the kaffae you’d grabbed along the way hadn’t kicked in yet. Mistake number two. You close your eyes and let your head fall back on your shoulders, exhaling deeply, and letting yourself relax, even if for just a moment. Mistake number three. If Nevarro has taught you one thing, it’s that you should never let your guard down, even if you’re with someone you’d trust with your life. It’s only between songs that you hear the quiet beeping you think must be a trick of your ears. But when you look back to Squeaks, still sitting in its charging port, you see it: explosives. With a countdown timer reading three seconds.

Two seconds. Your eyes widen in panic as you try to run away from it as fast as you can, turning heel and running. 

One second. Your feet slam into the ground, heels burning as your arms pump and your throat burns in panic. Your stomach drops as you hear the final beep, and your eyes squeeze shut as you just take one more step, get that much farther away…

Boom.

[halfagone]

I had a sudden idea here:

The two most common Ghost Core types given to Danny in fanfics:

Ice core

vs

Electricity core

But what if he had neither of those and yet both at once?

What if Danny has a Storm Core, which gives him the power to rain down ice and call upon the biggest lightning storms?

Amity Park has never experienced a full Summer day ever since the portal. The hottest days of summer should've been sweltering, right? (No really, am I right? I'm not from America, so correct me if I'm wrong)

Except nowadays, it feels like the worst Summer will ever get is a particularly hot Spring day, where you maybe throw on a t-shirt and comfy denim over your swimsuit and go to the beach or pool.

And last time there was a particularly nasty storm coming their way, it seemingly faded and vanished, only to appear on the other side of town and leaving Amity unscathed. After all, a cyclone will fade upon meeting an opposing cyclone that seems to spin against it. And Danny has always been very good at going up against forces of Nature, and forcing them to yield, or at least coming to a draw.

Ember might've also one time referred to him as an "oncoming storm of ass-kicking"

The day Danny calls on a tornado to trap her and her fire attacks in the eye of it's razor winds, the ghosts come to understand she was more on point that anyone expected.

Technus gets his ass zapped by a bolt of lightning like Thor calling down his judgement (or, as he said later, "like Pikachu on crack") and it leaves him short-circuiting for a good while, like when the light goes out for a bit and suddenly your wifi has to be rebooted to make it work again. Later, he begrudgingly teaches him to better channel electricity. Danny's first Technus-inspired move is a real-life Thunder Fang. And he used it against Vlad.

And, since I adore the headcanon that the Ancients collectively adopt Danny, Pandora starts calling him her "little storm"

I kinda wanna have him end up dating both Kitty and Johny, as a whole thing where they both dated him at separate times, but both times he was the best goddamn date they ever had asides from being each other's soulmates, and now they're having FEELINGS for him, so Kitty has the idea of both of them sitting down with Jazz, since she's the local feelings expert, and she whacks them with a rolled up magazine, but they both end up together asking out Danny.

And I'm imagining he's more influenced by them than he would admit, because he got himself a bike like Johnny, and started taking tips from Sam, and has more leather stuff and goth fashion than he'll ever tell anyone about, especially because the heavy fabrics are great to wear on a bike.

Kitty ping-pongs between who's bike she hitches a ride on. And I'm betting she was a huge fan of books, while Johny loved Greek mythology (yes, I'm saying Johnny was a Percy Jackson fan as a kid). Which means that their affectionate nickname for Danny is "Typhon", for the Greek Titan of storms.

(Ignore how my brain keeps yelling at me that Danny would call them "Kitty Cat" and "Barghest". I imagine Barghest for Johny because of Shadow, who starts hanging out more and more as a puppy because of Cujo, except Shadow prefers a hanging out as a shaggy hound ((imagine Ruth from Ancient Magus Bride)) and that's exactly what a Barghest is.)

Ooh, that's a really interesting idea! Danny has been shown to control the weather after the Vortex incident in "Torrents of Terror" so you've even got some canon backing to this! (As for weather in America, it really depends where you live? It's commonly headcanoned that Amity Park is in Illinois, and the temperature on average across the state in the summer is in the 80°s Fahrenheit or ~26.667° Celsius, but there have been records of summers reaching to the hundreds in Fahrenheit, although it doesn't happen often.)

It'd be really cool to see Danny both consciously and subconsciously altering weather events. I really like the idea of Danny being able to control the weather, especially if he does it so casually while others are looking on with their eyes bugging out of their sockets in shock. Because controlling the weather is no easy feat (Storm from X-Men? OP as fuck). Aww, "little storm", love that nickname. A little ball of ferocious energy. Like an angry chihuahua.

It might not be a cyclone, because Amity Park isn't near the coast even if you don't headcanon it in Illinois specifically. But parts of Illinois and the Midwest are in what's called "Tornado Alley", so it still technically would work, it would just probably not be a cyclone but a tornado. Unless it's Vortex up to his tricks again, but then it wouldn't be a naturally occurring- Sorry, tangent, but you get the idea.

If you've read lex luthor's ascent, then you know I like the idea of Danny dating both Kitty and Johnny at some point, but why not both at once? Polyamory coming in for the win! Hopefully Danny can keep these two from constantly arguing tho... Honestly, I just adore the possibilities of dynamics between these three (especially if Danny is stuck as 14- physically at least- as many AUs will have him, he can be with his also eternally young partners and not have it draw much attention from strangers). "Barghest" is a really interesting nickname and- after doing some more research- I can see why you chose it for Johnny, particularly with Shadow in mind.

A Storm core AU is really cool. I like Space core AUs as well, because there are a lot of weather events that could be caused by astronomical phenomena and it ties really well with Danny's love for space, but I think this is the first time I've ever heard of a Storm core for Danny. It would explain why Danny took to Vortex's power really well/easy, and while canon is really more of a suggestion to Danny Phantom fans at this point, I still really appreciate the neat tie-in it can offer.

Thank you for sharing this with me!! I'm glad others share my love for Danny/Johnny 13/Kitty, in any of its forms. (Mostly, forms that appreciate both their characters for all their faults.) Thanks for making me day a little brighter, and I hope you have a great day!

[dippedanddripped]

Upcycled fashion designers looking for scrapfabric and fabric bolts. Email Manuel at elchalan1957@yahoo.com must use Nelson Saidy Jr in email.

[neon-zoologist]

[ID: first photograph shows multiple hand painted patches. The top patch reads 'mad scientist', with one half green and the other half purple. Next to 'mad' is a syringe filled with green liquid on the left. On the right filled with purple liquid is a conical flask and beaker. It is sewn on with green and purple thread.

Below that are three patches separating out the words 'young just us'. The writing is yellow and they are sewn on with red thread. Surrounding these are various symbols drawn on the denim with fabric pen. These are Robin's symbol, Wonder Girl's symbol, a red lightning bolt for Impulse, the words '98 and an S-shield for Superboy.

The next photograph shows a coloured in Batblob drawn on the denim with fabric pen. The last shows a black badge with orange writing spelling out 'AI', using a lambda symbol for the A. /end ID]

I've been making things for my vest and thought I'd share them here. These are all my interest/fandom ones :)

[k00292537]

Project : Portrait

Week : 22nd April - 26th April

Bookmaking

After making a glue-bound book, I was motivated to make another book - but with more edge. I wanted to make the pages more bold, by combined more fashion samples and sculptural elements that hint at my personal style.

Below are the pages, which I laid out in order to decide my composition of the book.

I used different metal items, such as pins, bolts, chains, wire and nails to reflect the predominantly silver jewellery items I wear. I incorporated fabrics such as denim, lace and tights to give samples of garments that I wear.

I printed some images of myself, places that inspire me and my accessories onto black and red paper in black ink (my two favourite colours).

[rainbows-and-shadows]

Rainbows Tinted Pink: A Rainbow High Swap AU

Chapter 7: Clouds on the Horizon

First - Previous - Ch7 - Next

Amaya is presented with a chance to win an internship with Jewel Richie, heiress to one of the world’s most prestigious fashion houses. However, it will come at the expense of her place at Rainbow High. Will she accept it, or choose to stay?

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

As the moon rose on a peaceful Tuesday night, the students of Rainbow High were beginning to settle in for the night. At around ten o’clock, most of the runway group were either heading to bed or already asleep. Sunny, on the other hand, seemed to be the only one still awake in her dorm, tapping away on her laptop at the kitchen island.

She’d hit a real creative streak earlier on and was riding it out till the end, passionately working on her animations for the Runway show.

Out of her sight, Amaya was crouched behind the sofa, thinking Sunny couldn't see her, and was sneaking up to playfully scare her.

“Cute! Now, a little more glimmer around the clouds,” she mused aloud.

“Boo!” Amaya flew up to her and grabbed her shoulders, expecting a startled reaction. Sunny simply giggled, unfazed, and turned to face her roommate.

“Nice try!” she grinned. “I heard your door open, and I saw your hair sparking behind the sofa. I win! Sunglasses emoji! Now, why are you still awake?”

“My phone’s been blowing up for hours!” Amaya exclaimed, her phone buzzing in her hand. “Everyone I know is texting me about this contest for a summer internship, in the Fashion House of Richie, and with Jewel Richie!

“Cool! Uh, who's Jewel Richie?”

She opened Instagram and showed Sunny the fashion designer’s account. From her profile picture, Jewel had long emerald green hair, tied into a perfect half-up, half-down ponytail. She wore a beautifully styled outfit, consisting of an elegant emerald green dress with a fluffy stole, ribbon high heels, and luxurious gold and emerald earrings, bracelets and choker.

“She’s the heir to the Fashion House,” Amaya explained. “She has the second biggest emerald earrings in the world and fifteen French poodles! She always uses the most expensive fabrics and gemstones in her designs. She's an absolute fashion visionary! She’s been promoting this internship for almost a week now, and any designer in the world can take part!”

Sunny gasped. “Heart emoji! You should totally enter!”

“I'm dying to! But, I'd have to draw a sketch of an outfit and send in a picture for the entry. Which I can't do because everything I make here is student work!”

There was an extensive section on the rules of Rainbow High in the Student Handbook, and this was one of the biggest ones. No students could share photos or videos of their work, unless they were authorised by Miss Wright to do so.

“But can't you get permission from Miss Wright to share your work?”

“I can, but Avery said she always needs at least a week to process a request. It's Tuesday now, and the last day to submit entries is Friday at five pm, so even if I did send it, I’d be sharing an unauthorised picture of student work!”

“And anyone who does that gets expelled,” Sunny concluded for her.

Amaya nodded, a little sadly.

“I'm sorry you can't enter, Maya,” her roommate frowned. “Maybe you should turn off your phone so you can stop thinking about it”

“Yeah, I should,” she murmured.

Sunny hummed sadly, before she decided to show her what she’d worked on, to hopefully cheer her up.

“Hey, do you wanna see my first draft of our runway animations? I think I'm finished!”

She pressed play, and a blank grey sky filled with clouds appeared, as the skies turned to fiery red with tiny flames, bold orange with monarch butterflies, sunshine yellow with soft raindrops, neon green with bolts of lightning, denim blue with sparkling diamonds, purple with shimmering pearls, before finally turning to a pure white, as radiant rainbows arched across the screen, and the screen faded to black.

“Like it?”

“I love it!”

“Thanks! And, I’m sorry about the contest,” she yawned, and stretched out her arms. “I'm getting tired. Are you going to bed?”

“Nah, I'm gonna stay up for a while. Goodnight!”

Amaya smiled as Sunny headed to her bedroom, but frowned as more texts came in. She shook her head and headed to her room. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help her forget about the competition.

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

It was time for Wednesday’s runway class. Everyone was beginning to leave the planning stage and were finalising everything to begin preparations.

“Your runway looks! What do you think?” Jade asked Poppy and Ruby.

“Total fire!”

“Rocking!”

“Are the feathers too much?” Skyler asked Violet, sketchbook open on a pearly purple dress.

“They’re absolute perfection, Skyl! I would wear that for sure!”

Over at the next table, Sunny was admiring Amaya’s runway dress, with her laptop open beside her.

“Heart emoji! This is so beautiful,” Sunny grinned before turning back to her animations. “Is this the colour you want for the backdrop, Maya? Maya?”

She turned back to her and yelped, as Amaya slouched against the table, fast asleep. Immediately, Sunny noticed dark shadows, still visible underneath her rainbow eyeshadow and black eyeliner.

“Maya! You do not want Miss Wright to catch you sleeping in class!” she hissed, shaking her. She woke up, with a loud snort, drawing everyone's attention. Including Miss Wright’s who was inspecting the rest of the groups’ work.

“She snorts when she laughs!” Sunny quickly lied. “Funny!”

The group believed Sunny’s false explanation and returned to their work.

“Thanks,” Amaya sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I hardly got any sleep thinking about that contest. Oh, that internship with Jewel and the Richie House would change my life!”

“Yeah, but so would getting kicked out of Rainbow High!” Sunny hissed in reply.

She sighed and stared wistfully at both her sketch and the beginnings of her runway dress. She'd just sewn its iridescent white bodice together to the flowing floor-length rainbow skirt, and she was about to start on its transformation mechanism as well.

“If I could just send in a pic of this, I know I'd win the contest,” she lamented.

“Amaya, please!” Sunny pleaded. “It’s not worth the risk!”

“Right. You're right.”

Sunny smiled sympathetically and returned to her work. Amaya sighed in frustration, remaining unconvinced. For the rest of the day, her mind couldn't stop picturing working with Jewel.

She could see it now, the two of them, picking out the most elaborate fabrics and rare jewels to use in their designs, hard at work at their next runway collection, and watching it being modelled down the catwalks of Milan Fashion Week. The beginnings of her future as a world-famous fashion designer worked their way out of her imagination, and into her desires.

She had to get that picture, one way or another.

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

Later that night, Skyler, Poppy, Sunny and Amaya sleepily sat at the kitchen island, exhausted.

“I'm beat,” Poppy yawned.

“Same,” Skyler rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to sleep. Night girls!”

“Good night,” Amaya called.

The four girls dazily headed to their rooms, ready to go to sleep. Meanwhile, Amaya waited a few minutes, and carefully slipped out of her room, phone in her hand. Now was the time, to secure her competition place and her future. She made her way across the room as silently as she could and was just about to open the double doors.

“Aha!”

She yelped and turned to see who had caught her. Sunny had her arms folded, adisapproving expression on her face. “Sunny! Uh, it's so random to see you here!”

“Maya, we live together,” she said. “And I saw you checking your phone all day. I know you wanna sneak down to the Runway classroom, and take a picture of your dress sketches!”

“It's the perfect entry for the contest, and I know I can get a picture without anyone catching me!” Amaya pleaded.

“Uh uh, no way, absolutely not,” she protested. “I’m not gonna let you do that! You worked so hard to get into Rainbow High. Do you really wanna risk it all, just for an internship?”

“With somebody who could make my career after I graduate!” she implored desperately. “I really want this, Sunny!”

“I get that, really I do! I'd kill to be able to work with the Royal Three! But what’s gonna happen if you take the picture without permission, get caught, get expelled, and still don't get the internship with Jewel and her family?”

Amaya paused, taking in the potential consequences she could face. Her expulsion would stain her reputation in years to come, affecting her ability to get any work as a designer, or any job in the fashion industry altogether, and kill her dreams altogether.

“Then I’ll lose everything.”

“Exactly!”

“You're right, I can't do it.”

“Sorry, Maya,” Sunny squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “I know it's hard, but when you graduate, I just know you'll have your own fashion empire, the biggest diamond earrings ever and fifteen poodles! Or whatever dogs you want!”

“Yeah, I hope so,” she sighed. “Now what do I do? I'm way too awake to go to sleep.”

“So, let's not! Let's have some fun! Maybe have a late-night stroll through Rainbow High?” Sunny suggested.

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

Sunny led Amaya out of the dorm, down to the main halls and into the atrium, the walls and floors illuminated in a cool blue light.

They ran all over the place, taking silly pictures, climbing on top of the unicorn statue, sliding down the bannisters on the stairs in the atrium, and simply chilling out in the Cosmetology salon chairs.

At around midnight, the pair returned to their dorm, giggling quietly to not wake their other two roommates.

“Thanks, Sunny. I feel so much better.”

“I'm here for you Maya! And I always will be!”

Sunny quickly hugged her tightly, before she disappeared into her room. Amaya was just about to open her door but decided to check her phone first. She saw a single notification from earlier. From Jewel’s Instagram account.

When she opened it, she saw a picture of Jewel grinning at the camera, in one of her family’s workspaces, leaning against a mannequin. A luxe black jacket embellished with gold studs and green faux fur, a deep green pleather bustier and a matching skirt adorned it. The caption read:

‘Friday’s the last day to get your entries in to win an internship in the House of Richie! Looking forward to working with our lucky winner!’

Amaya’s temptations were reignited, and this time, she couldn't help herself.

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

‘Click.’

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

The sun palely illuminated the halls of Rainbow High, through the heavy clouds of a dull Thursday morning, as everyone tiredly got ready for school.

Lou Wright sank into her office chair, sipping at her Rainbow Union coffee as she logged into her computer. As she always did, she opened her emails first and noticed an email from the night security guards.

Night guards were supposed to record any students sneaking out of their dorms past the curfew of 10:30 pm, and send them to her immediately, to prevent any trouble-making in school.

However, most of the time it would be harmless things, students sneaking off to see their significant others or meetings of ‘secret’ societies.

She couldn’t count how many times over the years she’d watched Robin Sterling carefully slip into a different classroom to set up her many slumber parties, or seen Lyric Lucas slip outside to see her green-haired girlfriend from a rival band.

She clicked on the first attachment. Nothing seemed amiss initially until she saw a figure in yellow and another in rainbow darting about the halls. She recognised them as Sunny Madison and Amaya Raine. The two First Year students were messing around in the atrium, climbing atop the unicorn statue, flitting in and out of a nearby salon, sliding down bannisters and taking pictures together, before retreating up to their dorm about forty-five minutes later.

She chuckled at their antics. All she could see was just two girls, having fun together. She wasn’t going to give them any trouble over this.

“Hmm. First years can be so silly sometimes,” she murmured to herself, before switching to the second piece of footage.

Again, nothing seemed to be immediately out of place, until she noticed Amaya slipping into the unlocked room and pulling out one of her sketchbooks and her mannequin with her Runway dress pinned on. Then, she pulled out her phone and took a picture of them both. She zoomed into the footage of her phone, and watched Amaya send the attached pictures to someone the grainy film couldn't make out.

Lou’s eyes widened at this flagrant rule-breaking. Was Sunny behind this too? Is that why they were out of their dorms?

She glanced at the time stamps and saw that this was almost twenty minutes after the pair had gone back upstairs. The final piece of attached footage, from the corridor of their dorm, showed that while the two girls had re-entered their dorm together, only Amaya left again.

No, the blame was completely on Amaya. Lou stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed exasperatedly. She was not expecting to have to do this so soon in the year.

She opened a document, filled with a list of names and contact details, names of people who currently weren’t attending Rainbow High. She studied the phone number next to the first name, tapped it into the keypad and pressed the dial button.

“Hello, is this Bella Parker?”

💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛🌈💛

The following day, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

So far, Sunny was having a good Friday. She'd had a great Animation Sensation class, made some more progress on her Runway animations during a free period, and was now looking forward to her last period of the week, Runway class.

Just as she sat down with the rest of the group, Amaya hurried into class and rushed to sit next to Sunny. She pulled her closer, her legs bouncing in her seat.

“Please don’t be mad,” she whispered to Sunny. “But I did it!”

“What?!” she hissed panickedly as her heart began racing.

“It’s the Richie Fashion House, with the Jewel Richie! I just had to, Sunny!”

“Maya, what were you thinking?” she anxiously hissed. “You know what could happen to you now!”

“It's fine,” Amaya brushed her off. “No one saw, and I did it two days ago. If anyone did see me, I’d know about it. It's ok I promise!”

“Ahem,” Miss Wright caught their attention as she entered the classroom. The chatter died down as Amaya grinned calmly, while Sunny fixed a rigid, nervous smile on her face.

“Thank you. I have an announcement. We have a student whose exceptional work has come to my attention. Amaya Raine.”

“Me, really?” she gasped.

“You, really. Your designs have shown true ingenuity,” she began.

The group grinned and congratulated her as Amaya’s heart soared.

Only for Miss Wright’s next sentence to completely destroy her.

“Unfortunately, we know you shared unauthorised pictures of your runway dress last night.”

“What, no! I mean, I didn't, but I-” she stumbled over her words in her shock and panic.

“Amaya, please. The rules are clear,” she dramatically removed her sunglasses with a disappointed expression. “You've reached the end of your rainbow. Pack your bags and wait in the office.”

“But I, I-” she stuttered. Everyone crowded around Amaya, wanting to console her and try to say goodbye, but Miss Wright put a stop to it immediately.

“I'm sorry, but there's no time for goodbyes. The rest of the group needs to work. You're excused.”

Her eyes filled with tears, her hand on her mouth, and bolted out of the room sobbing.

“Amaya!” Sunny called after her, on the verge of tears herself.

“I know that was difficult,” Miss Wright sighed. “But Rainbow High is serious about never publishing student work without authorization. Of course with Amaya gone, you have an open spot in your group.”

“Fortunately, I was able to pull someone from the waitlist.”

The group was taken aback by her statement. A new person joining them, so soon? Miss Wright ignored them, and opened the door, signalling whoever was outside in.

“Enter please.”

A new girl strode into the room, brushing back her light pink hair. She smiled warmly, her lilac eyes bright. She wore a pink tweed jacket and skirt with a pink t-shirt, white thigh-high socks and pink and white heels. She accessorised with a black hair band decorated with pearls and a bow, and a pair of sparkling diamond earrings.

“Welcome to your new runway group,” Miss Wright said to her. “Girls, please welcome your new member, Bella Parker!”

“Hey!” Bella waved at her new teammates, only to be met with a strange mixture of distress, anger and confusion.

“Uh, did I miss something?”

[purfectprincessgirl]

Looks like the Runway dolls are finally on their way! Lets talk about 'em~

*spoilers below for the leaked images*

-So, right off the back I'd say I'm glad we're finally getting these runway looks for the OG Series 1 girls, 'cause I've always been curious of how their outfits would've translated into doll form~ :3 So here's my initial thoughts thus far:

Right off the bat, I'm in love with how Jade looks so far, with her makeup, hair presentation, the boots & inner dress... just *chef kiss*~ 💚💚The plastic-looking lightning bolts are proooobably gonna take a bit for me to get used to (idk if they may be detachable or not, though I heard someone mention they might be LED-lit? :o), but otherwise I'm SO down to buy her to fit with my Jade collection~ 💚Rating: 9.5/10 (bias-wise, 10/10 lol)

Runway Skyler looks really lovely with the return of her Winter Break curls, and the silhouette of her denim gown is so stylish~ 💙 A lil more "toned-down" compared to the other Runway looks, but otherwise I think she's pretty solid :> Rating: 9/10

Wasn't really sure how the combo of a veiled-beanie with the waist sweater-skirt would translate, but dang Ruby actually pulls it off pretty well here~ :o Her makeup's probably my fave so far of all the Ruby dolls, she really rocks that red lip super well ^^ Rating: 8/10

Oooooh Sunny, her Runway look really grew on me overtime and I'm SO glad it did 'cause... wooooow~ 🤩 The pigtails, the makeup, the lil accessories matching with the raindrops on her skirt, the way the dress itself has that "raincoat" fabric that still looks super stylish put together... I'll def have to grab her next after Jade!~ Rating: 10/10

Poppy... hm, I do like what they're trying to go for here, with the ruffled monarch butterfly-wing dress... buuuut I feel like the black & white parts of the wings are kinda overlapping too much? .3. Idk I know Poppy's known for her butterfly theme but I think if they accentuated the orange bits a lil more (like they did for her Winter Break look) it'd flow a lil better... though I do like her butterfly hair clips & makeup from what I can see of it! ^^ Rating: 7/10

Violet I always felt had the most... "eh" Runway design within the show (Idk if its the dress length or something that didn't wow me much?), though here I like what they did in terms of her makeup & hairstyle! ^^ Plus the pearly-sheen on her dress fabric looks pretty, so I'm curious to see how her stock/in-person photos look! Rating: 7.5/10

And finally we have Runway Amaya, who turned out quite pretty here as well!~ :> The silhouette of her dress & the white portion look amazing (along with her makeup)... though I kiiiiinda feel like the actual "rainbow" portion of the dress looks a lil... like, plain? .w.; Idk maybe its the way the fabric's laying in the photo, but I feel like they could've added a lil more ruffle there or however to pull in the look together, but otherwise I'd saaaay she's like a 3rd/4th fave of the line, so far? :o Rating: 8.5/10

-----

-Aaaand that about covers it for my initial thoughts! Can't wait to see more photos of these dolls when the time comes!~ ^w^

(Overall ranking of the dolls thus far, subject to change later):

-Runway Jade

-Runway Sunny

-Runway Skyler

-Runway Amaya

-Runway Violet

-Runway Poppy

[creations-by-chaosfay]

One if the bonuses of rag quilts is if you have all the materials, you can often finish them in a single day.

Small tip: because of all the fabric, they absorb a lot more water when being washed. Unless using a front loader, your washing machine is gonna bounce. A lot. Unless you out things in the load to balance it out. Dry alone though. They shed strings from the fraying edges, and those will collect on everything. Oh, and they take longer to dry.

But they're absurdly warm, have a nice weight to them, and with the right fabric, they're extremely soft. My quilting cotton rag lap quilt weighs 10 lbs. Thin size? I think with quilting cotton, it may exceed 20 lbs.

The one I'm working on is 100% cotton flannel, according to the info on the bolt when I bought the fabric. If I had all the material at once, it would be a weekend project sewing it, and a few days for cutting the exposed seams.

Go make a rag quilt. They're very easy and extremely warm. Use a layer of denim for extra weight, use a shorter stitch (mine is 1.5mm), and a jeans needle because you're sewing through six layers of fabric.