#fix your clothes

[improbable-implosions]

Another multi-parter for both thighs across the main seam of a pair of jeans! This is a VERY common canvas for sashiko 'round this household, seeing as both Razz and I have pretty thorough thighs. Luckily, having learned my lesson (somewhat) from the giant patches in the same area I did previously, I split this into two designs, even if the patch fabric itself was one piece. Both designs are from wrenbirdart's stick and stitch collections, barring that little section on the first one I pencilled myself, as the main pattern was slightly too small.

First up we've got this genuinely delightful set of little asterisks, formed out of vertical, horizontal, and two diagonal sets of stitches. The first set of stitches immediately make clear that I really should be more careful about my math when I'm trying to duplicate the wrenbirdarts patterns onto my own dissolvable backing. Sure, that set all the way on the right is off by increasing increments of a quarter inch with each set, but I actually don't mind that look too badly in the end. The general look of all the eight-pointed overlapping crosses works super well, and I may take some inspiration from the mildly-fumbled pattern on that hand-pencilled section to make an alternating pattern of standard crosses and the asterisks, in the future.

Secondly, there's this pine forest design! I really had a love hate relationship with this one, as the pattern itself is SUPER pretty, I mean, look at that final picture! It's so beautiful! The major downside, though, is that it doesn't lend a lot of opportunities to load up straight stitches in a row. As you can kinda see in the progress shots, you do that central "coordinate grid" of a given pine top, then go quarter by quarter, filling in the other stitches, one by one, individually. Which, to me, is SUPER boring, I much prefer to load up a bunch of straight stitches in a row, then pull them all through, smoothing the fabric afterwards. So, partially because I wanted to get it done and over with as fast as possible, and partially because my jean shorts were in DIRE need of fast repairs before I could wear them in the (then incoming) summer heat, I somewhat sped my way through the pattern, in hopes that I can later come back to this pattern, and develop a more-loadable version that still keeps the pine-like beauty of the finished piece here.

[kieraoonadiy]

I hosted a livestream earlier today, to do some mending of some shorts and a tee shirt.  To see how mending goes in real time, and just to listen to some chill tunes, please follow the link to my YouTube channel

[l3viat8an]

Pervert Asmo with a scent kink he’s obsessed with your scent your perfume and how you always smell so sweet and tempting -🍿 

Nsfw!

🍿 did you read my mind?! I was literally thinking about this a few days ago skjskj

CW; scent kink duh ‘n a little bit of non-con touching at the end.

Perv!Asmo loves your scent, he’s not sure how to describe it but it’s so sweet and tantalizing it’s almost like a drug. and he straight up steals- I mean he borrows your perfume occasionally (all the damn time) just so he can spray it on his pillows and on his bedsheets and on his clothes and- you get the idea.

He wants to be wrapped in your scent all the time!! although it’d be even better if you were sharing the same scent….or you were covered in his scent!!!- but that’s something he’ll work on later. For now this will have to do.

He loves having your scent all around him because it makes it easier to imagine you’re in the room with him. That your hand is wrapped around his cock, that the teasing touches are yours and not his own…

and in general Asmo’s always touchy but he can play it off as just- well being Asmodeus! So sometimes he’ll pull you to sit in his lap and nuzzle his face in your neck to sniff subtly, soaking in your scent and body heat.

He tries to kiss and lick at your neck too but you always brush it off as more of Asmo’s playful antics. Which is fine with Asmo, as long as you don’t stop him. (really he’d do anything to get a taste of you.)

It’s even better when you have ‘spa nights’ and end up sleeping over in his room in his bed!!! He loves being cuddled up close to you, inhaling the same air and getting to bask in your scent.

Asmo likes to sneak under the covers as soon as you’re asleep, watching you closely making sure you don’t wake up as he slips down lower and lower until his face rests right over your crotch.

He gets bold too, slipping your PJ bottoms down enough that he can lick at your pussy a few times. Getting another little taste of that sweet smell he loves so much, the one that’s filling his lungs right now.

It’s a little awkward first thing in the morning, you’ll wake up and find Asmo’s arms wrapped around your legs, your PJs pulled back up now, but his face is still buried between your legs….but he gives you one of his extra sweet smile and laughs it off.

Obviously he moved down in his sleep, nothing more to it sweetie <3

[reineydraws]

friendship ended with timothy drake. now the floor is steph's best friend. ✋️x

(and then jason and steph create the dead robins club right there on the floor in front of tim so they can tell him he's not allowed to join lol)

[isolabellz]

handle with care

[myylisof]

you were meant for this

[spoilers-ahead]

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently! 

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying. 

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings. 

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless. 

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.   

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way. 

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then. 

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean. 

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform. 

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie. 

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours. 

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce. 

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic. 

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to. 

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny 

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.  

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila. 

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try. 

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation. 

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until. 

until. 

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.  

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips. 

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body. 

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers. 

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive. 

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded. 

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique. 

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to. 

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the  soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined. 

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days. 

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do. 

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death. 

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.   

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her. 

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead. 

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day. 

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son. 

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up. 

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets. 

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave. 

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out. 

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer. 

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches. 

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold. 

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.  

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it. 

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost. 

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim. 

if he still was robin. 

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places. 

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own. 

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him. 

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for. 

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes. 

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone. 

he’s starting to think it never will, not again. 

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit. 

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman. 

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.) 

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.  

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet. 

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up. 

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night. 

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition. 

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do. 

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address. 

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end. 

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him. 

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time. 

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

[teddybeartoji]

toji is so dad sometimes it's so hot

[marzipanandminutiae]

I didn't get the sewing job

I just.

why do I even keep going. nothing's ever going to change and nothing's ever going to work out and nobody's ever going to fucking want me

I'm going to get old working part-time jobs with no house and no family and no fucking future

and the economy's about to tank with Tr*mp so if I don't get something before that happens it's never going to

what's even the point honestly. when nothing ever-

[oneluckydragon]

"What do you remember of being human, Echo?" The question is out of the blue and unexpected. But Sora offers a patient smile and tilts her head in curiosity, just enough that one of her ears flops over. It's endearing, if anything.

But Echo wishes she hadn't asked.

"Not much. Distinct memories are cloudy." A tired tone says softly, a pained recollection in her eyes and an acrid haze in her soul that endures, endures, and endures, "But I remember the discomfort more than anything. My body always did feel wrong back then. Misshapen. Condensed. Like it was too small for everything buried underneath, and that ache went so deeply some days that it would make my skin crawl. I hated that part the most."

At that, Sora's expression falls. She looks inexplicably sad, as if she'd hoped for a different response, a gentler one despite knowing the harsh truth about the dark future and the struggles Echo must have suffered. "But you had Grovyle, right? I'm sure he took care of you."

"He did, Sora, of course he did." A sigh, a flick of an ear and claws clenched tightly into the churned earth pressed under her paws. "I doubt I deserved his attention, though. I was too busy being angry at the world to give any care back."

In my lore, Echo does not look fully human during their time in the dark future. Since they were Darkrai before becoming human, and as a result of Palkia's reckless shattering of the Dimensional Portal which distorted both time and space, Echo's transformation was broken and accidental. They ended up looking pretty messed up and definitely (not) human. A lot of their characteristics as Darkrai carried over but rather morphed into something else.

And Grovyle, growing up in a world where humans have been extinct for longer than any living pokémon has been alive, has no concept of what a "true" human looks like. The only thing he knows is descriptions of humans from glyphs and texts in old ruins. Thus, he mistakes Echo for an actual human. And Echo, not knowing what a human looks like themselves due to amnesia, accepts this identification with nothing better to use.

[accio-victuuri]

xiao zhan - tod’s livestream behind the scenes

[improbable-implosions]

This particular mend turned out to be MUCH more complex, involved, and fussy than I really ever expected it to be at the outset. That said, after all the work where I focused on taking my time to get things just so, I found out that I'm quite capable of handling larger projects like this!

First up, here, before starting, my partner Razz and I sat down, and went through our clothes with a careful eye. More and more of her pants in particular were in need of little fixes here and there, and I figured rather than going about it all piecemeal and in no particular order, not accomplishing the fixing of clothes she needs, we put them together into an order of "most wanted fixes" to "least pressing fixes".

Once I had all that info, I settled in with a measuring tape, and got to identifying all the mends that needed to happen. For every piece that was more than, say, a few inches of rip, or of a shape that standard embroidery wouldn't cut it for a fix, I cut out a piece of patch fabric, with the intention of making use of these patches by doing sashiko mends.

Step 1: pin the hem of the patch down, initially hoping to run it through the sewing machine to have a nice hem! Sure, it was kinda fussy doing the quarter inch hems, since I hadn't really done this before, but it's not _too_ bad in hindsight!

Step 2: Realize that the sewing machine foot you have on hand got mixed up with a family member's in a move, and begrudgingly realize you have to re-pin the hemmed patch directly to the jeans being mended. Grumble, grumble! Oh well, at least this light blue thread is going to be really cute on the jeans, so there's that.

Step 3: stitch down the patch to the fabric, blissfully unaware that this big of a patch which interacts with the main seams four times like this is going to be a huge pain later!

Step 4: with some clever use of tape and bumping the laptop brightness, make a tracing of the segaihana pattern onto the dissolvable backing. (I did realize later, mind you, that I could have just used something small and circular to draw this manually, but the tracing worked out just fine, so we take those!)

Step 5: get stitching, following the pattern on the backing! I get about this far before two things happen: first off, the sewing machine foot returned from family-home purgatory, and secondly, I realize that pushing this needle over and over with my bare hands is REALLY wearing out not only the muscles in my hands, but also thoroughly frustrating my skin, in the process.

So, as a little test of the sewing machine, I made this little palm thimble! the loop of thread on the left there loops around my middle finger, and then the denim takes the brunt of pushing the needle, instead of my poor fingies!

So, over the course of a few days, with a LOT of help from the palm thimble (some pieces even getting done on stream, go check out the vods: https://youtu.be/oeytUetT2Z0 and https://youtu.be/u6k-Yr4Vjn0) we get the first (major) panel done! Might not be super visible in these shots, but there is in fact a second piece to be stitched here!

So, after yet more tracing (which took a good bit more fuss, since I had to align it with the previous panel!) we find ourselves at step 6: do the second batch of stitching! Overall, I actually really enjoyed the way this piece came together, the segaihana pattern is super pretty to look at. Plus, I learned a LOT in doing this one, the big thing being, if you're going to have trouble on both sides of a thigh of a pair of jeans, even if the damage is spread evenly on either side, break the patches up along the main seam. Sewing through the many layers of that denim is particularly taxing, especially when I'm struggling to nail the positioning of the stitches to carry on a nice pattern!

[the-lonelybarricade]

Modern AU where Elain comes in from her garden one evening. The temperature dropped when the sun set, which was hours ago. She's freezing and doesn't hesitate to throw on one of Graysen's hoodies she finds strewn over the back of a chair.

The scent strikes her, it's different—better than usual. Did he get a new cologne? She presses the fabric to her nose, takes a deep breath, and wanders into the kitchen to ask him what the brand is.

Only to pause when she sees him chatting to a man ducked in the cabinet below their kitchen sink. He withdraws, wrench in hand, and she assumes he's there to fix the leak Graysen swore he could handle himself. He lifts his body up. The light hits his red hair first, then his handsome face.

There's a brutal scar slashed across his left eye, but that's not what makes her gasp. Its his full lips, the most perfect pair she's ever seen, stretching into a grin as his eyes scrape over her, lingering on the hoodie she's wearing.

And she knows, if not from his smug smile then from the way he arches a brow, that it doesn't belong to Graysen.

[charlotte-family-apologist]

I love what you are doing with the Naknada! Canon lore for them is rly weird so it's nice to see someone fixing it to give them more layers!

Thank you so much!

I was actually inspired to do some art of them because your ask got me thinking

No clothes for body reference (and I may or may not be lazy and don't have any ideas for clothes yet...)

[organchordsandlightning]

Stardew Valley: checking things off my to do list (affectionate)

Pathologic: checking things off my to do list (derogatory)

[motoriks]

robin is magic or something