#handpainted clothes

[chaotic-ace-arts]

🦇🖤A closer look at the Vecna's curse patchwork sweater I made. Not for sale🖤🦇

💀you ever just wish characters could've had happier endings?💀

[softroundpigeon]

finished painting my bestie's jacket 🐯✨

[ixoren]

Family style? Two tops, booths. Danish design. Tasting menu at the bar..

[scrimblestitchin]

Oh yea my jacket btw

[snowtigra]

My Junji Ito jacket is done!

I bought the back design from a friend who no longer wanted the shirt, but it was too small for me. So I found a jacket it would fit on and hand painted some of my favorite panels from his manga to go with it. I love how it turned out and can’t wait to wear it!

[weirdartsociety]

Happy Easter 🐣🐇🐰 🪺🌸

[catartsshop]

Handmade jacket. 

[olliluan]

[fatherakki]

[kalaloomofficial]

Women's Shirts | Hand painted Women's dresses | Women's Clothing – Kalaloom

As the name suggests, the brand has expertise in creating wearable art like Hand painted women's shirts, hand painted dresses, ethnic wear, jackets, women's clothing and much more.

[chaotic-ace-arts]

🦇🖤'Poison' Angel dust handpainted pants are now available for purchase🖤🦇

💀UK size 10. Feel free to message me with any further questions💀

[softroundpigeon]

made another patch for the first time in ages 🪱 🍎

[lovebugism]

hi! reader doesn’t like kids at all, but somehow eddie’s child is just different and the cutest sweetest child who warms their heart

✶ ┄ MAYDAY ! [ the beginning ]

summary: when steve harrington brings you as a plus-one to a munson birthday party, he forgets to tell you it's for eddie's four-year-old, maeve. (1.8k)

pairing: dad!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: strangers to lovers (eventually), slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love, meet ugly-ish, fluff, girl dad eddie munson™, r is not used to being around kids (and it shows), baby blurb turned spin-off universe <3

When Steve Harrington invites you to a birthday party, he fails to mention it’s for a four-year-old. 

The tiny trailer is decked out in decoration. A fusion of black and rainbow, of bats and unicorns, of vampires and Tickle Me Elmo — like no one could land on a singular theme. 

Steve guides you into the home with a golden hand on the small of your back, his other clutching a sparkly black bag with Count von Count’s face on it. You stop very suddenly in your tracks. Happy 4th Birthday, Maeve! reads a handpainted sign draped beneath the ceiling.

You become very hyperaware of the whiskey bottle in your right hand, something you figured would be the most sufficient thing to gift someone you’d never met before. You just hadn’t expected the stranger to be a child.

“What the fuck, Steve?” you bite under your breath, glaring at the boy beside you. “I thought you said this was your friend’s birthday party?”

“Maeve is my friend,” he answers with a stupid shrug. “Though, to be fair, I did say it was my friend’s kid’s birthday party.”

He most definitely hadn’t.

“What the hell— I brought booze!”

“That’s okay,” assures a wild-haired boy with a pretty pink grin as he walks up to the two of you. The friend in question. 

Eddie Munson wears a silver ring on each finger and a thick leather jacket despite the warming spring season. His laughter sounds like sunshine. His smile is bright enough to give you a goddamn sunburn.

“Maeve’s been getting presents all day— It’s about time someone got somethin’ for me,” he jokes.

You grimace while the two boys laugh. “Sorry…” you murmur as you pass him the bottle, shrinking inside yourself in an attempt to hide from the moment. I’m never letting Steve convince me to leave the house again, you think to yourself.

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’ll go stick this in the kitchen— Make yourself at home.”

Your racing heart quells only slightly. He must be more of a good guy than Steve made him out to be, if he’s willing to keep you around after you brought booze to his daughter’s party. Though, you’ll contend that you were only half at fault for this.

Steve bites back a chuckle as he walks you to the back door, standing with you on the little wooden deck lined with sparkly streamers. There’s a picnic table off in the distance, covered in a bat-patterned cloth and set with Sesame Street-themed utensils. A small crowd of teenagers gather around it, and a couple of their parents, you figure.

The spring breeze only half soothes your burning skin.

“See?” he lilts, trying not to laugh and failing. “He likes you already—”

You swat his chest with a less than kind hand. 

“Ow!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Harrington, I swear to—”

“What’s your favorite animal?” a tiny voice asks from behind you, a smidge too loud and confusing their R’s with W’s.

You look over your shoulder, face flooded with horror. A kid with wild chocolate hair stands at less than half your height, wearing the tiniest Ozzy Osbourne shirt you’ve ever seen beneath a rainbow tutu. You don’t know what to say, so you just blink at it for a moment — at her.

“Hey, Maeve,” Steve greets with a curt wave.

The girl beams, missing her very front tooth. “Hi, Uncle Steve!”

“Wha— Huh?” you stammer mindlessly. ‘Cause you’re not exactly the best at talking to people your own age, let alone to children. They’re too honest. And too loud. And beyond still feeling like a kid yourself most days, you don’t have anything in common with them.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Maeve repeats in the same inflection, smiling until a dimple appears in her freckled cheek. “Mine’s a Hefflelump.”

“Hef… Hefflelump?” you echo quietly, only vaguely registering Steve’s laughter as he disappears through the screeching screen door, leaving you all alone. You’re definitely killing him for this.

“Yeah… From Winne the Pooh!” she says like it’s obvious.

“Oh… Okay…”

“What’s yours?”

You stumble over your words to find an answer. “Um… Uh… I don’t— I don’t know…”

“Everyone has a favorite animal,” she scoffs like some kinda critic with a speech impediment. She tilts her chin to her chest and peers up at you with a pair of doe eyes, so brown they’re almost black. You shift your weight on your feet, visibly uncomfortable beneath her unwavering stare.

“Maybe like a… A blobfish, or something?” you shrug.

Her tiny face screws in disgust. “Gross,” she spits.

You flinch. “What? Why is that gross?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, more defensive than you’d like to admit.

“They’re so ugly,” Maeve giggles.

“Why?” you squint. “‘Cause they look differently than we do?”

“No!” she laughs, loud and golden, just like her father. “’S ‘cause they’re so slimy.”

“Well— You— You’re slimy,” you stammer.

The wild-haired girl grins with all her baby teeth (well, besides the front one, anyway). “You’re slimy!” she echoes with a mischievous twinkle in her chocolate eyes.

The screen door squeals open again, the rusted hinges screeching in protest. “Who’s slimy?” a male voice questions from behind you, a smile audible in his voice.

“You are!” you and Maeve chorus at the same time. 

You whip your head around a second too late. Your heart drops to your ass when you find Eddie lingering in the doorway behind you. You stumble over your words while Maeve giggles. “Sorry! I thought— I thought you were Steve! I’m so sorry!”

A chuckle sputters from Eddie’s mouth. He’s nearly as grieved by it all as you are. “He just left,” he tells you with a lopsided smile, cocking his thumb over his shoulder. “I think he’s helping Wayne out front. They’re putting together Maeve’s d-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e.”

His eyes flit upward as he tries hard to spell the word correctly. Upon your confused look, he says, “I can’t say it, or she’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“Right,” you nod.

Eddie crouches and holds his arms out for his daughter. Maeve’s tiny feet patter against the wooden deck as she rushes to him. He huffs at the weight of her — heavier than he remembers and getting bigger every day (which is weird ‘cause she was a newborn, like, a week ago). He grunts when he picks her up, propping her weight on his side.

“What were the two of you talkin’ about, then?”

“Blobfish!” she shouts with a beam.

Eddie breathes out a faint chuckle and turns to you. “She’s forcin’ you to pick a favorite animal, huh?” he wonders, then laughs a bit louder when you nod. “Yeah, she’s been doing that all day. It’s her new thing,” he says, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her curls. 

Realization seems to him then, and his brows furrow when he looks at you. His face, all twisted in confusion, is an exact replica of Maeve’s. 

“Wait— Your favorite animal is a blobfish?”

“That’s what I said!” the girl laughs.

You shift your weight on your feet and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m… feeling very judged in this moment…” you murmur under your breath, only half joking.

“I think that’s the most creative answer we’ve had yet, huh, Mae?” Eddie chuckles.

You scoff. “Well, I think Hefflelump’s pretty creative considering—”

The boy clears his throat, seeming to sense the rest of your sentence. His eyes widen in a lighthearted glare before he nods to the girl on his hip. Only then do you realize the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. You swallow them down immediately.

“Right…” you nod instead. “Nevermind…”

“Here—” Eddie huffs as he sets the girl down again. “—Go find Aunt Robin, alright? She’s probably decorating your cake as we speak.”

Maeve rushes off at the word cake, tottering on lanky, ungraceful legs. The two of you watch her go and linger in an awkward silence. Neither of you is quite sure how to make conversation without her there. You decide to start with an apology.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry, by the way. Again,” you laugh awkwardly at yourself, scratching at the back of your neck. “I’m not… I’m not really… great with kids. If you couldn’t already tell.”

Eddie grins, pink and lopsided and pretty. You don’t feel deserving of the warmth swimming in his button eyes, glimmering beneath an early setting sun. “It’s okay. Seriously. You should’ve seen Robin and Steve the first time they met her— they were hopeless. And now they’re… Sort of alright, I guess.”

You force a faint chuckle. “Yeah, I’m— I’m just not used to being around them, I guess. I don’t even think I’ve talked to a kid her age since, like, elementary school.”

“I was the same way. ’Til I had Maeve and all…”

“Well, I couldn’t tell,” you assure him with a wavering smile. “You’re, like, a total pro. You’re great with her.”

He ducks his head to hide his blushing cheeks. The apples of them speckle warm and pink beneath the weight of your compliment. 

“Well… thank you,” he says, deflecting from your praise with that stupid, posh, D&D accent he always uses when he gets nervous. You don’t notice him grimacing at himself because you’re still stewing in your own embarrassment.

“And sorry for the booze, too. I seriously didn’t mean to bring— I mean, Steve didn’t even tell me that—”

“Stop apologizing,” Eddie chuckles warmly. “That part’s not your fault, alright? I don’t know if you know this or not, but your boyfriend’s a total idiot.”

Your face screws up. “Oh, he’s not— Steve’s not my boyfriend.”

The boy’s smile ebbs. “No?”

“No. No way!” you laugh before you mean to. “I’m pretty sure I’m just, like, his replacement best friend since Robin started dating Vickie.” 

Wide-eyed and distantly relieved, Eddie stammers like a teenage boy. “Oh. Right. That’s… That’s cool. Yeah.”

“Yeah…” you echo.

“Well, uh— I’m gonna see if Wayne wants any help,” he blurts despite knowing he’s been barred from doing handy work since he nearly drove a nail through his own finger. He just needs a way out, lest he keep stumbling over himself and lose all of his cool points with you. 

He saunters backward through the opened door and nearly trips over the frame.

You bite back a laugh. He forces a wavering smile. 

“But, um, I was thinkin’ about cracking open that bottle you brought. You know, after Maeve’s in bed and everything. If you— If you wanna hang around that long…”

The silence makes him as nervous as a teenage boy, all writhing and uncomfy in his skin. You nod in agreement, and his sparkling chest swells all over again. “Yeah,” you reply, lip quirked in a poorly hidden smile. “Sure. I’d— I’d like that…”

He smiles, all proud of himself. “Good. That’s… That’s good,” he stutters, then swallows hard and scurries off before you change your mind. 

Before he shuts the squealing screen door behind him, you hear Robin’s voice exclaim loudly from the kitchen. “What the hell’s a blobfish?!”

if u have any other ideas for hijinks these two idiots (and maeve) can get into, feel free to leave 'em here! (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

[cazhan]

not a fan of making casual clothing but got commissioned and you know what i don't hate it, turned out really cute. probably will add pants with the same pattern. also check out all the threads that i handpainted bc you'll never see them in the game, why do i even bother

[executables-sims]

Executables' Guide to Handpainting Textures for The Sims 2 | Download PDF (67 pages)

Have you ever wondered how to paint clothing textures from scratch?

I've been using paid software like Milkshape, Photoshop, and 3D Coat Textura to texture Sims 2 models for years, but I've managed to translate my process to completely free open-source software!

I've broken down the entire process from start to finish for complete beginners (who may never have made a clothing recolour package before), but more experienced CC creators can skip around as needed using the PDF bookmarks.

You don't need a graphics tablet– but you may want one once you've played around with this! :)

The clothing shown on the cover is also downloadable through the document.

Hope this inspires you to make something! :D

[pdpenpals]

Hiii could I get a love letter from pdh!vylad.

For context he’s sending it to his gf/ reader who he’s away from at the moment because he’s on vacation with his family and lost his phone or just wanted to write her a personal physical letter so it would never get lost in there text. She/her pronouns please.

hey, nonnie! this prompt’s pretty lovely, actually. i’ve always wanted to write to friends (and i suppose those who’ve set my heart ablaze) while traveling myself, letting them know what i’m thinking of, feeling, and seeing in the moment, but they all just end up as messages unsent that i hoard under my bed like a dragon, haha!

anyway, i’m hoping you find that this delivery does this ro’meave justice. i’ll be honest with you, i had the most fun making the envelope header accompanying this request. enjoy!

what promises to be a boring day is immediately taken back when the mailman pops up at your doorstep unexpectedly. he usually never shows up unless there are bills to be paid. the envelope looks and smells pretty old, but the date listed on its back indicates it was clearly made in the last week at the very least. a smile creeps onto your face when you recognize the handwriting, and you waste no time opening it up when you’re in the privacy of your own room, careful not to damage the stamp sealing it. it’s way too pretty to break, and you want to keep it.

not only is there a letter inside, but three laminated bookmarks. they contain real pressed flowers against a painted background. it’s a bit reminiscent of some art movement vylad mentioned before. art nouveau, was it? just like the rest of the materials used to make this letter, it appears to be pretty…antique. not that it’s a bad thing! it feels just like receiving a little time capsule, a blast from the past if you will. 

but irene above, the more time you spend not reading, the more you miss him. you carefully unfold the paper and let your eyes glaze over the paper.

Hey! 

Missed y (too desperate? hope you don't mind.)

Hope this reaches you as soon as it can. Did all the bookmarks make it in one piece? Do you like them? I’ve looked high and low through some pretty old catalogs to see where they came from and how much they sold for, but it would seem that they’re all individually handpainted and hand-pressed, therefore one of a kind.

I’m still quite bummed that I didn’t get a choice between going here or not during break. It was all so last minute! But I’ll be honest: O’Khasis is much prettier than I remember. What isn’t pretty is that Aunt Tilly (apparently she’s not our actual aunt? I guess we’re just used to calling her that.) absolutely insists that the place we spend our vacation at just happens to have no signal. Before, I absolutely wouldn’t have minded as there’s so much to do around here, but I can’t help but lie awake at night with the guilt eating at me thinking about how your messages must not be reaching my inbox. I’m sorry for not finding a way sooner. If anything, I didn’t quite expect the way this letter would find its way to you.

One thing you need to know is that up until yesterday, Aunt Tilly did not like me. At all. It kind of broke my heart a little as a kid because I didn’t know why. Now I can name a few reasons, but that’s not really what’s important right now. As usual, she would come with boxes full of stuff that she brought home from where she’s based abroad and let us pick what we wanted. There were a few old books and vintage clothes that interested me, but what caught my eye the most were the pressed flower bookmarks you got in this very envelope. And that’s just a fraction of them! You’d be amazed to see how many of them are in the collection.

Anyway, Aunt Tilly seemed reluctant to give them to me, even surprised to see that they were in the box in the first place. But ever since that, she’s warmed up to me, and it’s honestly much more terrifying than the times she’s barely acknowledged me. I should be upfront about it and ask her why soon. I suppose now should be the time to say that she even helped me pick out which flowers would be on the bookmarks I sent you. Says I should treat it like I’m actually picking out a bouquet or something. That woman takes her flowers seriously. At least now she knows she isn’t the only one in the family with an interest in floriography. She seemed even more delighted learning this letter was for a special someone, so she talked Mom and Dad into letting me have a few hours to myself in the town nearby just to have this letter delivered. I’m grateful to get a bonding experience with her out of this, but I really need to figure out what brought on this sudden change. Will definitely update you about it in another letter. This is quite fun, actually. Writing to you, pen on paper, feels way more personal, don’t you think?

Back to the bookmarks though, I’m not sure if you can read the text on them, but if I had to pick out a bouquet for you right now, I’d choose these three. Imagine the following with me now, will you? White clovers, balsamine, and pale red carnations. I don’t trust the Internet at the moment to be able to give you the exact message I want to convey, and I think it’s something better said in person. 

I promise I’ll make things up to you when I get back soon. A date maybe? Please write back soon. I’d love to hear your thoughts.  

Yours evermore, V.R.

PS. In the future, we should definitely go on a proper sightseeing trip around O’Khasis. Just you and me. How does that sound?