#if this quilt turns out good i’m gonna donate it and if not i’m giving it to clementine lmao

[wickedhawtwexler]

speaking of hobbies, look at this cute new quilt i started recently (while taking a break from the quilt i’m making my grandma):

[godesssiri]

10 Thrifting tips

I scored big yesterday wanted to share some tips. These will be homeware tips as I don’t thrift a lot of clothes - it’s my Mum and Best Friend who have exploding wardrobes. I hope this post will be helpful for anyone setting up a home or wanting to inject some vintage personality into their home.

1) Go often. I can not emphasize this enough. I hit my favorite store at least once, if not twice, a week - it has really high turnover. My second favorite store I hit at least every other week, not so high turn over so it’s okay to go less often. Learn the stores in your area that have high stock turnover and go to them as often as you can.

2) Never go to the thrift store looking specifically for a trash can or a pet bowl etc. Go with an open mind and look for something that may not be designed for the thing you need but it can serve that purpose. I have an umbrella stand that serves as a trash can and candy dishes to feed my cats from - they have a punch bowl for water at the back door since that’s the bowl I always forget to fill so I just leave them a huge bowl and don’t need to fill it as often. You can often find something that works even better than a purpose designed object and it just looks cooler.

3) Use the fancy glass and crystal. The clear glass shelves are always packed because people think it’s fancy and never use it. You can pick it up for a couple of dollars. I eat noodles out of fancy glass bowls, I feed my cats from them, I use them for soap dishes, I store earrings and lipsticks in them on my dresser, I use them as drip dishes under pot plants. Glass is durable and easy to clean.

4) Look for new in the original packaging. Yesterday I picked up $125 of brand new un-used bed linen for $30. How do I know how much it was worth? It still had the original prices on it (I don’t know who buys a $75 pure cotton quilted valance and never even takes it out of the packaging but I’m not gonna complain). You often see full sets of stemware or other glassware in their boxes. Gift boxes full of unused toiletries, scented candles that have never been burned. Don’t buy something just because it’s new in the box - that way lies having cupboards full of as-seen-on-tv crap. But if it’s something you’ll use then grab it.

5) Baking equipment. Thrift stores always have plenty of baking equipment. I’d never buy cookie sheets, muffin tins, cake tins, cooling racks or rolling pins new. I know I can always find these things at thrift stores and often better quality than I can afford new. If you’re really into baking then you’ll occasionally come across specialty tins that you couldn’t really justify buying new (how often are you actually going to bake madeleines or friands?) but there’s no guilt picking them up from a thrift store.

6) Trade up. Especially when you’re starting out you may not be able to afford good quality stuff so you just have to make do with whatever you can afford. I can’t say that you absolutely will walk into a thrift store and find something top of the line but, if you go often, eventually you will come across something that’s better quality than the one you own. You may not be able to justify buying a brand new chef quality frying pan when you have a perfectly good pan at home, but you can absolutely justify buying a chef quality pan when you find one at the thrift store. And donate your perfectly good one - someone else will need it.

7) Collect something. When I’m in a thrift store I have my eyes peeled for pink Arcoroc glassware, mini peacock chairs to sit my plants on, 80s pastel ceramic plant pots, anything seashell. Building up a collection of thrifted items is loads of fun. It’s the thrill of the hunt and the rush when you find the perfect thing to add to your collection. Having a few fun collections of vintage stuff scattered around your home gives it individuality - no one else is going to have that exact collection.

8) Solid wood furniture. Don’t look at the color of a piece, that’s the easiest thing in the world to change. Look at how sturdy it is, and believe me solid wood is sturdy. If you’re considering a piece of furniture rock it, give it a good shake, if it wobbles forget it unless you have some woodworking skills. Look for soft spots or lots of little holes that would indicate rot or borer/woodworm. If it has borer is there a lot? It’s fairly easy to treat with an injection spray if there’s not too much. Solid wood will last a lifetime, it’s easy to make over if you get sick of it, it will survive house-moving and general wear and tear way better than flat pack. And you end up with a house full of unique pieces, not the same Ikea look as everyone else.

9) Can it be cleaned? Inevitably some things from thrift stores are gonna be a bit yuck. There is no point buying something if you are not confident you can clean it. I’ll sometimes do a spot clean, just by rubbing it with my finger wetted from my water-bottle, to see if the grime will come off. I keep an old toothbrush specifically for the seashells and mini peacock chairs I collect because they tend to come covered in the dust of ages and the best way to clean them is with a dry brush followed by a rinse. Barkeepers Friend is wonderful stuff for getting tarnish off metal or cloudiness from glass. Dishwasher powder is great for cleaning out any vessel that you can’t scrub the inside, 1 part powder to 2 parts water and swirl it around. If you find something you love but you’re not sure you can clean it, Google it! Honestly I find it incredibly satisfying to buy something really grimy (and cheap because it’s grimy), get it home and clean it up to sparkling new.

10) Share the love. I have my eyes peeled for things I collect but also I’m on the lookout for things my friends and family collect. I’m looking for blue hand-made pottery for my Mum, peach lustre glass for my best friend, swans for my cousin, lovely old copies of classic girl’s books (Anne of Green Gables, Little Women etc) for my friend’s daughter. It’s as much of a thrill as finding the things I collect but there’s that extra good feeling of knowing I’ll make someone’s day by finding them that awesome vintage piece.

[madmaudlingoes]

Sewing Your Own Face Mask (Or Wearing A Cloth Mask)

I’m gonna use this post to consolidate what I know about cloth face masks (making or wearing) because I am making myself crazy looking at different proposals and arguments and research. Under a cut so I can keep the post up-to-date without spreading misinfo.

Question: what’s the point of wearing a mask?

Masks of any kind do two things: prevent the wearer from inhaling germs, and prevent the wearer from exhaling germs.

Healthcare workers need masks that will prevent them from getting sick while they treat the sick: that’s why they’ve been desperate to collect N95 masks and face shields. If you’re not a healthcare worker, isolation and social distancing are better ways to avoid being exposed to germs than masking in public. Of course, not everybody can isolate right now -- people still gotta work, gotta buy groceries, gotta use public transit, etc. -- so going out in a mask is a decent compromise.

On the other hand, if you know or strongly suspect you’ve been exposed, wearing a mask can help you avoid infecting others. (This is how masking became a norm in Asian countries long before the coronavirus pandemic.) Again, carriers really shouldn’t be venturing out of isolation at all, but if you can’t avoid it, masking up can minimize the danger you pose to others. 

As of 4/3, the Centers for Disease Control recommends that everyone wear a mask when they leave the house. 

Update 6/1: As states “re-open,” requirements for face coverings in public may be dropped, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop wearing one. Especially if you’re attending a protest (crowds, lots of chanting/yelling), a mask can still keep you safe.

Question: how well do cloth masks work?

The evidence on this is pretty meh. The US Centers for Disease Control has said, “Any mask is better than no mask,” but studies have shown that cloth masks are strictly inferior to single-use medical masks when it comes to preventing the wearer from getting sick. Some reasons why:

Cloth masks are often made from materials that don’t trap tiny particles as effectively.This video explains how single-use masks work, and why woven material doesn’t work as well as the non-woven polymers that are normally used for medical masks.

Cloth masks absorb and retain moisture more than single-use masks, which reduces their efficacy over time. A study from India found that cloth masks and single-use masks both lose efficacy after two continuous hours, and another study in Vietnam found a single cloth mask worn throughout an eight-hour shift actually performed worse than single-use masks, and possibly even worse than no mask at all.

Cloth masks, depending on their design, may not fit snugly or smoothly, resulting in gaps that permit unfiltered air through. A recent study from Northeastern University in Boston found that pulling a nylon stocking over your mask-- not your whole head, we’re not robbing banks -- could significantly improve the effectiveness of any cloth mask, and even single-use surgical masks, by keeping everything snug.

A wonky mask might also cause you to touch your face more trying to adjust it, resulting in contamination.

Wearers may not be cleaning cloth masks effectively between uses, or may be cross-contaminating their hands when removing a used mask.  See “How do I wear a cloth mask?” below.

So a cloth mask is a last resort when isolation isn’t an option and single-use masks aren’t available. As of 6/1, the US is still facing shortages of single-us PPE thanks to mismanagement by the Trump administration, and as states “re-open” the demand for masks will start to increase again.

Question: If cloth masks aren’t effective, why bother with them?

Some healthcare facilities have asked for donations of cloth masks in order to stretch their supply of single-use masks because, as stated above, we’re running out of supplies. Some other orgs (from nursing homes to animal shelters to police forces) have been asking for mask donations to conserve single-use masks for healthcare workers. For most people going out in our daily lives, a reusable cloth mask is more cost-effective than running through boxes of disposables, especially if we’re also doing what we can to avoid high-risk acitivies.

Question: What’s the best material to make a mask out of?

Research by Davies et al (2013) compared several different materials for DIY masking. Two factors are in play: how well does the material trap germ-sized particles, and how well can the wearer breath while wearing it? For example, vacuum bags are great for filtering tiny particles, but turned out to be uncomfortable and difficult to breath through, while woven silk was very breathable but a poor filter. (Some 3D printed masks that are currently circulating could give you fatal CO2 poisoning.)

The Davies papers’ recommendations were cotton knits (like a medium-weight t-shirt) or tightly woven cotton cloth (like a high thread-count pillowcase). More layers isn’t necessarily better, but most patterns in circulation use at least two. Some also incorporate a filter of some kind, either removable or sewn into the mask.

Knit fabric is tricky to sew, especially if you’re a beginner, but the trade-off is that a mask made with knit can achieve a snugger fit. Woven cloth is easier to work with, but the resulting mask may require more tailoring to avoid gaps. If you have a choice, use plain, light-colored fabrics so it’s easier to see stains or wet spots. (Also, frankly, a mask sanitized with bleach regularly won’t retain color for long.) Some hospitals are recommending using two fabric colors if you can, to ensure you can tell the “inside” and “outside” apart easily, but if you don’t have that much fabric laying around, use what you got.

To secure the mask, narrow (1/8 - 1/2 inch) elastic bands are common, but these can pull hair/rub skin. Woven elastic in this size is also getting hard to source, and may contain latex, which is an allergy risk. Consider instead making ties from bias tape or twill tape; narrow strips of sewn fabric; a clean shoelace; or narrow grosgrain ribbon (the kind with ridges).

Some mask designs include a pocket for inserting a separate filter, which improves their protective power. Good ideas for a filter:

Quilt batting or interfacing (Fusible interfacing may help make knits more workable, at the cost of their stretch.)

Extra layers of cloth

shop towels made from microfiber or “hydro-knit” material

Bad ideas for filters include vaccuum bags (not breathable, may contain fiberglass) and cut-up N95 masks (why???). And if you’re making masks primarily for personal use on short trips out, you probably don’t need a filter anyway, though Mueller and Fernandez (2020) found that cotton masks with a filter + a nylon stocking over the top actually approached the protective power of a single-use mask.

Question: What pattern should I use?

If you’re making masks for donation, use whatever pattern is requested. If you’re making them for personal use, or for donation to an org that hasn’t given any guidance, here are some ideas:

New: The Clover Mask is a hybrid of several of the designs below, designed by the MakeMasks.Org Slack. Intermediate difficulty.

Erin’s Mask, based on a design developed by Dr. Chen Xiaoting of Taiwan. Erin tweaked the pattern and converted it to US measurements for those of us allergic to metric. This mask has a pocket for a filter and can be made with either elastic or a fabric tie to secure. Intermediate difficulty.

Cynthia’s Mask does not have a filter pocket and uses twill tape or ribbon for tie-backs. Probably the easiest on the list.

John Hopkins Medicine has also produced a mask pattern pretty much the same as Cynthia’s. So has Kaiser Permanente, which also made a helpful video if you’re not used to making pleats.

The Aries 2.0 Mask is being produced en masse by volunteers in St. Louis, which is where I’m based. It’s more complicated than Cynthia’s mask, and has a filter pocket like Erin’s mask, using curved pieces instead of pleats to achieve a good fit. Intermediate difficulty.

Some additional options, which have been less popular than the above:

The Turban Project Mask has been promoted by Deaconess Medical Center in Evansville, Indiana. It uses elastic and has no filter pocket. Just as easy as Cynthia’s mask, but the ear loop design may be less comfortable and some people have reported shortages of elastic.

The A.B. Mask is designed to be worn over an N95 mask, to extend its lifespan, or by itself. It uses cloth ties. It’s the most complex pattern to sew on this list, with darts and seam binding, but was designed by a nurse.

The Fu Mask from Freesewing uses curved pieces like the Aries mask, but has no filter pocket, which makes me a little more leery of the big center seam.

The Olson Mask has a filter pocket and uses regular hair ties for fasteners.

If you don’t sew at all, this mask can be folded from one sheet of cut cloth. A silky scarf might not be optimal material (see above re: material types) but a cotton bandana or a ���fat quarter” of quilting cotton is almost the same size. If you’re using cut fabric, you could just tape or whipstitch the raw edges so it’ll survive the washing machine.

There are a ton of Facebook groups, Discords, etc. with suggestions on how to tweak these masks for best fit or greater comfort. One common hack is putting a length of pip cleaner or floral wire in the upper seam, to help the mask conform around the bridge of your nose. Be cautious when washing a mask with a built-in wire, because it might rust; the Aries 2.0 mask has a sleeve so the wire can be removed for cleaning.

Question: how should I wear/clean a cloth mask?

Depending on the mask, you might secure the mask behind your head or over your ears, either with elastic bands or cloth ties. Make sure you’re breathing primarily though the mask, and not around the sides, even when you turn your head or talk. (This might require some tweaking of your pattern.) This NYT piece has illustrations of how the mask should sit -- over your nose and under your chin, snug to your cheeks on both sides. If you can’t click through, @theexoticvet has posted the images here.

(Note: an N95 mask can’t make a tight seal over facial hair, but a cloth mask doesn’t seal even on a smooth face. So don’t fret about your beard making your cloth mask useless -- just make sure it’s pulled snug all the way around.)

Studies suggest a fabric mask is useful for two hours, max, or until your breath makes it noticeably damp. When you remove the mask, grasp it by the ties, loops or edges. Don’t touch the part that covers your nose or mouth, because that’s where germs have accumulated. If there’s a removable filter inside, wash your hands thoroughly after removing it, and then wash the mask.

Research shows the novel coronavirus can persist ~24 hours on a cardboard surface, but not necessarily how long it survives on/in cloth. Also, leaving a potentially contaminated mask laying around is probably not a good idea. So, to clean your mask:

Hand-wash with hot water and soap, at a minimum.

Boiling the mask for ~10 minutes should kill just about anything, but don’t just drop it in the pot and forget it -- you should keep stirring/agitating the water so it thoroughly penetrates all layers.

Add 1 T (15 ml) of bleach to 1 gallon (3.8 L) of cold water and soak your mask for 15-30 minutes. Then rinse thoroughly with hot water. Over-bleaching will degrade the fabric and make the mask less effective.

If you have access to a washing machine and/or a tumble dryer with a “sanitize” setting, use that. Otherwise use the hottest settings each one has.

If you have to air-dry your mask, make sure it’s completely dry before you use it again.

Question: How can I make masks to donate?

As of 6/1, mask donations are ramping down as the supply chain for both conventional PPE and reusable masks has stabilized. Most people and orgs can now buy reusable masks if they want them. On the other hand, some people can’t afford to buy a mask, so homeless shelters, food pantries and crisis nurseries may still be taking donations. Activist groups planning protests may also be looking for masks to distribute at their events.

Donations are being coordinated on a Make Masks Slack channel, at #MasksNOW, or at RosieSews.org. You can also text “masks” to ResistBot (50409) to find out how to help get PPE to healthcare workers who need it. Also try a Facebook search for “Million Mask Mayday” + your state, as the original Million Mask Mayday site was overwhelmed.

Check one of these spots or contact a local org BEFORE you sew a bunch of stuff, to ensure you’re matching their needs. Just dropping off a bunch of masks off randomly to a group that doesn’t even need them isn’t helping anybody.

If you initiate contact with a facility or org, ask them a) are they taking donations, and b) do they have specific needs regarding size, materials, or construction.

Also ask about whether the masks need to be sanitized before donation (use one of the methods above) and how donations should be delivered in light of social distancing recommendations.

[pnrrish]

♦ pynch :3c

♦ slow dancing

Uncomfortable heat and the clatter of too many voices swirl out the door as it opens, light from inside the conference hall spilling out onto the empty veranda in stark blocks of gold and almost-black on the cement. Adam doesn’t look up, only shifts his weight from one foot to the other; there’s enough glass in the French double doors that the difference between open and closed is minimal. He’s supposed to be schmoozing since Gansey had hinted at networking opportunities, despite that it’s just the graduation reception for this year’s crop of Aglionby seniors, but Adam just wishes he hadn’t left his jacket in the coat closet when he’d arrived. It’s either unusually cold for mid-May or he’s just having that much trouble getting warm.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Adam turns his head to see Ronan making his lazy way across the patio, thumbs in his pockets, cutting an impressive figure in the well-fitted charcoal-gray number Matthew had gently bullied him into wearing. He looks good in it–very good, in fact, and Adam has to turn back around to surreptitiously loosen his tie so that his suddenly-pounding heart doesn’t pop a button. Of course, Ronan doesn’t notice, just installs himself at the railing, close enough to bump shoulders and wall off a little of the night breeze.

Adam sighs and leans the side of his head against Ronan’s warm shoulder. “I needed some air. All that networking with fifteen-year-olds and their parents was giving me a migraine.”

Ronan barks a laugh, slips his arm around Adam’s waist and presses in close, burying his face in the cool skin of Adam’s neck and breathing deeply. Even though he can’t see it, he can imagine the face Ronan is pulling, that marriage of tolerant grimace and fond smile that he loves. “They love you,” Ronan says. “Best-looking salutatorian in Aglionby history. How many job offers did you get?”

Adam laughs and leans closer. “None. I got about six board members asking for yearly donations, though. I told them nobody’s getting anything until they take my shitty picture out of the brochure.”

“Serious?” Ronan huffs into Adam’s shirt collar, his smile poking through the fabric. “I would have paid good money to see the look on Pauls’ face.”

Andre Pauls, the decrepit and bad-tempered head of the Giving Society, would have very quietly had an aneurysm at the mildest of curses, so it’s with a wistful tone of regret that Adam says, “Well, I didn’t say ‘shitty’.”

“That’s real funny, Parrish. I didn’t think you were a wuss.”

The door glides open again and the dwindling chatter inside washes over them–it’s gotten late enough that most everyone has left in pursuit of sleep or a wilder party. Footsteps. A muttered oh, excuse me. The footsteps retreat; the door remains open. Grumbling, Ronan shucks his suit jacket and tosses it over one of the rusted wrought-iron lawn chairs, yanking at the knot of his tie.

How unfair, how that does nothing to ease the constriction in Adam’s chest.

“C’mere,” he says, tugging at Adam’s sleeve and pulling him close. He laces their fingers and buries his face in the crook of Adam’s neck, next to his right ear. Someone inside finds an acoustic guitar and starts plucking a skillful, if tone-deaf, rendition of some John Mayer song that Ronan groans at. But he sways to the music all the same.

I don’t think I wanna go to L.A. anymore; I won’t know what it’s like to land and not race to your door….

“I hate this song.” Adam smiles, leans more fully into Ronan’s warmth–he’s not listening to the music at all, just relishing the chance to be close. A chance he regretfully hasn’t had since Christmas—spring break had been a hectic maelstrom of internship interviews and service projects and twenty-page papers that left a total of zero time to go home—

(when had he started thinking of the Barns as home?)

—and so this light touch is more than enough for the moment, cheek to cheek, his fingers linked behind Ronan’s neck, Ronan’s hands settled on Adam’s hips, gently shifting weight from one foot to the other, not quite on the beat.

I’m gonna steer clear: I’d burn up in your atmosphere.

“Think you’re gonna be around much this summer?”

I’m gonna steer clear, ‘cause I’d die if I saw you, die if I didn’t see you there…so I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore.

Adam really should have seen this question for what it was, but instead he answers without thinking. “Oh, I hope so. It’ll be tricky with the internship but I’ve got a couple weeks between that and my summer classes—”

His first hint that this conversation isn’t going the way he’d expected is Ronan’s wary interjection: “Summer classes?” This isn’t the first time they’ve talked about this. This isn’t even the first time Ronan’s given even the slightest hint that he might not be thrilled about the idea. Adam presses on, ignoring the sudden churning in his gut because if he can just explain one more time—

(The guitar stumbles drunkenly over a chord progression and skips a verse: Wherever I go, wherever you are, I’ll watch your life play out in pictures from afar….)

“Yeah,” he says, unable to keep a hint of annoyance from creeping into his voice. “The two summer classes that’ll take me a month and a half to finish. Seriously, Lynch, it’s like you haven’t heard a word I’ve said all year—”

“I heard the part where I get two weeks with you from now until Christmas—”

“You know Thanksgiving is a thing, right?”

“That’s two days, and I honestly don’t know why you’d bother when it would be so much cheaper to stay up in Philadelphia.”

“Because I want to? Because I miss you and I want to spend time with you?”

The second hint that this conversation isn’t going the way Adam expected is the barb laced in Ronan’s response:

“Why?”

The kid with the guitar has stopped playing and the conference hall is dark—and honestly, that’s probably for the best. With the party well and truly over, the only people privy to the argument are Adam and Ronan themselves.

“The hell do you mean, ‘why’?” Adam’s long crossed the line from bewildered and annoyed to pissed, not just at Ronan’s instant, overboiling hostility, but at all of this in general. The way Ronan gets moody and snappish the day before he has to leave. The way he answers every question with either deflection or unwarranted venom. The way he walks around like an explosive on a timer that’s steadily ticking down to an unknown deadline.

Like he thinks there’ll come a day when Adam decides there’s nothing in Henrietta worth coming back for.

Like he thinks it’s so inevitable that he might as well blow it all up now and save them both from wasting any more time.

When Ronan doesn’t answer, Adam keeps talking, his voice shaking and his hands numb with anger. It’s all he can do to scramble for the right words; if they’ve had this argument once, they’ve had it a hundred thousand times, and he keeps hoping he can find the magic combination that will make him finally understand.

“You really think I’d rather be in Pennsylvania right now? Where it starts snowing in September and traffic is always the shittiest and the only person I can have a normal conversation with is my eighty-year-old history professor?” His breath is growing shorter and shorter by the word, his fingers tremblingly clutched in Ronan’s shirt collar, his heart thudding painfully. Somewhere under his ribcage, an ache like roots is spreading, oily and deep. “If I keep doing summer classes, I–there’s a good chance of me graduating early. I’m not just thinking about tomorrow and next week. I’m thinking about in three years getting to come back and stay instead of doing this for one more year. I don’t want to stay up there. I want to come back home.” His throat catches on the last word, tripping over the h like a scratched disc, and he feels the burn of tears beginning to fall.

Ronan’s blinking owlishly, face full of understanding, silent only for a few moments.

“Oh, Adam,” he says softly. “Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He can’t help it—his breath goes shuddery and deep and dry, groping dumbly for the air he’d almost been afraid he’d lose. Ronan’s hands are warm and soothing on his neck, thumbs swiping at cheekbones, forehead against forehead.

“You’re incredible,” Ronan murmurs. “Sometimes it’s hard to even look at you ‘cause I know you’re gonna do something amazing. And all I can think is, wow, I sure hope I get to watch it happen somehow. I wanna see where you go ‘cause it’s going to be fucking mind blowing.”

Adam is reminded, briefly, strangely, of the dreamlike summer before Penn: wandering the Barns for hours at a time, only working when he wanted, eating his fill, and Ronan a ghost in his own house for weeks, too insecure to start a real fight but too stubborn to try to talk it out. It had turned out to be nothing, but Ronan had made a similar confession the night before Adam left.

“You sure you don’t want to stay up on campus for Thanksgiving? That’s a lot of driving to only be down here for two days.”

“That’s stupid,” Adam said, rolling over to pull the blanket out from where it had fallen between the bed and the wall. “When would I see you?”

Ronan heaved a sigh. “I just figured you’d rather do anything except come back to Podunk Central.” His voice twinged, like it cost him a lot to admit. Adam went still, his arms still half tangled in the threadbare quilt.

“I’m coming back to you, dummy,” Adam said. He leaned across the pillow to pepper kisses along the expanse of Ronan’s mouth and cheek. “And I can’t wait.”

Finally, Ronan smiled.

“And what the hell,” Adam says now, “am I gonna do when I get there and you’re not with me?”

“Die, I guess,” Ronan says instantly, easily. “Since you always forget to eat.”

“Dickhead.”

Laughter shakes the azaleas in the blue shadows outside the veranda. Where the ache was, curling and twisting in his ribcage, now there’s only feather-lightness.

“Come on,” Adam whispers, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Ronan’s slacks and relishing the warmth. “I thought we were dancing.”

Ronan doesn’t answer, just smiles as he leans down to press their lips together. He hums tunelessly, and they spin lazily around the porch with the light off and the door open, and the cold night air stills at last.

[lauramkaye]

Fic: Storage War

Based on a prompt by @kat-har. Archive post will follow shortly!

“You really don’t have to do this,” Phil said, hovering in the doorway.

“It’s really fine, babe,” Clint said, pulling out another box and coughing at the cloud of dust that billowed off it.

“I promise I didn’t ask you here intending to pawn off all the work. Maybe you could take a break until I—”

“Phil. It’s fine. It might just as well have been me getting called in.” Clint smiled at him, hoping it was reassuring. “I came to help, I’m gonna help.” He waved a hand at the storage unit, piled high with the detritus of Phil’s childhood and teenage years. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about just throwing it all in a U-Haul and driving it to New York—”

“Ugh,” Phil said. “No. We’d end up storing it for another decade before we found the time to deal with it.”

“Then let me help you,” Clint said. Reaching out, he snagged Phil’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, scraped a little from where he’d barked his hand on the wall trying to get the rusted padlock open. “That’s what marriage is all about, right? For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for clearing out thirty-year-old storage units…”

Phil chuckled, turning his hand to cup Clint’s cheek. “I don’t remember that part in the vows.”

“It was right before the part about worshipping each other with our bodies,” Clint said.

“Ah, my favorite part.” Phil bent to kiss him, quick and soft. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said. “I’ll have fun. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be baby pictures.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “More likely to be awkward, pimply middle-school pictures.”

“I bet you were adorable. Go, help catch the bad guys while I work on sorting the greatest fashion hits of the early 80s.” He reached into a nearby box and pulled out a “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirt. “I think I might take this one home.” Phil laughed. “Just remember the size of our apartment when you’re deciding what you want to keep,” he said. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Sure thing.”

Clint smiled to himself as he watched Phil leave, then settled in to continue working through the massive pile of stuff. Phil had ignored the storage unit containing the contents of his mom’s house for decades; he’d still be ignoring it, if the facility wasn’t closing down, slated to give way to a new block of hipster lofts or something. So Clint, being a good partner, had taken some leave time and joined Phil in Wisconsin to deal with it.

They’d already worked through the furniture, picking out a few pieces to keep and donating the rest along with most of Phil’s mom’s clothes and personal items. What was left was mostly all Phil’s things. Honestly, Clint was kind of looking forward to going through them; he’d never known Phil as a kid, and there was something precious about seeing his carefully packed boxes of comics, the handmade quilt in red, white, and blue stars, the worn and ragged ear of a much-loved stuffed bear.

Clint had prioritized the things it would be easy to sort: outdated clothes that wouldn’t fit them, furnishings that had seen better days, an ancient cracked clock radio. The comics were easy, too, in the other direction; Clint wasn’t sure if Phil would want to keep or sell them, but he knew Phil would want to go over the collection in more detail.

He set aside a box of 8-tracks, humming Devo to himself, opened a box labeled “notebooks” in neat block print, and stuttered to a halt, blinking rapidly.

The box did contain a number of three-ring binders and spiral notebooks, but that wasn’t all; right on the top was some sort of comb-bound, copy-shop booklet which bore on the cover an overblown illustration of Captain America. Cap was tied to a post, his uniform shirt ripped to highlight his bulging muscles, and a masked Hydra goon was threatening him with a gun while cowering away from Peggy Carter, who was wearing a military uniform and brandishing a laser gun that Clint was pretty sure wasn’t historically accurate. Above Cap’s head, a hand-lettered title proclaimed the publication to be called “Rule Britannia.”

“Oh my god,” Clint said, and dove into the box with glee.

Some time later, he’d examined a remarkable number of Captain America fanzines. The earlier ones were general-purpose, with articles about Project Rebirth and the European Theater and, in one case, a painfully adorable letter from a fourteen-year-old Phil about the importance of the Howling Commandoes and Peggy Carter to the success of the SSR during the war. Later on, though, the general zines gave way to more focused ones, and Clint had to hold back his joyful giggles by main force. He’d found baby Phil’s stash of secret erotic Captain America fanfiction.

Best. Day. Ever.

Surprisingly, Phil’s interest seemed pretty evenly split between seeing Cap with Peggy Carter and seeing him with Bucky Barnes. Clint would have predicted Carter all the way, based on Phil's deeply nerdy obsession with her (and it was deeply, deeply nerdy, like, topic-of-his-graduate-thesis nerdy), but apparently Phil's appreciation for a smart-mouthed sniper was of longer duration than Clint had previously realized. 

Tempted though he was, Clint didn’t take the time to read the stories; there just wasn’t time. He contented himself with thumbing through the zines, looking for bookmarks, stray notes, or other signs that might show him which ones had been Phil’s favorites. Unfortunately, Phil seemed to have been just as meticulous then as he was now, and the zines were in remarkable condition for their age. Clint set the last of them aside in a pile and picked up one of the spiral notebooks. 

It had Cap’s shield on it, of course, and was well used, the corners worn and the spiral starting to work its way out of the top. Clint smiled, flipping open the cover. He felt a pang at the sight of younger Phil’s handwriting, recognizably similar to the way he wrote now, but more cautious, the letters formed deliberately as though Phil had been trying hard to keep it neat. Then he stopped looking at the page and started reading it, and he had to stop and clutch it to his chest in delight. 

Phil hadn’t just read Captain America fanfiction. He had written it. 

Clint sat his ass down on the dusty concrete floor of the storage unit and started perusing his treasure. 

Honestly, if Clint had ever considered the question he would have said that baby Phil’s stories would feature a thinly-disguised version of himself. Fictional Phil might be a previously unknown Howling Commando, or maybe some other kind of ally—a soldier, or part of the French Resistance, or a British spy—who came through in a tight spot to save Cap’s life and/or mission. (Which wasn’t really that far-fetched; it was pretty much the same kind of thing that adult Phil did for his agents now.) Possibly the stories might have ended with Cap showing his appreciation by inviting fictional Phil to bed, or at least with a manly embrace of gratitude. After all, wasn’t that was what teenage stories were for? Trying on scenarios, writing about the life you wish you had. Clint hadn’t been much for writing as a kid, but he’d sure as hell spun up enough daydreams, trying to fall asleep when it seemed like every inch of his body hurt. Daydream Clint was the star of the circus. Daydream Clint had a family who loved him. Daydream Clint had money, had a home, was the best archer in the world.

Daydream Clint had lived a life pretty much like the one Clint had now, actually, if you swapped out the circus for SHIELD. Clint kind of wished he could go back in time and tell his skinny, scared teenage self the good news. Stick with it, kid, things will turn out great for you one day.

Anyway, Clint wanted to know what Daydream Phil was like. Phil, being Phil, had helpfully dated each of his notebooks, so Clint piled them up in order, grabbed the earliest one, and started reading.

An hour later, he set the next-to-last notebook down, rubbing at his eyes. For all that Phil’s zine collection ran to happy romantic endings, the stuff Phil had actually written was pretty much the opposite. Clint knew—he’d known for years—that Phil’d had trouble as a kid, trying to reconcile his bisexuality with his dream of going into the Army. But Clint had never expected to see all of young Phil’s confusion and anger and hurt and fear projected onto stories about his boyhood hero. 

The Steve Rogers in Phil’s stories was pained and unsure, in love with Bucky and Peggy both and struggling to find a resolution that didn’t hurt either of them. The plots were pretty clichéd, and the prose was a bit overblown, but the emotions came through clearly. Steve Rogers, as Phil had seen him, felt like he had no good choices, torn between Peggy, Bucky, and his moral obligation to fight Hydra. If he went with Bucky, he lost Peggy and neglected his duty; if he went with Peggy, he lost Bucky, and felt guilty for allowing society to dictate who he loved. Just because he loved a woman, that didn’t mean he wanted his choice of partner forced by anything but himself. Clint wondered why it had never occurred to Phil to put Captain America in a fictional ménage-à-trois. It would present a neat solution to the whole love triangle issue, at any rate. Although he supposed it was probably a lot harder to think outside that particular box in the days before the internet. Who was supposed to be the role model, Three’s Company? Ugh.

The last notebook was all one, long story, and it was the most heartbreaking of all. In it, Cap was pining for his two loves as per Phil’s usual, but every other chapter was a short story where Steve imagined what would happen in a different scenario. Clint read a description of Steve and Bucky leaving the Army to live together, their happiness soured by Steve’s guilt over leaving the war. He read an account of Steve marrying Peggy and Bucky marrying someone named Lorraine. The two men set up housekeeping next door to one another, named their children after each other, while Steve tried to use his real happiness to bury the part of himself that never stopped wanting Bucky. There was a chapter where—finally—Phil had considered the possibility of polyamory, and Steve daydreamed about a life where they all got a house together, where Steve had a wife and a husband both, but even in that fantasy world they spent their time hiding, from the Army or the press or the neighbors, sending Bucky on false dates to try to keep their secret. Not one of the scenarios had a happy ending, all of them going back to the same place: Cap, alone and hopeless and pretending everything was fine. The story ended as Cap was piloting the crashing plane, giving himself one final dream as the water rose up around him. He dreamed of Bucky being found, alive after all, and he and Peggy comforting each other. They’d be perfect for each other, Steve thought, brilliant and beautiful together, and they would have amazing children with dark wavy hair and maybe they’d name the first boy Steve. 

Clint read the final lines of the story, his chest aching.

It was for the best, Steve thought, taking one last gasping breath before the water closed over his head. They both deserved the best. They both deserved a happy ending.

Clint closed the notebook and took a deep, shaky breath. He was not going to cry over ancient Captain America fanfiction, he wasn’t. 

He might possibly be going to cry a little over the writer, though. Thinking of Phil reading all those happily-ever-afters but never able to bring himself to write one of his own… 

“Clint? How’s it going in here?” 

Clint turned around sharply as Phil came around the corner. Shit, how long had he been reading?

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked, his smile falling away as he saw Clint’s face. “What—oh.” He looked at the pile of zines and notebooks scattered around Clint, the tips of his ears going red. “Oh god, I thought I threw those away.”

Clint dropped the notebook and scrambled to his feet, crossing the cramped space in a few strides and wrapping his arms around Phil, holding him tight. After a moment, he felt Phil’s arms come up around him, as well, and Phil patted Clint’s shoulder tentatively.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked quietly, brushing a kiss over Clint’s ear.

Clint sniffled. “I’m fine, I just—Phil. The happiest ending you could think of was Steve dying so that Peggy and Bucky could marry each other? I feel like I need to go back in time and make sure Teenage You is okay.”

Phil was quiet, his arms tightening around Clint. “Oh,” he said, softly. “Yeah. I was… things were tough, when I was writing those.”

“I could tell. When I found the box, I thought it was going to be cute, you know? Funny.” Clint nestled his head into the crook of Phil’s neck, taking comfort in the familiar bergamot and sandalwood scent of his aftershave. “I thought I’d get to tease you a little, maybe. I never thought you’d be into writing tragedies.”

“I was a melodramatic kid,” Phil said. “I had a girlfriend, and I loved her, but I also had a wicked crush on a guy I was on swim team with, plus I wanted to go into the Army… I felt like every choice I had was wrong somehow, like no matter what I did I’d end up unhappy.” He stroked his hand down Clint’s spine, heavy and reassuring. “If I’d known then how my life would turn out, those stories would have probably been really different.”

“Yeah?” Clint made himself pull back enough to see Phil’s face.

“Absolutely,” Phil said, and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to Clint’s mouth.

“All I would have needed to see is you.”

“That you ended up with a husband?”

“That I ended up with a happy ending,” Phil said, and Clint had to kiss him again until they were both breathless.

They ended up taking the box back to New York, where it found a new home in the back of a closet. The story kept nagging at Clint, at odd moments here and there, until finally he scrawled a new chapter in the back of a steno pad, an epilogue where Steve woke up in a hospital, the war won, and Bucky and Peggy both there to welcome him, holding hands with him and with each other. He felt kind of silly about it, but also like he owed Phil’s long-ago self some kind of resolution.

When he opened the box to stick the steno pad in, he pulled up short at the sight of something bright blue. He picked it up; it was a sheet of blue cardstock, and mounted in the middle of it was one of the photos from Clint and Phil’s wedding. They were dancing, looking into each others’ eyes. They looked devoted and intent, blissfully in love.

At the bottom of the page, there was a message in Phil’s neat, blocky handwriting.

And they lived happily ever after.

[seven-oomen]

The hug and the headcanons were much appreciated.  :D  (You say it started getting long like that’s a bad thing.  But then I am apparently the embodiment of that comment like you’re the drunk girl in the bathroom at the club post, so perhaps I am not the best judge.)  And I don’t know if you were trying to kill me with that new preview, or make me want to kill Chris, but either way, mission accomplished.  I swear, that boy.  He’s gonna give me gray hairs before this is over.  XD  *basks in the warm, fluffy goodness anyway*

Omg, Craft Dad Peter may be one of the best things I’ve ever heard of.  Chris and Noah never have to buy another scarf or pair of gloves, Peter makes them for them (and often for the rest of the pack, too, but his mates get the best) as a way of subtly staking claim.  Bonus points if he finds a way to spin his fur into the yarn (or finds someone to do it for him.)  And it’s all kinds of crafts, too, from a huge painting he does with Allison of the view of the Preserve from Makeout Lookout Point that goes above the mantle at the new house, to macaroni art and finger painting with his youngest kids.  

Also, I feel like one year, maybe after most have gone off to college and sneaking is a bit easier, Malia badgers her siblings and other dads into finding whatever old baby/toddler clothes they might still have and helping her make them into a patchwork quilt for Peter since he had to miss so much (if not all) of that time with them.  Chris and Noah also throw in a couple of their shirts from high school; faded flannel and ratty band gear intermixing with brightly colored superhero logos an well worn sports jerseys, corduroy, and denim and a little bit of lace, in all colors of the rainbow from jewel tones to pastels.  She even leaves some room to add stuff from the later kids, because she knows they’re going to want more.  

Needless to say, there are a lot of tears (like, a LOT), and it instantly becomes his favorite for curling up in front of the TV, or out on the porch to watch the sunset, or just wherever, in whatever form.  It goes over so well they end up making another one with stuff donated from everyone in the pack so that it ends up huge and always comes out for movie nights and puppy piles.  (Wow, that idea kinda got away from me, but I ain’t even mad.)

Loving the descent into nsfw and related ideas.  Always here for those three teasing the ever-loving shit out of each other, because that’s just the way they are.  I feel like Chris and Noah are much more successful at pulling stunts in public, because they’re much better at faking innocence and making it seem accidental.  Lbr, Peter is terrible at looking innocent, even when he is.  

They both get so low-key annoyed that Peter’s werewolf healing means they can’t really leave much in the way of lasting marks, whereas Chris ends up with bruises and stubble burn in the most inconvenient and awkward places, and Noah seems forever doomed to look like he got attacked by an extremely aggressive push broom from the neck down.  

Oh god, Peter and Chris would totally rig anything that needed repair around the house so that it would only finally break when Noah was off so they could see him up a ladder changing light bulbs in a snug, worn t-shirt, or reaching underneath a sink or cabinet.  They just lean back and enjoy the show with a nice chilled drink.  He gets them back by conveniently being on shift whenever one of the kids moves back for a while and needs furniture moved.  

All the Omegas in the pack get extensive training in proper self defense, which leads to Peter getting banned from the premises because his expressions and scent while watching Noah and Chris spar to demonstrate creeps everyone else right tf out.  

I feel like Chris probably does a lot of the cooking, between having lived on his own the most and debatably being home the most.  So sometimes when they have the house to themselves Peter and Noah try to get Chris to cook wearing only an apron (frilly or not is up to you).  (Actually, depending on what share of the chores he takes on my brain just screamed out of nowhere FRENCH MAID’S OUTFIT and now I can’t stop laughing, oh god, I just keep picturing these terrible porny roleplays where the police officer is just checking in because there have been reports of break-ins and he “just wants to make sure all entrances and exits are properly secured” and of course the maid just wants to be helpful and fetches the master of the house[is he wearing a smoking jacket and silk pajamas? 

 I think the answer is obviously yes] to assist their “routine search"  [oh god, please help, I’m wheezing.])  I’m pretty sure somebody gets fucked on the washing machine (and by somebody I obviously mean both of them.  They go through a LOT of cleaner in that house, lbh.)  

And poor Stiles just will NOT let the Incident, as he calls it, go.  Whenever he’s irritated with one of them he’ll send them some variation of the "right in front of my salad” meme to be an asshole.  

They very definitely make sure that all the bedrooms have nicely soundproofed walls, because there are things none of the kids want to hear (except maybe Erica or Lydia).  Totally here for pet names/sweet nothings/dirty talk/whatev in a variety of languages, especially French and Polish, obvs.  (cue Gomez mode - “Why Chris, that’s French…”)  

And I do love that drag queen headcanon so much, especially for this ‘verse.  The Stiles and Jax better be careful or their dads might just be forced to prove how much they can still rock that look if they want to (I may or may not have had a running list/idea in my head of which outfit from a Lady Gaga video each parent would wear if they were all dressing to theme for some reason [I don’t really remember why.  You might have noticed my mind goes off on weird, unexplained tangents when left unattended.])

Love all the family bonding stuff.  I feel like Peter would totally organize back-to-school shopping trips for all the pack kids so that they can all head back with all their necessary supplies and rockin’ new wardrobes.  Chris teaches them camping and outdoor survival.  Noah somehow ends up organizing sing-a-longs when they have bonfires while Chris is in charge of s'mores ingredients (neither tries to make Peter or Derek join in if they aren’t feeling it, and take turns to go and check in with cuddles and support throughout the evening.)  

I always liked to headcanon that Noah was a drummer, mainly I think because Dylan is, so people usually made Stiles one, so I figured he might have learned from his dad.  This was also because I loved the idea of Stiles having everybody over for a Rock Band party and having his dad sub in for him on the drums so he could grab some food, and everyone being utterly astounded at how well he could play (since the drums seem the closest controller to the actual instrument.)  

But the idea of him and Malia playing duets together is super adorable, particularly the idea of them playing Polish lullabies for the twins (or Ben, or other Argent-Hale child), or Chris singing French ones for the little ones (or the dads could team up Three Men and a Baby style, I’m here for all of it, really.) 

 And all the wolfy goodness!  Wolf Peter just straight up flopping across one or both of his mates while they try to read or watch TV because he needs attention right now and wants to cuddle.  Chris scratching all the right places.  Noah using a variant of the healing magic to loosen all of Peter’s tensed muscles as he pets along his back and sides.  Good stuff.  (Occasionally Ben or one of the younger wolves, if there are any, will shift and climb up next to them to nuzzle at his face or gnaw on his tail.  Usually by then he’s so relaxed he doesn’t even mind.)  Using him as a bonus cushion when curling up together.  World’s Biggest Teddy Bear.  

And Jackson would totally take advantage of his cuteness.  He got Peter’s ruthlessness and Chris’s puppy-eyes skills.  The younger kids keep finding ways to work him into their Halloween costumes because he can somehow convince people to give them more candy even though “dogs can’t have chocolate…"  He doesn’t mind helping his baby siblings, and enjoys the chance to prove just how good he is.  

Malia is totally the one who’d just nope out of the conversation, but I think she’d also be the one to (most) help Ben develop his shifted skills and really feel comfortable in both forms.  

Poor Derek, he’s just like "I am not a goddamn herding dog, corral your kids!”, but he’s not fooling anybody and loves the way the twins just stare at him mesmerized and gently petting at his soft fluffy fur.  He absolutely lets them climb on him and ride around until they get too big to do it (then they just hang off his arms or piggy back whenever he visits.)

And that last flash-forward headcanon is so cute.  I feel like the spot should be on a porch swing, but given how much time I spent on my grandparents’, I’m probably a bit biased .  There’s a wind chime made of broken guitar strings and spare car parts (with a base carved by Stiles) that hangs nearby, ringing gently in the breeze as they sway.  They curl up under one of Peter and Malia’s quilts, legs tangled together, backs pressed up against pillows set up against the arms for support.  Peter sits on the steps, leaning on the banister, or maybe gently sprawled in a nearby matching chair, enjoying the view of his family and the quiet peacefulness of the moment. *insert reaction shot of Ghost Rider going “yessss- YESSSSS-” here*

Anyway, I’m glad your day was stupidity free, and I hope your cat is feeling calmer and well comforted.  And hopefully the weather cleared up there like it did here, though also hopefully without leaving as much humidity behind as we got.  Ah well, pretty much standard for summer around here, so.

Oh man I definitely got carried away a bit and no, there’s nothing wrong with that but I also idk, I’m not used to talking about something I love I guess. Especially not so freely with someone who’s really genuinely interested in hearing it.

Also idk what it is, probably fatigue and dyslexia in my add brain, but I have enormous trouble concentrating right now. So, I decided I would answer this submission before bed instead of writing. Well technically I’m writing now too, there’s that. Anyway...

Where was I? I feel like I just had an entire conversation in my brain and it’s already gone.

Okay, okay, Imma try to do this.

Chris is just, he’s a very scarred boy who’s very insecure. Noah will help him though and I hope it feels in character but fluff is coming.

And I really don’t have the focus to answer all of these headcanons but I love them, they made smile and giggle and they got me through hell today and I just. I really wish I had the brain capacity today to answer all of them.. Because yes to everything!

Do you know how hard it is to ask someone about their wifi connections when you’re reading about French Maid outfits and bad cop outfits and body cavity searches??? Do YOU??? 

It’s very hard and I had to try so hard not to laugh while guiding one lady through her ‘my remote is not working’ emergency.

And the quilt thing killed me, YEEEESSS. Omg I love your headcanons so much.

I also can’t stop picturing Peter as Gomez and Chris & Noah as Morticia. Also, Jackson is Wednesday and Stiles is Pugsley. I don’t make the rules.

Ughhh omg Idea for a pack run where they all go camping in the woods and Peter initiates a pack run, the first for Ben and Jackson. And they’re all wolfing out and Peter, with his red eyes, just howls up and everyone just howls with him. But Ben can’t keep up and just start hiccuping (This is what I  imagine Ben would look like anyway and it’s the cutest thing) and cuddles up to Chris because it’s all a bit much. 

So Peter comes over and gently nuzzles the cub until Ben’s wagging his tail again and being all playful. And that initiates a pack play session where Ben ‘takes down’ Peter and the other wolves just nip and bark around them playfully while Chris, Noah, Allison, and Stiles watch them with their cameras out and smiles on their faces.

The pack then takes off for a run and return ten minutes later all tuckered out, Ben’s held up by the scruff of his neck by Peter. Jackson is practically asleep on his paws and Malia is yawning by the time they get back. So they curl up with their respective twins and mates. Malia is curled around Stiles and Allison protectively curls around Jackson’s huge wolf form. Ben’s curled up in Chris’s lap, Chris and Noah are huddled together and Peter’s just curled around the three of them. Derek curls up with both sets of twins to keep them safe.

Full moons are extremely lively for this family.

And Derek is such a sucker for the pups in the pack. He keeps complaining and bitching, but honestly, he loves kids, he loves babies and he’s such a sucker for them. Ben, the twins, and the new baby just can do no wrong for him. He’ll keep corralling them and cuddling them when he gets the chance.

God, I love these threads so much, but I think I already said that. lol

Anyway, that’s what my brain has right now, but honestly, I love all of these. Every single one is precious.