#pvc bond

[rehauindia]

Glue for acrylic laminate sheets from the best adhesive brand in India. Choose from water-based and hotmelt adhesives for pasting wood, plywood, PVC, and other materials.

[endgamegirls]

[terowell]

PVC-covered aluminum circular condenser

Terowell is leading manufacturer ,supplier and exporter Pvc Coverded Aluminium Circular Conductor. Aluminum is often used in the manufacture of electrical conductors, due to it being ductile and relatively resistant to corrosion, as well as its low resistance and excellent conductivity, being part of the Furs range of conductors.

[desostarpvc1]

Best 3D Wall Panel Manufacturer in Delhi

 leading 3D Wall Panel Manufacturer companies of India having technical merriment rooted at the very zenith of its working hierarchy. Our diverse business interests include PVC Sheet, PVC Panels, Wall Panels Marble Sheets, Laminated Sheet,3D White Panels, 3D HD Sheets, PVC Door, WPC Door, WPC Door Frame, WPC Board, Charcoal Sheet, 3D Foam stickers, Wallpaper, Artificial Grass, ALL IN ONE Bond, etc. We showcase a range of world-class premium products with uncountable designs, colors, textures, and finishes Our products are widely used in homes, schools, offices, showrooms, production plants, hotels, marriage palaces, etc. We have been developing the array from the best possible quality raw materials for adding strength, durability, and performance to the same. Our patrons can avail the range in varied specifications from us as per the demand and need. Founded in 2019, The Bansal Group is one of the leading manufacturing companies of India having technical merriment rooted at the very zenith of its working hierarchy.

Visit Us: 3D Wall Panel Manufacturer

Contact Information:

HEAD OFFICE: Sunam-Mansa Road, Cheema - 148029 (Pb.) India

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+91-98759-85955 Anju Sharma (Marketing Head)

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[koffclubindia]

Can you bond polypropylene (PP) to polyvinyl chloride (PVC) using an epoxy or acrylic adhesive?

It can be challenging to bond polypropylene (PP) to polyvinyl chloride (PVC) using epoxy or acrylic adhesives because both materials have low surface energy, which makes it difficult for adhesives to form strong bonds. However, there are some specialized adhesives available that can bond these two materials together effectively.

One option is to use a specialty adhesive designed specifically for bonding PP to PVC, such as a cyanoacrylate adhesive or a two-component acrylic adhesive. These adhesives contain chemical modifiers that help increase the surface energy of the materials, allowing for better adhesion.

Another option is to use a primer or an adhesion promoter before applying the adhesive. Primers and adhesion promoters help improve the surface energy of the materials, making it easier for the adhesive to form a strong bond. However, it's important to choose a primer or adhesion promoter that is specifically formulated for bonding PP to PVC.

It's essential to follow the manufacturer's instructions carefully when using any adhesive or primer. It's also recommended to test the adhesive or primer on a small, inconspicuous area of the materials before bonding them together to ensure that the bond is strong and durable.

Use Acrylic Adhesive to bond adhesive for acrylic sheet to wood

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[scramblescrew]

Request by: 🌱(seed) Anon!

Self-Aware Yandere Ancients and Beasts with male Y/N

Background:

It was a normal Thursday evening and Y/N was out for a walk when they got a notification on their phone. They check it and there was a new update to Cookie Run Kingdom that came out, The Silver kingdom/Beast-Yeast update. The boy was very excited to download the update and get to see all of the new characters, lands, and other features to play with. Y/N hadn’t been this excited since “The Heroes of Dark Cacao” update! Y/N had to admit, The Ancients as well as The Cookies of Darkness were awesome! Y/N thought as he happily jogged home and booted up the game!

After downloading, Y/N saw the beautiful new menu screen, with soft greens and silvers, the new faerie guardians and Pure Vanilla Cookie along the bottoms corners of the screen. But finally, Y/N noticed her, White Lily Cookie! It seemed like forever that he wished that WLC would be added to the game as more than quick appearances and today was the day she probably would!

Ancient Cookies:

Y/N loaded into his kingdom and scrolled around, getting Gems and other things before he finally got White lily Cookie- HE HAD ALL OF THE ANCIENTS! it took awhile but Y/N did it. though... after WLC appeared in his kingdom, he noticed: All of the Ancients suddenly stop moving and look up at him, a normal animation, if it wasn’t for them refusing to move, look away, or the fact that they all started smiling sadistically. Y/N tried to pick them all up and move them so they’d move on but the Ancients weren’t able to be picked up like the rest? Suddenly, Y/N's phone got really cold, like- FRIGID cold! when Y/N tried to put his phone down out of slight fear and concern, five pairs of arms pulled Y/N into the screen, Y/N passing through it and landing on soft ground. Y/N rubbed his head as he tried to get up, his eyes seeing the Lily Garden he had made for PVC and WLC, as well as 5 towering beings surrounding him- The Five Ancient Cookies.... "Our precious baker..." The bond yet motherly voice of HollyBerry Cookie spoke before pulling Y/N up into a strong, safe embrace as the other four started either hugging or carressing your hair and face. "We finally have you here at last, love!" the other spoke, seeming trying to be in unison as Y/N, Now...Y/N Cookie, relaxed into the loving embrace and closed his eye, "You're safe here, Y/N Cookie. and if anyone tries to take you from us..." GCC started, "We'll do whatever it takes to get you back, even if it means crumbling the whelps that get in our way..." Dark Cacao Cookie finished

The Five Beasts:

Y/N logged into his kingdom and started playing through Beast-Yeast, stopping at some points to watch videos on the story (You spoil-sport). After weeks of on-and-off playing, you got to the part where you meet Shadow Milk Cookie and the rest of the Beasts. Though it was strange, while the beasts appeared on screen when talking, their eyes were on you…..this wasn’t normal, so you turned off the game and restarted the level-…same thing. Then- the screen went black and a familiar blue diamond shaped eye, an upside down heart, an ivory diamond, red diamond, and what seemed to be a purple arrowhead appeared on screen. You were freaked out a bit as you tried to shut off the game to no avail.

Out of nowhere, blue text appeared on screen below the blue eye,

“We’ve heard so much about you, Our little baker, and we agree that you need to be with us forever!~”

“Don’t even try to escape, it’ll be futile in the end…”

It was undeniably freaky that this was happening. ‘Little baker? Excuse me, OUR?’ Thoughts spun around your head before a black and blue shepherds hook (cane used to pull people off stage in theatre) hooked around your neck and pulled you into and through the screen.

“Don’t worry, love, we’ll take such good care of you~ you won’t have to worry about ANYONE taking you away from us~”

[qi-rongssimp]

Ya’ll father-son bonding time

I thought that was adorable but then

PVC played along and it was actually maki h me smile :)

Asking his (not really) father for advice

And he actually gave good advice :)))

Custard was so confused too, but that’s it :)

[sirianasims]

I settled into city life surprisingly quickly, especially as I started meeting some of my online friends in real life. Like Samara. We’d known each other online for a while, but hadn’t met in person until I moved to San Myshuno.

We had bonded over sewing. Samara had a channel where she would thrift absolutely terrible clothes and somehow turn them into something fashionable. She wasn’t really into cosplay but she was always up for discussing designs, and she had saved my projects more than once by suggesting a different method or materials. Today, she’d been helping me finish up my Black Shadow costume for GeekCon.

“So how does it look? I mean, I still need the shoes and makeup, obviously.”

“I love it, Julia! Forget the cosplay, you should just wear that coat every day.”

“I’d probably drown in sweat, it’s all PVC. I don’t recommend working with that, it was a nightmare to sew. Although I can’t imagine you come across it a lot in thrift shops.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised at what I find sometimes. But I mostly pick up stuff made from natural fibres like cotton and wool, much easier to change into something wearable. This sweater is an exception, it was a throw blanket when I found it. I wanted to do a matching skirt but I had to scrap half of the blanket due to a… mystery stain.”

“Ew. You’re braver than I am. “

“Fashion requires bravery. But unless you want to wear that coat to lunch, you should go change. My friend Miranda is waiting and she’s dying to meet you.”

beginning / previous / next

[endgamegirls]

[terowell]

Tinned Copper Flexible Braided Connectors & Manufacturer

Terowell manufactures, exports and supplies Flexible Flat Copper Braid Bond made of numerous copper wires are likewise now and again utilized for adaptable electrical associations between large components. The various littler wires involving the twist are a great deal more impervious to breaking under repeated motion and vibration than is a cable of larger wires.

[starakex]

Sonic Cosplay Build Log

Time for another cosplay Build Log! Last log was for the Wurmple partial, and while there were some other projects in between, they didn't really have enough crafting involved in my opinion to make for an interesting blog post.

This time around, I wanted to fulfill my childhood dream of being a Sonic character, but like. THE WHOLEASS WAY. So Sonic Fursuit it is! I hesitated between Shadow or Sonic, but I ended up going for Sonic so I could be silly with it.

Lots of fun things learned during this build, so let's buckle up and get through it!

PART 1 : The Head Base

First things first, I grabbed some reference photos online of the model I wanted to replicate (Modern Sonic, mid 2000s) and scaled them up to print so I could have an idea of how big I'd have to make the head for it to stay in proportion with my body. My goal was to stay generally mobile in this costume and only need help from a handler in big crowds, so I didn't want to build the body up like the current official Sonic Mascots do. Therefore, scaling was a little more done on vibes than accurate measurements.

Once I got the head scaling down, I started on the head base. Sonic characters have orbular heads, so I used Danny McFly's Foam Sphere Calculator to help make a sphere pattern to the size I needed and got to work assembling it. Unlike my last fursuit/mascot build, I splurged and got some Spray Adhesive this time around to cut down on hot glue drying times and it was a GAME CHANGER. Bonded foam within a minute, it stayed strong from edge to edge, and it didn't get in the way of carving foam like hot glue typically does. I personally used 3M's Super 77 Spray Adhesive as it's locally available for cheap. Outside of a few cases, this is the adhesive I used throughout the entire build.

With the sphere base assembled, I began building up the muzzle and carving out the eyehole. I built a test eye... eyes?... Let's call it an eyeplate... I built a test eyeplate out of 3mm thick Sintra (a brand of solid foam PVC board) that I shaped using a heat gun. (Wear a respirator folks! Heated PVC fumes are NASTY. Protective gear is COOL, lung cancer is CRINGE) It wouldn't be the final eyeplate, but having it around was indispensable as the plate itself shifted the foam around quite a bit when in position; a paper pattern wouldn't have cut it in terms of support and proportions would have probably shifted around. It was trimmed over time throughout the build and became the pattern for the final version of the eyeplate. I also added some aluminum wire to the inside of the "eyebrows" to help keep their shape close to the eyes and prevent them from flipping up during the crafting process.

After getting the facial features blocked out, I moved on to the quills! Modern Sonic's head has six quills of various sizes. I started by building out the top quill first, as it was the easiest starting point using the side profile as it was the least distorted one from the perspective. With that first spike glued together and pinned to the head, I made the two other "top row" quills using the same pattern I drew up for the middle top quill, leaving some extra material where they connect to the head so I could trim them down before pinning them down as well.

With the top quills done, I shortened the pattern significantly and used that to make the bottom quills, which were also trimmed to fit. For the bottom quills on either side of the head, I added a bit of foam to cap the holes closed and help them rest of my shoulders more comfortably.

Once Sonic's Sick Haircut was properly glued to the head, I finished carving his facial features by adding some much needed eyebrows. I also carved some ears, though they weren't attached as they would be covered in fabric separately before being added to the head. With everything in place, I finished sculpting the head, shaving down some of the rough patches where the quills connected to the head and building up some zones with extra foam.

I used some leftover lycra from a previous project and made a lining for the entire inside of the head. As the inside is still just a sphere, I simply reused the sphere pattern from the foam base and added some seam allowance to it. (Once again, I absolutely suck and forgot to take photos of this step.) With the base done, I moved on to furring... er, fleecing the head.

Part 1.5 : The Head Skin

In order to get that Smooth Hedgehog Look, I decided to use fleece for this suit. I had been properly prepared for it to be kind of a mess (Fleece does NOT forgive), but all in all, it went pretty smoothly. For the most part, the head was mostly hand-sewn using a mix of ladder stitches and blanket stitches, with upholstery thread to make sure it'd be as solid as possible. I didn't make pattern pieces; instead, every piece was done by draping the fabric over the head, pulling it taut and pinning it down, then cutting loosely where I could hide seams (usually under each quill). I spent a sizeable amount of time watching GOMAJEOSSI's videos for inspiration on how to go about it; they had invaluable advice which I took inspiration of for some parts of the build, particularly for the muzzle and ears. I started by putting spray adhesive on the forehead to secure the main piece that would wrap around the sides, then pulled and pinned, cutting and sewing whenever I reached the back of a quill and stitching them closed with a ladder stitch. Earlier while making the base, I left a 2cm edge on each side of the muzzle unglued; that way, I could slide the fabric of the head under the muzzle for a seamless look. (Thanks, GOMAJEOSSI!)

I then draped the tan fleece over the muzzle and repeated the process, making sure to have plenty of extra fabric to tuck inside the head past the edge of the eyeplates. With the adhesive, I also made sure to really push the fabric into the slit I carved for Sonic's puzzling side-smile (Another certified banger idea from GOMAJEOSSI). To finish things off, I switched to hot glue for more precision and tucked the muzzle fabric into the open space on either side. This gave the muzzle a very nice, defined shape, which stayed just as clean after a ladder stitch between the muzzle and head fabric for a solid, permanent bond.

With only the details left, I used the same "unglued edge" technique for the ears (where the edge" is the inner connection between the tan and blue piece, gathering all the loose edges at the bottom. Once everything was bonded securely, I glued them to the head using Contact Cement for a super-strong bond (RESPIRATOR FOLKS), let them cure for a few hours, then ladder-stitched the ears to the head for a clean look. Lastly, I re carved another nose, covered it in black lycra, then glued and attached it to the muzzle using the same technique as the ears. With everything assembled, I mixed up some fabric paint into a nice dark shade and painted it into the mouth to really help define the look.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 1 (phew!). We'll be revisiting the eyes later on, so it was time to move on to something else while I was waiting on some materials.

PART 2 : The Shoes

Sonic's shoes were the scariest part of the costume going in, but honestly they turned out to be a lot easier than I expected. In any case, I need shoes as a base for these for a couple reasons (the most important one being, y'know, walking an entire day with no foot support on convention cement flooring is BAD). Time to sacrifice an old pair of shoes for the shoe-ception build. I needed a strong flexible base, so I took a sheet of High Density EVA Foam (Lumin's Workshop Hard-lite), covered the bottom of the shoes and the foam in contact cement, then stood up on it for half an hour.

Once the bond between the shoes and foam was solid, I took off the shoes and built the "body" of each shoe (The upper) out of upholstery foam, just like I did with the head. I traced the shape of the soles on the EVA foam as a guide and then glued the uppers to the EVA Foam base using the sole line as a guide. Once that was done, I trimmed the excess EVA foam down.

With the base of the shoes done, I got to work covering them in red fleece the same way I did the head, with the seam located on the back of the heels. I cut the excess off and glued them on the inside and bottom of the shoes.

Once the shoes were covered in fabric, I tackled the details. The white bands were made out of white tech neoprene; it's a stretch fabric with a soft 2mm foam core, which gives it a look that was perfect for the gloves; using it for the shoes to match all white fabrics together was a no-brainer. I cut some buckles out of the EVA Foam leftovers and covered them in yellow fleece, and did the same with the rim using grey fleece. I cut out the little divot on the back of the heels before applying the fleece. In both cases, I left the backside of the EVA Foam exposed to make it take adhesive better.

Just like with the soles, I glued all details on with contact cement; shoes are going to take an absolute beating, and the long cure time is a perfectly acceptable trade-off to make them as indestructible as possible. Even with the respirator, open windows and a fan pushing it all outside, I ended up just letting them cure in the backyard just to not be haunted by The Smell once I was done.

The next day (once everything stopped smelling like toxic garbage), I sewed up some tubes of white neoprene on the sewing machine and then stitched them up by hand to the shoes to create the socks. Lastly, I bought a slab of white shoe sole material, traced the bottom of each shoe, cut it to size and cemented them on the underside to make the shoes outdoors-ready and, hopefully, truly indestructible. And with that, the shoes were completed relatively quickly!

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 2! The most time-consuming parts of the build are now behind us. Things are picking up as we move on to the bodysuit!

Part 3 : The Body

So Sonic's body is pretty simple, as far as fursuits goes. In my case, I skipped body padding for comfort, so doing a Duct Tape Dummy would be overkill. Fleece isn't forgiving on complex shapes like a fursuit head, but it's pretty stretchy, which makes it more forgiving on straight lines like, say, arms and legs. I used NDLWrkshop's Jumper Pattern, printed and cut it matching my selected size, and got to work assembling the base following the instructions. I cut the front and back pieces out of blue fleece and the sleeves out of tan fleece. The only major change to the pattern I made was installing the zipper on the back of the suit instead of the front.

With the base done, I went back to the upholstery foam stash, grabbed the quills pattern, and made two back spikes. I also carved a tail out of foam, and covered everything in fabric using the same drape and hand-stitch method as before. I then ladder stitched them to the bodysuit's back, double-sewing it for good measure since I predicted I'd probably accidentally smush them pretty often whenever I try sitting down.

As you might have noticed, I also took a moment to tailor the arms and legs to fit closer to my body. It's not a completely tight fit, but there's only so far you can go for a fleece bodysuit without padding; if fleece picks up the details of a fursuit head base when it's not completely smooth... I didn't really want Sonic to accidentally end up with big naturals, so the slightly baggy "mascot" look was acceptable to me. After attaching the spikes, I hemmed the arms and legs and added two straps on the arms, one for each side. Their function is to keep the sleeves down into the gloves later while moving around, and it makes them much easier to put on. I then cut the stomach out of tan fleece, pinned it on the bodysuit, then slowly cut a hole in the bodysuit matching the stomach piece, carefully re-pinning the right sides of the suit and stomach together so I could machine sew them together for MAXMUM STRENGTH. I still ended up giving Sonic boobies by accident despite my best efforts but it's nothing a good compression top can't fix... Hopefully.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 3! Did somebody mention gloves?

Part 4 : The Gloves

Sonic's gloves aren't super complicated compared to the rest of the build. They're the reason I picked Tech Neoprene for the white fabric. That way, I could make them slightly oversized and have them keep their shape without having to add stuffing and lining to them and make them look... Mickey-ish. Mickey hands make you need a handler and if I'm at a con I'm going to be grabbing my phone every 5 minutes.

You might have noticed a fucked up black glove in previous photos. The truth is, the very first thing I actually did for Sonic was make a mock-up of the gloves using some leftover black tech neoprene I had lying around, so I could immediately buy the white one alongside all the fleece if my plan worked out. I drafted up a couple patterns tracing my hand on paper and adjusting finger width. I ended up making three gloves before I got a good mock-up, then I assembled a test cuff to confirm all pattern pieces.

Since the mock-up guaranteed that my plan would work, I sewed up the real gloves last so I could focus on everything else, melt my brain troubleshooting issues, then have something easy to sew last. So when I got to the white gloves... It was a pretty uneventful step, really. Except for the sewing machine REFUSING TO SEW THIS FABRIC PROPERLY. After an hour of fighting every setting and trying everything I could think of, I realized Upholstery Thread and Tech Neoprene fucking hate each other. I just swapped back to regular thread and double sewed everything and just moved on with my life.

SONIC GOT THROUGH... ACT 4... God I hate how temperamental sewing machines can get. At least it didn't spit out needles this time (WEAR. PROTECTIVE. GEAR. If you sew bastard fabrics I beg you)

Part 5 : Inside the Head

So we've got a completed Sonic, albeit eyeless and innards...less. Well actually he's got innards (I'm innards), but he's missing some QOL features inside his head. Let's remedy that by finishing up the head first. First up: The eyeplate. When I had a final shape for the eyeplate post-head completion, I measured the size of the pupils on my mock-up, drew some eye designs on Clip Studio Paint, And sent the files out to OtterHalfCostumes to be printed on mesh. That way I could thoroughly wash the head in the future without worrying about the eyes getting damaged. I checked the sizing on my test eyeplate when I received the mesh and got some promising results!

With everything properly tested, I finally cut out my second eyeplate out of Sintra, this time using the digital eye design to accurately cut and sand the holes to the exact shape. Like last time, I heat formed the eyeplate to create the right curve, and once everything fit right, I hot glued the eyemesh onto the plate. Finally, I very carefully glued the Sintra eyeplate into the head using a bunch of E6000 glue. It has a CRAZY STRONG BOND, but the cure time it also super long. It's the part I was most worried about breaking however, and it was the best choice for this specific use for a couple other reasons. I ended up with a strong, practically invisible bond for a clean look!

Now that the outside was COMPLETED, I needed to furnish my battlestation. The inside of the head is massive and wobbly and the addition of the eyeplate makes it a sauna. This is NOT a head type with good ventilation. I got to making the padding first. I tried a few shapes of padding throughout the build to test things out, but I ended up settling on a donut shape that would stabilize it like a hardhat would. I cut my donut out of upholstery form, cut a hole in the middle and carved the top diagonally to rest into the head proper, then covered it in fabric. The side resting on my head is lycra, to wick away sweat, while the side resting on the inside of the head is fleece so that it has some grip to stay in position. This allows the padding to be adjusted, and removed for washing.

FINALLY, for the very last step in this journey, I installed the fan system. It's a three-fan system with an intake and outtake fan at the edge of the neck hole, and a little fan blowing on my forehead for comfort. I added some velcro so that every fan could be removed for washing, got the battery pack pocket sewn up in the top above where the padding would usually rest so it's out of the way, and snuck the wires into the empty space above my head where they'll be out of the way.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 5! It's done the build is completed holy shit

Level End Jingle

I cannot overstate how proud I am of this cosplay. It's a culmination of a bunch of bullshit crafting methods, a bunch of new techniques, a couple materials I hadn't gotten to try before. The whole thing took almost a month to the day, and it feels surreal to finally wear a costume I'd been dreaming of ever since I learned what cosplay was like 15 years ago (There was another childhood dream cosplay I completed during the pandemic, from that one series with the little green elf guy that I don't wanna clog the search page for. And it was fulfilling to make! But seeing my regular human face on a character with a stylized human face feels like the definition of the Glamour Failure trope sob) But then I look at this costume and my brain gets tricked by the overall look and it feels just right. We'll see how comfortable it actually is and if anything falls apart on the con floor in a few months, but nothing can really dampen the simple joy of being Sonic the fucking Hedgehog.

[superfluffychickens]

I wanna do a vlog-style “tour” of the chicken run once I’ve finished all the work I need to do in it, I built a second square PVC roost today, now all that’s left is waiting for the nest boxes I ordered to get here so I can install them.

I also put back the baby gate/partition that I had last winter, to keep Jack and his hens separate from the teenagers, so the young roos can eat and bond with their new little girlfriends in peace. The poor boys were hiding at the top of the staircase and refusing to get down, honestly the older hens were harassing them more than Jack was. The pullets are still a bit too young to be interested in the boys yet, but it shouldn’t be long, they’re pretty big now and their combs are starting to grow and turn red. I’ll be switching them from Starter/Grower feed to All Flock once the first pullets start squatting, which I expect to be in the next couple of weeks!

[incorrectwwfquotes]

i have some very specific thoughts on shawn&diesels relationship that i don’t talk about but i probabyly will eventually. anyway Im curious How Do U Perceive Them. like what do they even have going on man

would LOVE to hear your thoughts even if it's just in dms because i feel like you're one of the only people on this app who has a genuine good understanding of their relationship

not lovers but more than friends. something so queer it's too queer for even the gays. seen as queerbaiting by the gays but too queer to be straight. obsession and love beyond average human comprehension. something special only between them. a true bond of trust at its fundamentals. diesel is probably the only sexual partner shawn has ever felt like he could truly give his all to. because above everything else diesel will always protect him and keep him safe, even if they were to "break up" whatever that means for them. there's no "i like you, we should date" no confession of love, just a mutual affection between them. they kind of just fall into something more than platonic naturally and never address it. their touch is always bordering on romantic yet never quite more than intimate platonic touch. nothing about them is straight forward. they probably don't even know what they are. they might throw a few "that's my boyfriend" jokes here and there but they wouldn't actually call each other boyfriends. or partners or even spouses. they're just them, and they don't care to figure it out or label it because they're happy. they don't label their genders or their sexualities of their relationship. they just know they're queer and the love they have is queer.

the sex is freaky tho. bdsm and leather and pvc and chains and collars and leashes and sadomasochism. not safe not sane but it is consensual. i also think they switch but i think this fandom isn't ready to accept shawn isn't 100% subbottom never mind that diesel could do anything other than domtop but alas.

[shsl-analyzer-guy]

hi! idk if ur still doing this, but for the dr ask game can u answer #23, #34, and #95? thank you! :]

I will do the DR ask game yes

23- This is a hard call, but on the overall I think I have to go 2-4. I love the uniqueness of the escape room/starvation motive, and the way it shapes the trial and develops the characters. The Nagito section, the reveal of Hajime being reserve course, everything about Gundham, Kazuichi getting to do something for once, the development of the Fuyukane friendship and Akane's development >>>> all excellent

34- Komaru Naegi is severely underrated as a protagonist, and I absolutely adored her every moment of UDG. There isn't nearly enough love for her in my opinion; not only does her arc carry out fantastically and fairly realistically for DR standards, but her relationships with the rest of the main cast and cautious optimism born not from naivety, but necessity, works fantastically. I'll always stand by my assertion that she's Makoto with personality, and she's a reflection of everything I'd wanted to see in him, but better and as a lesbian. Fantastic woman, 12/10, still waiting for them to release another official PVC figure of her because was one enough? Was one really enough?? No, no it was not

95- Speaking of Komaru, tokomaru & syomaru far surpass every other ship in the series for me. Maybe it's just because of how hyperfocused on these relationships UDG was allowed to be by way of a smaller central cast, but it felt like their development was the absolute strongest out of any of the bonds between anyone else in any DR cast. The way the three of them all develop each other over the course of the game in phenomenal and the absolute highest point in DR for me- you've got Komaru assuring Syo in chapter 4 when she first puts her above Byakuya, you've got Toko taking care of Komaru when she nearly loses the will to go on in the final fight, also putting Komaru above her pipe dream with Byakuya, and Komaru using Toko's own speech that saved her in the first chapter to inspire the adults in chapter 4?? Her being able to fight in sync with Syo when we got to see them in DR3? I love them, love them so so much

[forever-fixating]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @piratefalls and @onthewaytosomewhere

Happy birthday to our favorite chaos bisexual baby boi, Alex! I am almost at the finished line for this chapter. I'm determined to post today, so stay tuned, folks. Wordy little bastard Alex has a lot to say and a lot of FEELS. ENJOY!

As they exited the cemetery, Henry turned to him and asked, “Would you indulge me one more cemetery tour?” Alex nodded, something in Henry’s eyes telling him this was important. They walked down the street until they found an appropriate place to cross. Henry led them up to the open gate that read Holt Cemetery. Compared to the grandeur of the place they just left, Holt looked rundown and neglected. The gravestones were worn and crooked, some lined with PVC pipe or broken mini-picket fences, and decorated with mementos from loved ones. He took Henry’s hand and squeezed it as they walked along the gravel drive. “Somewhere in here,” Henry said softly, “may lie the remains of four men, victims of a gay bar fire in 1973 called the Upstairs Lounge.” “May?” Henry’s jaw tightened. “Many older records were destroyed after Katrina. Some say the victims, one, possibly two, who have been identified, were buried here or in the Charity Hospital Cemetery nearby. Their bodies were so damaged, they were never identified or claimed. One man’s family, Ferris LeBlanc, didn’t even know he’d died in the fire until 2015. In total, thirty-two men died that night, the deadliest attack on a queer space until Pulse in Orlando.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” Alex hissed. “Was anyone ever charged?” Henry shook his head. “There was a suspect, a man who had been ejected about twenty minutes before the fire started, but it ultimately went nowhere. It was just a bunch of queers who had it coming, right?” “How did you learn about this?” “A documentary,” Henry replied. They paused, and Henry held their joined hands against his chest. “I have a vested interest in the history of our community because the mainstream media and so-called educators still seek to bury it.” Alex swallowed thickly as he scanned the cemetery. As the son of a Mexican immigrant, he knew all too well how hard the system fought to suppress those they deemed as “other.” It occurred to him that so much of the real history of this country hadn’t been taught to him in the classroom but through books, documentaries, and people like Henry. People determined not to let their history fade into obscurity. “I don’t mean to preach-” Alex stopped him. “No, you’re not. And you’re right. These men deserve to be remembered. Thank you for sharing this with me. I’ve only been for about a year, and I’ve still got so much more I need to learn.” “That’s the first step,” Henry smiled. “The worst thing you can do as a young queer person is live in willful ignorance because the people in power are counting on it. Pride Month is about so much more than celebrating who we are. It’s about remembering those who we’ve lost, who didn’t get the chance to live openly as we do now.” Alex felt a lump growing in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Henry and squeezed tight. Henry huffed a laugh but returned his embrace, murmuring, “I’d kiss you right now, but that would be grossly inappropriate, given our current location.” “Good call.”

There are so many bonding moments between A&H in this chapter, but this is one I'm proud of. As a queer person myself, Henry was channeling me as I too think it is beyond vital that queer people learn their history, the bad and the good. Celebrate Pride but remember the people who are no longer here. CMQ brought up the story of the Upstairs Lounge in One Last Stop, so I wanted to include it here as I feel it would be something important that Henry would want to share with Alex. I promise, this chapter is almost done and you guys are NOT ready for it! All aboard the hype train, choo chooooooo! See ya soon!