#toddler sewing patterns

[5berriessewingpatterns-blog]

Introducing the Baby Romper Sewing Pattern Bundle

[ahedderick]

Little Monsters

Little Monsters everywhere!

I bought this fabric from @pterribledinosaurdrawings designs (but I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the website) quite a while back. I made the green design into a dress for my little niece last spring, and saved the rainbow monsters for this year.

Small dresses are so quick to sew up compared to adult-sized ones!

[nicollini]

Little red riding hood

Lately am I switching things up between inks, aqua colors and artist pencils to try out new ideas for upcoming projects. I really like how this one turned out.

[seesallysewpatterns]

The latest addition to my #etsy shop: Child's Hooded Jacket and Overpants Pants Vintage Uncut Simplicity 8473 Factory Folded PATTERN Size 4 #sewing #simplicity #pattern #childcostume #toddlerscostume #toddler #childoutfit #vintagepattern #factoryfolded https://etsy.me/3AY4QGa https://www.instagram.com/p/ClmR0HuyJWw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[muffinlance]

Writing update: final Scaled Over chapter nearly done! Whether I'll have time to finish it today is entirely up for debate, but I finished some edits that had been holding it back and it should be smooth typing to the end. <3

Isopuppy sewing pattern is also coming along, currently just figuring out Optimal Shell Curvature for Ultimate Good Dog Hugs. Efforts somewhat stymied by toddler putting a leash on it and taking it for walks while his sister crawl-crawl-crawls after. Come back, momma needs to measure...

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling Ch. 13 - Falling

You try to find a way to repay Joel for all his kindness. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-12 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 5.9k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

For a change, you wished you’d paid more attention to your mother. 

She’d tried to teach you how to sew. She’d tried to teach you plenty of times. She had this antique notion in her head that you should know how to embroider shit, that you should be able to repair your future husband’s shirts and socks and jeans and make your future babies little onesies. She’d tried to teach you to hand stitch and use a sewing machine and every time you counted the seconds until you could go do something - anything - else. Ride horses, play music, read. Hell, math homework sounded better than stabbing yourself in the finger with a needle for no damn reason. 

Besides, with a Wal-Mart in every town, who even needed to sew anymore? 

You regretted that at the end of the world.

You’d had to figure it out when you were living on your own in the wilderness. You’d traded for more clothes and the things to keep them in good working order but that didn’t get you far when you couldn’t actually sew. The first repair you made didn’t hold well and you had to redo it again and again. Eventually, you could at least keep your clothes functional without wasting your precious few materials but you’d never done a particularly nice looking job. The stitches were never the same size or evenly spaced and doing any kind of design was completely out of the question. 

You wished it wasn’t though. 

“Ow,” you muttered to yourself, stabbing your thumb with the needle yet again. You sucked the bead of blood off your fingertip. “Fuckin’…” 

You were going to have to call it good soon otherwise you’d never actually finish this damn thing. You’d already spent far too much time on making something as simple as a guitar strap out of canvas, flannel and denim from the scrap pile and leather from saddle bags damaged in the raider attack. If you’d actually bothered to learn how to properly sew, you were certain that you’d have finished the fucking thing weeks ago. And that it would look much better than it did after all that extra work. 

But at least it was useable. And it looked like something Joel would like. Or you thought it did, anyway. You hoped it did. 

It was, in fact, hard to figure out what to give someone at the end of the world. It’s not like you could go to the mall and browse and, while you were closer to Joel than you were to any other person in town, you didn’t know him intimately enough to know things that he deeply longed for or needed but wouldn’t get for himself. Even though you were starting to think you wanted to know him in that way. A thought that made your heart flutter and head get light. 

But you’d watched him play guitar enough that you thought he wanted a strap for his guitar and you were pretty sure he didn’t have one. So you’d gathered the materials and started piecing it together, just making up everything as you went along. It’s not like you had a pattern or much of a plan to speak of. You just found ways to make even cuts, pinned it all together and did your best to make it look like someone besides a clumsy toddler had sewed the damn thing. 

Overall, you were pretty happy with how it was turning out. Had turned out. It was done now if you could just stop fucking with it. You held it up, looking it over, eyes catching on every flaw in the stitching. 

“Think he’s gonna like it?” You asked no one, an old habit that was hard to break after spending years with almost no interaction with other people. “Fuckin’ hope he likes it.” 

You’d tried to make it something special, something that would speak to Joel somehow. The outer layer of fabric was a subtle plaid flannel, one like he wore so frequently you figured he had to like it. The underside was thick, sturdy denim, the leg of a pair of pants that had one side shredded by barbed wire while the other was left intact. You’d brought the scrap leather around the bottom and even burned Joel’s initials into it using nails that you’d shaped into the letters yourself. 

You’d found Tommy working on building something in town one day and you picked up a few bent nails off the ground. 

“What’re you tryin’ to get away with?” He called after you as you headed back home. “Know you’re itchin’ to cause trouble…” 

“Makin’ a voodoo doll so I can fuck with you when you’re not around,” you replied. “Needed somethin’ sharp.”

“You would,” he laughed. “Gonna get you back one of these days, Bambi!” 

“Lemme know when you got the brain power for it, Miller!” 

It took a surprising amount of force to bend the nails into the right shape but you got them eventually, the M in two parts because doing that many bends in one piece of metal wasn’t going well. Then, you heated them up and burned the letters into the leather, ignoring how your hip itched where you’d been branded years earlier as you worked. You anchored the ends of the fabric into the leather and added loops to hook onto the guitar. 

You still felt strangely nervous as you wrapped the guitar strap in paper and tied string around it even though you knew you’d done everything you could and it wasn’t going to get any better. The strap was holding together well, the stitches were at least in fairly straight lines if not equally spaced and evenly sized - and you doubted Joel would even notice things like that - but it still made your chest tight. It had been a long time since you’d given someone like Joel anything at all. But you wanted to. 

The night he’d returned from hunting Simon, he’d walked you home with his arm around you, holding you to his side. His knuckles were bloody and bruised as he pressed his nose into your hair. When he went to leave you on your porch, you caught his wrist and held him there, feeling his heart beat below your fingertips. 

“Stay,” you said, knowing you were all but begging him not to leave but you didn’t care if it was pathetic. You didn’t want to be far from him. You didn’t want to try to rest without him. “Please.” 

He slept next to you again, his damaged hand gently cradling your face in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest so close to yours comforting you enough that you could relax for the first time since you’d watched him ride away. 

You weren’t sure how to repay him for that kindness. 

It didn’t help that you weren’t sure what you were to Joel, what he was to you. It was the end of the world, after all, labels seemed silly at a certain point. Besides, what did you call someone you sometimes shared a bed with but were too afraid to go into their house? Whose touch you longed for but just the thought of him undressing you made you very nearly panic? Who you wanted to be around all the time but couldn’t bring yourself to tell the things that hurt you most? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure what he’d want to be, either. 

But you wanted to give him something. You had for weeks, wanted to do something after for letting you play his guitar, for helping you through the pain of finding your home burned to the ground, for giving you who knows how many shirts now, for being a good and decent man in a world where it seemed like there weren’t any. 

Then, he’d saved your life. Again. And killed the men who’d tried to hurt you, the man who’d possibly sold you out to the people who had taken everything from you, to keep you safe.

You couldn’t repay all that. You wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

So you finally finished the fucking guitar strap. 

Joel opened his front door before you’d had a chance to knock and smiled. 

“Hey,” his eyes were so soft and the edges of them crinkled when he smiled like that. “Was just about to make some tea, want some?” 

“Sure,” you said, trying to smile back but you weren’t sure you managed it, your heart in your throat. You thrust the small, paper-wrapped package forward and stared at his chest instead of his face. Or you tried to, anyway. You still glanced up at him and caught him frowning, brows scrunched together in question. 

“What’s this?” He asked, taking it from you and turning it over in his hands. 

“Nothin’ crazy, don’t get excited,” you stuck your hands in your back pockets. “Just somethin’ I thought you might need so I made it…” 

“You made this?” He asked, smiling again as he held the package up. You nodded, cheeks getting hot. 

“Like I said, It’s nothing crazy…” you muttered, clenching your jaw as you looked off the porch, anywhere but directly at him. 

He properly stepped outside, going for the stairs and sitting on the top one. You sat next to him, your nerves calming a little bit now that you were in this more familiar setting. You’d still never been inside his house but you were starting to want to. Want to go behind closed doors with him, be truly alone with him in his space, be that close to him, know him that well. 

He unwrapped it slowly, pulling it free of the paper, a confused frown on his face at first before he gently, almost reverently, unfolded it. 

“You made this?” He asked quietly, looking at you with raised brows. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged awkwardly. “Look at it too close and you wouldn’t need to ask that…” 

“This is incredible,” he cut you off, running his fingers over his initials in the leather, a sense of almost awe in his voice. “I love it, this is…” 

He looked up from the guitar strap to look at you for a moment, his eyes ranging over your face. 

“Would… would you let me try somethin’?” He asked. 

You weren’t sure if you could speak, your heart in your throat. Instead you just nodded. 

He reached one large hand forward slowly and gently took your cheek in his hand before pulling you - slowly, gently - toward him, until his face was aligned with yours. You froze, your breath catching as his lips pressed softly into your temple. It took you a moment to remember to actually breathe and you took a shaky inhale as he held you close, his mouth against your skin. 

He pulled back as slowly as he’d touched you, looking over you again like he was waiting for you to bolt. Which, you figured, was a fair thing to worry about, given your track record. But instead of relief at the distance, you resented it. He was only inches away but it was too far now. Your head dropped to his shoulder, the skin he’d just kissed pressed against him as you moved closer until your whole body was against his side. 

That was better. 

“Really love it, Sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb running over the leather again. “I’ve been wishin’ I had one of these and this is so much better than I could have hoped for. Thank you.” 

“Glad you like it,” you said, staying close to him.

“Not some occasion I don’t know about is it?” He asked, voice light, teasing. 

“You’ve just done a lot for me,” you shrugged. “Wanted to do something for you. And I realized that I’ve known you the better part of a year so there’s a good chance I missed your birthday.” 

He chuckled. 

“Haven’t missed that,” he said. “Don’t really celebrate it but… didn’t miss it.” 

You frowned. 

“You should,” you said. “Celebrate it, I mean. When is it?” 

“September 26th.” 

“Oh shit,” you laughed once, darkly. “Yeah, alright, can see why you might not want to throw a party.” 

He laughed a little. 

“Yeah, hard to want to celebrate the worst day of your life,” he said. He paused for a moment before he pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. “When’s yours?” 

“November 1st,” you said. “It was great when I was a kid, my parents let me stay home from school so I could be out late for Halloween. Always ate too much candy with my friends the night before and then spent the day of with my horses.”

“Little different now,” he said. 

You laughed and pressed closer to him. His arm went around the back of you, his hand going to your hip, holding you to his side. 

“Just a bit.” 

You sat there with him for a moment, just listening to him breathe, the birds chirping in the trees nearby. It was comforting, the sound and feel of his existence. 

“Should go get the guitar,” he said quietly. “Try this out.” 

“In a minute?” You asked, adjusting slightly to see part of his face while still being pressed against him. 

He was quiet for a second before you felt his lips in your hair again, his nose nuzzling against you. 

“Course. In a minute.” 

You stayed like that for what felt like a while, quiet and tucked against him, his thumb slipping below your shirt to brush the skin at your hip. You closed your eyes and breathed deep, focusing on the breeze on your skin, the heat of Joel at your side, the woodsy musk of him, the sound of the wildlife just out of reach. It was like you could feel everything within you, the way your lungs moved, your heart beat, your blood flowed, in tune and safe with Joel beside you. 

Eventually, you sat up slowly and opened your eyes again, the side that had been against his feeling oddly cool with the space between you. 

He turned to face you and leaned into you, his forehead against your temple, his nose brushing your cheek. He took a deep breath against you before sitting up again. 

“Right back,” he said, voice oddly gruff. 

He took a little longer than he usually did to get the guitar but, when he came outside with it, the strap was attached. He went to drape it over you but you leaned into the railing of the stairs, stopping him. 

“It’s for you, you have to be the first one to use it,” you smiled. “That’s the rule.” 

He smiled back, making his cheek dimple. 

“Alright,” he put it on and sat down, admiring the leather and running his thumb over the stitching on the flannel before looking at you. “Any requests? I’ll play if you sing.” 

You thought for a moment. 

“Know Just Like Heaven? The Cure?” 

You hummed a little. He laughed. 

“Yeah, know that one,” he said. “Just gotta swear you won’t show me up with it when I give the guitar over.” 

“Promise,” you smiled. 

He tapped out the time on the body of the guitar and then started to play. You just listened for a moment, all but forcing him to loop back around on the intro before you came in with the lyrics. 

“Show me how you do that trick…” 

Joel handed the guitar over after one song, before you were really ready for him to. You liked making music with him, there was an intimacy to it that you hadn’t found in anything else. You’d never done much of that in the past, never wanted to perform so never taken up with a band in your youth. Your music had always been just for you. Joel was the first person you’d ever known that you wanted to share it with in that way. 

He chuckled when he handed the guitar off to you and you frowned at him. 

“Promised you tea,” he said. “’Sides, rather hear you play for a bit.” 

He joined you on the porch again later, you just playing whatever chords popped into your head, no real melody to it. Joel put the cup of tea beside you and sat on the step below you, stretching his legs out, leaning back against the railing and closing his eyes. It looked comfortable, so you did the same, facing the other way so you could look at him, the shadows and filtered sunlight from the leaves of the nearby tree dappling over his skin. 

You liked to look at Joel. You hadn’t ever really had the excuse to do it for a long period of time before but it was easy to fall into it now that you had the opportunity. Your eyes traced over his face, the creases around his eyes, the arch of his nose, the graying hair and beard, his features soft and relaxed as he sat, arms crossed, listening to you play. 

For a second - a split second, one that you doubt you’d have paid much mind to even just five years ago let alone before the world ended - you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to put the guitar down, find your place on this thick legs, lean your body against his and press your lips against his own. You wanted to feel his mouth on you, feel him breathing, slip your tongue past his teeth and see just how he tasted. You wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair and hold him against you and find out where his hands would find a home on you. 

You froze for a moment, a thrill of fear running up your spine the second you actually processed what that would mean. That you’d be that close to someone, that out of control of your own body. It made your chest get tight. Joel opened one eye, frowning a little. You’d stopped playing without really realizing it. 

“Everything OK?” 

“Fine,” you said, looking down at the guitar. Looking at him was apparently dangerous. “Can I ask a favor?” 

“Course.” 

“If you don’t got other shit to do tomorrow afternoon, I need to take a few of the new horses out and try to open ‘em up in a less controlled environment,” you said, absently plucking quiet notes on the guitar. “Could use another set of hands. If you’re up for it.” 

Joel smiled a little. 

“Make you a deal.” 

“Really gonna try and barter?” You raised your brows. 

“Movie night tonight,” he said. “You go to that, I’ll help tomorrow.” 

“What movie?” You frowned a little. 

“Pretty Woman, I think.” 

“Pretty Woman,” you snickered. 

“What?” 

“You’re gonna go watch Pretty Woman?” You were skeptical. “Just on your own if I don’t go, you’re gonna go watch Pretty Woman.” 

“Maybe I will,” he smirked. “Before you agree, you gotta actually sit down for it. We can sit at the back and I’ll be there but no standin’ back against the wall.” 

You made a face. 

“Bambi.” 

“Fine,” you groaned and kicked his thigh lightly. “Gettin’ to be just as bad as Tommy, making demands and shit.” 

He laughed a little, the arm closer to you going to rest between your calves, his hand finding your knee and he closed his eyes again, a small smile on his face. Your heart beat a little faster.

“You were going to help me even if I didn’t go, weren’t you.” 

He shrugged. 

“Never know now, will ya?” 

You laughed a little and took a sip of tea before going back to playing. 

Joel put his arm around your waist to walk to movie night and it stayed there as people milled around, picking seats. 

“Want to sit away from an aisle or next to one?” He asked, holding you to his side. 

“On an aisle,” you said quickly. That would make it easier to run. If needed. Joel just nodded toward two seats on an end and let you pick first. You took the inside one and Joel took the seat on the aisle, draping his arm over the back of your chair and, as the lights dimmed, you sank against his side, your head going to his chest. For a moment, before the movie started, you could hear his heart beat. You could have sworn it got faster when his nose brushed against your hair. 

***

Seeing you with Ares made Joel nervous. 

Consciously, he knew it shouldn’t. It wasn’t the horse that was the problem before, it was Simon. And Simon was no longer an issue. Joel had made sure of that. Ares was just another animal and you were nothing if not an expert with animals. 

But it was still a thing that had damn near killed you. And watching you saddle him up, pet him, speak in that soothing voice to him made Joel uneasy, his stomach knotting as he clenched his jaw. 

“You’re sure he’s ready for this,” Joel was skeptical. You gave him a look and he ground his teeth a little. “Look, I know he’s had problems…” 

“He was just stubborn,” you reached up and gave the massive horse’s head a scratch. He leaned into your touch, his large head nudging your chest. “He knows we’re on the same side now. Don’t you?” 

The horse dragged a hoof along the stable floor and you smiled. 

“See?” You looked at Joel, your face bright and open, always looking your most relaxed around animals. “We’re good.” 

You had Joel ride a calmer mare, Cassiopeia, while you took Ares. You led a third horse, Hera, behind you and Joel watched as you took a deep breath as the two of you left the town’s walls and headed out into the wilds. 

“Promise not to laugh at me?” You asked, your smile broad under the shadow of your straw cowboy hat now that the two of you were about a mile out of town and truly on your own. You had on one of Joel’s shirts, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and the bottom of it tied around your waist in the heat. 

“Can’t help it if you say somethin’ funny,” he half smiled at you. You ignored him.

“Any time I work with more than one horse, I always want to do Roman Riding,” you crinkled your nose as you said it and Joel frowned. 

“I don’t know what the fuck that is.” 

You laughed and shook your head a little. 

“Forget that you weren’t a cowboy before,” you said. “Just seem like you would have been. It’s trick riding, where you ride two or more horses at once, side by side, each foot on a different horse.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel shook his head and smiled. “Was your hobby tryin’ to get yourself killed?” 

“Sometimes,” you smirked. “One trick is called a suicide drag after all…” 

“It’s a miracle you survived to the end of the world,” he said. 

You laughed. 

“And just think, that’s the only riding my mother was OK with me doin’,” you said. “But it worked out. That’s the only reason I was able to get up on Samson the day he threw Ellie and who knows what would’ve happened then. Been a while but I remembered how to get on a runnin’ horse.” 

Joel looked at you for a moment. He’d brought you to Jackson to save your life. He hadn’t expected anything more from you except to survive. But instead you’d become a part of the fabric of life there, your work with the horses essential to the survival of the place he’d come to love. 

You’d become essential to him, too. This core piece, he’d realized, something that couldn’t be pulled away without critical damage. 

It had been so long since Joel had felt anything like this for a woman. Most of his life, really. 

Before the outbreak, his life has revolved around his daughter. He worked more than he wanted to give her a good life and, when he wasn’t busting his ass at a job site, he just wanted to be with her. Friends were already too much of a time commitment let alone a girlfriend. There were occasional lovers, a few casual dates and sex or even just a woman he picked up at a bar on nights Sarah spent at a friend’s, a woman who wasn’t interested in anything more than a night of satisfying sex. He hadn’t been looking for love and it certainly never jumped out and bit him in the ass. 

After the outbreak had been worse. 

He had no desire to want anyone, care for anyone at all let alone love them. He fucked women when they offered - the world was over, why deny yourself what little pleasure there was left in it - but the thought of feeling something for anyone was horrifying. 

Tess changed that. He’d come close to loving her that way, or he thought he had, at least. He’d cared about her more than he had anyone else but he was never able to love her, not in the way he thought he should have been able to. He wasn’t stupid, he saw what she felt. But any time he even considered falling into that with her he’d shock away from it. Falling was the exact word to use, something that he’d have no control over and could kill him when he hit the bottom. He’d stood on the edge of that cliff with Tess, caring enough to want to jump but too afraid to do it. And then she was gone because he’d failed to hold up his end of the bargain. He’d failed to protect her. 

You were different. Maybe it was because you appeared in his world after he’d loved Ellie. Maybe you were so inevitable that he’d have fallen regardless, tripped over that cliff’s edge and plummeted toward the bottom, all but welcoming what he’d find there. He hadn’t intended it, hadn’t wanted it but you were just… you. Beautiful and brave and smart and so damn alive in a world that, for so long, had been so dead. He hadn’t been able to help it and, once he’d started falling, he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop hurdling toward the ground after tumbling off the cliff. 

And he was in it now. The incident with Simon in the barn had proven that, the fear that gripped him stronger than anything he’d felt in so long. It was worse than when his own life was under threat, far worse, akin only to what he’d felt when he knew Ellie had been hurt. What had been an amorphous thing hanging on the edges of his consciousness was suddenly clear and at the forefront: He loved you. Without meaning to, he loved you. Without wanting that kind of connection with anyone, he loved you. Without thinking that would ever be possible, he loved you. He would do anything and everything for you if it would keep you safe, make you happy because he loved you.

But there was a sense of guilt with it, too. You hadn’t told him what happened to you but he could hazard a guess. You didn’t want to be touched - though you said you liked his touch - but touching you was sometimes all he could think about doing. Ranging his hands to feel every inch of your skin - you would be soft, he knew you would be so soft - and pulling you close to him to kiss you. Really, properly kiss you, taste you, have you tight against his body as he swallowed every delicious moan and whimper you let slip from you. Fuck, he wanted that. He wanted it so much it was almost painful. 

He was starting to think that you wanted it, too. The way you fit yourself into his arms, the way you’d guided his hand to your body, the way you relaxed into his lips when he brushed them against your skin. But Joel couldn’t ask you for more. Not when it could hurt you. Even if he wanted it, even though sometimes that felt like all he wanted, what you wanted was more important. 

“Challenge for you, Miller,” you smiled, almost smirking, watching him as you pulled him out of his own head. 

“Shoot.” 

“Race you,” you said. “Out to the trial head and back to where we tie out the third horse.” 

Joel looked at the distance, probably half a mile round trip. 

“I’ll make it interesting,” your voice had a teasing edge to it. 

“You’ve got my attention,” he smiled a little. 

“If I win, you have to make me more of those chips,” you said. “Say… four times. Whenever I want.” 

“And what do I get if I win?” He asked, brows raised. 

“What do you want?” 

You. 

He didn’t say that. 

“Two movie nights, two bar nights,” he said. “Have to sit down for the movies and dance at the bar.” 

You scrunched you nose for a second. 

“You drive a hard bargain, but done,” you said, slipping off Ares to tie Hera off. Joel smiled a little, watching you. You climbed back on the horse and settled into the saddle, cracking your neck and loosening up your arms. “Ready to lose to a girl?” 

“Don’t think there’s much shame in losin’ to you, all things considered,” Joel laughed a little. “But don’t matter, not going to lose.” 

You patted Ares’ neck and shook your head a little before adjusting your grip on the reins. 

“Ready,” you said, staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed, your horse in alignment with Joel’s. “Set. Go!” 

You shot forward, Joel half a second behind you. He pushed Cassiopeia faster, harder, but it was no use. You were just better. There was a lag between Joel’s action and Cassiopeia’s reaction, time for her to understand what he was asking of her. But that didn’t seem to exist with you and Ares, his movements and yours in perfect sync. 

He caught a glimpse of your face just as you turned to run back the other way, smiling like you were having the time of your damn life, eyes wide open and eager instead of cautious and afraid. 

You, smiling and happy and secure, had quickly become Joel’s favorite sight in the world. He’d seen it the night before at the movie, too. It took some time, your body stiff against his for the first half hour or so. But, after a while, you relaxed into him, smiling and laughing and making snarky little observations in his ear and he’d do anything you asked of him, anything at all, to make you feel that happy and safe all the time. 

You reached Hera a few seconds before Joel, bringing Ares about to watch him close the gap. You just shook your head, pulling your horse alongside his, facing the opposite way. 

“You let me win!” You shoved him playfully. 

“No I did not,” he laughed. “You beat me fair and square I’m afraid.” 

“Damn,” you were still smiling, leaning forward in the saddle to pat Ares’ neck. “And here I wanted an excuse to go with you to the bar.” 

The two of you led the horses down trails at first, their first time going through anything but open land with a person on their backs, and then moved to winding through the woods off trail. You switched out horses regularly, each of them disconcerted by navigating the more crowded, natural environment while taking commands at first. But you got them to be more comfortable with it and, by the end of the day, they were taking your commands just as easily as they did in open country. 

“Trade me,” you said, dismounting from Ares. Joel frowned. 

“Sure it’s a good idea…” he began but you waved him off. 

“He’s fine, Joel,” you laughed a little. “Really. Wouldn’t let you get on ‘em if he wasn’t safe.” 

“I get thrown off this damn horse…” He got off Hera and went to Ares, standing so close to you in front of the horse that he could feel you beside him. 

“Then I’ll watch however many movies you want,” you looked up at him, teasing. 

“Alright,” he sighed, offering the larger horse his palm. He sniffed it, skeptically, paying closer attention to you than to Joel. 

“You know him,” you said, voice soothing and soft, dragging your nails gently over the underside of Ares’ long jaw. “He’s a friend, he’s good, we can trust him…” 

Joel watched you, almost feeling like he shouldn’t, like he was intruding on a private conversation with a dear companion. But even if he were, he wouldn’t have been able to tear himself away. He loved what you were saying too much to turn away from it, his heart swelling with it. You trusted him. Of everyone left in this godforsaken world, you trusted him. 

Ares pressed his velvet muzzle into his hand. 

“Good boy,” you kissed the horse’s massive head and took better hold of the reins, turning your attention to Joel. “See? He’s harmless. Hop up.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel smiled - couldn’t help but smile - and climbed onto Ares. 

You were right, Ares was fine. You took over Hera and led Cassiopeia as the two of you worked your way through the forest back to a trail and, eventually, back toward Jackson. Ares responded well to Joel’s commands, calm and trusting, nothing like the horse that you’d cautioned him against touching so recently. You’d done just what you’d said you’d do, made it so he would be a good, reliable mount for patrol, no longer the wild creature he once was.

The two of you were almost back to the trail when your face fell. 

“Joel?” You said, the tension obvious in your voice. He rode alongside you and you nodded toward a tree. There was a clean, clear x cut, about shoulder height, into the trunk. Like someone marking a location. “Look like something anyone from Jackson might do?” 

“No,” Joel shook his head, brows drawn together. “No, it doesn’t.” 

You looked at him, the relaxed joy he’d seen in you all day entirely gone. 

“We’ll report it,” he said, nudging Ares a bit closer to you, as close as the horses could really get. “Get a team out here…” 

“We don’t want to check it out now?” You asked. Your whole body was stiff. Hera stomped her feet below you and she chuffed unhappily. 

You were afraid. 

“No,” Joel said. “We’re not equipped to go huntin’ anyone down. We go back. Nothin’ that says they’re here now, not going to risk you. We go back, tell Tommy, make sure we’re equipped to handle whatever it is.”

Your eyes searched his, wide and vulnerable, and he wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close. Close enough that he knew you were safe. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, holding your gaze. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe. Promise I will.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Eeeeeeeeek!

Y'all. They are so close. I promise. Next chapter ramps everything up and I've been looking forward to writing it for a while now. I hope you'll enjoy reading it, too!

Thanks for sticking this story out! I know it's been a hell of a slow burn but I've loved getting to settle Joel and Bambi into this comfortable place and building their trust and relationship before we move on to the next part.

I do have an updates blog. Follow and subscribe for post alerts to get an alert whenever I post a new chapter! I promise I won't spam ya!

I so appreciate you all being here and I love you more than words can express. Thank you thank you thank you!

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[autisticlancemcclain]

It’s a stupid thing to be hurt about. Lance knows it is. He knows absolutely firsthand, now, how much worse things can be; hell, he has been through objectively worse! Several times! He was blown up! It gave him brain damage!

His eyes burn, anyway, and the lump in his throat is impossible to choke down.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he mutters harshly to himself, voice hoarse. “It doesn’t — it’s not serious. Chill out.”

He’s been repeating the same mantra to himself on and off all day. Longer than that, really.

But this time it doesn’t work. He knows why, but he thought he was — he’s supposed to be okay with this. He’s an adult. He’s eighteen years old! It all feels so — stupid and juvenile, and he’s not stupid and juvenile, and it’s not even anyone’s fault and there’s no fucking reason to be mad, except that he’s four goddamn years old, apparently, and can’t fucking handle a situation without crying like a stupid fucking toddler.

It’s just that he —

He clenches the quilt tightly in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

He’s been working on this for over a year.

They don’t have a ton of free time, as paladins. They’re constantly on missions or training or planning or spending hours in the healing pod as a result of the missions and training and planning. There’s always a million things to do. But there are moments, here in there, when at least one hand is free, when there’s time to wind down, have some time to yourself.

Lance has been using his rare pockets of time to collect scraps of fabric, from worn curtains to torn flight suits to beautiful decorative things gifted on diplomatic missions. It was something he did with his Abuela at home, from when he was barely big enough to see the sewing machine from her lap, and the sound of the piercing needle and weaving thread is a comfort, now, something familiar he can do with his hands, something to remind him why he’s on this haunted castle in the dead of space, billions of lightyears away from home.

He’s proud of it. It’s by no means the first quilt he’s ever made and it shows in the straight lines of the stitching, the swirling patterns of the patches. It was a calming process but a difficult one, too, and he’s poured his heart and soul into it, seeing together the reds and blues and greens and yellows and blacks to make something solid of their frantic time in space. He’s been too excited to keep it to himself, even, mentioning it here and there, bringing it up during conversation at dinner.

He hadn’t expected everyone to drop what they were doing and write a fucking poem about it, obviously, but he had — he thought there’d be something. Anything. When he draped it pointedly over his lap during movie night, tracing the stitches with his pointer finger, he’d expected someone to say, woah, cool, you make that yourself? You were telling us about it!

His face burns hot with shame, and he swipes angrily under his eyes. How fucking arrogant. It’s just a — it’s a fucking blanket made of worn scraps. They’re fighting a war. He can’t believe he expected a fucking — fluffing of his ego, or whatever. It’s embarrassing. It’s a child whining for their mother to watch them do half a cartwheel.

He balls up the fabric, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds, and stomps down the hallway, blowing past a bewildered Keith. He nearly slams right into the wall as he rounds the corner, staggering to the side at the last minute, yanking open the hatch of the garbage chute and stuffing the quilt in.

“Fucking — come on.” The stupid fucking quilt is too bulky. He slams both palms flat against the bunched fabric and shoves, but his arms shake, and the harder he presses the more frustrated tears well up and steam down his face, and the weaker his arms gets. “Go — in!”

He rears his fist back and slams it into the ball of fabric as hard as he can, but the stupid thing stays jammed. With a shout of frustration he kicks the side of chute, hard, but all that does is damn near break his toe, so he pounds the quilt with his fists again and again and again and —

“Fuck off!” he screams, kicking the stupid chute one more time before giving up and slamming the lid back down on it. It doesn’t do anything but make the whole thing look a thousand times more pathetic; his stupid childish quilt stuffed in a garbage chute where it belongs but refusing to slide down like the ugly eyesore it is. The sobs that he’d been choking down since the beginning of that stupid fucking movie tear their way out of him and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do to stop them, so he turns and flees, leaves the ugly thing behind him, sprinting all the way to his room, furiously wiping his eyes. He throws himself on his bed at full speed and nearly cracks his head on the wall when he bounces on the mattress. He snatches the nearest pillow and hugs it to his chest, shoving his face so deeply into the down that he can hardly breathe, sobbing so hard he has to choke down vomit.

He’s a fucking idiot. A fool. A goddamn child.

He cries until he passes out.

[rowan-ravenwood-art]

speaking of which... this goes on the art blog, i think.

look at her!!! she took me three days to make. she's not perfect, as this is one of the first real projects i've used a sewing machine for, but i love her very much!

she has soulful brown button eyes and one floppy ear...

and she's quite hefty, weighing in at three pounds, and around the size of a small human toddler!

the pattern i used can be found at the bottom of this page - i just modified it to add my own horns, wings, and spikes, and without using joints.

[lollytea]

hunter baby fever haver so true. guy who is mentally furnishing a nursery before even having his own place. baby name book addict. hes comparing & crossreferencing BI & earth names as soon as children start to be a possibility

Fr I don't think he even particularly cared about kids at all until a certain point. Like his lukewarm reaction to little Philip in Hollow Mind, before he actually realized who he was? He was all like "Hm. Yes. That certainly is. A Child."

But then he starts his apprenticeship under Dell and suddenly he's exposed to kids every day. And he's put into situations where he needs to talk to them and understand them because it helps with the palisman carving process. And he was pretty awkward at first cuz he has barely had any interaction with children before this (King was the only child he knew, who happens to be very mature for his age) and kids are weird and bizarre and unpredictable and Hunter is a little out of his depth. But he gradually get accustomed to it and even warms up to being around them, even finding them endearing. So at that point he's like "Hmmm....maybe....maybe I'd like kids one day. Maybe....."

But then, but then, but THEN!!! But then he's at work one day and somebody lets him hold their baby and its all fucking over for him. It awakens the beast. He's not normal anymore. How can he possibly be normal??? How??? How can he continue to exist and live an indifferent life when babies are so fucking SMALL?????? WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!! And then it just gets worse and worse and worse over time. He gets more and more comfortable with kids. He holds more babies. Now he's just insane about it.

And the thing is. Hunter knows he and Willow are too young for a baby. He knows neither are emotionally mature enough. He knows they still have so much growing up to do. He KNOWS okay he knows. So he's not begging for a baby. He has no intention of trying to have a baby right now. But that doesn't stop him from being in AGONY over the fact that it's gonna be several years before he can have a baby. His primal instincts are like. WANNA HOLD BABY!!! WANNA SQUISH BABY!!!! WANNA SMOOCH BABY!!!!!

Man is sighing wistfully over little baby clothes at the market and Willow's kicking herself for leaving him unattended cuz now he's gonna be in one of those moods tonight where he's whispering potential baby names in her ear when they're cuddling and she's had ENOUGH of it. She already wakes up every morning to twelve video links from Hunter of toddlers eating lemons and making funny faces or some shit because its usually in the middle of the night when his fever is the most potent.

Willow wants kids one day too. But she's also in very deep in her Flyer Derby thing. So while Hunter's idea of having children is the aftermath, Willow's mind immediately goes to the pregnancy part. And like. She has no intention of taking a pause from her athlete life yet. She's thriving.

Tho in fairness she does think it's kinda funny just how much of a menace Hunter is over this. He's just. Listen. If Hunter was never supposed to be a father, fate wouldn't land him with so many hobbies that could be utilized for future fatherhood.

An avid bookworm with an insanitable curiosity? He's 19 years old and reading parenting books for fun.

A tailor? He can sew, knit and embroider. He can MAKE little baby hats and mittens and booties and blankets. He'd probably be so excited to do so actually.

Woodcarver? He can build little wooden baby toys. He can make a mobile with little dangling palismen. He can build the goddamn crib itself and carve patterns into it of all of his and Willow's favourite flowers.

Like. He's spent a decade preparing. He's gonna be so ready when the time comes. But also you know that when the time DOES finally come and Willow tells him the exciting news, Hunter's euphoric celebration lasts for a total of four and a half minutes before he's like "Oh Titan....oh Titan, Willow, what if I'm a horrible father?"

He's a mess of a man.

[curious-creatures-crochet]

🎉 🦕 PATTERN RELEASE 🦖 🎉

My New Sew Mochi Dino's pattern is FINALLY HERE! Make your own prehistoric party with 6.5 different dinosaurs including two kinds of Tiny Trex, a Small Stegosaurus, a Baby Brontosaurus, a Toddler Triceratops, and a Baby Hatchling! All without any sewing!

Also, to celebrate the launch of this pattern set, enjoy 20% off all patterns on my Ravelry store!! No minimum purchase necessary!

Link: https://www.ravelry.com/designers/vivi-kushniryk?set=&_rfoff=1

These guys are such a hit at my markets, both in worsted and plush yarns! The kiddos love to look through them and identify each dinosaur! And they work up beautifully in plush yarn as well!

I hope you’ll enjoy making these Dino’s as much as I enjoyed designing them!

[5berriessewingpatterns-blog]

Acacia PDF Sewing Dress Pattern for Girls

[artemistorm]

It's time to fantasize about having my own Skyloft-themed store of sewn things to sell. I'm thinking of naming it Skychild Sewing since I want it to have the word 'sky' in it and I tend to sew stuff for babies or kids because they're quick and don't use much fabric. Some items I could sell:

Buntings made of white fabric strips braided into a rope with brightly colored triangular flags

Flags or banners with birds on them

Bird or flower-themed mobiles

Baby/toddler clothes and bibs, especially capes and cloaks

Braided rag rugs

Quilts, especially ones with geometric patterns

Baskets and pots with geometric or bright color patterns on them

Children's dress up clothes like crown, fairy wings, animal mask, fairy wand

Children's toys like the memory game, fish purse, juggling chickens, maybe I could attempt to make a doll or stuffed animal

Quilted pillowcases

Watercolor paintings done of Skyloft-adjacent scenery

[pennyplainknits]

A small and I acknowledge petty rant

I stg if I see one more sewing pattern promising "no tricky buttons" "no fiddly zips" "no difficult fastenings" I will scream.

A) none of those things are hard. No you might not want that for your first sewing project but they are not DIFFICULT. Take half an hour and some scrap fabric and stitch a few buttonholes. In newer machines (which I don't have) you don't even need to change the dial, they do them all in one step. There. Now you can make a fucking buttonhole.

It does help to have the right foot for your zip, but if you don't you can handsew them. Pin them in place, sew, don't forget to press. You're almost always just sewing a straight line. For invisble zips spend then like, £7 for an invisible zip foot if your machine didn't come with it.

There, now you have a zip.

B) Not every pattern needs to be for beginners. I am SO SICK of looking at the new releases and seeing 100 variations on oversized sack dresses because somewhere along the way someone decided that zips were unacceptably hard.

I know in part that the massive oversized silhouette is in right now (I hate it but whatever I don't have to wear it) but I sew so I DON'T have to wear whatever is in the shops at them moment. I want something that is fun and engaging to make but that isn't like, full on vintage repro and doesn't make me, someone easily in middle age look like a TODDLER.

[samwisethestitch]

Research for a Tudor-Inspired Ren Faire Costume

I've been going to renaissance festivals since I was a literal toddler, and for as long as I can remember, I've coveted those beautiful, elaborate Tudor gowns. I love them. I love the shape of them, I love the tiny details, I love the patterned fabrics. I love the way they move. And now that I'm an adult with adult money, I want to own one.

Unfortunately, finding a Tudor-inspired costume as a plus sized person has been... more frustrating than I'd like. Everything I've found in my size is either very cheaply made and looks Halloween costume-y, has a four-digit price tag, or doesn't have the silhouette and overall look of what I want. So, like any sane person with ADHD and a passion for reading history papers, I decided to learn to make my own.

This is by far the biggest sewing project I've ever attempted, but I do theoretically have the skills. I'm also not aiming for 100% accuracy -- I'm perfectly willing to "cheat" by using a sewing machine and other modern hacks. I'm also absolutely willing to use non-period fabrics and dyes. What I want is the iconic silhouette of a classic "Anne Boleyn gown" and hood, but aside from that I'm pretty flexible. After all, I'm wearing this to a renaissance festival, not a reenactment event.

But since my main inspiration is Tudor English fashion, I decided to start by familiarizing myself with that era of fashion history. For this, I bought a copy of The Tudor Tailor by Ninya Mikhaila and Jane Malcolm-Davies, a book which looks at both Henrician and Elizabethan fashion.

The Tudor Tailor was really helpful. It includes patterns for most basic Tudor garments, and goes into a lot of detail about how social class was connected to and displayed by clothing. Besides the patterns, I love the two-page chart that shows all the different fabrics available in 16th century England, ranked by how expensive they were -- so if you're planning a costume, you can choose fabrics based on the social class you want to portray. There's also good information about the dyes that were widely used in this period, but like I said, I'm not super concerned about period-accurate colors for this project.

From my research, I learned that the garment I want is called a French Gown, and that it was in fact popularized by Queen Anne Boleyn, although they stayed fashionable after her death. I'll be making a French Hood to go with it, and probably some period undergarments to get that very distinctive Henrician Tudor shape.

[oneatlatime]

Haybending

I got bored today and started daydreaming. The results:

In Bato of the Water Tribe, Aang haybends. Obviously he airbends a bunch of hay, but let's dig into haybending a bit.

As I understand it, Hay is a bit of an umbrella term for a bunch of animal fodder-producing plants, which means that haybenders bend more than just one plant; they can bend a bunch. That implies that they are bending what plants are made of rather than a single species or genus of plants. Hay is made of cellulose. Cellulose is what (I think) practically all plants are made of, and there are some bacteria that deal with it (?) as well. Biology class was a while ago.

What things are made of cellulose?

How about natural fibres? Cotton, hemp, flax/linen, burlap. (Not animal fibres or petroleum-based ones.) A cellulose bender could therefore bend all natural textiles (and blends so long as the natural content is over some percentage threshold, but I have yet to see evidence of petroleum or plastics in Avatar). It would certainly be useful in a fight if you could make your enemy's clothes trip them up/detain them. Everyone wears clothes made at least in part of fabric. Unless you rock the all leather look or just never wear clothes, you'd have no way of protecting yourself from a cellulose bender. Imagine the wedgies. Imagine how much easier it would be to put clothes on squirmy toddlers if the clothes were on your side.

What about making textiles? Would a civilisation that could cellulose-bend even bother inventing the loom? Imagine the heights of artistry that would go into cloth where each and every thread was conducted into place individually and simultaneously. I bet they could produce cloth while holding their threads floating in the air. A bender wiggles his fingers and what look like piles of tangled thread soar into the air and arrange themselves into a paisley-patterned button-down. Can you imagine the quality of tailoring you could accomplish if you had power over individual threads? Would you even invent sewing or tailoring if you could shape each individual piece to fit, then join them without seams? Can you imagine the implications for embroidery?

What about paper? Would a cellulose-bending civilisation ever invent ink? They could bend cellulose into paper, then instead of writing/printing text on paper, they could bend the cellulose in the paper into the shapes of the letters. Might not be faster than regular writing, but certainly more economical than how we currently produce braille books. You could literally throw the book at your enemies. Bend whole libraries.

Wood is made of cellulose too. Wood houses, carts, ships, bridges, all would be manipulable. Wooden shaft on the enemy's spear? Tie it in a knot. Woodcarving would be possible without tools. Who needs carpentry when you can bend a house out of a forest? Could you bend a bowl out of a tree and then put it back after dinner? If your cart had wooden wheels, could you propel it? If you're camping in the woods, could you bend a grass or branch hammock and then put it back the next morning? Could you obscure your tracks?

Can you imagine what a beast a rope-bender would be in combat? Canvas is made from hemp or cotton; a sail-bender could ground a whole fleet of sailing ships. A seaweed bender could ground propeller ships. You could knit without needles, crochet without a hook, open the curtains without getting out of bed. You could weave a basket on the spot, so long as you're near grass. Near-infinite biodegradable packaging at your fingertips. You could juggle coconuts without touching them.

And what about applications on plants that are still living? For more benign uses, imagine shaping your garden with a wave of your hand. Make vines climb trees, tree branches go where you need shade, weave elaborate living fences from shrubs. You could make a tree grow in the shape of a chair, then cut it down and use it in your dining room. What about forests? Could a cellulose-bender make a forest get up and walk? If you needed to move your herd to a different field, instead of a sheepdog or a cattle drive, could you just bend the wooden fence with the animals still inside and shuffle it to new ground? Hunting would be easy - just spot what you want to kill and then turn all the surrounding grass into snares.

And this isn't even touching the implications on agriculture.