#Automatic Sewing Machine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wandaluvstacos · 9 months ago

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I am begging people to stop buying this damn sewing machine for anyone older than 12.

As a toy for children, it's acceptable. If you ACTUALLY want to sew something, do not get a cheap piece of crap from Walmart for $35!! You'll work on this thing for 15 minutes, it will suck, you will get frustrated, and then you'll tell yourself that you are simply incapable of sewing and that it's too complicated for you. But it's not your fault-- you are working with a child's toy. That's like giving up on driving a car because your Barbie Jeep's battery dies the first 5 minutes you're in it.

My two recommendations:

First and most recommended: You get a LIGHTLY USED modern plastic machine for cheap off Facebook Marketplace or your local sewing machine repair shop. I'm talking less than 10 years old. You ask the seller "do you use this regularly" or "has this been serviced". Try to buy from someone who has used the machine recently because they'll know its ins-and-outs. You can find a modern machine for like $30 on Facebook Marketplace from someone who has actually used it (I would not recommend Goodwill or anywhere you can't speak to the person who used it before you, if you are just starting out). One highly recommended modern machine for beginners is the Singer Heavy Duty.

It's $200 new but you can easily find one much cheaper used. It's simple to use and will hold up to basic sewing for the time it will take you to decide whether you want to sew or not. Other modern Singers suck ass; save yourself the trouble. Go with the Singer Heavy Duty or a Brother, or even a Janome if you can find one cheap enough. Stay away from anything that's not a time-trusted brand.

The Brother CS6000i is a decent beginner's machine.

Again, do not buy machines off eBay unless they make it CLEAR that it has been fully serviced and is in perfect working condition. They honestly aren't much cheaper used on eBay than they are new, so best to buy it from someone on Facebook Marketplace or at a sewing machine repair place.

Second recommendation: Buy a VINTAGE METAL machine that has been fully serviced or in perfect working condition. These are more difficult to find serviced, so I wouldn't recommend it unless you find one on FB Marketplace (though the one I got on eBay worked perfectly out of the box). There will be TONS of very cheap vintage machines on FB Marketplace, but the problem with these is that they've often been sitting in a cabinet for 20 years, unused. Not great for learning on. You can also buy one of these machines and have it serviced, but having a machine serviced will cost more than the machine is worth, more often than not.

There are benefits to a vintage metal machine over a modern plastic one. it will last your lifetime. It can sew through thick, difficult fabrics. They're much better looking imo. They likely won't break unless you drop them down a stairwell. However, the oldest ones only do a straight stitch, and speaking as someone who has vintage and a modern machine... the automatic buttonholer and overlock stitch are nice to have! But the vast majority of the stitching you will do will only be zig zag (for stretch knits/elastic) or straight stitch. The zig zag feature became available in most domestic sewing machines by the late 1950s.

Any vintage machine made before 1970 will be fine to sew with; everything was pretty good quality back then. 1970s era Kenmores are ugly and basic but they are cheap while also being excellent machines, and they're the "newest" domestic machine you can get that's still all metal.

Any Singer will have easy-to-replace parts, have easily findable user manuals, and every sewing machine repairman will be able to fix them. The uglier ones in the 1960s are dirt cheap, if you make sure it's not younger than the 628 or 337. Both of these machines are the cheapest vintage all-metal Singers you'll find and they work fine (and they do zig zag stitches).

Do NOT get a Touch n Sew or Stylist made in the late 1960s or later. Generally if it has plastic buttons, it's got something plastic inside (not always, but with Singers, often). These Golden Touch n Sews are in fact Touch n Throw (away).

Any old black machine will be fine and very simple to use, and I think they look gorgeous, but they only straight stitch, so you won't be able to sew your own leggings on them. If you only want to make curtains, quilts, or bags or something, they will work fantastic for that. Just make sure they're serviced, as these things usually are not.

I'm going to talk to my younger, beginner self: Just because it's a used, older machine does not make it worse!

Even used modern plastic machines can work fine. It's rare that people are selling a machine as WORKING when it doesn't work. People tend to be honest about it. Usually they are selling it because they lost interest, it was given to them by a family member, or they just don't use it enough to keep around. Buying used is almost always the best, cheapest option for a beginner. Stop buying these cheapo gadgets on Amazon! They will only make you hate sewing machines.

#sewing machines #passing on my knowledge learned over the past 8 years lol #sewing #beginner sewists

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this-game-has-themes · 2 months ago

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the Rebel Defects' updated character designs and bios ft. writeups from @lair-of-the-white-worm. now nobody is allowed to be wrong about our characters ever again

“Drill”

Rescued from Slig Barracks. Mudokon Worker. Delinquent. Long range weapons specialist. Unruly teenager.

Hatched in a labour provision warehouse, he was assigned to be a maintenance Mud in a fashion brand sweatshop the moment he was capable of using his thumbs. After losing his leg in an automatic sewing machine accident trying to save one of his brothers from the same fate, he quickly became irate and aggressive towards everyone and everything around him, so much so that the owner of the sweatshop labelled him a “Delinquent” and had him shipped off to the Slig Barracks Delinquent Camp to be taught a lesson or two about respect. Due to the abuse he was forced to endure under General Dripiks orders, and constantly being used as target practice by Sligs in training, he became even more unruly and aggressive. He was mockingly given the nickname “Drill” by the other Mudokon delinquents in the Barracks. Drill insists that the nickname comes from his job as a maintenance Mud and skill with power tools, but the nickname actually stuck as a result of his constant insulting and scolding of other Muds much older and larger than him, with a confident gusto not unlike the drill sergeants they were faced with every day.

The “Target Practice” jumpsuit is standard issue for Mudokons in the Delinquent Camp. The Sligs in the Barracks entertained themselves greatly by aiming directly for Drills peg leg every time he was sent out on the shooting range to pick up bullet shells. It became a game for them. After going through leg after leg made of rusty rods leftover from outposts and wrappings made from empty sandbags, Drill eventually started making his spare legs out of weapons that were tossed into the Barracks’ “discard pile” for reasons such as malfunction or obsoletion. Drill will darkly comment about how the guns his leg are made from are just like him, “thrown away for not working right.”

When Abe first arrived at Slig Barracks on his mission to shut down SoulStorm Brewery 401, Drill had no interest in following Abe. He didn’t believe in some Messiah, and he certainly didn’t believe in blindly following some leader to become an off the grid hippie. The murder of General Dripik cracked Drill’s skepticism. He still didn’t believe in Abe’s prophecy, but Howler's grit won him over. He decided to trust Abe and Howler and go with them on their journey (after stocking up on an overly excessive amount of stolen Slig artillery per Howler’s request, much to the dismay of Abe). He was sent through a bird portal by Abe after the death of Vice President Aslik. Freedom however, did not result in Drill’s attitude improving. If anything it got worse. After the Brewery’s destruction, Drill became the first official member of Howler’s “Rebel Defects”. He did not fit in well with the freemuds let alone the natives, he even managed to receive the luck of being the first Mudokon that was ever kicked out of Alf’s Rehab & Tea after giving the namesake proprietor a very harsh, unwarranted, but not dishonest tongue lashing. He began being turned away from most front doors, not that he seemed to care, but it was clear he didn’t fit in.

He inadvertently joined Howler’s mission to assassinate her oppressors when she coaxed him into realizing they both wanted the same thing; to kill the Industrialists that murdered their childhoods, no matter how small or indirect a role they played in it. In order to convince him that Howler had his best interest in mind, she gave Drill her collection of General Dripik’s medals, a trophy she had taken from the Glukkon warmonger’s dead body the day that he had been murdered as an ironic quarmic vengeance on behalf of the spear belonging to her Drone Beget being turned into a centrepiece in Dripik’s trophy room. Giving up the medals to Drill was a meaningful gesture, as the murder of Dripik was something Howler had longed for since the Glukkon’s army razed her tribe into the ground and abducted her. The medals were, to her, a reminder that she had outlived him, her tribe had outlived him.

Drill keeps the medals adorning whatever he can show them off on. He is the weapons specialist of the gang. Thanks to his non-consequential career in maintenance, excessive time spent in Slig Barracks, and his experience jury-rigging prosthetics out of reverse-engineered Slig weaponry, his knowledge of industrial firearms is practically unmatched. He is skilled with both a close range handgun and a long range sniper rifle, and can identify any bullet, even if the shell is mangled.

As the youngest member of the gang he is constantly on edge about being patronized. Though Howler sees her younger teenage self in Drill, caring deeply for him and understanding his pain, the majority of their interactions result in arguments and insults thrown at one another. Thanks to the Delinquent Camp he is an expert at interrogation tactics and is quick to harshly clock people on their Slegshit, even his own gang. He does not respect Howler as a leader, and is the only member who tends to call her out when her motives are clearly favouring herself over others.

His second closest relationship is with Trip Hazard, who trusts Drill the most when it comes to describing the appearance of things like dead Sligs; something the two of them both find quite hilarious. -

“Trip Hazard”

Rescued from Necrum Mines. Mudokon Worker. Blind. Explosives expert. Geezer with a dirty sense of humour.

Ever since he was a hatchling, he never looked where he was going and was always stumbling about in the way of others, earning himself the nickname “Trip Hazard”. After spending his able-bodied years slaving away with explosives in various locations under the orders of SoulStorm Mining Co., he was eventually shipped off to Necrum Mines under the facade of a “promotion”. It became clear to Trip that this was a lie when he was knocked unconscious and had his eyelids sewn shut before being thrown into a Cheapo Labour train car without any care whatsoever.

Mudokon slave miners in the lowest levels of Necrum are all surgically blinded before they are stationed there, for various reasons. One being that any burial offerings dug up by the slaves are confiscated and sold to Industrialist museums as “excavated artifacts”. Deprivation of sight ensures the slaves don’t have the chance of seeing anything valuable while they’re digging and trying to pocket them. Also, if they become aware what species the bones they’re ordered to dig up belongs to it would likely cause the workers great moral distress, which could lead to panic attacks or suicide, and their bosses don’t want to deal with that paperwork. The blinded slaves are also deprived of sunlight as they are never permitted to leave the low tunnels of the mine. The lack of sunlight and oxygen causes their skin to become very thin and pale. If a blinded slave was even seen at a glance by someone who wasn’t supposed to see them, it would be a PR nightmare for the mining company, so they’re kept underground, essentially until they die and become the very bones being dug up. In short, slave miners being promoted to work in Necrum Mines are being sentenced to death.

Trip Hazard was always very aware that Necrum would become his grave, but always remains very lighthearted about it all. He was well known by his coworkers before for his sense of humour, always cracking jokes even in the most dire of situations. When dumped off at Necrum he was typically working on his lonesome by order of Morguer, who demanded that all explosive technicians be sent on location alone in order to minimize casualties. Trip was fully expected to die on multiple occasions, but he has managed to evade death every time with a smile on his face and a bird flipped to his Slig supervisor.

Explosives remained Trip’s one and only comfort. He was already half deaf due to his work and was now fully blind, meaning he couldn’t at all see the bright fiery clouds and couldn’t much hear the boom beyond a ringing in his ears. However he could still feel the explosions. The vibrations in his bones that shot through him after detonation were more familiar to him than a cold Brew or a good night's sleep. He often mentions that his lifelong dream is to go out with a bang in the biggest, brightest, most destructive explosion possible and that all the previous explosions he’s been in “clearly weren’t sexy enough”.

When Abe caused Necrum Mines to cave in, it was Trip Hazard himself who aided in laying the explosives to do so. Unlike Drill, Trip Hazard didn’t hesitate when offered rescue by Abe. However, not unlike Drill, he didn’t fit in with the other freemuds and natives well. Not many of the blinded Mudokons did as the tribes themselves weren’t used to large populations of disabled and were not equipped to provide them necessary aid. Trip’s age didn’t do himself any favours either. As a crotchety blind old Mud, he expected to be treated with respect by the tribes as they seemed to value their elders. The contrary proved quickly true. His status, not only as a factory-hatched Mud but one that contributed to the “defiling of Necrum” earned him frequent disrespect and saliva spat in his direction by Posers, Kahonees and Shamans.

He quickly learned that the only place he was truly welcome was in Howler’s circle of screw-ups, and when the offer to join her mission of retribution was given to him he jumped to take it.

His contribution to the Rebel Defects is his both his nasty sense of humour and expertise in explosives. When rescued from Necrum he made sure he took as much dynamite as he could with him, “just in case” as he put it. He always seems to have the exact explosive the gang needs, whenever, wherever, however, just by reaching in and pulling it out.

The mining hardhat Trip wears has a broken light. Trip is unaware it’s broken and still switches it on whenever entering any dark areas with the gang, despite the fact he wouldn’t even be able to see with the light anyway. It’s merely a habit he never let go.

He also carries with him a shovel he uses as a walking stick, perfectly indented with the shape of a Slig’s skull- one that had cornered Howler the day that Abe had come to the mines. Trip gave the Slig a quick whack knocking him dead to the ground, an act which stood as his first introduction to Howler and the Mudokon Messiah himself.

Trip’s strongest relationship is with Slogmeat. He is completely oblivious to the fact Slogmeat isn’t actually a Slog. The gang doesn’t bother to correct him because Trip doesn’t believe them when they say Slogmeat is a Mudokon. -

“Malpractice”

Rescued from Vykkers Labs. Mudokon organ farm. Field medic. Anomaly. Somehow sentient.

Mal wasn’t born, nor was he hatched, he was grown as a product of the Vykker Pharmaceuticals Universal Donor™ program, a horrific "medical breakthrough" that promised a consistent, conscious-free supply of transplant-ready organs that could be rented, leased, or sold. “75% ethically sourced Mudokon organ farms, incapable of conscious thought, pain, or suffering, for the discerning transplant recipient. All tissue is guaranteed cross-species compatible. Book a new liver or kidney today!” That’s what the brochure said. Mal was meant to be one of those, the 75%. Lifeless, unfeeling and disposable. But by a fluke, something didn’t take.

When Howler’s gang raided one of the many Vykkers Labs in search for the notorious cosmetic surgeon Dr. Knicks, she instead found Malpractice on a steel table. Despite her first assumptions he was shockingly alive, eyes open, organs halfway removed, having been watching the procedure being performed on him in silence, before it was interrupted by gunshots. He sat up, gestured towards a suture kit, and stitched himself back together. Howler spoke to him, and it was the first time anyone had ever addressed him at all.

His name comes from an identification tag that was tied to his toe, notifying the surgeon that was operating on him of something uncertain. Malpractice was the first word that Howler recognized. She asked the Mudokon if it was his name. Mal had never had a name before aside from the barcode identifier on his forehead, so he nodded.

Mal is tall and bone-thin, stitched together like a ragdoll in surgical thread and steel staples. He’s a grotesque sight, the kind of figure even other Mudokons flinch away from. The Vykkers called him “it”, and the natives still do because they consider his existence “unnatural” due to having not been hatched from an egg.

His gait is stiff, like he’s unused to moving under his own power (which is true). His muscles shouldn’t even work properly but, somehow, they do, and very well. Despite his stature his strength is impressive. He doesn’t feel pain due to his nerves having been grown to not have any sort of feeling. His skin is cold. His body is a patchwork of foreign parts, no one’s sure how many of them are even his. He doesn’t seem to know either, or care.

He speaks very rarely, but when he does, his voice is low and precise, more like a readout than a conversation. He says that it’s because he doesn’t want to waste any words. His bedside manner is nonexistent, but in the field, no one can deny he’s effective. He knows how to keep others alive because he’s spent his entire life watching death happen in slow motion. He’s been an unwilling observer to countless surgeries, dissections, amputations-silent, motionless, always aware. The Vykkers never noticed. They never thought to check if the organ farm could see them.

Mal learned from the inside out, both figuratively and literally. Within Howler’s gang, he puts that knowledge to use. He is the gang’s medic, though a more appropriate title would be their butcher. No one knows how much pain a body can take better than Mal. His cold precision and anatomical knowledge make him indispensable-if not exactly comforting. He doesn’t see suffering as something to prolong unless it serves a purpose. In fact, Mal is the only member of the gang who truly believes that sometimes, a painless death IS the only form of freedom left for a creature too far gone. He’s seen too much to believe otherwise.

He doesn’t sleep. The only rest he’s ever known came in the form of cryogenic suspension. Without drugs, his body just keeps going, because there’s no fatigue in dead nerves. Unless he is artificially sedated with whatever Vykker Pharmaceuticals Knockout drugs the gang can get their hands on, he spends the night staring at nothing for hours while everyone else rests. Processing, remembering, and dealing with the traumatic reality of being alive. Mal doesn’t want revenge, he is revenge. Every scalpel, every suture, every Vykker executive with a missing kidney and a message carved into their chest is just another step toward something bigger, something final. He wasn’t made for war, but he’s very good at it.

Mal wishes sometimes that he was capable of feeling pain, for the sole reason of being able to feel something at all. He’s unable to feel taste, touch, and can only barely feel temperatures. He isn’t even able to feel hunger despite his stomachs. He still prefers to eat through a pouch and a tube. He’s bitten off the tip of his tongue before and hadn’t even realized until Drill pointed out the blood coming from his mouth. He’s unable to feel sensations as well, and his artificial blood type was created for no reason other than being pumped by his lab-grown heart to organs that he wasn’t even allowed to keep.

His bond with Howler is the only connection he’s ever had. She was the first person to see him as more than a “thing”. Not just a Mudokon but a person. He doesn’t know how to show what that means, of course. He’s never had a friend before her, but he follows her without question, protects her without hesitation, and if it ever came down to it, would kill every living thing in sight to keep her breathing. When the gang disagrees, he always takes her side. -

“Slogmeat”

Rescued from Bonewerkz. Body of a Mud. Mind of a Slog. Closest thing to a bodyguard the gang has.

Slogmeat’s true origins are shrouded in mystery. The gang has no idea what his name is, or if he even has one. All that is known about him is that when he was a child, he was tossed into the Slog kennels of Bonewerkz. While it’s likely that he was left there assigned to the role of shovelling up offal and feces left by the Slogs, it was commonly joked about amongst other workers that he was intended to serve as food for the animals, and truthfully the more likely case. Hence why most employees and security referred to him as “the Slogmeat”, seeing him as less of a sentient being and more of a mindless creature.

Sligs themselves contributed to Slogmeats delusions, having essentially raised him from childhood exactly like they raised Sloggies as a form of humiliation and bullying. They kicked him, beat him, kept him chained in the pens, fed him Slog food, and even forced him to respond to commands like a Slog would. Slogmeat however, has managed to survive despite his circumstances, although not without consequences. Besides the various injuries and chewed off chunks of himself, he has developed a sort of familial relationship with Slogs. This comes more from being considered one of them, rather than by any training or discipline. Since he spent his formative years among the animals, he himself doesn’t recognize himself as a Mudokon. He is a Slog in his own mind. He moves like one, thinks like one, barks like one, and, thanks to his size compared to the other Slogs, he has assumed the role as the Alpha among them, saving him from being on the receiving end of a lot of vicious attacks.

Other Bonewerkz employees would often share urban legends about Slogmeat to the point where scrubs were debating his existence. He was spoken about more as if he were some sort of cryptid lurking around the factory at night. Sometimes the Sligs would play along just to freak others out, and when scrubs were assigned with Sloghut cleaning duty, they were told to “watch out for the Slogs, but especially the Slogmeat”. Scrubs sent to the Sloghuts to clean them were given that task as a sort of punishment and did not come out in one piece, let alone alive. They doubled as cleaners and dinner to Slogs.

During the revolt, Slogmeat was found by Abe in a Sloghut, chained up, beaten, bruised, feral and mauled beyond recognition. At first glance Abe had assumed him to be a mutant Slog rather than a mutilated Mud. Slogmeat had no desire to be rescued, not recognizing the Messiah as kin at all. All the years of abuse made him incapable of even understanding any words spoken to him that weren’t his trained commands. He was rescued against his will.

Among the Freemuds, Slogmeat was the furthest from free. He was considered just as much of a mutant as he was back in Bonewerkz. He was still unable to see any Muds as kin, and after several visits from Shamans attempting to essentially exorcise whatever “vicious Slog spirit” had possessed him, he was deemed a lost cause. He is far more content living as an animal rather than a Mud due to his mind being completely gone.

Though he assumes the role in the gang as a “bodyguard”, he is more accurately a guard Slog. His ability to communicate with other Slogs comes in incredibly handy. During the Rebel Defects endeavours, they have come across many Sloghuts with angry animals within. While Abe was quick to use Astra Kata and other problem solving skills to sneak through any areas filled with Slogs, Slogmeat would instead use his stance as an “Alpha” to communicate with his brethren, earning their trust toward Howler’s gang, and promising them through some persuasive barks and growls that they would receive not only freedom, but a chance to exact revenge on the Sligs that have been abusing them. Anywhere there are Slogs, it won’t be long before Slogmeat has them on a collar and chain connected to his own.

Slogmeat doesn’t typically get along with Mudokons, but maintains the closest and strongest relationship with Trip Hazard, who doesn’t realize the feral Mud isn’t actually a Slog. Even though Trip is always eager to hear the sounds of the gangs feral beast mauling the organs out of a security guard, he isn’t afraid to let Slogmeat rest in his lap and makes it a habit to hold long conversations with Slogmeat even though the latter is unable to understand nor respond to him. But Slogmeat is able to sense the friendship between them, and if he were to consider anybody an “Owner” it would be Trip, who in turn considers him “Mud’s best friend”. -

“Wittly”

Conspiracy theorist. Magog Cartel skeptic. Pirate radio show host. Tech savvy. Resident nutcase.

Wittly the Slig was a reject among Sligs due to his frailer than usual physicality. After refusing to take Big Bro hormonal injections (dubbing them “brainwashing vaccines”) he began a new life off-the-grid. He is the host of the Strand-2-Strand Pirate radio show, a station which he uses to broadcast across central Mudos his conspiracy theories regarding the ruling Magog Cartel. Most of his listeners are Wolvarks tuning in ironically because they think Wittly is incredibly fun to laugh at and that his conspiracies are ridiculous. Sometimes other conspiracy theorists call in to parrot his beliefs, but the majority of his callers are prank callers who role-play to scare him further. Because his radio station is pirate, the signal itself isn’t great. All his equipment is put together himself as he believes that Vykker equipment gives off brain-frying signals. He is completely distrusting of the Cartel and all of its branches. His distrust is warranted of course, but it has also manifested into him developing extreme paranoia and obsessive compulsions about everything even remotely related to the Cartel. He even refuses to consume any foods approved by any Magog or Vykker divisions, not because he thinks the additives and microplastics are unhealthy, but because he believes that there are chemicals in the foods that will mess with things like his intelligence and sexuality. Wittly also believes that Slig Barracks mandated pants and goggles are equipped with mind controlling technology and therefore refuses to wear them whatsoever. He has slapped together his own homemade pants and goggles, as well as a helmet made from a strainer, tinfoil, and other junk that is intended to nullify his susceptibility to Mudokon mind control. Whether or not it works remains pretty unknown.

While a lot of his theories are nonsense, some of them are pretty bang-on-the-Moolah. The Magog Cartel is aware of Wittly’s piracy and has attempted to shut it down in the past, but Wittly seemed prepared with backup everything, every time. It was soon decided by higher-ups in the Cartel to not bother with trying to shut the Slig down as they realized that trying to interrupt the broadcasts would fail in suppressing rumours. The Cartel knew if they actually did silence Wittly, it might cause more people to actually start believing some of the things said by him. Wittly often says during broadcasts that he knows “Cartel agents” are listening (and they are), but thanks to his accurate suspicions being mixed in with gobbledygook there is never any intervention.

When the rumours about Abe the Mudokon’s uprising began to spread, Wittly believed they were the complete truth-especially since he suspected pretty early on that the Cartel was attempting to cover it up and suppress all talk of it. In fact, for some Sligs and Mudokons, the pirate broadcasts were how they first received word of Abe. Despite his conspiratorial beliefs, Wittly does not see Abe as a hero. His paranoia and distrust of Mudokons is unfortunately shaped by the very Cartel he despises, and he has fallen for every nutjob pseudo-archaeological claim that Mudokons aren’t simply in tune with the magic of nature and spirits, but are the descendants of gods from another planet. He believes the Mudokon Moon is actually a signal from extraterrestrials calling for their “people” to return. He has even discussed theories on his broadcast that there are ancient Utopian cities built under the temples of Scrabania.

Trip Hazard was one of the many ironic fans of Wittly’s show. Despite the poor signal it managed to be the one and only radio station Trip was able to tune into all the way down in Necrum Mines, for some reason. When Howler’s gang formed and began their first acts of rebellious terrorism, the Magog Cartel was quick to suppress rumours and downplay the amount of destruction caused by the gang in news publications in order to decrease public panic. Wittly however was onto them from the start. Trip was eager to tune in and hear what the nutty Slig had to say about it. It became a habit for the gang to listen in on Wittly, until one day while listening, Howler keenly noticed that he was jabbering on about a lot of information on Cartel branch executives that would be really handy to them. He even apparently knew information on Corrective facilities that Howler knew for certain wasn’t even common knowledge among most Sligs that worked in and out of it. Wittly’s obsessive paranoia meant he miraculously had informative tabs on people Howler had on her hitlist. She knew the gang needed him.

After an abrupt kidnapping and convincing Wittly that they weren’t there to infect his mind with Brain Slurgs, the gang had their sixth member. Wittly’s in-and-out knowledge of Magog technology, navigating the Webb incognito, and techniques in scrambling transmissions comes quite in handy.

#my art #oddworld oc #ocposting #oddworld

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fibrespace · 1 year ago

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My grandma's kenmore sewing machine from 1971 performs better than my new babylock in every way but at least the babylock has... *checks notes* a drop-in bobbin that jams up half of the time and an automatic thread cutter that works properly only when the winds are blowing eastward 🙄

#sewing machines are kinda like cars if there's more fiddly little bullshit that can break it will it's just a matter of time #yes i do clean my babylock it's just overpriced unreliable plastic trash and a lot of these newer machines are #if you're planning on buying a sewing machine go vintage; the metal ones made in the 70's and before are absolute tanks #thank you for coming to my vent post

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craftmausoleum · 3 months ago

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Figuring Out Presser Foot Pressure On My Juki DDL-8700 (success!) (pictures!)

I had difficulty finding any detailed or visual breakdown on how to achieve optimal presser foot pressure, and since this is my first Big Girl sewing machine...I never really had an option before. My goal was to not only adjust the presser foot, top + bottom thread tension to suit machine quilting, but to be able to recreate that setting whenever I switch between garments and quilting. My only rule/limitation was that I would figure this out using a plain 1/4" presser foot, and not rely on the comfort of a walking foot. My captions will be beneath the photos they're referring to.

My test piece: lightweight cotton batting sandwiched between two pieces of cheap cotton, pin basted. Approximately 6"x6". If I was going to test things out, I didn't want it to be obscured with nice fabric.

My initial top thread tension. Any adjustments will happen while the presser foot is down.

My initial presser foot pressure knob measurement. This was the aspect that I felt I needed most explained to me. Measured in centimeters for accuracy. If using a sewing gauge like this one, I stood it next to the knob in a way that allowed the slider to stop at the top. Measured at 3.4cm. Adjustments to this knob will happen while the presser foot is up.

To keep it familiar, initial stitch length set at 2.5. I tend to go all over with stitch lengths, as I make a variety of things.

"Unchanged tension. 3.4cm. 2.5 length"

This stitch line is what those settings produced, using 40wt Glide thread for top (gray green) and bottom (white). Looks fine-ish, but bottom thread is pulled up, and stitches aren't consistent. The foot additionally pushed the fabric around unfavorably.

Here, "threads" refers to threads of the SCREW that are exposed. I initially thought that my solution was to tighten the top thread tension, but as the bottom thread never changed...I realized the opposite was true lol.

These are all of my experiments with the pressure knob at 3.4cm. Likely unintelligibly, when I tightened the bobbin case I drew how the screws were now oriented when looking at the case from that perspective. The tightened bobbin stitch line was the only one where there was no bottom thread showing. Ultimately the fabric was being pushed around too much, still.

Next, I loosened the pressure knob to 3.6cm, and loosened the top thread tension until the convex part of the screw was just barely poking out. Bobbin tension stayed the same.

These are what my experiments with 3.6cm looked like, with the arrows indicating "this is the same, but..." I experimented with 3.0 stitch length partially through this knob height. Ultimately, I am most pleased with the presser foot pressure knob sitting at 3.6cm, the bottom thread tension like my drawing, and top thread tension with screw barely showing. CRITICALLY, however, was that within these last stitch lines, I tried regular overlock thread for the bottom. It 100% made a positive difference. I actually kind of dislike shiny slippery thread, but wanted to throw an extra curveball to the test.

There are so many variables that go into settings, and compared to our computerized automatic machine cousins (soft hands), the task of creating reliable settings every single time can be daunting. Struggling with it has been a little upsetting, because it's affected my ability to produce things worth selling. Hopefully soon I'll TRULY put it to the test :) I also need to figure out the settings for lightweight + weird fabrics. I hope that even if my own numbers aren't useful, maybe someone can benefit from seeing the process.

#personal #sewing tips #juki #juki ddl 8700 #industrial sewing machine #quilting #machine quilting #sewing tutorial

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sasuhinasno1fan · 12 days ago

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Weak spot - Lukadrien Month Day 9 + 10

So, I never actually watched the Paris movie for ML, though I did like the idea of evil Chat and Ladybug as stuff came out prior to the release. Though, Adrien's everything from that universe, no. Thank God we have cosplays and fan art. I don't get very into the changes I made for Adrien but @revolutionary-thoy reverse au was kinda the thing that made me do this. (Also, their Sailor Moon redesigns, so good) This isn't based off their reverse au, just the idea that Kagami and Luka join, but unlike in their's where they train Adrien and Marinette, they join after the two have been established thanks to much earlier reveals. Adrinette friendship for the win. This is all before the movie and I'm going off info I pulled from the movie wiki, so hopefully nothing is too wrong. I'm also giving a bit a fair warning, Luka and Adrien toe the line, at least for me, of getting to spicy. It's mostly kissing and innuendos.

"You look like a raccoon."

Adrien looked over his compact and through the bangs of his wolfcut, to glare at Marinette. "And you look the Temu edition of the Corpse Bride." He snapped back.

She huffed in annoyance, with her hands on her hips. "Ass. Do your want help or not?"

Still glaring, he handed her the green liner pencil, still thrown that Marinette’s touch didn't automatically make him flinch as she took his face in her hands so he could look up at her.

His Shady Bug partner became thousand times less annoying after an attempt to get Betterfly's miraculous somehow caused them to detransform. One second, Supreme was yelling in their ear to grab the hero and the next, actual pain was felt when he was no longer in leather and Plagg was groaning not far from him. He knew Marinette from class, kept to herself, didn't really have friends, seemed to always be working on something at the sewing machine in the art room. She was the only one who dressed like him and he felt kinship. But with his famous father and everyone staring, he never approached her.

Having to hide out from Betterfly and his band of helpers from the resistance, they actually started talking. Turned out talking to her would of been better for them. They still bickered and insulted each other like they did before, but it was well known in school that they weren't to be messed with. Some assumed they were dating, which made them both gag, since they were both incredibly gay.

"There." Adrien checked in his compact, Marinette making the green blend seamlessly with the black. He might still look like a raccoon with his shaded eyes, but at least it went with his outfit. The over sized sleeves of his long sleeve under his shirt went with his black joggers that Marinette had sewn spotted cats onto.

"Decent, I guess."

"Fuck off." Marinette cursed at him. "Do you think we'll have the night off? I actually manged to get a shift at the cafe and I'd like to try and keep this job. Making a mess of the city and enforcing Supreme's rules dosen't pay runaways."

"It probably helps, that the really cute dragon holder Supreme brought in likes hanging out there." Adrien said with a knowing look, Cheshire smile getting bigger as Marinette got as red as the streak in her hair.

"Shut it, you mangy cat! Get back here!" She screamed as he took off.

---------------

Ringed hands slipped under his shirts, just dragging nails down his stomach, making him jolt.

"Ticklish kitten?" The voice above him teased.

Adrien bit their lip. "Shut up." He used his grip on their face to pull them back down, tilting his head to nip at one of the snake bites.

They both startled when something pounded on Adrien's door.

"Adrien! Felix told me you invited Luka? Is he in there?"

Adrien groaned. He was gonna kill that goody two shoes.

"Should I leave from the window or did you wanna ignore him?" Luka asked, from his spot on Adrien.

"We'll both go." He said, whistling for Plagg. The glutton swallowed his last peice of cheese as Adrien called him to the ring, leaving Claw Noir. Now sitting on his lap was the not as often seen, Viperion.

It always felt like such a shock that Viperion had no mask, instead wearing a face mask. Adrien missed seeing Luka's snake bites, but thankfully the mask was easy to pull down, something Claw Noir had much experience in doing.

"Adrien!" His father called from the locked door. Before the two escaped out the tall windows, Adrien turned on his sound system to blare out the screams of Clara Fightengale to deafen their escape and honestly, his father's ever growing disappointment.

Luka and Marinette’s crush, Kagami, were two of the other holders. They hadn't been doing this as long as him and Marinette, hence why they weren't sent out as often, but they learned quick. If it hasn't been for the two learning the other's identity, they would of never been introduced face to face with Luka and Kagami. Betterfly and the resistance were getting more difficult. Betterfly's kamiko allies were growing and making Claw Noir and Shady Bug's attempts at getting the butterfly miraculous harder, let alone make a mess of the city. Supreme's idea was the more holders meant they'd get the butterfly and peacock back sooner. Adrien didn't care, he was just interested in Luka. He knew it was a risk, falling for a guy who had as little care as he used to have towards Marinette, but the only other thing that mattered, was being able to bring his mother back, like Supreme promised. If kissing a cute boy between causing mayhem made things feel slightly less bleak, he'd take it. His father might hate Luka, but he was sure his mother would love him.

"So," Viperion asked as they landed on a rooftop near the Paris Hotel, "we're out of the hell hole. What do you wanna do?"

Smirking up at him, Adrien used his claws to pull Luka's mask down and stepped forward to kiss him. This was a sight that terrified the city, Viperion and Claw Noir, one with the ability to reset time and the other to cause mass destruction. Adrien wondered what Betterfly would do when the four of them where sent out for the first time.

"We can't do this all night." Luka said, not exactly helping his cause by tugging Adrien closer and slipping his tongue into Adrien's fanged mouth.

"I don't see why not?" Adrien pointed out, wrapping his arms around Luka's neck when his ears picked up on something. Luka's snake hearing clearly did too as the two jumped apart to dodge an attack.

"Claw Noir! Viperion! Don't think you're going to destroy the city." Betterfly, in all his righteous glory, stood on a roof near them. Adrien could just hear other breaths of whoever Betterfly would have as kamiko.

Viperion's mask was back in place and he looked annoyed. "I so don't have time to deal with you."

"I'd rather be taking care of something else as well, but I'm not letting you attack the city."

"Who's attacking?" Claw Noir asked, resting his staff across his shoulders so his wrists could lay over it. "But if it's a fight your looking for, fine. I was in the middle of a make out session and I keep getting interupted."

It was getting annoying to deal with, so Betterfly made the perfect punching bag.

------------

"I'm gonna rip his wings off one day." Luka growled, stomping down the stairs of the house boat he lived in, Adrien following him.

They did good, but Betterfly being able to create heroes basically tailored to defeat them, was their losing point. Luka already said he wished he'd done Last Chance to go back, but Adrien had a feeling the butterfly hero wouldn't give in because of that. Whatever had gotten him so agitated, kept pushing him to fight back.

"Supreme is gonna kill us. But you should of taken the shot."

Luka had a chance to hit Betterfly with his lyre crossbow, but Adrien had been fighting staff to staff with the hero. He kept yelling at Luka to take the shot, but he just stood there, at least until one of the kamikoed heroes launched to attack Luka and was given a sound bolt to the face.

"You were right there." Luka said, sliding the door to his side of the room open. He shared the area with his sister, whom he barely spoke too, not since Adrien recognize her from class, the few places that openly spoke about the resistance.

"So?"

Luka turned to look at Adrien, like he was stupid. He was used to that look from Marinette, not his, well, whatever Luka was.

"So? What, I'm supposed to hit my boyfriend and not care?"

Adrien started at him. "What did you say?"

Luka looked more annoyed. "What? You think I stick my tongue into just anyone's mouth? If I'm just wasting my time."

"No, I just...I didn't think you'd call me your boyfriend. I mean, we're villains. Aren't we not supposed to date anyone? Weak points and all that?"

Those were reasons he shouldn't be friends with Marinette, but that didn't stop Adrien. It stop him from falling for Luka more and more. Their start was, well, explosive. Not literally - a first for Claw Noir - but after meeting, Viperion had flirted and Adrien's hackles went up. He didn't trust him at first, feeling like he and Shady Bug were going to be replaced. Ryuoku and Viperion were good as soliders, even with lost attempts at getting the miraculous. But Luka kept flirting, more so once they started seeing each other outside of Supreme's headquarters. He and Marinette used to try and take the other's miraculous, knowing using them both could make them more powerful, so why else would Luka be paying attention to him?

It was a fight just like the one they had. Supreme ordered the pair to work with the new holders and split up to draw Betterfly out. The butterfly hero showed up as Adrien started flashing his fangs about the flirting. He'd gotten into a massive fight with his dad about Felix's arrival and feeling replaced, like his father did with his mom, so being away from his only friend and dealing with Viperion, he was off his game.

Betterfly was kicking his ass and had been pinned when there was a scream. Viperion had grabbed some random civilian, dangling them from the roof. Adrien hadn't seen Luka so angry before.

"Your choice firefly, let him go or they become part of the resistance art they were making."

"Don't!"

"Tick tock, I'm losing patience." Adrien watched his grip start to loosen, when Betterfly tossed him over to Viperion. "Good. Now let's see how fast you can fly." Viperion let his hostage go and while Betterfly was distracted with kamikotizing them, Luka grabbed him and they disappeared.

Supreme reamed into Adrien, threatening to take the cat miraculous back before letting them go.

"Why did you do it?" Adrien asked Luka when they were just passed the doors to Supreme's lair.

Luka looked unbothered as he stalked towards him, Adrien stumbling back uncharacteristically until he hit the doors. He flinched when Luka grabbed his cheeks between his fingers.

"You bruise like a peach. Delicate skin takes marks so well."

"You make one juicy comment, I swear." Adrien started, thinking Luka was just flirting again.

"I'm the only one who can make you bruise. Anyone else tries, kitten, I'll bleed them dry." Luka yanked him into a sudden kiss, taking advantage of his open mouth to slip his tongue in.

He left Adrien breathless, red and very confused. It got worse that everytime they saw each other after that, Luka would just plant one on him.

"Maybe he likes you." Marinette said, as they hid in the art room and he complained how Viperion kissed him, revealing a new tongue piercing, during the last battle. "I mean, do you not like it?"

Once the shock of it wore off, "not really. It's just, what if it's a trick? He could easily slip off my ring."

"Then keep your hands places he can't get too when you're kissing him. We have no clue if they're our replacements once we mess up enough. I mean, I don't plan on giving these back without a fight and if you get a few months of good kisses, why not? 'Sides, I think your actually calmer around him. Most people just leave you alone or are me. Never had someone who just flirts cause he can."

Marinette had him there. When Luka basically saved him, he stopped resisting as much and accepted the kisses and flirts, easily hiding behind faking how he felt. Adrien didn't know when he stopped hiding.

"I don't give a shit about weak points. Anyone tries to take your and isn't given a Cataclysm to the face is asking for me to shoot a sound bolt, or I can rip them with my fangs."

Be still his beating heart. A bit much but...

"If your lying." Adrien warned.

Luka leaned down, smirking at him. "Kitten has claws, I'm well aware. Buggaboo also will kill me. You can trust this snake."

That sounded like such a misnomer but his best friend was the loneliest person in his class and Adrien had been falling for a snake who could 100% take everything from him. He'd think about his mom and what she'd think when he was unsure and it was hard to think his mom would like one of the two people who made like less bleak since her death.

"Just know if you break my heart," Adrien swore, pulling Luka closer by yanking him, "I'll lock you up before I hurt you."

"Kinky." Luka said, swiping his tongue across his lips.

"Idiot." Adrien said, pulling Luka into a kiss and pushing him further into the room. Luka knocked them onto his bed, tugging Adrien closer as the cat holder straddled him.

Villains tried not to have weak spots, but sometimes, there was just no helping it.

#lukadrien #lukadrienjune #lukadrienmonth #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #lukadrienjune2025 #reverse miraculous universe #confirming a relationship

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handeaux · 20 days ago

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Cincinnati Inventor Samuel Barriett Said The Dead Speak, But Left Three Widows (And A Mistress) Mystified

Over its long history, our beloved city has never lacked for cranks, kooks and oddballs. If Cincinnati ever unveils a Screwball Hall of Fame, it will be densely populated, but Samuel Lawrence Barriett would certainly occupy a central display.

Barriett was known as an inventor, and it is true that he held some patents, but his greatest talent was self-promotion. The fact is, lots of people acquired patents for their inventions, but Barriett built his reputation on descriptions of inventions he never actually finished. So effective was his salesmanship that Cincinnati newspapers shamelessly compared Barriett to the “Wizard of Menlo Park” himself, Thomas Edison.

So, what did Barriett actually invent? You must certainly be familiar with the self-oiling ring oiler, the improved punch, the automatic switch for electrical apparatus, and the automatic return rheostat. No? How about the electrical process to depilate sealskins? Or the self-belter for sewing machines? All very useful devices, no doubt, but hardly on the scale of electric light bulbs, phonographs and motion pictures.

Barriett was certainly adept at promoting his own image. When Cincinnati’s entire electrical system went kaput in 1902, the relatively new Cincinnati Gas & Electric Company (previously the Cincinnati Gas, Light and Coke Company) was befuddled. Barriett offered a $30,000 wager to the electric utility as a guarantee he could solve the problem within two hours. CG&E President Andrew Hickenlooper may not have known electricity, but he did know flim-flam, and told the Enquirer [27 September 1902]:

“We will have nothing to do with this man Barriett, because he talked in a manner that impressed me he would be unable to aid us in anyway.”

This is not to deny Barriett’s creativity at all. During the Spanish-American War, Barriett was hired to churn out artillery shells at a factory connected to West Point. He dramatically increased production while lowering costs. Barriett also developed an electric motor of his own design and built a factory in Cincinnati to manufacture it.

But the inventions that built Barriett’s reputation never saw the light of day. Barriett created quite a stir with his announcement that he would soon offer for sale a device that sounds remarkably like Dick Tracy’s Two-Way Wrist Radio. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [23 October 1904]:

“Barriett has about perfected a little instrument which a man may carry like a watch. It is in fact a limited wireless telephone affair that will carry messages, he says, over a radius of four miles and is for pocket use.”

He also claimed to be working on a sort of videophone, long before television itself had even been invented.

“Barriett has for over a year been working at times on a system all his own, whereby he proposes to make it possible for a person talking over a telephone to see the one at the other end of the line. This has been wrought upon by others, but he affirms that he has a scheme by which this will be accomplished.”

But perhaps the farthest out unpatented invention Barriett boasted about was his method for contacting the dead. He told the Enquirer:

“If the dead speak they shall be heard, no matter if they speak here or elsewhere. I have a plan by which I hope to artificially produce a magnified or refined sense of hearing. When I have concluded one step in this direction it will lead to others, which will culminate in an instrument, by which a man hidden away in a cave or under the sea, far removed from ordinary sound, may hear the spiritual voice, if it exists in the universe.”

For someone so interested in listening to the dead, Barriett was abnormally reluctant to join the departed. He was obsessively paranoid to the extent he would not open mail addressed to him, either business or personal, because he was convinced someone was trying to kill him by an explosive device. He had no qualms about letting his secretary open all of his mail.

For someone so averse to dying, it is therefore beyond ironic that Barriett apparently died by suicide in a Dayton, Ohio, boarding house in 1905. Although friends and business associates vociferously protested that Barriett had no reason to take his own life, investigators discovered that he had locked himself in his room and turned the gas up to full pressure. According to the Enquirer:

“They claim there was a stifling odor in the room Tuesday night, which was doubtless created by unconsumed gas. This, they believe, produced asphyxiation.”

Whether his death was intentional or accidental, Barriett created a most interesting afterlife when three widows appeared to assert their claims to his estate and it was revealed that his business partner was probably also his mistress.

The first wife to emerge was Georgia Barriett, living in New York with two daughters aged 15 and 9 and an infant son. For several years, Samuel Barriett had lived with this family in an apartment on Park Avenue in Walnut Hills. About a year before his death, he and Georgia separated and she moved to New York City, taking the children with her. It came out that Samuel Barriett had applied for a divorce from Georgia five years previously, but the divorce had never been finalized and he continued to live with her for four years as man and wife, qualifying her – even if the divorce had been finalized – for status as a common-law wife.

No sooner had Georgia Barriett staked her claim, than Mamie Barriett of Brooklyn announced her intention to prove that she was the only true and legitimate widow of Samuel Barriett. She arrived in Cincinnati with a young son. It appears that Samuel Barriett married Mamie in 1888. Samuel was arrested on their wedding day for “some mysterious charge, in which a woman was involved.” It proved unclear whether they had ever divorced.

As the two Mrs. Barrietts and their attorneys lined up for a legal showdown, word arrived that there was yet a third Mrs. Barriett in Texas with another child. The Texas widow was identified as Barriett’s first wife and it appeared they were legally divorced.

The source of much of this marital information was Mrs. Lena Behrens, regularly described as Barriett’s secretary. Mrs. Behrens was indeed the secretary, but she was no stenographer. She owned and operated her own saddlery company and was a major investor and an officer in Barriett’s corporation. As his business partner she held the position of secretary in the Barriett Motor Corporation of which Samuel was president. Their tangled relationship caught the attention of the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune, which published [16 February 1905] an exposé outing Mrs. Behrens and Mr. Barriett as something more than business partners. The newspaper revealed, for example, that they just happened to live at the same address. Mrs. Behrens, herself a widow, was described as “a most attractive woman of 28.” She (actually 38 years old) denied anything other than a business connection:

“People circulated romantic stories, and I have suffered much to be with him and aid him to the success that seemed within his reach just before his death. Mr. Barriett was one of those peculiar men given to study and experimenting, and not disposed to make love, but, nevertheless most lovable.”

In other words, “We were just good friends.”

Curiously, the two battling widows and Mrs. Behrens all admitted to pouring large sums of money into Barriett’s business. It was not a good investment. At his death, Barriett’s estate was worth just $5,000 and his debts far exceeded his assets. The widows were fighting over the widow’s allowance – a few hundred dollars – rather than any windfall. It appears neither got anything because the estate was declared insolvent, although Mrs. Behrens may have received a small amount as a creditor. The corporation reorganized and renamed itself and was eventually sold.

Samuel Barriett, who has not communicated from beyond, is buried in Spring Grove Cemetery. His widows rest elsewhere. Lena Behrens died in 1949, aged 82, and is buried in Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville.

#samuel barriett #barriett motor #lena behrens #cincinnati inventors

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