#I was looking for a picture of me in a particular paisley jacket the other day

[consolecadet]

I need to get more vain again. I was wallowing in vanity in like 2017 and I should do that more

[silverfoxstole]

Bears, bears, bears! Bears everywhere! And Doctor Who bears at that, made specially for and presented by me to Paul McGann, Sophie Aldred and Sylvester McCoy at Portsmouth Comic Con.

As most of you probably know, I document my bear-making activities on here and I made an Eighth Doctor bear a couple of years ago, followed by a Seventh Doctor last summer. Ace was a new one, and because of that I ended up making two, the first as a prototype that I kept for myself, working out the details of the costume, particularly the jacket, and the second for Sophie.

Back in February when I decided to make Anne Bearleyn I found that my usual type of fur was unavailable so I had to go looking for another, ending up with something that while it looked lovely was fairly hellish to sew as it shed everywhere. It was all I had when it came to making the first Ace bear, however, and so I went with that. Afterwards, having got covered in fluff again, I tried to find something similar to the fur I’d used for most of my previous bears, but when it arrived and I started putting one together decided that when compared to the bear I’d just made it looked cheap and nasty, which was definitely not what I wanted for this particular project. Consequently that fabric went on a one way trip to the bin and I ordered more of the other stuff, resulting in what I’ve termed a ‘furpocalypse’ when I decided to cut and sew three more bears in one day:

I had to vacuum both the room and myself four times, and clean out the sewing machine twice! That fluff gets everywhere, even up your nose! It was worth it in the end, though, as the result looks so nice. As the pile is quite thick I had to glue on the noses and use felt for eyebrows as thread just vanishes, but I think that actually looks better and allows for more expression.

I made a second set of Ace clothes while I was waiting for the fur to arrive; the first jacket had been a bit too small and I’d only had satin to use for the lining which disintegrates as it’s sewn, not something I wanted to give someone as a gift. It was a painstaking job to replicate the badges and decoration on the jacket with felt and embroidery thread, but I was pleased with how it turned out:

The costume is based on one from Remembrance of the Daleks, the skirt and t-shirt made from jersey and the decorations on the latter also of felt. She has a plait, rucksack and baseball bat, as well as a nitro 9 canister in her hand/paw (which I actually swapped out for a better one on Friday but didn’t take any pictures of it). The nitro is attached with velcro and can be exchanged for the bat. My only tiny niggle is that I made the jacket lining the wrong colour, only realising it should be orange when I started rewatching Sophie’s episodes last week, but that’s just my perfectionist side at work and her new owner didn’t mind.

“Aaaaaace!” You can see my original Seventh Doctor bear here; I changed a few things working on the new one, this time using blue eyes and making the jacket in cream rather than brown, mainly as a contrast with the darker fur but also so he would match season 25 Ace. I decided to use red paisley for scarf, tie, hatband and handkerchief, adding a red trim to the last two. The jumper once again took a couple of hours’ work, and as this was a present for Sylvester this time I did embroider question marks and chevrons all the way round!

For the umbrella I cut out several long triangles and stitched them together in imitation of a real brolly, using a bit of a skewer covered in felt for the pole (that’s not the word but I can’t think what to call the middle of a umbrella for the life of me!), to which I attached some jewellery wire pinched from my sister (shh!) twisted into the shape of a question mark. That was then covered in yet more felt. I’ve made a lot of things from felt lately!

And voila: one finished Seventh Doc bear:

I do hope Sylvester spots that he even has spoons in his pocket. 😁

Last but not least, we have Eighth Doctor bear, which I actually started first but I didn’t have enough fabric for his coat so he had to sit and wait while I worked on the others. My original is here; he’s gone through a few costume tweaks as I’ve tried to improve on things and this time I mainly used scraps left over from my own cosplay and made them up in the same way: shirt, scarf, waistcoat, belt and gailters are all the same as mine, and the coat is identical material but from a different source.

His shirt and waistcoat both fasten with buttons, and I made the watch chain and belt buckle from embroidery thread. It took several attempts to get the boots and gaiters right, and I went from having quite a large piece of faux leather to something about a quarter of the size, most of it ending up in the bin! Unlike my Eight bear he has a sonic screwdriver, made from - yes, you guessed it! - felt. Fortunately the TVM sonic is quite a simple design, unlike the other one I made which can be swapped with this one to go with the Dark Eyes outfit I ran up on an impulse because I had scraps left from my own jacket and put in the bag with him; hopefully Paul will find it as that DE sonic took me two attempts to get (somewhat) right!

I changed the shape of the lapels on this new coat so that they were more like the real one, and I also took some pics of him in his Dark Eyes gear:

I confess that he was the one I found it hardest to give up. Look at him:

And he matches me!

I had to keep telling myself that I couldn’t keep him, I’d made him for Paul, but it wasn’t easy!

Finally, a few pics of them together:

I was so, so pleased with the way these turned out. Along with Bush (about whom I’ll post separately), these are the best bears I’ve made so far, and I’m glad that Paul, Sophie and Sylvester were just as happy with them!

[n-ctarinenga]

the warmest home [ cottagecore!ashton blurb ] | 995 words

From an outside perspective, you and Ashton were quite the odd couple.

Until you looked closer, noticing Ashton's chipped black nails from hours of digging in soil, your earrings made from hand picked flowers set in resin, and the smell of mint and wildflowers on your sun-kissed skin, that is.

Both of your friend groups joked about your relationship at first, both of you really proving right the old saying about opposites attracting.

You and Ashton have, for the most part, always been people who are confident in yourselves when it came to how you presented to other people. The difference was while you lived in fishnets, velvet and platform shoes, Ashton was much more at home in light cotton, plain jeans and his feet in the dirt, a pair of boots and a leather jacket if he's feeling fancy.

You were the odd couple, visually. But after being together five years, and living together for three of them, you were more comfortable around each other than anyone else in the world.

The house you called a home with Ashton was slightly eccentric. Paisley rugs covered the floors where dark woods hid underneath, plants hung and sat in any available space they could sit, Halloween decorations sat out all year round, and your door stayed open for anyone of your friends at any time of the day.

Turns out when you mix goth and cottagecore together for an interior design aesthetic, the theme turns out to be warmth and comfort for as many people as possible.

As you wake up, you feel that warmth as the first thing you notice is the warming spring air coming through your open window. You hazard a guess Ashton opened the window after getting up himself, and are proven right when you reach your arm out for your boyfriend, instead only finding the coiled body of you fluffy black cat Siouxie instead.

You wipe the sleep from your eyes as you open them slowly, turning over to see your little napping buddy and reaching out to stroke her fur down from sticking up on the top of her head.

"Good morning, princess." You say, slightly groggy and quietly, but good enough to earn a small meep.

Yawning as you swing your legs out of bed, your feet hit the floor, and you grab Ashton's shirt from the night before to pull over your body while you summon the inner strength to go through your daily routine of getting ready.

Walking out of your room, you're met with a hallway filled with pictures of your and Ashton's adventures and loved ones, taking special care to acknowledge a couple in particular as Siouxie follows you down the hall and downstairs.

You can already hear music softly playing as you make your way through the house, coming to the back door and smiling at the sight of the man you love already hard at work in the veggie patch closest to your back porch.

It surprised you Ashton waited this long to plant his snow peas, convinced he was gonna leave your bed in the middle of the night to do them after hearing him excitedly talk about the sprouts he had successfully sewn.

Walking past you out the back door, Siouxie curled into her favorite spot in the sun next to General Cluckers, who sat on one of the mismatched outdoor chairs you kept on the back porch. Ashton did his best to deny he had a favorite chicken out of the few that called your yard a home, but it was obvious Cluckers had a special place in his heart, being the first chicken he had ever adopted.

Turning to the kitchen instead of going out the door, you pull your favorite mugs from the cupboard, setting the kettle on top of the stove and preparing tea bags into the mugs while you wait for the water to boil.

You take a moment to yawn again, stretching out your muscles not quite adjusted to being up yet when your attention is caught by your front door opening, looking out into the hallway to see who had arrived.

You smiled as you saw Luke closing the door behind him, pulling another cup from the cupboard and setting it beside yours and Ashton's. It wasn't unusual for the guys or any number of your other friends to show up and make themselves at home.

Hearing his feet coming down the hallway, a noise of surprises comes from Luke as he turns into the kitchen.

"Who the f-" Luke starts before interrupting himself as you turn to him, "oh jesus christ y/n you scared the shit out of me." He breathes out a sigh of relief, hand on his chest dramatically.

Confused, you raise an eyebrow as you pour water into each of the mugs in front of you.

"Scared you?"

"Yeah, well," Luke gestures to your outfit, "I don't think I've actually seen your legs without jeans or fishnets before."

You roll your eyes as you let out a chuckle, handing him a cup of tea.

"And I don't think I've ever seen your hair without grease." You joke, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair with a laugh.

Luke huffs jokingly, smiling as you pick the cups up and nodded your head towards the backyard.

"Come on, Ash is out the back."

To be continued one day

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Tamara was unhappy, and everybody knew it. 

Upper management had reassigned her to sports, an entirely different gig than she had been originally hired for, and now they were squabbling with her over vacation time and other HR issues. She was six months into her gig, and had done some incredible work during that time, but she was becoming increasingly frustrated with Calvin. One particular habit she found intolerable was how he’d blurt out “You’re fired!”, Donald Trump-style, if you made any kind of mistake. It was like a nervous tic, a non-joke he deployed multiple times an hour, while hunched over his computer and snickering to himself. Then one afternoon he said it yet again, when it was only the three of us in the newsroom, and Tamara stood up from her computer chair and cleared her throat.

“You know what, Calvin? That’s inappropriate. I’ve been meaning to say something for months, but saying things like that creates a totally toxic work environment. Do you understand that? You actually have the power to fire us, we’re your employees, so making jokes like that … it’s just not funny,” she said.

“Well, it’s not like I mean it for real,” Calvin said, horrified. “You know that.”

“Whether you mean it or don’t mean it, it’s inappropriate. That’s not how you should be speaking to your reporters. We look to you for guidance, we don’t need you tearing us down.”

“I didn’t know, I was just quoting…”

“Yeah, you should know better, though. You’re the editor. And hearing you say ‘you’re fired’ over and over, do you know how that makes me feel? Like shit.”

My back was turned to Tamara, but I could hear the trembling emotion in her voice. This had been a long time coming. I struggled with the urge to spin and face them, but instead sat motionless while they squared off.

“If I had any idea you were so offended by it, I would’ve …”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you when things are offensive. It’s about being professional. And it’s not professional to make jokes about taking away somebody’s livelihood. That’s cruel. Do you get that? Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Of course. I’ll stop right away. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

There were little squabbles like this, but for the most part the Star was running smooth. The stories were light and predictable going into December, as we prepared our Year in Review issue. I interviewed Santa Claus, Nelson Brewing Company released a new pale ale, and one of the schools unveiled a mural in collaboration with the Sinixt. Tamara had become my primary ally, especially when it came to dealing with management drama, and a few times we hung out after work to gossip and strategize about the future. I wanted her to stick around. It was nice having some feminine energy in the newsroom, and it was hugely beneficial to be able to routinely get her perspective on everything from whether a particular bathing suit photo was suitable for print or whether our handling of a sexual assault story headline was sensitive enough or not. 

Tamara had done a lot of traveling, and had experience from a diverse array of jobs, and she put that knowledge to good use in her copy-editing. On the weekends Tamara would work with her dog Tana, her companion on her many outdoor adventures. She would come back with pictures, some that ended up in the Star (and above), of the various summits and vistas she’d discovered. She made me feel like a sedentary slug in comparison.

“You just let him have it, eh?” I asked, once we were alone in the newsroom. “I’ve never seen you so angry like that.”

“It’s been building up for a long time. He’s been really negatively affecting my mental health and I’m so sick of it. It’s not right.”

“Deep down inside I was like ‘go, Tamara! Preach!’”

She smiled. “Thanks, Will. I think it made me feel better, having you in the room. Just having your support, even if you didn’t say anything.”

“In my head I was like a little cheerleader,” I said, waving imaginary pom-poms. “Let’s go, Tamara! Let’s go!”

“I’ve just worked in so many male dominated industries and I’ve dealt with so many men like Calvin throughout my career, and I’m just done. I’m not putting up with anymore shitty, abusive behaviour. I’m going to speak out, every time. Because they need to be held accountable.”

“They?”

“Men.”

Regardless of how everyone was getting along with Calvin, we’d actually really gelled as a team following the municipal election. Production days were smoother, Greg was starting to take more hours, and we were reliably covering each of our beats. I took colourful photos at rehearsals for the local pantomime, and splashed them on the cover. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of newsroom banter, a lot of YouTube videos. There were some controversies, though, such as when we accidentally published a letter to the editor with virulent anti-Muslim rhetoric, and repeatedly Calvin found himself having closed-door meetings with members of the community incensed with him. I admired how he never dodged blame, always took the responsibility head on. The guy knew how to deliver a mea culpa. I think he could feel the tide turning on him in Nelson, and he knew pretty soon he was going to have to make a decision.

Before things could escalate any further, Calvin dropped the news: he’d taken a different gig across the province. His wife didn’t feel at home in Nelson and hated that it was far away from the rest of their family. They quickly packed up their house and put in Calvin’s two-week notice, with his wife leaving ahead. At first I was relieved at the news, even jubilant, but then I felt a bit sad as well. Though he was my favourite punching bag, and Paisley had to listen to me vent about him nearly every day, a genuine affection had developed between us. On his final night in town, he asked if I could help him move his last few pieces of furniture into the back of his truck. His house was in Fairview, within sight of the bridge, and seemed barely lived in. He stood in his driveway wearing a puffy leather jacket, looking morose, and squinted at the white evening sky.

“I feel like I just moved into this place,” he said. “I’m getting too old to be moving this much, you know?”

“It’s exhausting. That’s why I’m trying to stay put.”

“You should. You actually fit in around here, with all the weirdos and hippies.”

“I’m feeling like I can really build something here.”

“I believe that. The paper’s lucky to have you, now you just need to learn how to play nice with the Carpenters.”

“Right.”

“And remember: not every hill is worth dying on.”

Afterwards he drove us slowly around town, at one point parking to gaze up at the skeleton of the halfway-constructed Nelson Commons project. Eventually we headed to the Hume Hotel for a cheeseburger and a beer at Mike’s Place. I watched him slaughter his meal, sucking ketchup off his fingers, while we reminisced about all the stories we’d worked on together. He took long, healthy pulls from his beer and unleashed a rapturous belch. He seemed relieved to be leaving, but also scared. He’d been working as a journalist for over two decades, but things were evolving fast. Was there still a place for him in this industry? Would he end up finding the editor position he craved? Would he find some community where he belonged, where he could live long-term? I thought back to what George Binns had said, about how Nelson embraces some people and ejects others—was I seeing that happen in front of my eyes? And if I was still here, did that mean I’d been chosen to stay?

“We should get another beer,” Calvin said. “Do you want another beer? On me?”

“I’m in for one more.”

“Good man,” he said. “Who wants to drink alone?”

“Not me. If I go home shit-faced, though, I’ll hear about it from Paisley. She hates that.”

He grinned. “I like Paisley. You really lucked out there. She’s way over your head.”

“I think so.”

“So do the things she says, listen to the things she says, even if you disagree and even if you think she’s in the wrong, just do it. It’s not about your pride, it’s about the relationship. Does that make sense? In my relationship, it’s always been about learning when to swallow your pride and just let the other person win,” he said. “I know that’s not in your nature, though.”

“I’m as subtle as a hippopotamus, you mean?”

He laughed, wiping beer foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “If I can make a marriage work, so can you. And I can tell she really loves you. Have you talked about kids?”

I nodded. “We even have a name picked out, for if we have a daughter.”

“What if you have a son?”

“We’re pretty convinced we’re going to have a daughter. I’ve always dreamed I’m going to have a daughter one day.”

“So what’s the name?”

I sipped my beer. “Cora.”

Calvin smiled, nodded. “Well, here’s to Cora then.”

We clinked glasses.

After another half an hour, I waved off the suggestion for another drink and stood up. My house was only a few blocks uphill, so I could walk. Calvin stood too, and came around the table to offer me a solid handshake. He blinked into my face and grimaced, well aware that this was probably the last time we’d see each other. I felt a strange mix of emotions, but mostly gratitude. We’d worked together for less than a year, but I knew I’d remember him for a long time.

“Thank you for everything, Calvin,” I said. “I mean that.”

“Take care of yourself, buddy.”

The Kootenay Goon

[christawestover-blog]

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