#and then I measured it on myself and it was just above my ankle and like. oh. I'm SHORT-short

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

nothing quite like sewing to make you realize how small you really are

like I did not expect my hip-to-ankle-length to be less than a meter even though my whole body is only 164. but still!! less than a meter!!! I'm so short!!!!!

[soberscientistlife]

“A grown man looms behind my three-year-old daughter. Occasionally he will poke or tickle her and she responds by shrinking. Smaller and smaller with each unwanted advance. I imagine her trying to become slight enough to slip out of her booster seat and slide under the table.

When my mother views this scene, she sees playful taunting. A grandfather engaging with his granddaughter. “Mae.” My tone cuts through the din of a familiar family gathering together. She does not look at me.

“Mae.” I start again. “You can tell him no Mae. If this isn’t okay you could say something like, Papa, please back up—I would like some space for my body.”

As I say the words, my step-father, the bulldog, leans in a little closer, hovering just above her head. His tenebrous grin taunts me as my daughter accordions her 30-pound frame hoping to escape his tickles and hot breath.

I repeat myself with a little more force. She finally peeks up at me. “Mama . . . can you say it?”

Surprise. A three-year-old-girl doesn’t feel comfortable defending herself against a grown man. A man that has stated he loves and cares for her over and over again, and yet, stands here showing zero concern for her wishes about her own body. I ready myself for battle. “Papa! Please back up! Mae would like some space for her body.”

My voice is firm but cheerful. He does not move. “Papa. I should not have to ask you twice. Please back up. Mae is uncomfortable.”

“Oh, relax,” he says, ruffling her wispy blonde hair. The patriarchy stands, patronizing me in my own damn kitchen. “We’re just playin’.” His southern drawl does not charm me. “No. You were playing. She was not. She’s made it clear that she would like some space, now please back up.”

“I can play how I want with her.” He says, straightening his posture. My chest tightens. The sun-bleached hairs on my arms stand at attention as this man, who has been my father figure for more than three decades, enters the battle ring.

“No. No, you cannot play however you want with her. It’s not okay to ‘have fun’ with someone who does not want to play.” He opens his mouth to respond but my rage is palpable through my measured response. I wonder if my daughter can feel it. I hope she can.

He retreats to the living room and my daughter stares up at me. Her eyes, a starburst of blue and hazel, shine with admiration for her mama. The dragon has been slayed (for now). My own mother is silent. She refuses to make eye contact with me.

This is the same woman who shut me down when I told her about a sexual assault I had recently come to acknowledge.

This is the same woman who was abducted by a carful of strangers as she walked home one night. She fought and screamed until they kicked her out. Speeding away, they ran over her ankle and left her with a lifetime of physical and emotional pain.

This is the same woman who said nothing, who could say nothing as her boss and his friends sexually harassed her for years. This is the same woman who married one of those friends. When my mother views this scene, she sees her daughter overreacting. She sees me ‘making a big deal out of nothing.’ Her concerns lie more in maintaining the status quo and cradling my step-dad’s toxic ego than in protecting the shrinking three-year-old in front of her.

When I view this scene, I am both bolstered and dismayed. My own strength and refusal to keep quiet is the result of hundreds, probably thousands of years of women being mistreated, and their protests ignored. It is the result of watching my own mother suffer quietly at the hands of too many men. It is the result of my own mistreatment and my solemn vow to be part of ending this cycle.

It would be so easy to see a little girl being taught that her wishes don’t matter. That her body is not her own. That even people she loves will mistreat and ignore her. And that all of this is “okay” in the name of other people, men, having fun.

But. What I see instead is a little girl watching her mama. I see a little girl learning that her voice matters. That her wishes matter. I see a little girl learning that she is allowed and expected to say no. I see her learning that this is not okay.

I hope my mom is learning something, too. Fighting the patriarchy one grandpa at a time.”

~ By Lisa Norgren

[promitto-amor]

How lucky you are to have me

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X You

Summary: You save Hoffman from the bathroom and he is eager to make up for lost time.

Warning: SMUT! Swearing (Hoffman says fuck alot, it's canon), gore/death references.

Alrighty it was about time I wrote a smutty Hoffman fix while I'm still in my Saw era. And I get to write my own little 'Hoffman escapes the Bathroom', because we all know it's happening! Enjoy kittens.

You could hear his screams from down the dank corridor. They sounded hoarse, no doubt from the wildfire rage that often consumed him these days. Your footsteps echoed loudly, at every corner you thought someone may jump out and apprehend you, but the route was void of all life. All that remained was darkness and a trail of dried blood.

You press your palms against the industrial door and give it a push. It doesn’t move an inch. The Doctor had been certain that there would be no escape.

The screams from inside stop as you slot a hairpin into the lock and after a couple tries you hear that telltale click. You heave the door open only to recoil at the stench of decayed flesh and death that greets you.

Shoving your sleeve in front of your nose, you walk into a nightmare. It’s dark enough that only outlines are visible, a line of cracked mirrors, a toilet, pipes, skeletons. Fishing in your coat pocket, you shine your torch around the bathroom and it lands on a skeletal foot. You almost drop it in your haste to move away, as you venture deeper into the bathroom. Goosebumps arise on your forearms at the disconcerting sound of a chain slithering through the dark.

“Took you long enough.”

You run your torch up bare feet and a shackled ankle, continuing upwards. Mark Hoffman flinches as your torch hits his face and you lower it to his chest, “I had to be sure they’d all left.” You return, taking a glance over your shoulder. “I’m taking a colossal risk myself.”

“Then get me out quick.” He hisses, dropping his eyes to the shackle.

“What happened to your grand plan?”

Hoffman holds up a key, “New shackle. No fucking keyhole.”

You make a sympathetic noise which deepens Hoffman’s scowl, “How lucky you are to have me.”

You drop your backpack beside him and root around inside. Hoffman watches your every move. You hand him the torch, “Shine this in the bag, will you?” He does as asked, “What did you bring?”

“I wasn’t sure what I’d be facing.” You take out an angle grinder and a grin winds onto Hoffman’s face. You switch it on and the sound of the churning saw blade sounds far too loud. You glance up at Hoffman, “If I cut you, it isn’t intentional.”

Hoffman looks like he has half a mind to yank the angle grinder out of your hands, but instead he swallows and takes a measured breath, “Just do it.” You lower the saw blade and almost miss his last few words, “I trust you.”

Steeling yourself, you align the circular saw blade with the steel and keeping a firm grip, start slicing through the shackle. There’s already chaffing around his ankle, no doubt from Hoffman’s attempts to free himself in the hours before you arrived. You hardly breathe as the blade works through and then you pull the saw blade back when there is only the smallest join of steel left hanging together. “Maybe I should have just cut the chain and we deal with the shackle later?”

Hoffman seizes the shackle and gives it a brutal tug. The shackle snaps and you wonder whether it was weakness in the metal from how much you’d sawed through, or Hoffman’s adrenaline-fuelled force that gave him his freedom. You switch off the angle grinder and shove it back in your backpack as Hoffman stands. He throws the chain away from him and then he’s towering above you. His broadness always throws you off-kilter, no matter how many times you stand before him. The circle of light from the torch jumps around the bathroom as Hoffman takes a step closer. He seizes you by the back of your neck and crushes his lips to yours. You can’t move, not with the death grip he has on you. You had no chance to breathe before it happens, leaving you to make a pathetic noise for Hoffman to release you. You disconnect with a gasp and take a deep breath before yanking him in by his jacket for a second kiss. Your hands grip onto him for dear life as Hoffman secures his own round your waist.

This time he’s the one to break the moment, “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

You’re more than eager to leave the foul bathroom behind. You can’t imagine Hoffman stuck in there slowly wasting away. A man so powerful and dangerous he brought an entire police precinct to the verge of extinction. You still don’t know if fear or admiration drives your lust for him. A heady combination of both pools inside you as you loop your arm in his and the two of you make your way back through the maze of corridors as fast as you can. “We should burn it to the fucking ground.” Hoffman says as you both emerge from the trapdoor.

“Enough fires for one day.” You say, leading the way to your car parked out front. “The Doctor got paged for surgery, but his lackey’s might come back.”

“Doubt it,” Hoffman returns as you open the car door for him. “He made sure I’d die in there. He just didn’t know about you.”

You take the driver’s seat as Hoffman slides in with a grunt. You lock the doors and glance over your shoulder as you reverse out, “If it were me, I’d stake out for two, three days. Knowing your survival rate, I’d make sure you were dead.”

There’s a beat of silence, “Then I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Hoffman returns, looking out the window.

You clamp down on a smile as you head back to your own apartment. Now and then you check in your mirrors that you aren’t being followed. Your house is roughly forty five minutes away from the Nerve Gas House, but the drive goes fast. Hoffman spends the time calculating. Occasionally his eyes slip over to you and you meet his gaze. He’s just as impatient as you.

When you finally enter familiar streets, you speak up, “I was thinking Chicago.” You prompt, “Another city, lots of people to disappear in. Or Florida, no one asks questions there.”

“I don’t care where we go.” Hoffman returns, “So long as I can put Jigsaw behind me.”

You have to admit you’re relieved to hear it, “You promise that?”

Hoffman waits for you to meet his gaze. He nods, “I lost sight for a while,” He says, “But not again.” His gaze returns to the window, now streaked with rain. “I want out. He can have it all, it’s not fucking worth it.”

“It never was.”

You pull into the driveway and park, “Open the glove box.” You order and Hoffman smirks at what he finds. He holds the gun with such a practised hand, adopting a casually defensive walk as he scopes out the house. You walk in front with Hoffman backing you up, better the Detective wield the weapon than you. As soon as the door is open Hoffman is pushing you inside and slamming the door shut. He slides the lock in place as you shed your coat and hang it up. When you turn back round Hoffman’s hands are already preying at your waist. His lips descend to your neck and you let him have access to all of you.

His touch grows desperate, tugging at your shirt, “We should see to your ankle.” You say, but Hoffman silences you with his lips again.

“Later.” He commands and you let him press you into the wall besides the coat rack. You unzip his jacket and heave it off his broad shoulders, dropping it on the floor behind him. Hoffman pushes his body against you, you can feel him hard. You lift your arms obediently as your shirt is removed, which earns you a gruff, ‘good girl’ from the impatient Detective. Your hands descend to his jeans zipper as Hoffman’s hands roam over your shoulders, down to your back and then he’s got your bra dangling from one hand. He tosses it with his jacket, Hoffman’s lips travelling from your neck to your collarbone. A whine escapes you as he suckles there, adding to the bruises he left only days ago on your skin. Fuelled by your noises, Hoffman’s restraint snaps. With a couple tugs your trousers are by your ankles and Hoffman winds one of your legs around his waist.

His low groan brushes against your lips, “Bedroom.”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway and Hoffman throws you over his shoulder. The world tips upside down as a laugh escapes you. Any other time Hoffman might have slapped your ass, but tonight he’s all about urgency. The bedroom door thuds open and then you’re being dropped on the bed harsh enough that you bounce on impact. Hoffman tears his hoodie off and off with it comes the dark shirt underneath. You smirk at the sight before you, a shirtless ex-Detective, his chest heaving from the night’s ordeal. Your eyes drop to his full pecs and on catching where your stare has gone, Hoffman smirks when your eyes meet his again.

“The longer we leave that ankle the more likely it’ll get…”

Your words die when his jeans come off and in the blink of an eye, Hoffman has crawled on top of you. He pecks your lips, “Doll, shut the fuck up.” He leaves more kisses with each word, between your breasts, on your stomach and then just above where your panties rest. You suck in a breath of apprehension as Hoffman’s eyes shine with desire. He dips lower, parting your legs. You take a sharp intake of air as you feel his tongue lick a hot stripe over your clothed vagina.

“Oh wow,” Your hand rakes into Hoffman’s hair, “Please…”

You keep your eyes on the ceiling as Hoffman continues to lap at you. Tingles of pleasure spike through your system and your fingers tighten their hold. Gentle fingers slide your panties off, but you daren’t look at him. Hoffman delicately traces his tongue along your most sensitive area before close his mouth over your clit. Your back arches, sensations pinging in your synapses as he starts sucking at you. He chuckles darkly, “Always the same reaction,” He mouths, placing a kiss just above your centre and then his face is centimetres away from yours. 

“Because it always feels so good.” You reason, stroking over his scarred cheek as you try to catch your breath. You feel him hard against your thigh as Hoffman lines up with your entrance, “Already?”

“Sorry sweetheart, I can’t wait.” He murmurs, already pushing in. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and your mouth falls open. The sting of Hoffman’s cock stretching you intensifies everything. A couple tears leak out and Hoffman’s eyes widen, “Fuck.” His head falls to your neck and with a quick thrust you cry out as he sheathes himself fully inside you. It’s like you’ve flipped a switch, your glassy eyes and sheer vulnerability pushing Hoffman into a frenzy. His hips thrust hard against yours, eager to fill you with as much of him as you can take. The bed shunts against the wall as he fucks you hard enough that it’s better to rest your head on the pillow than try to meet his eyes again. You can hear his grunts of pleasure in your ear as Hoffman swells, a litany of filth spilling from his lips. “That’s it. Fucking take me. Gonna enjoy every second.”

“Please,” You’ve lost all coherency. All you can do is let him fuck you into the bad and take what he needs. Your hands fall to either side of you and Hoffman takes advantage of your submissiveness. His big hands take a wrist each as he uses the new leverage to bend one of your knees with his leg. The deeper penetration makes you jolt as your orgasm bursts fast and staggering enough that your brain feels like it’s melting.

“That’s it.” Hoffman continues, his voice strained as he too draws nearer his finish. “My beautiful fucking wife, always there when I need you.”

“Always,” You bleat as your husband cums deep inside you. His grunts turn to laboured breaths, as Hoffman sags and gives into his exhaustion. Your hands cradle his head as you hold him close. In the afterglow of your orgasm more tears prick at your eyes. Holding him now, treasuring the stroke of luck that was on your side, despite all of Hoffman’s careful planning. You could have lost him so easily. So many scenarios could have put you in that wretched bathroom alongside him.

When your clarity returns, Hoffman is slowly pulling out and rolling onto the space beside you. You curl over so you can settle in his arms, like every night. His fingers play absently with the closest strands of hair he can find, “I mean it.” He murmurs, “I’m done. Tomorrow we’re getting out of the state, laying low.”

“How are we gonna do that?” You ask, “You’re the most wanted man in the country and me by association.”

“I know someone.” Hoffman says, placing another kiss to your forehead. “Ex-military, Iraq. He has connections and owes me for keeping quiet.”

You can’t help a sigh, but it is for the best, “So long as you put the games behind you, that’s all I ask for.”

“You and me.” He nods, “Like before, like it should have been always.” Your eyes get heavy and Hoffman drapes the blanket you both keep on the end of the bed over you both. You look up at your husband, but Hoffman is lost in thought. After a couple minutes he looks down at you, “Perhaps I can cut a deal.”

“You’d have to have something huge to barter with.”

Hoffman smirks, “I reckon I could work something out. There’s a Doctor and his little Pigheads I’m sure they’d love to hear about.” 

[nonbinary-octopus]

Our apartment staircase is missing a handrail. It's sort of got one, but only on the lower half and it's the kind that's more "don't fall off" than "don't fall down". There ought to be one on the other side against the wall, and going all the way up, for actual support.

In our discussions before moving in, we were told it should be installed by the time we moved in

it was not. the reasoning was that apparently our desire for it to be a proper length (as the ones in our previous apartment had not been, ending too soon on both the upward and downward sides) combined with the stairs not being split into two smaller sets of stairs, meant that sourcing a long enough handrail was proving difficult.

They had it on order at Lowes! we were told. It just isn't here yet!

For three and a half months, we were told this. Today I went to enquire again, and was told that, alas, their vendor has an order at Lowes for this and other stuff, and Lowes isn't gonna deliver it until the whole order is ready, and it was supposed to be ready a few weeks ago but hasn't been yet...

I mentioned that one of my roommates fell the other day, at the top of the stairs because there isn't even the partial support railing there. Fortunately, my roommate is uninjured, but we'd really like to avoid that happening again.

And I asked for a date when we could expect a railing.

The manager hemmed and hawed a little, really can't predict when Lowes will deliver, but! She'll call the head maintenance guy and see if he can get one from one of the apartments that's currently empty ("as a stopgap?" I asked. "until the full size one gets here?")

Half an hour later, he’d arrived to badly install it

first thing he said to me was "how'd you manage to fall?" which is a great start, heavy sarcasm

He was going to put the railing at about shoulder height, until I pointed out that it was way higher than the other rail, at which point he looked at me and said in a you're full of shit and I hate you voice "you want it that low?"

yes, I said, because that side was at a reasonable height

so he lowered it to just above that, no checking beyond eyeballing it and asking me in a very impatient tone if it was about right

he would've attached the middle support at a height that would've put the top at about ankle height if I hadn't pointed out it was nowhere near parallel. At this point I was thinking "If I were doing this, I'd measure, and also check where the studs were," but he was very clearly in a bad mood and wouldn't take that suggestion well (he's never taken feedback well, even when it's very helpful such as "you're caught on that thing." He'd rather struggle on his own I guess. or in this case do an extremely negligent lackluster job)

so I resigned myself to fixing it later and watched him finish putting it up poorly

It's still not parallel, by the way. I measured after he left, and the bottom is four or five inches higher (relative to the steps) than the top. It's also still higher than the other rail.

and it doesn't reach the top of the stairs either. In the last apartment, at least the railing ended at the end of the steps (for proper support it should extend beyond the top stair a bit). This time, it ended two or three steps down.

also the screws holding bottom support piece to the wall weren’t fully in, and a gentle tug on the railing was enough to pull them out entirely.

and I didn't take a picture of this, but one of the screws in the top support was just placed in a hole, not doing anything whatsoever. I watched him realize this and leave it there.

So, after he left, I took some pics to document how shittily he'd slapped the railing onto the wall, and then took it down to reattach properly later today. Honestly the way it was attached was more of a hazard than not having one at all, so it’s not staying like that even temporarily

[gemmahale]

I'm gonna vent about clothes and shit. Tw for: body dysmorphia, frank discussion of weight gain, general brain bullshit and internalized fatphobia-ish? Idk, I pre-tagged this and kind of went off the rails at the end.

Take care of yourself and skip this one if you need to, okay? I love you. 💚

I need to pick up some new clothes. I'm down to one pair of jeans and really can't wear skirts because it's still too windy (and I have no shorts to wear underneath for the chub rub). And I'm not ready to break out my above-knee skorts yet.

I just...I'm struggling. Last time I ordered clothes, they were too big (I went off the measurements and I think I sized up out of dysmorphia). And because I was deep in depression central last time, it took me weeks to try on the clothes. Which meant that they were outside of their return policies.

I feel frumpy when I go to work. I hate it. I want to be excited about putting clothes on again. I've been wearing essentially this "uniform" for four years now.

I got looking at my license (I'm due for a renewal and soon because my birthday's coming up) and I put on roughly 40 pounds in the last four years. Sedentary job, antidepressant weight gain, having a partner that feeds me well - all things that are net positive, but have affected my body.

Well Gemma, go walking. I need shoes. I need to buckle down and get a pair of walking shoes. But that's a whole thing because I have dancer's feet and stupid ankles and stupid arches. And starting. Starting and maintaining habits are hard. (I'm at the phase where standing for 10 minutes or so hurts my hips and low back. It's bad.)

We're running what feels like a very tight budget right now. Logically, I know it's not - I can see the numbers since I run most of the household budget. But there are things that feel like they should take priority and it feels selfish to be spending it on clothes when I have perfectly serviceable polo shirts, a sweater, pair of jeans and shoes.

I don't know. The me in the mirror is not the me I want to be and trying to claw out of this pit feels insurmountable. I love my body, that's not the part I'm struggling with (okay, some days I do, but that's ..."normal-ish" as best I can tell.)

It's the effort I have to put into looking put together. I miss taking 45 minutes to get ready in the morning, putting make up on and cute outfits and feeling good about myself. I went hypercompetent femme and it worked so well for me.

But I'm worried that a big shift is going to cause some weird blowback. I'm already down a few pegs because I present female and I'm relatively young, even though I have a doctorate in plant health and a decade of experience in the green industry. I'm worried presenting "more feminine" means people won't take me seriously. (Though we already saw that at the commissioner's meeting, so maybe it doesn't really matter.)

I've always been "low maintenance" - roll out of bed, speed shower and throw on clothes. But I want to put effort into my appearance again, for my own benefit more than anything. I feel nice when I'm showered and my hair is styled and it feels like I give a shit.

Tl;dr: Gemma needs to stop being a pansy and wallowing in her feelings, buy some clothes and walking shoes and get some dopamine dressing happening.

And maybe eventually I'll get the clothes I need to donate out of the bedroom too.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Get To Know Me Tag

Thanks for the tags @lurkingshan & @telomeke! I really enjoy reading everyone's responses.

Do you make your bed?

Only when I wash my sheets, because then it's lovely to pull the covers down and get into a fresh bed. The rest of the time, I cannot be bothered. Plus I like naps, so will end up back in there at some point anyway.

What’s your favorite number?

I like 7 and 13.

What is your job?

Community Manager for a digital coworking/connection space. I'm also figuring out some outside consulting work.

If you could go back to school, would you?

What kind of school are we talking? Anything before age 18, hell, no. But more college? Sure. I would love to get more degrees if I had the money/spoons for it.

Can you parallel park?

Technically, yes, but realistically I will drive around the block multiple times to find a spot where I don't have to.

A job you had that would surprise people?

I'm not really sure what the average person finds surprising? I'm someone who likes to try new things, so I'm already on my 3rd career at this point, lol. Maybe some of my biology work? I guess that's a bit less common than office jobs, standing in a marsh in waist-deep water measuring crabs & eels, or building fences around plover nests to keep predators away.

Do you think aliens are real?

I think it's a very, very big universe and that pretty much anything is possible.

Can you drive a manual car?

Nope.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Hmm, I don't know if I have one? I'm pretty blatant about all my pleasures, lol. I used to be more shy about what I liked, but now I just don't give a fuck what people think.

Tattoos?

One, an ankle tattoo I got while in college. I actually loved getting it, and would love another one, but I can't make up my mind on what I want for it.

Favorite color?

Blues & purples, usually of the deeper hues.

Favorite type of music?

I like so many different types. It just depends on what I'm in the mood for.

Do you like puzzles?

Love them! I'm also really good at them. Ever since I was a kid, I can do them much more quickly than my friends & family. Something just clicks in my brain.

Any phobias?

I don't think any of my fears hit the phobia level. I get nervous with heights but if I feel secure, I can handle it. I hate plummeting, so avoid roller coasters. I'm risk-averse, but it's more logic driven than animal-brain.

Favorite childhood sport?

Hahahaha. I am very klutzy and nonathletic, sports were never my friend.

Do you talk to yourself?

To myself, to my plants, to inanimate objects within my house. Just last week I was talking to myself so vigorously, with hand gestures, that I knocked my glasses off my face. (See note above about klutzy).

What movies do you adore?

Oh gosh, there are so many. I grew up watching the classics with my parents, so I have a very deep love for a lot of old movies. Inherit the Wind. Twelve Angry Men. Shadow of a Doubt. The Magnificent Seven. Some Like It Hot. I do like a lot of modern movies too, but I think there's something about the things we imprint on as children.

Coffee or tea?

One cup of coffee first thing in the morning (more accurately, one scoop coffee with one scoop Crio Bru, it's an awesome mix), and then tea at various times throughout the day.

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

I don't really remember. I always had interests in a lot of things, which probably explains my multiple careers.

Not sure who hasn't been tagged yet, @slayerkitty @italianpersonwithashippersheart @dramalets @sunshinechay @infinitelyprecious @mysterygrl20 @theelast-straw @karebear923 @troubled-mind?

[sheliesshattered]

We had a fabulous time visiting Batuu yesterday! Our outfits were comfortable and functional and well suited to what turned out to be a relatively cold and cloudy day in southern California. Disney cast members definitely seemed to interact with us more because we made the effort to dress up, and we got some lovely compliments from other guests, too. We were even gifted some BSO credit coins by random strangers who liked our outfits!

It was Jack's first visit to Batuu, and while I did get to spend a little bit of time there with my mom in October, this was my first opportunity to really explore the entire area, browse through the shops, and sample all the food and drinks available. It was at least as cool as my first impression of it back in October, and Jack was impressed and delighted by all of it. We spent a good portion of the day just admiring all the details and world-building and excellent sets.

Jack has requested no photos, but I did manage to snag this pic of him blocking the camera like a victim of the paparazzi, lol.

But look at those pleats! Both Jack and I are so pleased with how they turned out. Several of the Resistance jackets on display in the Rise of the Resistance queue had similar pleat details, and it was fun to look at them up close.

Over this last weekend and all the way up to late Monday night, I was able to add a few last details to our outfits. I finally adjusted the chain length of my dangley earrings and glued the leather cording wraps to the back of my kyber crystal necklace so that it wouldn't slip out. While I had the glue out, I figured I'd take a stab at making some spat-type things to cover the lacings of my tall Doc Marten boots. I was completely winging it from start to finish, but I'm really happy with how they turned out!

The spats are made from some left over suede I've had in my stash for literally more than 20 years now -- it's been used for an Aragorn vest for Jack, a couple of bags for me, and the inner layers of the big wedge shaped piece on my Oswin belt. And I still have some left over! Maybe I'll make myself a belt pouch to match these spats at some point in the future.

The narrow end of each spat tucks under the laces closest to the toe of my boot, and theoretically secures to itself with a hook and eye, though I found the hook didn't really hold from that angle, and really wasn't necessary anyway. The straps then velcro around the back of my leg, at the lowest point of the bend of my ankle, and right at the top of the boot, so that the strap sits just above the top edge of the boot in the back, which helps keep it from slipping down.

To make these I really just draped scrap suede on my boot while wearing it, started cutting it to the shape I thought might make sense, then copied that over for a second spat. I measured how much I would need for the straps and how much of an overlap I wanted for the velcro, then cut out all those pieces and glued them together using E6000 -- which works wonderful for adhering velcro to suede and suede to suede, but is a bit more iffy with the metal hooks and eyes (one eye popped off when I was taking off the spat at the end of the night, but since it wasn't staying hooked anyway, I'm not fussed).

Despite being such a quick off-the-cuff project, the spats worked out great, and added that last little bit to my outfit by covering the laces of my boots. They're visible in the third photo, the full-length shot in front of the door (and in the video below), and I think they add an understated bit of texture difference in all the black-on-black there, in addition to obscuring the modern look of the boots a bit.

Besides those detail bits for me, I also made a pair of little pockets for Jack's jacket, to hold 'code cylinders'. It's a tiny detail that really makes the jacket look that much more Star Wars-y, and the cylinders themselves are empty and their tops unscrew, so the space can actually be functional, too. (Currently they're filled with gum!)

And at Jack's request, I threw together a quick insert for the zipper section on his collar that used to hold the hood before we removed it. The hood was making the collar too puffy, but without it the collar didn't have enough body to stand up on its own.

I took some measurements, then cut a piece of cotton duck canvas (that I had originally bought to cover the zippers on my Moment vest, before I changed gears and made the Batuu vest instead) to the right length and about three times the height of the interior of the hood section. I did a simple zigzag tri-fold on the height, ironed it flat, and marked some guide lines perpendicular to the length. Then it was just a simple process of quilting the three layers together by machine sewing in short vertical rows ~1cm apart.

The quilting gave the canvas even more stiffness, and after that point it absolutely did not want to fold or droop along the short vertical axis. I slipped it into the former hood pocket (after snipping one corner to fit around the snap I hadn't accounted for), zipped it closed, and gave the whole collar area a quick pressing. It's removable if we ever need to, completely washable, and keeps the collar standing upright without looking too stiff. Jack was very happy with the result.

With our outfits finally done, we headed into the park around mid-morning, with a plan to stay late. I wasn't quite sure what to expect with Batuu Bounding at Disneyland (which is notoriously a bit more hit-and-miss than Batuu East, in Florida), but we got through security without incident and through the rest of the park without anyone commenting on our outfits. We saw someone else wearing the same leather-look leggings as me, and a guy wearing similar jacket and pants to Jack (but without the pleating), which made us feel like we didn't look too weird, by general Disneyland standards.

Once we were in Batuu, though, our bounding definitely got noticed more. A couple of fellow guests complemented our outfits (including the kind strangers who gave us the coins!), and cast members seemed way more interested in interacting with us in-character. I got to bring up a bit about the history I'd made up for Samæni Ray -- which led to one cast member later referring to me and Jack as "my friends from Denon!" All of the prep and character design made it a lot easier to think on my feet in those little improv interactions.

One cast member in particular kept finding us throughout the day, just suddenly appearing out of nowhere it felt like, and kept trying to sell us a speederbike that totally wasn't a broken down lemon.

Later in the day, he kind of sold us out to Kylo Ren and a pair of stormtroopers (but like, in a fun way, lol) which led to an intense interaction with Kylo Ren right up in both my face and Jack's. Kylo Ren is tall, and the voice and the mask and the body language was all perfect up close. There was a bit of nervous laughter on our part, but we kept our cool and convinced Ren that that since we'd only just arrived on Batuu from Denon, we couldn't possibly know anything about any Resistance activity in Black Spire Outpost.

We were way too in the moment to get any photos, but because we were dressed up and Kylo Ren was so much up in our faces, we did draw a bit of a crowd, so for all I know other people may have taken pictures or videos of the event, lol. My family has a saying about 'look hard' rather than take photos, and it was definitely that for us.

Overall the whole day was wonderful, and we ended up spending nearly 12 hours in Batuu without leaving once. I got to pilot the Falcon multiple times (though I can't really say I've gotten any better at it, lol), and got to try out gunner and engineer, too. We managed to ride Rise of the Resistance both during the day and again after dark, explore every part of Black Spire Outpost in detail, learn to play Sabacc with a cast member, have drinks at Oga's, and eat a bunch of really tasty, really well-presented food.

All together it was an excellent, excellent birthday. And we're already talking about when we might want to go back again.

[gaoau]

Stir — Four Ounces of Water

A Mother's Instinct warnings — none. word count — 812

prev. — next.

As much as Yaku loved his best friend with all of his soul and wanted nothing more than to protect her from her own recklessness, sometimes he just wasn't willing to get up from his bed at three in the morning. When his stomach's grumbling forced him awake yet again, all he could do was groan quite loudly and slam his hand on his bedside table. He blindly tapped around the furniture to find his phone and unplugged it from its charger with a forceful tug.

The brightness of his screen—which was none—nearly destroyed his retinas as he lazily pressed on Illiterate Dumbass Ankle to call [Name]. She picked up not long after, although he could only hear her sniffling. "[Name], what's wrong? What's going on?"

"…How'd you know?" Her voice sounded dull and nasal, words slurred and drawn out. She sniffled again.

"I just did. Call it an instinct, I dunno. Tell me what's up."

"Well, um…" She cleared her throat, swallowed thickly, and groaned in what Yaku deemed as pain and discomfort. "Morisuke…" Yaku hummed to signal he was still listening. [Name] sniffled again. "Do you know how much four ounces are…?"

As much as Yaku utterly loved his best friend to death, sometimes she was simply too hard to follow. Not anyone he knew would be on the verge of tears at three in the morning while wondering how to measure four ounces. Of course, [Name] had stopped being like anyone else a long time ago—somewhere around that one instance when Kuroo joked about taking her out—yet she still managed to surprise him every day. It was endearing as it was concerning.

"I'm—Why do you want to know that? [Name], it's three AM, just why are you awake?"

"I have a sore throat… and it's really bothering me, so I… I thought I'd get something for it, but there's nothing home… So I asked Google and she said to do so—"

"Wait, wait."

"What…?"

"Who said?"

"Google…"

"I'm sorry, did you just call Google a she?"

"Morisuke, I'm gonna fucking throw myself off a toaster, this is not the moment…"

As much as [Name] was way too high on her own fever, the aspects of her personality he loved the most always remained. Her spontaneous retorts and ridiculously specific expressions certainly knew how to bring a smile to his face. Yaku's sigh mixed with a chuckle. "Go on."

"So yeah… Google said to do some salt gargles with, like… uh, four ounces of water…? But I don't know how to count ounces… I only know grams."

Yaku blinked, brows rising. "Why do you measure water in grams?"

"What do you do it with…? Seconds…?"

"Liters." He had to keep himself from laughing. Only precious [Name] could forget how to do something as simple as measuring water. She remained silent on the other side of the line, possibly trying to process the words she had just heard. The silence soon morphed into quiet sobs, and Yaku's stomach began eating itself up. "[Name], are you crying?"

[Name] sniffled again. "…I'm going back to bed… Maybe I'll ask dad to buy some lozenge tomorrow…" Among her groans of pain, Yaku could hear her bare feet shuffling over the tiles of her dining room. A bump followed suit, and [Name] hissed out some curses, "Holy absolute fuck, I ate the bitchass wall like a moronic asshole. Ugh, my throat…" Yaku could only chuckle while his friend coughed in distress.

As much as her choice of words became colorfully creative when the thermometer read numbers above 37°C, Yaku welcomed her strings of profanities with open arms. Maybe he was biased, but every last aspect of [Name] seemed entirely endearing in his eyes; be it a messy bundle of tangled hair and sweat swearing her lungs out, or an energetic kitten clinging to his back for dear life when she didn't want to use her own legs.

"…I still don't know how much four ounces are."

Yaku laughed, using his fist to muffle the sounds so as to not wake his parents up. "Don't worry about it. I'll drop by with some soup tomorrow, how does that sound?"

"Wonderful, I love you…"

"Rest up, [Name], good night."

[Name] hummed. "Good night, Morisuke…"

Yaku pulled his phone away from his ear and pressed down on the red button to end the call. He stared at his screen as it turned off on its own. Maybe he should start reciprocating her I love you's.

[jovialtorchlight]

i learned you were dead from the t.v., the slow crawl of "breaking news" at the bottom of the t.v. screen. isn't it remarkable how one small moment marks the gap between before and after, one small look up from a video game, one moment of comprehension marks where this cursed trajectory sprung up from the darkness after laying in wait.

February 20th, 2008. I was playing Pirates of the Caribbean Online, half watching American Idol with my mom. Dad had left the house after getting a call that your home in Old Orchard Beach was on fire. It's just a fire, I thought. He's fine. He got out.

That day, I was rehearsing for our high school’s production of High School Musical, and in the dingy band room with a broken fluorescent light sputtering flashes of pale yellow, me and some kid were talking about souls, and how they weighed 21 grams.

I had never studied the scientific method. I was in the science classes for kids that sucked at science. I didn’t know that the study

where Duncan MacDougal measured the weight of a guy drop 21 grams as he died was bullshit.So, around the time you were bleeding out in the carpeted hallway, I was spouting some

pseudo-scientific bullshit about the weight of a soul.

And I hope that I’m wrong. I hope that your soul really lifted out of your body, up above the rafters of your home, I hope that you looked at the tops of the houses of the suburban cul-de-sac,

I hope that you felt free, unchained from the terror of your final moments. I hope one day, when my soul lifts up into the air, that I can unhook the dog chain around my neck and be free.

When American Idol was over and the news flash scrawled the bottom of the screen,.

"THREE DEAD IN OLD ORCHARD BEACH HOUSE FIRE."

And as my mom and I read the words, as our world ripped open and the sky cracked and the raw horror of your death first thrashed up against my body, as I ran into my room and screamed into a pillow and my mom frantically stood in my doorway, on the phone, trying to call my dad, anyone, I was thinking, at 14, OH MY GOD. JOSH WILL NEVER BE MY BEST MAN. I was thinking "YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH. YOU'RE GOING CRAZY. NO ONE SCREAMS LIKE THIS. YOU CAN'T STOP SCREAMING. YOU ARE SO PATHETIC. STOP SCREAMING."

And if your soul was free and if the spirit was lifting I hope you weren't above me, watching me crumble into myself, watching me topple over, watching the riptide of grief latch onto my ankles and drag me, for the first time, deep into the black, oily water of oblivion. I hope you were flying for the first time, I hope you were as free as a starling high in the streams of sky. I hope you couldn't hear me wail into the emptiness. I hope you were rising like fog lifted on a summer morning from a still, calm water.

[livingmeatloaf]

Tumblr sweatpants review

8/10 overall rating

Price: $55

Image ID: black Tumblr sweatpants laid flat on a beige carpet.

Measurements

First things first: the measurements on the size chart are confusing and not super helpful. I got the 3XL (the largest size) to be safe and I'm very glad I did. This ended up being my size, though I usually can wear a 2XL in other brands. Here is a full breakdown of the pant measurements, so you can judge them for yourself. All are measured flat then doubled where applicable.

Waistband relaxed = 42 1/2in (108cm)

Waistband stretched = 52in (132 cm)

Hip = 53in (134.5cm)

Upper thigh (at crotch level) = 31 1/2in (80cm)

Calf (10 inches above bottom hem) = 17in (43cm)

Ankle = 14in (35.5cm)

Length along outseam = 46 1/2in (118cm)

Inseam = 31 1/1in (80cm)

Pocket depth = 11 3/4in (30cm) from waistband, roughly 3 1/4in (8cm) from bottom of the opening. Curved, so hard to measure.

The waistband has a bit of stretch thanks to the elastic in it, but not much. There is a functional drawstring to tighten. The material itself has minor stretch, maybe about as much as a cotton t-shirt. The ankle cuff seam has *zero* stretch. The legs are tapered in a fairly slim cut.

The legs ended up being too long for me, so I'll have to roll up the cuffs or recuff them entirely.

The sizing chart at the time of my ordering listed the waist measurement of the 3XL at 21 1/4 and the inseam at 30 3/4. There was no indication if that waist measurement was flat, doubled, anything.

Material, Construction, and Comfort

There are no material content, washing instructions, or manufacturer origin tags inside the pants. The site lists the material as "7.8-ounce, 50/50 cotton/poly fleece, Elastic, self-fabric waistband and self-fabric cuffs." This matches what I see without doing a burn test. The outer material has a smooth, slightly ribbed finish that does look and feel like a heavier t-shirt material. The inside is a fluffy poly fleece.

All seams are fully sealed in surge stitching, with a few trailing tails at joins. The drawstring is a woven flat cord. The elastic is 1 1/2in flat elastic, stitched down on top and bottom. The elastic and drawstring are both anchored at the center back, so the drawstring is not continuous and cannot be pulled out. Both are contained within the channel of the waistband, so no elastic pressing directly to the skin.

The tumblr logo is screenprinted on the left leg. It is warm and flexible, so I believe it will serve my sweatpantsy needs. I have not yet washed them, so I cannot say how they'll hold up over time.

As long as you get the right size, there should be plenty of ease for movement. If you want a more relaxed fit, maybe go a size up so long as the size range allows you to.

Overall, I'm pleased with these and do no regret buying them. The pockets are nice and deep, the pants are comfy, and they'll keep my legs warm. The quality and construction are pretty good; if you told me these were from a mid-tier department store like JcPenney or Kohls, or that they were from an athletics brand, I would believe you. I think this is reflected in the price. I'm not a huge fan of tapered legs and the pants only just fit comfortably where I prefer a much more relaxed fit.

I would love if Tumblr offered other styles and they should definitely talk to their manufacturer about increasing the size range into truly plus sized options, as I consider myself on the lower end of plus size and only fit their largest size.

@staff Please put the option for reviews on your shop page!

[encephaloscope]

knitting socks for wide calves

this might be news to some people, but some of us have calves that are too big for most sock knitting patterns. I started modifying the socks I knit for myself from the very first pair and I know many people are not sure how to do it. I believe these mods should be accessible to everyone so I decided to share one of my methods.

for the record, I have three sock patterns for sale on Ravelry, two of them can be very easily adapted for wider calves and include the instructions to do so. the other one is from a period of my life where I was still dealing with a lot of internalized fatphobia and while it would be possible to adapt it, it wouldn't be as easy so I prefer not to recommend it to people who need more width on the calf.

here are the two patterns, and after this little bit of shameless self-promo you'll find the method I use most of the time for my socks.

Jude

Fixing a Hole

I am using bits from my Fixing a Hole pattern to write this, so you can refer to the photo above to see how it looks (pretty insivible, hehe). This method assumes you are knitting toe-up socks in Magic Loop and the leg of your socks is plain stockinette. Unfortunately, some stitch patterns will need more work to adapt them, but you can use my method as an inspiration. Honestly I didn't invent anything, this is just something I figured out by myself and experimented with over many pairs.

Method

Knit at least one round around after your heel before working the increase rounds.

Increase round: k10, m1l, k to 10 stitches before end of needle, m1l, k to end of needle, repeat on second needle Repeat this round as many times as you need to have enough stitches to fit your legs. I recommend knitting straight for 10 rounds or about an inch between each increase round. I was able to fit three increase rounds in 4 inches on my socks, with 10 rows between each.

You can measure your ankle and calf to figure out the difference and how many stitches that is according to your gauge. For example, if I need to add 2 inches in width and my gauge is 8 sts per inch, then I need to add 16 stitches. That means I would need to work 4 increase rounds. Knowing that, it is easier to plan how to space them apart.

Alternatively, knit one increase round, then plain for one inch, then one increase round, then plain, until you're satisfied with how it looks and fits. Play around and figure out what works for you - I know I say that for everything, but really it's the best way to tailor your knits.

If you're knitting socks with a motif only on the front leg and top of the foot, you can add increases only on the back of the leg, I did that in Jude. You just need to knit your increase rounds closer to one another, and only on half the stitches, so do not "repeat on second needle".

You could also increase only on the sides of the legs, so you would k1 instead of k10. That could work for an all-over motif.

Have fun knitting socks that fit!

[biosigh]

Five Years Later

I feel as if I'm floating through space. I can feel the ebb and flow of existence as I drift along a current of dark matter, solar ejecta, and gravity waves among the incontrovertible vastness of this black drip. I gave up journaling five years ago, though not deliberately or intentionally. As with many hobbies, hopes, and dreams, I let it fall to the wayside in an almost childlike and capricious neglect as my senses were inundated with the rush of living presently.

I forgot.

I had been fixated on controlling my present and future that I dismissed the past and its useless reflection as a memoir on my life. A waste of time, at least, that is until I felt existential dread grip me by the ankles and drag me into the cosmos of bleakness where I now find myself tumbling. Looking back, I only see a time capsule, borne in this blog and now surrounded by the degeneracy of tumblr's attempt to fill the vapid nothingness with pitiful offerings.

My life, my present life, is going great. I should have no complaints. I'm heading towards completing my PGY3 year of medical residency, my relationship with my mom is fantastic, I feel well-liked in my circles, I'm in love, and the future just seems so bright to me; I'm heading towards such a luminous future like a star in the distance. Except why do I feel dread?

As my body rolls through space, I see glimpses of that bright star ahead, glimpses of my time capsule behind, and everything else is just darkness. Let me help add some nuance:

I'm heading towards completing my PGY3 year, however I need to find a job. I know I'll get a job, and I know I'll get one where I want to go but the uncertainty of what kind of role I'll have - contractor or employee - soul-killing job or enriching - community or academic - per diem or full time - locum or local? It's tough because I don't know how to circumvent this. Many places want someone soon™ or can't see far enough to want me in a year. Other places want me to sign up, apply and be exclusive with them when I don't feel knowledgeable enough to make a decision without signing away my life for a few years. I'm paralyzed by possibility and I continue to hurtle towards an unknowable future.

My relationship with my mom is fantastic but that came at the cost of losing my dad. He passed during the pandemic but not due to COVID19 - small comfort that is. I felt like he was hanging on until I finished medical school and then felt it was time to leave. I don't think I've ever recovered from that. And inbetween the moments where I think of him and miss him and feel the great weight of loss that this world has, I have glimpses and panic about eventually losing my mom too. Space is cold, no matter how many photos come across me; nothing will ever be as warm as a parent's love.

I feel well-liked in my circles. Everyone seems to want to spend more and more time with me. And as much as I enjoy the welcomeness, I find myself retreating more and more into myself. I don't have gratitude for this because I'm used to striking out my own way. I'm used to solitude. I want to appreciate people, but I feel so exhausted because my time feels owed to others. Relationships are dynamic, and they will eventually die without support. But I so wish I could be a friend who pops in and out. Oddly, the comfort of moving through space is the millennia of solitude.

I'm in love. We're about to enter our 8 years together. He's always given me what I've wanted and what I've needed. And I'm learning to be less selfish in this relationship - I'm not very good at it but I'm learning. I'm afraid that if something happened to him, I will never be able to open up to someone new again (see above). Everyone would be measured against the standard that he is. We worked so hard to forge the relationship of our dreams but my anxieties always brace me for the eventuality - by natural or manmade machinations - that we will be apart. And on and on I float in empty space, alone.

The future seems bright but maybe that's because I can only see nuclear fireworks peppering the sky with blazes of the apocalypse. The future feels bleak. We just survived a pandemic, and an ongoing depression. We have multiple national conflicts stirring with new ones coming around the corners like comets. Are we in the 1920s or 2020s? It's so hard to tell anymore that it feels like time dilation is screwing with my head. Gone were the halcyon days of a promising future, and left behind is the nuclear winter of interstellar space. It's horrifically empty and at times beautifully peaceful.

I just want the spinning to stop. I want to stay frozen in time, locked here blissful in an infinite constant.

[ahdenyadahling]

Final Fantasy XV- Fate & Destiny

Chapter Two, Part One

Chapter Two: Fight or Flight

Storm clouds were rolling in just as I had finished cleaning out the Chocobo coop and rotating the eggs. We had two full-grown Chocobo females left. We had five females and two males six months ago, but as I previously mentioned: predators. The females were dutiful egg-sitters, albeit somewhat clumsy. Sometimes an egg would roll away. It’s chances for survival after being in the open for less than a day were still high, but with this sudden chill to the air, I fortified their nests with more straw and a few sticks to better insulate them.

Not half an hour later, soft rain began to fall, and I breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of a new rain, the smell of the evergreen woods. I set my rake aside as I watched my mother open the front door, leaning forward to call to me:

“Deni, you’d better hurry up and get inside. Didn’t you see that Engine above?”

I looked up, bringing my hand over my brow, blocking the rain as I scanned the sky. I caught sight of a glowing red orb perhaps a half-mile away, oddly stationary. I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry, it was still pretty far away, when thunder crashed so loudly, I nearly jumped in surprise. The airship floor opened, dropping its mechanical soldiers into the field. It was then that I noticed a purple-tinted car stop in front of them; it appeared three or four people jumped out to confront the soldiers.

The rain began to pour harder, faster, and I urged my mother to get inside. We began to hear the muffled shouts and the clanging of steel on steel, and I saw sparks fly from one of the damaged machines.

This was getting a little too close for comfort. Seeing that my mother had ducked back inside the house, I jogged to the fence to be sure the Chocobos were locked inside. I heard a few squawks, but they fell silent as I approached. A chill ran through my body as the rain began to soak through my clothes, and I froze, mid-step, paralyzed with fear. Perched atop our coop was a Voretooth, its mouth dripping with saliva. A tongue as long and thick as my arm lashed out as if measuring the distance between us. Its black eyes were now fixed on me, a bigger meal than a Chocobo chick. My hands went numb as my heart lurched into my throat, not knowing whether to make a run for it or not. I tried to recall the information my father gave me on combat and defending myself, but it was hard to do, seeing those razor-sharp teeth and claws not twenty feet from me. But two things did occur to me: get a weapon, and find out where the others were. I took my eyes from it for just a moment to search for a weapon, and when I broke contact, it lunged at me, clearing the five-foot tall fence in one pounce. When it jumped, I rolled forward, under and past it, grabbing the only weapon available: my garden hoe.

Standing upright, holding the hoe like a staff, defensively in front of me, two more Voretooths appeared, circling around the first. My heart was pounding in my ears; I had no idea if I was going to get out of this alive. I heard my mother shout my name from inside the house, and as I began to shimmy toward the door, another creature appeared, blocking the entrance, lured there by my mother’s voice. She quieted, and I pictured her in tears, helpless in assisting her only child. I couldn’t let that one break down the door and get her, either. As the three in front of me snapped at each other as if trying to lay claim to me, I saw a brief opening. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled as I darted past the one on the left. I headed for higher ground, racing toward the closest tree in my yard. There was one perhaps fifty feet away. I got about fifteen feet before the left one turned, whacking me in the back with its strong tail, its tongue wrapping around my ankle. I fell with a thud to the dampened earth, quickly rolling over with the hoe in both hands, shielding my face as a set of massive teeth clenched down on the wooden handle. It tried to bite through as it shook its head like a dog with a toy. It snorted putrid breath in my face as its body writhed above me. Its companions stomped their feet, gnashed their teeth inches from my head. Saliva dripped from their jaws, streaking down my arm. It burned so badly, I wanted to curl up into myself and cry.

[concentriccookies]

I made the THE OFMD depression robe for my friend!! This was my first time making a pattern from scratch!! I got the biggest heckin makers high as this came together cause the fabric is gorgeous and just, it was beautiful and rewarding as fuck to see it turn into The Actual Thing. I know I had such a hard time originally when i was trying to find a ready-made pattern to mod to make this (before I decided I had the skills & GUMPTION to do this myself.) So I’ve measured my pattern pieces and I’m going to upload them under the read more in case it would help anyone make their own.

I’m just going to assume a general knowledge of sewing and quick list my steps. But before I start. This robe was made for someone small, just tiny. Shoulder width of 15″ and a height from shoulder to ankle of 44″.  I made it so the proportions suited her. If I was making it for me, I would be adding a lot of length to the collar piece, an inch or two to the yoke width and adjusting other things accordingly. aka. make urself a hecking mockup. See what works for you!

If you are using the actual velvet fabric from the show it's a little bit bitchy and doesnt like to stay in place as u sew, i needed to pin the shit out of it since it was too thick to fit through my walking foot. (I’m an average intermediate sewer so maybe I just dont have the knowledge for how I’m suppose to work with it?? idk u guys I just try things, and if it works it works.)

you can always message me to ask for clarification on anything I’ve written but honestly if it’s basic, then searching and watching some youtube vids on robes will give you great starting points and will explain much better then I ever will.

after the pattern is cut, using 1/2 inch seam allowance:

1) sew the 2 back pieces together (if cut in 2) 2) dart and baste the back dart. fold the dart so that the top of the Back matches the bottom of the Yoke 3) sew Back to Yoke 4) sew both the Front pieces to the Yoke 5) match Sleeve center line to where the Front and Yoke meet. Sew sleeves to body of the robe. Leaving .5″ unsewn at the each end for gussets. 6) Bit complex bit. SLEEVE GUSSETS. I dont have pattern pieces for the gussets they are just 2.5″ square of fabric. I match 1 end of the gusset to the very end of the sleeve, sew it on, leaving the seam allowance unsewn at both ends. I match the next edge up to the robe body where it meets, sew that to the body the exact same way.

7) Match the bottom of the sleeve edges up and stitch the sleeve closed. I stop when I get to the gusset, then line the unattached edges of the gusset up and sew it to the opposite edge of the sleeve, then the body. (guys this bit is confusing and gussets took me a bit of youtubing, and tutorialling to understand and nail. Since the sleeve is square and doesn't have any sloping to it it needs some ease at the bottom where it meets the robe to not pinch unattractively, gussets are the answer.) 8a) Sew your pocket bags to the appropriate places on the Front and Back peices. 8b) Pin and sew the robe Front and Back together. 9) Sew the bottom edges of the Collar together 10) Pin collar in place, matching centerback and making sure the two ends line up evenly at the front of the robe. Sew until you hit the end seams 11) I flipped the collar right side out so it looks like it is suppose to for the final and basted the loose edge inside the seam allowance of the robe body, this will be hidden when the lining gets sewn in.

Lining time! Do the same steps above for the lining! only skip the pocket and collar steps!  (I used a rayon lining because it’s breathable and non-static)

12) pin lining in place around the full front edge, sew that DIRECTLY on your seam for the collar. Fun time with Accuracy! 13) I literally cant describe how I sewed the sleeve and the sleeve lining together, just looked up a shittton of youtube for different way to go abt this, picked my fav. 14) Hem fitting, Trim ur hem, HEM IT UP 15) Tassles.

I made the bottom of the front and back pieces squared off but really they could be curved towards the inner (angled) edge. I knew I was going to be hemming this on someone else so I wasnt too fussed abt getting the hem line right in the pattern stage cause tbh even with a ready-made pattern curved hems never sit right for me so I said “fuck it” wasnt even gonna try at this stage.

I traced this yoke off another pattern i had and adjusted it a little.

I also made a lil bonus scrunchie out of the scraps and some extra elastic!

OK HOPE THIS HELPS HAVE FUN KIDS

[billthedrake]

BIG DADDY (PART FOUR)

(This is a story is a little departure from my normal, with bisexual content.)

That cock challenged me as several inches sawed in and out of my wet, mucusy throat.

I could do this, though, I decided. It had been two solid months since I'd sucked Big Daddy and, yeah, I'll admit I missed this. Missed that massive truncheon against my tongue, against my tonsils, filling me up.

"Damn, son," I heard above me. The man's khakis were down by his ankles and we were there in his private study. Mark Bryant had asked me over for a man-to-man talk. No Cheryl, just me. I wasn't sure what was involved, but he was all low-key friendly as he greeted me and showed me to his study.

Mrs. Bryant came in with two beers and her chipper housewife smile. Then said she'd leave us men to whatever business we had and shut the door on the way out.

Mr. Bryant didn't waste time. The door barely clicked when he stood up and started undoing his belt.

That was five minutes ago. Now, I was hunkering in my seat, putting my hands on Mark's thick hairy thighs to steady myself as his thrusts grew more insistent. Fuck, this was all so intense. I had tears running down my cheeks and spit drooling down my chin. I probably looked like a dumb whore. Like Dan Bryant level whore. Or Randy Slocum. I couldn't help it, though, Mark Bryant had a huge fucking cock.

I coughed on Mark's hard phallus as it pressed deeper in my gullet and heard a soft laugh. "OK," he grunted and slowly pulled his meat out.

I caught my breath, wiping my chin and cheeks the best I could. My eyes never left that penis. Long, fat, rigid, the big hairy balls drawn up some. A man. I'd seen that dick fuck my Cheryl, and I'd seen her blow it. This dick called the shots.

"Go on, Nick," he said, using my first name again. "Finish me off." Then a word I never expected from the big man's mouth. "Please."

I looked up in his eyes. Behind the stern look there was a playfulness. I felt a shudder in my body. For a monent, I knew what Cheryl felt. Not only the sexual desire, or dare I say addiction, to her father's cock. But the unconditional love she had for the domineering, self-centered man.

I nodded and leaned in, slowly taking Mark's erect cock in between my lips. I wasn't trying to be a tease but this is how I knew to work him. A gradual, measured pace, slowly working his bone with my wet mouth in up and down strokes while one hand gripped the free inches and the other massaged his daddy balls.

"Fuck, that's nice," he hissed, putting his hands on his hips and relaxing his posture, shifting from face fucking to a getting-serviced stance.

That just encouraged me. I went faster and twisted my hand around his shaft. It was probably a porn chick move, but Daddy liked it.

"Shit," he gasped, in his normal loud Mark voice. I guess he didn't care if Mrs. Bryant heard. "Suck my fucking cock, man.... yeah like that, son.... getting me so fucking close..... un... ungh, FUCK!"

After a couple of dry months, I was getting that Bryant cum I loved. I gulped and tasted what immediately didn't shoot down my throat. Then I swallowed that, too.

Mark had a big smile on his face when I finally pulled off. "Damn, boy..." he said, but nothing else. I guess that was all the compliment I was gonna get.

He reached down and hoisted his khakis back up. Zipping up and buckling his belt again, he strutted back to the other side of his home office desk, plopping into the leather chair like a kid.

I sat back in my chair, hard as a rock in my jeans. If it had been anyone else, I would have demanded reciprocation. I would have pulled out my hard as nails prick and fed it to the guy, demanding a blowjob for a blowjob. But since it was Big Daddy, I sat there with an erection that would have to wait.

"Getting excited for the wedding, Nick?" the man asked. Like I just hadn't sucked him off.

"Yessir, Mark," I replied. The wedding was now weeks away and after a crazy year, I was getting into the idea of being Cheryl's husband, even if it meant marrying into the Bryant family. Especially if it meant marrying into the Bryant family.

The man smiled at my answer, though honestly this felt like small talk. A ritual of a conversation. What the fuck else was I gonna say? "No, Mr. Bryant, I'm dreading marrying your slutty daughter"?

"Listen Nick, the reason I asked you over here was to ask how you're enjoying your job."

"Some days are better than other," I admitted. "I don't have super high expectations for an entry level job, but they're soft of promising me a promotion next year."

"Sort of?" Mark seemed skeptical.

"They can't come out and put it in writing," I clarified. "But I've seen how they work. They do promote talent from within."

"That's good," Mark said. Then with a careful look, he put it out there in that inimitable Texas drawl. "You know, son, R.C. Supply promotes our homegrown talent."

This was a surprise but not a total one. I got his drift immediately. "Is that a job offer, sir?" I asked respectfully.

"Damn straight it is, Brennan," he replied, using my last name. "You got a head on your shoulders, and we need that." Mark didn't have to spell it out, but I knew the implication. Dan Bryant wasn't gonna be right-hand-man material now or ever.

"What exactly would I be doing?" I asked.

Mark had clearly thought about it carefully. "Market analysis, and point person for our accountant. At first. You'd be shadowing Keith to learn every aspect of the business, preparing for a management role."

"I'm flattered, sir," I said truthfully. Then, "I'm guessing it would be a starter salary?"

Mark smiled. "A businessman, all right," he chuckled then wrote a figure on a piece of paper. "Is this enough incentive?" he asked as he slid across to me.

It was. And I told him so. It was easily twenty thousand more than my current salary. I didn't tell him that, but Mark probably had a ballpark idea.

"It's not fucking charity, mind you. It's investment. You're gonna earn every penny."

"I know," I said confidently. "I'm up for it."

"That's a yes, then?" the man asked. Damn those blue eyes were working on me, that Bryant animal magnetism. I wish I'd gotten off earlier, since I worried my attraction to the man was clouding my judgment.

"I'll talk it over with Cheryl, but I'm sure it will be a yes," I replied. "I'd need two weeks notice for my current job," I clarified.

"By the books, huh?" Mark chuckled. "All right, Brennan," he added. "Give me an answer by the weekend."

I nodded.

Mark changed the subject. To another matter of family business. "I hear you've been taking care of Dan lately."

"Yessir," I replied. "He's a good kid," I said, dumbly.

"He was a bit of fuck up when he was younger," Mark confessed. Then he looked at me with a steely gaze. "Let's just say Dan needs a strong guiding hand in his life."

"I'm gathering," I said. Damn, this conversation was getting heady. I already went a little rough whenever I hooked up with Dan Bryant, but now Mark was encouraging me to go further?

"I'm not just talking about the sex," he added. "I mean in life. I'm asking you man to man, Nick... think you could look after my boy? Keep him from fucking up too much?"

"Dan's a good guy," I assured him. "I'll keep his head straight."

"I'm grateful," Mark said. "Really."

He held up his nearly empty glass now. "I'll have Kate bring us a couple more beers. Whaddya say?"

I shook my head no and stood up. "I should be getting home, Mark,"" I said. "I wanna talk your offer over with Cheryl. No need to wait to the weekend."

He grinned and stood up, his big burly body giving me a thrill of excitement. He stuck out his hand for a goddamn business handshake. "Hope to have you on my team, Brennan."

***

I didn't go straight home. I was still horny. After the blue balls at Mark's, I needed something rougher than sex with Cheryl. I was just in that kind of mood.

I thought of Dan, and yeah, Mark's words to me about his son had fired up my imagination. I'd already gotten his son to get back on a workout regimen, and I'd got the dumb stud to stop hitting Grindr. I thought of really taking control of the guy's life, like Daddy was asking. And I was hard as a rock thinking about it.

But I wasn't gonna fuck Dan that night. I had a rule I kept to. Dan Bryant had to ask me for cock. He had to beg. And he had to learn not to beg too often. He may be a cock-hungry slut, but he was a Bryant for christsake.

I pulled out my phone and sent Officer Slocum a text. "Off duty?" was all it read.

"Having dinner with Jessica," was the reply. "What's up?"

"When can you meet?" I texted, pawing my crotch. Mark had left me in a real state.

"Fuck. Can you give me thirty minutes, Mr. Nick? I'll make some excuse up."

"Perfect," I lied. Perfect would have been five minutes. But Slocum was a prize piece of cop hotness. Even in my horny state, I knew I had to respect that.

I went to the Walgreens and picked up some lube. I'd have to start carrying it my glove compartment for these very occasions. I picked up a box of condoms but who was I kidding? I wasn't gonna tap Slocum's ass all rubbered up. I tossed the box back.

By the time we got to our spot, an empty lot in an industrial park halfway between town and Round Rock, I only had to wait about five minutes. I turned off the car, unbuckled my seat belt and pulled out my cock. I slicked it up with lube and got a nice stroke on it.

I saw Officer Slocum's truck pull up next to mine and watched all 5'10" of muscled-up cop hotness get out and strut over to my window. He was in causal clothes rather than his uniform, but he looked hot as hell. Blond hair in a fresh buzz cut, arms and shoulders filled out by a clear gaining cycle, that baby fat still clinging tenaciously to his cheeks.

"Evening, Mr. Nick," he greeted. He had a hardon, too, I could tell and that gave me a hell of an ego boost.

"Hi Randy," I greeted.

He stopped as he got close enough to see in my window and to see me stroke my cock.

"I'm pretty horny," I stated the obvious.

"I can see that," he said in that thick Texas accent. "I'll take care of you, Mr. Nick. Like I always do."

He took the initiative to open my car door, and I knew what he was planning. He was gonna kneel in that goddamn parking lot like he often did and lean in and blow me as I sat in the passenger seat, with me keeping an eye to make sure the coast was clear.

Not tonight. I stood up and got out of the car, hardon first.

"Lean over the car," I instructed, walking behind him.

"But, Nick," he objected, forgetting his normal "Mr.", "we've never..."

"I know we haven't," I said, putting my hand on his beefy shoulder and gripping it in a gentle massage. God, every inch of this dude was turning me on. "But I need a fuck, bad. Come on, man," I urged.

He nodded silently, nervous, I could tell, as he kind of leaned forward.

I got in behind him, now openly running my hands up and down his thin T-shirt and appreciating the beef beneath. At that moment I could read this guy like a book. Local high school player, barely able to graduate, decided to be a cop before he even got his diploma. Maybe his Daddy was a cop, maybe he just romanticized the job. Now he was in over his head. Law enforcement, even in a small town was half tedium, half tough situations. His time with me and Mr. Bryant was the one part he enjoyed.

"Drop the pants," I growled and like that Randy Slocum scrambled to comply, undoing his jeans and quickly shucking them down.

I'd seen Randy's ass before, but not like this. Bare, round, smooth. Somewhere between a bubble butt and a muscle ass. I ran my hands over the brawny cheeks and felt Randy's body jerk in excitement. Fuck.

"You ever take dick before?" I had to ask.

"Yessir, Mr. Nick," the officer answered. "But not much. Honest." His voice was shaking.

"Easy boy, I'll go easy," I assured him. I reached in the car and get the lube. Randy would need a lot I decided. I pumped extra on my cock, and then started fingering a healthy amount to his pucker. He was tight all right, but slowly accepted first one finger, then two, then three.

Now or never, I figured. I got into place.

The entry stung him, but I reached around and held on as I kissed his neck and held steady in place.

"You got a hot ass, Randy," I said in a soft growl. This was as loving as he was gonna get.

"Thank you, Mr. Nick," he breathed. It was intense for him, but he was getting used to it. Getting used to having a man's cock pressing up into him. Then another inch tapped something into him. Slocum stifled a cry as his ass bucked against me.

"My hot cop likes that, huh?" I hissed, now fucking him.

Randy liked it, all right, and I was glad I'd taken my time. Feeling his body respond to each thrust made this so much hotter.

I was really worked up from blowing Mark, and it was all getting me off quickly now. My cock spurted its seed in Randy's tight cop ass.

"Unnng!" I grunted and kind of slumped against him. It was the kind of nut I need a second to recover from but as I held Randy, he furiously stroked to his own nut. I gave him an encouraging pat on his waist as he gave it up.

"Nice," I hissed, then slowly pulled out. I stepped around and got a couple of Kleenex, one to wipe my cock off, a few to let Slocum sop up his jizzy hole.

I watched the color return to the officer's cheeks as he pulled his jeans back on and casually toss the kleenex onto the parking lot asphalt. "You men have been real worked up lately," he said with a grin. "Did Mr. Bryant tell you he fucked me?"

I'll be damned. "No," I said.

He got that aw-shucks friendliness to his demeanor now. "Just between you and me, Mr. Nick, it was a lot better with you. Mr. Bryant... well, he's real big, too big, and I didn't cum like I did with you just now."

"I'm gonna want a lot more of that ass," I said openly.

Randy just gave me a flirty smile. "Officer Slocum at your service, sir," he said with a chuckle. "Only now, I gotta get home, Mr. Nick. For real."

"All right," I said gruffly. But something about this hot cop caught me in a conciliatory mood. I stepped up and saw his surprised nervousness. My hands felt up his sides again, slowly, almost like we were teenager at prom. Then I kissed him.

Fuck he loved that. His mouth greedily accepted my tongue and his own hands were on my waist, pulling me in.

I finally broke it off. "All right, Randy, go home. I'll be in touch."

****

"Damm, bro, it's great to see you," I said as I met my high school buddy Kevin McConnell in a beer hug in the baggage claim of the Austin airport. He had a garment bag with his suit for my wedding and a small wheeled carry on.

"Nick Brennan," my buddy said, his light brown eyes taking me in head to toe. "You're all Texas and shit now," he laughed.

"Maybe," I admitted as I clapped his upper back and took his suitcase. "I'm pretty happy here, dude. Come on, let's get some lunch. Figured it was time for my bud to have some real barbecue."

He rolled his eyes but let me lead the way to the parking lot.

Lunch was great, but it was even better to catch up with my friend. I hadn't forgotten Kevin, not by a long shot. Dude was going to be my best man. But we'd grown apart some in college... Kevin had stayed in our hometown and had done the local state college thing before working for his dad's plumbing business. I was glad to see the real world hadn't dulled his sense of humor. We caught up on people we knew in high school and Kevin told me all the crazy shit that some of them were up to. I was drying my tears of laughter after a while.

Kevin paused and gave me an affectionate look. Not a crush, but a friend/bro kind of look. "Fuck, Nick, it's been too long.... you excited for Saturday?"

"I am," I said. "Best decision I've made, marrying Cheryl." I dropped my voice's volume and added. "Though you marry her you marry the whole goddamn Bryant family."

"That a problem?" Kevin asked, concerned. Always looking out for me.

I shook my head. "Nah, I love them to death. But heads up Mark... Cheryl's Dad... well, he can be a little intense."

"I can handle him," Kevin laughed.

"So, I gotta ask about you, bud," I said. "Any special girl in your life?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not really," he said. He took a deep breath and looked me steady in the eye. "I know this is shitty timing, Nick, but I've been meaning to tell you... I'm gay."

"For real?" Kevin was the last guy I would have guessed. But my friend instinct kicked. "Dude, you know you're my best friend whoever the fuck you are."

He seemed relieved. "Sorry to lay this on you three days before your wedding."

"I just feel bad you couldn't tell me earlier," I said.

He gave me a frustrated sigh. "Jesus, Brennan... I mean, I know how to put this, but you can be an intimidating dude."

I chuckled. "Intimidating?"

He nodded, and there was something about that vulnerable expression in his eyes. Kevin McConnell was hot as fuck. Thinning dark brown hair cut short, soulful eyes, more masculine than handsome face. "You know... successful, lacrosse jock, total bro...." He paused, as if anticipating my objection. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing, Nick, fuck yeah I'd worried how you'd take it."

"How long you been holding out on me?" I asked in an understanding tone but also not letting him off the hook.

"I dunno... since I was like 16." He laughed, nervously, I think, as he thought back over the years.

"So you got a guy in your life? Fuck man, if you felt you couldn't bring your dude as a plus-one...."

"Nah, no Nick, no guy, at least not steady." He paused. "It's kind of hard back home... I put in crazy hours running Pop's shop and I guess I still keep a low profile. I get into the city every other weekend for some fun, and I have a buddy over in Edison who helps me out when we both get some free time."

"Yeah?" I said, trying to cheer him up. "That's cool. Sometimes you just need some relief to get you through."

Kevin smiled. "You said it. But, I don't know if I should tell you this... but the guy's married. If he weren't I'd probably be head over heels."

It was tough to see my fun-loving high school buddy wrestling with this heady stuff. I patted him on the shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Judgment free, man, particularly after my last year..."

That caught his attention. "What?"

I leaned in. "Just between you and me," I started, then decided to continue. "I'm kind of bi myself. At least I have experience with dudes."

I got a kick out of seeing the surprised look on Kevin's face. "Fuck!" he grunted. I suspected he had the hots for me. Maybe deep down, where he could barely admit. Or maybe he wanted me for a while. Or maybe he was just frustrated he'd held off telling me when I was the last person to judge him. "Um... does Cheryl know?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I won't go into details, but we have an arrangement."

"Well fuck me," Kevin laughed. "You're a man of surprises Brennan."

A thought occurred to me. I wasn't sure how hard up Kevin was, but I thought of a way to help my buddy out. "I may have another surprise for you... what do you say we get the bachelor party started early?"

The blood drained from his face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying." I could read the torn emotion on his face. He wanted me, sexually, but he also didn't want to fuck our friendship.

I shook my head. "Not exactly. But let me ask you, bud... you have a thing for cops?"

"Is the pope Catholic?" he laughed. "Wait... what are you driving at Nick?"

I leaned back, a Cheshire grin on my face. "I know a guy. 20 and blond, honest to god cop, all muscle, too... is that your speed, buddy?"

His voice was hoarse. Kevin was turned on, all right. "Damn straight it's my speed. What is this, a blind date?"

I leered. "Don't think Officer Slocum's the dating type. Purely pump and dump. Unless you're strictly bottom," I put out there.

"Strictly vers," Kevin answered with a grin, clearly opening up to me now.

I picked up my phone and sent Randy a text. "You around? I got a buddy to bring by." I knew it was Randy's day off. I'd normally be dropping by if I wasn't getting ready for a wedding.

It took a half minute to get the reply. "I'm here, Mr. Nick. Come on by."

I smiled up at Kevin. "Let's go, man. I promise you're gonna love this."

He was like a giddy kid. I think the novelty of sharing a hook up with me, and the mind fuck that it was lacrosse jock Nick Brennan setting him with a piece of cop tail was getting to Kevin in the best way.

On the drive over, Kevin had a huge smile. "Tell me to mind my business, Nick, but how long you been doing this guy?" I didn't even need to look over to know my friend was throwing hard. I started to worry poor Kevin didn't get laid enough.

"A few months," I said. I gave Kev a quick look as I drove. "Though I've only been tapping his ass for a couple of weeks. Seriously, man, this guy's a total whore. Use him like you want."

"Fuck," Kevin growled.

I parked the car in front of the Slocum residence. Thankfully they weren't in eye sight of nosy neighbors, and most people were at work at that hour anyway.

"You coming in?" Kevin asked as he saw me pull out my phone but make no move to undo my seat belt.

"I'll wait till you're done. Don't want it to be weird, you know? But I'll let Randy know you're coming in." Already I was typing a text.

I could see Kevin was a little disappointed, but he was game. "Yeah, makes sense. All right. I won't be long. Kinda backed up actually."

I laughed. "Go get 'em tiger," I urged.

Kevin smiled and winked before shutting the car door and strutting up to the front door. I could sense some hesitation before he opened it and walked right in.

It was not even five minutes later, and Kevin emerged again from the house. A shit-eating grin on his face as he walked back to the car with that freshly laid look.

"Man, you weren't kidding," he said as he slid back into the passenger seat. "Total fucking whore. I see why you like it down here in Texas so much."

I chuckled and opened the door. "All right, my turn. Though I might not be a two-minute Stan..."

I was getting hard as I made my way up and into the house. It was dark with the curtains drawn. I didn't ask Kevin where they'd fucked but the bedroom was a good guess. Bingo. Officer Slocum was naked and ass up, kind of lying dreamily on his bed.

I pulled off my shirt and undid my jeans. I don't know why I was so frickin' hard, but I'd been like that a lot lately.

Officer Slocum was quite a sight, I will admit. With all that thick muscle it was sometimes hard to remember he was as young as he was. I wondered if he took dick in high school, or if Big Daddy broke him in. Or both.

I touched his meaty calf and felt his body shiver. "You take good care of my buddy?" I asked in a deep monotone.

He lifted his head some but didn't turn back to face me. "Yes, sir, Mr. Nick. I think he enjoyed himself."

I let out a soft laugh and got up on the bed. I know I told myself I wasn't gonna make things weird between me and McConnell, but the dude wasn't in the room just then. I pried Randy's muscle-cop buns apart and dove in.

Fuck, I didn't have to dig deep with my tongue to find Kev's spunk. My bud wasn't kidding about being backed up and there was a ton of sperm all around Slocum's fucked pucker. I licked and slurped it right the fuck up.

Kevin's nut didn't taste like Mark Bryant's. It was sweet, almost dessert sweet. I love it, too, though. I fed at that nasty hole, feeling Randy get worked up. His muscle-pup body was writhing in the bed now.

I gave a slap and rose up. I didn't bother to lube. That ass was plenty wet as it was.

"Oh fuck!" Randy gasped as I bottomed out in one shove. "Fuck me, Mr. Nick."

The dude was becoming as needy as Dan Bryant, I thought, as I started pumping his hot hole and leaning forward to kiss along his back and neck as I fucked harder. I was getting into a real head space now. Dominating this 5'10" rack of police officer beef, feeding off my own sexual need, thinking about how weird and wild it was that my high school buddy was waiting in the car for me to seed this ass and get back.

I growled, and started an orgasm that lasted a solid minute. I don't know why this nut was better than others. But it was. I kind of collapsed on Randy's back and lay there a second, catching my breath and kissing along his neck and back of his head.

He finally turned toward me, maneuvering beneath me as my dick plopped out. Our lips met. Like, wild deep kiss, feeding off our mutual lust. I knew Slocum had nutted when I fucked him. Or when Kevin fucked him. Whatever, that slut cop was hard again, writhing against me.

"You fucking cocktease," I growled, playfully. I was hard still.

"Sorry Mr. Nick," the young blond guy smiled. "You caught me in a horny mood. You and your buddy."

I had an idea. I got up off the bed and found the phone in my jeans pocket. I sent Kevin a text. "Going for seconds. Come join if you want."

I tossed it down on my pile of clothes not waiting for a reply. I went back and embraced Officer Slocum in bed. Not rushing things, just kind of making out in missionary position, till I was ready for round two. I must have got carried away when I felt a hand on my back.

It was Kevin. Naked, hard. He had a good body on him, for sure. Flat abs, nice chest, big arms. My buddy had taken care of himself and then some. Best of all, he had a nice, tool which he stroked.

"Hey," he greeted. Horny, but a little nervous.

I leaned up and pulled him into a kiss. I didn't care if this was weird. The afternoon was shaping up better than I'd expected. I pulled off and felt the emotion poor between me and Kev.

I looked down at Slocum, who seemed surprised but turned on. "Kevin here's my best man, Officer. Gonna take good care of him while he's in town?"

"Yes, Mr. Nick," he replied softly. Then as if this was the instruction he was waiting for, he scooted over and took my buddy's hard dick into his mouth.

****

I was drunk, but somehow not as drunk as my groomsmen. There were six of us: my best man Kevin, Dan, and three of my college buddies. Eric and Paul were lacrosse teammates at Duke, and Mitch had been my roommate the last couple of years. We had a nice steak dinner, some even nicer scotch, then hit the strip club.

I don't like strippers. They're gross and dirty and never are all that hot anyway. But I loved being the center of attention, of having the guys egg me on as the half-Asian whore gave me a lap dance. Even Kevin got into hooting as he watched me playfully pull her g-string thong off with my teeth.

I didn't know how much Kevin had been tapping Randy Slocum's cop ass, but he'd been in a fucking great mood all evening. My lacrosse buddies were acting like, well, lax bros. They'd ponied up for my lap dance and now were getting ones for themselves. As their girlfriends or fiancees were back at the hotel. It was my first bachelor party, but I assumed this was part of the ritual.

Only Dan Bryant begged off. "Courtney would kill me," he laughed, looking on as Paul's eyes were in the tits of some blonde chick riding his crotch. He took a sip of water from a bottle. "It's sure hot to watch, though."

It had taken me a while to realize Dan was pacing his drinking. I wasn't sure why. We'd gotten a hotel in Austin and was Uber-ing it around. The dude didn't have to drive. It was almost like...

I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You need it, Dan, buddy?" I said, my voice drunken.

He gave me a hangdog look, those blue eyes twinkling. "It's your bachelor party, Nick," he said. "I'm not gonna ask tonight."

I patted him on the shoulder as I leaned back in my chair and watched Paul get off from the lap dance. "Don't worry, man. I'm gonna take care of ya."

It was easier than I thought. Kevin left early. I wouldn't be surprised if Slocum was hauling his ass to Austin to get my buddy's dick. The rest of us stayed another twenty minutes, then made our way back to the hotel in two Ubers. Dan with me, and the other guys in the other car. Dan seemed quiet as we drove, but I felt his fingers on my leg, massaging my thigh muscle and working his way up to my crotch.

I lay back and pretended nothing was going on. I didn't want the driver weirded out or anything. But damn, Dan's hand felt nice massaging me, and I was getting erect. Finally we were pulling up in front of our hotel and Dan withdrew his arm.

"Thanks," I slurred to the driver as I stumbled out.

"You OK, Nick?" Dan asked, a little concerned.

"Fine," I said. As we strutted into the lobby, I turned to him, taking in those adorable blue eyes. "Maybe you should help me to my room," I grinned.

Dan grinned back. "Yeah."

We didn't even bother turning on the room lights. I just pulled Dan close to me and kissed him. He kissed back, clearly hungry for it.

"I'm getting a fucking brother," I said aloud. "In two fucking days."

Dan laughed, maybe amused I was drunk.

I patted his waist and snuggled up to him, pushing him against the wall. "You're a good guy, Dan," I said. "The best."

"Thanks," he said, seemingly taken off guard.

I ran my hand up and down his shirt. It was a buttoned shirt but the fabric was thin and synthetic and I could feel Dan's hard muscle underneath, warm and firm. "My fucking brother," I repeated. Then, just as loudly: "My brother gonna suck my fucking cock?"

It was a taunt, playful, but with an edge.

I couldn't see Dan's expression but I could sense fear in his voice. "If you want, Nick."

I reached down and started undoing my jeans. I was glad that stripper whore hadn't gotten me off with her lap dance now. "I take care of you, don't I Danny boy?" I said. "Right?"

"Yes, Nick," Dan stammered. "You're good to me. I wasn't even going to ask you tonight. Honest."

I put my hands on his beefy shoulder. The universal sign, I suppose. "Get down and suck my cock, Dan," I ordered.

He did, crouching down in front of me and pulling my briefs down and freeing my hardon. It took three seconds to feel his warm wet mouth engulf me. It was dark, with only a stream of faint light coming in from beneath the door. I felt an expert blow job now, bobs up and down, just the right amount of suction. Dan Bryant knew what he was fucking doing. He'd honed his skills on Big Daddy and god knows who else and now I was reaping the benefits. Nice, professional-grade head.

Only it wasn't enough. I was drunk and my sexual response was slowed. I took matters into my own hands. I gripped Dan's soft hair and started fucking his face. The first thrust took him off guard and he choked a little. But I found my groove. Or rather, fucked and let Dan find his groove, relaxing his jaw and throat to accommodate me.

I got real fucking into it. Deeper and faster mouth strokes. "That's it, brother," I grunted drunkenly. "Take that cock. You hot fuck."

Dan moaned. Sexual excitement? Mind fuck? Too much physical intensity? I had no idea, I was just going for my nut. My mind was a swirl of sexual fantasies. Tit fucking Courtney Bryant. Officer Slocum's blowjobs. Eating Big Daddy's cum out of his daughter's pussy.

I came, like wild. I thought Dan would choke on the amount of cum, but the ejaculation just turned him the fuck on. The moans as he swallowed my seed were definitely pleasure.

I rode out the orgasm and then slowly withdrew. I took a second to slap my mucus-wet cock against Dan's cheeks a couple of times before stumbling back.

"I gotta sleep," I grunted. I scooted back and found the bed, plopping my ass down on it as I worked my shoes and jeans off. The rest would have to wait till tomorrow. I lay back and felt like the room was spinning.

"Thanks, Dan, you're the best," I hissed. But that was the last I remember until I woke up.

[bookofmirth]

clothing in acotar

With all the talk about Elain’s appearance in the Court of Nightmares and how people think that either does or doesn’t imply something about her character, I started thinking about all of the other times that clothing is described in the series. This post is a collection of patterns in how different characters and their clothing are described, with the resulting argument that clothes don’t simply exist as a way to say “this character was wearing X”, but to show something about the character’s preferences and personality, their comfort, their emotional state, or where they were in their journey within the story.

I’m putting this under the cut because it will get very long! It’s not specific to ships, though different implications can be made by the evidence. I’m separating this analysis by character because... it makes sense to look at how different types of clothing are viewed by them as individuals. It’s not as if one type of clothing is universally viewed as positive or negative, but as I said above, it’s a reflection of that specific character.

First up: Feyre

The situation in which Feyre’s clothing had the most impact, and was the biggest sign of her state of mind, was her wedding dress. We all remember the struggle that she had with Ianthe, who wanted her to wear something that was much more ostentatious than she would have chosen herself. 

“Every element of this wedding sends a message to not only Prythian, but the world beyond,” [Ianthe] said. I stifled a sigh. I knew - she’d told me this before. “I know you are not fond of the dress-”

Understatement. I hated the monstrosity of tulle she’d selected.

In addition, Tamlin controlled Feyre’s clothing in the beginning of acowar. She was forced to wear bright dresses that, while perhaps pretty on their own, didn’t reflect Feyre’s personality and were far more restrictive than she preferred. 

I hated the bright dresses that had become my daily uniform, but didn’t have the heart to tell Tamlin - not when he’d bought so many, not when he looked so happy to see me wear them. Not when his words weren’t far from the truth. The day I put on my pants and tunics, the day I strapped weapons to myself like fine jewelry, it would send a message far and clear across the lands. So I wore the gowns, let Alis arrange my hair - if only so it would buy these people a measure of peace and comfort.

To contrast, when Feyre is taken by Rhys to the Night Court, she finds the clothing there much more comfortable. 

My high-waisted peach pants were loose and billowing, gathered at the ankles with velvet cuffs of bright gold. The long sleeves of the matching top were made of gossamer, also gathered at the wrists, and the top itself hung just to my navel, revealing a sliver of skin as I walked.

Comfortable, easy to move in – to run. Feminine. Exotic.

While there were many, many other reasons why Feyre was better off in the Night Court, the restrictiveness of clothing in Spring, along with the way it failed to suit her personality, reinforced her transition from a situation in which she was being stifled (and abused) to one where she had freedom and support.

Now Nesta

Nesta is an interesting example because she generally is comfortable in whatever clothing she has to wear. She looks equally at ease in dresses as she does Illyrian leathers. When Cassian goes to get Nesta from the townhouse, she is wearing someone else’s clothing and she doesn’t care if he sees her that way.

The main comment we have directly from Nesta to talk about how she feels about her clothing is that she isn’t as comfortable wearing revealing clothing as Mor and Feyre are.  

Nesta considered what Morrigan usually wore, and frowned. “I can’t wear something that revealing.” Both Morrigan and Feyre opted for less is more when it came to their Hewn City attire. Nesta had no issues with nudity before her bedroom partners, but in public… the human had not been ripped from her entirely.

When she goes to the Court of Nightmares in that now fandom-infamous scene, Nesta owns every bit of what she’s wearing – despite her plunging neckline, which seems counter to what we learned about her earlier.

Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring [Cassian] to his knees. […]

Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nothing against her moon-white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire that matched the ones on her crown.

Given Nesta’s previous statement to Mor about not wanting to wear anything revealing, it’s telling that she made this concession. The Court of Nightmares isn’t a place that any of the Archerons, the IC, or our other main protagonists want to be, but it is somewhere they can adapt to.

Nesta’s chin remained high, accentuating her long, lovely neck. Her red-painted lips cocked in a feline smirk as her kohl-lined eyes took in the room watching her every breath.

Nesta seemed to glow with the attention. Owned it. Commanded it.

Similarly to the first time that Feyre went to the Court of Nightmares, Nesta is able to adapt seamlessly. She not only wears that dress with the plunging neckline (now I’m wondering if she had boob tape because girl…) but she does so with complete confidence, to the point where everyone has their eyes on her – even after Feyre walks in with a pregnant belly.

Lucien

Lucien is always impeccably dressed, but his clothing remains politically relevant. (Thanks @tealnymph24 and @aionuel for helping me with quotes for his section!) His room in the Spring Court was very indicative of his home

…bedecked in hues of orange and red and gold, with faint traces of green and brown

He also dresses in autumnal colors reminiscent of foliage:

It wasn’t a formal dinner by any means – though Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them.

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish – but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien is always put-together, which we could say this is external order that hides internal conflict. While we know how he felt being around Elain, he is now estranged from Tamlin in addition to the Autumn Court, but his clothing never lets any of that uncertainty or intensity show. This is reinforced in acosf when Cassian remarks on Lucien’s various roles:

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles – an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin – and still dress immaculately.

Another situation in which his clothing is noticed by others is when Tamlin sees him dressed in Illyrian leathers in acowar.

“Tamlin-“

But Tamlin’s attention had gone to the clothes Lucien now wore. The Illyrian leathers.

He might as well have been wearing Night Court black.

It was an effort to keep my mouth shut, to not explain that Lucien didn’t have any other clothes with him, and that they weren’t a sign of his allegiance-

Tamlin just shook his head, loathing simmering in his green eyes, and walked past. Not a word.

Amren

Interestingly enough, we do have a moment where fashion is described as suiting Amren – with a ruby and diamond necklace. Feyre describes the necklace as being massive, and only a certain type of person being able to wear it. When Feyre first saw the necklace, she remarks,

A necklace of rubies was splayed on a velvet pillow – each of them the size of a robin’s egg. It’d take a tremendous female to wear that necklace, to dominate the gems and not the other way around.

Then later on, Feyre reiterates this when she sees Amren with the necklace.

Sprawled across the top like a snake lay a familiar necklace of diamonds and rubies. I’d seen it before – in Tarquin’s trove. “How… what?”

Amren smiled to herself. “Varian sent it to me. To soften Tarquin’s declaration of our blood feud.”

I’d thought the rubies would need to be worn by a mighty female – and I could think of no mightier female than the one before me. “Did you and Varian…?”

The idea that clothing or jewelry can be ill-suited to someone, or that someone can be dominated by their accoutrement, repeats itself later with Elain. But we will get there. It’s also not uncommon irl. Just watch any commentary on red carpet fashion.

Azriel

Az wears Illyrian fighting leathers almost 24/7, which makes sense given his job, but! I think that also indicates his loyalty to the Night Court and his willingness to be on duty all the time, avoiding anything resembling a personal life. However, there is one notable example of his clothing looking out of place, in acowar:

Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked like a stack of reports – likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City – the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within.

To my knowledge, no one’s clothing has indicated that they don’t look like they fit with another character. It’s far more often about the setting, which we do have here, or the character’s personality, or their mental state. It’s something to think about.

Elain 

Now Elain has a few more examples of how clothing reflects her personality and feelings. She is typically very feminine and wears dresses – but they have different impacts on her. She is described as being modest, as Nesta is. Elain is vulnerable after coming out of the Cauldron and it’s then that Lucien covers her with his jacket. Feyre remarks that she can’t remember the last time she had seen Elain’s bare legs – a feat, considering they lived in poverty and likely had very little privacy.

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around.

I’m cutting in here to emphasize that the dress is wearing her, in a way that Feyre thought Amren’s necklace would have looked odd on someone else and needed a woman who would dominate it, rather than it dominating her. It’s not that Elain looks less beautiful than usual, or that the dress itself is ugly, but that she looks out of place, ill at ease.

And [Cassian] knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was part of this court – and would do whatever was needed.

Cutting in again to point out the fact that Elain’s efforts at fitting in at the Court of Nightmares were just that – efforts. She had to square her shoulders to put on airs that she was confident, and that compared to the way that Nesta and Feyre fit in without even trying.

So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court… It sucked the life from her.

I know her pearls have been pointed out before, but just to reiterate, her engagement ring was pearl, and Lucien gifted her with pearl earrings. We have a pattern of her preferring those to other, flashier gems.

I also want to point out that if we were to disregard Cassian’s thoughts about Elain here, though the perspective is third person close (meaning an objective narrator is telling us Cassian’s thoughts), then we would have no reason to trust his other thoughts about Elain, including this:

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

Yes, this is Cassian’s opinion, but told to us through an omniscient narrator, and he has no reason to lie. If anything, he would paint Elain in the best light possible.

So what?

A clear pattern has been established. Almost every character’s taste in clothing is described from acotar on, with those tastes indicating something about their personality, their comfort, their current emotional state, and where they feel at home (or where they don’t).

Side note, but clothing is also described as indicating that someone belongs to a specific court. This isn’t just about personality, but politics. When Tamlin sees Lucien in Illyrian leathers (in acowar), he sees that as a betrayal. Feyre assumed that Rhys giving her Night Court clothing (in acomaf) was supposed to be a stab at Tamlin. In the Court of Nightmares (in acomaf and acosf), everyone dresses the part – black, sexy, slightly scary – and fits in more or less depending on their comfort level or if they “fit”. Since there isn’t as much evidence about that, I didn’t go into it in detail. However, it is worth pointing out, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it comes up again.

As of right now, we know that sjm is excited to tell Mor, Az, and Elain’s stories. If people want to make theories that use clothing as evidence, that isn’t far-fetched because the above evidence proves that comments on a character’s clothing could potentially have a larger meaning; sjm isn’t just describing the scenery, she is using clothing to tell us more about the characters than their actions or words can say.