#do you really want to try out a new stitch in your finished piece. when you can do it in a swatch and mess it up there w/o consequences

[inkdrinkerworld]

Stitches, Films and Sponges Baths?

Cw: fluff, shy!team doctor!reader, Dick being a flirty shit

“Nightwing B-01, injured.” Calls the electronic voice through the comms and you get moving immediately.

“How bad is it?” You ask as you snap gloves on and reach for your kit.

“Bad enough that I’ll miss seeing your concentrated face, angel.” Dick flirts and you suck at your teeth.

The moment he comes into view, you realise that as much as he flirts he hadn’t been lying.

He’s cut under his eye, there’s another on his bicep and a tear in the side of his suit.

“Who did you lose a fight to?” That gets him to open his eyes and he spots a slight frown on your lips.

“I didn’t lose, I’m just a little more cut up than you’re used to seeing me.” You clean up his face first and your frown smooths out when you realise it's more blood than wound.

“This one isn’t too bad, maybe a butterfly stitch if you really want one. It should close within the day.”

Dick reaches for your gloved hand, “Put the stitch please, angel? Don’t want you having to stare at that cut every time you look at me;” he smiles and as if he’s reconsidered his statement he adds. “Unless it makes me look rugged and even hotter.”

Your body flushes, heat rushing through you and you nibble on your lip as you set the stitch on his cheekbone.

“You look fine, can you open your eyes now?”

He does, “Missed seeing them, did you?”

“Dick,” it’s only a warning, but he likes when you say his name so it’s one he elects to ignore- on the basis of the fact that if he does, you’re going to fluster even more. And he likes that even more.

“Your bicep isn’t too bad, just a scratch really. I’m more worried about your side, so I’m going to look at that first.”

His arms reach up for you to undress him and Dick bites his tongue to keep his smile at bay when your eyes widen and your fingers drag up his stomach as you lift off the top of his suit.

You wonder if he can tell that your pulse is rioting now?

He’s always been pretty, flirty and overly friendly to you and you’ve never known where to put all that.

Dick is gorgeous, he’s been gorgeous from the moment you’d been recruited here from the Bat, but he’s also never been by himself since you’ve been here- a little bit of a relationship man and while you’d love to pursue that, you don’t know if your poor heart will handle his flirty unleashed.

“It’s not so bad, just a little jagged so the stitching is going to hurt a bit. I’m sorry.”

Dick tuts, his heart clenching at how considerate you are- then he wonders if that’s just your bedside manner.

“No need for that, I can take a little pain.”

You nod, and get started with your needles and thread, closing up Dick’s wound with a steady hand.

“These are dissolvable, but they can still rip if you aren’t careful so you’re on bed rest until they dissolve.”

“How long will that take, angel? Trying to plan how many days I have with you.”

You clench your jaw to stop your smile, but Dick takes note of the way that your eyebrows jump and your eyes crinkle with little crow’s feet.

“A week or two for the most, but you can’t go around training like usual until they dissolve.”

He nods, “So what do you say to movie nights and reading challenges all week?”

You do let yourself smile then, Dick’s proposed things you like that he doesn’t necessarily find that mind blowing.

“And what will you do?” You ask, a vote of confidence to play along with his tease.

“Probably work on some tech stuff, but we’ll at least be together so you can have all the time in the world just staring at me till you’re ready to make a move.”

You grumble and scrub your face making Dick chuckle.

“That was mean, I’m sorry angel.” He coos and you look up to find him still smirking.

“Mhm, I totally believe you,” you finish his stitch and cover it with a piece of gauze and medical tape. “I don’t think I’ll be able to spend the entire week with you Grayson. I’ve got class.”

His eyebrows jump, “Class? Did you start a new programme?”

You nod, “Behavioral analysis.” Dick smiles, a little wicked at the confession. You move to his bicep, cleaning up the blood to find three claw-like marks tearing through his skin.

“Do you need real life case studies? I’ll be happy to help you out. You can analyse my behaviour when I’m with you.”

Your belly heats, and you’re sure the way you fluster is evident to Dick and that makes you feel even more bashful.

It’s clear he does feel a little bad about how flushed he’s making you when you feel his hand reach up to your cheek.

“I’ll stop for a little, angel. Don’t want you to pass out from all the heat you’re pushing out.”

“Dick!” You whine and he laughs, a full belly laugh that makes your frown turn to a small smile. “You’re the worst.”

You finish cleaning and dressing the scratches on his bicep, they only needed a few stitches on one of them.

“Oh am I?” He coos and you grumble, biting your lip to stop from swearing at him. “Okay okay, I’ll really stop now.” He promises; you look up at him through your lashes as you pull away from his hand and start cleaning up.

“Wanna watch a film with me?” He asks as you finish cleaning, his body suddenly tired now that he’s not worried about flirting and teasing you.

“One of your black and white French films?” It’s his turn to flush a little, clearly not expecting anyone to notice his choice in movies. “You always leave the disk in, and I don’t think anyone else is watching espionage French films except you.” You explain with a little smile.

“Maybe not a French one, we can do Russian or Spanish- I know you watch those.”

You shrug, “We can trade off, one French, one Spanish.”

Dick nods, groaning as he stands. His hand pressed tight to his side. “Why don’t you choose first, angel. Gonna get Alfred to sponge me off,” he pauses at the door, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he turns back to you. “Unless you want to do it, which I have zero objections to.”

“Go get your sponge bath Grayson, I’ll be in the media room.”

[libbyfandom]

Mizu's Little Shadow

You finish sewing the tear in your daughter's small kimono, tugging the end into a knot and snipping off the excess. You hold up the piece of clothing to your eye level and shake it out. "Little moon, come here," you call for her as you inspect it. It looks well, but you want her to try it on to see if your stitch will hold up to her energetic movements.

When you don't hear the patter of you six year old's little feet you call her again. No answer. Standing up from the chair, you stretch your back with a soft grimace as you walk to the bedroom where she last was. You do not find her.

You search the small house before quickly turning to set the kimono down and head outside to look for her. Maybe Mizu had spotted her running around while she's training.

As soon as you slide open the back door your hear your daughter's voice. She's making little grunts and huffs like she's straining herself, and you worry she's trying to climb the tree next to the house again. Bunching the bottom of your kimono in hand, you follow her voice and hurry from the south end of the house back around to the front.

But when you round the corner of the house, you're surprised to find she's not failing to scramble up the base of the trunk. She's several meters past it, stumbling around and kicking out as her eyes follow Mizu a way's away from the house near the tree line.

Her tiny green haori is dirtied, dirt clumped in patches at her shoulder and sides where she's fallen on the ground several times already. Before you can call out to her, she trips and falls into the dirty hands first. With the childish grunt of irritation and determination, she pushes herself back up. She sets her eyes on Mizu again, settling her feet in the same way your lover has hers and mirrors the rhythm of her steps. She holds her tiny hand out like she's grasping at a heavy sword.

She's copying Mizu's training movements.

A soft laugh of surprise quietly slips from under your breath as your eyes warm from this new discovery. You lean against the tree trunk and tilt your head at her to soak in this new development of your child.

Your little girl's mirroring of Mizu's slow, methodical twists and parries with her sword are adorably wobbly. Compared to Mizu's balanced, fluid motions that showcase her mastery of each movement, your little moon's dance is closer to flailing. Your hand covers your repressed giggle as your eyes brighten at her stumbling feet.

Your fingertips gently rest against your lips as your eyes follow the line from her to Mizu. The way she's moving taps at your mind, causing a soft furrow between your eyebrows. Isn't that her warm up exercises?

Mizu's never done those this late into the afternoon. She would be focused on slicing through trees during this time on any other day. And you know how long she's been out. She can't possibly still be focused on her balance and fine-tuning the flow of movement. So why...?

On the next turn, from farther away, Mizu rotates on her heel and ends up facing you as she mimics a block. Her blue eyes catch yours, and she quirks her eyebrows up at you with a knowing smile.

When your daughter's foot slides a little on the dirt, and she hops on one foot to get back into position, that's when Mizu just so happens to pause her movements. Her slowed motions only resume when your daughter finds her footing again.

Oh...

Your heart sings, unable to help the pure expression of love and adoration for the both of them from flowing from your face.

Later in the night, after you both put your little moon to bed, you press yourself up tight against Mizu in the candlelight, sealing your lips to hers as you cup her face.

"I really did give birth to your clone."

Mizu chuckles quietly, pressing her lips back into yours. "She really thought I couldn't spot her in the middle of a clearing."

She brushes her lips along your cheekbone. "I can train her, if you wish."

You chuckle. "Maybe further down the line. If she's anything like you, she wants to think she's being sneaky and doing something she shouldn't be." You push her away playfully, before you're snatched around the waist. The room tilts as you're pinned down to the bed with a squeal by a beautiful swordsman grinning devilishly.

[une-femme-de-lettres]

Imagine

Sewing and mending your clothes after a mission

This is highly specific and detailed but I love the idea. Also domestic 141 is the best thing!!

Laying low after a mission is definitely not the best part of your job. You often times find yourself stuck in an old safe house with your teammates, sharing a small space with them, while not knowing when you’ll be able to go back on the field.

But there surely is one thing that these days can offer you, is some time to think, process the things you’ve seen and get some rest. And as you are forced to figuratively mend and repair your mind, you often take advantage of the peace and quiet to literally mend and repair your equipment; clothes, gear, tools or weapons… anything that could’ve been damaged during your latest intervention.

The whole habitation is quiet as you make your way to the living area. Your teammates are there. Price is watching some obscure documentary about the fishing industry in South America on the telly, the sound brought to a minimum. Soap is mindlessly doodling in his journal, not looking particularly satisfied with his work. Gaz is taking a nap slouched on the couch beside Price, he’s probably tried watching the documentary, didn’t work out too well…

And Ghost is quietly cleaning his pistol, methodically clearing every little piece of any gunk, grime and leftover powder. The clicking of the metal pieces give a rhythm to the silence. You hate to interrupt such a peaceful picture so you speak quietly.

“Hey,” you start, a few eyes moving over to look at you, “I’m gonna take some time to sew up a few things. Got anything that needs mending?” you ask them.

“I’m good, thanks for the thought, though,” Price responds with a gentle smile that warms your heart a little. You nod and turn to Soap.

“I don’t think so, Lass, but thanks.” He can’t think of anything off the top of his head for now, so you finally look at Ghost. His back is slightly turned to you, you can see him looking back slightly and responding with a shrug.

He’s been way quieter around you lately, you noticed. But Ghost is Ghost, right? So you don’t really pay him any mind and give one last nod before going back into your room. On your way there, you don’t notice Price’s slight head movement directed towards Ghost. And behind the door of your room, you don’t hear the husky sigh Ghost let out as he stands up from his seat.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, legs crossed as you silently pass your needle through the fabric of your torn tank top. It’s not major tear, nothing a quick stitching can’t fix. You’re focused in your task when a light knock on your door makes you look up.

Ghost is slowly entering your room, his gaze fleeing yours. As it often does lately. He speaks quietly, his voice still very composed, just like every time you’re working out there on the field, precise and efficient.

“Do you have a spare needle?” he asks. You notice the balaclava in his hand before he holds it out slightly in front of you. “I need to repair this,” he finishes. You look at him for a moment, trying to keep your thoughts at bay. He requesting your help with anything outside the field was not unheard of, but it was still pretty new… Why does he look so cute?

“Sure, there you go,” you respond, picking a small needle and some black thread in your tiny sewing kit. You hand the objects to him and he takes them with a grateful nod. He looks about to leave when he stops in his tracks, not sure if he should ask you.

“This is a knit fabric, I’m not sure how to…” he starts hesitantly, showing you the piece of clothing again, “go about it,” he concludes. You fight the small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and pat the empty space on the bed covers beside you.

“I’ll show you, if you want,” you say and he complies surprisingly quickly.

In your line of work, whether it be on skin or cloth, a man needs to learn out to sew. It’s a primordial skill when you’re in a survival situation, to keep your clothes functional. Ghost in an intelligent man, you realize he probably knows how to take care of his stuff beyond just keeping his guns working.

But even you find knit fabrics tricky to work with. One wrong stitch and the next time you use your item, it might very well run enough to render it unusable. And your heart flutters at the idea of him asking you for help, even for such a tiny little thing.

Ghost sits beside you, the mattress dipping ever so slightly, making you lean towards him just a little. He prepares his needle and thread while you put your own work aside. Once this is done, you locate the small hole in the balaclava he’s laid on his thigh to free his hands. You hand it back to him, pointing towards the repair area.

“First, you need to thread all the loops left open to stop it from running,” you indicate. The loops you’re mentioning are tiny, but precision is your job, so they’re all threaded very soon and you can begin the real work.

“Then you can thread through that and darn it just like a woven fabric,” you say, mimicking the technique moving your finger back and forth. He starts mending the piece, using your advice.

The needle looks comically small in his massive hand. The size of things makes his movements quite awkward. And it doesn’t help that he’s holding the needle with the very tip of his fingers, barely touching it, as if he were afraid to do something wrong.

You smile gently at the sight and decide to help him further. Your fingers brush against his as you move his hand so he can work pushing the needle towards himself instead of away. A technique you’d found way more efficient over the years.

“It’ll be easier if you hold it from this side,” you say, your voice quiet and thoughtful. The voice he loves to hear rolling off your tongue and lips when you are close to him. “Guide the needle with your index and thumb and push it with your middle finger,” you explain as he watches your hands working his fingers into position with a curious eye. “Like this.”

He starts using your latest advice, religiously following your movements as you mimic the gesture in the air. He manages to work faster, his hand steadier. You smile. His needle work starts taking shape. “Nice work,” you say, turning your head to look at his face. His eyes are looking straight back at you. For once in quite some time now, his gaze doesn’t dart away from yours. It just gently moves to your slightly parted lips and stays there for a moment. A moment that doesn’t last nearly long enough for him.

[takemetothemoon-fics]

helpless pt1

Title: helpless pt1

Pairing: Killian Jones x reader

Word count: 984

Warnings: blood, swearing

Tags: angst, hurt-comfort

Synopsis: when reader gets really hurt, she has no choice but to go someone who is not really her friend....

A/N: I'm back!! I think this will be a multiple part story, I wanted to test something new. so the idea was that y/n arrives at his door beaten up and weak, and he has to kind of take care of her, but she's cold and doesn't wanna open up to him. enjoy :)

MASTERLIST

They got you good. Your face is bloody, and you're covered in bruises. You're a long way from home, and won't make it back in one piece, so you have only one choice.

You new his house wasn't far from where you were, so you gathered yourself and went.

You stand in his doorway, bloody and beaten up. Your knees are weak and you're on the verge of collapsing right then and there

"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go" You say, weakly.

His eyes instantly show concern. While you are definitely not his friend, he's not a complete monster.

"Come inside"

You try to get over to a chair, but your legs are unstable and it causes you to stumble. He lifts you to the chair as gently as possible, and leans you back. He takes a moment to study the bruises.

"You are beaten pretty badly. Who did this to you?"

Your breathing is heavy. Blood drips out of your mouth on the floor. there's a huge cut on your face, and blood leaks from it. You exhale, not giving him a response. You don't want to open up.

He gives you a stern, but concerned look, waiting for you to speak. It's breaking his heart to see you so roughed up. If this were any of his men in this state, he would be furious.

"You got any antiseptic?" I say, with a cold tone in my voice, breaking the silence.

He gets to work quickly, cleaning the injuries and getting the necessary supplies for stitching it up. He takes a deep breath and asks the dreaded question

"Who did this to you, y/n?"

You wince in pain as he touches the cloth to your open wound "It's none of your concern."

He shakes his head. "Your pride is going to get you killed. I have never seen an enemy left in such a state. You can hardly walk. Tell me. Who did this."

You lean your head against the wall, closing your eyes. You let out a groan, feeling discomfort because of your wounds.

"No offence y/n, but you truly are stubborn. I'll ask again. Who did this to you?"

"Let it go Killian."

"No. This could be vital information. The person who nearly killed you could attack you again, or attack me and my men. Or we could have some common ground on this matter. Please just tell me who it was."

"It's nothing!" you yell in frustration as you stand up with trouble. "Thank you for the care. I'm going now." You stand up, regretting your decision of coming here in the first place.

He stands in front of the door and sighs, shaking his head "I can't let you leave in this condition, y/n. You are practically helpless."

"Let me leave." You try to push him aside, but you have no strength left, and it causes you to have to take a step sideways, leaning into the wall with your hands.

"You cannot leave. You are in no condition to move. If whoever attacked you finds you leaving this state, for all I know they would just finish you off. Do not be so stubborn."

"Why are you acting like this? As if you care about what happens to me."

"You may not believe me y/n, but I do care. You have caused me a great deal of grief and rage, but seeing the state you are in right now fills me with empathy. So I'm not asking you again. Who did this to you?"

"It's nothing of your concern Killian"

"I am telling you, it is my concern." He takes a deep breath "Whoever did this to you, they are not good. I am willing to set our little rivalry aside to make sure this person doesn't cause any further trouble. I am only telling you this once, y/n. Who did this to you?"

"shut up." you say, softly.

He rolls his eyes. "What a surprise, the proud, stubborn woman finally breaks." he steps closer and towers over you, looking you dead in the eyes "Who. Did. This. To. You!"

"SHUT. UP!" You yell at him, your voice shaking. Your eyes tear up a little bit. You take a deep breath and put your hands at the wall, holding yourself up.

He notices how much this is obviously hurting you. You are on the verge of tears and it takes all your strength to keep from collapsing. It secretly pains him to see you in such a state. He sighs and looks at you. He takes a step closer and places a hand on your shoulder. He speaks in a softer tone

"I know this may be a shock to you y/n. But I'm willing to put a hold on his hate for you to help you. We can put our rivalry away temporarily and focus on this matter at hand. All I ask is for you to tell me who did this to you, so that I may ensure this does not happen to you or anyone I may care for again."

"Fine. It was Sunamo and his men." You say softly, having your eyes closed.

His eyes show shock and his jaw drops at such a name. Sunamo is a sadistic monster who knows no mercy. He lets out a slow exhale. For the first time in all his time knowing her, you are showing slight trust in him. This is certainly a breakthrough.

"What did they do to you?"

You look at your shoes with a puzzled look on your face, looking for words.

"Take your time. I am not going anywhere until I get the whole story. This Sunamo is someone I have had my eye on for a while. You are not the first to suffer at his hands. What did he do?"

[lpanne]

My Cross Stitch Journey

I think i've been cross-stitching for over 25 years at this point and i just wanted to chart my journey and make a couple of notes about the latest step i've taken (no longer caring about the back being perfectly neat). I'm not saying everyone's journey needs to be like mine, but i just want to share somethings that i've only discovered in the last year as i'm wondering if i just missed it being commonly available knowledge or if my sharing what i've learned will be helpful to others.

So the rest of this post below the read more will be about ways to make stitches look neater, but will lead to a messier back.

Again i want to preface this with you can have beautiful cross stitch pieces without doing any of the things i'm about to discuss. This is meant more as an explanation of why stitches get wonky sometimes even when you have figured out getting your threads to lay flat and stitching all in the same direction.

First, I learned that once you finish a stitch, the next place you bring your needle up through can have a huge impact on neatness and the ability to stitches to fill in areas next to previously stitched sections.

So in the above picture i have drawn a completed cross stitch where the top arm started on the upper left and went back down into the cloth on the lower right. So if i'm going to start a new stitch i want to start in one of the green holes or if i had to yellow. Not red. If you bring your needle up through one of the red holes it will make this completed stitch's top arm elongate and lead to messiness. It is especially bad in you go for the bottom far right hole. Also if you are going to stitch around this second with a second color getting your needle through a hole with an elongated arm can sometime be an issue.

Also, i only highlighted the closets holes, but if you are going to start a stitch further away think about what direction you are pulling your thread and will it be passing under the cloth near the red or green holes.

Second, I realized that making sure your top stitch all are stitched in the same way is very important. I don't mean having all your stitches having the top arm being upper left to lower right verse upper right to lower left (that is important too, but i feel like that information was one of the first things i was told). I mean that in a section try to maintain for the top arm upper left to lower right and don't mix in lower right to upper left. This can pull the stitches in a weird way and can make them look messy (if you are looking super closely). See below for an illustration. The numbers are the order of steps the needle took in and out of the cloth.

In this illustration i only drew one of the arms as it was easier to see, but caring this much is only super important for the top arm. Also to call back to my earlier point in the bottom half going from step 2 to step 3 would be having the needle going into one of the red holes i outlined in the first diagram which again can lead to some elongation of stitches.

Sometimes i don't follow these suggestions but i am more aware of these issues, and i am watching for times when i ignore them and i try to mitigate the issues like the example below.

So what do i do in patterns that have an outer line of stitches like my kyubey pattern? i really like the danish method of stitching (stitching a row of arms in one direction and then going back to the start of the row with the crossing arms); however, this leaves you at the beginning of where you were stitching. So i came up with this method to be able to still kinda danish stitch but end your thread at the other end of the row. (The colored lines are the thread on the back side of the cloth.) This is a very niche solution but it is helpful in some instances like the above example.

you will see that i'm doing something i said not to do above. I am mitigating the issues though by having the top arm being the one that is following the suggestions i wrote above. Not following the first suggestion on the bottom arm can make stitching around that area a little harder but it won't look as weird as having the top arm being elongated.

[roach-works]

so, if you don't mind answering/have advice, I do have a question about quilting - any advice for someone who is interested in trying it, but is afraid of sewing machines? my mother quilts, so supplies aren't an issue (worst case scenario, if I bought fabric and didn't like it I'd just give it to her), but man. every time I try to use a sewing machine the whole process halts me in my tracks, and even once I get sat down in front of it I wind up inching along and struggling to finish anything.

my advice: it's entirely possible you just have the wrong sewing machine. it might be a shitty, temperamental, too-noisy piece of crap, or it just might be a fine machine that doesn't work well for you in particular. there isn't really a way to tell, especially with someone else's sewing machine. i had ENDLESS problems using a second hand sewing machine until my mom bought me a new high-quality one, and i found i was actually much better at it than i thought i was. more recently, i started attending a quilting bee, and found that a borrowed machine from a community center ran even more quietly than my own machine and didn't gave me the problems with zig-zag stitch that i'd come to expect.

i think you should try to take a class or go to a community center and try out a couple different kinds of machines, especially with some more experienced sewers around to tell you what to do when things jam up. classes can be expensive in some cases, but depending on where you live you could probably find a quilting bee or a cosplay group or just a stitch n' bitch who might be able to help a new sewer out.

if you really just don't want to fuck with sewing machines, you don't have to! people have been making quilts without them for centuries. you can simply sew by hand and make smaller, more intricate quilts. english paper piecing is often done entirely with whip stitch, and is very modular and portable, so you can make your little hexagons and fit them together almost anywhere you go. i personally will never be able to do it because my hands would die and my attention span is about ten minutes long, but the results of sticking with it are astonishingly beautiful.

[vintagexherry]

Treasure for Three Days [4]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

//NSFW, oral (receiving and giving), Denial, make-up (oral) sex, alcohol consumption.

---

Previously

He stopped in front of you, and you froze.

Is he gonna hit you? Shout at you more?

You gulp as you wait for his words.

Day two [Sun is beaming high, It's Afternoon]

~~~~

Wow.

Miguel didn't expect it to go it that way, but maybe it's really the alcohol talking and moving his body.

But.

As far as he could remember, he isn't even a lightweight.

There's a wobble in his footsteps, and he stammered in his words a bit, but he isn't drunk.

He isn't drunk.

He tries to convince himself, but really, he feels like his trying to convince a non-existent person.

So how did he end up here?

He stares into the ceiling above his bed, you next to him, taking a nap. Your dress was still on, and so were his pants and blouse.

But your taste lingers on his tougue.

So how did he end up here?

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

He remembers walking up to you after slamming the door.

You stood there, shocked yet patient as to what he's about to say.

"I...."

Your eyes look at him more expectantly, waiting and waiting.

"I... Do you uh...Do you need new clothes?" he stammered, and he wants to hit his head on the nearest surface for that. Him? Stammering? Over a spoiled brat of a princess, he keeps hostage? Yeah, right.

Your eyes widen a bit not expecting him to ask you of that.

He looks at you more waiting for your answer.

"I um... It's actually okay. Maybe I can stitch some tears together again with spare fabric, needle, and thread." You finished.

He's glad you didn't make it awkward as it already is. Needle,thread, and fabric? Yeah, he can work with that.

"R-right. Yeah, sure, whatever."

Yeah, once he leaves you, he's gonna jump off the ship and leave it up for the crew to do rock-paper-scissors for a new captain.

He finds his footsteps unmoving though.

"O-oh and um..." You started, snapping him out of his foggy head.

"I just... You're right, I should be thankful to you for what you did last night." Your head moved to avoid his eyes, and he holds himself back from grabbing your face to turn it over back to him.

"But that's all. That's not gonna cover up the fact that you still took me hostage." You lightly chuckled, and he can't really blame you for that.

"Yeah... Whatever." He nodded.

Silence took over the place and tension seemed to rise. But not a heavy and suffocating one.

This tension feels...Different... As if something should happen, waiting around the corner just to occur.

Your head is still slightly tilted away from him,but it doesn't hide your lips from his view.

Is it him, or did his eyes seem more focused than any other telescope could do. His eyes automatically go to your lips, your neck, and finally, your exposed cleavage.

"Miguel?"

His body lurched to stand straighter, feeling his bones pop from the sudden movement.

"Wh-what?" He harshly grunted, trying to hide the fact he was looking as your chest.

"Are you drunk?" Your eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"Why do you care?"

"I just didn't take you for a lightweight, that's all." you shrugged

He swears his not a fucking lightweight, he chugs barrels of beer, bottles after bottles of rum and occasionally a glass of wine where he stole it from bars and royalties.

So why is he feeling this way?

Both of you still didn't move away from each other.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Fuck you.

Fuck your hypnotizing body.

Fuck your attitude.

Fuck the way you look at him.

And fuck your lips.

The empty bottle that his hand is still gripping let go of it, making it shatter in the floor, scattering shimmering pieces of glass everywhere.

Your eyes widened, and your lips opened in shocked.

Perfect.

His dived in while your distracted, his hands came up to hold the sides of your waist, and his lips landed on you.

He swears he's not drunk, even when he melts at the taste of you.

He swears he's not drunk, even how he deeply groaned when your hands came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him deeper.

He swears he's not drunk when his hands carry you to the edge of the bed.

He swears.

He.

Is.

Not Drunk.

When he pushes you to lie down and lifts up your dress as he kneels to the hardwood floor, ripping off your underwear.

You yelp from the force but immediately gasp when you felt a wet muscle, drag up to your slit.

He knows his little princesa is a pure virgin, saving that all for the future king. He settles for this.

This taste that leaves him wanted for more.

So he did more. He continues to lick up your slit, sucks on your clit while one finger enters you.

Your head is threw back and you let out a long moan.

The sounds you make, made him continue his actions rougher and more desperate.

Usually, he doesn't even do this much effort for the girls he laid with, thinking of it as just an obligation.

But you.

You made it different, unique, and exciting. More worthy of doing.

Your taste made him desperate for more, your moans are music to his ears.

"Argh- Mi-Miguel!" Your hands grabbed his hair.

Oh, he swears if he's not melting, then he's evaporating.

What makes this activity more exciting with you? When he did this a thousand times already?

He doesn't really care at the moment, since as of right now he hears your moan growing louder and louder, signalling you that your close.

His lips closed onto your clit sucking it even harder, making you yelp in pleasure.

"Mi-Mi-Miguel, I feel we-ird!"

Your legs started shaking beside his head.

"Just let go hermosa, let go." He grunted as he continued his actions.

Your legs shook more when he licked your slick while his nose rubs agaist your clit.

"Mig-ueelll!!"

Your legs clamped down his head, trapping him between it. He doesn't find anywhere in him to complain.

Your taste exploded onto his toungue, and he licks it all up, trying not to waste anything, not a single drop.

Maybe he is drunk.

Drunk on your taste.

Your legs are still shaking but only so slightly. When he looks up from his place, he sees your chest heaving up and down.

When he finishes his work, he notices his pants are tighter than usual, and he knows he has to go somewhere to deal with it.

He stood up from his place, ignoring his throbbing knees. His movements gathered your attention, so as the thing between his legs.

He notices your face, wanting to say something.

"Can... Can I help you,w-with that?" Your flushed face looks up to him.

He groans internally, and the view of you below him looks amazing, but he gathers himself when he professed your question.

Do you know what to do?

Do you have expierence?

His thoughts were cut off when he saw you kneeling in front of him, and he held himself back from coming then and there.

As you pull down his pants, you were taken aback by his size. Were all men this big? You still haven't really experienced sleeping with a man, let alone touch them this intimate.

Miguel watches as you take a deep breath and gather your thoughts. Your tongue goes out to lick a bit of pre-cum that was leaking out.

Miguel's hand went to the back of your head to grip your head. His breath stuttered, encouraging you to continue.

Minutes pass, and his cock was halfway into your mouth.

He swore laying with a different woman won't be the same anymore. His thoughts turned foggy from the feeling.

"Come on, princesa, breath through your nose... Come- ughg- on."

Drool continuesly slide down to your chin. Your eyes are glossy from tears as you try to fit him more to his mouth.

You listened to his advice and breathed from your nose as you took him deeper into your mouth.

Miguel's breath hitched when he felt his dick hit the back of your throat making you gag.

He couldn't take it anymore.

He took both his hands to grip the sides of your head to push himself down to your throat making you gagged harder, tears were streaming down your cheeks and your drool is starting to form a small puddle on the floor.

"Hrk!- Urgg- Fuck!" He roughly exhaled.

Your hands went to his thighs and gripped on his pants for dear life, while he used your head as he pleases.

His dick kept hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you know you're gonna have trouble speaking tomorrow.

"Tha-that's it!"

You didn't even notice you were moaning since all you are feeling is his dick.

The vibration from your moan made him thrust into your mouth rougher while holding your head in place.

You felt his dick twitched on your throat, and before you know it, warm liquid filled your throat, sliding down.

His breathing stopped for a while as he let's himself drown at the feeling of you gagging on his cum.

After a moment, he pulled out, cum still leaking from his tip and some dripping down to your cleavage.

Yeah.....Maybe he's a bit drunk, tipsy perhaps.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

He exhales a breath, one arm wrapped around you while you sleep on his chest.

He doesn't even remember how he got into this position, he always leaves once his done emptying his pent up feelings to any woman he could find.

He sighs to himself.

What is he gonna do with you?

○●○●○●

taglist:

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @autismsupermusicalassassin @lionhearted-soldier @hearts-4-lanadelray@sukioyakio @chshiresins @ginger23@amelialysm

[bettsfic]

hi beth! i've got a fic that i've been struggling with for some time, and i think i could feasibly it scrap for parts and come out with a few smaller and (more likely to be finished) oneshots. i loved your advice that nothing is wasted when writing and not to be precious about ideas/words, so do you have any advice on whether it's the right idea to scrap a fic, and if so, how to do it?

i think if you're considering scrapping a fic for parts, it's worth it to try, just to see if you like the result better than what you already have. you really have nothing to lose, you know? either you'll get some good one-shots out of it or you'll get some new insight into the form you've already chosen.

one of the hardest skills to develop in writing is being able to feel and acknowledge when a story is working and when it's not. it's so amorphous and clouded by either doubt or enthusiasm, and you never know for sure until you get to the end.

going back to my knitting analogy, it's the point at which you realize the sweater you're knitting is not going to fit its recipient. so do you undo the whole thing and start over? use the yarn for socks to give to multiple people? or do you find someone slightly smaller to give it to, knowing you'll be a little disappointed in yourself for not doing what you set out to do?

i think the activity i'm about to lay out is good to do not just in this situation but also any time you feel very lost about a big project that you've been working on for a while. i've done it many times and i hope it helps you as much as it has me.

step one: go through the piece and highlight all the parts you like. this can be anything from entire chapters to maybe just a single sentence. these are parts that make you go "yeah this is working" or that you're particularly proud of. your darlings, if you will.

optional: in a different color, you can do this also for the parts you really don't like, that you'd be embarrassed to show someone else. what's left un-highlighted is what you feel neutral about.

step two: either zoom very far out on the document or do a multi-page view, however you can to see as much of the work as possible at once. notice the ratio of highlighted to un-highlighted text.

step three: brainstorm. i have to do this part with pen and paper, but however you get your big-picture ideas down is fine. at this point you haven't made any major decisions yet. it's just an experiment. IF you were to scrap a story for parts, what would it look like? and so you can start writing down your one-shot ideas.

at this point, you should have a better idea about how you want to proceed. maybe the highlighting activity brought to light the fact that there are really only a few spots you don't like and maybe you can rewrite or cut those; or maybe you have an idea for some restructuring. or you really like the one-shot ideas you've written and want to start the first one.

it's important to remember that there's really no loss here. you can write the one-shots, post them, and then come back to the longer version of the fic maybe years later and finish it. it's fanfiction; your audience will not complain about overlapping parts of stories. they'll just be happy to have more to read.

so if you've decided to play around with the one-shots, here's how i've done it in the past.

step four: open a new document. i call this document the stitch draft. the stitch draft is used for situations like this, but also for major structural edits. you need a bridge between the old draft and the new one. the sole purpose of this draft is to copy and paste over the parts you've already written that you want to keep for your first one-shot, in roughly the order you want them in.

step five: open another new document. put it side by side with the stitch draft. start writing the one-shot by bringing in the work from the stitch draft while also writing the connective tissue of the new context of the story. this may involve editing the stitch draft elements at the same time to make them relevant to your new story.

the stitch draft method has never really steered me wrong. in fact when you're very stuck i think highlighting and moving stuff to a new document is a way to help inspire new ideas, simply because you're fiddling with the text and getting out of your own head about it.

[thenerdysewist]

Making a Masking Tape Pattern

It's an old cosplay hack. You wrap a part of your body in plastic wrap (cling film), and then apply duct tape or masking tape over the plastic wrap until it fits to your body. You can then draw on the shape of the garment and seams, and it should fit perfectly to your measurements.

Over the weekend I was attempting to use a bodice pattern I already had to make a leather chest plate for a D&D Ranger Cosplay. After several failed mock ups, in which the curve for the princess seam just wouldn't sew flat, I gave up and looked for a different pattern. My usual online sources for free patterns failed me, and I decided to try my hand at this age old cosplay hack.

Step 1: Wrapping Yourself in Plastic Wrap and Tape.

I was able to wrap the plastic wrap around my entire torso, but not so much by upper back. For that I required the help of my mom. I was able to apply the tape to my front half, but for the back I once again needed the help of a second person.

Step 2: Marking the Seams

Once I was wrapped in tape, I took a sharpie and drew on where I wanted the seams. I marked a center front line, a center back line, a shoulder seam line, and a side seam line. I also marked a front and back neckline, and drew on the curve of the princess seam so that it curved over my bust to my waist to account for the natural curve of my bust.

Then my mom cut me out of the tape up the center back line. Note, be sure you are thoroughly wrapped in plastic wrap before you start applying tape. I didn't do as good a job as I thought I did, and disaster struck.

Thankfully the tank top I was wearing was one I'd had since high school, so losing it wasn't the end of the world, but maybe wear an old shirt you don't care about if you do this, just in case.

Step 3: Making the Pattern

Once free of my masking tape cocoon, I cut apart the shell along the seam lines I drew. That left me with three wobbly tape pieces. The seam over the bust held its 3D shape once cut apart, so I added a notch in the curve to make it lie flat.

Then I traced the shapes onto some parchment paper (but any big enough piece of paper will do) and added half an inch all the way around to allow for the seams and hems.

Step 4: Mock Up

Before I cut into the very expensive fake leather I bought, I wanted to make sure the pattern fit. So I cut apart a mock up from another project to make a mock up for this one.

Half of it fit great, half of it came out super wonky, but at that point I'd been working on this for 6 hours straight, so I decided to wait and fix it the next day. I got up the next morning and cut another mock up and stitched it together.

This time it fit perfectly, and I cut into the leather.

Step 5: Final Fabric

I cut out the pattern one last time, this time in the fake leather I purchased.

Then I stitched it together, and tried it on using clothes pins to hold it shut.

As you can see, it fits perfectly. I have some buckles coming, and then I'll be able to finish it!

Normally I would have saved this for when I completed the project, but I was really excited and proud that I learned a new technique! I wanted to share that excitement with you.

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Themis and Mnemosyne (a Champion of Embers Sequel-Prequel thing)

Heyyy. This is a request thingy for Oski Farouche who wanted to see more Briar and some Medía stuff. I decided to fuck it up completly by also adding in the sad (whoops). Comments and feedback are always greatly appreciated. Hopefully you guys like it uwu

—------------------

"The most important thing was to pick the right fabric," Mother said, grabbing a small square of fabric from the pile in front of her. "If you pick something that is too threadbare, it won't last. This one is fine, for example." She handed you the soft square of fabric. You ran your fingertips over it, careful not to accidentally snag your nails between the threads. "Do you remember the stitch pattern we did last time?" You nodded. It had been the Running Stitch pattern. "Good, I want you to pick the squares you like and stitch them together like this." She grabbed two out of the pile and demonstrated a slight variation on the stitching you saw last time. "This is known as a blanket stitch, can you do it?" You nodded. "Uh-huh! Let me try!" She chuckled upon seeing your enthusiasm. "Go ahead," she said, handing you another pair of cloth squares.

You both worked together on a new blanket, square by square, each old piece becoming a fragment of a new whole. Your stitching wasn't perfect, but you improved as you went along. The evening was warm, and the camp was bathed in the sunlight that passed between the trees. Aster and Viola were busy reading by the other end of the camp. Your sister had always been the fastest learner, so she practiced with your brother each sentence and phrase. The sound of them sounding out the words occasionally interrupted the quiet atmosphere of the mistwood. Your mother didn't engage in much conversation; she occasionally glanced over at your side of the blanket, commending your work or correcting your mistakes. The silence suited you, as you preferred not to get distracted while using a needle, though it was nice feeling her presence by your side. It had been a while since you'd been able to stop and rest. Ever since you could remember, it had been nothing but traveling from place to place and waiting in the camp while your mother sought the great runes. You didn't really get it, but you didn't question it either.

Nightfall arrived soon enough, and your mother examined the half-finished blanket. Each piece of old clothing had been transformed into a single square. Mother looked proud, pulling you into a hug and kissing you between the ears. You laughed and returned the gesture. It was a moment that would remain in your mind, one of your dearest memories of her, even as you grew into adulthood. You would never finish that blanket, just like she would never finish her quest to become Elden Lord. You can only guess what became of it once she….

….

She gave you a small thing made of twigs and some leftover string—a dreamcatcher. It was one of the few remaining items from her that you would bring with you as you fled across the sea. Dinner that night was lovely; it was such a shame that none of you ever noticed the pair of eyes staring from the dark. None of you ever noticed how they longed for the warmth you shared.

—------------------

You were 7 years old when your mother gave you that dreamcatcher.

You were 9 years old when she died.

You were 10 years old when Medía became your new home.

You were 12 years old when you decided to go to the library and pick up a book called Cometas, Cometas, Cometas. (Kites, Kites, Kites). You read some of it while riding the omnibus home. It was a book full of instructions on how to build different types of kites, from the simplest cross design to a dragon made from paper and wood. You grabbed it on a whim, eager to get busy with something. What else were you supposed to do? Knowing your siblings, Lobo would likely shut himself off in his room and Viola would be busy studying. All of you knew what day it was, but none of you would acknowledge it. None of you wanted to talk about your mother’s death. The little dreamcatcher in your chest pocket burned.

It’s strange, but you didn’t talk about her anymore. You never did, you never even acknowledged that she died beyond what’s necessary. As though her very name were enough to disrupt the peace. Ever since you came to Medía, it was all about surviving until that old doctor took you in. You left all the sadness in the backburner, like a corpse stinking up a room. Were you ever going to talk about it, now that things had settled down? Part of you… part of you hoped you didn’t. Because… because you didn’t know what to say. Was there even anything you could say? It’s almost as if the moment someone spoke up, the spell would break and mother’s death would become real. The three of you knew you had to at some point, but neither wanted to be the first. Looking down at the colorful kites that adorned the cover of the book, you felt a pang of guilt. You’re too cowardly, by far.

The omnibus leaves you by your house. A large villa near the end of the village, surrounded by beautiful fields that are interrupted only by the passing train line. Dr. Márkov, a practicing surgeon, decided to take the three of you in as servants a few years earlier. Taking special interest in your brother due to his condition. While you suspected the doctor saw Lobo as more of a patient than a servant, you were not about to reject a warm meal and a roof over your head. Especially when the man didn’t forbid you from going to school or taking days off. That’s just how things were. You wandered up to the main house and wandered into the servant’s quarters. The other servant, a sweet older woman called Mrs Carrera was out shopping today, so you had the kitchen to yourself to make all the kites you’d like. You pulled out your box of cloth scraps and some sticks you whittled down earlier in the week and wandered up to the kitchen, only to be confronted by another figure sitting by the work table already.

“Ah, Lobo!” You said, a bit surprised to see your brother out of his room today. The gray wolf looked up from his magazine, it’s the one with the mystery serial on it. “I… uh….” You said, as you made eye contact with the other wolf. He didn’t look particularly upset, but you could tell by the scent of tears in him that he’d cried that day at some point. “Oh, sorry. I can move if you’re using the table.” The gray wolf said, hopping down from his seat and folding the magazine beneath his arm. He almost wobbled off to the living room when you called out to him. “... Hey, do you… want to make some kites with me?” It even surprised you. You might’ve let him go any other day; but when you looked at him, when you saw how lonely he looked, you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault. The stench of death lingered in the room, yet you both continued to ignore it. You needed to do… anything. Anything that might help…. Lobo stared at you, his pale lavender eyes met yours. “N-nevermind….” You said, looking away, cheeks flushed. “It was stupid to-” “Okay.” Lobo’s voice broke you out of that negative spiral. He waddled back to the chair and sat down, motioning to you to do the same rather than standing there like a fool. “Mind you, I don’t know anything about sewing, so you’ll have to teach me.” He said, looking over all the colorful pieces of cloth. You couldn’t help but smile a bit. I guess, in some way, you honored her memory that day after all.

You started slowly, teaching him a few basic stitching techniques. He was quick on the uptake, though he pricked himself a few times while practicing on some worn down cloth you were not using. Once he was confident in his abilities, you cracked open the book and browsed the designs together. You liked the basic diamond kite, and he chose a fancier bird wing kite. Slowly and silently you took turns looking at your respective instructions, working on each side of the table. It was a little uncomfortable, but you were glad Lobo was not visibly upset at least. Hopefully working on something distracted him from his sorrow. Out of the three of you, Lobo had been the only one awake and present during your Mother’s murder, meaning he’d been the one to wake you and Viola up the night you had to flee your camp. You could still remember the wild fear in his eyes, like a cornered animal about to fight or flee. There was not much time to explain and you didn’t get the full jist of what happened until you were already on a boat off to a foreign land. An old merchant who was a family friend stashed you away between boxes of melted mushroom and dewkissed herba. That was the last time the topic of your mother was ever breached.

You were done with your kite pretty quickly; a diamond shaped cloth made from different patches, hung on two sticks that kept it tight, all tied together with string. You could not ask for a more traditional kite than this. Lobo was having some trouble with the hem of his own kite, however. “... it won’t stay put.” He said as the bent stick escaped from under the cloth. Your brother’s ears pivoted in irritation. “Here, hold it while I sew it together.” You offered. Lobo held the stick while you carefully threaded your needle through the folded cloth with a whip stitch. His eyes followed each move of your fingers with rapt attention. “You’re very good at that.” He said once you were done tying the end of it. “Ah, it’s nothing….” You said. It’s pretty embarrassing having people see you sew like that. It’s usually something old maidens do, hence why you still keep your cross stitches secret to this day. But Lobo seemed impressed enough. He looked away for a moment, a dark look crossing his eyes. “... I think she would be proud….” He says, his voice not betraying any emotion. Your eyes opened wide and something like a squeak left your throat. You regretted it as soon as you saw him wince at your reaction, as if in pain.

“... sorry… didn’t mean to bring that up now. Just… forget it….” Your brother said, attempting to go back to his kite making. You were not about to let it go, though. “I… thank you… I like to think she would be proud too….” There’s so much more you’d have liked to say. So much you still haven’t said to this day. But it's a start. Lobo stared once more, but this time there was something else there. He looked… happy. “She would.” Your brother restated, returning to his work. There’s so much you didn’t understand, but you think that for a moment you understood how your brother felt. At least a little.

At some point, Dahlia joined in and was happy to make kites alongside you. Despite her seeming nonchalant-ness, you think she wanted a distraction too. The three of you talked about everything going on in each other’s lives, though the topic of your mother did not return. Dahlia would be attending as an apprentice in the academy soon and receive some training in pyromancy, you would continue to work here as a servant, though you expressed interest in joining the military once you came of age and Lobo… well he had been receiving lessons from the doctor in hopes of becoming his assistant. He’d always had a knack for making medicine and at least that would give him options for the future. You got into a small tiff with Dahlia discussing the aerodynamics of a box kite, though it was mostly just for fun. Once every kite was ready, you took them out into the field.

The evening air was fresh on your fur, and it picked up the kites easily. Yours flew up in an instant, catching the midsummer sun in the colorful strips of fabric. Dahlia’s box kite flew steady and strong, having used so many of the sticks how could it not. Lobo’s kite looked free in the wind, a colorful tail and beautiful long wings. You ran around making your kites chase each other across the azure skies, though of course not so fast Lobo couldn’t catch up. It was… nice. Maybe you were a little presumptuous, but you think everyone felt happier for spending the afternoon like this. You certainly did. Later, you would sit in the field and watch the clouds roll by. Mrs. Carrera came over at some point to offer you some tea. Dahlia hurried to the kitchen at the prospect of tea and freshly baked cookies, you stayed behind with Lobo for a moment. “Valerio… um. Briar?” He said as you were brushing the grass and dirt from your pants. “Yeah?” You responded. Lobo smiled, happier than you’ve seen him in a long time. “Thanks… I had fun today.” He said. You couldn’t help but smile right back.

—------------------

You were 15 when you joined the military.

You were 17 when Dr. Márkov died, leaving that villa to the three of you in his will.

You were 18 when Lobo was rejected from becoming a legitimate physician over being “un perro lisiado”.

You were 22 when you would chase after your brother to the Lands Between.

You are 23 years old, wandering up to Ranni’s Rise alongside Aster and Viola. You still don’t talk about your mother much, though at least now there’s been some discussion of it. After your brother disappeared, you assumed the worst and guessed that your father might have found him and tried to take the Fingerslayer Blade by force. You’re ashamed to admit that you thought your brother was defenseless against him. Who would have thought the one to kill would be him? And it all started when that black sword arrived by mail. Inheritance to be bestowed upon the legitimate heirs. You should’ve known it was something shady. Either way, you were glad to find him, even if it made it clear you needed to talk about things. There’s the distinct sting of betrayal in knowing your brother didn’t trust you with this darkness that brewed for years, and you still feel like it’s your fault. There’s things you need to say, the only question is when.

Aster taps the stonework floor with his sword, a new one made to compensate for the weight of his new arm, revealing the path down to a secret basement. Iji, the old troll you found on the road to the manor, said he would rather have us take whatever we can find of use there than to let it rot. You don’t really understand why he was being so friendly towards you, but Aster assured you he was no threat. Whatever, even if he were to be a threat, you’d kick his ass anyway.

Father’s room is a little strange, not that you expected him to be a slob or anything, but you find his room to be surprisingly cozy. A big bed, antiquated, but so is everything in this country, a sturdy desk with well cared for books, a tiny silver music box made for hands far smaller than yours, a chimney though no one has cleaned it in a long time and a training dummy. Frankly, you’re a little disappointed there’s nothing more interesting. Viola stayed up investigating the witch's quarters, meanwhile Aster is more interested in seeing how he could get the desk out of the room. You’re about to leave when something catches your eye. Fabric peeking from within the wardrobe, a little splash of color among the muted colors of the bedroom. You open it, immediately bringing your hands up to your mouth as you gasp loudly. Inside, beside some noble looking clothing that absolutely reeks of wolf, is a half finished patchwork blanket.

You try your hardest, you really do, but you can’t stop the tears. You pick up the blanket and sit on the bed. It creaks under your weight. You stare at each patch, remembering the ones you picked, and the ones she did. You trace a finger over each seam, careful not to snatch your claws on the threads. You see as your tears hit the fabric, darkening it in little spots. The thing is still unfinished, but you bring it close to your chest and close your eyes. You try to get your breathing under control, but you can’t do it. It’s like the dam has burst and there’s no stopping the flow of emotion that washes over you. You’re vaguely aware of Aster approaching. The bed creaks again under his added weight. He doesn’t make fun of you for crying, but he also doesn’t say anything. You’re about to open your eyes and try to pretend to be fine, but then he puts an arm around your shoulder. You don’t really understand why, but you feel like you finally know what you’ve wanted to say for a while.

“... there’s never enough time… never… it’s never enough….” You stutter through, but Aster hugs you tight. He’s listening. “... I really tried to make peace with it. I-I thought I could, but… it just… it wasn’t enough time… Then….” You hesitate, but a warm hand on your back reminds you of someone else. “Then… I thought I shouldn’t say anything because… because I'd just screw things over… I-I didn’t want to be a burden… s-so I tried making myself useful instead….” You sob, your eyes are still closed, but you hear someone at the doorstep. “... I’m so sorry… Aster… Viola… I’m so sorry for ignoring this… I’m so sick of pretending I’m fine with it… I-I’m so sick of pretending there was enough time….” Viola sits by your side as well, the bedframe complains once more at the weight of three quarter wolves. You feel her head on your shoulder and her hand over yours.

The three of you sit together on the bed. They let you cry your heart out, without judgment. It’s embarrassing feeling so vulnerable, but you’re also… glad. Aster runs his hand up and down your back, Viola runs her finger over the back of your hand in a soothing motion. After what feels like an eternity, you begin to calm down. “... There’s never enough time to do the things you want….” You finally say, opening your eyes to see the unfinished quilt matted with teardrops. The trail of tears doesn’t stop, but you feel the deluge slowing down. “It never was fair… I think even Father would have agreed.” Aster says. You look over at the gray wolf to your left, but he’s looking ahead into the space between the bricks of the cellar wall. “... I made a mistake believing I should get revenge. Maybe… maybe if I’d been more willing to let it go and see how you were hurting. Then I could have done things differently… maybe Father would be here to apologize and make things right ....” He shakes his head, returning the eye contact. “I’m sorry… I was so stuck in my own head, I couldn’t see how you were hurting too.”

To your right, you hear Viola speak as well. “I have to apologize too. After Mother died, I felt I needed to keep you both safe. To make sure you’re never in need, and I thought I could achieve that by studying hard and climbing to the top… I guess I never considered that what you needed was not a provider… but a sister….” Viola extends her hand to touch the one behind you as well. “It goes for you too, Aster. I knew our mother’s death affected you greatly, but… I’ll admit that I was at a complete loss… so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry if you felt I forgot about Mother and the things she did for us. I was just… afraid….” You notice that a bit of her makeup has run down her cheek. It seems the three of you had the same idea, albeit expressed differently. You let out a sad chuckle. “I… I’ll forgive the both of you… If you promise to forgive each other.” Aster and Viola pull you into a hug from either side. It’s a deal.

The blanket becomes the center of attention once you pull away. “It really is a shame that it’s unfinished….” Aster says, looking at the space where future squares might be placed. “Although, we do have some fine fabric here… albeit its scent is a bit… uh… ripe.” Viola exclaims, looking over your father’s old clothes. Aster pipes in after her. “I do have some thread I found in the desk, and scissors. Could be useful….” You look down at the unfinished blanket. “... are we finishing it now, then?” You say, reading into the clear intent of their words. “A fetching idea I would say.” “Yeah, obviously we are.” Both say in unison.

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up the final squares of the blanket. You scold Aster a few times since he keeps stitching it up like you would a corpse, when you specifically told him to use the blanket stitch. Viola takes to chopping up parts of the old clothes into squares. Luckily they’re not moldy, but some of them do have holes from years of use. You take the leftover fabric home, though the light… uh… pheromone smell might not leave…ever. You don’t really know what you’ll use it for, but it seems wasteful to toss them just for that. All in all you have a lot of fun. The blanket is completed, a story that took 15 years to write, now ended with a chapter penned by all three of you. The corpse in the room has been buried and the flowers planted in its grave. You take out your little dreamcatcher, you’ve patched it up so many times and yet it still carries the same feelings it did so long ago. For once, you feel like you can look at it without sadness or guilt, but with hope.

[ialpiriel]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕 (No pressure to play, but I love listening to you talk about your art and writing :3)

Aw shucks, you're gonna make me play favorites :(

Lately, it's been the original fiction novel I've been working on! I've posted a series of assorted excerpts in the last few months. I started working on the novel sometime late summer last year, and attacked it with gusto for NaNoWriMo (and made wordcount!), then spent December and January finishing it (doubling my wordcount!). Just recently (as in, this last week) nailed down a first draft ending scene and titled the novel, which has been a really exciting milestone.

The origin of the novel came when I thought about a few scenes in my Obscenely Long F:NV Fanfic About A Lesbian Cannibal where I asked myself what the interesting backstory for an unnamed bit character might be (what if she was half-blinded before she became a gladiator? where did she come from? what did she sign up for, and what actions were forced on her?) When I looked into those questions I thought to myself "well, I might as well turn these ideas into original fiction, since there's literally not a single 'canon' character left in this that I might possibly be interested in writing about."

The novel, titled Up With The Star, follows "the gladiator," a stateless, legally-nameless woman who helped to lead a slave rebellion just a few days before the novel starts, and is nominated by her friends and co-conspirators to take the place of The Warlord, the nation's head of state.

She does not want this job.

She's talked into it not by the logic of the doctor who's spent the last five and a half years stitching her up after her gladiatorial bouts, or the gentle cajoling of her FWB who's a member of an annexed state and did most of the talking for this rebellion, but by the petty suggestion of The Iconoclast, the woman who killed (and ate) the Warlord, who asks her, basically, "wouldn't it be fun to make the whole world be polite to you, a person with no legal status, down to not having a name of your own?"

One of the really fun parts of writing the novel, to me, has been deciding all the different ways the characters are "American" despite living in a post-American continent. This character grew up in a christofascist community, that character knows the craving to see violence committed against someone else is a bad one but wants to see it anyway, this character commits themself to trying to heal a structural wound of the nation, that one spends years planning and executing a popular rebellion. I've had a really good time with "artifacts" also, all the pieces of past-America that are left: strip malls, suburbs, retaining ponds, someone else's photo albums, a little nylon American flag, manosphere self-help books, imperialism, mutual aid, hashtag vanlife, Sports That Kill You (here's looking at you, american football), apocalyptic christianity, weird New Religious movements, gender essentialism, the inescapable sense that there's no way out of the hell someone made for you seventy years ago.

It's been fun, also, to write a character who's got an extremely sharp sense for Being In Front Of An Audience. She may be bad at reading individual people's emotional states, plans, tacks, preferences, and sore spots, but she Gets having an audience. It's fun to write a showman! And it's fun to write a showman who's trying to carve out a little space for herself, to have a private life for the second time in her whole life, while also trying to be on stage.

Also, it's gay, and the main character is a transmasc and has no idea of how to explain that to herself.

[frostbeees]

and when your stitch comes loose (i want to sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out of you)

2023 wrappedmas day six • song: hold me tight or don't by fall out boy

ao3 • masterpost

Trevor likes to push Jamie’s buttons. On the ice, in the locker room, at home. Name a time and place, and he’s probably doing something to get under Jamie’s skin purposely. Which is maybe something for him to reflect on at a later date, the way he would literally crawl into Jamie’s skin if he had the chance. 

It’s just fun, is all there really is to it, to see Jamie slowly lose it. To see the way his cheeks go pink and then cherry red. The way his eyebrows furrow. Eventually, his eyes go black, and that’s when Trevor knows he finally hit the right nerve. When Jamie will finally snap and put Trevor in his place. And, yeah, Trevor’s not too naive to admit that sometimes he needs it. On like. Every level, personal, emotional, sexual. It’s fine . 

“Trevor,” Jamie warns, voice straining as he flexes his hands against his thighs like he’s two seconds from wrapping them around Trevor’s throat.

Just. Like. Clockwork.

Trevor didn’t even have to try that hard today. Jonesy and Fowler actually did most of the heavy lifting during practice, running Jamie ragged and keeping him on the opposite side of the ice from Trevor basically the entire time they were out there. And then Trevor picked it up from there, purposely playing music he knows Jamie hates on the drive home, “accidentally” messing up Jamie’s lunch order and now tapping his toes against Jamie’s thigh to some song in his head while Jamie’s trying to concentrate on answering a dozen emails from his agent. 

It’s not Trevor’s fault that Jamie chose their couch for his task. Not like he wouldn’t have followed Jamie down the hall and to his bed but that’s not the point.

Jamie’s hand flexes one last time as Trevor keeps up his rhythm until he finally reaches out and wraps his fingers around Trevor’s ankle. His grip is tight. Tight enough to leave indents, maybe bruises if he holds on long enough. Trevor shivers as he thinks about Jamie’s hand wrapped around other parts of his body. 

“Can you chill for five more minutes? I need to finish this.”

Trevor thinks he hasn’t pushed hard enough. Not if Jamie’s able to ask that of him.

“I’m bored,” Trevor responds and jerks his ankle out of Jamie’s grasp. Time to double down. He shoves both feet under Jamie’s thigh, hard enough that his laptop teeters and crashes on the ground. Oops. He’ll buy Jamie a new one if he has to, a better one even. 

And then Jamie moves so fast that Trevor doesn’t even have a chance to evade his grip. He goes from sitting next to Trevor to on top of Trevor’s thighs, hands pinning his wrists above his head against the arm of the couch. 

“You are so,” Jamie doesn’t finish his thought, though, so Trevor will never know what he is.

Instead, Jamie heaves his upper body down and meets Trevor mouth to mouth in an intense and furious kiss. Their teeth clash together at first, hard enough that Trevor worries about chipping one before that thought is gone and the only thing he can focus on is Jamie taking both his wrists into one hand and moving his now free hand lower, lower, lower until it’s right at the waistband of Trevor’s shorts. He breaks the kiss for a moment, leaning back just enough to look Trevor square in the face as he toys with the drawstrings, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Trevor just nods, all words suddenly gone from his brain.

“I need to let go of your hands. Can you be good and keep them here?”

Trevor nods again.

Jamie tuts in reply and leans forward like he’s going to kiss Trevor again. Instead, he nips at Trevor’s jaw. “Words, babe. Use them.”

“Yes, Jamie,” Trevor croaks out. His hips buck a little and he knows Jamie notices but he must be feeling lenient about that one because he doesn’t comment, just lets go of Trevor’s wrists and lifts his own hips to pull Trevor’s shorts down. 

“Of course you’re not wearing anything under these,” Jamie rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, fond maybe, or just a little in awe of being able to free Trevor’s dick so quickly. 

Jamie’s reaction gives Trevor a little bit of a confidence boost. “If a man can’t freeball in his own home, where can he?” Trevor asks, unserious. 

Jamie doesn’t answer. Just scoots back far enough down Trevor’s legs so that he can rub his face against the inside of Trevor’s thighs. His facial hair burns as it scratches the skin but all Trevor can think about is how good Jamie’s dark hair looks against his pale skin there. It’s enough of a distraction that he doesn’t even notice Jamie moving upwards until his dick is halfway buried in Jamie’s mouth. He chokes on his own spit a little but recovers quickly as Jamie works him up and down. 

Jamie knows what he’s doing, and he should after months of them hooking up now, and he works Trevor closer and closer to the edge before pulling off. Trevor is losing his mind. He catches his hands moving twice, wanting so badly to scratch at Jamie’s scalp and pull his hair a little but he’s being so good and he’s keeping them pinned where Jamie put them. 

His mouth is so warm and he’s doing that thing with his fingers against his hole that Trevor goes crazy for that he comes without warning. Jamie takes it like a champ though and swallows around him until he’s just tonguing at Trevor’s spent dick, little kitten licks against the head that feel incredible and like way too much all at the same time. He pulls off eventually and tucks Trevor back into his shorts, leaving him there breathing heavy and feeling slightly dazed as he picks up his discarded laptop from the floor. 

“Okay can I answer these emails now?”

“You can do whatever you want, Jimmy,” Trevor says as he rearranges himself the opposite way on the couch. He nuzzles against Jamie’s thigh and starts to doze off. 

[creepyscritches]

I’ve been trying to pick up crochet, but I really struggle with like. Doing more than one line? I keep ending up almost knitting with the crochet hook, and, in general, getting lost and dropping stitches. Do you have any tips for a beginner?

I'm actually not that experienced myself! I used to crochet a little in high school, but my autoimmune illness started disabling my hands, so this is the first time I'm coming back to it after 10 years (thank youuuu vanderbilt)

Personally I prefer to crochet in the round (a continuous spiral) rather than in rows since I like to make little dudes. I think it's more satisfying and I like to see the shape of boy form as I work further through a pattern.

It was super apparent to me that my basics were severely lacking, so I spent a few weeks following along w free pattern tutorials on YouTube (all the jellyfish were my lesson projects!). The jellyfish I've been making were super helpful when it came to learning the basic stitches for creating dudes and it's a fabulous first stop if you're trying to build your foundations. Here's a link to the video (the lady is very good at explaining how to keep track of your loops)

Another life saver for me was incorporating stitch markers. They're used to help you keep track of where you are and when a round begins and ends. You can buy stitch markers online or you can use household items like bobby pins, safety pins, or paperclips. You just loop em around the first stitch of a row to have a concrete stopping point in a stitch sequence.

Hmmm what else.....uhhh yarn needles are really helpful too! I use them a lot when attaching pieces to a body or picking out a stitch I bunked up. Easy to thread since the eyes are so wide and they're great for embroidering patterns over finished base shapes.

If you want to make amigurumi styled work, hook size is important as it determines if your stitches are close enough to keep stuffing from peeking out. Pretty much all yarn labels will have a recommended hook size on them--your amigurumi hook size will be at least one size smaller, but I tend to end up using 1.5mm - 2.5mm smaller. It really varies yarn to yarn, but a couple of test rounds will let you know very early if you have the right size.

It gets naturally easier over time to tell where certain stitches are and what type they are when looking over worked yarn sections--my eyes were CROSSED at first, but it's gotten a lot easier with just a month of practice and I'm starting to incorporate new more difficult strategies and stitch types into off the cuff patterns. Remember, done is better than perfect! Just get that thang made, baby! The next one will be even easier!

[inceptionart]

Today’s spotlight is on Flos @flosculatory for our Inception artist! Read on for her thoughts on art, and you can find all of her gorgeous artwork here, here and here!

🎨 When did you start creating art for the Inception fandom, and what is your inspiration?

I started creating Inception art in 2015. I actually started because I wanted to join the Next Big Thing comment party and was too self-conscious to just show up and start commenting, so I created a gifset of agent!Saito as an initial offering! Since then, my inspiration often comes from fics or just... crack, honestly.

🎨 Link us to your first and latest artwork, and how your style has evolved since then?

First artwork: gifset of Saito for Next Big Thing Latest artwork: hand lettering as an IGRPDC prize

I've done so many different types of art for Inception fandom, mostly because I like learning and trying new things! I started out with gifsets and some crack graphics (including my 2016/2017 Inception 30 Day Challenge graphics, which were truly the peak of my creativity), and then did podfics for a little while. I never really thought about myself as an artist until I started doing more edits and now I'm in a lettering/calligraphy groove, but mostly as prizes for events so I am actually motivated to create something. (Speaking of, I also create a lot of banners and stuff for different Inception fandom events!)

🎨 What is your absolute favorite piece of art that you've made, and why?

Okay so because I've covered so many types of art it's hard to choose, but I'm just going to go with my Next Big Thing wikipedia page. I'm not sure if that even counts, but I basically figured out how to code a mock Wikipedia page and included tons of links to parts of Next Big Thing or to related fic or art, and included inside jokes for the comment party. I'm super proud of it!

In terms of art art, my favourite is probably my Inception character graphics, especially my Yusuf one, because it was the first one I did! I had such a clear vision of a colour and objects for him, so it was super easy to make.

🎨 What is something about Inception that you really want to make art for someday, and why?

Nash, of course! (Actually, my main goal right now is to finish my Inception character graphics, but I'd love to do some more Inception crafts (e.g. cross stitch, lettering) so I can have some physical art to look at.)

🎨 Give a shoutout to your favorite Inception artists here!

Oh I am 100% definitely going to miss some essential people, but a random 5: @mizunoir (scary impressive always), @lemon-yellow (cool style, especially NASH), @ffc1cb (colours!), @swimmingrat (watercolours!!!), @omophagist (I think this is the right blog - created the best rare pair graphics!)

🎨 Anything else you'd like to talk about art and the Inception fandom in general ❤

I love that we still have new art coming out of fandom, and I am super grateful to Inception fandom for supporting all of my forays into art, including my crack graphics. I still get compliments for my 30 Day Challenge graphics from way back when and it means the world to me!

[fountainpenguin]

4, 7, and 8

[Current Ask meme]

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

In terms of unpublished works I don't really talk about, I have at least 27 named FOP stories [as in, I'm not counting anything that already has at least one chapter posted and not counting any 130 Prompts]. Not all of them are winners and some are currently being recycled into 130 Prompts. Some I'm looking forward to writing, but am reluctant to start when I have so many other unfinished projects that are public.

Case in point, I have a draft for a 10-chapter AJ-centric fic called Pulling Your Puzzles Apart. It's an AU where Timmy considered A.J. his best friend instead of Chester, so AJ ended up with Norm's lamp and Norm has to go to college with him while AJ scrambles to keep him under control.

I'd like to post this one, but I also want to wrap up Come With May and maybe Pink and Gray before I open a new story. I keep going back and forth, trying to decide if it's better to have lots of projects that I'm having fun with at my own pace or if it's just better to tackle them one at a time.

(More answers under the cut)

I know I had two unfinished Danny Phantom pieces (plus No Anesthetic which did have one chapter up). Lots of Mario world drafts that I'm never satisfied with. Two TUFF Puppy pieces I started but couldn't put a plot together for, at least two Lilo and Stitch stories and some Bunsen Is a Beast pieces I stopped for the same reason.

I keep meaning to go back to that, they were fun. I love "town that sits on a portal to Beast World" and "Official welcome committee boy who has to take charge of the new fuzzy transfer student despite being descended from a guy who used to hunt his kind," it's such a cruel vibe... It was fun, but I felt weird being super dark for such a goofy show.

I have a stack of WordGirl ideas I've been toying with over the years and I'm looking forward to sharing some of those <3 The one I'm posting on Friday is something I've wanted to write for over 10 years so it's very cathartic and I hope people like it as much as I do.

My favorite Lilo and Stitch story was a Jumba backstory with lots of experiments scuttling around his lab. I've perma-shelved it since it has a similar vibe to Origin of the Pixies and I don't have it in me to write something so similar (nor create all the unique experiments), but Slick (020) was always a favorite. Here's my favorite snippet from that story, and I think you can see a lot of Sanderson's personality in how I wrote him (2016 or 2017):

---

“That’s all you are! Big talk, big guts, but puny muscles and punier brains. I mean, you’re programmed to sell stuff. How bright can you be?”

020 plucked 322 up by the scruff and set one hand to his hip. “Aw shucks, that’s real cute and flattering, partner. Now, you’re new here, so I’m gonna cut you a special offer free of extra charge.”

“If it’s anything like the way you cut cheese, count me out of here. If you’re some major room-clearing experiment, you deserve a raise.”

“Name’s 020.” He tipped his hat, and then one of the claws on that hand came down to prod 322 in the bowtie marking. “And I’m Jumba’s number one.”

“Number one what? Back-scratching errand boy?” 322 tipped his voice into a high falsetto. “‘Jumba, I finished all your paperwork. You got mail’.”

I picked up spray bottle and splashed it across back of 020’s head. “Ah-ah! Whoever said you were alpha on block anyway? Please to be giving me 322 now.”

Seething through his teeth, 020 placed 322 in my large palm and crossed his arms.

---

Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

One of my favorite sections of prose is the way Foop speaks about Anti-Sanderson in "You'll Never Know." This story was written with Foop as an incredibly unreliable narrator who dodges questions, is unfaithful with his answers, and skirts around his emotions.

In this story, we hit the 77,777-year anniversary of Anti-Cosmo's mysterious disappearance and Anti-Fairy politics demand Anti-Wanda take a new ruling partner. Anti-Wanda proposes to the Head Anti-Pixie (Anti-Sanderson) and Foop (mentally 11) is dealing with a lot of complicated emotions. He feels abandoned by Anti-Cosmo, fiercely protective towards his mother, cowed into submission by the people who have always see him as reckless, and he struggles with a lot of guilt over the fact that he actually admires Anti-Sanderson.

Two weeks before the wedding, I ask Hap the same question I asked Mother, following it with, "Do you even know which kids are yours?"

He points down at my head with two fingers. "DNA test, sucker!"

"No you can't."

"Oh fudge, you're right. I didn't think this through. Eh, weh, meh." Shrug. "I'll draw straws. Now, where should I put the maps I brought? I also have questions about my wrapping paper collection, but I do not have answers."

"The High Count's office, I suppose."

Hap doesn't move, hands still templed before his chest. "Does anyone else have an opinion?"

The only other person in the room is Klangfar, so no. I lean back on my heels in the air. "Nothing's going to bite you. I store all my junk in there." Hap still twitches, so I shrug. "It hasn't been Father's office in a long time."

"It's still a 'Yikes' from me."

And… that's why I didn't hate my step-father. I could have stopped the wedding. Easily, with just a twist of my hand. But I didn't. Because Hap might have overthrown his own father to seize the Head Anti-Pixie title, but I'd seen him tone down his playful teasing during the points in Council meeting discussions he was most passionate about. When he first showed up at the Blue Castle with a backpack containing his favorite valuables and three anti-pixie kids behind him, I watched from the stairs as he looked around the entry hall, gripping those backpack straps and looking absolutely overwhelmed. It took a few weeks before he could remember how to fly after being deprived of clean magic for so long, and Hap didn't scream or cry every time he got upset. He would chuckle and, sheepish and bruised, ask the next person he saw for a lesson. Something about his laughter stopped my cheeks from burning with secondhand embarrassment. He felt no shame.

"I don't like this," Hiccup murmured.

Hap had skittish feet outside his own territory. I noticed early on that he followed my mother whenever he thought it wasn't weird. His whole presence was weird. He always stood crookedly with wings slightly open in a way that drew attention, but he didn't force himself into the centre of a room. He spoke when he wanted to and didn't when he didn't. For someone who wore bold red and yellow, he could certainly melt into the background when he wanted to. He walked the halls sometimes at night, hands clasped behind his back, and… not a single gram of anxiety shot through me if our paths crossed while I snuck midnight snacks upstairs.

"Take a scoop of vegetables with you," he said the first time he saw me, and I stopped dead.

"What?"

"Veggies," he said, walking right past me. "They're good for you. If you don't eat them tonight, get a lot tomorrow, yeah?"

"You're hardly the boss of me, Head Anti-Pixie."

"You got me there," he laughed. Never stopped. Never tried to push it. I saw the way he coloured pictures with his anti-pixies and listened in while Smoky played piano, offering advice and critiquing the bends of his claws. I saw how he spoke to my mother, keeping a respectful difference and trying not to overstep. I saw him stare some nights at the portraits of Anti-Cosmo on the walls, copying his posture for a few seconds before drawing a cloth from his pocket and wiping a bit of grime from the frame. He didn't try to take those pictures down. I saw him hesitate to seize my father's office, balancing on the heels of his feet. And that's why I don't stop the wedding.

"Can I have this?" I ask Hap three days after his coronation, pointing to a silver wand sheath lying on the High Count's desk. My father's own, if I'm not mistaken. Hap barely glances up from the weird golden bridle he pulled from the closet.

"Sure."

I buckle the sheath on. My ba-ba won't fit, but just wearing it makes me feel more like an adult. "Could I also get a little spending money for a camping trip with my friend Kelsia?"

"Mm, depends. Are you on a healthy diet?"

"Mostly."

"Then you sure can, pudding tin."

"Does pudding even come in tins?"

Hap points two fingers at me. "It does if we make some tonight!"

We do. Me and Smoky and Hap and the three anti-pixie children I keep not learning the names of since they rotate between the Castle and Isle every week. And it's fun. It's a lot of fun.

I fall in my coffin that evening without bothering to unclip the wand sheath, hands folded behind my head and feet kicked in the air. "Ah… Now this is the way a prince should be treated."

"Foop," Hiccup whines.

"What? You know I'm right. A father who respects Mother and gives Smoky and I anything we want is way better than a father who runs off with other lovers behind his family's back. Mother deserved better than him. We all did."

"This isn't fair to Daddy."

"What do you want me to do about that?"

"Are we ever going to tell Mum about the fight?"

"Why should we?"

"I don't know… I just don't like doing this."

I snort. "Nothing's ever good enough for you, Puck. I spent my formative years under so much distress that our mind split apart. All these years later, we're finally getting a normal childhood. For once, can you be happy for us?"

Of course it wouldn't last. Hap disappears five years later. Hiccup has the decency not to say I told you so.

It's not the most melodic prose voice, but I feel like it fits the vibe of "Foop being curious and not as judgmental as he expected to be." I really like the way I showed Anti-Sanderson's awkward adjustment to his new role as High Count (and Foop's temporary step-father). Anti-Sanderson is very unstable (as you'll see in the snippet after this one), and I love touching in on these moments where you see him out of his element, feeling self-conscious.

I love the parallels between how uncomfortable Anti-Sanderson is to be filling Anti-Cosmo's shoes and how Foop feels out of place and "never good enough" for his role as prince. I love how Foop sees beauty and strength where Anti-Sanderson sees his faults. I love this fragile, human side of Anti-Sanderson that shows how he's trying to do his best and find his way in the world.

---

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I wrote the 130 Prompt "Look At That!" in 2016, and it'll still be a bit before we get to the Cavatina arc of the 130 Prompts... This is a spoiler, but it's still a dear favorite of mine. The Cavatina arc has its dark moments but it's a lot of angsty fun. This scene is one of my favorite dialogue exchanges...

“What about your son?”

“What about my son?”

That wasn’t the answer Sanderson had been expecting. “They’re synced up, same as you and me? If my son dies in that fall, yours will go down with him? That’s Anti-Entities 101.”

Anti-Sanderson tapped his right temple as he pushed himself back up to his feet with the leg of the barstool. “There are nine hundred ninety-nine more on the way genetically identical to him. I’ll probably let one of them live. Get yourselves a long running start, team. Draw on that sugar rush. Give it all you’ve got.”

“Wait.”

That small voice belonged to Anti-Cavatina. As before, as soon as someone asked him to, Anti-Sanderson made the signal for his followers to stop what they were doing. Still leaning on his makeshift cane, Anti-Sanderson turned himself around and squatted.

“Come here to talk to Daddy, wrigglepie. Come, come- don’t be shy. Won’t you give your old man a hug?” In slow motion, the little anti-pixie did. His father ruffled his star-blond hair. “Oh, yes, that’s the way you do it. What’s the matter, kiddo?”

“You…” Anti-Cavatina, not removing his arms, shot a puzzled glance in his counterpart’s direction. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him if I got the watch.”

Anti-Sanderson sucked air through his teeth. He nodded two or three times. “Ooh, that’s right. Thaaat’s right. Rats- I knew I was forgetting something. I did promise you that, didn’t I? Well.” Flipping back into a smile, “Change of plans, peachcake. Can’t be helped.”

“But I got the watch!”

“I know you did. You’re my big bwave boy.” Briefly releasing his cane, Anti-Sanderson took his son’s cheeks in both hands and squashed them inward. “And I wuv you so much, yes I do, you’re just adowable, oh yes you are.” He kissed Anti-Cavatina on the forehead, then patted him between the wings and pointed up the street. “Go tell Uncle Anti-Wosencwantz all about it. Daddy’s busy wight now.”

I love Anti-Sanderson as an antagonist because he's absolutely feral. His morals are extremely fluid and you can't even trust him to take care of his own son... I love this scene because I feel like even without context, it still gives off a chilling and villainous vibe. I love how poisonous and dangerous Anti-Sanderson can be. He's horrible but I also find him hilarious... Just a horrid man.

Thanks for your interest!

[Current Ask meme]

[atlantisknits]

2 - Perseverance, small steps and a new FO

Hi hello,

Honestly, I was hoping to be able to write something sooner but I have not been in the right frame of mind to do so. For a while I’ve been feeling like I’ve been trapped by my circumstances, these things had been lowering me down to somewhere I didn’t want to be until last week the string that had been dangling me snapped and I hit a real low. I was left alone with my thoughts, for a week my mind spiralled until it reached a point where my body was shaking from lack of food and the stress I was under. This went on until the week passed and I realised that I could break out of this even if it means this pain lasts a little while longer, it would be worth it just to get out of this box I’m in and to be able to reach my full potential, or to at least figure out what that potential may be. 

Before this hellish week had begun where I accomplished nothing I did at least finish something that I had been working on for a little while - my Elisabeth Blouse by the wonderful Petite Knit. One night I stayed up until the early hours of the morning and finally bound off my last sleeve in a rosé fuelled knitting marathon only to wake up hours later to sit and weave in all the loose ends whilst sat in bed watching Next in Fashion (if you have been watching please let me know your thoughts and who your winner is/was).

I had been looking forward to knitting this pattern before it was even released- it was such a beautiful basic and I didn’t have anything like it in my wardrobe. Before my yarn had even arrived I was already thinking of potential outfits. I had spent hours pondering yarn choices and colour options and crossed my fingers that I had made the right choice. I had opted for Filcolana Pernilla as this is one of the yarn options the pattern suggests and is actually also the cheapest (I’m from the UK and ordered from KNiTT). 

Admittedly, this was my first time knitting a collar which I was a little nervous about and now looking at the FO I know it could have been a little neater, but for my first attempt I don’t think it’s too bad! Something else I noticed about this project was that my gauge seemed to be a little iffy meaning my stitches didn’t look as neat as I would have preferred. However, blocking totally worked its magic and evened everything out so much. I’m not exaggerating when I say that Filcolana Pernilla blocks beautifully. It also dried so quickly, which of course is an added perk as it just meant I got to wear my Elisabeth Blouse sooner. 

Now, let’s talk about the fit. Before blocking, I had my concerns. After blocking, I was in love. The length of the sleeves and the body are just right. The cut of the neckline isn’t too low that I would be self conscious or constantly trying to move or adjust it. 

The fabric is lightweight and ideal for layering making it a great transitional piece, although I was genuinely surprised by how warm a fabric the Filcolana Pernilla made. I’m also really happy with my colour choice and think it will work all year around (perhaps not the height of summer however haha, although with British weather you never know). 

I got weirdly emotional when I did finally finish my Elisabeth Blouse and then wearing it for the first time. There had been a few points where I just felt like giving up on it- I was so up in my head about stuff that I had going on that I was struggling to find the motivation to continue. However, I pushed through and the sense of accomplishment from having done so was definitely worth it- being able to take a second to acknowledge all the time and effort I had put into creating something by hand. 

This will act as a reminder to persevere and of what I am capable of when I do so. 

Also, in between writing this I had a telephone consultation to discuss my endo symptoms and treatment and was told that I could potentially be placed on a waiting list for surgery to help treat my endo pain. I had felt like I was getting nowhere with my treatment or being taken seriously so this definitely feels like a small win and hopefully a step in the right direction. 

It might only be a small step but it’s another step forward. 

Pattern: the Elisabeth Blouse by Petite Knit

Yarn: Filcolana Pernilla in shade Chai

Images originally posted to my Instagram: atlantis.knits