#sweater white manufacturer

[sweaterproducer]

wool sweater Producer

sweater maker https://sweaterchina.net

Email: kintsweatermaker@gmail.com

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[mallowmaenad]

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl With Eyebags whose wearing an Oversized Black Sweater: I recently remembered all of my past lives. Most of it was spent as various plant life and fungi in the same twenty foot radius in a forest by a rural interstate route until a robin ate the seed containing my soul and flew to another forest where I reincarnated as her child. I would then die a tragic death at a young age to a local fox where I'd live a long life as her kit and eventually die of old age, I then spent several generations as various plant life and fungi in that forest which was eventually destroyed by industry.

I was a tree during that time and my plant fibers were processed to manufacture paper used to make a sticker placed on an orange whose peel was placed in a compost bin, eventually leading me to the dark yet decadent life of a worm until I then eventually expired and awoke as a tomato plant in the care of a kindly older woman, it is that life whose memories I treasure the most.

She was a very skilled and warm woman, and many of my cycles afterwards were spent as my own kin in generations of tomato plants in a blink of an eye. One day she took me into her car in a pot, I remember how she spoke to me. At the time she had named me Reynolds, she had set into a trend of naming me after Hollywood actors she found attractive. It was the day before her daughter's birthday and I was to be her gift, I could not feel bittersweet about this a the time, because I was a tomato plant.

She buckled me into the back seat of a car as if I was a child of her own and drove down a rural interstate route, illuminating the black sea of the night sky with her headlights as the shadows seemed to drown out anything but us. A deer with bone wasting disease stood in the road like a grim reaper, white eyes shining as her aching foot tried to react in time on the break peddle.

The two embraced in a bloody collision, I remember the deer in its last moments weakly nibbling at her flesh as they both bled out in an agony they were ignorant to, I wilted and died in that car along with her and that deer, I do not know what the journey of my soul was like, but my next life was as a patch of semi-feral grass on the side of a similar road caught in the mouth of a possum eating a partially full discarded box of Wendy's fries who was then promptly turned into road kill, when the day was new a burly Appalachian man whose stern demeanor hid a soft heart would legally and cleanly collect the cadaver and break it down, using the remains for a meal some yuppies would find ghastly. This man was my father- or rather my father in this cycle of life.

I know in my heart of hearts that you were that old woman who nurtured me so many times as her beloved tomato plants, you had the rare privilege to live your life as an incinerator at a crematorium, but the march of technology and nut after bolt you grew broken, a death by a thousand cuts, a death by a thousand bodies. Your massive metal cadaver was melted down over time, the raw materials eventually finding itself to a factory that manufactured bullets, a life of darkness in a cardboard prison only to be shunted into a pistol's magazine... your entire existence is interesting, stretching the meaning of what it means to be eaten and to live. The meek 24 year old boy thought nobody would mourn him when he was gone, you lived as an amorphous patch of greenery ahead of his grave stone.

A curious thing would happen during a visit to this boy's grave, his childhood dog either in embarrassing coincidence or a moment of sentience began to dig at where the body was, being wrenched back as it began to desperately sink his teeth into the soil, ripping you asunder. Almost as divine penance, you lived your next life as a member of this dog's litter, you'd be named after the boy, despite being a girl. Maybe the dog was given some precognition and wanted to eat the boy and take his soul into its mouth to get her the life she always wanted. You were unfortunately born with a chronic condition that led you to a young death, the girl's mother crying just as hard after the vet put you down. You were buried lovingly in her back yard where you became a tomato plant, your same mother not being as much of a green thumb as mine but she devoured your fruits all the same, eventually giving birth to another meek boy after growing pregnant during the time when your last tomato was picked off your wilted stem. I have pursued you since that day with my whole body and spirit, one part unintentional one part in this moment of enlightenment. I love you, and I will love you for the rest of forever.

Trans girl who dropped out of high school to make Hello Kitty breakcore who has her girlfriend's dick in her mouth and is high as fuck right now: Waash dat?

Their shared girlfriend sitting across from them playing Wario Land Shake It on her modded Wii U: Was I the deer with bone wasting disease?

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl: ... Yeah...

[mayakern]

Why....why are the sweaters 3/4 sleeve??? Personally I would totally get a black sweater (or white tbh) but I can't vibe with a 3/4 sleeve (for a few reasons, mostly various sensory/attention problems) so i was wondering why that choice was made and whether there's any chance of a full length sleeve being made in addition or instead? But also I'm curious as to exactly what kind of fabric it is? Is it an anti-pill material? (Pilling is one of my fabric enemies)

so first off, this as is about the lace collar sweaters that will be hitting the store later this year. you can watch the full video here, but i’m including screenshots as well for those of y’all who don’t want to watch the video.

2nd, i get that everyone has personal preferences, but this was unnecessarily rude. you’re not going to like every decision we make, and that’s OK, but if you’re old enough to use a credit card to buy things online, you’re old enough to realize that product decisions you dislike were not made to personally gall you.

there were a few reasons we chose to do 3/4 sleeves, but the primary reason was that 3/4 sleeves work better for a variety of arm lengths. a 3/4 sleeve will look good whether someone’s arm is shorter or longer than average, whereas a full length sleeve can easily be too long or too short for the person wearing it. we also didn’t want to do short sleeves because at the time the only other shirt we had in production was the wrap top, which has short/cap sleeves.

we do have some full long sleeve shirts/sweaters in planning/in production that we have not shown off yet, but currently we do not have plans to make a long sleeve version of this particular sweater because we have no idea what sales will look like. if these sweaters sell well and there’s considerable customer demand, we’ll consider doing long sleeves. if these sweaters sell poorly they will not be returning to the store, period. we are a small business with limited funds and we cannot throw infinite money at the wall.

last, the fabric composition is 62% polyester, 33% viscose, 5% elastane. we tested a lot of fabrics for this sweater, and this was the only one that felt right. its appropriate thickness (not super thin, but not super thick, so that it can easily be layered under warmer garments or worn solo without causing you to overheat), the cute ribbing, and the texture/feeling (which don’t aggravate my textural sensitivities as an autistic person with very sensitive skin) were all just right.

we’ve also done a number of wash tests and did not encounter any issues with pilling. in general, if you take good care of our garments, that is not going to be an issue from our current manufacturer, who have demonstrated time and again that they prioritize quality labor and material that is made to last. the reason shein products fall apart isn’t because they’re made of polyester: it’s because the sewing is rushed and the fabric fibers are low quality and often have a looser knit or weave, which makes them more prone to damage/falling apart on a structural level.

as for pilling specifically, pilling is actually the fabric breaking. looser weaves/knits are more prone to breakage because they are more open and cheap fabrics are often made of looser weaves, which results in more pilling. but even a high quality material can pill under the right (or wrong) circumstances. when fiber is wet, similar to hair, it is more vulnerable to breakage, and washing machines with agitators (the big thing in the middle of some washers) are really really good at breaking your fibers, thus resulting in more pilling.

anyway tldr the sweaters shouldn’t have any pilling issues if you treat them right and full length sleeves are not likely to happen but are not totally impossible.

[2001hz]

Maison Martin Margiela fall/winter (1990-1991) first lining washed cotton and shimmering viscose punk light-blue mohair sweater (1990)

Inspired by punk’s style, the sweater had uneven sIeeves and a relaxed funnel neck. Having no sweater manufacturer on hand, Margiela's mother did the knitting. With the help of some friends, she made 40 or so pieces in three different colors- light blue, deep red, and blacklight-blue mohair sweaterz. Instead of knitting needles they used broomsticks shaved down to size by his father to ensure that the stitches would be wide and uneven. The men's removable white poplin shirtsleeves -seen in the first collection-extended out from under the sweater's sleeves.

[riddlemethisjeremy]

[Xeno entered the atmosphere of Earth, landing his space ship gently off the coast of what was once Toronto. As Xeno prepares to enter Earth's atmosphere - he doesn't require a suit, as his planet has a similar atmosphere, and it would be incredibly difficult to manufacture a space suit to entirely encompass Xeno's form comfortably and in a skintight fashion - his ship bleeps.]

LIFE FORM APPROACHING ! LIFE FORM APPROACHING ! LIFE FO RM APPROACHING ! LIFE FORM APPROACHING ! LIFE FORM APP ROACHING ! LIFE FORM APPROACHING ! LIFE FORM APPROACHI NG ! LIFE FORM APPROACHING ! LIFE FORM APPROACHING !

"What do- A sentient life form?" Xeno asked the mainframe.

YES, A SENTIENT LIFE FORM.

Xeno's many eyes blinked, dumbounded, and he frowned, scuttling over towards the computer, "I didn't think there were any of those left on this planet?" Xeno stated, trying to identify what exactly was approaching his ship, "Aren't the humans extinct?"

I'M NOT SURE; A SENTIENT LIFE FORM IS CERTAINLY APPROACHING YOUR SHIP!

"Is it a human?" Xeno's eyes widen in surprise and elated curiosity, "I'm going to talk to it."

I DO NOT ADVISE THAT COURSE OF ACTION.

Xeno clicked a couple of buttons on his computer, and the hatch to his space ship opened slowly, the hydralics hissing as air rushed in through the open air.

XENO? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I SAID NO.

He trotted down the ramp that had automatically deployed under the open door, looking around for the human he'd seen. He caught the shock of chestnut brown hair first, a much brighter shade of brown than anything else in the ghost-town that Xeno had landed in. The crumbled ruins of high rises and other buildings that Xeno had not spent enough time researching to know what they were called littered the area, all hidden under a layer of gray-white dust - all except the human who seemed surprisingly clean in its bright yellow sweater and blue denim cargo pants. The rim of its vision-enhancing-goggles were shiny, but the lenses were horribly fogged up in the brisk air. Xeno's second layer of fur was struggling to fight off the bite of the chill, so he had to wonder how the nearly hairless human could survive.

The human's eyes widened as it saw Xeno, and it stopped approaching, taking a shaky step backwards. Xeno frowned, fighting hard to remember his lessons in human language. He knew the language fairly well, having always been able to grasp at the finer points of linguistics across many of the ancient alien cultures he'd been forced to study, but he was pretty patchy with it, and wasn't entirely sure how to address the human.

"Stop, please, I mean you no harm!" Xeno called out, "I- I've got homework and you can help, please."

The human stopped, staring quietly at Xeno, "Will you take me out of here?"

"Absolutely, you can stay with me if you want I- There's room in my ship."

The human considered this for a moment, then nodded softly, "What's the assignment?"

Xeno grinned, motioning back up to his ramp, "Let me show you."

[freerangeranger]

Back into the abyss we go!

Existential Pain Worm Sweater

Hey Amy. My man. My dude. What orthoworm possessed you into buying this. I could forgive you because the phrase is funnier than sinning in church but I won't because look at it.

Lets start with the sweater. Grey - fine whatever. Easier to clean than white, not as edgy as black. I can accept it. We then come to the logo. Ignoring the... statement on the front.

ITS SEPERATED BY A ZIPPER. WHY? How was this made?? Did the manufacturers look at a perfectly good non-zipper sweater and go 'they arent smart enough to not get lost! A sweater has 4 holes after all! What if the meager little consumers suffocate D: AND ADDED A ZIPPER AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT. CAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE IT!

The lettering isnt even straight with the pocket that it is already too close to. I just noticed that.

This is the original sin.

0/10

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Lena somehow expects the shadow in her apartment less than she expects the fist that collides with her temple. Honestly, it's been a while since her last assault so really, she had it coming. But what shocks her the most when she comes to bound to one of her kitchen chairs is the face who stares back at her.

Well. Glares back at her, anyway.

Her own eyes study her from her doppelgangers position by the windows, hard and calculating. Jesus. Lena can only hope she herself doesn't go that heavy on the eyeliner.

"So you're the one."

Not-Lena's voice is low, almost gravelly. Lena recognizes it as the tone her own voice sounds when she's about to cry, but the dark eyes regarding her are dry.

"Excuse me?" Lena clips back.

"You're the one she wanted to save."

Lena doesn't need to ask to know who 'she' is. Who else on this planet has had a recent encounter with a duplicate of herself? The knowledge burns low in Lena's chest.

Supergirl. Somehow, it's always Supergirl.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," her counterpart says.

Lena doesn't deign to answer, instead posing a question of her own.

"Did Lex make you too?"

In a flash, her double's features harden to ice even as sudden rage burns in her eyes. She marches towards Lena and grips Lena's jaw tightly, hard enough to bruise. Lena fights back a whimper of pain.

After a moment, Lena is released with a small push, nearly tipping her chair backwards. With a measured step her counterpart retreats a single step, head tilting laconically to one side.

"You have Mother to thank for this." With her free hand, Lena's counterpart reaches up and pulls down the collar of her sweater-- one pilfered from Lena's own closet-- to reveal the polished surface of a kryptonite shard buried in her chest. Lena's own chest tightens at the sight. "Though Lex played his part getting me under her knife."

"Metallo," Lena breathes. Her mind races to put the pieces together. Manufacture isn't out of the question, but Lena senses there's more to it than that.

"You've encountered something like this before," her double observes.

Lena nods. "Yes-- but not me. The assassin Lex hired to kill me."

Finally, Not-Lena's features twist into a morbid smirk. "So she already did save you. Supergirl."

Lena gives a single nod. As bitter as she is that her supposedly best friend got one over on her, Lena can't deny the many times Kara has saved her.

She watches her counterpart turn away, returning to her stance in front of the windows, this time gazing out at the cityscape beyond.

"It's different," Not-Lena observes. "I hardly remember what it was like, before..."

Curiosity piques, tickling Lena's brain. "Before what?"

A sigh answers her. "The end of the world." Not-Lena turns back to face her. "I brought it back from the brink-- along with a team of carefully selected allies. But the damage was already done."

An alternate reality then, Lena surmises. If she herself was so changed by changed events, then Lena could scarcely fathom what her doppelganger's world might look like. Despite her desire to learn everything about that distant world, Lena forces herself to return to the matters at hand.

"Will you let me loose?" Lena twists her hands against the duct tape pinning her wrists to the chair she's sitting in. "Or are you planning to single white female me?"

A satisfied smirk curls her double's scarlet lips. With deliberate strides she closes the distance once more, this time to bend and reach for the tape binding Lena to the chair. Before she can rip the tape away, Not-Lena freezes, her ear cocking towards the open balcony.

"She's coming."

Shit. "Quick, let me-- hey!" Lena protests as her counterpart grabs the back of the chair and drags her effortlessly towards the nearest closet. Lena is shoved in among the coats, chair and all.

"Stay silent," her doppelganger warns. "Or you'll both die."

The door closes before Lena can issue a retort. Not that she's sure she'd have anything to say-- she wants to know how the impending confrontation is going to play out.

She hears the muffled whoosh of Kara's arrival, the thud of heavy boots on the concrete balcony. If Lena's counterpart says anything, Lena doesn't hear it. But she hears Kara loud and clear.

"I know you don't want to see me, but I have something to say."

Oh. Oh. That's not Kara-- that's Supergirl, all pompous authority and brassy command. The fact Kara doesn't even have the courage to come and speak to her as Kara Danvers makes Lena bristle with anger. It reminds her of the way Supergirl condemned her for the harun-el research, and the memory of Kara Danvers' smiling visage through all of it feels like sandpaper on an open wound.

"I made a mistake," Supergirl delivers firmly. "I was wrong to keep the truth from you. I know that. But the past is the past."

Lena scowls in the dark shadows of the closet. The past is the past. Funny how it's always the offender who says that first, rarely the victim.

"I made my choice," the hero continues. "And you're making choices of your own-- to not forgive me, to work with Lex... I'm done blaming myself for your bad decisions--"

The monologue pauses sharply. Lena waits for it to resume, as does her counterpart.

"You were saying?"

Not-Lena sounds almost exactly like Lena. So like her, in fact, that if she weren't the one in the coat closet Lena might assume the woman on the balcony were the real deal.

"Is someone here?"

"What makes you say that?"

In her mind's eye, Lena can almost see the crinkle between Kara's eyebrows.

"N-nothing. Just-- something seems... off."

"Well, if you could wrap up whatever you came here to say, I'd like to get back to my evening."

"R-right. I just--" Pieces of Kara Danvers peeks through Supergirl's facade as she stumbles to get back on track. "I came here to tell you that from now on-- you're accountable for your own actions."

Lena's stomach drops out from under her. It seems a part of her had still clung to a shred of hope that Kara would somehow know the magic words to heal them, to make everything right. Instead, Kara is washing her hands of it all-- washing her hands of Lena.

"If you continue to go down this path, if you go through with whatever you and your brother are planning-- I will do everything in my power to stop you. Just like any other villain."

Villain.

Lena can barely breathe. Her chest is tight with undefined emotion, the shadows blurring the tears in her eyes. To hear that word from Supergirl's-- no, Kara's-- lips, after everything that's happened.... Lena doesn't know whether to feel angry or heartbroken, and so she feels both together, intermingling in a twisting mess of rage and anguish.

How dare she--

"Is that all?" Lena's double drawls, a far cry calmer than Lena ever would be. If nothing else, meeting her doppelganger is worth it if only to save face when Lena herself wants to lash out at anything within reach.

"You're not Lena."

The accusation comes so sharp and so suddenly it nearly gives Lena whiplash. In the midst of eavesdropping, she'd forgotten the ruse of it all.

"Excuse me--?"

"You don't have a heartbeat." In an instant, Supergirl's voice had dropped into a threat, danger dripping from her words. "What did you do to her?"

Lena doesn't see her counterpart's reaction, but her next words are calm and slow, no longer Lena's own cadence.

"Do?" Ah. Lena hears another smirk. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

The closet door is thrown wide, and Lena blinks briefly against the light as her double easily drags the chair back into view. Lena is plopped down in front of the balcony doors and a Supergirl whose anger quickly shifts into concern.

"Lena--!"

"Stay away from me."

Supergirl halts, hands outstretched. She retracts them hesitantly. "Lena, I--"

The hero takes a conciliatory step forward.

"Take a single step past that threshold, and I won't be responsible for the consequences."

A warm hand settles gently on her shoulder. Lena doesn't have to look up to see her counterpart pull down the collar of her sweater again. She can hear the crackle of energy sparking to life in the kryptonite, feel the faint heat of it charging. She sees the way Supergirl physically recoils.

"Lena..."

Lena squares her shoulders as though she were sitting on a throne, not bound to a chair.

"As you said," she issues past the lump in her throat. "You made your choice. It's time I make some of my own."

Supergirl draws herself up, regaining her composure. She made her bed, and it seems she's willing to lie in it.

"If you choose to forgive me, I will be here for you," Supergirl delivers firmly. "But if you--"

"Yeah. Villain. I heard."

Kara at least has the decency to blush, hopefully in shame.

"Leave," Lena delivers firmly. Her jaw firms resolutely. "Don't come back."

Supergirl gives her a final long look before lifting off into the night sky. Lena waits a beat, then two, before turning her attention back to her counterpart.

"Now let me go--"

Before she knows what's happening, a hand is around her throat. It squeezes, not enough to choke, but enough to let her know it's still an option.

"What could possibly compel you to work with Lex?"

Lena swallows thickly. "He's a means to an end."

"You're a fool--"

"I've been telling myself that for months." Lena glares at her doppelganger. "I have my reasons. It doesn't mean I trust him."

Yet again, Not-Lena releases her with a small shove. This time the feet of the chair squeal sharply against the hardwood. But she does reach down and rip through the duct tape with ease, freeing Lena and allowing her to rise.

As she stands, peeling the remaining tape from her skin as she regards her double. "What are you planning to do?"

"I have no intention of staying here, if that's your concern."

It is, but Lena is careful not to let her relief show. "With more information, I can get you home."

Her double scoffs. "So can I. But first..."

"What," Lena prompts.

Her counterpart turns, revealing a dark glint in her gaze that makes Lena's blood run cold.

"First, I'm going to kill our brother."

[georgegraphys]

Brands that user georgegraphys think would fit George (as team sponsor/individual BA jobs)

1. Samsung (Technology & Electronics)

I know George used Iphones but imo, Samsung would be a good fit to sponsor the team because a) their brand image definitely fit Mercedes & George a lot (bold, broad innovations, and of course, their main colours (Black, White, Blue) fits Mercedes official colour a lot or it doesn't clash against other colours, colour synchro is important too) + their CSR aligns a lot with Mercedes' as they focus a lot on energy efficient, sustainable, and renewable products

2. Cartier (Jewelry)

It is unlikely for Cartier to be a team sponsor, so i'd like to think of George doing a campaign for their collections. Was actually thorn between BVLGARI and Cartier (but then I thought BVLGARI would fit Lewis better, giving me maximalism vibes) whereas George imo, will look better with the simplicity that Cartier jewelry offers (i could honestly imagine Carmen & George doing this join Cartier campaign)

3. Brunello Cucinelli (Fashion)

This is highly unlikely as Mercedes and George are tied with Tommy Hilfiger (even if it happens, it would be an individual collab w/ George) but a collaboration with Brunello Cucinelli would blow people's minds. George actually wore plenty of Brunello Cucinelli clothes (one of them being the sweater he wore in Austria this year). Brunello Cucinelli emits the old money modest elegance, minimalism, and classic that would fit George a lot (as it seems like his fashion style is the opposite of Lewis' maximalism and stand out-ish)

plus, George is friends with THE Brunello Cucinelli's daughter alr on instagram 😜

4. L'Oreal (Cosmetics & Personal Care)

I might sound like i'm drunk but HAVE YOU SEEN GEORGE'S HAIR?! L'Oreal can easily make him their model if they become a team sponsor or collaborate with him on a personal campaign. It's a perfect objective for L'Oreal. That's if we're talking about the haircare part, but the skincare? George could too. His skin is *chef's kiss* perfect for a L'Oreal CF shoot on a beach

5. Hennessy (Alcoholic Beverages)

Haven't looked up the F1 policy on this since they seem to be sponsored by Heineken and idk if another alcoholic beverages brand is allowed to sponsor a team. But hey... FUCK THE ENERGY DRINKS WE ROLL WITH THE ALCOHOLS. George's fancy commercial with Hennessy, while drinking a cognac? I'll take it. Plus points for Hennessy is that sophisticated beautiful product design they had (the bottle designs) and the logo 🥹🥹 (i'm a sucker for logos okay)

Other optional replacements:

Ritz Carlton/Marriott Bonvoy > Intercontinental Hotel Group

It's British and had the same vibes and elegance of an expensive hotel just like Marriott Group & Ritz Carlton (I prefer Ritz Carlton over all) but yeah could be switchable. We can still see George doing silly Marriot Bonvoy-like CF

IWC Schaffhausen > Tissot Watches

There won't be a really huge change between Schaffhausen to Tissot as both of them are similarly classic Mercedes vibes.

Police Eyewear > Michael Kors

I just prefer MK's design over Police even though Police ones that George wears are good. Plus point for MK is that they're more well known (opinionated statement)

Monster Energy > None (?)

I don't think an energy drink company sponsor is really needed in George's Mercedes.

Possibly other brand types that i'm interested in for Mercedes to partner with : Airlines (Lufthansa/Etihad Airways) or Luxury Goods manufacturer (Montblanc/Fortnum & Masons/Harrods)

Other than these brands : i personally think Van Cleef & Arpels, Guiness, Bottega Venetta, L'Occitane, and Salvatore Ferragamo to be a great contender in being a good brand for George. But if we're talking about British stereotypes, Lipton should sponsor him LMFAOOO

Conclusion is George doesn't lack brands that fits his image branding and personality. Haters should not worry about who'll sponsor Mercedes/George. There are lots of brands that fit George's Mercedes and George Russell himself, maybe you should broaden your brand knowledge 🤭😝☺️

[trouticecream]

A few days had passed since his initial excursion to the now-defunct Stonehenge base.  A seemingly short stretch of time, but one which he had utilized quite efficiently to make good progress on dismantling it.  All that is left to do now is to get rid of some last few embedded structures and fill up the twisting, bending, and turning cavernous hole made beneath the grounds of Stonehenge, before then eliminating the entrance point entirely.  To that end, he has a few machines up to the task and ready to perform the last few steps needed and altogether, along the Psion himself, it should take very little time to finish up the work.  Time is of the essence in this particular quest; after all, the less time the scraps and landmarks of his invasions stay, the less opportunities there will be for other life-forms to potentially get hurt by things that really shouldn’t otherwise be on Earth at this point in time.  And better yet, the odd sensation he had experienced during his original trip–the very one which had sparked thoughts over the likes of Ancient Ones and stories about them–had quickly subsided after about the third trip or so.  At this juncture, it was more akin to a distant memory; far from the forefront of his mind, but certainly not forgotten.

At this moment however, Gregory is not focusing on continuing his efforts with Stonehenge exactly, but with what he had retrieved from it over the course of several days.  Within the rocky and cavernous formations of Mt. Itoi, the small alien sat at a cube-like table–smooth, pale grey, and shaped exactly like an enormous cube; an apparent slab of refined rock embedded in similarly-designed floors–atop a similar cube-like ‘chair’, with various metallic bits and pieces strewn out before him in an ordered, labeled, and neatly organized configuration.  Truth be told, the primary reason why they were all out as opposed to a particular subset, is because he had gotten a bit too… – ‘enthusiastic’ about the prospect of putting them to use and just inventing!  But, as it stands now, they were not his main project as could be discerned from the way they were shuffled off to the edges of the table.  Rather, the very thing that took priority at this moment and held the highest level of intrigue for the Psion would be that of a broken-down Starman Super, planted firmly in the very centre of the table and right in the crosshairs of his exceedingly concentrated and unblinking gaze.

While this model of Starman could hardly be regarded as the ‘best’ or most ‘powerful’, they generally had a more reliable and lengthier record of consistent performances as opposed to the newer models that ended up being produced later on.  That is precisely why the fact that he had to recover one at all is of special interest.  Due to built-in security functions, it is quite rare for Starmen to remain after becoming damaged enough that they can no longer fight or otherwise perform assigned duties.  Typically, the Starman will either teleport away on its own or be recalled by an automatic teleportation process directly back to the Psion-controlled manufacturing planet, on which they are produced.  An eventuality that failed to elapse here.  He pulls up the yellow sleeve of his sweater on his right hand, diamond insignia seemingly embedded in his wrist facing down and hovered over the precise centre of the Starman Super’s chest, where it immediately emits a pale blue beam that juts out to outline the entire body.  The blue hued luminescence overlaps with the golden armored coating of the Starman Super for a split second, flashing a total of three times, before vanishing to be replaced by a medium-sized white-blue holographic screen that pops up just above the top of his wrist.  A screen, which on closer examination, is now packed with a series of blue star-like shapes connected by lines in some places like perceived constellations.

Psion script.  An especially thorough and detailed diagnostics report.  Utilizing a small finger, he slowly scrolls through the reported data, glancing over at the Starman Super for a more visual reference as he does so.  Some of the data is quite obvious from a rudimentary visual assessment:  cracked visor, missing arm, and a gaping hole in the chest just off to the right surrounded by a myriad of cracks which stop at the shoulder of the missing arm in question.  Dark blue voids narrow just a bit with a pensive swipe of his tail off to the side, small fingers momentarily tapping his chin in kind.  While Starmen were not made to be invincible… even at the highest ranking… it was quite telling of just how strong and determined humans can be to have damaged even a Super this much in battle.  But, then they were heroes were they not?  Even if it takes everything they have at that moment… a true hero would not give up just like that, especially when there were several human lives at stake here in that particular facility.  Strong or not, they had to somehow overcome the enemies in their way, to save the people captured and continue on to stop the invasion overall.

In the end, humans are neither as fragile and weak as one might think nor as ‘inherently’ dangerous as the Psions had determined.  He pauses his scrolling, having reached the abrupt end of the diagnostics report, before having it vanish with a succinct snap of his fingers.  The exact nature of the point of error is a little tricky to determine, but it seems to have quite a bit to do with a complicated manufacturing defect.  One that was exaggerated by the damages sustained from the Chosen Ones’ collective attack in battle.  An easy fix… by removing the infrastructure for that automatic recall function entirely.  He has no intentions of ever drawing further attention to the Earth or himself like that… though if he hopes to even be ‘good’ at all one day, then perhaps that eventuality will manifest in some way anyways. 

But, not like this.

Not in a way that would send a definitive ‘failure’ back to his species of origin.  Perhaps an odd choice to make for an entity that has been a machine–no better than a far simpler tool–from the very beginning, but it is his choice to make.  He does not need to follow the path of other Psions and similarly, perhaps with some work, this ‘failure’ need not follow the path of other Starmen.  After all, most ‘failures’ are not as absolute as is often the default arbitrary assumption.  An enthusiastic swish of his rat-like tail, ears perking up more attentively than before.  Rather they are more akin to opportunities for increased growth and strength; a critical part of any scientific endeavor!  He pulls himself to a stand atop the chair before promptly hopping onto the table with a definitive spring to the motion.  And in any case, he cannot deny that he is just a bit curious, all too enthused by the action of tinkering around with a broken model.  What will happen if he not only repairs the Super, but alters the very programming which shuttles its more complex thought processes into the single-minded slot of following given objectives?  Can it exist like any other life-form when all it has ever known, from the very moment it was first powered on, was set by orders?

Several tools of assorted sizes and shapes materialize in the air at the Psion’s sides, outlined in the pale blue of his telekinetic abilities, as he closes in on the defunct Starman and a flurry of ideas begin to knock around in his mind on how to approach this particular endeavor.  His typically blank demeanor gains a kind of determined edge to it; a glint in otherwise dull pupils.  Time to find out and in the process of doing so, also (hopefully) provide this so-called ‘failure’ with the opportunity to be more… and do more… than what its original design had dictated.  Much like Gregory himself.

…………………………….

It takes a little time–albeit not much with the tools and expertise at Gregory’s disposal–but soon enough, he finishes his work and moves to boot the Starman Super back up.  On the outside, it looks almost identical albeit with repairs that are quite evident (read:  not appearing as though it had never been damaged in the first place) barring that of the visor; the cracks, hole, and missing arm filled in or otherwise replaced by a light iridescent fluid-like substance that glitters strangely when lighting hits it just the right way.  Something he had likely obtained far beyond the Earth and integrated his own way while repairing the Starman afterwards.  Gregory pulls out the holographic screen of the computer attached to his wrist and taps in a few sequences before dismissing the screen altogether and simply observing the Starman Super with bated anticipation, small hands tensely grasping each other.  For a moment or two, nothing happens, but soon enough it boots back up with an abrupt jerk in motion.  An oddly powerful motion–beyond what is generally expected–unbefitting of a Starman Super, but perhaps expected given the Psion’s own expertise around technology like this; more than likely, he had done more than merely repair.

Sitting up on the table, a rigid and stiff motion like a puppet pulled by strings, the Starman Super merely turns its head from side to side–clearly malleable and almost fluid in motion due to its innate composition–analyzing… assessing… before settling on the one that had repaired it, still atop the table himself and peering down unblinkingly.  It clearly could not gather its bearings enough to discern what had happened exactly, a peculiar sort of lightness and boundlessness permeating its operating systems like nothing that had ever been experienced before, but supposed that it wouldn’t matter because a Psion was here.  Focus.  A Psion would know what the situation is exactly, irrespective of how unconventional wearing any apparel at all is in the species.  It further focuses on the Psion in question, determining that a rudimentary scan for identity would be fitting here.  And not just any Psion, but the very one it was made for in the first place.  Maybe.  The signature given off is odd–almost unreadable and distorted, like something that against cosmic laws, shouldn’t even exist in the first place–but somehow, it can make out enough legible bits to discern his identity, likely due to the upgrades received.

“Master Giegue.”

A single mechanical utterance, curiously absent of any of the whirrrs or clicks that typically adorn the speech of Starman robots, before the Psion himself could even say anything.  The repaired Starman glances down, as if noting the table and surrounding mechanical bits for the very first time, recorded memories of what had happened before syncing back up as it does so.  The situation immediately clears, alertness breaking through the momentary disorientation, and with it, an inquiry tinged with something difficult to parse, comes through with a sting.  Something it had never experienced before, but seemed all too ‘natural’ to experience now in light of its evident failure to stop the Chosen Ones and worse yet, require direct retrieval by a Psion.  And even worse than that? energy expended by its commander himself when he had far more important things to concern himself with;  it was only a lower rank after all.  A mere Super that could easily be replaced in less time than it takes to snap one’s fingers.

“Why did you retrieve me yourself?”

A halting sensation.  Did it really speak without determining if the Psion himself wanted to address it with more pressing matters, dictated by his own priorities?  With a Psion?  Its dark visor almost scrunches up in almost affronted befuddlement.  It had never done this before.  Where had such audacity come from?  Is it possible that perhaps Master Giegue had made a mistake during repairs?  The Starman Super taps its repaired arm overtop the table, as if testing it out to assure effectiveness, before mentally retracting that question.  Of course not.  Master Giegue was very competent and though his form had changed significantly… it is certain that this would not have changed.  Not that he seems to have given any indication at all that he’s heard such thoughts.  Rather the Psion continued to stare unblinkingly, a gaze so unnaturally sharp that the weak of heart would certainly feel as though they were being examined to an uncomfortable degree, with a blank expression on his face before eventually speaking.

“You need not refer to me as such anymore.”

He floats back, so as to give the Starman Super some space, and perches himself back on the chair he had previously been utilizing, stubby arms neatly crossing behind his back in a rather militant position; authoritative as always, even in such a small form.  Then a small pause, a small deliberation over how much to explain, before deigning to just let the robot guide the conversation.  This way he will be able to collect better observations and thus, study it better now that it has free will.

“I am Gregory.

The invasion of Earth has concluded.  There will be no further maneuvers enacted against the life-forms of Earth.  And so, I have elected to remove all foreign structures and materials from this planet.

You are among that which I have retrieved thus far.”

A blunt response, but it would expect no less from him.  If anything, the only aspect of impact to the given data would be just how much everything had changed.  A significant enough gap between its last conscious moments, before being shut down by the coordinated assault of the Chosen Ones, and now that it inspires the expression of experiencing ‘whiplash’ from it all.  One moment, the Starman Super was part of a unified effort to terminate humanity once and for all and the next, the war had long since concluded a few months prior (according to data retrieved on when it was last active) and the objective had changed accordingly.  Ordinarily, a trivial adjustment.  Simply recalibrate databanks to what is now and continue on seamlessly without sparing another thought on the matter.  Just follow the Psion in-charge, but something else grips an otherwise previously unruffled and almost tunnel-vision-like focus.  A peculiar impulse that had never existed before.  An expansion on the halting sensation.  An involuntary push back against the familiarity of their… its mechanical awakening by whatever it is that exists beyond the rigid barriers which defined its mind before.  A subtle sense that could only increase more and more over time at an exponential rate since being reactivated.  It is as though, it had been bound by something–but never realized it for being bound from the very start had been all it had ever known–before and now that there were no safe rails to keep it from falling, it had tipped over and fallen into the nebulous abyss of unknowns before; chaotic and disorganized data.

It doesn’t know what to think about all this.  The sense to really question what Mas–... Gregory is doing or any other details that might better assist in bridging the gap simply isn’t there.  Even with that (maybe erroneous) boundlessness, it cannot quite detract entirely from what comes the most naturally to it; mechanical acceptance without delving any deeper on the subject matter and ultimately under the assumption, that if any further data were critical he would have said something.  The only twinge of anything else, the very deviation which it had been silently documenting thus far, that comes through is the very point of confusion (among other things) which had guided its original question.

“But, I am only a Starman Super. And I failed my objective.

I could not stop the group referred to as the ‘Chosen Ones’.”

Another bout of that halting sensation.  No calculations had guided this.  Rather it had been that limitless nebulous substance filling its body; a process so thorough that it ‘felt’ as though it manages to squeeze itself in-between the very lines of code that comprised its very being.  An anomalous move.  Yet one that it is becoming increasingly certain, against all confusion, shock, and doubt, that it might repeat if given the chance.  A heaviness had blossomed through its metallic body and in some odd way, the only ‘calculated’ solution was to address the Psion, even if a little out-of-order to prioritize such a thing over awaiting new orders.

As for Gregory himself, he says nothing at first.  He barely even gives any indication that he had heard the Starman Super’s words; rather he remains as still as a statue but nonetheless focused.  Perhaps a touch more focused than before, dark blue voids narrowing a bit in concentration, as he tries to pick his words carefully.  His work had produced results–as expected–but he had not considered the more ‘emotional’ aspect of it in full.  He uncrosses his arms, off the more militant posture and into something alert, but a touch more comparatively relaxed.  Or rather, that he would have to exercise any kind of skill–limited as he is–in that particular category.  Small fingers begin to tap against one another with a distinct uneasiness.  In the end, although this particular Starman was still early in its experience of having free will and the ability to develop as a sapient entity, he supposes that the best approach would be to… ‘speak from the heart’ as humans would put it.  To appear not as an authoritative figure in full, but as someone that… ‘understands’.

It is the… ‘good’ thing to do after all, is it not?

“That does not matter.

I could not stop the Chosen Ones either, even at the height of my power.

So… do not… do not… Um.”

An abrupt pause after stumbling a few times in a way that even his relatively neutral tone could not conceal.  He needs a moment to regather his courage and utilize it to push through, even if it might not necessarily mean much to a being that until recently was little more than a machine.

“Do not ‘take it’ so hard.

They were simply too strong to stop.

My orders were unreasonable from the very beginning.”

The gold-hued robot itself straightens up from its previously stagnancy, the focus of its dark visor shifting back more directly to the Psion himself, more alert and intent on better understanding him this time around.  The verbal stumble was unusual–almost unprecedented for a Psion– as was the overall shift in demeanor, but then he clearly wasn’t just any Psion.  For someone that had elected to pursue objectives, other than what was dictated to him by his own superiors, no other outcome would be expected.  Either way, it was difficult to parse out anything beyond the impersonal facts, but it nonetheless does assuage, even if only a tiny amount, some of that heaviness felt.  Whatever did not get lifted and pulled away… it continues to push the robot forward with increasingly bold resolve, in the hopes of better understanding at the very least.  A slightly befuddled mental pause.  Understanding…?  Yes.  Understanding.  It has already veered into this direction.  It might as well see this matter through.

“Then… why?

The scope of your new objective does not necessitate conducting repairs.  You only need to collect foreign materials and discard or repurpose them.

A non-violent endeavor and thus, of little need for the services of a Starman much less a broken one.  An endeavor that is not even sanctioned by the Psion superiors which govern the home-planet.

Endeavors which, by definition, thus cannot have purpose and meaning.”

An unanticipated extrapolation from its initial intentions, but perhaps inevitable due to its currently unusual state of being.  It had been set to accept things as is without questioning one of a decidedly higher level of importance than the robot itself, but this unusual awakening has made it increasingly bolder and more… ‘free-thinking’? the more that time elapses.  This situation is actually quite unusual itself.  Even though the Psion himself behaves in a largely similar manner to others, there are just as many–perhaps even more–ways in which he doesn’t.  Only now, reinforced and pushed through by an unprecedented drop in the authoritativeness of his demeanor, does it properly hit the Starman Super.

What kind of Psion stops doing their predetermined purpose?  How does anyone really derive meaning and purpose without it being given to them by Psions?  Why would anyone want to when it is simpler to just follow their assigned path and do what they were created for in the first place?

Things like this make him very un-Psion-like.  A deviation from how he had been during the invasions of Earth.  Or had he been like this, secretly, from the very start?

“How do you exist without purpose and meaning?"

The pale alien himself simply stares without a blink, observing as closely as ever with trademark stoicism, and listens with a kind of critical glint to his eyes.  He had been closely observing, collecting the subsequent data from his observations, and filing it away for later analysis from the very beginning.  This is, after all, just as much what he thinks is ‘good’ to do as an action born of scientific curiosity.  And yet, as time elapses more and more, as the Starman continues to shift more and more from its default robotic settings due to his own implemented alterations during repairs, he finds that curiosity being overtaken by an entirely different feeling altogether.  Something which peaks and bursts when the robot moves onto the topic of Psions, predetermined roles, and deriving meaning from them.  Not anger or defensiveness.  Hardly.  This had been his choice from the very beginning, but something equally passionate in measure.  The very thing which had kept him centered and motivated enough to even get to this point, absolved of false ‘duties’ to the Psions and their social constructions and free to live at all, flares up and burns away ironclad stoicism and rationality:  determination.  The very determination which drove him to continue advancing forward, even everything seemed lost and all hope was gone.  He had fought quite a bit to have his own life.  His own independence.  His own freedom.

A very notion that he feels compelled to convey to the other, in part because of how important it actually is and in part, because of how much this sort of robotic thought process reminds Gregory of how he used to be before coming to his senses.  He does not expect for anything to change drastically, but this… ‘feels’ like something he should say anyways.  It could be useful later on in the future.  He floats up a little, posture tensed a little with alertness, so that he can better return the Starman Super’s gaze before responding, a bit of authoritativeness entering his otherwise blankly neutral tone.

“Because I wanted to.  I do not need any other reason to do anything.

I exist the way that I do because I want to.

I have elected to pursue a particular set of objectives because I want to.

Meaning and purpose is not something that you obtain from others.  But, rather something that you give yourself.”

A pause and he floats back down to his chair, tone dropping back down to perfect neutrality.  A pause that is promptly extended by a moment or two as a twinge of discomfort strikes him at how to neatly end off the answer.  It is not enough to simply state his viewpoint.  And it is not his intention to influence the path chosen by the robot necessarily… it is more ‘correct’ to stick a more open-ended addendum to it, just in case.

“Do you understand?”

At the inquiry, as blunt as it is simple, the Starman Super itself remains silent for a few seconds before shifting its head back and forth in a kind of makeshift nod.  It does not understand entirely, but evidently his perspective is quite strong.  One that could only have been accumulated by various experiences.  Maybe if it set out to accumulate various experiences, it might understand too.  Gregory is a Psion after all.  No matter how strange, if he came to such a conclusion after all this time, there might be some merit to it.  But, only time would tell.  As it stands now, the gold-hued robot is uncertain as to what its next moves should be exactly.  Altered or not, guidance and structure is needed, and so with steeled focus it issues a new inquiry.

“Understood.  What should my new purpose be?”

A question that goes against the philosophy uttered by the Psion, but one that the robot itself cannot help.  A step back from the elevated autonomy shown and into the comforting familiarity of all it has ever known.  It simply lacks the ability to think about how to structure its around anything other than answering to a Psion and even less ability to convey this in a way other than bluntly straightforward.  Nonetheless, a moment later, it decides to rectify the question.  A hasty–despite the flatness of its mechanical voice–correction.

“Or more so.  How do you determine purpose?”

An odd concept for the robot itself.  Robots of its class weren’t built to determine their own purposes like that.  Not even Psions do that.  They have more autonomy, but no one just chooses their own path like that.  All the same, it has to know and so, it patiently waits out the pause that the Psion himself takes to mull over the inquiry.  He rubs a hand under his chin, calculating the best way to answer, before just doing so.  There was little to lose by just being honest.  He had already done so in a way unbefitting of the usual demeanor that he presents.

“I… am insufficiently equipped to answer your inquiry in full.

I suppose that while I may hold a particular philosophy, I have not yet fully developed my own purpose.  It is something that I am currently attempting to discern over time.  

Until then, I suppose that it is enough to dedicate services towards helping others and supporting the natural growth of the universe at large.”

A pensive swish of his tail.

“Nonetheless.  I believe that ‘purpose’ has quite a bit to do with the accumulation of experiences and the guiding principles that one develops from them as a result.

As such, the only way to determine ‘purpose’ on one’s own, is to simply conduct various activities.  Accumulate a variety of differing experiences to then further analyze.”

The Starman Super enacts a motion unusual to its robotic categorization; a tilt of the head, as if genuinely attempting to algorithmically process the unconventional viewpoint before ultimately defaulting back to, once again, mechanical familiarity.

“Current experiences dictate continuing to follow orders from a Psion. My Psion.  You.”

It pauses to raise a tentacle-like arm, its repaired one, to point at Gregory so as to further reinforce its point, before dropping it and continuing on.

“I am not capable of discerning any other purpose or determining what kinds of experiences to assemble to formulate a different ‘purpose’. Even if your objectives are your own... as the Psion for which I was created… I will remain by your side and fulfill orders related to your new objectives.”

An anticipated result.  Growth and development… freedom… takes time to truly acquire, even when unbound from the figurative shackles which had previously held a given life-form.  The Psion himself, though it is difficult to admit even to just himself, certainly has experience with that.  After all, even though his motivations had been quite a bit personal with regards to the second invasion of Earth, deep-down he had been hoping to regain his good standing with the Psion species.  Or rather, the good standing he thought he had.  To be ‘normal’... when they never really let him.  He almost frowns at that.  The Psion knows better now.  Those things are no longer important.  All that matters now is how he can best reorient himself with the values that Maria once held;  perhaps not his own original values, but ones that Gregory, on his own, determined were worth following.  Values which he would continue following, even if it were to leave him isolated and alone forever.  Even if it were to turn the whole universe against him.

True heroes never give up trying to do what is ‘good’.  And above all else, they help others, even if it inconveniences them.  The situation with the Starman Super might be an inconvenience–namely in the sense that it defeats the purpose a little to have this one under his command when his intent had been to give it the opportunity for more–but, it is once that he will have to accept.  If not for the fact that his partially curiosity-driven meddling makes it his responsibility anyways, then certainly because it is the ‘good’ thing to do.  Because it is what a hero would do.  He floats back and off the chair to give the Starman Super some space if it were to want to move itself from the table.  Small clawed digits begin to tap anew, tail swishing behind him in an uneasy manner, before he forces himself to just get on with it already.

“In that case.  Perhaps.  W… –we can.  Um.”

Another stumble and pause; a momentary break to his authoritarian tone.  Things like this really aren’t his ‘strong suit’.  There’s something decidedly difficult about talking like this; no better than trying to move through an especially thick and viscous substance.  He takes a moment to, once again, regather his courage before pressing on.  He might not like it, but he supposes that if he is to eventually achieve his overarching goal, he needs to get used to it.  Such a thing can only be achieved by continued exposure.

“... –figure out our respective ‘purposes’.  Together.”

The golden-hued robot in question jumps off the table, testing its limbs, before addressing the Psion’s proposal.  It doesn’t need to mull over this much.  Its mind had already been made up.  No matter what the Psion does, it will continue to support him and this time around, succeed as opposed to fail like before.  It might only be a Super, but for what Gregory wants to achieve, that is more than sufficient.

“What are your preliminary orders?”

[revcleo]

on washing clothes from Mend! A refashioning manual and manifesto by Kate Sekules

(please buy the book, or rent it from a library, or order it through a library to rent from them, or rent it through a library ebook collection etc. etc.)

Wash Less

Washing is killing your clothes. Every laundering shortens a garment’s life by, oh, a month (see endnote 8*). I bet the source of the one-wear wash idea was Procter & Gamble’s Mad Men–era marketing team: overwashing sells more Tide (it can also redeposit soil on clothes and set stains permanently). Not washing is getting awfully trendy now, for green reasons, but the main mend-related reasons are that less washing—and definitely less tumble drying—paradoxically saves your favorite clothes, and probably time, too.

There are three reasons to wash a clothe: removal of stain, or of germ, or of smell. I daresay smell (or fear of) is what propels us fastest to the washing machine. But listen up.

Less Laundering ≠ More Stinking To overgeneralize, but not really, because athleisure, clothes get stinky when they’re made of synthetic fiber. Ridiculously, the clothes manufactured expressly for sweating into are the most petrochemical of the lot.

Yes your performance fiber top wicks your sweat, but then it hugs it to its bosom, maybe refusing to let it go, ever, in a phenomenon scientifically named perma-stink. Synthetics are hydrophobic but oleophilic—they hate water, but love oil—so they cling jealously to body odor compounds, but refuse the advances of your washing machine.

The more you fight your running tights, the more they resist—dryer sheets and extra detergent and heat drive the smell-causing bacteria deeper into the fibers, where they take up residence. Antimicrobial finishes such as silver chloride don’t deter them at all. It is gross.

I’m not here to lecture on eco-water-saving detergent-minimizing, though this is a happy side effect of many old-new methods. I’m here to keep good clothes alive and mendable. I confess I’m a bit conflicted about stains. Set-in stains invite mending, and mends invite conversation, and then you can tell everyone about the bacteria partying in their pants.

So I’ll ignore stains, aside from the kind that attack and degrade fabric or can’t be mended or spoil the overall beauty of a thing.

Speaking of ignoring, follow only the bits that sound appealing: the last thing we want is the return of washday labor and guilt. I’ve been around the laundry block—never owned a washer-dryer till I was a mom; been a student, a traveler, dirt poor, addicted to wash-dry-fold service—and after all this, I’ve discovered that tending clothes is actually fun.

Anyway, decide for yourself. Here are assorted old-school and costume specialist hacks to mend your cleaning routine and keep your favorite garments alive:

Gym stink. Sweat is odorless. The smell is bacteria breaking down proteins into acids. Left in a swampy pile, these reproduce like a horror film. Arrest the breeding! Rinse gym things out in plain water and hang to dry right after committing the sweat.

Or switch to all-cotton workout wear. It’s hydrophilic and oleophobic, the opposite of synthetics, so absorbs and holds or wicks sweat, but resists oils and smells.

Aromatic pits and the crotchal region. Sorry to be graphic, but you know what I’m talking about. Try these professional theater costume department and vintage dealer nowash fixes:

Give it a drink. Spritz generously with pure (cheap) vodka; let dry. No alcohol smell!

Connect to earth. Sprinkle fuller’s earth on the bits overnight. Vacuum up, with stink.

Acidulate. For allover smell, steam garment over a hot bath of white vinegar solution.

A paste of baking soda and water is much cheaper than Febreze and often works better.

SOS: Save Our Sweaters. Handwashing in cool water is the only way. You don’t need to do it often. Invest in perfume-priced cleansers or use baby shampoo. Rinse thoroughly, squeeze gently, then . . .

Reshape (it’s called blocking) the wet sweater on a fluffy towel, Swiss roll it, and kneel on the roll to squish out water. Never wring knitwear. Dry on a fresh towel, turning it periodically.

Air dry whatever you can, especially vintage, most of which should never go in the dryer. Your hand mends last longer when air dried, too. Use ordinary hangers if you lack line or frame.

Add a few drops of lavender essential oil to water in a spray bottle to spritz on while ironing.

Yellowed cotton might have gotten that way from dry-cleaning. Add borax to the wash. And hang out in the sun—which is mostly terrible and verboten for fabrics, because of this bleaching effect.

Care labels are often as generic as the website cookie disclaimer that you never read and fulfill a similar legal function. Nearly everything can be gently handwashed.

Exceptions are: velvet, satin, taffeta, brocade, some silks, anything tailored or structured, and everything under Special Concerns in the chart on pages 144–45 (Historic fabrics, weighted silk, embellished fabrics, real lace, metallics, 3d effect fabrics, fur real/fake, net/mesh, hand painted, leather, suede*). Beware rayon: very tricky and variable.

Spot clean and steam fancy clothes—or, in fact, most clothes. Vintage dealers do.

For embellished items, borrow the museum conservator method: vacuum on low with open vent and flat nozzle through a gauze screen edged with tape.

Forget wasteful sticky-sausage lint cleaners. Use an old-school clothes brush or the kind that picks up lint one direction and deposits it on the reverse journey.

Mildew. Omnipresent fungal spores that feast on your damp natural fibers. It’s serious and contagious. Dry, vacuum, dry-clean, revacuum. It may be too late for this poor garment.

A final little trick. Scribble all over metal zippers with graphite pencil: nonstick magic. endnote 8*

Unreliable statistic that I made up. This is an experiment in misinformation. Because nobody’s done this math, I wonder if the figure I just invented will get quoted and thereby eventually become true? Other notes:

No, really, perma-stink was coined by human ecology professor Rachel McQueen et al., “Odor Intensity in Apparel Fabrics and the Link with Bacterial Populations,” Textile Research Journal 77, no. 7 (2007): 449–56.

The no wash and the dry (or raw) denim movements are ecologically motivated but are also having the effect of bringing more natural fibers and finishes to market. They sell at a high price point for the most part, but this is beginning to trickle down—though such clothes can’t and shouldn’t be sold too cheap; they’re investments. Also, PS, infusing with peppermint oil or whatever does nothing long term to decrease the need for washing: all natural, untreated fibers are resistant to microbes.

Ulterior motive: as a lifelong devotee of pure cotton sweats, I prefer its wicking, slightly baggy, nonstinking qualities, and wish it would catch on.

I could go on and on about detergents, which are often foul in so many ways. For an up-todate and reliable breakdown of their relative merits, see the rated reviews by the 501(c)(3) nonprofit Environmental Working Group, https://www.ewg.org/guides/categories/9-Laundry/. You may find your go-to wash solution has earned a solid “F” grade.

Extra credit: invest in a horizontal drying rack or make one out of window screen gauze.

A steamer is a wise investment—they’re effective, gentle, and far more fun than ironing.

[not-really-a-writer]

Just Another Day

Summary: Each year, Love Day is just another day for you... that is, until a sweet clone trooper comes into your life.❤️❤️

Clone trooper Kix x reader

Warnings: NON CANON HOLIDAY "LOVE❤️ DAY" stuff and concepts (It's basically Valentines' Day y'all) fluff, dating/new relationship dynamics. Kix is a sweeeeeetheart and that's my hc till i die!

If you had remembered what day it was today, then you certainly wouldn't have worn your red sweater. You would have worn anything else. Literally anything else but that.

But it was too late to go back home and change. You brace yourself as you enter your office tower in the city. While on the transit train, you couldn't help but be bombarded by ads and displays along the way - Constant reminders of the special day it was today. A day that you had forgotten.

It wasn't hard to remember. The corporations made sure of that. Rather, it was easy for you to forget because the day bore no special significance to you.

Love Day was a day meant to celebrate romantic love on your planet. It wasn't meant only for couples, who proudly wore red to signify their taken status - singles got in on it too, as the day was also a fun day for those who were 'ready to mingle' to advertise openly without shame by donning green clothing. Those in more complicated relationship statuses wore yellow to signify 'proceed with caution'...and those who were less inclined to advertise their relationship status always wore neutral colors on Love Day.

So ironically, you trudge into your office, red sweater announcing to the world: Stop! I'm taken. But you weren't.

There was someone. But you weren't together, exactly.

----

Months ago, the 501st made stop on your planet. Their blue and white armor wasn't a completely unusual sight. There were always clone battalions coming and going from the city during the war. Your planet's close proximity to Coruscant and its manufacturing and ship repair facilities made it a popular stop for Republic forces rotating to and from the battlefront.

So on one particular day during your lunch break, you noticed one of them in your office tower’s ground floor cafe with you. Sitting to observe, you saw him for the first time - the man you eventually learned was named Kix.

It took some time sitting there, quietly watching him, but you did gain enough courage to talk to him. He was taking an unusually long time going through the caf garnishes at the cafe. Perhaps he was unfamiliar with the syrups and creamers available for self-service and needed some help. You can't imagine that the Republic provided anything but the basic dirty-water tasting caf available for the clones. You wanted to show him how good it could be.

"So uh.... do you need some help?" you asked shyly, giving him your friendliest smile. Kix turned to you with his mouth full of something to say, but he just smiled instead. A quiet "Maybe" escaped his lips, the warm cafe lights reflected in the darkness of his bourbon-hued eyes.

"That one's rather plain," you had said, motioning toward the syrup bottle next to his hand.

"Really? It looks good though," he replied, turning back to you with that dazzling smile.

This earned a small laugh from you. "Well, you can't go just by looks. You gotta taste it first," you had said, reaching for a stir stick. Gently taking the bottle from his hand, you squeezed out a few drops onto the stick. You balance the thick syrup on the flat part of the stick and bring it up to his lips.

Maintaining his smirk, Kix took the stick into his mouth, tasting the syrup that you called 'rather plain.'

"It's good!"

"You don't think it's kind of plain?"

"Hmmm.. wait till you try this one!"

... and so went your afternoon. Chatting away and learning things about each other.

And one afternoon turned into two. And then three. And five. And then it became a regular thing where you would see each other whenever he was on your planet. And then you talked while he was away.

But you never agreed on anything official. You knew you had feelings for him. But did he have feelings for you? You weren't sure.

----

"Ohh, someone's got a boyfriend?" You hear one of your coworkers tease. Oh the joys of working being slightly older than your coworkers. They always seem immature.

"Yeah. I forgot what day it was," you toss over your shoulder. A phrase you had prepared on the tip of your tongue the moment you realized you had made a mistake in your wardrobe choice today.

You make your way to your desk, and your cubicle mate, Korr, turns when they notice you. Closer to them than you were with your other coworkers, they lean over to you before speaking. "So, are you and that guy... official now?" they ask. "Oh... no..," you mutter. "We're not like that. We haven't had that talk yet," you admit.

You had never had a real boyfriend before. And you weren't sure how things transitioned from dating into a real relationship. So this was all uncharted territory for you. And it made you uneasy. So you never brought it up with Kix no matter how much you wanted to. And you had wanted to since you knew Love Day was coming up. If you had someone this year, it would be the first time that happened in your life. It would have been perfect timing since Kix was on your planet just the week prior.

The work day goes on, and you continue to be assaulted by prying questions from your coworkers. "Doing anything special tonight with your boyfriend?" and "Awww, did he do anything sweet for you today?" and "What do you have planned for this evening?" All questions you had no answers to since you didn't actually have someone special. Today was just another day, you thought. You and Korr work in silence together. They knew you well enough to respect your privacy.

The long morning dragged until early afternoon when you finally take a break for lunch to the cafe on the ground floor of your tower - the place where you had met Kix. Upon returning from lunch you notice something on your desk. As you approach, you see a cloud of delicate blossoms gathered in a vase centered on your workstation. Korr lets you know they were delivered to your desk while you were downstairs at the cafe.

"Curious..." you mutter, thinking this must be a joke from your coworkers.

The blossoms give off a lovely perfume, an exotic scent as beautiful as the planet of their origin. These were no ordinary blossoms. You retrieve the note to see what you're sure is someone else's name. Someone who's cubicle number closely matches yours which would explain the mis-delivery. Who would give you such an ornate gift for Love Day of all days?

You open the small envelope attached to the vase and see a handwritten note from someone familiar to you:

Hey Sweetheart. Sorry I couldn't be there for Love Day. I wanted to give these to you in person. Thanks for making my life special. I can't wait to see you again. I hope these make your day a little brighter - Kix

A warm feeling spreads across your chest and your eyes begin to brim with happy tears. No one had ever done anything so sweet for you on Love Day or any other day for that matter. No one had ever called you a pet name like "sweetheart" before. No one had ever told you that you made their life special, or that they couldn't wait to see you again. Is this what it is like to be loved?

You wipe your tears before anyone sees, and settle down at your desk to get back to work. Korr says nothing because they know you're just as surprised as they are. But you can tell they are happy for you.

And you were happy for yourself as well. What a surprise it was to know that someone special was thinking of you on Love Day, even when you had forgotten. Suddenly you feel a little more confident in your red sweater. Turns out it was a special day after all.

[sylphidine]

CALL SIGNS snippet for Valentines Day

An excerpt from the upcoming Chapter 25 of my human!AU Swatchton fic.

In which Spamton's stalker decides to make a move.

February 14, 2022

In Yantal, it would have been grounds for severe punishment for Kirov Rouvin to publicly celebrate Valentine’s Day, even if his tastes had run to women. As a man who was attracted to other men rather than to women, that punishment might have led to imprisonment or worse, as had been going on for years in Argun.

Here in America, though, he was safe. 

Well, safer. There were still reports in the newspapers about beatings and deaths in this country, but such crimes were usually committed by private citizens on each other.

Kirov knew how to joke and laugh with women so that they knew he was bantering rather than flirting with them.  He knew how to joke and laugh with most men in a way that led those men to believe that he liked women as much as they did.

He’d learned what his American sponsor had termed “protective camouflage” over the last two years that he had been in this country. He’d had casual dates with a few interested and interesting men in the last year, but there was only one man for whom his heart thumped as though it would tear itself out of his chest.

Luck had been with Kirov lately, in finding ways to gaze upon that enchanting, incomparably beautiful man.  Bless the fates that had arranged that chance encounter with Stanton at the library yesterday, and bless his own ingenuity for arranging a purposeful encounter tonight.  

Although he didn’t even really have to manufacture an excuse… he really DID need to use one of the library’s reserve copies of Harington’s “Orlando Furioso” to complete a “compare and contrast” assignment with the Waldman version for Dr. Nagle. 

After his two reserve hours were up, Kirov waited until there was no one else in line at the circulation desk. Stanton’s back was turned to him while he was sorting some titles on a shelf; he was wearing a black cable-knit sweater over a white turtleneck. No tie today. Pity.  

Trying to seem casual, he carefully put the Harington folio back on the counter and placed his gift-wrapped box of Twinings next to it. He had tied a red satin ribbon around the box and had pinned the samovar badge to the ribbon. He then cleared his throat politely and Stanton walked over in response.

“Thank you for the use of the text. It was most helpful for my assignment.” Kirov turned to go, as though he had forgotten his parcel, and as he expected, Stanton called after him.

“W-wait, Kirov! You left something.”

Kirov turned back, trying hard not to smile too widely at the flustered look on Stanton’s face. He said, “No, I did not.  It is for you. A small token of my esteem. Is today not a day to give such tokens to a person one esteems?”

Stanton stared back at him without speaking.  His thin cheeks became flushed. He blinked rapidly, and Kirov’s confidence started to falter. The seconds ticked by,

Finally Stanton seemed to find his voice again. “I’m - I’m v-v-very - flattered, Kirov, but I c-can’t accept this. I thought you knew I w-was seeing someone. A romantic - romantic s-s-someone.”

It took all of Kirov’s acting skill, but he managed to pull off a realistic-sounding amused laugh and to reply, “No, not a romantic gift!  It is just tea, a gift for a colleague whom I esteem! To repay you for your good teaching last semester.”

“Ah,” said Stanton after a long moment. “I ap-apologize if I got the - the wrong idea.”

“No, it is I who must apologize!” Kirov gave a big exaggerated wink and took a step back from the counter once again. “Please share the tea with your… romantic someone.  He must be a very special fellow.” 

His former tutor nodded and murmured, “Yes.  Yes, they are.”

They?

[vullcanica]

@vilestblood // how would you describe your oc(s) core aesthetic?

Nikodemus stands somewhere on the gothic spectrum. Not contingent to it by any means, trends are only transient whims and he follows them mostly when it serves him for assimilation, BUT as a preference he does go for dark smoky visuals, rich deep colors (purples and greens), luxurious fabrics, thick metals, unholy amounts of bare skin, obscene decadence both artificial and natural, themes of visceral horror and mysterious beauty (intrinsically part of his appearance at this point) and an earthy old world connection. Sharp, heavy, almost elegant, but never polished to shine; there's always that occlusion. Fond of the abnormal and shocking, and always, always maximalist or abundant in some way. In terms of fashion, he's worn both dark ornate armor, heavily embroidered finery... and modern underboob crop tops... He's not fully immune to trends. Or having fun with them.

Vanya is, aesthetically speaking, an attempt and a failure at sterility. Think the look of 50s slavic hospitals - white tile everywhere, pungent smell of bleach, stains on a rubber or tarpaulin covered floor, old massive metal furniture next to solid wood cabinets with enamel paint finishes in white, oil blue or green and little glass display doors. She tries to present a look of cleanly, neutral professionalism but achieves an uncanny hint of eeriness at best. Fan of pale, cold colors, which, paired with boxier cuts and an absence of patterns makes for a commanding look. Always just a little bit outaded and out of time, never quite delicate even if she has a soft beauty to her that should, by all means, lend itself to a gentle sort of femininity. Her spaces are empty-clean, with an undercurrent of deep chaos and clutter. In short: something beneath the surface. She's not all she claims to be.

Constance is the essence of liminal corporate. Perfect, clean angles, minimalist practical fashions, neat spaces, just enough things to furnish a room with bare necessities, a spot for everything and everything in its spot. And most importantly - dull, NOT elegant. Fitting to clothes rather than clothes fitting. A manufactured attempt at comfort - he occasionally wears sweater vests and only just manages something between cosy and frumpy, more on the side of frumpy. The same 20 suits in one closet - black, white, occasionally beige. Several pairs of identical glasses, and he doesn't really need a single one of them. Spaces taken straight out of an as-seen-on-tv catalogue, carpet and wall paint included. Trying a bit too hard to fit in when you clearly can't.

Lumen is a neon disaster. Cynthwave/Cassette futurism mix of fluorescents, bright colors, thick sturdy plastic a la the 80s and a cold, hard, yet kitschy sheen. The kind of garish aesthetic only a teenager trying out new styles and a badly directed electronics tv ad can achieve. Cyperpunk dark blues and eye-melting pinks, glow-in-the-dark fabrics, glow-in-the-dark eyes and veins. Ugly, messy, frantic spaces. Headachy motion blurr. Vocoder voice. Collection of novelty sunglasses.

ORIGINAL CHARACTER QUESTIONS // accepting

[ectoamerican]

///Here's a bedroom/living space headcanon I pulled from my old blog that still applies here. added some newer stuff at the end.

Danny’s bedroom in canon is very bland and simple, very much the fault of the show itself being very simple. (which isn’t a bad idea, its smart from the artists' side of things.) As for the canon of my blog, Danny’s room changes constantly due to it being trashed and reduced to ruin and rubble on a regular basis. You know, from ghost related reasons. Danny always redecorates in ways to really show what he likes and what he’s about. Paints the walls in dark night sky colors and simulates starry skies with a combination of glow in the dark paint, decals, white holiday lights, and hanging star and planet shaped lights at several points on his ceiling. He covers his walls in posters of his favorite games, bands, and movies. Constellation photos, pictures of his friends and family, and certain holiday get together photos also litter his walls and shelves. Sometimes his bed is relatively simple but always is covered in galaxy print blankets and pillows. Also strewn about the room and on his bed are various stuffed toys and plushes. Other times his bed is in the style of a loft bunk bed with a desk underneath it. Despite the show almost never giving Danny variety in clothing, Danny’s closet and dresser are filled with several comfortable and casual clothes of different styles and prints. Hoodies, sweaters, V-neck T-shirts, long sleeved shirts, jackets and more. A lot of space themed designs, alien themed prints, puns, and ghost themes on them as well. He’ll wear jeans, shorts, cargo pants, yoga pants– pretty much anything comfortable. And though all those clothes go in the closet and dresser— they’re often occupying floor space instead. Danny also has several jackets/hoodies hanging on his door and the closet door, all of which have pins with various puns, ghost, and space designs on them. I also like the idea of Danny collecting plushies and other things with manufacturing errors. like a teddie or beanie baby that has an eye slightly too low. or with a missing leg. partially because it helps give a reason to the infamous backpack with straps on both sides. but also because his room gets destroyed so often im sure its just easier to buy cheaper stuff with errors on them to replace some of the stuff.

/////////

Danny also has a desk which is either under the loft bed or in an easy to get to placement in the room. The desk has a PC on it and a drawing tablet set to the side. Some various homework and school related books, stationary, pens/pencils, and papers stacked up in corners on the desk or in it's drawers as well. Along with at least one or two audio recording devices also placed somewhere on it.

In another corner of the room, Danny has his digital piano/synthesizer keyboard set up with other audio recording things attached to or near it. A guitar sits to the side of this equipment too, Danny having started learning it.

There is also always a TV and gaming set up across from Danny's bed. With a couple pouf chairs in front of it. To the side of this set up, is Danny's knitting, friendship bracelet, and needle point supplies.

In his closet there are boxes with comic books, model and figure building/painting sets, his portable telescope, and more clothes.

For some clairification on the types of clothes he wears. Danny being transmasc, actively avoids things like dresses and skirts. But he's fine with women's pants/shirts. And doesn't associate colors with gender either. He has a variety of things that are in softer colors like pinks or pastel purples and blues. And even is fine with cute prints, patterns, and designs on the clothes.

[redcliffscloset]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Eileen Fisher V Neck Sweater Womens S Black White Chunky Knit Cotton Cozy.

[textilemanufacturers]

The Top 10 Fall 2024 Fashion Trends You Need to Be Aware Of

This post discusses some of the top 10 fall 2024 fashion trends. Some of them include leather, complete wrap, fur coats, shorts & skirts, and the classic polos.

Summers are never pleasant. Nobody can barely venture outside, due to the extreme temperatures. Luckily, the fall season starts after the hot period, and gives rise to a new fashion trend with lattes & cozy layers.

The change of season brings a whole new range of fashion manufacturers. Read about some of the best style trends, to hit social media & closets, to get ready for the colder weather.

Top 10 Fall 2024 Fashion trends to be Aware Of

Below are the top 10 fall 2024 fashion trendsto be aware of.

Shorts & Skirts

The first fashion trend during the fall season, without a doubt, is shorts & skirts. Shorts for men, and skirts for women. Fashion designers & consumers alike, have never gone wrong with them. They give vibrance to the clothing, and consumers feel comfortable wearing them.

Retro Clothing

Another type of clothing that would be ideal to wear during the fall season, is retro clothing. Users love to wear pretty & proper clothing along with accessories that are quite reminiscent of the 1970s.

Some of the materials that can be considered include wool, tweed, and twill. A few of the most popular brand names include Tommy Hilfiger, Prada, Michael Kors, and Jil Sander. They will be seen on the runway this season.

Semi-transparent clothing

Though not recommended for the office, semi-transparent clothing is bold clothing. It showcases the boldness of the wearer. Consumers love to draw attention to their clothing, and what better way than wearing a light-coloured semi-transparent shirt that reveals the arms.

It can be coupled with a dark-skirt or comfortable slacks. While some fashion trends come and go, this one has become so popular, they are a classic. Some of the popular fashion designers that encourage this kind of clothing include Michael Kors, Gucci, Christian Cowan, and Fendi.

High neck clothing

One of the most popular 2024 fashion trends could be high-neck clothing. Fashion designers are not afraid of experimentation. They will design clothing that has an ultra-tall turtleneck used in sweaters and snoods.

These clothings provide additional protection to the neck and extra style as well. Some notable brands that may have this kind of clothing include Ferragamo, Helmut Lang, and Khaite.

Complete wrap

Apart from the high-neck, another fashion trend that seems to be making headlines is the complete wrap. It is not necessarily a novel trend only during the colder months of the year, but in fall as well.

They are cute, provide the wearer with a cozy feeling. The complete wrap clothing gives the user complete warmth as well. Fashion designers who believe in the complete wrap include Del Core, Alberta Ferretti, Ferragamo, and Christian Siriano.

Fur coats

Fur coats make an unlikely entrance into the top 10 fall 2024 fashion trends. Yes, they are stylish, elegant, sublime, and provide the user with an ultra-chic appearance. Though they may not be ideal in tropical regions during the fall season, colder regions can see several wearers flaunting them with ease.

The classic polo

The top 10 fall 2024 fashion trend is incomplete without the mention of the classic polo t-shirt. The polos have always been in season. They can be worn during any season. Polos are light, comfortable, and eloquent to wear.

They come designed in a wide range of colours, styles, and textures. Consumers are spoilt for choice with them.

Oversized clothing

Oversized clothing makes the user appear slimmer & thinner. The clothing brings out the freshness and originality of the wearer. They come in a wide range of colours, patterns, and designs.

An ideal combination would be the oversized white shirt or top with a dark-coloured trouser. Ideal for office-wear as well.

Leather Jackets

It is time for leather jackets as well. Leather jackets seem to have this incredible ability to enhance the elegance of the person wearing them. The jacket can go with sunglasses, and formal or casual footwear as well.

There is nothing more elegant to wear than the leather jacket coupled with a pair of matching sunglasses, and a pair of jeans or denim clothing.

Sweater Dress is Making a Comeback

Finally, it is time to adorn the sweater dresses. All the summer clothing & accessories can be packed up now because it is time for the start of winter clothing. Once the fall season ends, the winter season will start.

The oversized clothing that fits elegantly, wrap silhouettes, and ribbed knits offer exquisite shape to the body. There are plenty of options to choose from taking one look at the cupboard, that suits the personal style.

Conclusion

In 2024, there will be new trends, styles, and patterns. That means favourite fall and winter clothing can be brought out. They are colourful, light & airy, giving the user ample comfort and elegance.