In early July a close friend of mine asked me to make him a dress for a friend’s upcoming wedding. As a huge contra dance fan and a resident near Asheville, NC, it was imperative to him that the skirt be extremely full, ready for a long contra set and many spins. The voluminous pleated skirt, mixed with his desire for a traditional style western shirt made this design an irresistible challenge.
He bought the fabrics and fasteners he wanted, sent them to me, and I got to work. Luckily Julian happens to be almost the exact same size and isn’t opposed to wearing the occasional dress, so he stood in as my fit model. A few days and many pleats later and the dress was finished, complete with paisley details, brass snaps, some deep pockets, and a bronze belt buckle that Chrome kindly sent my way.
After a quick photo shoot it was shoved into an envelope and sent off to North Carolina, where I have word that it spun the night away at that wedding.
(A/N: This was so much fun to write! This spiraled out of control and ended up turning into a series.)
Mobster! Cassian x Reader
Plot Summary: 1954. All you cared about was earning money and surviving in the concrete jungle that we call New York City. However, ever since WWII ended, crime was rampant all around, and you managed to land right in the heart of it all. Cassian Andor was one of the local crime bosses, and the two of you managed to cross paths.
“I’m clocking out, Jaz.” You called, hanging up your apron and tossing your coat over your uniform.
“Bye! Be careful! Women walking at night spells bad news!” She called, wiping up a couple martini glasses.
You smiled, looking over to your coworker as you unfurled your umbrella. “Jasmine, we’ve got the drill, right?”
“If you call me to get milk, make up an emergency so you can leave. If you tell me that you saw Morei from our old Economics class, I’ll send a cab. If you say that you need to get a new comforter, call the police.” She recited, as you nodded.
“See you tomorrow!” You waved goodbye as you opened your umbrella, covering yourself up from the pouring rain.
Last night at work I had two middle aged bogan men sitting at the bar, and they spent a solid half hour complaining about ‘kids these days and their tattoos’ and specifically ‘sheilas’ with tattoos. Not women - ‘sheilas’. I wish I had my arm tattoo already so I could have very obviously shown it off while clearing their glasses (as it’s probably not appropriate to flash my hip one at customers >_> )