#EIGHT balls of yarn

[ancient-art-of-craft]

This is a friendly reminder that it does NOT take six balls of yarn to make a sweater. Check the goddamned yardage on the pattern, lest you slink back to the store in shame.

[cutiepuff]

the biggest problem with going out of town for a week is what about my crochet :(

[corundumb]

Help I've started another project, I'm knitting a blanket for the first time

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Y'ALL!! GUESS!! WHAT!!!!

I HAVE A FUCKING CARDIGAN!!!!!! FRESH OFF THE NEEDLES BABEEEY!!!

currently the cardigan is Being Soup (it's soaking), so i can Block It tonight, so it can Dry tomorrow, so i can take daylight pictures by SATURDAY and do a PROPER WRAP UP POST but i was just SO EXCITED to have FINISHED that i had to post CRUMMY NOCTURNAL LIGHTING PICTURES ABOUT IT

girl help i'm pining after making another cardigan again..,.,.,.

[ravens-two]

PAC: Your Next Romantic Relationship

This reading includes:

the person you'll be dating next

The extended reading includes:

when and how you'll meet this person

what the relationship will be like

any 18+ messages

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone. Also, this content is 18+ only!

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Who are you dating next

Eight of Cups, Moon, Tarragon - Regeneration

The first thing I'm getting for this person is that they could be a scientist or work in research, maybe even as a teacher. They seem like really deep thinkers and people who are very well-read or that tend to read a lot. Besides spending a lot of time and energy on their work - that seems to be their passion - they also look like they really enjoy traveling. Some of them may have to travel for work (and now I'm seeing that some are archeologists or something like that), but most seem to travel for pleasure. No matter what your next person is someone who has travelled a lot and has seen a lot of the world - and even if they haven't travelled "that much" it could be that you haven't travelled much at all so that's why it seems so much.

Your person is also a very deep thinker. I'm getting something very specific about them which is that they like to get to the depth of any subject. Let's say that you're talking about your favourite dishes, your person wants to get to the bottom of the subject, they want to analyze why you love those dishes, the memories you have of them, how hard or easy they are to cook, then they may get into the culinary arts in general or the history of food or something like that. Do you know what I mean? Once you start talking about something with them it's like they unravel the subject as if it were a ball of yarn.

Your person seems to be an introvert. They don't really like crowds and tend not to go out or party too much, they prefer to keep to their friend group or to small groups in general. I feel that this is also related to how much and how deeply they like to talk, it's better suited for smaller groups. For some of you it might also surprise you that this person is more spiritual than you thought. They might not practice anything in particular (including religion), but they very much believe in something bigger than them and are very open to the spiritual side of things. This is also someone who has been through a lot and has had to reinvent themselves multiple times. I feel like your person is very wise and has a lot of life experience specifically because of this - they've just been through so much shit that would have broken down any other person.

When it comes to their appearance I'm seeing pale skin - and depending on skin tone you can even see their veins - and dark hair. Mostly black and brown hair, but I'm also seeing red (dyed I think).  In general, they seem to be taller and leaner. Even for the men they don't like they are very muscled. I'm also seeing that some of them have dark circles under their eyes. So what I just heard was that they "look a bit like a fucked up Tim Burton character come to life" lol. I do think that they are good-looking but in that Timothée Chalamet type of way. Also, I think that your person has huge eyes!

check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 2

Who are you dating next

Three of Wands, Strength, Marigold - Positivity

The first thing I'm seeing for this pile is tanned skin and defined muscles. Your person looks like they spend the whole day under the sun. I'm literally seeing them wet as if they had just come out of water. An interesting detail I just got is that they have body hair, especially for the men they seem to have hair on their chest and tights. I feel like for most of you this person has really dark eyes, the lightest color I can see here is a darker shade of hazel eyes. No matter what they have warm and very expressive eyes. It's the type of eyes that you feel safe just looking at them, honestly.

Speaking of warmth and safety I think that your person just radiates those vibes, especially if they're a man. They seem/are someone who's reliable and handy, basically someone who you can call at any time of day or night and you know that they'll find some way to help you. They also seem the type of person who really cares about the safety of your friends, not just yours. This is very specific to some of you, it doesn't really apply to everyone, but your person also has a bit of a himbo energy. Like they have a really good heart, very good looking and strong looking too, but not much going on in their pretty head. But, again, this is just for some of you! For most of you this is someone who is pretty smart and very aware of the current political/social climate.

One of the main things I'm seeing is that your person is very hopeful and definitely an optimist. They try to cheer you up whenever they feel like you're feeling down or when you need just an extra push of motivation. The thing that keeps coming up though is that isn't just for you it's for your friends, their friends, the people around you two. It makes me think of those guys who only want to buy a drink to the girl they're interested in instead of the whole group and it's the polar opposite of that. If you're hanging out with your person and your friends, your person will make sure to treat your friends well and make them feel welcomed.

For some reason I feel like your person might be a firefighter or EMT, I'm not sure why, but it seems like more of a physical/manual type of work. This person doesn't look like they're sitting behind a desk the whole day. They might work the night shift too. No matter what they do, their work is a source of satisfaction for them and their "way to contribute to society" so it's important that their work aligns with their values. This person has a bleeding heart and they're always trying to help whenever they can. They might do volunteer work or community work of some kind, but this is someone who really cares about their community and the world around them. A bit random, but your person might cry very easily, just like watching a commercial or something like that. It seems that they are very emotional. A bit like pile 1 in that sense, but I also feel that your person has been through a lot and that's exactly what made them kinder and made them worry more about the people around them. Very, very specific but I think that hunger and poverty is something that really "hurts" them if that makes sense. It would be the thing that they would just erase if they could.

check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 3

Who are you dating next

Sun, World, Sweet corn - Ritual

Okay, the first thing I'm seeing is that your person loves eating and cooking and feeding people to be honest. They see meals almost as a sacred ritual that helps to create stronger bonds with other people. I feel like they're really good cooks, especially because they have a good palate. Your person also seems like the type of person that is really close to their family, like calling/texting them every day, sharing a meal together every weekend, that kind of stuff.

This person might have OCD or something like that, but their daily rituals seem very important to them. They are someone who loves routine and feel a bit anxious when things don't go as they had planned. Honestly, that seems to be the biggest issue for them they get really disappointed/annoyed when they plan something and it doesn't happen, even in simple things. Let's say that you two plan to go watch a movie and eat popcorn, but when you get there there ins't popcorn. Well your person is devastated. It's only for a couple of moments, but yeah it really hits them strong.

With the Sun and the World though, this is a very successful and hard-working person, but also someone who is very happy go lucky. Like they genuinely believe that life is beautiful and a miracle and they will romanticize even the smallest things. They seem like the type of person who will just tell you "it's going to be fine" even in the face of something absolutely tragic and that couldn't possibly "be fine" (somehow they may end up being right though).

They seem to have a very child-like and radiant personality too if that makes sense. In a way it's because they really attract other people's attention just for being themselves, but also because they just seem so genuinely happy and joyful. When they laugh it makes other people want to laugh as well. You may get an instinct to protect them at times, because it seems that they are too innocent for this harsh world. They're definitely dreamers and they think that even the smallest action can change the world. They have strong beliefs about what they think is wrong with the world and what should be changed.

When it comes to appearance I'm seeing blonde or light brown hair, maybe even some ginger here too or maybe a brass tone. In general, I'm seeing really long hair, especially for the women, and mostly wavy or curly. Although I think that the shorter your person's hair is the curlier it is. For their eyes I also lighter eyes here, even the brown eyes are more of a honey shade. The most striking thing though is that your person - no matter what they look like - is very beautiful. They get other people's attention precisely because of how physically striking they are. I feel like they tend to be very symmetrical and their bodies are very good looking too. It seems that they tend to be taller and curvier, both men and women.

check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 4

Who are you dating next

Two of Wands, Ten of Wands, Peppermint - Success

While doing the reading for this pile "Ocean Eyes" suddenly came up so I really feel like your person is probably going to have blue or green eyes, maybe even hazel too. I also feel like their eyes have this very emotional quality to them, it's like you could get lost them in them because they're so expressive. Honestly, I get a very big Ian Somerhalder vibe here like with the dark hair and very light eyes and that contrast. I think that in general your person is a person of contrasts, of light and dark and even contradictions.

Do you know that Walt Whitman's poem "Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself / (I am large I contain multitudes)"? I think that they really embody these lines. I'm also getting Fernando Pessoa's "I am nothing. / I shall never be anything. / I cannot even wish to be anything. / Apart from this, I have within me all the dreams in the world." Your person is very, very poetic pile 4. Maybe they're into literature (especially the classics) or they really love reading/writing poetry. This person is very deep, but again, filled with contradictions. They are hard to understand because they seem to be many things all at once. It's a very Gemini energy to be honest.

Apart from this your person is also very successful. They may come from money or they worked really hard until they got to where they are. No matter what though they dedicate a lot of their time to their work, to the point that they can't even rest properly because they can't take their mind off work. Some of them might also have some personal project or a business that they feel very passionate about and are just waiting for the right time to "launch" it. They're someone who makes a lot of plans, but not like in pile 3, more in the sense of making a plan to break down the steps that they need to take. This is for organization not control, if that makes sense. They also seem to really enjoy traveling, but either don't have much time for it or they end up getting tired in the middle of their trip. They feel like the type of person who has wanderlust, but also gets homesick easily. 

They are introverts for sure, and although this doesn't mean that they're antisocial it really does feel like they spend more time at home or by themselves. To me this feels more like they never really get the company that they crave. They really need mental stimulation, and the people around them can't really offer them that. Something that's coming up is that they might struggle with the little demon and angel on their shoulders sometimes. I feel like the little devil sometimes really wants them to cause some mischief or chaos and they try to control this. Honestly, what I'm getting from this is that they may annoy you on purpose, for their own amusement. I don't think that this is toxic, it's more meaningless stuff that will make you laugh rather than really annoy you.

What I can tell you pile 4 is that your person is very, very unique. I think you'll know it's them as soon as you meet them because you'll think that you've never met someone like this.

check out the extended reading on patreon

[wolverineluvr]

Yandere Satosugu x reader

TW: Gore, murder of a child(readers son), Geto and Gojo r unhinged, angst, age gap(reader is 25-35 and SatoSugu r like 18-19), Geto didn't defect, fem!reader.

You scream and cry as Satoru bats your son, Hikaru, around as though he's a ball of yarn and Satoru's a cat. "Please- I'm sorry!" You sob. Your stomach twists until there's nothing but a knot and turns as Hikaru falls to the floor with a thud and a weak call out for you. "It's all gonna be okay, don't worry. We'll give you a new kid real soon." Suguru coos into your ear. His arms are hooked under your armpits, forcing you to just stand and watch as Satoru grins and shuffles around in his pocket.

He fishes out a knife. "Sugu'...How should I finish him off? Knife, or unlimited void?" Satoru asks in a tone that indicates he's clearly proud of something. "Let's let her choose," Suguru responds and you can hear the smile on his face. "and you can't choose neither cus then we're just gonna do both, got it?"

You don't know what to do. What the fuck is an unlimited void anyways? "She's taking too long so I'm gonna give her a timer." Satoru sighs, but there's still that stupid grin on his face you wish you could wipe off his face. Satoru raises one of his hands, the fingers extended and he puts down one as he counts slowly, like he's not counting down for the death of your 6 year old son.

One.

You look down at the bloodied face of your child, his nose is bleeding and there's dirt on his cheek—his crying smudges the red blood and the dirt, making a small patch of mud along the way. Knife or unlimited void?

Two.

You look back up at Satoru—he's looming over Hikaru like a snake and a mouse—his eyes are gleaming with sick and twisted joy. He looks up at you, his expression asking you: the knife or unlimited void?

Three.

What do you choose? What if the plan with the knife is to give him an easy and quick death, stabbing Hikaru's brain or something like that? Would that even be an easy death? You don't know. What if the plan is to just cut him open while he's still alive and rip out his organs, or to just stab him over and over again? Knife or unlimited void?

Four.

What even is unlimited void? Is it the name of his car or gun or something? What does it mean? Is this even happening? It can't be, can it? It was just a normal day before all this, and now you're debating the better option of what your son should die from? And one of them is something you don't even know? Knife or unlimited void?

Five.

You can hear Satoru's voice becoming absolutely giddy as he sits on the back of Hikaru, making sure he stays in place as Hikaru weakly calls out for you again. You don't want to choose. You don't want to watch your son die. Why is this even happening? Knife or unlimited void?

Six.

Satoru puts down up one of the five down fingers, still counting. Suguru sighs behind you as he feels your heartbeat quicken and race like you're running a marathon, "you don't have to look" you hear Suguru murmur. But that doesn't help. Closing your eyes won't help. You'll still hear his cries and sobs for help. You'll still feel the insane guilt of doing nothing while your son is crying out for you. Knife or unlimited void?

Seven.

"I'll cover your ears" Suguru offers. You can't do anything but sob and continue to struggle in his grasp. He knows it's not your fault you had a kid. You didn't know you belonged to them yet. He presses a small kiss to the spot behind your ear, sending unpleasant shivers down your spine. But the same question is going through your mind, knife or unlimited void?

Eight.

You try to plead with Satoru, offering that you'll do anything for him to stop. He just shakes his head, though you notice a slight change in his face. He seems a little more..sorry. But he doesn't let up, still sitting on top of Hikaru's back and gripping the knife in his hands. Knife or unlimited void?

Nine.

You feel nauseous. This isn't real. It can't be. You don't know what to do. Why? Why? Why? You hate Satoru and Suguru with everything inside of you. ..Knife or unlimited void?

Ten.

Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or-

"Please.." You sob and Satoru just shakes his head. "Choose, now." Suguru demands into your ear. "K-knife.." Your voice is trembling as you speak, hoping, begging, praying, that the knife was the better option.

But as you watch Satoru sink the knife into the back of Hikaru's hand, you know that's not true. "Mom-my-" Hikaru weeps out, his voice weak and clearly in pain. "Oh, you're crying out to your mommy? That's too bad, 'cus your mom belongs to me and Suguru okay? She doesn't love you anymore." Satoru mockingly coos as he leans more down towards Hikaru's head.

Hikaru just cries and screams as Satoru takes the knife from his hand before getting off of him, turning Hikaru over and onto his back. Satoru quickly starts to stab Hikaru's stomach over and over and over and over and over again. His shrieks and wails are drowned out by your own. They don't say anything, but Suguru moves and wraps his arms around you in a hug like this is hurting him more than it hurts you.

"It's okay." Suguru murmurs into your ear, as you see Satoru take the knife out of Hikaru's limp body once more, before pulling up his shirt, revealing the many stab wounds in his small torso. He takes the top of the knife into Hikaru's chest and begins to cut a line down, making a rectangle from the middle of Hikaru's chest down to his abdomen.

Your wailing has stopped and now only weak weeps are escaping your wet lips as you watch Satoru rip off the skin of the rectangle he made in Hikaru's torso. His organs have been revealed and Satoru starts to dig through them, making his fingers and palms messy and bloody.

The wet and horrible noises of Satoru ripping out Hikaru's small intestines and setting them aside don't register in your ears, all you can hear is ringing. He continues to dig, taking out all of the organs that he doesn't want before maneuvering his hands up and swiftly ripping out Hikaru's heart. Satoru stands, picking up Hikaru's intestines and he begins to walk towards you. Your eyes and cheeks are wet with your tears, snot bubbling at your nose, all of the mucus makes it hard to breath through your nose, so your mouth is open.

You're shaking as Satoru stands in front of you, your vision blurry as you stare at the organs that belong to your son in Satoru's hands. And the tears start flowing again. Your voice cracks as you loudly wail, your throat sore from crying so much already.

"It's gonna be okay, don't worry. You'll forget allll about him. Right Sugu'?" He smiles as he looks away from your face and at Suguru's. The long haired man nods, smiling back as Satoru moves and puts Hikaru's intestines on Suguru's shoulders like a morbid necklace. He then moves and grabs your hands, pressing the heart of your little boy in-between them and wrapping his hands around yours.

"We'll give you all the kids you want."

Notes: Sorryyy I haven't been posting as much!!!! I haven't had much motivation to write but I am trying to expand the types of things I write <33

[ms-demeanor]

Okay because the folks on the @sweater-cat2 poll were saying the responses weren't sufficient, let's expand those numbers a bit.

I'm going to define "skein" as "equivalent to a full skein even if it's made up of eight little yarn balls left over from various projects" so make an estimate based on that.

[trashpandacraft]

having sat down and spent a bit of time spinning on all the wheels, i have thoughts on them!

our first contestant: a sheridan scandanavian. kinda.

sheridan was an australian manufacturer in the 70s and early 80s, and this particular model is often mistaken for an ashford traditional. one tell that it isn't is the spokes on the wheel—a traddy has eight, and a scandanavian has six.

another tell is its tension knob, which i actually love—this is a lot easier to get a grip on than the ones that are just balls.

...there's also a nameplate identifying the maker and the model. but that's kinda where things get weird, because this? this is not what a scandanavian is meant to look like.

eagle-eyed readers may have already noticed that it's a double drive wheel, which is weird, because the scandanavian was only ever made as scotch tension. sheridan made a similar wheel, the macarthur, that was a double drive. my understanding is that these wheels were sold as kits, so as best i can guess, someone must have had a scandanavian and a macarthur, and at some point, for some reason, they dropped the macarthur's workings onto the sheridan's stand.

whatever she is, though, she spins nicely—works exactly like you'd expect, even after what was clearly a number of years of neglect. i'd like to get some more oil into the leather bearings, but she's in good shape. this one's a surprisingly slow wheel, even on the highest ratio, but will be great for plying and—more importantly—for @binchickencrafts to learn to spin on.

next up is the tarra...something. maybe the evelyn, but maybe the agnes?

she's beautiful, right? another tilt tension, too, which i like. lovely matching orifice hook with a little storage hole, and integrated bobbin storage, which i absolutely love.

so why's she weird? well. the evelyn was the evolution of the agnes, basically. agnes had a block for a mother of all, evelyn was shaped. agnes had a four-part drive wheel, evelyn had six. agnes had eight spokes on the drive wheel, evelyn had six.

this wheel, though. she has a shaped mother of all, an eight-part drive wheel, and eight spokes.

she also has a really neat flyer.

the flyer is part of what attracted me, to be honest, and no regrets. it needs shined up some more—i was eager enough to try her out that i cleaned off the worst of the rust with some vinegar, but it needs some more attention. those hooks, though, are fantastic. i think that they're a curse for a lot of people, because if one's lost, replacements are almost impossible to come by, but if you have them, they're so good. the screw loosens the hook and lets you slide it as needed, and you can get very close to either end of the bobbin—you can use the stationary hook to wind on right at the front, and the movable hook covers the rest of the bobbin easily. all my treadle wheels have been fixed hooks, so this was a new adventure.

this is the wheel in the worst shape, i think. she needs oiled up, but also needs to have the rear maiden reseated—it's loosened and has a fair amount of horizontal play, which doesn't give the best experience. i feel like when that's fixed, which won't take more than a couple hours and some wood glue, she's going to be a sweet spot of a wheel. even with the movement in that back maiden, i can get from worsted down to cobweb on her, so i'm really looking forward to seeing what she's like when she's been patched up.

finally: the pipy saxony.

please clap.

i can't overstate how small this wheel is. she weighs less than five kilos. that's like. a cat. that's a cat of weight. that's how much this wheel weighs. i knew when i bought her that she was a small wheel, but i hadn't realised how small, so i was a little concerned that she wasn't going to be very effective.

turns out joke's on me, because this teeny tiny wheel is an absolute powerhouse—as long as you want to spin finely. which is perfect for me, because i almost never use or spin yarn that's thicker than a light worsted, and even that's kinda pushing it. i'm the kind of person who knits jumpers out of sock yarn and owns multiple pairs of 1.5mm (size 000) circular needles.

this wheel wants to spin fast and wants to spin thin, and I *love* her. the wheel is weighted so it always stops ready to turn clockwise, and it's a string footman, and something about the combination of the two makes this an absolutely amazing experience. i spun for several hours, and my breaking point wasn't knee or ankle pain, but hip pain from sitting in that position too long.

how the heck does a wheel that—again!—weighs like ten pounds manage to weight anything?

it's easy to miss, but in that first picture, there's integrated bobbin storage again, with room for one on each side of the wheel.

the tension system isn't like anything i've used, and can be adjusted both vertically and horizontally. the tension peg does what you'd expect and moves the slider block (and the mother of all on it) closer or further from the wheel, but you can also move the mother of all towards you or away from you to better align it with the wheel.

she's just really nicely designed. look at this incredibly tidy bobbin release!

for the specific things that i spin most frequently, i'm pretty sure that the pipy is going to be my go-to treadle wheel, though i expect the others will see plenty of use, as well. and my eel wheel certainly isn't getting retired—my somewhat broken body is never going to let me use a treadle as often as i'd like, and there's a lot to be said for the ability to spin while watching television in bed. but i'm really excited to have these, and to use them when i can, even if it's not as often as i'd like.

i know that a lot of people are really dubious about buying used (especially vintage used) wheels, but i feel like they're often underrated. there's a lot of cool wheels out there that are as good or better than what you can buy in a store, and it's worth investigating it, if you're able to. (it's also worth noting that buying all three of these cost us less than half of what buying a single new ashford traditional would cost.)

finally, you want to see my favourite thing about the pipy? i saw someone complaining about this the other day, that their wheel's prior owner had 'gouged' it. but look.

that little gouge means someone else loved this wheel so much that their yarn wore a channel into the wood. and as soon as i stop holding my yarn back, it slots straight into place.

right where it's meant to be.

this wheel is older than i am—they're dated, on the bottom, and she was made in july 1972. she's only had one owner, a woman who used to teach spinning, but is elderly now and can't spin anymore. her daughter delivered it to me, and told me that this was her mother's last wheel—she'd gotten rid of the others, slowly, but held on to this until she was physically unable to treadle. fifty years! that woman spun on this wheel for fifty years.

i'm old enough that i don't imagine i'm going to get fifty years with it, but maybe i'll get lucky. either way, hopefully in another fifty years, someone new will be taking their turn, weirdly touched by the idea that this wheel has been so loved.

[tinknevertalks]

Oh, I said I'd show you my new hat. I got a skein of yarn back in July (I think) when I went to Bath. I'd wanted to buy fluff but they didn't sell any anymore (very annoying when their google listing made it look like they did, but whatever, we roll) so I got 100g hand dyed yarn by Uschitita - expensive but worth it.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. I'm in a knit/crochet in public day in the craft shop, working on the last of my shawl. On a whim, I pick up a ball of West Yorkshire Spinners double knit in like a lime green. It's pretty standard, nice to work with.

"I need a new hat," I tell Craft Shop Lady.

Start crocheting said hat. It is not going how I want it, and I can never shape dk beanies properly (I used to use Repeat Crafter Me's patterns, but she uses aran weight and I don't really vibe with aran weight). So even though I've done eight rows, I frog it.

Ribbit.

Because I know I have to knit it.

"But Rachel, you're a crocheter, you crochet therefore you are!" I know! But I wanted the zigzag stitches you get with knitting.

So I bought a circular needle. The wire is way too short, but Craft Shop Lady was very nice and let me swap it. Except we swapped like for like. 🙈 By the time I'd realised it was Sunday afternoon, the shop was closed and I *really* wanted to knit my hat.

Cue me not remembering how to cast on. So I google it, and remind myself and oh!

I've got some knitting on the go! Look, it's so pretty!

(Yes, I know it looks small, it's the loop.)

I kept at it, even though at the start I couldn't recognise my purls in a sea of knits, and today (well, technically yesterday but roll with it) I finished it!

I love how it looks. My one note is, if I made this again (and I probably will, as it's a comfy hat), I'd knit for a full seven inches before doing the shaping, rather than the six and a half they say in the pattern. Oh, and maybe get some double pointed needles for the last two rows? It was very fiddly decreasing down to seven stitches on the circular needle.

But yeah, that's my new hat. I'm tempted to make cat ears to put on it but I'm lazy so I doubt I will. 😂

[adobe-outdesign]

For pokemon reviews, maybe the spidops or lokix lines?

(Already did the Nymble line here, but as for Tarountula:)

Tarountula is a really good Pokemon, both in terms of concept and execution. A spider that covers its abdomen with silk in a manner representative of a yarn ball works perfectly, and the design gets the point across immediately. This ball protectors them from their natural predators, which is a nice touch. Oddly enough, the yarn ball is actually removable, revealing a small structure at the end of its body that ties it more into its evo.

Visually, Tarountula's stylized eyes and almost sad-looking pupils make it extremely cute, which is compounded by its stylized pedipalps and simplistic legs (so simple it actually has eight of them, a rarity in Pokemon designs). White was an obvious choice for the silk, but this is accented by some green spots on the legs and a complimentary yellow color. Good stuff all around.

You'd expect something as round as Tarountula to evolve into an even rounder, larger spider, but it instead goes into a completely different direction by becoming an ogre spider, well known for looking like you took a jpg of a normal spider and stretched it out lengthwise. Ironically, some of Spidop's features that you would probably assume are inventions by GameFreak are actually just what ogre spiders are like, such as the paired limbs and spinning net traps to catch prey in.

While it might seem like it's lost the ball of yarn theme, it's actually just expanded on it by looking like a spool of thread. The resemblance between the two is more obvious without Tarountula's web ball, but some features remain the same, such as the green-tipped limbs, stylized pedipalps, and four pairs of eyes that wrap around the head. The black color of the eyes specifically resemble an ogre spider's comically large eyes, which are so adapted for night vision that they get destroyed by the sun each day and heal again by night. No, I am not making that part up.

In addition, Spidops also has a special ops kind of thing going for it, with a kind of bullet-proof vest on its chest, goggles, and a stealth-based operatus morandi. It would almost be too much, but it's subtle enough in the design that it thankfully doesn't feel too busy.

My only issues with Spidops are that the limbs feel weirdly flat at the ends, considering it uses them to hold web and snag prey—it might've been nice if they tapered into points, at least with the front ones. I also feel like the brown-on-green palette is muddied and bit low-contrast. Even just a lighter shade of brown/tan would've helped with this while still keeping it camouflaged.

So overall, these are some really good spiders. The sewing theme is integrated into both in two unique ways, they have distinct body types, and Spidops keeps all the best attributes of the insect its based off of and adds an extra special ops theme for good measure. Tarountula also has a bangin' shiny, which doesn't hurt anything either.

[garaksapprentice]

Remembrance

I started this weave last year, the day after TDOR, and the day of the Pulse nightclub attack. My heart was heavy, and I needed a way to redirect a whole bunch of feelings about a thing I couldn't do anything about.

The warp and weft both came from several balls of a 5 ply acrylic knitting yarn, one that had been given to me in one of those many small "I don't know what else to do with this" moments that happen when people know that 1) you're a knitter and 2) you'll happily collect donations and pass them on to various local organisations if you can't use them yourself.

I'd looked at them and immediately went "that's a trans pride bundle of colours if ever I saw them," then put them in the stash and let them percolate. (I don't knit with 5 ply much, I already had more than enough projects that needed finishing, and I had no idea what pattern would do justice to the vague idea I had. Sometimes things need to compost a while before you can grow anything from them.)

I originally wanted to do a heart twill. After a bit of thought, mostly centred around my lack of experience, I went with a diamond twill instead. This was the first project on my new-to-me floor loom, and the diamond twill was more straightforward. Plus, counterbalance looms don't deal well with unbalanced shafts - the heart twill pattern I had put more of the threads on the back shaft than any of the others, and I didn't have the headspace or the experience to flip the draft so they'd be on the front one instead.

It took me eight days to wind the warp, beam it, thread the heddles, sley the reed, and tie on. (I wasn't tracking project hours back then so I don't know how long those things actually took, all up.) I'd started on the twenty-first, and was threading the heddles by Sunday 27th. On the 30th, I started weaving.

According to my project notes, I only actually wove for eight days between getting the loom warped and cutting the finished fabric off. Given the thickness of the threads, that seems about right - I'd roughly guess at six or seven hours of weaving time over a ~2.3m warp?

After that it was a matter of wet finishing (wool setting in the washing machine), trimming off the loom waste, and doing double folded hems at each end (I am Not A Fan of fringe).

Is it perfect? Hell no; there's at least two threading errors and the beat changes from start to finish. But it's soft, and warm, and it's full of the hope and productive anger that I managed to find after the beat of the loom helped me climb out of the pit of helpless despair.

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰

part ten of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. this is the fourth part of the spicy stuff. 18+ warnings under cut.

word count: 3.1k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

18+ warnings: minho and reader are extremely horny for each other. softdom!minho. subby!femreader. teasing from minho. fingering. oral (f receiving). minho eats out reader. one violent, mind-blowing orgasm. excessive hair pulling. breast play. minho edges reader a ton. orgasm control. slight themes of possession/ownership. reader begs minho for his cock. PRAISE!!!. pet names (babe/baby, darling, sweetness, baby doll, kitten, good girl, baby girl, nothing degrading tho). brat taming is alluded to. controlling minho. lots of dirty talk. minho is just so down bad for reader it's not even funny anymore- 🤓

a/n: since i start my new full time job next mon, i've decided to speed up the uploading schedule for this fic and finish it before the end of the weekend. so please be on the lookout for the final 2 chapters before mon, everyone!! 😇 hope you guys liked it part... and i'm excited for the completion of this little series of mine~ 🫣 also, minho calling me kitten is literally my entire personality- that man could choke me out to death between his thick thunder thighs and i'd still find the life left in me to thank him ardently- 🥵

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  ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

With shaky fingers, you grabbed at your boyfriend, clutching onto his thick thigh. As he all but untangled the impenetrable ball of yarn that had been wound inside of your body for so long, just with his fingers alone. 

 With a deft thumb, he pressed against your clit, slicking his fingers across your lips before dipping into you. You gasped out, unable to find any form of a word as he pulled moan after moan from between your clenched teeth. 

 “That’s right,” he said in that whispery, angelic-like voice of his, familiar body so close to yours. “Moan for me, baby girl…” 

 Throwing your head back against the couch’s cushions, you let yourself fall into the pleasure of it all. Of his slim fingers, pumping in and out of you. So wonderfully, so entirely. 

 It was a feeling that was better than anything you could imagine. 

 It was better than any other dream you had had about him- 

 Better than any fantasy you had ever had in the middle of the night, imagining how it’d all feel. 

“Fuck- you’re so tight,” he muttered, lips finding the side of your neck and sucking down on the skin there, imprinting bruised kisses into your very love-starved soul. 

 You gripped harder at this thigh, feeling the muscle ripple underneath your fingertips. “M-Minho,” your voice trailed off into a breathless whisper, as his two fingers curled up and found that gooey, hot pool of energy just inside of you. “Please… more.” 

 You were already so desperate to feel all of him - to have all of him - and things had only just begun. 

 Minho recognized this, letting out a dry chuckle, “Look at you, so precious… already drunk off of me and I’ve barely even started.” His cooing at you made you squirm under his hold in masked annoyance. 

 He pulled his fingers out after that, ripping a strangled whine from you. You turned in your spot on the sofa, about to protest from the absence of his touch. But you stopped in your tracks upon the realization of what he was doing next...

 Hand raising towards his face languidly, fingers running across that perfect, red mouth. Fingers that were drenched with you. Then he was parting his lips, slipping the slim digits past teeth and lapping up the taste of you. 

 You twitched in your spot, feeling the heat puddle in between your legs more furiously than ever before. A flush bloomed across your cheeks, making your mind fuzzy with want and lust and utter infatuation. 

 Because he truly was, incredibly hot. 

 And loving. 

 And attentive. 

 He was everything you had ever dreamed of and more. 

 Lee Minho was all of your hopes and dreams and wants wrapped up in a little pink bow and placed in your hands in the form of a kind, local veterinarian. 

“You taste so fucking good, you know that, darling?” He mused after he had finished licking his fingers clean of your essence. His pupils were already widening, cheekbones dimming with that certain kind of debauched swarthiness. 

 And you utterly couldn’t take it anymore. 

 So you… 

Pounced. 

 Attacking his lips with a newfound ferocity, swallowing down the groan that bubbled up from deep inside of him at your harsh mouth pressing against his. “Stop teasing,” you whined between clashing teeth, as he bit down on your bottom lip, drawing you closer than ever before. “You little bastard.” 

 He laughed heartily at that, tearing away from you and stealing the breath right out of your lungs as a string of saliva stretched between your lips. “But oh- it’s so very fun to do…” His voice faded off, as his still-wet hands traveled back down to your legs, playing with the drawstring of your pants once more. 

 “I don’t fucking care, I-”

 Minho’s head shot up then, eyes glazing over in unbidden darkness. His mouth turned down into a stark, displeased frown, “You’re not going to be a problem now, are you, gorgeous?” 

 His silky voice cascaded across your ears, drenching your entire soul in a vat of fiery desire and chilled flames. Suddenly feeling the power and fight drain completely out of you at the way he leveled such a dim stare your way, you merely nodded your head ‘no.’ 

 “Good, I didn’t think so,” he began, and you could feel his hand coming around the waistband of your yoga pants, slowly beginning to slide them - along with your panties - down your legs. “Because if you did end up acting like a brat tonight, you do understand that I would have to… correct you, right?” 

 You swallowed around the huge lump forming in your throat, wriggling in your place just as your boyfriend completely rid your legs of your pants and threw them off to the side. “Y-Yes, I understand perfectly.” To be honest, you almost wanted to act out. Wanted to be a brat, so that maybe, just maybe he’d get to fucking you a lot quicker than the current pace he was at. But you had a sneaky suspicion that the more you pushed against him, the more he would just push right back and tease beyond belief. Leaving you edged to eternity and not reaching satisfaction any time soon. 

 So you stayed silent after that, watching with stuttering breaths and reddened cheeks as Minho slinked off of the couch completely. Like a cat, on the hunt for mischief. He slowly knelt in front of you, and even though your legs were squeezed shut, all he had to do was place two hands atop your knees, and suddenly, they were falling open completely. Beckoning him forward, drawing him in without a single word spoken. 

 “Been wanting this for so very long,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face into the crook of your knee, pressing kiss after kiss to the skin there. At a gradual pace, he began to make his way down either of your legs. “You- sitting there, utterly unraveling in front of my own eyes.” 

 You reached out to him, fingers carding through his hair as his head inched closer and closer to your centre. You pulled a little bit at his midnight-black roots, forcing him to stare up at you for a few silent beats, “I love you.” You said, tone featherlike and whispery as his teeth caught on the skin of your right inner thigh and bit down slightly. 

 “Mmhm- I love you too,” he purred against you, mouth growing dangerously near your exposed core. “Now, are you going to be a good girl for me and let me guide it?” 

 You suffocated on your breath, feeling it catch painfully in your chest as you stared down at him. He was peering up at you, pupils blown wide with so much adoration and devotion. His cheeks were dusted a strawberry-pink colour, his lips already bruised from all of the kissing. The two hands that he had on either side of your hips clasped a little harsher, short nails digging into your exposed flesh rather deliciously. 

 He was asking if he could take the reins of the night. If you'd allow him to control everything. And frankly, you'd grant him any wish that he demanded, no matter what it was. So permitting him the simple pleasure of commanding you in bed was no small pain on your end. 

 “Y-Yes,” you gasped out, fighting the urge to moan right on the spot at the way he was looking at you. At the way that he seemed to crack you open - like a clam found on the bottom of the sea floor. With one look, he was searching into the farthest parts of you, prying and understanding and acknowledging everything. “I’m so good for you- so good…” 

 Your incoherent rambling trailed off into the air all around you that was growing fiery and thick with so much desire. And your mind blanked completely, as his face finally came upon you, perfect lips imprinting a kiss against your soaked folds. 

 Immediately, your head was thrown back, resting on the couch as he began giving you what you had always wanted. Or at least, part of it, anyway. 

 Clutching at his roots, you pressed his nose into you more. You heard him whine out in pleasure at the taste of you. At the feel of you, right there, and so very close. He licked a long stripe up the length of your cunt, hot tongue poking at your clit as he reached the top. 

 He worked there diligently, swirling the tip of his tongue around the sensitive nub, before raking his teeth around it. You were all but a screaming heap of loose muscles and bones, the curses flowing from your mouth as he lapped up your juices again and again. 

 “Fuck- you’re so beautiful, kitten,” Minho growled out, his deep, rumbly voice vibrating against you and forcing a violent shiver to coarse down the length of your spine. “Love you… love the taste of you so much.” 

 Then his mouth was nearing your entrance, tongue dipping into your heat and pulling the feeling out of your body entirely. Your grasp on his hair turned taut, as you pressed his face into you, your legs growing shaky from how well he was playing with you. 

 Every time he got a taste of you, he rasped out a slur of profanities, completely enraptured by everything about you. Your skin blazed, growing so warm it felt like you were sitting outside on a hot summer day. And your cunt all but throbbed underneath his skillful movements, just aching to find some form of release. 

 And when you felt one of his hands move, so that his thumb was pressing against your clit, circling and circling, while his tongue continued to slip into your hole, suddenly the room turned soft at the edges. 

 Mind dimming, 

 Thoughts clouding, 

 You could think of nothing else - focus on nothing else - but him. 

 And the way he was pleasuring you so well. 

“I-I’m going to come-” You whimpered, the tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as he pushed you further and further off the edge. 

 But he didn’t let up, even amidst your confession. 

 And instead, be continued with newfound vigor. 

 “Come for me, baby girl.” 

 His stern command seemed to travel up your core, pooling in your stomach. Before it was washing your entire system with a brilliant light of red, unadulterated passion that made you come undone completely. 

 All at once, you were yanking on his hair harder than you had ever dared, teeth clenching as you screamed out in pure, mind-blowing bliss. Minho continued working on you, thumb tracing your clit while his lips laved up your taste and his tongue teased your entrance. 

 You felt your back arch up and away from the couch, as you plummeted down the cliffside, racing at full speed with the violence that your orgasm tore through you. Small tremors shook in your legs, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as Minho helped you ride out your high, laving up every single drop that fell from your shivering walls. 

 Because you had wanted him for so long. 

 And even still, you wanted his cock to be the thing that your walls were fluttering around. 

When your heart rate began to calm down from the furious pounding that it had endured for quite some time, you cracked your eyes open and peeked down between your spread legs to see a smirking Minho. He had a pleased look on his face, a mixture of his drool and your juices coating the entirety of his nose, chin, and lips. 

 Reaching you, you ran a few fingers across his mouth, cleaning him off as best as you could from your colossal explosion just moments earlier. “You look so pretty when you’re aroused, baby,” you murmured, flashing him an easy smile. 

 Minho frowned up at you, shaking his head slowly, “First of all, I’m not pretty- and second, you’re prettier.” He gave you a wink, as he wiped his fist across his lips and rose to meet you halfway. 

 He slotted his waist in between you, and you curled your legs around his hips to accommodate his new position. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. It was lewd and dirty and so very hot all at once. 

 When you broke the kiss to take a few gulping breaths, you said, “Yeah, but you are… the prettiest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” You pressed, knowing that it would annoy him. But you liked toying with him. With his feelings and his quick wit and his sometimes short temper. 

 “I’ll show you pretty.” 

 Then you had no time to react as Minho was grasping hold of your baggy t-shirt, yanking it up and off of your form. Upon revealing that you had been braless the whole time, he let out a tiny, strangled whine. You caught a short glimpse of the situation in his pants, and how his cock irrevocably stiffened against the soft cotton fabric there. 

 “These are so pretty- your tits,” he praised, tentative hands reaching out to caress warm palms across your pert breasts. 

 Your mouth fell open with silent bliss at how good it felt- to have him touching such an intimate, hidden part of you once more. 

 “Wanted to touch them for so very long,” he started, fingers ghosting over either of your nipples, before circling back around and pinching down on them. Your chest rose and fell quickly with your rapid breaths, as you followed his every move with your eyes. “Wanted to suck on them for so long now.” 

 Instinctually, your hands were finding their way into his hair again, carding through long, dark locks just as his face neared your exposed flesh. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against the middle of your sternum, before pressing light kisses to the skin surrounding one of your breasts. All while his hand was busy playing with the other. 

 “Every night, when I’d play with myself, I’d imagine that it was you fucking my tits so well,” the confession fell from your lips in a quiet gasp, as his teeth grazed over one of your puckered nipples. When his tongue swiped over it once, twice, three times, your head fell back again, spine arching towards his touch. 

 Minho’s free hand held onto your hip roughly, nails digging into the skin there as he all but attacked your tits. Biting, pinching, sucking. His hot tongue lit something deep inside of you, causing something strangled and crazed to stir within the confines of your soul.

 “Holy shit- you’re so gorgeous,” Minho grunted, gravelly voice cascading out across your skin and sending a fit of butterflies to erupt in the pit of your stomach. “Love the way you react to me… doing so well for me, baby doll.” 

 You squirmed under his hold, head thrashing in elation as he moved his mouth and focused on your other breast. The burning sensations that he was drawing from you with just his mouth alone made you delirious. 

 Made you love drunk, 

 And insane. 

 Craving so much more. 

 More, 

 More-

More. 

 You wanted so much more of him. 

 He was like a drug that you couldn’t get enough of. Even if you overdosed, the high you were desperately chasing was surely worth the wait. 

 You pressed his face closer into your bosom, reveling in the way that his mouth roved over you with practiced ease. And when he came up for air from between your gooseflesh-dimpled mounds, he was a breathless and flushed sight to behold.

 “You think you’re ready, baby girl?” He rose between your legs, capturing you in a frenzied kiss that sent wave after wave of glorious ecstasy to course through your veins. You felt one of his hands detach from your hip then, trailing back towards your legs and resting there, just close enough to feel the warmth and wetness radiating off of your core. “Think your pussy is ready for my cock, hmm?” 

 You choked on a desperate sob, leaning forward and pressing a feverish kiss against his mouth. You were but a mere shaking form of limbs, controlled just by his fingertips alone. Eyes shuttering closed with the painful breath that you took from the tightness in your chest - from the edging and heightened arousal and your previous release.

 “M-Minho,” you found yourself pleading out to him, voice a little wobbly from all of the building emotions and feelings deep inside of you. “Y-Yes, please, need you so fucking much…” 

 He peered up at you, swarthy eyes flashing with a playful kind of mirth, “Then you shall have me, my darling sweetness.” Then he was tipping into you, placing a fervent kiss on your heated forehead. 

 You held on tight to his proud shoulders, heart fluttering at the sense of his toned muscles rippling under your fingertips as he moved the both of you. As he hoisted you up from the couch, helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he leisurely made his way into your apartment's only bedroom. 

 It was all so languid and calculated. 

 His palms, digging into your hips, 

 Slim digits, imprinting light bruises into your skin there as he carried you all the way. 

 And the entire time, he never broke your gaze. 

 Held it there. 

 Silently, 

 Knowingly, 

 Understandingly. 

 Acknowledging all of your past longings and ambitions. 

 And realizing that all of it - all of the pinning and long nights - was finally coming to a head. 

 Because finally, the two of you were going to be as close as could be to one another. 

 Flesh against flesh, 

 Body against body, 

 Moving in synchronization. 

 You were the murky night ocean tide, 

 And he was the brilliant half-moon shining high in the starry-lit sky. 

 Pushing, 

 Pulling. 

 But just gently enough that you felt his tug. 

 It was heavenly. 

 Lovely, 

 Attentive. 

 And you never wanted to stop feeling the way he made you feel, ever again. 

 Wanted to lock up everything in the pit of your very soul, burying it for a rainy day, or when the world was ending and it was only your memories of him that remained. 

 Because for so long, he had been but a mere blur of color in the background. A calm, shadow of blues and blacks and whites that stood there, just off to the side, observing and helping without even being asked to. 

 But finally, finally- he was no longer in the background. And now, the entire focus of the painting of your life was centered on him. 

 The movement of everything, 

 The tone of everything, 

 Revolved around him. 

 And his unique ways and his smile and his laugh and his touch. 

 It was all so perfect and romantic and… 

 Meant to be. 

To be continued

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[perfectlittleking]

A Motive For Escaping Hell

Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (Netflix TV Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror, do not read if you have yet not seen s01ep07 since this contains spoilers Character(s): Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Doll Spider Demon Relationship(s): Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Read on AO3 Word Count: 3,211 Summary: In Hell, hope does not exist only despair and pain and everything that can tear down a soul. Edwin knows that, but he has hope. He has a reason to fight, a reason to escape again. The problem is, can he keep it alight long enough to find the door?

The eyes of a young bloke shudder away from the creature in front of him. Avoiding any vision of the sight in front of him doesn't help. He huddles tightly against the wall. Calling himself a coward for sulking away from the beast, but it's safer. Still, he can see it in his head from the echoes in the chamber.

On the other side of the room was his captor, a towering spider covered in baby doll parts. All the pieces were sentient, as if the whole beast were a hive of individuals protecting the truth within. It hunches over, letting its numerous mouths munch on its snack. The two front doll arms hold onto the meal, cradling it. With closer evaluation, one would notice the meal was human.

Plastic heads gnaw and tear at the flesh, pulling apart pieces. Bones crunching under a few of the jaws. Shattering and being spit out on the floor. It mirrors the sound of marbles hitting pavement. Some pieces bounce; others crash and crack as they hit the grimy floor under the spider. The whole chamber was a half eaten buffet of human anatomy.

Other sounds fill the air. Plops of blood carry an arrhythmic tone. Twos, fours, and sevens. It’s chaotic and jarring against the rest of the appalling music. Every so often, a dull thud breaks all when a large chunk of the spider’s meal is dropped. Nothing about the sound in the chamber brings comfort, nor should anything down here.

Little giggles and soft whispered child tones slip from the mouths of those who don't eat. The same sound a baby doll makes. It has the childlike giggle, the babbling of nonsensical words, and the sweet hum of happiness. It only factors in a creepier tone when observing the demon.

Everything together paints the horrid image in the mind of Edwin Payne, haunting him since the day he entered. Nothing has ever truly blocked out the Spider Doll Demon from his mind.

It has been a while since he ran the corridors of the Doll House for the first time, but he's gotten out before, so he has faith in himself. He couldn't remember the full path that he had written down in his notebook since he dumped that knowledge in the ink, hoping he would never have to use it again. Eyes close as he tries to remember the pattern he had written down in the notebook all those years ago.

This was his labyrinth, not as intricate as the one in the myths he has read, but it was similar. Leave a trail, and one would escape, but he was not Theseus, and he didn’t have a ball of yarn. No. He was just a kid. All he knew was a way to escape. He’s done it before, but pulling that stunt again had a low probability.

There are a few paths he can recall. None of them seemed to be in order, but he will take what he can. Take a left to the open gate hall. Avoid the south wing; it held misery wraiths. It wasn't much, but it was better than starting over completely. He can do this.

Confidence floods the bloke as he pulls himself off the floor. Attempt eight. He will make it this time. On his knees, he places one hand on the wall for support. His back straightens before he can pull one leg out from under him. Slowly and quietly. That’s the rule for escaping from the room with the demon. His legs straighten, and he finds himself ready to leave. One last look at his captor.

Bare feet move in silence. He’s learned the hard way to sneak out of the room. Carefully, he takes each step. Not too slow since he knew how long a body enthralled the demon, but not too fast or he could make a sound. It’s a tedious process, but he finds himself out of the room and in the corridors of the endless halls. He’s run them numerous times, but remembering the path? That’s something he’s been finding difficult. This was attempt eight. This will be the attempt that becomes a success. The endless halls become his track.

Once clear, he runs. Legs pumping and arms swinging. With all his energy and all his strength, he tries his best to carry himself down the halls. Left. Left. Straight. He takes the same path as before on the sixth and seventh attempts. Straight. Keep running, he tells himself. He can make it. He runs down the hall that accommodates various rooms where agonizing and excruciating screams hide behind. This is a new feat for him this time down here. There’s hope. Hope fuels him to keep going. 

A child’s giggle rings down the hall from behind him. The sweet sound of innocence that the demon hides behind. It causes Edwin to look back. He knows that doing so will slow him down, but he has to check if the demon draws near.

Bare feet smack the concrete. The space between the two is shorter as the boy picks up speed. He picks up speed, even when his calves burn and ache. He cannot stop. His eyes stay in front of him, looking for his next turn. As he crosses the hall, one foot crunches down on a porcelain fragment of a doll.

It digs into the skin, cutting deeply into the ball of his foot. Biting down on his tongue, he tries his best to muffle the agony he wants to let out. Any sound would alert the creature to his whereabouts. The muffled groan causes his eyes to close and pause in the hall.

The floor’s littered with discarded doll pieces. Some plastic, some porcelain. All came from the spider demon. He’s not sure if the creature molts or was harmed, and he would rather not know. It wasn’t the first time he’d snagged a piece.

He leans against the wall and lifts his leg up enough to check the damage. He can’t stop for long, or the creature will find him. The porcelain digs into his foot, but he can see it in the entry wound. Fingers pinch the side that didn’t sink in the first step. A tear slips down as he pulls it out. The piece gets dropped on a pile next to him. He endures the pain as he lowers his foot back to the floor. He lost time, but he doesn’t see the beast in any direction.

A blood trail follows him now. He still tries to run. A small limp comes with him with each step on the injured food, but he bears the pain. He runs. He turns the corner, putting much of his weight on the hurt foot. Eyes close for a second as if he’s praying, but no one will answer when he’s down here. No brave soul would venture to save him. It’s a risk he didn’t want anyone to take.

Feet are still in motion. He soon hits something hard. Not a wall. Not a misery wraith. Hard plastic and rough porcelain cut against his clothing. Eyes don’t dare open, as he knows what he hits. The leg that Edwin ran into wraps around his body, squeezing it.

Flecks of black flicker in his vision before everything starts to unfocus. A few blinks help clear the scattered dots, but only for a few seconds. A loud crack rings in his ears. Pain explodes in his back, soon vanishing. A piercing scream races from within and flees down the halls of the Doll House. Half his body goes limp. Everything below his ribs doesn’t exist to any of his nerves. It throws him into a panic. Breathing becomes sharp with quick breaths. Each one brings a sharp pain. All of this tells him the worst: the eighth attempt is the eighth failure. The leg squeezes tighter, piercing the snapped spinal cord. The surge of pain causes Edwin to black out.

As he regains consciousness, Edwin finds himself somewhere else. No. Where he is is where he started: the demon’s main chamber. He’s back on the floor across the room from his predator, who’s devouring the eighth version of him. It’s where he always wakes up after a failed attempt.   Life. Reincarnated once again. It’s a torturous cycle he never wanted to experience again, but here he is. Trapped in Hell in the Doll House. The endless halls always bring him back to the demon, back to the pile of failed attempts. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has. The demon is enthralled by the body, and when it grows tired, it will turn to him for another game of cat and mouse. Nothing could stop this cycle except escape.

He’s done it before. He’s ventured into several rooms of the deadly sins. He’s ran up the endless stairway before. The path from the Doll House to freedom is sketched in his notebook. He is proof that he’s escaped Hell before. Edwin Payne: one of the known cases of a spirit escaping. The problem is, why can’t he do it now? What was different?

The cowering bloke sits with his legs curled to his chest. He leans against the wall, avoiding seeing the demon. He has the same clothes on his back as last time. His motive is different. Last time, he believed he was there because of a miscalculation, but that was the opposite of what the Night Nurse said before the door opened. He was there because he was supposed to be. The thought hurts and digs deep into him, causing him to ball up tighter.

He shakes the thought away. He cannot slip away so soon. He can make it. He will prove to Asa that her records were incorrect and he isn’t supposed to be down here. Attempt eight wasn't the last attempt. He has enough fight to run the halls a few more times. Edwin wasn't going to quit. It was too soon to call that. He's Edwin Payne, and the only thing stopping him from escaping is himself.

━━━━━━━━━━━

He’s lost count of all the times he’s tried. All the times he’s been ripped apart, eaten alive, thrown across the hall, and the other unspeakable ways he’s been killed. All he knows is that he’s failed. Failed so many times that he cannot make out the number of bodies that build a hill of discarded versions of him. Was it twenty, thirty, or fifty of them laying on top of each other? None were whole. Severed limbs and loose organs have fallen off the hill and rolled down around it.

He knows he’s tried and tried again. All he does is find himself back in the chamber with the demon. Each time he loses, and each time the demon wins. Always finding the creature with its most recent prize withering in its plastic arms. The same sound rings out. Even if he tries to muffle them, they have burned into his eardrums.

Hours have passed. . . or was it days? It’s difficult to figure out how long he’s been here with the dim lighting in the Doll House. The windows just peer out to other locations in Hell. Sunlight doesn’t touch here and never plans to. There’s no ticking clock in any of the rooms that latch to the halls. He isn’t sure how long he swims in the darkness between death and rebirth. There’s nothing that can help Edwin figure out how long he’s been down here.

A giggle that sounds like it belongs to a child came from the demon. Was it mocking Edwin? It must have known the reason why Edwin kept running away. He always assumed that this was a game for the demon. A game it wanted to play for centuries since it did trade something for him.

He curls up against the wall. The light of hope that has been glowing since he arrived has started to flicker. It’s slowly going out, like a candle that’s just a wick. There’s no wax or oil to keep it burning. It might have been the only source of hope in Hell. The damned lose hope when they find themselves here. It’s a miracle to Edwin that he still has a speck of it.

With each passing moment, Edwin slips away. He is close to being gone, but something keeps him sane. There is something that keeps him going and holding on. The thought keeps him from slipping too far.

He closes his eyes. He finds strength in a way that he could never explain to anyone. His mind draws out the one thing that Edwin has been holding on to since he was dragged back down. The fact he’s always sure of–

Brown eyes.

Brown curls.

The fact that Charles Rowland is the bravest person he knew. That nothing could stop him, not even Edwin.

And he’s hopelessly in love with him.

Was hopeless the right word? Love was a topic that always made him feel like a dilettante. It wasn’t something he was ever interested in when he was alive, but after meeting Charles, things twisted in his mind. It was slow, but after realizing that, if he did have one, his heart would beat for him. He wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Charles.

It’s tormenting to be in love with Charles Rowland. He’s reckless, also he was always around Edwin. He never went a full day without seeing him or without talking to him.

Just thinking of him gives breath to the burning light of hope in his chest. He lets his mind wander more about his crush. He focuses on the golden cross earring, the one that reflects the sun when hit just right. He can see his bright smile before he bursts into laughter.

It gives him enough strength to pull himself up. He runs this time. Another attempt.

It doesn’t end as he wants it to, but when he finds himself back in the chamber, he tries again. He thinks of Charles. He pretends he’s cheering him on in the living plane. He can almost hear his voice.

“C’mon mate! You can escape. You’ve done it before,” says the hallucination of Charles.

It gets him to push himself. It causes Edwin to run faster down the hall that tripped him up on the eighth time. He doesn’t miss the right turn like he did the twelfth and twenty-first time. He’s getting better. He can–

The gasp of life brings him back. A few attempts have passed, and everyone ends like the one before. He takes a breath of courage before pulling himself back to his feet. It’s weaker than the last. He tries to hold on to the thought of seeing Charles again. It helps. But it distracts his mind.

He takes a left. No. it was supposed to be right. He circles the hall. It was a new hall, one he hadn’t explored. It couldn’t be the exit. Did the labyrinth change? Could it have changed? Hell could grow smarter and learn from its victims. He wouldn’t rule that out. Just thinking about that makes him sink down. It makes him hit the floor and pull his knees to his chest. His head rests on top of his knees.

Hell wanted him, and Hell finally got him. Even with the faint thought of Charles that lingers in his mind, Edwin cannot find the strength in him. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he whispers weakly.

A tear slips down his cheek and down to his knee. A few more follow on the same path. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t escape. After all, when he escaped last time, things felt strange. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like Hell allowed him to escape.

By keeping his silence, the creature can’t find him. Being still allows him to hide in plain sight. If he keeps this up, he could stay in this hall for a few days at most.

“Edwin?” Charles’s voice breaks the silence in the hall.

For a moment, Edwin believes it's in his head. Charles wasn’t that reckless or idiotic to come down to Hell for a rescue mission. No one in their right mind would do that. It only makes his arms tighten around his legs.

But what if he’s wrong? Slowly, Edwin picks up his head. The yellowish glow of a lantern glows down the hall. The same one he once used for Charles back in the attic of St. Hilarion’s. He couldn’t imagine that, right?

Behind the light stands him. Stands Charles. The real Charles. The one his ghost heart would beat for.

“Edwin, mate.”

His voice is soft, calming. There’s hope in his voice. There’s hope glowing in the hall, all because of Charles Rowland.

“Charles?” He whispers as he slowly pulls himself up.

He needed to know if it was him– if it truly was the bloke he’s been in love with. He takes a step toward him once he’s standing.

That one step alerts it. It causes the horrors he’s dealt with for almost a century to be witnessed by Charles. The creature speeds down the hall, down the corridor, and scoops Edwin up like a rag doll in the plastic arms. Slamming his body against the wall, then against one of the legs. The wound on his head, which he thought had finally healed, opened up again. It leaves a trail to the room where Edwin will wake up in.

If Charles was real, he should run. If Charles was truly Charles, he wouldn’t, thought Edwin. If Charles felt the same tug in his chest as he did, then he would follow the demon, even if it was dangerous.

When he does wake up in a new version of himself, he’s cowering. Charles wasn’t in the room where the demon rests. The Charles he saw was another figment of delusion. Charles was smarter than that. Edwin curls up, trying not to make a sound. No one would come for him. Charles deserved better anyway.

How long has it been since he saw Charles? If it was Charles, would he have made it by now? Minutes pass by, and he still finds himself alone with the demon. The Charles he saw wasn’t real.

What catches his attention is the slight reflection of light on the wall in front of him. The light catches a splatter of crimson, causing the deep wine to brighten. Light like that doesn’t show down here. So what was. . .

Before he can turn around, he hears his voice. He hears Charles’s voice. 

“Edw–”

The sound causes Edwin to twist himself quickly, and he finds himself with Charles in front of him. His hand is now covering his mouth to avoid the demon hearing them. For the first time, he can feel him. Soft lips against his palm. Hell made things feel real and alive. For the first time, he’s feeling Charles. He’s real. Charles Rowland was here with him in Hell.

He came to Hell for him. Came to rescue him. He was the bravest person he knew, and bloody hell, he was in love with him.

[cjgladback]

And that's a wrap! On the first 100 grams of this oyster-colored Wool of the Andes roving. I'm very happy as my yarn quality and understanding continue improving; definitely getting to those consistent thin yarns I wanted. The green skein is absolutely the favored child, but I swear it is actually better than everything else, not just green. Which gives me some hope for all the wool I intend to card, actually.

My rambles got extra long, as were the image descriptions, so please enjoy this cut:

I wanted to test blending fibers with the same staple length before I get into more complicated things with the fiber festival fleeces (I am still slowly accumulating what I need to wash and dry them) and was honestly a little worried about how disorganized and snaggy it felt to card and draft, both. But my oh my that squishy, soft, wonderful yarn. I'm gonna keep trying to emulate it, though I still love the organization of just spinning nice long semi-compact roving. Versus even once I get a diz aka drill a hole in my designated piece of curved laminated cardboard, I expect carded sliver to be loose and fall apart if I do things like wrap it around my wrist as a proto-distaff. For the green yarn, I tried making kinda loose sideways rolags that I both compacted and drafted the tiniest bit so they could be wrapped into nests.

So! Mayhaps I should try carding something that isn't already organized. Like the little bit of very lanolin-laden wool that was packed with the e-spinner (EEW Nano, original flavor) I recently acquired from a thrift store. And maybe I won't want to wash all the lanolin out and lose the learning experience if I also blend it with other, clean fiber. Perhaps if I cannibalize the first skein here...? Good thing I never fulled it after all!

The above is not actually the train of thought that lead me to wanting to combine those two; I'm just realizing that there are basically no projects that I want to do that would actually use that yarn as is, and I'm already planning my limit of small and patchwork projects for other things. One is that I'm planning to put together all of these oyster skeins into maybe a hat? to commemorate my improving spinning skills, maybe with lace for the underplied and color work for the green, and I already have my actual first spin in a scarf so I don't feel too beholden to preserve this. I really like textured knitting that needs even, solid or slow-transition, thin yarn, whereas this wild and lumpy almost-twenty-feet would maybe work for someone who did tapestries? But that is not me. And I think if I calm down and maybe tweed up the bright colors I'll enjoy them more, as well. So. These may be the last photos of the yarn in its current state.

Whether that's my next project or if I try to get some mileage on the Nano with the next bundle of oyster, I'm not sure. I'm already missing my fidget activity after just a couple days of washing and drying the last skein, but I also wanted to design some bookmarks with the clearance yarn I got at the same time as the roving. So if I can get a prototype pattern laid out so it's not as much ongoing brain power, that might fit the bill.

[ID: Three images of various small hanks and balls of yarn laying on a wood table with notes digitally hand-written in light purple around them.

The first photo shows all eight of the skeins in the order they were spun, all but two a light cream color. The first is a chunky, uneven skein spun from a bright purple, pink, and orange gradient, labeled "chain ply" and 6.6 yards. Next is a cream center-pull ball that is 36.25 yards, and next to it a smaller, more even center-pull ball of 22.5 yards, perhaps 21 wraps per inch. Next is a forest green skein, labeled "hand carded," 49 yards, balanced and soft! Next are two cream skeins that were "underplied and broke," 116 plus 33 yards, 30 wraps per inch. The penultimate skein is longer than the rest (having been wound around more than one chair back) and 158.25 yards. The final skein is labeled "intentionally thicker to pair with green," and 99.75 yards.

The second photo compares the green and final skeins, with winding notes starting with a cloud of hearts by the green. It is a "50/50 blend of Oyster and Aurora roving colors on handcarders," and "took no notes so of course it's balanced, soft, and sturdy." Its cream counterpart has a smoother surface, more even thickness, and is slightly more tightly plied, with the note "didn't card but made an effort to match on ply back tests -- decent weight, almost balanced, not soft" (flat-mouthed face).

The third image compares the first and last skeins, the first labeled as 23 grams of gifted cheviot or shropshire, chain plied from ball with core, for a total of 6.6 yards. The latest is 24 grams of clearance peruvian highland, plied via book-wrapped bracelet into a two-strand ball, totalling 99.75 yards. End ID]

[thesharkspajamas]

James and Angus play cricket - NO SPOILERS

@im-kikimon

Harriet: James' pallas cat daemon. Assume only James can hear her unless is specified as 'aloud'

Context: James and Lydia are staying with the Bells post season one (dw no spoilers here for the show or the books). James has discovered a love for baking with Helen and a talent for pipe icing. He and Lydia have agreed to help her ice 100ish cupcakes for a commission to the bakery. - I have actually posted a similar scene before if you want to read it, but it DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS for season 1.

This is also part of a larger chapter of a growing fic (~20k words) so some parts have been omitted/added to make it make sense, sorry if the flow is a bit off.

Anita is an OC, she's Helen's sister and is a foster parent. Helen rang her to get some advice about James and Lydia staying with them.

Some cricket terminology:

Whites: cricket is traditionally played in white trousers and t-shirt. This kit is often referred to as ‘cricket whites’ or just ‘whites’

Lad: young man - British slang

Guards: here it’s cricket terminology for where a batsman stands in relation to his stumps.

Stumps: the three sticks behind the batsman in cricket

Bails: little pieces of wood that sit on top of the stumps. If these are knocked off in the right circumstances then the batter is out. They indicate that the stumps have been hit.

James was up early on Sunday morning - hardly surprising as he’d been asleep by eight-thirty last night. He left a note on the chopping board and went for a run with Harriet trotting along beside him. 

His thoughts turned to everything he had to sort out, his obligations to the Beaufort name, supporting Lydia...

“But you’ve got cricket with Angus today. We haven’t played since summer,” Harriet interjected, “and we’ve got to ice the cupcakes for the party.”

Good old Harriet for not letting James get too deep in his own head. He was looking forward to both of those things, “Bet you’re looking forward to the cricket, might be some cricket balls.” He teased Harriet.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Harriet had scratched and gnawed four cricket balls beyond repair while James had been focussing on his bowling once, and since then all unattended cricket balls had had to stay in a zipped bag. She didn’t regret it: not her fault they were leather, and stitched, and ball shaped - like yarn, but better.

They passed a florist’s brimming with colourful blooms and James stopped to take it all in. This was (of course) research for his cupcake designs, not because he liked the look and smell of pretty flowers. 

A young woman came out to meet him, “Morning!” she greeted him cheerily.

“Morning,” James greeted politely, “what are these ones called?” He gently turned a large cluster of blue flowers towards her.

“Those are hydrangeas,” she smiled, “You shopping for anyone?”

“I’m decorating some cakes this afternoon and need some inspiration.” But, now he thought about it, some flowers might be nice for Helen and Ruby as a thanks for last night, and a live model was always better for drawing with - icing was probably the same. “Actually, could I make a bouquet?”

“Yeah, if you want to pick some out, bring them in and I’ll wrap them and arrange them for you. Take your time. I’m still setting up.”

Thank goodness for Apple Pay. James returned from his run with a gorgeous pink, white, blue and purple bunch of flowers. And a red rose for Ruby, just because.

He’d been out longer than he’d realised. He saw Helen clearing some space in a cupboard - “good morning, süßer, nice run?”, she smiled at him.

“Great. Thanks for your help last night.”

“Of course, süßer." held up the list of his and Lydia's favourite childhood foods they'd made last night, some of the baked goods had green stars next to them, “I was going to go food shopping this afternoon. I noticed I used to make quite a few of these at the bakery before we slimmed down. I’m happy to buy you some supermarket stuff, but I still have the original recipes if you’d like to try some at-home baking?”

James felt his eyes widen. “You made the brookies? And the apricot-honey things?” He couldn’t believe it, after his mum had stopped bringing them home from her commute, he’d never been able to find those again, and the Beaufort cooks had never got it just right. 

“I’d love that.” He said sincerely. Speaking of at-home baking…

He pulled the bouquet out from behind his back, “I passed the florist. The brief was pink, blue, white, and purple flowers, right?” he suddenly felt embarrassed; he’d never given a woman flowers before, even if she was Ruby’s mum.

“Oh they’re perfect! That’s very thoughtful of you.” Helen exclaimed and sniffed them. She didn’t mention the rose. “I think you and Angus are leaving for cricket at half-nine, but you’ll be back by one so we can do them after lunch?”

James nodded, “Would it be okay if we listened to some of the prescribed podcasts while we ice? Just as background..” he trailed off. ‘Idiot’, he thought, ‘this was supposed to be fun and here you are wanting to listen to-’

“-That’s a good idea.” Helen cut off his thoughts, “I hope you don’t mind but I called Anita again while you were out. I just wanted some more on how I could help with the preparation and school and stuff like that. She said that creative stuff like this is perfect for prep, listening without distraction might be pretty depressing.” Anita had also recommended positive enforcement of good behaviour, so she continued, “Well done for asking. I know it’s hard to ask for what you need.”

James felt his cheeks heat, “I’ll go and shower”, and beat a hasty retreat. He still had the rose for Ruby. He should be able to catch her before she left for her shift.

Percy and the Range Rover arrived right on time. Percy handed James his Maxton Hall cricket whites, “Good morning, sir. Your cricket bag is in the boot.”

“Thanks Percy,” James ran back inside to change while Percy loaded Angus and the chair into the car. James had just jumped in the shower when Harriet reminded him that he didn’t have any other sports wear besides his (now-stinky and sweaty) running kit. A quick call to Percy had remedied that.

James got into the car.

“I saw Ruby looking very happy this morning, that got anything to do with you?” Angus smirked as he handed James a tupperware of sandwiches. Neither he nor Helen had seen James eat that morning so Helen made something just in case…

“Oh thank you”, James took the food. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. “I popped by the florist this morning on a run. They had some roses, and, well, turns out Ruby likes roses.” He shrugged, he’d picked it up on a whim, really. No real thought behind it.

He looked out the window and ate the sandwiches, trying to avoid more questioning. ‘It wasn’t that big of a deal’, he thought. ‘It’s just a flower.’

“It’s cute though,” Harriet teased him aloud from her seat. She loved Range Rover heated seats - they were so much better than the Merc’s.

“You’re such a girl.” James teased her back. It was an inside joke between them.

He missed Percy and Angus stifling their laughter in the front seats.

…

A few Adidas-track-suited local boys decided that James was an easy target in his pristine Maxton Hall whites and expensive kit, “Hey posh boy! Wrong club innit?”, “The fuck you doin’ere?” Their jibes echoed around the sports hall.

“He’s with me, lads.” Angus interjected firmly. “He plays the same cricket we do. Josh, Wills, pad up. We’re working on guards today.”

Jams was impressed by how quickly they fell in line under Angus, and the session continued calmly with only the occasional jibe. He’d rarely experienced this sort of bullying - what with his expensive private school education and closely engineered circle of friends - but  he ignored it easily thanks to his father’s training in Beaufort Nonchalance.

Cricket was one of the very few things he and Mortimer had bonded over. Mortimer had had some nets permanently constructed at the mansion so they could practise year round: the result was that James was seriously good at cricket.

When it was time to go into the nets, James warmed himself up slowly; starting with some basic and slow ones, then gradually getting faster, spinning more. He was fast outstripping Josh and Wills as batsmen, watching them get frustrated as they missed and had to right the stumps every time (they’d given up on bails). 

James let rip: alternating fast bowling with different spins, watching as their frustration boiled over.

Angus called it after Josh swore and flinched away from a particularly fast one, “Alright,” He flashed a torch he kept in his pocket until he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s switch batters. James and Callum, pad up!” He made a batting motion with his hands. 

James and a ginger lad jogged over to the kit pile where Harriet was lounging about with the other daemons. It took James a moment to recognise her in the form of an Italian Greyhound. He narrowed his eyes at her and she privately replied, “If I’m fetching cricket balls, I’m doing it comfortably.”

James shrugged, ‘good paparazzi cover’ he guessed, and turned to the ginger boy.

Angus saw them shake hands. Callum was seventeen, basically deaf, and didn’t have many close friends at the club on account of going to a special school. He also knew that Callum liked spending time with people without necessarily talking to them - on account of the extra effort it took to make out conversation with hearing aids - perfect for James.

He overheard Josh and William muttering as they left the nets, “crazy fucker”, “what the fuck is a player like that doin ‘ere?” Angus let them go, he figured they’d learned their lesson.

To absolutely no-one's surprise, James’ batting was also excellent. One of the boys’ dads who stuck around to help sidled up to Angus, “With a player like that, we might just win the league. Where'd you find him?”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off the nets, “He’s one of Ruby’s schoolmates, he’s staying with us for a while.”

“Maxton Hall,” the father read the crest of James’ bag, “that the posh one up the road?”

Angus saw the ‘how do you afford that?’ question coming and shut it down quickly. “Yeah, Ruby’s on scholarship. I dunno if we’ll be able to keep him, but the other lads are copying him, so however long we do get him, we’ll see some permanent improvement.”

It was true: Josh and Will aside, the other boys had watched James’ bowls intently, and they’d all been chatting with him in the queue. It seemed that James fitted into this little club quite nicely.  

[jamiemccanless]

Tremblor Shawl

Hello. Last time I showed you the first of three Tremblor designs, and that earthquake theme continues. Remember that children in my family saw the tilting pattern stitch and said that it looks like city buildings after an earthquake. This my Tremblor Shawl!

It’s big. Eight feet / 244 cm across and almost 3.5 feet / 104 cm tall - it’s nearly a right triangle. I may have gone a bit… bonkers, but wrapping up in this shawl is so nice!

The design begins with a diamond-shaped tectonic plate. Then, broad columns of eyelet-and-cable tremblors and ribbed tectonic plates radiate out from yarnover fault lines. At the top of the shawl, I chose a less stretchy bind-off for the north tectonic plate meant to wear less and a stretchier bind-off for the top fault line to flex. Both samples that I knit used exactly three balls of DK yarn.

Thanks for watching.

Ravelry: https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/tremblor-shawl