#I might knit some more of these if I have enough yarn or if I can find a good teal

[knitpurlgoal]

Breaking update: the sharkuda gnome!

I swear the teal is a Sharks teal! The pattern is “Gneil of Grimblewood” by Sarah Schira (Imagined Landscapes) with some small mods. The idea for this came from @tofumilanesa who wanted to get Ekky one of those super kitschy gnomes and I said hey I bet I could knit one and I have Sharks inspired yarn….

Edit: yarn is Ravelry Red from Malabrigo and SJ Sharks by a dyer who is no longer is business, but you can check out Ancient Arts' Hat Trick Collection. Needles are uhhhh 1.5mm? maybe?

[roboticchibitan]

Okay, I've made enough "blease knit gauge swatches. Swatchless projects killedy family" posts. This post is an informational post a out gauge swatches. It will mainly be written in knitting terms because that is my main craft but it applies to crochet too. Even if you're an experienced crafter, you might learn something from this post. I talk about different reasons to make a swatch and some reasons a swatch might lie to you.

What is gauge?

Gauge is the size of your stitches, ie how wide and tall they are. It can be affected by the way you hold the yarn, your tension, and your needle/hook size. In knitting the style you knit can affect this, with the tendency being that English style is usually, but not always, tighter than continental. When I went from knitting English style to knitting Norwegian style, my gauge drastically changed to be much looser.

What is a gauge swatch?

A gauge swatch is a small piece of work that you use to measure your stitches per inch and rows per inch gauge. "Standard" gauge swatches are 4in/10cm squares, but often you'll see different sizes, especially for lace patterns that have you test knitting a certain chart or stitch

Why do we make gauge swatches?

We make gauge swatches to check if our gauge is the same as the pattern designer's gauge. Because you want your gauge to be the same as the pattern designer's so you know your size XL sweater will actually be size XL or your six foot in diameter shawl will actually be six feet across. Or that your airy and beautiful lace will actually be airy and beautiful and not too dense or too loose.

We also might swatch if we are substituting yarns. For example, a blocked lace swatch of wool will have different dimensions than a blocked lace swatch of pure silk because silk is less stretchy than wool. So if you are substituting fibers, you want to know that you'll like the finished item and might swatch a bit of the pattern before starting in earnest so you don't waste your time making something you'll be dissatisfied with.

There's also some differences between yarns of the same fiber and same weight. Some lace weight yarn is categorized as lace weight while being 600 yds per 100g, and some lace weight yarn is 800 yds or 1000 yds per 100g. So you should knit a swatch when substituting yarn even if they are the same fiber and weight if they are different yardage per gram ratios.

Do I always need to make a gauge swatch?

I talk a lot about the importance of gauge swatches but the honest answer is no, you do not always need to make a gauge swatch. If you are making something that doesn't require a certain size or airiness of pattern, like a bag or a simple scarf, you don't need to do a gauge swatch.

How do I make a gauge swatch?

Most patterns have a simple gauge listed, such as 22 stitches by 18 rows is 4in/10cm square in stockinette. However, some patterns have an "in pattern" gauge swatch or a separate pattern/chart for their swatch. So you cast on however many stitches (I often cast on a few more than the swatch calls for, but you don't have to), and knit that many rows in whatever pattern is specifed. If it's stockinette, knit stockinette. If it's "in pattern," locate the repeating part of the pattern and knit the designated amount of rows. If there is a separate pattern/chart for the swatch, knit as directed. Bind off. Don't measure on the needle, it will lie to you.

Then, you want to treat the swatch how you'll treat the finished object. If you're not going to block the finished object, measure it as is. But if you're going to block the finished object (and most things you should tbh blocking hides so many sins), you get the swatch wet, pin it out to shape, and then leave it to dry.

THEN! And nobody talks about this step for some reason and it's been the reason swatches lied to me in the past. Unpin it and let it rest. Different people give different time amounts for this resting. I'd let it rest at least three hours but some people recommend up to a week. The reason for this resting period is that many yarns, especially wool and other animal fibers, have elasticity to them. They'll rebound back a bit. Cotton and linen will have less rebound than things like wool. I'm not 100% sure where acrylic falls on that scale since I hate the texture of most acrylics.

OK I made and blocked the swatch and let it rest, what do I do now?

Now you measure! Does your stitches/rows ratio match up with the pattern designer's? Compare your gauge to the listed gauge. If it is different, you need to adjust needle/hook sizes. If your swatch is larger than the given measurements, your gauge is too loose and you need to go down one (or several) needle/hook sizes. If your swatch is smaller, your gauge is too tight and you need to go up one (or more) needle/hook sizes. At this point you can say "it's probably just one size up/down" and start your project, or you can repeat the entire swatch process. If unsure, repeat.

That's cool, can we see an example?

Sure! Here are two swatches I have pinned out.

I didn't follow my own advice about swatching and just started the Sapphira Lace Shawl on the recommended size 4 needles, but I got all the way through the first repeat of the body chart and then frogged the whole thing because my gauge was so loose you couldn't even see the pattern.

The Sapphira Lace Shawl has a separate pattern just for the gauge swatch and says "gauge is not important, swatch in lace pattern and use comfortable needle size to achieve airy lace that is not too holey." Too holey means that the stitches and yarn overs are so loose you cannot properly make out the pattern at all. That's what happened when I used size 4 needles.

The swatches you see here were knitted on size 2 (top) and 3 (bottom) needles. I knitted the bottom swatch first but was unsure if I liked the result so I went down another needle size and knitted a second swatch.

You'll notice the size 2 swatch is smaller and it's easier to make out the design. The stitches are smaller and denser, so the places where decreases and plain knit stitches are grouped together are easier to see. Versus the size 3 swatch where the stitches are looser and it's a bit harder to make out the design, though not impossible. On size four needled my stitches were so loose you couldn't really make out the design at all. With these swatches pinned out, I personally like the size 2 swatch better. However! That may change once I let the swatches rest for a while!

This yarn is an alpaca/silk mix. Alpaca is known for stretching out and not holding its shape. It's not ideal for lace. Silk is very good at holding its shape, but not very stretchy. I'm hoping together they make an okay yarn for lace because separately neither is my preference for lace. It was what I had on hand that was dyeable. Alpaca has some elasticity so it will spring back once I unpin it and let it rest. At that point, I may like the size 3 swatch better. I won't know until I get there.

I'll try to remember to post pictures of the rested swatches tomorrow to show if there's any difference. I might work up another swatch on size 4 needles to show what "too holey" looks like but that's more of a "how to knit lace" educational swatch than a "how to knit swatches" educational swatch so I might not bother.

That's it, that's the post. I'm sure my knitting mutuals will have comments and things to add so check the notes.

[solarmorrigan]

See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

[vashti-lives]

The making of a woolfellow

Last weekend I decided I would loose my mind if I didn’t make a quick easy project I could hug when I was done. I realized a pattern I was already comfortable with had a very familiar silhouette and couldn’t resist taking some inspiration from @sleepnoises clayfellows!

The base of this guy is literally just Purl SoHo’s Big Snowy Owl as written. As long as you are comfortable knitting small tubes either via magic loop or with double pointer needles this is a super super easy project. I used magic loop for the base, ears, and eye plate because when I young poor beginning knitter I absolutely could not justify buying a bunch of double pointed needles when my interchangeable circular set could also make small tubes, and now I’m very proficient at magic loop and and cannot be bothered to get good at DPNs. But either will work.

I knit as directed until I hit the point in the pattern directions where it tells you to stuff the body at which point I started making minor adjustments for the eventual wool fellow. I added a poly batting liner at the same time the instructions tell you to stuff the body. I always do this in plush toys knit with big yarn because there’s not really a way of knitting big yarn tight enough that stuffing won’t fall out, but in this case it’s also extremely necessary because it gives an extra anchor when you’re sewing in the buttons.

Once I had lined it and mostly stuffed it I took a break from the main project and knit and embroidered one half of the faceplate, for measurement reasons. I’ll put the directions for how I made the faceplate below, for now it just matters that you know that I did this because I wanted to know how big it was so I would be able to place the buttons. For the record my plate was… roughly 8 inches. I cared enough to check but tbh by this point in the project the election was over and my willingness to be precise was basically zero. As you will see. This was also when I rummaged through my button collection and found buttons small enough to be pressed through the plate fabric but big enough they wouldn’t immediately fall back through. Probably 7/8 of an inch??? Idk. Might have been better off with slightly bigger buttons. More on that later.

I didn’t do a great job sewing the buttons on symmetrically because I figured it didn’t really matter and technically this is true but also it would be easier to put the plate on nicely if the buttons were symmetrical.

A naked woolfellow!! Avert your eyes!!!!!

To work out where to put the buttons count ten stitches, put a removable marker, count 8, removable marker, count ten and put a removable marker. Basically you want the buttons (and eventually the face) to be in between one of the 8 stitch sections because the ten stitch sections become the ears/horns.

I pulled random cheap buttons from my stash and sewed them on with a thread shank, but using buttons that have an existing shank would be easier.

As a completionist and because when I finished knitting the body I wanted to be basically done I also knit and embroidered the second plate here and sewed them together using a lazy faux mattress stitch/ladder stitch. Once that was done I went back to the directions and finished the head/ears as written!!

The faceplate is knit almost identically to the bottom of the body save for the fact that there’s no need to purl. I also swapped out kfb for m1L (save the first row) for texture reasons but you could kfb the whole time if you wanted.

This is what I did but depending on your gage and how big your guy is you may want to adjust.

Faceplate: make two

Cast on 8 stitches and join in the round

Kbf across (16 stitches)

Knit

K2 m1L across (24 stitches

Knit

K3 m1L across (32 stitches)

Knit

K4 m1L across (40 stitches)

Knit

K5 m1L across (48 stitches)

Knit

Cast off

Close up hole in middle and embroider the eyes.

As far as embroidering the eyes goes my only advice is to take these three phrases and accept them into your heart:

It's ~rustic~

It's organic

It's a design choice

Some final thoughts:

On the base pattern:

I will note for the record if I was going to redo this— and I will almost certainly be making a second one— I would skip the diamond texture, particularly on this multi colored yarn. It looks fine on the finished guy but for the amount of extra work and wrist strain I don’t think it’s really worth the effort, at this in this context. YMMV and if you’re knitting in a solid color you might weigh things differently but it’s worth noting Purl SoHo’s own variations on this pattern— a bunny and pig— do not include any kind of texture or pattern.

On the button mechanism:

About the buttons and the double sided eye plate-- I do not know that this is the best way to accomplish this. It's the best I could manage while having an nervous breakdown but I suspect someone clever could think of something better. They are frankly fiddly and even with the batting they are not the most stable. I definitely wouldn't give it to a child like this, even if they're too old for the buttons to be a choking hazard, the whole thing is too delicate.

It would definitely be more functional for hardcore cuddling and squishing if you just sewed it on and didn't worry about it being reversible. I may eventually do this. The buttons might also be more stable if you lined it in a knit fabric instead of (or perhaps in addition to) the batting. I think it would be a good use for a worn out t-shirt.

On yarn and yardage:

Yardage first-- the pattern says the main body uses 180ish yards, but I definitely used at least 200, and maybe a little more. The eye plates also probably took 40 yards total? I'm not sure I didn't pay that close of attention. It was about one ball of Valley Yarns Valley Superwash Bulky. This also doesn't include the Hometown USA I embroidered the eye with. I have absolutely no clue there. 10 yard? 15?

For the curious I knit this out of Malabrigo Rasta which is. An insane choice for this project. BUT a few years ago I splurged and bought 5 skeins in two colors from my local yarn shop because it was shutting down and I wanted to help the owner recoup what she could. Also it was my birthday. I then very promptly ruined all this yarn by trying to wind it with my yarn cake winder and over spinning it. It didn't take me long to realize the gage was not going to be fully consistent with this yarn AND parts of it had way too much energy now and were going to create fabric that never really laid right. I cried. This was like, $140+ worth of yarn. It got stuck in a bag and shoved in the back of my closet in the hopes that I would forget my crimes.

When I was pondering what to knit last week the yarn psychically contacted me and told me it was ready to be a woolfellow. Or maybe I just saw the pattern and remembered it. Who can say. In theory the pattern should take 180 yards of wool, which is just shy of how much I had in this color, out of caution and in the hopes that I would have enough leftover to attempt arms I knit the bottom in scraps of gray yarn leftover from a previous project. I kind of thought the gray wouldn't show but TBH I'm not mad it does, it ends up looking like the bottom is unglazed which is cute. I like it so much that I embroidered my eye on the purl side to match it. Anyway-- as turned out knitting the bottom out of gray was a good choice because I used up almost all the Rasta as it is, I have maybe 1-2 grams left. It's probably because I didn't gage swatch, but it might also be because over-spinning the yarn did weird things to it.

It it is sad the original cropped jacket was not to be but I would absolutely never have bought this yarn to make a stuffed animal and it is so nice. I love it so much. I am absolutely turning the second color I bought into a second guy. It's all got a very pollyana life lesson feel. Sigh.

If you're wondering this guy's colorway is Solis (the other yarn I have is in Azul Profundo, which will also be very nice.) To me the nearly 60 dollars I spent on this yarn is so so much money but I will say that if you want yarn that is a) a natural fiber b) very very very soft and c) hand dyed Malabrigo Rasta is about as cheap as you'll find and it is absolutely beautiful in finished products. You miiight want to get 3 skeins just to be safe.

That said I have absolutely knit this pattern in much cheaper yarns and also gotten nice results. If you're ok working with acrylic yarns I knit it in Hometown USA to make a Totoro-- with some minor alterations-- and it was very cute. I also used K+C Luxe Alpaca Solid from Joann (technically it was under the buttercream line at the time, but it's the same yarn) to knit the bunny version of this pattern. There's also plenty of cheaper wool yarns online that are very nice.

If anyone other than me ever makes a woolfellow PLEASE tag me!!!

[stevieschrodinger]

Part Two

Part One

Eddie sits in his van, and he cries about it. He cries so much the already tangled mess of yarn in his hands becomes nothing but a colourful blur. He knows a lot of this is hormones; his neglected Omega falling further and further into depression.

If he neglects his Omega much more, another heat spent alone might actually kill him. Eddie vaguely recognises he's far enough gone that simply not waking up one day sounds kind of nice.

He bought the most expensive yarn he could afford. He knew it wasn't good enough for a pups blanket, but he just couldn't afford the nicer stuff. Yarn is fucking expensive.

So yeah, he got the cheaper stuff, attracted to the colours as much as anything, even knowing he'd have to double it over to make it thick enough to knit. And that was how the trouble started because doubling it over meant unspooling the whole thing.

And now it's just another thing Eddie has fucked up.

He's not a good Omega, he knows that, he's been told it his entire life; too brash, too loud, too imaginative, not good at cooking and cleaning and organising and all the stuff Omega are supposed to naturally be good at.

Which if he didn't care, then it wouldn't matter, but Eddie wants a pup. Wants one like it's a burning urge inside him. Wants to carry one, wants to make another person who's a part of him. His Omega whines and whines and whines and Eddie wants it. Wants it enough that he tries to be a good Omega; he just always fucks it up.

And that makes it so much worse.

Some of the Omega in senior year are already mated, already walking around with bites proudly displayed on their necks. Fancy Omega with good breeding and nice families who have chosen Alphas for them. Which, sure, Eddie's not sure he'd like to have an Alpha picked for him, but to have a pup of his own? Eddie would put up with a lot.

One girl is already pregnant, everyone congratulating her and celebrating with her; as soon as she started to show Eddie found he couldn't even look at her any more, the envy was eating him alive.

But it'll never be for him.

They're supposed to make pup blankets in Omega class and Eddie can't even afford the fluffy yarn. He's already failed.

And then Eddie nearly shits himself when someone bangs on the driver side window. He's been ugly crying, and he tries to wipe his eyes and snotty nose to see who it is, winding the window down. Steve Harrington; fucking wonderful.

"Hey, man, look, are you, okay?"

"Fine," Eddie answers, clearly not at all fine, one hand smeared in snot and the other wound so tight in the fucked up yarn his fingers are turning white.

Steve sees it, "do you, want a hand with that?"

"I don't think there's any saving it." Eddie says, defeated, but it was unexpectedly decent of Harrington to offer so he tacks on, "thanks."

"I was just here, late, you know, shooting some practice hoops, maybe if we go in the gym we could spread it out, maybe?"

Eddie just stares at him for a minute, because this is the nicest anyone's been to Eddie for ages and it's coming from and Alpha which just makes it that much worse so Eddie just...nods. Finds himself following Harrington into the gym.

They work in silence for a while, and at Steve's suggestion, they do end up cutting the yarn once to make it easier.

"Thankyou."

"No worries man, I knew we could do it, what's it for?"

"Omega studies," Eddie mumbles at the gym floor, "pup blanket"

"Ah, right, that's cool, Why'd you pick it? I like the colours."

And in what universe is Steve Harrington making idle conversation with Eddie Munson, "was all I could afford," Eddie admits, shame faced.

"They make you buy it?" Steve's frowning, "even though it's for a grade?"

Eddie just nods, and then shrugs.

"Oh, well what did your Alpha think?"

Eddie snorts, can't help it, the ridiculousness of it, "I don't have an Alpha," Eddie declares, much more loudly than he'd really ment to.

"Oh. I just figured...I mean you're so pretty. You must get plenty of offers."

Eddie just...stares at Steve. He must have fallen and hit his head, surely. It's the only explanation for what's happening here, Eddie laughs again, "sure, if I want to get on my knees in the bathroom." Which is true, Eddie gets plenty of offers, just not any he'd like to participate in. He's going to loose his virginity to an Alpha who cares for him, in a nest that Alpha built, even if it kills him.

Which it just might, if he goes through another heat alone. He sees the way Wayne looks at him, the worry in his eyes. He knows he's not well, but he's just going to ignore it. There's nothing else to be done.

"Oh," Steve says, he looks uncomfortable but then he ploughs on anyway, "you do smell...well, I...I can tell you're maybe not doing so hot."

Great. Time for Eddie to fucking bail on this. He's hit his limit on Steve Harrington pity for the day.

It's the next day when Eddie finds a paper bag hanging from the windshield of his van. There's five skeins of yarn inside; dark blue, a little sparkly, and the softest thing Eddie's ever felt. He looks around to see who could have done this; across the car park Steve Harrington gives him a shy, two finger wave.

[optimist-pine]

Granny

Summary: You and Daryl have a secret confusing love language of insults

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,236

Era: Seasons 1-5(ish), The quarry - Alexandria

It had started shortly after your first encounter with Mr. Dixon. Simply a passing (slightly pointed) comment - nothing more - as some of you gathered around the fire that night.

Dale stands near the flames, removing a whistling pot from the heat. "Anybody want a cup of tea? Kettle's hot."

"Why dun'cha ask granny over there?" Daryl suggests, nodding towards you with a snigger. Merle's not around tonight, and so it seems he's found a way to create a bit of entertainment.

Your head snaps up when you realize you're the butt of the joke, hands stilling as you set down your work. A crochet hook or knitting needles find their way into your hands as often as that damn crossbow ends up in his; usually when it's too late in the evening to be doing anything else. "You know what? I would love a cup of tea. Thank you, Dale." You reply, taking the steaming mug that's passed to you with a smile that melts into a pointed glare the second Daryl's eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches mischievously. "Somebody get out tha' fancy china an' the biscuits an' we'll have ourselves a real tea party." He's prodding the coals with a stick, and in the darkness, the slope of his shoulders brings to mind the image of a caveman. The thought amuses you.

You nod your head, contemplating. "Hmm... I'd be down for that. In fact, I have a feeling we might even be in the presence of a tea party expert." You say knowingly. Sophia and Carol sit cuddled up to your right, and the little girl looks curiously up at you, cradling a well-loved teddy bear. You turn to the child, lowering your voice. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about tea parties, would you?"

She curls into herself a little, shyly. But at her mother's gentle urging, she nods her head, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

You clap your hands together. "It's settled then! Tomorrow we shall have a tea party." The last part is aimed at Daryl - you feel proud of yourself, but the confused look on his face makes you question why. It's like you've taken his accusation as a challenge to prove just how grandmotherly you can be, and funnily enough, he's probably right. You're actually looking forward to hanging out with Sophia tomorrow; she's a pretty cool kid.

Carol tuts softly. "After school." She adds.

"After school." You agree, shooting Sophia a conspiratorial wink.

Every time Daryl spots you working with your yarn he can't resist the urge to tease you about it. Maybe it's because you take every jest in good humor, or maybe it's because you always have a quick, witty comeback. He's never quite figured it out, but somehow it's become a staple of your interactions. Even though so much has changed, he's oddly glad that this hasn't.

One night, in the dead of winter, as the wind howls through gaps in the window frames you get an ornery glint in your eye. Daryl's already found your behavior suspicious, whatever current yarn project you've been committed to hasn't made a single appearance the entire evening. And the way you keep glancing at him almost nervously is... unsettling.

When he looks up again you're walking towards him, hands tucked behind your back, trying so hard to look casual that it doesn't take long before all eyes are on you. You stop in front of him and promptly shove a box in his face. No, not just a box. It's a present, wrapped perfectly in polka-dotted gift wrap with a glittery bow to top it all off.

He stares back at you, wondering what punchline he's missed.

You roll your eyes. "It's a gift, Daryl."

"Why?" He asks. He'd trust you with his life any day, but right now - with that box - he absolutely does not.

"Well, why don'tcha just open it and find out?" You taunt, shaking the present just a smidge.

He takes the box, feeling awkward and clumsy as he tears away the paper. Having never opened a present before - at least nothing like this that is - feelings of stupidity and excitement and pressure blend within him.

He dumps the object into his palm. It's cool and smooth to the touch; a black mug with white writing that says "World's Crankiest Grandpa".

You're trying so hard to withhold from laughing that your face is turning pink.

"Think ya could get yer money back on this one?" He asks, spinning the cup around to critique it.

You slap his arm lightly. "Ah, Dixon, you're no fun."

"She might'a hit the nail on the head there." Rick chuckles.

You sit back down, finally pulling out your yarn like all is now right in the world. "Ah, I found it a couple days ago. Couldn't resist. S'pecially not after the dream I had where you were yellin' at the walkers to 'git offa yer damn lawn'..." You shudder. "Took me a bit to get that one outta my head."

That earns quite a few laughs from the rest of the group. Once again, you've managed to lift the mood of those around you. It seems to be a habit of yours.

He turns the mug over and over again, running his thumb across the letters. He knows it's only a gag gift, but he's not blind to the effort that went into it. And it's not an exaggeration to say that this silly mug is by far the most thoughtful gift he's ever received.

He hangs onto that mug, using it proudly every day. Of course, it garners the occasional question from the new folks, but he doesn't mind. Soon enough he's got a matching handmade hat, scarf, and gloves as proof of your continuing love for the grandmotherly hobby.

When the prison falls he misses those gifts severely.

But then, Alexandria. The day he comes across you there on the porch in a creaky rocking chair, with your cup of steaming tea and a ball of yarn, the once-familiar urge to say something a little stupid and a lot annoying takes over.

He stoops down and leans in. "Where's yer glasses at, old lady?"

You wave your hand to shoo him away. "Ah, git yer muddy boots off'a my porch ya ol' geezer." You nag, the smile you're trying to hide peeking out like a sun ray from behind storm clouds. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, clomping down the steps. But it's not like he's trying to hide his own smile or anything... Not at all.

When he returns home that evening, there, sitting on the end of his bed, is a small box. It's perfectly wrapped in paper that's covered in birds and trees, encircled with a pristinely hand-tied bow. He can't deny the flutter of excitement as he plops down to unwrap it. It's like Deja Vu, the coffee mug tumbling into his palm. This time it's white with black lettering that reads "I don't always roll a joint, but when I do, it's my ankle".

With a snort he falls back onto the bed, letting old memories wash away the burdens of the day. However he can, whatever it takes, he'll hold onto the hope that you'll both end up old and gray and worn someday - together.

[babyspacebatclone]

Picked up a yarn project again today, immediately found a mistake, and it make me think about how some people complain about fan terms.

Like, the entire “Why do you think you’re so special you get to just make up words to mean things that have words already?”

Which is of course silly, ask anyone getting a Masters degree in any specialization and there’s a ton of field-specific terminology and phrases that mean something exceptionally specific to them but are confusing to others.

Me? I was giggling at the terms knitters and crocheters use, simply because we can.

Case in point? Frog and Tink, both verbs, both meaning something everyday but with specific meaning to people who know what they are.

“To Frog” is to yank on your yarn of a crochet or knit project and unravel however many stitches - you “rip it, rip it!!”

“To Tink” is a more controlled form of unraveling exclusive to knitting, which is literally knitting in reverse (k.n.i.t. -> t.i.n.k.).

“Well, why not just say rip it out or unravel?”

First of all, you tink and frog in different situations: tinking is safer but takes a ton of time and effort, while frogging runs the risk of ruining a work if you’re not careful but is the only practical way to undo multiple rows.

Secondly, these terms are fun! Going backwards in a project because you made a mistake is a pain no one actually wants to do, so croaking out “rip it, rip it!” while you watch an hour’s worth of work dissolve into a tangle of kinked yarn helps.

Thirdly, it’s a sign of community. You know someone has spent time in knitting or crocheting culture to have encountered these terms - a badge of honor, of having committed to a project enough to being willing to redo to that extent.

So have your slang. Have your fun little phrases that have nuance.

It’s literally English.

Unless you happen to think the terms “To hit someone” and “To hit on someone” mean the same thing.

Edit: Forgot to include this! A link to a page with instructions on how to best safely Frog and Tink, where I took those pictures.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

When your shift ends, you leave the shop, heading down the same way you came. You stop at the corner of Mason and think better of going that route. You take that man’s advice and go along Doxtator instead. It’s quieter, there aren’t as many businesses so not as many people loitering and tossing cigarette butts.

You come up to the shared house and enter through the side door as usual. You wouldn’t call it routine yet, you haven’t been there long enough, but a ripple of deja vu comes over you. You keep your head down as you enter the kitchen. As you do, there’s another person in there.

You don’t know if you should say hello. You haven’t seen this man before. He must be one of the others. He pulls a box of rice crackers out of the cupboard and ignores your presence. You follow his lead and don’t say a word as you set your bag on the counter and pull out the drawer. You write your name on the few items you got from the store before you left; a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and some packets of ramen.

You put it all away as the other resident traipses off down the hallway, shuffling footsteps reverberating off the shabby walls. You shut the fridge as you hear the outside door open and shut. As you turn, the other man enters; the big one with the shaggy hair. S as you think of him.

He nods at you as you fold up the paper bag and shove it in the bin. He goes to the cupboard and opens the door. He sighs and takes out the same box of crackers as the last man. He shakes it and tuts. You see then the S marked on the side.

You leave, not wanting to get involved. You feel bad that someone else took his food but you also don’t need the drama. You hate conflict. At least now, you know to watch your things. Maybe later you’ll sneak out and retrieve your ramen so you can preserve a few meals.

You’re not very hungry. Your appetite is sparse these days. Maybe it’s this place. You can’t quite settle in, maybe because you hope it’s only temporary. Yet, you can’t say if that’s because you’re holding onto hope that by some miracle you could go back to your former life or that you might even forge a new one.

You lock the door and turn on the standing lamp. You fold your coat over the metal frame of the bed and sit to untie your shoes and peel off your socks. You change into a loose pair of sweatpants and a plain tea with a Pepsi logo on it. Not your clothes, another set of charity tatters.

You lay down and stare at the wall. You used to have a television in your room. You’d watch the old sitcoms they replayed on the public access channel. Or you’d listen to music and knit something. You had at least a dozen scarves more than you needed. You might be able to afford some needles and yarn after your first pay.

The cone of light casts a low haze through the tight space. Your eyes slowly close as thoughts of shutting off the lamp fade into your subconscious. You’re asleep before you can feel yourself drift off.

🚪

You wake to a strange sound. Your eyes flick open to the yellow lamplight as you lay stiffly on your back. You groan as your cramped muscles tug. You stretch and the bed frame creaks with your movement.

The scratching continues. You’re not surprised. You would expect mice in a place like this. There were some at the shelter too. They mostly left you alone, just skittered by as they searched out crumbs.

It gets louder as you sit up, tilting your head as you try to loosen the knot between your shoulders. You stand slowly, daunted by the pang across your hips. The mattress is thin and you can feel the frame on the other side.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie,” the voice startles you as it slips beneath the door. You stop your arm midreach as you go to click off the lamp. You peek over and see the shadow shift under the door. “Sweetie? I can see your light’s still on, why don’t you open the door?”

You don’t know the voice. It’s pitchy and uneven. The sickening tune behind it makes your stomach wrench. You stay far from the door as the handle jiggles, the deadbolt keeping it from opening.

“Sweetie. I just wanna talk. You don’t have to open the door. Just talk to me…”

You hug yourself and gulp. There were men in the shelter who tried to talk to you, the ones who got too close, who would stand over you while you slept. You were lucky they went away when they were caught.

There’s another shift and the floorboards groan. You hear an odd scuff and see something slide beneath the door slowly. Little by little. It’s a hand mirror, just thin enough to fit. Oh my god.

“Sweetie, I wanna know your na–”

The click of a mechanism and the grind of hinges interrupt your unwanted visitor. The mirror stills and the floor creaks again. You chew your lip as you listen with bated breath.

“Oh, hi,” the same voice greets someone.

“Go,” the deep voice orders gruffly.

“You can’t make me–”

“What are you doing out here?” The other man asks. You recognise S’s timbre.

“N-nothing. I live here too. I can be in the halls,” the strange man responds.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I wasn’t making noise.”

There’s a pause. Footsteps follow, getting closer, and you hear the squeaky voice utter a ‘no’ as the mirror wiggles slightly then is kicked further inside, scuttling over the floor.

“What the hell?” S growls, “you leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t bothering her–”

“I know what you were doing. I know who you are. What you are. So go before I crush you like the worm you are,” S’s words make even you shrink in fear.

“Ha, you think you deserve her. Because you look like you do,” the other man accuses, “you don’t scare me.”

“I don’t care if I scare you, I’ll break you in half if I see you at her door again,” S sneers and there’s a thump on the door, followed by an ‘oomph’. “Got it?”

“Got… it,” the breathy hiss chokes out, “let me go.”

A sudden scramble of footsteps, as if thrown off balance, clatter across the floor. They continue, quicker and quicker until you can’t hear them. You hear a sniff, then a sigh. A shadow appears at the bottom of the door.

“Hope you’re okay in there,” S says, “I’ll keep an ear out for that creep.” He pauses as if waiting for an answer but you can’t find one past the hammer of your heartbeat, “have a good night.”

The floor groans with his weight as he retreats and his door gently clasps. You can’t move. You lean into the wall and let your legs fold as you slide down onto your bottom. You’ll leave the light on for tonight. You don’t think you can face the dark.

[hballegro]

i have more conspiracies about MASH that may or may not be true, but ive decided they are. they also just might have been explained, but im dumb, and cant remember. heres your sequel.

in 7x3 where hawkeye tackles bj, bj goes "AAH!' and hawkeye says 'WRONG! THAT STARTS WITH AN H!'. this is because mike farrell's line was 'hey!' but due to the force and drama of the scene, just Yelped instead.

All the dogs that turned up that never appeared again [like the one bj and hawk "ate" when they were trying to scare a visitor, dogs seen in 1 shot, etc] were just dogs that the production crew/cast owned and wanted to bring to work/volunteered their animal for acting duty

in the handful if scenes where hawkeye is actually knitting [and not using the red yarn, for the reason given in the previous edition], hes making a blankie for erin. [co-credit my sibling]

klinger got his ears pierced during the course of the show, starting with clearly just clip-ons and then later declares he doesnt want his ears to close up. some say continuity error, I say commitment (and also it would probably be easier to find real earrings instead of clip-ons)

in s7e2 Peace on Us, no one told bill christopher to tie that red streamer around his neck, he just thought it would be silly

in s7e2 Peace on Us, again, no one told alan alda to drive the jeep back to camp with his leg up like that. he just knows the character well enough to make that call. which he's correct about

the scar on hawkeye's lip was caused by a fishhook in his youth. got called Troutboy a long time afterward because of it.

bj is a vaseline girlie and takes good care of his hair as well.

hawkeye sniffs food because, having grown up partly during the depression, eating spoiled food was a real risk, so giving it a good ol' sniff-test was a given

fr mulcahy cares deeply about his appearance and engages in more grooming activities than any other guy in camp [the shower cap, always looking perfect, owning gardening gloves, manicured hands and feet, etc]. he even irons his stole on a bi-weekly basis and launders his clerical collars

hawkeye's issues with people leaving and not saying goodbye began with his mother after she passed, since his father didnt want him to worry

on nights where charles goes to bed after the other two, he will occasionally clean up a little bit. this contributes to why he's so pissed in 'Pressure Points'- he's been doing his own cleaning and some of theirs without them noticing or caring.

once again these are all just things that came to mind while watching, i didnt think too hard on them. the only one 'researched' on was the food sniffing, solely because i needed to do Year Math lol

[thegreenleavesofspring]

So back when I first started knitting I was told that I was going to need to use it for my tithing - my time and my labor and my love, rather than strictly money that I frankly can't afford. Fair enough, will do. But more than that, I was told specifically - ever noticed how when we're told to make things for Him He's always very specific about it? - that I was to make baby blankets for my local pregnancy center. Fair enough, can do. But even more than that, I was given a very specific mental image of the blanket I am supposed to make first.

Now, this wasn't an immediate thing. It was to be my best effort, not my first one. But since November, I have slowly been acquiring what I'll need. Bulky needles. Knowledge of stitches. A pressing on my heart, of late, that this is something I need to be standing ready to do. All I am missing is the yarn.

But speaking of 'of late,' I have been going through... trials. Let's call them trials. Trials of the open-ended and indefinite (and unbearable) variety. I have also been praying. Constantly and emphatically. I'd like these trials to be over soon, please. And it's felt like I just... haven't been receiving an answer. Can't hear Him at all. He's silent through all the usual channels. Everything - even the small things - are going wrong. Etc.

Now I have no doubt that this is my own fault, not being able to hear Him. But it's still discouraging. So my prayers over the last couple days have been more along the lines of, "Can You hear me? Are You there? I am small and weak and need some sort of sign that You're still listening."

Y'all.

So like, I've been getting emails from my knitting supplies supplier like "We've got tons of new yarn in stock! Check out our new yarn!" And I've been ignoring and deleting them because I've got BILLS to pay and CHILDREN to feed and clothe I cannot be indulging a HOBBY but.

Well I got one through that said "big summer yarn sale" and I deleted it and I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't supposed to do that so I went to their website and looked at their sale yarns and I found it. The precise yarn I'm supposed to use.

Kids if you ask God for a sign that He's listening to you, He might tell you "Go do something for someone else for awhile and stop whinging about yourself for a bit."

So last night I'm sitting and I'm looking at this yarn that's 40% off going "Really? 🤨😑 Well I'm Dead Broke right now so if You want me to get it You'll have to provide a way. 😑" and lo and behold. I got the alert today that I'm getting paid in a couple days.

I would still like these trials to wrap up with a nice neat bow on top, but I'll get back to y'all once I've knitted a baby blanket and - somehow - rendered it up to my local pregnancy center. How? I haven't a clue. But if He wants it there He'll get it there, that part isn't my problem unless He makes it my problem.

[milkweedman]

I probably knit the body of this like 5+ years ago now, but it is finally a usable object :) and I even did some decent finishing work rather than slap some ties on and call it done‐-sewed the sides together using blanket stitch, added the crochet border in trans colors, and plied some laceweight cotton I had into a decent cord. Also sewed the pocket in. Probably will be another project bag ? Idk.

Other finished objects from the last couple of days. Didn't think to take before pictures sadly.

The basket looked basically identical; I ran out of yarn there and then tossed it in the moving box last year rather than deal with it, so this time I just sewed in the ends. Might felt it later depending on what I decide to put in there.

The drawstring bag was I think partially frogged and then snarls prevented me from frogging the rest. Decided to fix it up instead. Works great, should do more totally mesh bags honestly, they stretch so well.

And the towel also looked much the same; I started it maybe 2 years ago, knit for a whole, got bored, put it away. This time I just cast off, sewed in some ties so it can be secured, and sewed in the ends.

Feels just crazy enough to work.... you do 99% of the work in the distant past, and then get so ashamed you bury it deep where you will never find it, find it anyway after several years--but enough time has passed that you can't remember what you hated about it in the first place, and hey--you could have a brand new towel in half an hour if you just sew in some ends... crazy...

[bitstitchbitch]

fun fact - handmade, sustainable clothing is expensive for a reason! I just spent $90 on cheapish 100% wool yarn that is probably-hopefully enough for a crocheted sweater (I should have bought another 1-2 balls, but planned poorly). This is yarn from a good-sized company - it was manufactured, not hand spun or dyed to my knowledge. Hand-dyed / spun yarn is double that cost, easily. Again, this is just the yarn. A good crochet hook is around $10. Add another couple of bucks for stitch markers and other misc. tools. Patterns can be bought, found online for free, or you can make your own which is what I’m doing. Working without a pattern requires more time - I spent ~1.5 hours today making test swatches just to decide stitch and gauges. Now consider that higher quality yarn comes in hanks, not the pre-wound balls that you usually find in Michael’s or Joann’s. I wind by hand, so that takes 1.5-2 hours to do all six balls. And only once all of this is done can I begin to make my sweater. Which will probably take 20+ hours. So add in labor costs, let alone profit margins and other business expenses and you start to see why most people don’t sell large crochet items. Not many people want to pay over $300 for a sweater (and remember, this is cheapish wool yarn at $14 / 219 yards, not $30 / 150 yards of hand dyed cashmere, so double the cost if we’re talking premium materials).

Hell I made a crochet afghan with cheap cheap acrylic yarn (literally what you find in Michael’s). $75 materials, but it took me 120+ hours of work and the base cost (labor + materials) would be at least $1000 before profit margin. Then consider that it took me over 9 months to finish. I love that afghan. It’s going to last my whole lifetime. I have similar afghans that my great and great great grandmothers passed down to me - it’s literally an heirloom item. I have no regrets about spending all that time and money on it. But holy fuck, it would not be worth it as a business venture.

I guess my belated point is, consider this the next time you complain about the cost of sustainable, ethically produced clothing. And consider that sustainable clothing usually has more longevity if properly cared for. You can usually thrift for immediate needs and save up for those long lasting items! Just never buy crochet items from a store. It’s such a scam. If the price is affordable, it’s probably unethical (small items are still sketchy, but if it’s local business and not a chain you might be okay - some people can make money off crochet if they’re making small items). There are other methods of sustainable clothing production that can produce cheaper items (machine knitting for example, and even sewing is typically faster) but materials are almost always going to come at a premium and hand sewn/ knitted / crochet is going to be even more so.

[lysreadsbookssometimes]

So I was on a cruise in norway last week and one of our stops was Flåm. And because I am at my core a huge Rick Riordan Fan, I tried to figure out how and where the happenings of Ship Of The Dead happened. Enjoy!

When I got to my feet and looked over the railing, I lost the ability to breathe. [...] T.J. laughed. “No, it’s just Norway. Pretty, huh?"

The entire description of the fjords is too long to put here, reread it yourself (Ch29), but see my best attempt to capture this majestic beauty on camera.

If you have the opportunity, absolutely go visit the norwegian fjords, they are stunning.

The boat glided onward, the soft applause of the waterfalls echoing through the fjord.

There were a lot of waterfalls, so have these two, the left one goes directly down to the fjord, the right one is a short hike inland from Flåms center.

Its called Brekkefossen and if you like walking up a bazillion irregular slippery stone steps it might be exactly the view for you.

We slipped into the dock farthest from the cruise ship. Our only neighbors were a couple of fishing boats and a Jet Ski with the dubious name Odin II painted on the side.

So I actually had a little bit of a hard time identifying the docking site. First I thought it might have been across the harbour, but later they mention the docking site being next to a beach and there is no beach on that side. Next to the beach I did find small boat sheds (Not a Jet Ski called Odin II, sadly, but hey) and they had wooden docks somewhat far away from the cruise terminal. Enjoy my artists rendition of it.

I love the pure concept of the Big Banana so much its ridiculous

We walked about three blocks through crowds of tourists, past shops selling chocolate and moose sausage and little wooden troll souvenirs. (You would think anybody descended from Vikings would know better than to create more trolls.)

We saw a lot of trolls. Norway seems to think these creepy gremlins are a fun thing to have tourists take as souvenirs. But in Flåm we had this - thing - in front of a gift shop.

I actually forgot to take a picture of the shops, but my mom did, so everyone say thank you to my mom.

As we passed a small grocery store, Mallory grabbed my arm with enough force to leave a bruise. [...] Mallory pointed to a store called Knit Pickers, where tourists were oohing and aahing over a sidewalk display of locally produced wool yarn. (Norway offered something for everyone.)

Despite my best efforts, i did not find Knit Pickers. The closest thing i found was a small yarn store a few kilometers outside of Flåm on the way to Brekkefossen, but that was too far away. But, I found the grocery store, so closest thing i guess?

This is my favorite doodle amongst all of them. I do invite you to zoom in and take a look at the random baby Magnus is carrying.

By the time Sam and I caught up, she was clinging to a chain-link fence outside a small train depot, cursing as she scanned for her lost prey. “You found the train,” I noted. Parked at the platform were half a dozen brightly painted old-fashioned railcars. Tourists were piling on board. The tracks wound away from the station and up the hills into the ravine beyond.

I did not have an opportunity to ride the train. But, I have a picture from outside which i also doodled on. The norwegians claim it is "one of the most beautiful train rides in the world".

The guy i doodled Mallorys hair on looks like he is having an existential crisis and if that doesn't fit her experience on this train ride I don't know what does.

So because I didn't go on the train, I can't show anything in regards to the train and the myth stuff and everything. But, I can show you some approximations of the way back.

This would be what it looked like when Sam flew back, Mallory in the walnut, featuring the cruise ship I came with as well as the Big Banana probably too big in the corner.

That is actually the view from Brekkefossen, as a teaser what waits there if you ever want to go.

Before the murder could murder themselves on the scythe blades and blame me for it, Jack and I began our long hike back to the Big Banana.

And this would be what that would probably look like.

I need to practise drawing people, jesus christ

Our crew had taken care of the other giant.

I could tell because of the badly hacked-up, decapitated giant body sprawling on the beach next to our dock.

My giant is a work of art, but i am pretty sure they are supposed to be ugly in some interpretation of it and i couldn't be bothered.

I can offer a perspective with the Big Banana in, too. This picture was taken from the ship while departing. It was really cool.

Flåm is stunning. The nature is absolutely beautiful and I get why Magnus was so overwhelmed with the Fjords. I was too when I woke up in the middle of a fjord the day prior, and I was on a gigantic ship, not a small to medium sized longboat. It truly feels like magic. In Flåm, there were clouds against the sides of the mountains surrounding the village. I don't think I've ever seen something like that.

Long story short, Norway is stunning. Flåm is stunning. It is so beautiful that i barely took pictures, because they couldn't capture it properly. I absolutely get why that was a stop on their journey, and I am pretty sure I want to come here again. It is a dream on earth.

[yearningaces]

What does nyxs bedroom (burrowroom?) Look like? What's the vibe?

Stupid question: Does he wear clothing? I assume they do, but i could be wrong, and they use their fur as clothing. If he does wear clothing, what's the vibe? Is he cozy and practical? Or a little more "put together" and "proper."

He doesn't have to because hips and down are just like anthropomorphic rabbit legs, so fur covers everything. Like a satyr!

Usually he might wear a shirt, normally a dark blue knitted sweater, just because it seems to be his favorite color. If not that, a light cream color. Usually sweaters, usually loose fitting and soft. Cannot stand tags and scratchy fabrics my boy has sensory issues

It's seen as proper manners to have at least a shirt and maybe MAYBE those kind of pants that are super loose and flowy before pinching down on the leg? But mostly loose free fabric that's soft and usually made within the burrow community(before anyone asks, yes some rabbit-folk have dense enough fur to spin into yarn and yes it is something practiced)

[shadow-the-artist-idiot]

Do you want to hear about my cult of the lamb oc? Of course you do here you go !!

Warning for uhhhh, talk of gore and cannibalism and also violence? Also LOVE. CRINGE.

Me and a few friends(Werestorm, Somber, Dragonfang, and another friend but i dont think they have a tumblr) made a cotl au where our skrunklies were each killed by their bishop, and tasked by narinder to hunt them down for revenge.

Bastiel(They/Them), my goober, was Shamuras follower!! I haven't worked on their story in awhile, but i have a bunch of ideas and a vague idea of how it'll go.

Basically, babythey was a super loyal follower of Shamura. The purple crown(lovingly deemed Purple because both Shamura and bastiel are so original), when Shamura first saw Bastiel, basically harassed Shamura until they finally figured out who Bastiel was, and begrudgingly also got attached.

At some point, Shamura started teaching Bastiel how to do various things. Sure, bastiel wasn't a disciple, but the crown certainly liked them, so they figured hey. They must be trustworthy. Useful. They started teaching them how to fight, how to kill. How to be so silent you make no sound at all. They were the bishop of war after all.

But there were also the smaller things. Like, they taught Bastiel how to sew. The various techniques to work fabric and yarn, crocheting, knitting, all that. Mostly under the excuse of not wanting them to be so useless, they couldn't make their own clothes. Mostly, though, it was because both the crown and Shamura genuinely enjoyed their company.

Bastiels pov was quite similar. Both enjoying their company, and so incredibly honored to be taught and trained by their great Deity. They believed every word Shamura said, not even thinking for a moment that there could be a lie in their teachings. And, eventually, they grew to love the great being they called their Deity.

After awhile, they grew to trust eachother, though Shamuras trust was not nearly as big as Bastiel, who would give their life if Shamura even hinted that they wanted them to do so. Bastiel hadn't been there long enough to rise to disciplehood, but Shamura was considering doing it early. Sure, they trusted their disciples more than Bastiel for the moment, though it was a different kind of trust. They trusted their disciples to keep the cult in order, to stay loyal and keep everyone in line. They trusted Bastiel...well. they didn't quite know what kind of trust they held in Bastiel. They trusted them to do whatever they said, to do their dirty work. To heed their every word, as if they didn't, they would die. And they did.

Bastiel killed whoever Shamura ordered. Dissenters, mostly. The occasional spy. Though, sometimes they were ordered to kill a few followers who were a little too close to becoming dissenters, though not there yet.

So imagine Shamura's surprise when they found Bastiel attempting to murder one of their most loyal disciples. When they arrived, the two quickly separated, the disciple stammering to explain. Though, they allowed Bastiel to explain first. Bastiel explained that they had been woken by the disciple attempting to desecrate one of the Shamura statues, the largest one. Once they had realized what was happening, they had attacked.

The disciple argued the opposite. She claimed that she had spotted Bastiel trying to destroy the statue, and upon being caught, they had attacked her.

While the crown that sat atop Shamura's head sided with Bastiel, Shamura had to choose whether to believe their most loyal follower, Feon, or the one they had hoped would that said followers place.

They chose to believe the disciple. They told her to punish Bastiel however she saw fit, and then left. Bastiel was placed in the pillory until morning, when they recieved their actual punishment.

Bastiel was, of course, telling the truth.

Have you ever been cannibalized? One might argue that, if one is already dead, then in desperate times, it can be a last resort food. This was not that scenario.

Tied up in the middle of the circle of followers, Feon began to perform a ritual. A ritual, where one follower is sacrificed. Doomed to be eaten alive by the ones they had once called brothers and sisters. That, was Bastiels fate. Conscious for every second, as teeth and claws ripped their flesh from their body. A bear follower ended up tearing a hole in their chest, exposing their ribcage as it feasted. Eventually, Bastiel finally died.

Only to come before Narinder. The One Who Waits. He offered to bring them back to life if, in exchange, they got their revenge against Shamura, and built up a following in his name. Bastiel, who had believed that Shamura in all her great wisdom would save them, was...skeptical. Though, they suppose it wasn't a test of faith if they died in the end. They didn't trust Narinder at all. However, they didn't have much choice. So, they agreed.

They were brought back to life where they died. They didn't pause for anything, escaping the cult grounds as quickly as possible. They grew a small following as time went on, one they ruled with an iron fist. Dissenters were killed before they spoke a single word. Spies were sacrificed. Hell, not even the elderly were spared. Especially, not the elderly. It was...annoying, to come back from a crusade, only to find some old bastard had died, and their following lost faith in them. So, they resolved to kill them before they could die of old age. It worked quite well, really.

Meanwhile, the Purple crown refused to cooperate. Ever since Shamura doomed Bastiel to death, it refused to work half the time, mourning the loss of their favorite follower. Until word got around that there was someone going around in Shamuras domain, killing and killing, making their way towards Shamura's temple ruthlessly, bloodlust radiating off of them like heat does off of the sun.

Much to Shamura's despair, and the Crowns delight, it was quickly discovered it was Bastiel. They wielded no crown, only a sharp dagger. Though, they replaced it any time they found something better.

They carved through Shamura's following like a hot knife does snow. Honestly, in some fucked up way, Shamura was proud.

Unfortunately, Bastiel still needed to die.

I leave this here, maybe I'll continue later. But jesus fuck this is already long enough. See, this is what happens when you accidentally fall in love with your own character. Smh.

[ganseysglasses]

More TRC Christmas headcanons? Absolutely.

Gansey is the type of guy to get you an experience. He’ll buy concert tickets, reservations to go spelunking, planned museum days, things like that. However, much like his physical gifts they are things he tends to like more than everyone else and he has no clue of that fact. Because everyone loves Gansey to death they’re excited to go anyways, and it’s always a blast, because he’ll find out so much useless trivia about whatever you’re doing. Art museum? Gansey just told you the artist of the painting you’re looking at was four times divorced and his third wife was a lion tamer.

I feel like Adam can draw really well, and he’ll use that + cabeswater to create the most perfect psychic drawing rendition of whatever you think is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He draws a lot of trees for Blue, complete with vibrant leaves that almost seem to move if you squint enough… Gansey gets all swooping landscapes of Henrietta. The whole town memorialized on paper had almost brought Gansey to tears. (It immediately went to his notebook, the highest honor.) One year, he ended up having to do a self portrait for Ronan, but felt slightly awkward about it and made Chainsaw instead. Adam later gifted the self portrait after they had gotten together. Noah always got some sort of animal, and even after Noah left, Adam still drew whatever animal he thought Noah might have loved unconditionally. He keeps those tucked away though, and the others haven’t found them. They’re only for Noah, Adam would say.

Ronan is a creature of habit, he dreams things. In his eyes, that would be a waste of his talents to not just dream the gifts. He still puts a lot of thought into the gifts though. Hours are spent trying to pull out the perfect card stock paper Gansey is obsessed with. (It’s never quite the right shade of beige.) Blue’s crochet hook that could change sizes did change sizes, but as Ronan learned, the sizes didn’t fit any actual yarn. So he tries again, never admitting to having learned to crochet for that gift. The cycle repeated for all of them, hours spent for Ronan to not wrap it and shrug like he found it on the floor of Nino’s. But they know he cares.

Blue knows her strengths lay in crafting, and so that’s what she does. One year, she gifts them all the most vibrant hand-knitted cardigans and insists they wear them at least once. Gansey thinks it’s just lovely. His is a bright salmon color that clashes with everything he owns and he thinks it’s perfect. Ronan claims to have fed it to Chainsaw, but Blue once caught him using the special detergent he dreamed as to not ruin it. Ronan will never, ever, admit it’s the most comfortable piece of clothing he owns. Adam’s is actually a sensible color, a deep blue, not as fluorescent as the ones made for Gansey, Ronan, and Henry. Blue knows this way Adam will actually use it, and Adam knows Blue knows that. There’s eye contact, and subtle understanding, and that’s the end of that.

Henry is still adjusting to the odd way they do Christmas, and plays it safe with standard gifts at first. Once he figures out the routine, he gets everyone personalized playlists on CDs, annotated fiction books, matching jewelry, things like that. Just something to show that he’s there, and he knows them, and he’s so glad they know him. He also tends to slip in gag gifts, but nothing too crazy.

They leave a stocking up for Noah in Monmouth. Nobody talks about it, it’s just there, up on the mantle with the rest of them. When it’s time to take down decorations, the stocking usually stays up a little longer.

Happy holidays!