#needlepoint lace

[lacewise]

Okay so the full version of this meme is indefinitely postponed because I can not find, for the life of me, my earliest lace projects but here’s what I have so far:

And here is the link to that video series: https://youtu.be/bNxdoB9dpkI?si=RH_DxQk-mq7VR34Q

[groverarms]

My most prized possession:

Needlepoint by my great great grandmother circa 1850 in Scotland. I'd stare at it for hours as a child and make up stories about the people in it. Now it hangs in my TV room with the rest of her textile art.

[salroka]

Do we think Harding's mom embroidered her shirt? Or do we think our girl did it herself?

[fossore]

Every time I go to the lace craft store I look at the bobbin lace section and wish a little

[sleepgarden]

thought I’d try asking here- other than eBay/Etsy are there any sites you guys like that have antique and vintage sewing supplies? Specifically lace, trims, and ribbons! if there are specific shops you recommend from eBay/Etsy though I’d love to see that too!

[knittingmagscans]

Needlecraft for Today March/April 1982

Page 38 – Back cover

[spacedace]

Fun fact the early computers that required punch cards were in fact designed that way because the creators knew for a fact it would work since lace making factories used a roll of punch cards tied together to feed the patterns into the machines making the lace!

So "every computer is just a very specialized loom" is actually just an accurate assessment of both what they are and how it all started 😄

(There's a joke here somewhere about computers existing because of lacemaking and Ada Lovelace.

Something along the lines of "we can look up Lord Byron because of lacemaking and Byron's hand in making Lovelace?" Someone wittier than me has to have something)

Computers are very simple you see we take the hearts of dead stars and we flatten them into crystal chips and then we etch tiny pathways using concentrated light into the dead star crystal chips and if we etch the pathways just so we can trick the crystals into doing our thinking for us hope this clears things up.

[pkmn-lillie]

its the gap moe for me

[lacewise]

I have some free time… Let’s go over aemilia ars vs punto in aria vs reticella/reticello.

Important disclaimer: I am not a formally trained fashion historian and people REALLY don’t like to discuss this nomenclature, because it’s weird. I did what I could.

Okay, so, reticella was the direct precursor to needle lace (well… so was nalbinding, knotted lace, and netting, but different research topic for different day) and is a form of cutwork (carefully removing threads in fabric and then replacing them with decorative stitching instead) that got more and more ornamental and eventually evolved into punto in aria (first unknotted needle lace) which is entirely made by hand. However… sometimes, ‘punto in aria’ is used to refer specifically to non-geometric punto in aria designs (otherwise clumped together as ‘later’ punto in aria) that generally have more support, but still no true ground. When people are making that distinction, true needle lace that is solely geometric is also referred to as ‘reticella’. ‘Reticello’ is just a spelling variation on ‘reticella’ but I have seen it both ways.

While it’s possible to find some form of geometric needle lace/reticella/‘early’ punto in aria being made at most periods after the 17th century, the method was lost several times and had to be relearned (rich people are cheap, the upper middle class isn’t much better). (Needle lace regularly went in and out of fashion and the styles changed regularly based on region.) The only time geometrical needle lace really made a resurgence in fashionable circles was late into the 19th century, when the method was learned and distributed once again.

Because it was often worked in cotton, whereas the original was worked in linen (yes it was because of sharecropping and enslavement) and no one could be *absolutely sure* it was worked the same way as the original (and to sell to people as both ‘new’ and ‘traditional’) it was (re)named aemilia ars. Aemilia Ars was name of the Italian society that repopularized this style. The patterns they used are often later punto in aria designs (the ones that are less geometrical). So that’s why this needle lace can go by several names, based on my research and understanding.

I have no idea if working it in linen (which I do) or silk changes the nomenclature. (I don’t think so, but this is already confusing.) I’ve seen it several different ways and I don’t think there is a set definition anymore, but feel free to correct me if you know more!

And that’s how a wide swath of needle lace and cutwork embroidery is considered the same (unless it isn’t).

(It’s one of the few subsets of needle lace that isn’t named after where the tradition and stitches originated.)

[mountainfucker69]

@ whoever is styling armand next season. for your consideration

(the lace is from this 17th century venetian needlepoint that i found by chance while looking for public domain patterns)

[fromankyra]

you can tell it's summertime cause i'm starting to get highly normal about lace again

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Between Fear and Trust

Summary - Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Word count - 2032

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was a protective man, often to the point where his vigilance bordered on excessive. His concern, though rooted in love, sometimes felt stifling.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Jace said, his voice gentle but firm. I sighed softly, setting down the needlepoint in my hands before turning to face him.

"And what harm could possibly come from needlework?" I asked.

As he approached, I gestured to the fabric spread out on the table, the intricate design slowly coming to life.

"Look, it's Vermax," I said, pointing at the olive green and pale orange dragon that was beginning to take shape on the black tunic. 

The dragon's fierce eyes and outstretched wings were just starting to emerge from the fabric. I felt a swell of pride as I watched his eyes follow the delicate work.

Jace's expression softened into a tender smile as he looked at the half-finished dragon, and then back at me. The sight of my enthusiastic face, so absorbed in the craft, caused a wave of affection to surge through him. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're straining yourself," he said softly, his tone a blend of warmth and insistence. 

He stepped closer and gently helped me to my feet, his hands moving with a practised tenderness. His fingers brushed lightly against my swollen belly, and he began to rub it in soothing, circular motions. 

"Jace, you must cease this," I said with a gentle smile, placing my hand over his. His frown deepened, and I could see the concern etched into his features. "You're becoming overbearing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine. "I only want to keep you safe, to keep our child safe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped my face in his hand.

"I can't walk through these halls without feeling like I'm doing something wrong," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. "I care deeply for this babe too, but your constant worry... it frightens me."

Jace exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. When he pulled back, his frown remained, but there was a softness in his gaze.

"I don't mean to cause you distress," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. I nodded, understanding his intentions even if they sometimes overwhelmed me.

After a moment of silence, I shifted slightly "I could use some tea though," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Jace was already moving to stand.

"I'll get it for you," he said quickly, his voice filled with determination but I reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"No, Jace. I think I can manage to fetch some tea," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. 

His hesitation was palpable, a visible battle between his desire to protect me and the recognition that I needed this small act of independence. His eyes flickered with concern as he looked at me, and I could see how difficult it was for him to let go.

"It's just tea," I added softly, attempting to soothe his worries. 

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped back. "Just be careful," he murmured, his voice almost pleading as he watched me.

I gave him a reassuring smile, appreciating his concession. "I will," I promised, as I turned and made my way across the room.

As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, my thoughts drifting to a happier distraction. 

"Perhaps we could visit Vermax when I return," I suggested, my voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "I miss him dearly."

I heard Jace's quiet laughter from behind me, a sound that was both tender and indulgent. 

I knew it would take a great deal of convincing for him to agree to let me see the dragon again, especially considering my condition. But the thought of visiting Vermax seemed to lighten the mood, if only slightly.

Jace's voice followed me, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll have to charm me into it, I suppose" he called out with a fond chuckle. 

I smiled to myself as I stepped into the hallway, the soft glow of the sconces casting a warm light on the stone walls.

The castle's usual grandeur was eerily muted, the soft thud of my footsteps on the cold, echoing stone a lonely sound in the vast, empty hallway. Each step seemed to reverberate with an ominous, hollow note.

The familiar surroundings, normally comforting, now felt like a path strewn with obstacles as I descended the grand staircase. 

The slight twist in my ankle was so sudden, so unexpected, that I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling. One moment I was moving cautiously, and the next, I felt my body lurch uncontrollably.

I tumbled down the last few steps, the world around me spinning in a blur of stone and panic. 

The impact was jarring, pain radiating through my body as I came to a stop on the cold floor. My ears rang, a sharp, disorienting sound that drowned out everything else. 

A thin, red line of blood trickled from the gash on my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin but all I could think about was the deep, gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

Anxiety clawed at me as I lay there, my breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. My hands flew instinctively to my swollen stomach, pressing down as if to protect the life within me.

"Please, please be okay," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. 

I needed to get up, to find Jace, to reassure myself that everything was alright but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by fear, by the pain that coursed through me, and by the overwhelming dread of what might have just happened.

"My lady," a voice gasped, cutting through the haze of my fear. 

I blinked, trying to focus on the figure rushing toward me. The armour clanked loudly in the quiet hallway, the sound harsh against the silence.

"Ser Erryk," I mumbled weakly, recognizing the Queensguard as he knelt beside me, his expression stricken with concern.

"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His hands hovered, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. 

I could see the panic in his eyes, the same panic I felt bubbling inside me.

"My... my head," I whispered, feeling the warmth of the blood trickling down my forehead. "And my ankle... but the babe..." My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Ser Erryk, please, I need to get to Jace."

Without hesitation, Ser Erryk scooped me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. 

The movement sent a jolt of pain through my ankle, and I winced, clutching my belly protectively as he began carrying me back to my chambers.

The journey was a blur of worry and pain, every step echoing my pounding heartbeat. The closer we got to the room, the more I felt the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. 

By the time we reached the door, I was trembling, my mind a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

As Ser Erryk pushed the door open with his shoulder, Jace shot up from his seat, his face instantly pale with alarm when he saw me cradled in Ser Erryk's arms, blood smeared on my forehead.

"What happened?" Jace's voice was sharp, edged with panic as he rushed to my side, his hands immediately reaching for me. He looked between Ser Erryk and me, desperation in his eyes. 

"What happened?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears I had been holding back burst forth, and I began to sob uncontrollably. 

"I'm so sorry, Jace," I cried, my voice trembling with guilt. "I fell—I shouldn't have gone—I'm so sorry." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, my apologies intertwining with my sobs.

Ser Erryk quickly explained, his voice steady but grave. "She lost her footing on the stairs, my prince. It was an accident." 

His words were meant to soothe, but they did little to ease the storm of emotions that swirled within me.

Jace's eyes softened with anguish as he knelt beside the bed where Ser Erryk gently laid me down. He cupped my face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's alright," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"You're alright, and that's all that matters." His fingers were gentle as they stroked my hair, trying to calm me, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that was consuming me.

"I was just so scared," I choked out, my hands still clutching my belly as if to reassure myself that our child was safe. "I should have listened to you... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault." He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against the cut there as if he could kiss away the pain.

But the guilt still gnawed at me. "I just wanted to walk... to feel normal," I whispered, the words heavy with regret. "But I've made everything worse."

Jace shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you and our child to be safe. That's all that matters to me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as if to shield me from everything that had happened.

I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his tunic as he rocked me gently. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, that we were in this together.

"I'll take care of you," Jace whispered his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"We'll call for a maester," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. "Everything will be alright." His gaze shifted to Ser Erryk, who stood nearby, concern etched into his features. 

With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk left the chamber to fulfil Jace's unspoken command, the door closing softly behind him.

But as the door clicked shut, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I pulled away from Jace's embrace, my hands trembling as I looked up at him, fear gripping my heart. 

"Jace... what if I've done something?" The words came out in a shaky whisper, my voice barely holding together as I voiced the deepest of my fears.

His expression softened immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of my tears as he searched my eyes for the pain that haunted me.

"My love," he said, his voice tender but firm, "you've done nothing wrong." His words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my worries. 

"We must trust that the gods have good intentions for us. We've been blessed with this child, and we will see them into this world together."

Despite his reassurances, doubt lingered in my heart. "But what if—"

"Shh," Jace interrupted gently, pressing a finger to my lips. "No 'what ifs,'" he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "We cannot let fear dictate our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together, as we always have."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the strength in his embrace all worked to calm the storm within me. 

Slowly, I began to breathe easier, the frantic pace of my thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of his heart.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. "And I always will be."

As the moments passed, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

A/n - Inspired by that one scene of Meredith falling down the stairs in Grey's.

[sleepgarden]

Wrought Iron ✢ Handmade Choker The design was inspired by gothic wrought iron fences. I tea dyed both the lace and cotton twill backing to match the cream needlepoint thread ^^

[azullumi]

"it's you hiding in limelight" ; aventurine

requested by anon — “can you do or already done pre-relationship aventurine headcanons? like what is he like before and how he warms up” premise — it takes a lot for him to trust someone. it’s a gentle and steady process; the fire burns slowly between you and him, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him in the end, he lets the warmth seep through the cracks of his soul. content tags and warnings — pairing: gender-neutral reader w/ aventurine | pre-relationship, fluff, a little word vomit, not proofread | wc: 0.7k ; headcanons

note from me — i was so conflicted while writing this,, and it doesn't help that i'm trying to figure out if my cat is pregnant or just fat...

It’s not easy to make AVENTURINE warm up.

He doesn’t trust anyone easily, seeing relationships as superficial, as something that is simply a give-and-take thing, a bet, a deal. He has quite a one-way view on relationships, only seeing it as something that would be beneficial to him—it’s not like he knows how to maintain such relationships either. He thinks that showering them with gifts, no matter how expensive, would make them stay, a key to securing loyalty and affection.

So when he finds himself slowly being drawn to you, being at ease whenever you’re around, as he initiates small talks and silly bets, he wouldn’t know how to break it down from there. You’re just so warm and easy to talk to, it’s comforting (like a gentle breeze). He simply keeps everyone at arm’s length, maintaining a careful distance, and yet, like a living paradox, he can feel intimately close at times to you—it’s his subtle flirting, consistent compliments, and often lingering touches.

He is hesitant in all of his bones, hard to grasp, complex and distant, but if you reach even for a little, he’ll let you hold him in your hands. He’s confusing; the thread of his words and actions are intertwined with each other but you can never find the meaning of it. It’s a heavy needlepoint of embroidery that can never be finished, a small part missing from the piece and you could never figure out what it is that you’re lacking. It’s not easy to tell if he sees you only as a friend or something more than that.

You need to be patient and persistent with him, understanding that he himself struggles with the idea of vulnerability; he fears that opening up to pain and disappointment, leaving him on his own in the end. However, over time, he eventually lowers his guard and allows himself to trust you, finding solace in your presence. When the two of you first met, his shoulders were always tense and he kept his emotions guarded behind a mask, but now, he lets go of what he carries even if it’s just for a bit, as long as it’s you he is with.

You can feel the distance closing in, the fine-drawn line of vulnerability and wariness seaming into one. You can almost touch the vanishing point between you and him, intertwining with each other, and you don’t fail to recognize the subtle shift in his actions, in his gestures, in everything about him and all that you knew.

It may be a small and mundane thing but his tendency to shower his “friends” with expensive gifts and asking to choose among which one that they would like—albeit he also does to you on some occasions—all contrasts with the simplicity of the tokens he gives you. He reserves a different kind of gesture for you, one that is laced with thoughtfulness and sincerity rather than the utter value of the gift itself.

Probably brought a bracelet one time and told you of it, but didn’t mention that it has a pair, a matching one, which he bought for himself (and never wore). He has it hidden in his drawers, amidst his precious items, only to take out from time to time to stare at it. It’s a secret he’ll forever take to his grave.

Your constant reassurance, gentleness, and kindness breaks down his defenses, the mask crumbling into unrecognizable pieces. He didn’t think he would trust someone this much, nor would he ever harbor such soft feelings—velveted affections, sweet sounds of laughter, benign words that buries itself in his chest, finding solitude in one another’s presence, basking in the warmth of it all.

Oh, to have someone see him beyond the walls he built, it scares him in some way—when you have forever listened to the chorus of condemns orchestrated by your mind, you’ll only think that you’re unlovable to anyone, that’s how it was for him, and yet to you, it comes easy as if he’s simply tangled threads that only needs to be unraveled carefully and gently. He didn’t know nor did he ever think that you'd see stars on his scars when he laid himself bare for you to see the marks that dusted his skin.

Aventurine feels like he could drown in the feeling. It’s a gentle tide that crawls to the shore and drags him along with the warm currents (the smell of blood is replaced with the taste of salt on his lips); a tender fire that burns slowly, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him, he’ll let the light in.

GRAH DRUM ROLLS PLEASE IM ANNOUNCING THE PRESENCE OF THE OUTSTANDING AND AMAZING FELI @dr-felitas (sometimes i type in your old user and wonder why it's not popping out and then i just go oh!) anyways, this is for you my fellow dry-talker npc,, i honestly find it cute that we're starting to adopt each other's mannerisms or texting language or pattern cause like i only started saying "right!?" (when i agree on something) because of you (back then i only say real or just nothing at all :D) and i think i began to use some of your vocabulary 😭. and somehow my ability to understand and read through typos are getting better all thanks to you 🔥🔥🔥 the world will end first before you even get to spell that word properly jkjk i love you with all of your typos, incoherent words, stupid autocorrect mwamwamwa (i say as if im im not the same) !! anyways you are a light in my life and you're one of the reasons why i still continue to pick up the pen and write !! you've been of great help and inspiration in my writings <33 without you, i probably wouldn't be able to get through the hell hole of last month, thank you. ily lots mwaa !!

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[tavvles]

[Act I, Scene I: The Debutante Ball] ~Part 1~

AUNT IMOGEN There you are, Cordelia darling!

CORDELIA Aunt Imogen!

AUNT IMOGEN Come, come. It’s time to meet the people that move the world!

CORDELIA I must admit, I am quite nervous. Our family doesn’t have any titles – won’t they look down on me?

AUNT IMOGEN Nonsense, dear! You’ll fit right in. High society is a breeze, if you know what you’re doing.

(The music begins, light, fast and bouncy. The melody is led by the flute and stings played in pizzicato.)

[HIGH SOCIETY]

AUNT IMOGEN It’s simple, my dear, the trick to high society It’s not too difficult to belong and get ahead As long as you don’t forget the sharp edges That hides behind smiles and lace.

Yes, they love to prattle and gossip and preen And pretend to be polite as they judge you But that’s alright. Take insults with charm and grace It’s a long game, my dear, just make sure to win.

If you can play piano and sing, Do needlepoint and sew, Paint in oils and watercolour, Know the members of monarchy, peerage, and gentry Recognise uniforms and insignia, Study classical history and geography, And be an elegant hostess, poised, and beautiful, If you do all these things without any complaints,

ENSEMBLE Then you too will succeed, As so many have done before you. It’s not too hard! It’s high society!

(The lights dim as the music slows to a gentle, dreamy waltz. The people standing by the dance floor pair off and glide gracefully across the dance floor. CORDELIA is ignored and left alone amid the dancers.)

CORDELIA (Uncertain, hesitant) I don’t know if I’m cut out for this Everyone here is so perfect, so flawless and pristine I want to fit in but I don’t know if I can I must be more confident, not the trembling girl I am now If I want to fit into high society

I’m a newcomer here but I’ll do my father proud And put my family name on the map If they don’t know me now, they will soon As I find my place here, in high society

And maybe today, among the crowd I’ll meet the one who’ll take me by the hand And say Cordelia, you have my whole heart Will you do me the honour of being my wife? And I’ll say of course, it would be my delight To be with a dashing gentleman such as yourself Oh, my future is waiting for me Just out of sight

Everyone here is so perfect, so flawless and pristine And I will fit in, the best way that I can I’ll show them I’m worthy of love and respect And find my match, someone whose heart I’ll hold I will learn the rules and learn to play It’s not too hard! It’s high society

(The dancers move aside as Cordelia takes centre stage for CORDELIA’S SOLO. She begins a light, elegant choreography as she flits among the high-born debutants, entrancing them with her charm.)

(The solo abruptly ends as CORDELIA collides with LORD ASHTON, descending the stairs stage left. Wine spills down his face and clothes.)

ENSEMBLE Oh, she’s done it now Clumsy girl! We always knew she’s nothing like us

Beginning | Previous | Next

[lacewise]

One of the most interesting things to me is the reason I can (usually) tell point de gaze and Alençon needle lace apart is not because of the difference in stitches (which there *are*)—but the difference in designs. Alençon frequently uses a cohesive pattern featuring one, maybe two, types of motifs. Point de gaze tends to value ‘fineness’ or ‘opulence’ over ‘cohesion’. I’m somewhat curious how that would’ve impacted point de gaze’s development if it had more time to evolve (it’s heyday only lasted a couple decades).

(There was a third point de gaze example but I couldn’t figure out how to describe it)