#round thin fibre weave

[hairyisgood]

Poolhouse - Poolhouse Example of a huge trendy indoor rectangular pool house design

[jamiecolby]

Contemporary Pool in Melbourne An illustration of a sizable, modern rooftop aboveground pool with decking.

[hasretbhara]

Pool - Pool A large rooftop with a rectangular above-ground pool and decking

[davidstjohnjames]

Melbourne Rooftop Deck Large rooftop water fountain deck idea with no cover: water fountain deck

[cclust]

Poolhouse - Contemporary Pool

[eastawaywest]

Poolhouse - Poolhouse

[in-memoriam-tgwk]

There, in the mouth of a cave, stands a cat.

He stands many lengths below its ceiling, his long tabby fur bristled against a chilly southernly wind, staring into the darkness ahead of him. He has only been in this cave once before; a cat gone seasons before led the way down, down, down to its center, following the ancient limestone walls with twitching whiskers and anticipatory breaths. At its lowest sits a cavern bathed in the blue light of glowing toadstools, full of dripping stone teeth and stale mineral air. It’s where he earned his name from Fate; it’s where he was gifted Her blessing. He remembers looking on in awe and wonder back then.

He stares with less reverence than before. His brow is set and his eyes are steely in the growing dusk hour. No hesitance trips his steps as he walks into the maw of the cliffside.

The darkness quickly eats him whole as he walks, relying on vague memory and intuition to guide him to where he seeks. He walks with purpose, old paws landing one by one on older stone, pushed along by determination and, to a lesser extent, grief. The last time he came here he was promised safety and security, plentiful food and peaceful moons, a life made better by banding together instead of not. She had promised him these things, had filled him with the pain and the warmth of one thousand fires, had given him the lives needed to defend his new family with every fibre of his being. He needs to know why She lied to him.

It left as quickly as it had arrived; sickness weaved its way through the Colony, affecting more cats than not with its rattling lungs and sour stench. Oaktrail and Emma had little time to prepare, and very few herbs to help. It was a battle lost before the fight had begun.

Iciclestalk, Frozentuft, Hailkit. These names hug his mind like a barbed vine, drawing blood as their spines dig into his flesh.

Iciclestalk was older, tall, perhaps too thin even for his age. His brows hung in a perpetual scowl, but there was a softness in his blue eyes. Perhaps he was the only one who saw it; perhaps he was the only one Iciclestalk would let see. The sickness stole the air from his lungs in less than a sun cycle.

Frozentuft, the adopted daughter of Hollyspeckle. She had been healing from a broken bone, having taken a terrible fall two moons prior from the cliffside. She was young, but she was weak. The sickness in the medicine den infected her lungs, and she lost her battle in her father’s paws.

Hailkit was… She was a kit. One of the Colony’s first, the only daughter to Rainpool and Heatherdash. She was spritely and kind, inquisitive and talkative, and had so much more life to live. Her mother became ill, and in turn she did too. She was too young to stand a chance.

Iciclestalk. Frozentuft. Hailkit. Their names slice through his bones like gnashing wolf fangs, alighting the fire burning in his soul. He picks up his pace, scraping against walls, baring his teeth and unsheathing his claws. There is a rage broiling beneath the grief, battering against his ribcage and climbing up his throat, stinging his nose and eyes.

He rounds the corner and arrives to a room of spikes and blue light, and he bellows out the flames scorching in his belly.

“Blasphemy!” he cries out, his raspy timbre echoing out in all directions. He stands, fur bristled not by the wind but by anger and pain, broad and challenging at the mouth of the cavern. He glares eagle talons to the air around him. “Your tongue ought to be fed to crows for the lies behind your teeth!”

He expects no answer, but the rhythmic drip, drip, drip that follows only fuels his fury. “Cowardice is unbecoming,” he continues, venom coating his abrasive taunting. “Reveal yourself to me, o Dictator of Fate, I demand an audience!”

He stalks to the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by stone daggers taller than they are wide, splashing through tiny pools without care or trepidation. He harbors little respect for the One he calls out to.

“I offered my service to You,” he says. “I’ve lived by Your guidance, by Your blessings, by Your will. You promised me— You promised us your protection. You promised our moons would be without strife! You promised!”

He stomps a paw into the puddle he occupies, spraying droplets in every direction. His lips curl as he seethes.

“Tell me, where are Your blessings?! You took my healer from me! You took his mate! You took two warriors in their prime, my mate, a child! You stole a child from her mother! In what way is that a blessing, My Lady?!”

His caterwaul reverberates back to him in antagonizing waves, as though they mock his plight. His claws scrape terribly against silt and stone below.

“ANSWER ME!”

One moment, he is bathed in the pale blue glow of underground fungus. He blinks, and he finds himself in a pine forest. The pine forest, shrouded in cool spring morning mists. His home. His shock cuts through his brimstone ire in an instant.

He opens his jaw to speak, but a translucent white tail just catches the edge of his vision. It flickers, disturbing the fog around it, before disappearing behind a wide tree trunk. He narrows his eyes. “Your ways are no clearer than a muddied pool,” he hisses, trailing after the elusive feline.

He walks until the tree line breaks, and the familiar sight of cliffs and a cascading waterfall greets him. The wisp of starlight zips along with him in tow, across the large stepping stones that disturbs the river’s flow, up the well-worn path that weaves its way up the sharp incline, around the corner…

He pauses. Not for the tail of Fate, which has now hidden itself from view entirely.

Ahead of him, cats of all shapes and sizes envelop his vision; kits come bounding from the Nursery, their mothers following closely behind. Cats with soft, round faces and kitten fluff clinging to their cheeks brush noses with their mentors, ready to start the day right with patrol or training. There are a few he recognizes; his deputy Amberfuzz speaks to a pair of dark grey tabbies and sends them to collect a grey and white cat for what looks like a hunting party, and they brush past him as though he is nothing but a stone on the path. Mottledwhisker presses his muzzle to the head of a grey tabby lying across the sunning boulder, mumbling something intelligible before leaving their side. Oaktrail lounges nearby, and it’s here he realizes something odd; Oaktrail looks to be moons older than the tom cat he knows now. His thin brown muzzle is tinged with silver, and his sallow cheeks are a startling sight.

“Is…” he mumbles, his brows creasing in confusion. “Is this my Colony? My family?”

No voice responds, but a warm breeze blows his fur the wrong direction. It sends tingles up his spine.

“Alright… Why show me this? What do you want to tell me?”

The wind blows harder, buffeting his back with staccato gusts.

“Use your words, My Lady,” he says, glaring to his left. “I know you are capable enough.”

Another gust brushes past his ears, his eyes, his nose— A scent on the wind, warm amber and cool evergreen, painfully familiar. It seizes his lungs. His head whips to the right, and he sees… He sees…

“Hello, old man.”

The voice belongs to a tall frame, an older frame, one perhaps too thin for its age. He’s not thin any longer; he looks strong, well-fed, like a weathered face on a youthful body. His brows are not furrowed, and his soft blue eyes crease at the corners.

“You,” he breathes, unable to keep the quiver from his tone. “You… Mouse-brain.”

Iciclestalk chuckles, the fond expression growing even brighter. “I told you I’d go first, didn’t I?”

The shaking in his voice bleeds into his limbs, and he falls forwards to bury his face in his mate’s neck fur. He inhales the sharp scent like anything else would be inadequate.

“You left me too soon,” he whines, lifting his paws up to circle around Iciclestalk’s shoulders. “Why did She let you leave me? Why did She take you away?”

A tail wraps itself around his own, as Iciclestalk’s response rumbles through his head. “It was my time, love. I was getting old and slow anyway.”

The anger threatens to bubble back up, but his mate’s presence keeps it at bay for the time being. “She took a child, Icy. She took Hailkit… Rainpool didn’t deserve that.”

The tail tightens slightly. “I know, I know… It’s an unfortunate thing. But she is safe with us. Frozentuft, Mousetuft… Cliffclaw and Shinefreckle, too. We’re all safe here.” His tongue rasps gently across his ear, and then his nose nuzzles the top of his head. “Please don’t fret, alright? We’re okay. And the Colony will be okay, too.”

He glances away from Iciclestalk’s neck, towards the bustling camp before them. There looks to be many more cats than he realized, more than who he can recall at home. The confirmation of a surviving generation brings a sort of calm to his troubled heart. The Colony will be okay.

For a long time they rest like that, entwined and pressed together in every place they can, living within the other’s scent in silence. Long is still not long enough when Iciclestalk begins to pull away.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles into the taller cat’s fur, tears prickling behind his eye lids. He feels he’s cried too much the past few days.

Iciclestalk gives him a sad smile, one that breaks his wounded heart all over again. “Not a goodbye,” he replies, tipping his head to bump their foreheads together one more time. “It’s not a goodbye. It’s a ‘see you in a little while’. I’ll be here waiting.”

His eyes open, and just as swiftly as the vision began, he finds himself back in that damp, dreary cave. His paws are soaked nearly to his ankles, sending a shiver up and through his spine in an unpleasant way. He huffs to himself, and glares back and the dagger-encrusted ceiling above.

“If what you’ve shown me is true,” he says, his tone now lacking the ire and accusation from before, “then I expect you to keep your word to me. You will ensure the prosperity of my Colony— my family. I will not let your will be its downfall. Do what you must; I will do the same.”

There, at the mouth of a cave, stands a cat. A warm wind blows in from the north, and in spite of loss, Glowstar cracks a smile; spring has arrived.

[pashminagoatproject]

The Timeless Elegance of Ladakh Pashmina Shawls

Nestled among the stunning Himalayan Mountains in Ladakh, you'll find something truly special – Ladakh Pashmina Shawls. These aren't just fancy clothes; they're a piece of history, art, and the fantastic Pashmina Goat Project. Let's explore the beauty of Ladakh Pashmina and the wonderful story behind it.

Pashmina: The Epitome of Softness and Luxury

To fully appreciate Ladakh Pashmina Shawls, we must first delve into the exceptional qualities of Pashmina wool itself. Pashmina, often referred to as "soft gold," is renowned for its unmatched finesse and unparalleled softness. This precious fabric is derived from the fine wool of the Pashmina goats, which thrive in the high-altitude regions of the Himalayas, particularly in Ladakh.

The Pashmina Goat: A Natural Marvel

Pashmina goats have adapted to the harsh climatic conditions of their native habitat over centuries, resulting in a wool fibre that is astonishingly fine, soft, and warm. It's the cold temperatures and high altitudes that stimulate the growth of exceptionally fine wool in these goats, allowing them to produce a fleece that can withstand freezing Himalayan winters.

The Softness Beyond Comparison

Pashmina wool fibres are extraordinarily thin, with a diameter of less than 14-15 microns. To put that into perspective, it takes about 15-16 strands of Pashmina wool to equal the width of a human hair. This extreme fineness not only makes Pashmina incredibly soft to the touch but also imparts a natural warmth that rivals any synthetic material.

The Ethereal Lightweight Warmth

Despite its remarkable warmth, Pashmina is incredibly lightweight. This quality makes it ideal for crafting shawls and scarves that can be comfortably worn year-round. Whether it's a chilly winter evening or a cool summer night, a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl offers both comfort and style.

The Pashmina Goat Project: Nurturing Tradition and Sustainability

Before we dive into the intricacies of Ladakh Pashmina Shawls, let's shed light on the Pashmina Goat Project. This initiative not only celebrates tradition but also champions sustainability and community empowerment. It revolves around the responsible herding and breeding of Pashmina goats, ensuring the survival of this exquisite breed.

Preserving a Way of Life

The Pashmina Goat Project is deeply intertwined with the way of life of the people in Ladakh. It supports traditional herding practices that have been passed down through generations. This not only preserves cultural heritage but also provides a source of livelihood for local communities.

Conservation of Himalayan Ecosystems

One of the critical aspects of the Pashmina Goat Project is its commitment to conserving the Himalayan ecosystem. Pashmina goats play a vital role in maintaining the delicate balance of this region. By promoting responsible herding practices and discouraging overgrazing, the project ensures that the unique flora and fauna of the Himalayas remain unharmed.

Empowering Local Communities

The Pashmina Goat Project empowers local communities, especially women, by providing them with opportunities for income generation. Women are actively involved in activities like spinning and weaving Pashmina wool, adding to their financial independence and overall well-being.

Promoting Sustainable Practices

This initiative encourages sustainable practices in the fashion industry by emphasising the use of natural dyes and eco-friendly processes. By supporting the Pashmina Goat Project, consumers contribute to the broader goal of sustainable fashion.

The Making of Ladakh Pashmina Shawls: A Labour of Love and Skill

Ladakh Pashmina Shawls are more than just clothing; they are an embodiment of artistry and culture.

Here's a closer look at the meticulous process behind creating these masterpieces:

1. Gathering Pashmina Wool:

The process begins with the annual shedding of Pashmina goats' winter coats. This naturally shed wool is carefully collected, ensuring it retains its quality and softness. The careful handling of the wool at this stage is crucial to preserving its exceptional properties.

2. Spinning and Weaving:

Skilled artisans, often women, hand-spin the delicate Pashmina wool into fine threads. This step requires precision and expertise to maintain the integrity of the wool. These threads are then woven into intricate patterns, a testament to the expertise passed down through generations.

3. Dyeing and Design:

Natural dyes are often used to create vibrant, enduring colours. The use of natural dyes not only ensures the sustainability of the process but also results in rich, timeless hues. The designs, whether traditional or contemporary, reflect the rich cultural heritage of Ladakh.

4. Finishing Touches:

The shawls are meticulously finished, with some taking several months to complete. The final product is a work of art, a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl that's as unique as its wearer. The delicate craftsmanship and attention to detail set these shawls apart as symbols of luxury and tradition.

Wearing Ladakh Pashmina Shawls: Versatile Elegance

Now that we have explored the fascinating journey of creating Ladakh Pashmina Shawls, let's discuss how to wear these versatile pieces of art:

1. Draped Shawl:

For a classic look, drape the Pashmina shawl over your shoulders. Let it hang loosely, showcasing its intricate design and providing warmth. This style is perfect for formal events, chilly evenings, or when you simply want to add a touch of elegance to your outfit.

2. Belted Shawl:

For a modern twist, fold the Pashmina diagonally and secure it with a belt around your waist. This technique not only keeps you cosy but also accentuates your figure. It's a fashionable choice for both casual and formal occasions.

3. Headscarf Elegance:

Don't limit your Pashmina's charm to just your body. Fold it into a triangle and drape it over your head, allowing one corner to fall gracefully over your shoulder. This style is perfect for adding a touch of sophistication to your attire, whether it's for a special event or everyday elegance.

4. Shawl with Indian Outfits:

Ladakh Pashmina Shawls complement traditional Indian attire beautifully. You can drape it over your shoulders as an elegant accessory to a saree or a salwar kameez, adding a touch of luxury to your ethnic ensemble.

5. Casual Comfort:

Ladakh Pashmina Shawls aren't just for formal occasions. They are versatile enough to be paired with casual outfits like jeans and a top. Simply wrap it around your shoulders to add a touch of warmth and style to your everyday look.

6. Travel Companion:

When travelling, a Pashmina shawl is a must-have accessory. It can keep you warm on chilly flights, serve as a stylish travel blanket, or even be fashioned into a makeshift pillow. Its lightweight nature makes it easy to carry wherever you go.

A Legacy Worth Preserving

In a world that's often bustling with noise, the allure of quiet luxury draws us in, reminding us to appreciate the finer things in life. And what could be finer than the delicate embrace of a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl, woven with threads of tradition, sustainability, and empowerment?

Each Ladakh Pashmina Shawl carries a story, a connection to the age-old traditions of the Himalayas, and a promise of sustainability. By adorning yourself with one of these timeless creations and supporting the Pashmina Goat Project, you become part of a legacy that's as enduring as the Himalayan mountains themselves.

A Tradition Preserved: The Pashmina Goat Project

The Pashmina Goat Project is not just about raising goats; it's about preserving a way of life. It's about ensuring that the beautiful Himalayan region remains unspoiled for generations to come. By supporting this project, you contribute to the conservation of an ecosystem that's vital to our planet.

Fostering Sustainable Practices: The Pashmina Goat Project promotes sustainable herding practices that prevent overgrazing and soil erosion, safeguarding the fragile Himalayan environment. This ensures that the pristine beauty of the region remains intact.

Empowering Communities: The Pashmina Goat Project empowers local communities, especially women, by providing them with opportunities for income generation. Women play a significant role in spinning and weaving Pashmina wool, adding to their financial independence and overall well-being.

Preserving Cultural Heritage: By supporting traditional herding practices and craftsmanship, the project helps preserve the cultural heritage of Ladakh. It ensures that age-old traditions are passed down to future generations.

A Future of Sustainability: With your support, the Pashmina Goat Project is creating a future where tradition and sustainability go hand in hand. It's a future where we can enjoy the elegance of Ladakh Pashmina Shawls while knowing that our choices contribute to a better world.

The Ethical Fashion Choice

Ladakh Pashmina Shawls represent more than just a fashion statement; they are an ethical choice. In a world where fast fashion often comes at the cost of the environment and workers' rights, Pashmina shawls stand as a beacon of ethical fashion.

Sustainable Production: Pashmina shawls are made using sustainable practices, from the responsible herding of goats to the use of natural dyes. This ensures that the production process has a minimal impact on the environment.

Empowerment: Purchasing a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl supports local communities, especially women, providing them with fair wages and opportunities for economic independence.

Timeless Style: Unlike fleeting fashion trends, Pashmina shawls are timeless. They can be cherished for years, reducing the need for constant consumption and waste.

Quality and Luxury: When you invest in a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl, you're investing in quality. These shawls are known for their durability and the luxury they bring to your wardrobe.

Wrapping in Tradition, Sustainability, and Elegance

Ladakh Pashmina Shawls are more than mere pieces of fabric; they are the embodiment of tradition, sustainability, and elegance. Each shawl carries with it the heritage of the Himalayas, the artistry of skilled craftsmen, and the promise of a better future through the Pashmina Goat Project.

By adorning yourself with a Ladakh Pashmina Shawl and supporting the Pashmina Goat Project, you become part of a legacy that's steeped in history and committed to a sustainable future. So, the next time you elegantly drape a Pashmina around your shoulders, remember that you're not just wearing a piece of clothing – you're wrapping yourself in a story, a culture, and a promise to cherish and protect our world for generations to come. Embrace the elegance, the warmth, and the tradition; embrace Ladakh Pashmina Shawls.

Regenerate

The Fascinating World of Pashmina Shawls, Insights, Pashmina Expert Inputs on What is Real Pashmina, Research and Impact by the top most Credible Sustainable Pashmina Brand and most credible Pashmina seller of Kashmir and Ladakh, The Pashmina Goat Project. Dive deep into the captivating journey of Pashmina shawls, as revealed by the Pashmina Goat Project. Discover the inspiring stories of Pashmina artisans, shepherds, and craftsmen, and explore the sustainable and ethical practices shaping the future of this pashmina industry. Explore the enchanting realm of Pashmina shawls through the remarkable lens of the Pashmina Goat Project, a pioneering initiative that is transforming the Pashmina ecosystem.

Learn about the journey of the Founder Babar Afzal and the  credibility of the Pashmina Goat Project’s Pashmina Shawls, profiled by renowned publications like TIME Magazine (Genius Issue), BBC, Bloomberg and Pashmina Goat Project’s mission to disrupt the USD 4 Billion Dollar Pashmina industry in favour of the marginalised communities across Himalayas. Discover the unique story of a former Silicon Valley techie turned Pashmina goat shepherd, as covered by MINT, and how he is revolutionizing the Pashmina ecosystem. Delve into the preservation and exclusivity of Handmade Kashmiri Pashmina Shawls, as celebrated by fashion czars and covered by Fashion Network, Better India and DNA. Uncover the secrets of Certified Pashmina Shawls, their authentic production process, and the challenges faced by this age-old craft.

Join the Sustainable Pashmina Dialogue, a global platform created by Pashmina goat Project bringing together experts to discuss sustainable luxury, quiet luxury, and the environmental impact of Pashmina shawls. Explore the ethos behind the Pashmina Goat Project's unique color palette based on UNSDG (Sustainable Development Goals) Merchandise and Gifts. Gain insight into the project's role as a catalyst for change, recognized by the Government of India as a Startup, and its commitment to fair trade, community impact, and environmental preservation.

Embark on an inspiring journey with Pashmina shawl makers, goat shepherds, weavers, craftsmen, and craftswomen from Kashmir, Changthang, and Ladakh. Discover the wisdom shared in the book "Wisdom of Shepherds" by Babar Afzal, the most credible voice and man on Pashmina Shawls and a respected authority in the Pashmina world, acknowledged by national and international media networks and celebrated for his work globally. Find inspiration in the stories of Pashmina artisans, offering valuable lessons for startup founders, individuals, school students, women, and millennials. A small campaign started by a Pashmina Weaver and Pashmina Community Campaigner Henna Anjum #WhoMadeMyPashmina starts to create ground level impact for the women Pashmina weavers.

Embrace the captivating world of Pashmina shawls and join the Sustainable Pashmina Dialogue, a global sustainability movement. The Pashmina Goat Project, with its unwavering commitment to ethical practices, fair trade, and environmental sensitivity, is leading the charge towards a brighter future for this timeless art form. Unleash your awareness as a conscious consumer and embrace the allure of The Real Pashmina, a symbol of tradition, craftsmanship, and sustainability. You can also join The Real Pashmina Affiliate Program and become an Ambassador of Quiet Luxury Pashmina Shawls while you earn huge commissions through promotion of the community products.

[manju20mba]

Understanding the Convenience of Online Shopping for Blankets

Finding the correct blankets for the bedroom is an essential step. To know more about how to buy weighted blanket online in India, keep reading.

 Blankets are a need in every home, whether for aesthetic purposes (to complete a bedding set) or for practical ones (to provide additional warmth in the winter). However, keep in mind that not all blankets are the same and there are too many options when you opt to buy blankets online in India.

 Is the purpose of this blanket purchase thermal insulation or only aesthetic? Before settling on the right blanket, think about questions like these.

 We've compiled this shopping guide to help you choose the perfect weighted blanket online india for your needs.

 Considering These Factors Before Purchasing a Blanket for Your Bed

 Words like "soft," "warm," and "cuddly" spring to mind when one considers the comforts of a blanket. The next step is to sleep soundly with that crucial piece of cloth tucked under your pillow. Your blanket is extraordinary. It makes us feel safe and secure and is especially nice to have while we're sick.

 A wide selection of sizes, colours, and fabrics to pick from while blanket online shopping. Several are plain colours, while others sport adorable patterns or decorations. Blankets also come in a wide variety of weaves and textures. Regardless of the season, you can stay toasty warm during the winter and comfortably cool during the summer with the appropriate blanket.

 Pick the Proper Measurement

 It would be best if you got a big blanket to cover the mattress and give you some extra material to tuck in at the sides and bottom of the bed. Sizes might vary somewhat from one brand to another.

 Fabrics

 ●       Cashmere

 The Cashmere goats used to make this fabric are grown in places as diverse as Tibet, India, and Pakistan. Since cashmere is far more luxurious than standard sheep's wool, it is often chosen over other textiles. Additionally, the increased insulation will keep you warm on those chilly winter evenings.

 ●       Cotton

 Cotton's plant-based fibres maintain durability even after several washing cycles, making it an ideal material for clothing. Soft and fluffy textiles may be made from the staple fibre cotton. India, Africa, and the Americas are just a few tropical and subtropical places where this plant thrives. Cotton may be utilised in any fabric since it can be spun into thread or yarn.

 ●       Fleece

 Soft, lightweight, and suitable for any weather, fleece is an all-year-round go-to fabric. Fleece is exceptionally soft and cosy while being thinner than other textiles. This fabric's acrylic fibres are what make it what it is. Fleece is popular due to its low cost and ease of care in washing machine.

 ●       Down

 Goose or duck feathers are used to stuff down comforters, making for a dense and fluffy blanket that is the best insulator yet still allows air to circulate. Down is so popular because it keeps you warm without being cumbersome. Also, it is one of the best choices if you are looking for a weighted blanket for anxiety adults.

 ●       Wool

 Wool is dense, toasty, and insulating while yet letting perspiration escape. Many are sensitive to wool, but this is the blanket for you for those who don't mind a little weight and bulk.

 Weave

 It's not only the materials used to make a blanket that may vary in weight and warmth, but also the weaving. Here are a few options when considering weighted blankets to buy online.

 ●       Thermal

 A thermal weave is often seen in cotton blankets and is loose, allowing air to travel freely. These thin blankets are perfect for the warm weather.

 ●       Knit

 Knitted blankets are thick and toasty. Wool or synthetic fabrics are used for them.

 ●       Quilted

 Most down blankets are quilted to prevent the down or down replacement from sliding around within the blanket.

 ●       Conventional

 Because of the closeness and tightness of the traditional blanket's weave, it is particularly effective in trapping warmth.

 Upkeep and Cleaning

 Machine washing is a quick and easy way to clean most blankets, but exceptions exist. Therefore, read the care instructions thoroughly before making a purchase if you want a blanket with a simple washing procedure.

 Comfortable blankets are not scratchy ones. Of course, it's up to you, and we're all busy, but it might be a good idea to check out what's available in shops before making a final decision online. It's been shown that many customers feel more at ease making purchases online after reading positive evaluations of the goods in question.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: My drabble for Writer Wednesday. I haven’t edited or had it beta read so apologies if you find any mistakes! @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Warnings: Angst, denial, mention of war.

Word count: 2671

Respite. It never lasted long but you would take it when you could. Your squadron had just finished a successful supply run and Leia had given you all leave for a few days. You looked down the beach seeing the X-Wings haphazardly placed among the trees at the base of the cliff, this small moon really was a find. Covered in white sandy beaches and enough foliage to hide the space craft, breathable air and not a massive predator in sight. Also no settlers so if you were found by the First Order no one would get caught in the crossfire.

Laughter was carried on the breeze towards you, the squad sat round a large fire listening to Poe as he tuned his guitar, a bottle of spotchka was also being passed around. You stepped forward, letting the warm sea water lap at your toes burying them in a layer of sand. The rich red and orange tones that spread across the sky bathed you in all its fiery glory, clouds marked the sky creating a purple grey blanket to try and dull the blazing sunset, but nothing could contain the wonder of nature. You watched the sun dip below the horizon, still casting the warm rays even though you could no longer see it. You turned slightly, Poe’s velvet voice rose above the chatter and everyone stopped to listen, who wouldn’t want to listen to him? Your gaze wandered, desperately trying not to look at him because if you did your heart was going to race. It was going to expand to immeasurable proportions and it was going to ache deep in your chest. You looked up at the clouds hoping the tears wouldn’t fall as his melody weaved it’s way into your soul.

He had a permanent place there, nestled inside you filling you with love and he didn’t even know it, the man was so ingrained within you, it felt like every word, every touch he gave you forever beat in your body, refusing to give them up. You had no idea if he felt the same, you didn’t want to know because if you knew it would make the pain ten times worse. Knowing that he wanted to touch you, to love you as much as you loved him….no. Not in the middle of a war that had no end in sight. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs to the maximum with the fresh salty air of the sea, grounding yourself. Your name being called made you turn round, the smile back on your face as you watched Jess approach.

“Come and join us!” Poe had started a jaunty tune to which Snap yanked Kare up and started making her dance even though her protests rang loudly down the beach. You took the bottle off Jess, taking a bigger mouthful than you wanted but you needed to feel something other than this deep routed ache that festered inside you all the time. You watched Kare throw her head back in laughter as Snap twirled her round and your eyes were drawn to Poe. His expression full of love for his friends as he watched them enjoy themselves, his hands moving expertly along the strings. He finished the tune with exaggerated flair, his face split with a large smile and a rich laugh burst from his chest at something Snap said. He rested his guitar against the log, his deep brown eyes falling on you and his expression dropped slightly. You shoved the bottle back at Jess, your hands suddenly sweaty.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. I just need to calm my mind.”

“Yeah ok, I’ll tell the others.” You took off, not looking back. You thought you heard Poe ask a question, maybe he was enquiring after you but you shut it out. You clutched the front of your top as you tried to breathe through the pain that had gathered in your chest, you had to leave the squad. You couldn’t keep going on like this, you were going to slip up, make a mistake and then the whole squad would be at risk. This couldn’t continue. Leia would understand.

“Hey slow down!” Oh! Oh no!

“Poe not now!” But the emotion in your voice just made him speed up.

“What’s up, what's wrong?” He asked as he drew level, falling into step alongside you. Your mind refused to work, stuttering a stop as everything you wanted to say filled your mouth but you couldn’t. “Come on, can you tell me?”

“No, I can’t.” You sounded so rough, so abrupt he didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t his fault you felt like this. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m just so tired.” He stepped in front of you bringing you to a halt and you had to look up into his kind face. The stubble that lined his jaw was prominent even though you knew he shaved this morning, his curls were unruly and fanning over his furrowed brow. He placed his hands on your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the thin material of your top.

“You can tell me anything,” he spoke softly and the urge to spill everything was filling you once again. You opened your mouth to speak when your eyes caught something, a shape among the trees. You grabbed your blaster and Poe tensed. “What do you see?” He whispered.

“I don’t know, but there’s something in the trees. Like a building?” You squinted into the gathering dusk trying to make sense of it but you knew you had to get closer. Poe sidestepped and pulled his blaster out, letting you take the lead as you quietly advanced. On closer inspection it looked like a hut, with a row of rickety wooden steps leading up to a closed door. Poe motioned for you to go first and you tested each step carefully before putting your weight on it, sometimes the wood would creak alarmingly and the pair of you would freeze. But nothing happened. You locked eyes with Poe, your hand ready to open the door, he nodded, his hands gripping his blaster tight. You flung the door open and he rushed past you but the small room was empty.

“Clear.” You entered, taking in the shadowy surroundings.

“I thought this moon was settlement free?” You asked, sliding your blaster back into the holster.

“Well it is, Snap did a life sign scan and none of them came back with a species that could have built this.” You looked around noticing the thick layer of dust that covered the surfaces, the flora that had worked its way through the cracks in the wooden structure. “Look at this.” You went to stand next to Poe, he gently swiped dust off the old radio to reveal the worn Rebel sign on the top.

“A little Rebel hideout.” You mumurmed turning over the depleted fuel cells. A small bed was set against the other wall and a crate which you crouched down next to.

“We shouldn’t open that.” You looked up at Poe and smirked.

“Commander Dameron, are you afraid of what I’ll find?”

“No, I just don’t think we should disturb anything else.”

“There might be something useful in here?” He sighed and crouched down next to you.

“What could be in here that we wouldn’t already have back on base? Let’s leave it in case we need it one day.”

“Fine. But you’re ruining my fun.”

“Isn’t that my job as your Commander?” He asked cockily, the crooked smile you loved so much appeared and you pushed away from the crate. Your heart thudded loudly as you turned away wanting to head back to the squad but his hand caught your arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Poe…” his hand slowly drifted up your bare arm, your eyes closed tightly as goosebumps erupted all over your skin.

“Because something is upsetting you…” he whispered. He was right behind you, his breath ghosted over the back of your neck and you could feel his chest rise with each breath. “Please talk to me.” You didn’t miss the desperate, pleading tone to his voice and it made you turn around, his hand still touching your arm as his eyes roamed over your face.

“I don’t know where to start,” you murmured, highly aware of his closeness in the dark room. The scent of him clouded the air around you, filling you everytime you inhaled, his questioning gaze drew your attention and it wasn’t until his nose bumped yours that you realised he’d leaned into you.

“Start at the beginning,” he whispered. His lips brushed yours and every fibre in your body was screaming at you to reciprocate his advance but you didn’t. You stepped back, pulling your arm from his grip and hugging yourself.

“No.” You heard him sigh in the darkness and you imagined the way his shoulders would slump in defeat. “I can’t do this Poe. We can’t.”

“You must know.” He stated simply.

“Know?”

“How I feel about you.” This couldn’t be happening. You felt your chest constrict at his words, you had no idea he returned your feelings. “If you don’t feel the same…”

“But I do.” You interrupted him.

“You do?” He sounded so hopeful and it hurt you that everything you’d ever wanted was here before you, but you couldn’t take it. You stood in the doorway listening to the sea gently lapping at the sand, stars littered the wide expanse of the sky reflecting in the ever moving water below. It was beautiful, breathtaking but you didn’t see it as tears filled your eyes. You flinched when he came up behind you again, his hands either side of you, rubbing your arms. He tried to turn you round but you stood your ground. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice loud in your ear.

“We can’t!” You choked against the rising emotion in your throat. Now he did spin you, putting more effort into his motions, his hands firm on your face as he cupped your cheeks.

“We can….I don’t see what’s holding you back if…if we feel the same.” You smiled sadly and unfolded your arms to run a hand against his face. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing in bliss as he turned and kissed your palm.

“I’m sorry Poe. When we get back to base I’m going to request a transfer.” He stilled, his fingers flexing slightly against your skin as he processed what you had just said.

“What…why?” You held in a sob, your lips trembling as the tears finally spilled down your face.

“I can’t—I can’t go on missions with you feeling like this, I’m going to make a mistake, if you get killed I wouldn’t be able to come back from that.”

“But having you halfway across the Galaxy….” He started but you put your thumb over his lips.

“We can’t feel like this and fight the First Order together. It’s too risky.” His hands fell away and immediately you craved more of his touch, his expression fell into a blank mask and the atmosphere shifted noticeably.

“What about Snap and Kare?” He asked and you frowned.

“What about them?” He pulled away from you turning back to the small table that housed the radio, his fingers nudging the fuel cells slightly.

“Why do they get their happily ever after and we are denied?” You thought your chest was going to split open at the pain in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. Because you are one denying us this.” You heard him move, his hands on you once again but this time so were his lips. The kiss was rushed and desperate as he walked you up against the wall with a thud, it was everything you had ever dreamed it would be. His mouth was soft and warm, his tongue licked deeply into your mouth and you moaned quietly. “Are you telling me we can’t do this…” he kissed you again. “And this,” he whispered as he trailed his lips down your jaw. “Because we are afraid to lose each other?”

“I…” you clenched your fists. You couldn’t concentrate with him on you like this, giving your body everything it had ever wanted. “I can’t think…”

“You don’t need to think…” he murmured into your neck as he pressed his body against you. “Damn baby you smell so good.”

“Poe.” Your hand buried into his curls as your body arched into him, he nipped at the top of your shoulder, his hands roaming up your back fisting in your top.

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracked. “Please don’t leave me, we can do this.” You rested your head against the wall with a sigh, both your bodies heaving in unison as he rested against you.

“If anything happened to you because you felt the need to save me I’d never forgive myself. I can’t, we can’t put ourselves through that.” You tugged his head up. “If I saw you in danger, I would jump to your rescue no hesitation, I would die for you Poe Dameron.”

“I can’t lose you,” he sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “I’ve kept these feelings so tightly boxed up for so long not knowing if you felt the same, but I saw the way you looked at me at the fire and I knew.” He paused and took a shaky breath to try and gain some control over his voice. “I just knew,” he breathed over your face. Placing more delicate kisses on your wet cheeks.

“Poe, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. It’s—it’s just the wrong time.”

“What if I’d said something earlier?” He asked urgently.

“No…”

“Would it be different? If I’d spoken up before you were in my squad?”

“Poe…”

“If I’d said nothing would you stay? Maybe we can forget this ever happened?”

“No. It wouldn’t have changed anything.” His face fell and he pressed it into your neck, his arms crushing you to him and you could feel it. The hurt that radiated from him because you felt the same.

“You’re all I want, it kills me I can’t have you,” he mumbled into you and you sniffed loudly. “Just let me love you, please?” More sobs wracked your body and the tears fell unchecked as you clutched him tightly.

“You have me, you have my heart, you always will. I just…please Poe this hurts!” You both stood there in the dark hut, listening to the quiet sounds of the beach, the soft rustle of the flora in the breeze, when he broke the stillness.

“I can’t change your mind can I?” He asked quietly. You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak anymore because you could easily backtrack. You could so easily tell him you’d changed your mind but visions of him being shot out of the sky in front of your very eyes was a nightmare you didn’t want to live. He pulled away, refusing to make eye contact. His finger grabbed the chain around his neck and pulled it over his head, he pulled your open palm towards him and deposited the ring and chain in it.

“No Poe, this was your mother’s!”

“I know. And I was saving it for the woman I love. If you’re so set on leaving then you are going to take this,” he closed your fist tightly around it. “You either stay, or you take this and when the war is over I will find you.” His free hand slid round the side of your neck and he leaned forward to rest his forehead heavily against yours. “I promise. I will find you.” He kissed you, this time it was gentle and lingering until he broke off with a sob. His hand slowly left your skin and then suddenly he was gone, leaving you weeping against the wall of the hut, clutching the ring to your chest.

I promise. I will find you.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth & Riggs!

All Hands || -

who wakes up first in the morning

Martin doesn’t wake up in the morning.In fact the only way Beth can properly describe it is…from an article she read, wherein researchers from the University of Glasgow observed four groups of loops inside a solar flare. It was said by one Doctor that the event was a great example of a simultaneous implosion and explosion. The energy transferred from the magnetic field to power the flare left a pocket of reduced support that caused the implosion. After a series of scientific ballet steps, the flare loops oscillated until they found a new equilibrium in its plasma.Yeah, that sounds about right. Bolt upright. Legs and arms akimbo, stretching outward. His hair trying to drag him back down or strangle him for the impertinence. That space and time where he’s not sure which way was up and what was dream and reality and the inevitable shock and disappointment when he finally grasps where he is. She throws a leg over his table, a flesh and blood barrier reef between him and the weapons stashed around that she could find. Spoons another mouthful of Fruity Pebbles and chews slowly, quietly as she can. “Mornin’ Texas.”

That malicious glare thrown her way. If looks could maim….“I’m going to assume there’s no bacon to go with that sugar infested monstrosity you’re grazing?”“Of course. Ya jus’ goddah wan come get it.”Finger guns. “I knew I kept you around for a reason, Hawaii.”

who’s the first to fall asleep at night

She doesn’t really sleep.At least, not the way normal people do, and that suits him just fine. He’s not normal by any stretch, and almost welcomes the fact that she isn’t either. He did notice however that she had a habit of drifting off round her third beer, her fourth glass of wine. He’s half into his own bottle when she slumps down at the table. Few minutes later, even and deep breaths. She’d have made a good SEAL he thinks, because that is a survival skill. He gives up his blanket. Tucks her in. Settles down on his couch, arm across his eyes, nursing the bourbon. Maybe an hour goes by, maybe longer and it starts. The fidgeting. The puppy kicks. Sometimes there’s one sided conversation. Sometimes she’s just running ~swimming~ away from something.The first time he witnesses a night terror, he think she is having a cataleptic fit. Every muscle petrifying as he watches, helpless. A strangled breath that is soundless. Eyes open, staring into the dark of the trailer. Wherever she’s gone, whatever is happening, it’ss somewhere he can’t reach her. He’ll never admit it out loud, but that…that scared the shit out of him.

It was shortly after that when he buys the air mattress. Another blanket. Spare pillows. You know, Hawaii, contrary to popular opinion, I am civilised. She doesn’t make a fuss about it. Most of the time, he waits until she is asleep. Sometimes, he doesn’t. But he ends up joining her more nights than is seemly. Spends hours awake on his back, staring up at the ceiling, carding fingers through her hair. That’s just what friends do.

what they playfully tease each other over

“Chea'ah!”“Did you just call me ‘Chia’ as in Chia pet? Or as in the spotted fast running cat, cheetah?”“No. Chea-ah. CHE-AH. Li'dat one who cheat.”When her face gets red like that, her freckles come out. The ones that cup the left side of her mouth. The ones that dot her nose. Her eyes glitter and she snarls. He kind of likes her teeth. Sharp. A little crooked. Not often seen unless she’s smiling or…fixing to rip his throat out.“Do you have photographic evidence of the alleged cheating, Hawai’i?”“No?”“Then your skating on thin ice. Filing a false report is a violation of Section-”She lunges across the table, cutting him off at the best part.By the time they’ve hit the floor and ended up feet away, multi-coloured fake money and little hotels that will later be found in very uncomfortable places {boots, hair, under the stove}, they’re laughing and have forgotten why.And maybe, just maybe, Riggs admits to himself, he does it on purpose.

what they do when the other’s having a bad day

She knew the second her call went to voice-mail that something was wrong.Martin doesn’t ignore her calls. Mr Murtaugh doesn’t answer his either.It’s weeks before she hears from either of them, and by then she’s canvased the usual suspects: the morgues, the hospitals, central processing, everywhere she can think of. Because of course she would assume the worst.By the time he drags himself into the trailer, she’s torn between wanting to strangle him and…oh.Oh.The look on his face says it all and she can’t find the moral fibre to ask him where he’s been. Instead she reaches for the bottle just above the stove. He drops his bag at his feet, barely has the energy to close the door behind him. His arms find her waist, and he buries his face into her neck. Bends him a bit, she’s so much smaller than he is, and yet she holds up mountains.

how they say ‘i’m sorry’ after arguments

“So, lemme get dis straight. Mexico. Tito. Dead in ya trunk. IAB investigation. Suspension. Uhm. Dere any kine else I should know?!”

Though soft, her voice is awed. Not in pride. There’s too much fear and worry, tinged with an anger at the situation and maybe a little bit at him. Because she knows, she knows without a shadow of doubt, that Martin had done all these things without the intention of ever coming back from it. Which is why he looks so lost now. Why she can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. The way he shakes in her arms. Because even after all of this? She hasn’t managed to let go.

He murmurs under his breath and she can’t make any of it out, except it’s rough timbre. The vibrations of his voice against the lower part of her shoulder.

“...Said ‘M sorry, Hawai’i.”

She believes him. Not because of the words. It’s in the way his fingers twist in the back of her shirt. The way he shakes even if it’s so subtle no one else would notice. It takes all the fight right out of her.

Fingers lose themselves in his hair. And she hugs him closer.

“I know. An’ if ya evah do dat again, Martin, I’ma find ya an’ break every bone in ya body.”

which one’s more ticklish

She shrieks like something dying.

Squirms, kicks. Digs nails in wherever they can find purchase and tries to drag herself away.  

It’s no good. Martin has a hold of her ankle and refuses to let go. He also has a feather though that becomes fingers against the delicate arch. The devil’s in his eyes. That very foot gets set up on his shoulder, because he’s a stupidly brave man. Goes for her knees. A new scream of laughter that could deafen someone at twenty yards and peel paint right off the walls.

By the time he’s gotten to her waist, they’re dishevelled. She’s got both legs wrapped around his middle and is putting every ounce of her strength to prevent his forward progress. His hair and shirt will never be the same, they’re both red and breathless from exhaustion.

And of course, OF COURSE, Andrew Riley misunderstands the situation.

“The Fuck’re you doing?”

Neither can be sure which one he’s addressing but they answer in unison.

“Unnawaddah basket weaving.”

“Sky-diving into a vat of marshmallow fluff and whiskey.”

their favourite rainy day activities

It starts by waking up on the beach, the pounding surf whisper-screaming a warning and the gulls aren’t numerous and loud. Or maybe it’s the cold that gets them, unseasonable compared to the night before. By the time he’s fully aware of his surroundings and brushing sand off his skin, she’s sitting with her back to him, knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. The wind picks up her hair, flies it behind her like a tattered, dark banner.

“Storm comin’ in.”

There’s something wistful in her tone that has nothing to do with the surf conditions. He drops down behind her, palms smoothing their way up from elbow to shoulder in the slowest meander he can manage. She gets a little lost like that sometimes, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why, or where she really goes inside her head. But he gives her the same courtesy and comfort that she offers when he does the same. They stay that way until the rain comes slashing in, cutting like knives, and the lightning starts.

The rest of the day is spent cooped up inside his trailer. He doesn’t mind the feel of her nestled between his legs and draped across his chest. When she curls up, she doesn’t take up much room. And the blankets are piled up too, making a warm cocoon around them.

They listen to the rain. To the radio. Drowsing in and out of consciousness with nowhere to be and nothing that needs to be said. Sure they shift around for the sake of comfort and it never fails that they have to take turns moving so the other can hit the head, after drinking coffee and cocoa.

“Hey, Texas?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’evah....”

“Nope.”

“Me, eiddah.”

how they surprise each other

It’s nothing cinematic. Little notes left in a desk drawer in purple sparkly pen encouraging him day by day. A hot cup of coffee waiting for her in the morgue before she slips in to work. A picked up dinner because the other knows no one thought about it over the long hours. Fingers laced together when least expected. A drive down to Mexico because why not?

And that’s what makes them so solid. It’s nothing like those tv-show dramatic revelations or soap-opera twists. And honestly, it’s better this way because neither one of them handle big things well.

Okay, so maybe it was the salsa dancing lessons that really got her, and how she kept smiling at him all night. {{Nevah knew ya had dose kine moves, Texas.}}

Or the way he was mesmerised by watching her field strip and clean his M-16, shaving a good forty seconds off his personal best {{next time, blindfolded, Bethany.}}

their most sickening shows of public affection

“So, I come out of the john and I’m looking around and looking around, because I was only gone like a minute tops. It’s like you gotta put an RIFD tag in them ~do you think they’d notice if I did?~ But anyway, so I’m searching through the typical Saturday crowd and then what do I see?

“Riggs, strolling down the boardwalk carnival fuckin’ thing, as if it’s goddamn Coney Island, and he’s wearing my sister like a backpack! A BACKPACK! Legs wrapped around his hips, one arm across his shoulders. And the other hand, she’s feeding him tufts of cotton candy. And this asshole, occasionally holding up his Coke next to his head so she can lean in and take sips! Who does that, Gamble?!”

Brian isn’t sure what’s funnier, the red in his partner’s face, the vein throbbing in his temple, or the outrage at something that while, yes, not exactly normal, is not the worst he’s personally seen with years on the Job.

“Sounds...horrifying.” This is accompanied by an eye roll in Riley’s direction in the most sarcastic way Gamble can manage. “Still. Could be worse. There’s this one picnic table at the pier that’s just out of sight from the Boardwalk and from the beach and if you spread a blanket on it, you can spread other th-”

He’s cut off by having to duck the stapler launched across at him. Which only makes the former Ranger laugh harder. Practically chokes on his coffee when there’s a particular drawl behind him.

“Y’all are just highly envious that A....She likes me better, maybe because crazy as I am I actually respect her...and B....no cotton candy for either of you.”

[thehuggamugcafe]

Future Diary: Episode 1: Sign Up I

“Darling? Can you hear me? You can stop playing pretend now.”

“It was funny the first five minutes, but... You’re starting to worry me, love.”

“Hey. Hey. Stop playing around already.”

“Sweetheart. If you don’t answer me... I will be very upset with you.”

Small, ragged pants left the chest of an eighteen-year-old high school student, his hands pressed over the chest of another eighteen-year-old high school student who lay on the ground in front of him. It was a girl, and a girl who was unnaturally still at that. A pair of round, black-framed glasses were off to the left, having been tossed aside in frustration mere moments ago. The spectacles’ glass frames were cracked, splattered with droplets of blood, both wet and dry.

The third-year swallowed a light gulp, his onyx eyes staring down at the unresponsive female senior, his hands folded over each other as he compressed the girl’s chest, trying to revive her... No, hoping to resuscitate her.

“Come on, darling, come on. Just breathe. That’s all you have to do now. Breathe,” he whispered to the unusually still high school girl, his voice hinting of the sheer desperation he felt as it bubbled up inside his chest.

The senior’s face was the picturesque example of a poker face, but the intensity of his onyx eyes, and the clear hints of heartache in his voice, in the words he uttered betrayed his true feelings. His pupils had shrunk to pin-sized pricks, small beads of sweat glistened as they trailed down from the perspiring crown of his forehead, and his hands were clammy, shaking.

“It’s over. It’s all over. Everything’s okay now. Understand? You understand right, sweetheart? You understand... You understand, don’t you? Don’t you!? If you understand, then answer me! Say something, please!”

The third-year’s voice possessed a dark undertone, his onyx eyes slowly but surely losing any warmth they might have previously held. The young man’s eyes shone with a cold light as they darkened, but he kept pushing his folded hands down over where he knew the still girl’s heart was, praying for a response.

A gasp or a whimper of pain. Fluttering eyelashes. Twitching fingers. A soft whisper of his name. A murmur of concern for him.

Anything at all would have been fine to the eighteen-year-old senior. A response would assure him that his love was safe, that she was okay, that the plan had worked just as he had promised her it would. More importantly... He would be assured that she was alive, above all else.

However...

There wasn’t a response.

No gasps or whimpers came from the unnaturally still girl. Her eyelashes didn’t flutter. Her fingers didn’t twitch or move in the slightest. No whispers came from her lips that were slowly taking on a light shade of blue. No murmurs came from the mouth he adored to kiss with his own, lick with his tongue, and gently nip with his teeth.

His love was completely still.

She was unresponsive in every sense of the word.

She wasn’t moving.

She wasn’t breathing at all.

She was... She was... She was... She was-!

“...No. No, no, no. It... It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Frantic whispers left his mouth, his hands shooting up from the girl’s chest as though he’d been jolted with an electric shock, as though a hot surge of lightning coursed through his fingers that tingled, his hands that trembled.

“I need to... I need to fix this... I need to fix her... But how...?”

“Isn’t it obvious, you noob?”

A voice spoke from behind him, causing his attention to snap over his shoulder, staring at the owner of the voice as they—no, she—stepped out from the shadows.

“...It’s you...”

“The one and only,” came the nonchalant reply.

The senior’s onyx eyes continued to stare as the owner of the voice hummed, stepping forward with her hands clasped behind her back. The heels of the black knee-high boots she wore tap-tapped over the floor as she approached the frizzy-haired, onyx-eyed high school student. A mischievous smile curled her lips as she raised a hand, daintily readjusting the round glasses that were perched on her nose.

“So... You won the game to end all games, huh? You weren’t the golden egg the boss favoured, but meh... Who cares about that? You’re the new boss now... So, Boss...”

The third-year student narrowed his eyes at the title he was evidently saddled with, something which the girl took notice of. However, she simply shrugged her shoulders in an uncaring manner.

“Whatcha gonna do now?”

“...Take me to a world where she’s still alive.”

The request hung in the still air for a few moments, a few moments that felt like a fleeting glimpse of eternity before, finally, the girl’s glasses appeared to glint as she smiled, a laugh worthy of a trickster leaving her lips.

“’Kay, Boss.”

A psychedelic haze of red and black swirled before his vision, encompassing the mundane and sombre room, making way for a new world as it sucked him into a brief, dream-like state that took the form of a deep, soothing shade of velvet blue.

This would be his second chance to set things right; he wouldn’t forgive himself for any mistakes this time.

This time he would see to it that she lived, no matter what.

This time he would see to it that she emerged from this preposterous game as the crowned victor, a lone goddess worthy to ascend to the throne she deserved to sit on.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do if it was for her, but more importantly... Above everything else...

She had to survive.

His entire plan hinged on her perseverance. If she happened to die at any point, he would simply win the absurd game, ask a certain someone to reset the world, and start all over again.

He would make certain that she alone survived. He burned with resolve as hard as a steel blade put to a blacksmith’s forge, determined to see his plan come to fruition.

He would do anything, anything at all to ensure she lived to the end, however bitter it may be.

If they posed a danger to his love’s safety, he would even kill those who weren’t participants.

He thought it was unfair that the light in his dark life was one of the participants chosen by some God, a God who’d spent who-knew-how-many millennia on the throne. It was incredibly unjust for her to be one of the twelve poor, dismal souls chosen to participate in a free-for-all game that pitted stranger against stranger, family member against family member and, if the participants were really unlucky, lover against lover.

All he wanted was to live a long, happy life with his beloved, but unfortunately, the twisted kill-or-be-killed game prevented him from living the one good dream he wanted to become reality. What he wanted to have more than anything else in the whole world.

He was forbidden from realizing his most treasured dream, wanting to be with the one who caught his eye, who ensnared his sanity, and who had unknowingly stolen his heart.

However, now...

Now all he could do was traverse to another world she resided in but, sadly, didn’t accept him. A world where she didn’t even know that he existed at all—but that was alright. He was fine with that.

It didn’t matter to him in the slightest if she knew of him.

It didn’t matter if she didn’t acknowledge him, either. Because...

If she didn’t acknowledge him... He would make her notice him.

If she didn’t accept him... He would befriend her, offer a reassuring shoulder to lean on, playing his part as a concerned acquaintance.

If she didn’t love him... As he had done before, he would steal her affections before she knew what happened.

She’d plead for his assistance; he knew she would. Her chances of surviving on her own were slim at best, and nonexistent at worst. Once she affirmed the dire consequences for what they were, a sure-fire death sentence for her... Once she accepted the nightmarish reality to not be a dream, but a cold, hard slap to her beautiful face...

She would come running into his arms, asking for his protection, begging for his help.

The thought brought a cocky grin to his lips, a rare and uncharacteristic expression for someone who appeared to be a quiet, soft-spoken, and mild-mannered high school student. It was an expression he wouldn’t pull off around just any random person.

The smug smirk that curled his lips. The smile that betrayed a glint of his pearly whites.

Such a cocksure visage was reserved for one person and only one person.

The only one who could cause such a reaction was the same person whom he loved with every fibre in his body.

The one who could cause happy, pleasant feelings to stir inside him. Feelings that no one else aroused in him.

The person in question was a girl, an eighteen-year-old senior who attended his school.

The girl he’d kill for.

The girl he’d die for.

That girl was none other than you.

[Unknown Location, Bedroom.]

11/9 22:00 (10:00 P.M.)

“Arrest.”

Drip.

“Trial.”

Drip.

“A whole year...”

Drip.

“A whole year of probation, huh? After that...”

The steady drip drip of a faucet in the bathroom down the hall echoed throughout the dimly lit darkness as its constant, never-ending drip noise was shoved into his ears, weaving through the still air from a few rooms down the hall. He breathed in a soft sigh as the back of his head was cradled in the palms of his hands, his eyes staring up at the ceiling of his room before flicking a glance at the door of his bedroom that was ajar, allowing a thin stream of fluorescent light to glare into his bedroom from the staircase landing.

His covers rustled as he moved, his mattress shifted as he slid off of the bed, the bare soles and toes of his feet touched the plush carpet of his room. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants, pausing only to remove a hand from the depths of a pocket, his right hand, and swipe his cellphone off of the end table next to his bed. He pointed his eyes down as he walked, stopping in front of the door of his bedroom, turning the phone on. A smile curled his lips as his eyes stared down at the small, glowing screen of the phone he held in his right hand.

Several noteworthy messages stared back at him, quietly reading the messages before his eyes were pulled off of the screen, glancing up just enough to open his bedroom door and begin walking down the dimly lit corridor. His eyes flicked back down at the small, glowing screen of his cellphone, staring at the messages that he’d been typing on his phone whenever he saw a certain someone.

11/9 15:30 (After school)

I watched her leave the gymnasium from a window outside. My sweetheart looked troubled. Did the PE teacher pester her again? That bastard... If I ever see a cut, a bruise on my Treasure... I won’t forgive him, teacher or not.

11/9 15:40 (She leaves school)

I waited just outside the girls’ locker room, to make sure my sweetheart was okay. I made sure to stay out of sight, but I could hear them... The other girls... Sneering, laughing at my beloved. How dare they... What has my darling done to earn their ire? ...Well, no matter. Any girl who isn’t her is worthless to me.

11/9 15:50 (Grocery store)

I saw her at the grocery store. I followed her inside, making sure she was in my sight the entire time. It seems that my darling was sent on a shopping errand today. She bought some of her favourite snacks. Her smile is as beautiful as always.

11/9 16:20 (Her walk home)

My Treasure is such a clumsy girl. On her way home she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, sending the contents of a few bags spilling out on the ground. I helped her gather the groceries, and offered to make sure she arrived home safely. She seemed hesitant at first, but she accepted after thinking about it. She smiled at me; she thanked me for my help. Ahh... A wonderful smile for a wonderful girl... Such kind words she spoke, fitting for a lovely girl such as her... Does your beauty know no bounds, my sweetheart?

11/9 16:30 (She arrives home)

I watched from the large oak tree in her yard, watching as she entered her home safely. I’m so relieved, but... She looked a bit upset. I wonder what happened...? She seemed happy earlier... I’ll stay behind a bit longer, and make sure she’s okay. Everything’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here, watching over you.

11/9 16:40 (Her home)

I climbed the oak tree a bit higher, to peer into her bedroom window. She looks adorable no matter what she does, even when she’s studying for a test.

11/9 16:50 (Her home)

It seems her grandparents will be late returning home tonight. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to get caught peering into her house. I won’t be able to keep an eye on my darling from inside a prison cell, will I?

He glanced up from the screen, smiling as he stopped in front of the bathroom door, pausing as he caught the gentle illumination coming from his cellphone screen.

From behind him.

“What...?” he murmured, blinking owlishly as he felt a sudden stabbing sensation zeroing in on his side.

He breathed a gasp, spluttering up blood as crimson stained his lips. His cellphone fell from his hand, clattering as it hit the floor, splatters of red staining the exterior of the cellular device and coating the lit screen.

The young man coughed up a pained groan, pressing a hand to his bleeding side as he was roughly shoved to the wall adjacent to the bathroom, producing another weak noise that hinted of the pain he was in.

Again and again he felt the same stabbing sensation, gasping, groaning, and voicing soft pleas of “stop!” as he was hit again, again, and again. His begging fell on deaf ears, hearing only a devilish laugh that reminded him of an escaped asylum patient.

He felt darkness encroaching upon him, voicing a soft gasp as an icy sensation washed over him as he rolled over onto his back, staring up into a never-ending abyss.

Or so he thought.

He heard footsteps, soft footsteps approaching, stopping just within an arm’s reach of him. The silhouetted figure stooped down, collecting the cellphone that was besmirched with crimson stains in their hand, holding a blood-stained knife in another hand. The red-smeared blade glinted in the dimly lit moonlight from a nearby window, and as the figure stepped into the gentle illumination as it shone upon their face, his eyes widened as he breathed a gasp of horror, of confusion.

Why would this person do this? To him of all people? After all, they were...!

“No. No, no, no. Not... Not yet. I have to... I have to see her again,” he whispered, his final words reaching the silhouetted figure’s ears.

“My... My Treasure...!” he wheezed, coughing up red as he reached forward, writing the words “help me” on to the wall.

He had enough strength to write down a certain woman’s name in his blood, too.

The figure snickered as he stooped down further, eyeing the name written in red on the wall.

(Y/n) (L/n).

“Your Treasure...? I think not. She is my Treasure. My sweetheart. My darling. No one else can have her but me!” he said, hissing shadows through a smiling mouth as the dying young man breathed one last whisper before he became still.

“(Y/n)... I love you.”

The figure voiced one last maniacal snicker as he straightened his posture, his eyes staring at the glowing screen of the deceased high school student’s cellphone, ignoring the warm smears of crimson that sullied his fingers.

The stranger eyeballed the messages typed on the screen, a dark smirk curling his lips as a glimmer of insanity shone in his gaze.

“Only six months and two days until the survival game begins.”

[1dev123]

Types of Cotton Fabric available in 2021

In the fabrics and crafts industry, cotton is an all-round favorite which is available in various textures and thickness. Its high tensile strength makes it strong, durable and less likely to rip or tear. It washes and dries easily and may be washed repeatedly as needed. But with so many different types of cotton fabric to choose from, it can be difficult making a final decision. So, to help you, the team at Fabrics Galore have put this guide together on the different types of cotton fabric.  Cotton Fabric is made from soft, fluffy and staple fibre that is light in weight. Cotton material is a finely spun, tightly twisted type of cotton, that is strong and durable. Such fabrics are widely used for, Anarkalis, Salwar Kameez, Kurtis. It can be also used to make Men's Kurtas. Here in this article the information will help your expariance next time when you will go to Buy Cotton Fabric Online.

What is Cotton?

cotton fabric is a soft, fluffy staple fiber that grows in a boll, or protective case, around the seeds of the cotton plants of the genus Gossypium in the mallow family Malvaceae. The fiber is almost pure cellulose. Under natural conditions, the cotton bolls will increase the dispersal of the seeds.

The plant is a shrub native to tropical and subtropical regions around the world, including the Americas, Africa, Egypt and India. The greatest diversity of wild cotton species is found in Mexico, followed by Australia and Africa. Cotton was independently domesticated in the Old and New Worlds.

The fiber is most often spun into yarn or thread and used to make a soft, breathable textile. The use of organic cotton fabric is known to date to prehistoric times; fragments of cotton fabric dated to the fifth millennium BC have been found in the Indus Valley Civilization, as well as fabric remnants dated back to 6000 BC in Peru. Although cultivated since antiquity, it was the invention of the cotton gin that lowered the cost of production that led to its widespread use, and it is the most widely used natural fiber cloth in clothing today.

Current estimates for world production are about 25 million tones or 110 million bales annually, accounting for 2.5% of the world's arable land. India is the world's largest producer of cotton. The United States has been the largest exporter for many years. In the United States, cotton is usually measured in bales, which measure approximately 0.48 cubic meters (17 cubic feet) and weigh 226.8 kilograms.

How to take care of online cotton fabric?

cotton material can be machine-washed or dry cleaned, and the instructions vary based on the color of the fabric and its composition (such as a cotton blend). Make sure to check the label for washing instructions.

Pretreat any stains before washing.

Wash like colors together to prevent any bleeding. Darker colors should be washed in cold water, while lighter colors can be washed on a warm or cool cycle.

Bleach can be used on cotton.

Cotton does tend to shrink, so if you are sewing with cotton, make sure to pre-wash your fabrics.

Cotton can be hung dry or tumble dried. Be aware that cotton wrinkles easily and shrinks, so if you want to avoid shrinkage, line dry and remove from the dryer quickly to avoid excess wrinkles.

Types of Cotton Fabric Cotton lawn

Cotton lawn fabric is a thin, relatively sheer, high thread count cotton fabric which is made by using a tight weave, but with a finer thread. This is what creates the buttery smooth surface texture it is well-known for, making it perfect for clothes, blouses, skirts and other clothing pieces for the warmer months. So, if you are looking to sew a lightweight maxi dress, or a gorgeous summer blouse, cotton may seem like a rather obvious choice for your dressmaking project.  Cotton jersey fabric

Known for its stretchiness and softness, cotton jersey fabric is a staple to make your favorite cotton tee-shirts. It’s a very low maintenance fabric which is incredibly soft and is made up of predominantly cotton with some elastane. One of the huge benefits of using jersey fabric is its versatility as it can be worked into most dressmaking projects - from breathable summer tops to base layers for the winter months - it can be used for almost anything.  Seersucker fabric

If you are looking for a lightweight cotton fabric that never needs ironing, seersucker cotton is the perfect choice for you. It originated in India and is commonly used to make shirts, shorts and even suits best suited for warm weather, being both lights, breathable and durable. As the uneven slightly puckered texture causes the fabric to sit away from the skin, it allows for air circulation, making it ideal for the warmer months - as well as activewear. Check out the Fabrics Galore range of classic gingham seersucker fabrics. 

Cotton poplin

This plain-weave cotton fabric is a light weight fabric which can be used to make a variety of clothing items that you can wear all year. It is often used in men’s shirts as it is soft and light weight and relatively crease free. It is also used in women’s dressmaking as well as sportswear and raincoats - so its popularity is hardly surprising. Cotton poplin is known for its distinctive ribbed texture and tightly closed weave, which makes it very lightweight but still retains its strength. Poplin has always been a staple fabric for its versatility, as it is a comfortable but stylish fabric for all manner of casual and formal wear. 

[ultra-maha-us]

Artificial Fibre Hair Extensions Develop Selection Hair Types for Hair Loss and Style Customers

Right from the start of time, girls have maintained their hair. As 2005's Most Popular Hair Extensions much back as 4000-300 B.C. Egyptian girls and also guys are shown with numerous wigs and intricate hair styles. Hair is just a adding factor to types confidence and serenity. Our tradition strongly recognizes femininity with a thick, lustrous head of hair. Photographs of complete bodied, shining hair are associated with girl attributes, sex, desirability and vigor. Loss, dry, lusterless hair is recognized with infection, senior years, and poverty.

Every technology experiences more and more transformations and capitalizes on recent traits of Hair Styles. The big Hair Type tendency today is completely swing in Europe and is beginning to spread in the United States. It's the tendency of Hair Extensions. Hair extensions require the addition of individual or manufactured hair to your existing hair to make a more complete or long search immediately. Hair extensions can add immediate body, period to your search and may also help with hair loss and hair thinning situations.

There are numerous different ways of hair extensions on the market nowadays, some great, some not good. Tag Sharp, co-founder and innovative director of Tag Glenn Hair Advancement of London, Britain and Glenn Kinsey, co-founder and controlling director took innovative steps in building a fiber Headband wigs hair expansion process that not merely does not damage the existing hair but can also increase the situation of the hair. They've altered the lives of girls who suffer with varying quantities of hair thinning due to conditions such as alopecia, trichotillomania, genetic facets, strain and post-operative trauma.

The Tag Glenn extensions, typically known as MG extensions, use number glues, bonding options, strings, weaves, injections, and nothing is caught on the head. They're connected employing a very fine braid. A tiny part of existing hair is split into two. The fiber hair can also be split into two to make the braid and is eventually wrapped round the root of the hair, defending it. The fiber is then "closed on itself" employing a heat instrument (which is no warmer than the usual typical couple of curling tongs or crimpers). That generates a little plastic seal. It's crucial to point out that during this process, your own personal hair is properly "cocooned" inside the fiber therefore it does not come right into direct connection with any heat. Therefore, your own personal hair remains in great condition. For hair thinning or loss problems, the extensions are applied with non-allergic mesh and the fiber hair is stitched through the mesh to generate the look.

[spiralstitched]

Flagstaff, Arizona.

Claudia crouches on the front porch.

The wood is wet, dampened after a bout of devil rain, roiling waves of thunder and lightning that crackled across town, leaving wildlife’s fur on end and fingers sparking at the slightest brush of metal. She stares intently, unblinkingly. She reaches out hesitantly, slowly- towards the empty plate.

The porcelain is mostly clean, though it looks as if someone’s been lapping off of it: a long smudge on the brim and a couple of crumbs on the steps. Some are squashed, others conspicuously missing. She figures they must have been carried away by the ants, or perhaps the birds. A sprig of rosemary, (that’s for remembrance,) lies spat out on the deck, a little frayed, a little worse for wear. The air smells like ozone: burning the inside of her nose, and she sneezes, hard. Claudia takes in the detailing of the plate, eyes a hairline scrape into the top enamel. Whatever ate from the plate had sharp teeth.

Usually, it’s a morning task to empty out the little dish of milk, (which has never gone curdled in the years since she’s made it a habit to offer, which is probably a sign of regard from the piskies,) into the little composting bin for the tender roses who need cracked eggshells and blood meal mixed into their roots. They’re her mother’s pet projects, her darling babies. Claudia figures she’s mostly alright with that- as long as she isn’t the one being made out to be her mum’s dear little lassie. She’s also usually responsible for crumbling up the stale bread to feed the little birds that hop along the edges of their property: shaggy blackbirds that look more like small dogs than large birds. Sometimes they squawk at her. One of them is named Spot: he has a brilliant tuft of white on his foot. Spot loves to hop up onto her shoes, and has let her hold him once or twice on her arm: it’s a good thing to see a familiar face in a new city. Usually the birds keep their distance, and Claudia will have her own breakfast while watching from the respectful perch of the porch. She’ll eat a toasted sandwich, usually, and bemuse herself with comparisons drawn between their meals. The birds’ bread is cakey, and they peck industriously at the coarse grains: she hasn’t quite gotten used to baking in the desert. The humidity is off, especially when stormfronts sweep through. Whipping meringues seems like a dream of yesterday, she can never get the stiff white peaks to form properly. Even after they’ve had their fill, spreading wingspans to wheel around in the desert like ominous little blots, the birds are messy eaters. They don’t tend to finish off the whole round of bread, which is only about the size of her palm. At least one or two hunks are usually left, stamped on with the impression of small talons, or bashed in half where a little inquisitive head landed. So it wasn’t the birds: their tongues wouldn’t match the large slobbery streak on its surface anyways. And as far as she can tell, Flagstaff, Arizona doesn’t seem to have a bustling stray cat and dog population, or at least none bold enough to try to hang out near the Victorian mansion. It’s an odd character in the bright, busy landscape: not nearly as odd as it would’ve been in New York City, though.

Today something else - she scours the mud, no tiny hardened raccoon paw prints, little dexterous fingers flexed into the baked earth - has taken her offerings: a bowl of honeyed milk, and a little loaf of home baked bread, meant to appease whatever it was that lurked on the edges of the forest. Her stomach churns, and she sits, propping her face up with both hands balled into fists in too big overalls.

What to do?

She’ll have to break out the pickling salt cans again, slit open the hula hoops, and resin seal them. She’ll have to crystallize ropes in salt, growing chunky crystals on the bed of fibres, and then seal them in a flexible glue. Bless the corners of the house, shoo out anything that might be lingering in the eaves. Leave water running. Close any circles old inhabitants, (who were related to her through blood, which means more than anyone’s fair share of shenanigans, probably) might have left behind. Ask things to leave, politely, but firmly. Crawl under the house’s whistling gap to wash away any sigils of ill intent with salt impregnated water and a cloth to be burnt afterwards. Essential oils (canine friendly, of course) need to be loaded up into the diffuser. There’s mirrors to glaze over with a crust of seasalt, then tuck away under tightly fitted wax cloth, worn thin symbols stitched in years ago, reinforced with loops of red thread. Line entryways with warding flowers, salted lines, tallow fat and ashes rubbed against the perimeter. Tuck twigs of yew and rowan wherever they are fit, sleep with St John’s and amaranth nearby. Put her bracelets of black tourmaline on again. Leave rice around, then clean it up and dispose of it. Ask Father Johnathan for some holy water- just to have on standby.

Claudia makes a mental checklist of herbs to buy, things to pick from her discreet little patch of claimed land in the woods, woods to burn. She has enough chalk, at least: and protective metals at standby, the thin silver chain holding her adderstone suddenly cool against her neck.

It doesn’t make sense. She knows how to dance around the silvery lines that Theodore swears are just glimmers of water on supersaturated land, how to weave around them without stepping onto them, how to respectfully pass by little mushroom circles or bowered trees, diamonded roots crisscrossing the ground like cobblestone. She knows the rules: don’t give them your real name, don’t tell them which eye you can see them out of or they’ll poke it right out, and never take anything offered, nor thank them for it in such a way as to endebt yourself. 

She’s even practiced that last part with Theodore, whose face crinkles with amusement at typical ‘baby sister antics,’ though he’s more than happy to indulge in her “juvenile lawyerin’” as he puts it. Claudia has always been ineffably polite to the good gentlemen, but even more so in a desert climate: the ground isn’t nearly porous enough to be bogged down with water, no matter what her brother insists with a touch of put upon practicality. Still, despite these precautions, it seems as if they’ve decided to pay her a visit after all: to collect their due sums, perhaps- or to make themselves known.

Maybe this little tourist town will be more interesting than it initially seemed after all.

[martina-watts-bcu]

Embroidery Hoop Weaving

I have used different types of wool and materials to weave. I started off with a thinner wool that has shiny wool intertwined, then a slightly thicker white wool, on the outside I have used two different materials on either side. I wanted to experiment with weaving in sections, instead of it being the same all the way round. The pink/purple yarn has a very thin string connecting these larger frays of material which is what makes it so textured. On the other side I have used a thick ribbon to weave through. I like the outcome of this as the different textures are very different, yet still work together. I also like the process as its very versatile with what you can weave depending on the desired effect. Going forwards, I could use this in my project to weave materials that represent precious things and even stitch into it with things such as beads, sequins, photographs, wool, thread.

Tammy Kanat is a textile artist that creates tapestries woven around an oval shape copper frame. Many of her works represent natural forms such as, cut agate, living coral and aerial landscape scenes. I think it is so interesting how her work can vary so much by using different materials, different colours and different placements they can represent so many different scenes and emotions. In an interview she stated that she does not consciously choose the colours and they come to her depending on what she’s feeling which I think is a very natural way to work and shows that all her artworks can be interpreted in different ways and provoke different emotions.

Tammy Kanat, Mystic Pinks, 2020, mixed fibres, 110cm x 125cm

Tammy Kanat, Earth Dance, 2020, mixed fibres, 140cm x 140cm