#Dragonfly Shawl

[msbarrows]

One of my Christmas presents to myself this year was a second @shovava-clothing shawl (2nd year in a row to buy something for myself from her store). Taken it a bit to get here, though the vast majority of that was on the Canada Customs/Post end of things. It took from Dec 15-17 to go from her store in Australia to customs in Richmond BC, where it lingered in customs until Christmas Eve (yay Christmas parcels backlogs, /sigh), and then spent an age crawling across Canada (probably via truck) through several statutory holiday days, until it reached the sorting terminal in Mississauga and got booted back up north to my neck of the woods. I say ‘back up’ as the truck would have passed within a 20-30 minute drive from here on its way through Ontario from Manitoba, assuming it took the commonly-used-for-trucking highways 17->69->400 corridor. At least I had the Canada Post tracking updates to keep me amused while waiting.

I love how pretty this scarf is! The photo doesn’t really do it justice, as the lighter turquoise parts of the dragonfly wings aren’t showing with anywhere near the saturation they actually have, and the dark background is more very dark blue than blue-black IRL

I went for the lighter cotton fabric instead of the silk-cashmere that I went with for last year’s night owl scarf, and am planning to use this one as a spring-summer scarf, while the owl will be more autumn-winter.

[thebluehoursofmorning]

agggh it's like I'm good enough at crochet to get an idea and recognize "oh I think this is feasible and it probably already exists" but then i scour the internet and can't find exactly what i'm looking for so I end up writing my own pattern but I'm not at that level of writing good patterns so it's such a mess

[broke-but-cozy]

🖤Dragonfly shawl I made for my mom🩵

Pattern by @crochetbyellej

[chocfrog-enjoyer]

TRELAWNEY ISN’T A FRAUD!

So as we “know” or so we believed Trelawney was a total liar. Well allow me to show you that she was in fact not at all. Most of the times we know of at least, because she did have a habit of talking big about small things which I’m not counting here.

So first let’s ignore the 2 obvious prophecies and the times she would tell about the Lavenders rabbit dying or Hermione dropping the class as those could be blamed on chance. Sybill does have a sort of “inner eye” but sadly the way she tells the information accompanied by her usual “mysterious” style makes them pretty unbelievable.

But after some analysis allow me to show you this post. This is all I could think about for now in the case of her divinations.

Let’s first analyze the subject of Divination itself. As quoted:

“ Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, 'So you may have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field..

[…]

‘Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future,’ “

Divination is a strong emotional subject. Mainly based on feelings, interpretation and beliefs. Small glimpses of probable future yet to be interpreted to ones mind.

That’s why it is indeed one of the hardest subjects as it is impossible to understand by reading. In divination you have to rely on your instincts and feelings when using “future-telling” methods.

So let’s get to the actual interesting parts.

“ ... the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding towards them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honour of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversize dragonfly.

‘Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!' said

Dumbledore, standing up.

'I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster,' said Professor Trelawney, in her mistiest, most faraway voice, and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the prompting of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..'

‘Certainly, certainly,' said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. 'Let me draw you up a chair -'

[...]

Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

'I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!' “

[ HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban ]

This doesn’t seem important does it? Especially that when Harry and Ron stood up nothing happened. Oh just another one of Trelawneys pointless ramblings. It is in fact not! Just look:

This is an assumption as I don’t think it was ever confirmed but it’s reasonable enough that I find it true.

We were given a list of all the people sitting at the moment. Dumbledore, McGonagal, Snape, Sprout, Flitwick, Filch, 3 other students and of course Harry, Ron and Hermione.

12

Or at least it might seem like that…

We know that this was the time that Crookshanks was after Scabbers. It is said in this exact same chapter that Scabbers was constantly staying in Ron’s pocket. The thing is that Scabbers is not a rat. And so if he was present at the moment there were already 13 people sitting at the table!

But what’s so special about it, nothing happened to Harry or Ron anyway? Well that is because they weren’t the ones who stood up first at that moment.

“ ‘Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!' said Dumbledore, standing up. “

Everything checks out. Out of all the people present at the table ( counting Scabbers/Wormtail ) Dumbledore was the first one to die

But as I said this is just a very probable assumption. The next one isn’t.

Remember that time on Order of Phoenix when Molly and Sirius had an argument?

“ ‘He's not your son,’ said Sirius quietly.

‘He's as good as,’ said Mrs Weasley fiercely. ‘Who else has he got?’

‘He's got me!’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, ‘the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?’

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

‘Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,’ said Lupin sharply. ‘Sirius, sit down.’ “

There were also 13 people sitting at a table at that moment. Sirius was the first one to stand up and he was the first one to die.

That’s what I got with the 13’s for now but If I missed a prediction like this I’d love to see someone who has found it.

Continuing to the Goblet of Fire:

“ 'I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn,' said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.

"Born under -what, sorry?' said Harry.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!' said

Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. 'I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. Your dark hair... your mean stature... tragic losses so young in life... I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in mid-winter?'

"No,' said Harry, 'I was born in July.' “

[ HP and the Goblet of Fire ]

When I was younger and I read this scene it made me laugh. But when re-re-re-…re-reading it as I am much older it made me think. Trelawney isn’t wrong here. The problem is she doesn’t sense this in Harry.

What is this person talking about you might think? Allow me to elaborate. As we already agreed Divination is no clear-answers and easy interpretations. So Sybill thought that what she sensed was about Harry, while in fact it wasn’t!

‘[…] Your dark hair... your mean stature... tragic losses so young in life... I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in mid-winter?’

Let’s think who else fits that description.

It is no one else than Tom Marvolo Riddle. Dark Hair, mean stature, and a tragic loss ( mother dying shortly after birth ) young in life. But most importantly Tom Riddle was born on 31st December. Mid winter.

And as we later know Harry is a Horcrux of Lord Voldemort aka Tom. Harry has part of Voldemorts soul inside him and that’s why Trelawney thought it was Harry.

“ ‘Harry proceeded through deserted corridors, though he had to step hastily behind a statue when Professor Trelawney appeared round a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffled a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.

‘Two of spades: conflict,' she

murmured, as she passed the place where Harry crouched, hidden. 'Seven of spades: an ill omen. Ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner -'.

She stopped dead, right on the other side of Harry's statue.

‘Well, that can't be right,' she said, annoyed, and Harry heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. “

[ HP and the Half Blood Prince ]

This is the book where Sybill is a bit unstable due to her previous trouble with Umbridge, the current state where there are 2 Divination teachers and Dumbledore kind of avoids meeting with her.

For me the quote above talks about Malfoy. She’s getting hints, but at her state she can’t interpret them well enough.

Why Malfoy? Well at that time Malfoy was trying to kill Dumbledore remember? He was a Death Eater. A dark troubled young man. The rest of this talks about the events that Malfoy causes in attempts to get rid of the headmaster.

“ ‘If Dumbledore chooses to ignore the warnings the cards show -

Her bony hand closed suddenly around

Harry's wrist.

‘Again and again, no matter how Ilay them out -

And she pulled a card dramatically from underneath her shawls.

"-the lightning-struck tower,' she whispered. Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time…’ “

Well taking out a disaster where did Dumbledore die in the end? On top of the astronomy tower. Lighting-struck tower

“ A JET of GREEN LIGHT hits Dumbledore squarely in the chest. For a second he

hangs, suspended upon the ramparts, and then... the night swallows him.

Bellatrix raises her wand to the sky and a DEAFENING BLAST shakes the castle, masking Harry’s cry. The CLOUDS EXPLODE with GRIM LIGHT, mutating into a SKULL. “

And for the end here’s a lil drawing I made of Sybill:

[seedstitches]

WIP Wednesday!

Please excuse my messy room, had a friend (who is 152.5cm tall) hold up this shawl to show how uh. big. it is. I know it's supposed to be an oversized shawl and my older sister is going to weep and be thrilled by it when she gets it. But holy shit I'm not even 2/3 done. This is one that was designed by @knittystitch

The GeomKNITry is my primary UFO that I'm scrambling to finish this January, since my sister's birthday is on the 30th and I would really like to get it to her, cause she's turning 34 and craves being part of the Red Hat Society when she's a geezer and primarily dress in purple when that time comes. (Not that she doesn't already...)

I am using Dragonfly Fibers Pixie in the colorways Bougainvillea (which is now discontinued) and Purple Haze. This is actually the second biggest* and definitely the most ambitious project to date. I am in love with the subtle, lacy edging, the neat little color change rows, and how eye-catching it is every time someone new sees me working on it. This is one of those beautiful showstoppers and definitely worth knitting, and I actually have a second one that is... A WILT instead of a WIP lol

On my desk you can peep a dark colored shawl, it's a Pebble Arch Shawl, and a lighter one that is the Terribly Simple.

*The largest was definitely the queen sized blanket I made for another sister.

[lesmislettersdaily]

Four And Four

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 3: Four And Four

It is hard nowadays to picture to one’s self what a pleasure-trip of students and grisettes to the country was like, forty-five years ago. The suburbs of Paris are no longer the same; the physiognomy of what may be called circumparisian life has changed completely in the last half-century; where there was the cuckoo, there is the railway car; where there was a tender-boat, there is now the steamboat; people speak of Fécamp nowadays as they spoke of Saint-Cloud in those days. The Paris of 1862 is a city which has France for its outskirts.

The four couples conscientiously went through with all the country follies possible at that time. The vacation was beginning, and it was a warm, bright, summer day. On the preceding day, Favourite, the only one who knew how to write, had written the following to Tholomyès in the name of the four: “It is a good hour to emerge from happiness.” That is why they rose at five o’clock in the morning. Then they went to Saint-Cloud by the coach, looked at the dry cascade and exclaimed, “This must be very beautiful when there is water!” They breakfasted at the Tête-Noir, where Castaing had not yet been; they treated themselves to a game of ring-throwing under the quincunx of trees of the grand fountain; they ascended Diogenes’ lantern, they gambled for macaroons at the roulette establishment of the Pont de Sèvres, picked bouquets at Pateaux, bought reed-pipes at Neuilly, ate apple tarts everywhere, and were perfectly happy.

The young girls rustled and chatted like warblers escaped from their cage. It was a perfect delirium. From time to time they bestowed little taps on the young men. Matutinal intoxication of life! adorable years! the wings of the dragonfly quiver. Oh, whoever you may be, do you not remember? Have you rambled through the brushwood, holding aside the branches, on account of the charming head which is coming on behind you? Have you slid, laughing, down a slope all wet with rain, with a beloved woman holding your hand, and crying, “Ah, my new boots! what a state they are in!”

Let us say at once that that merry obstacle, a shower, was lacking in the case of this good-humored party, although Favourite had said as they set out, with a magisterial and maternal tone, “The slugs are crawling in the paths,—a sign of rain, children.”

All four were madly pretty. A good old classic poet, then famous, a good fellow who had an Éléonore, M. le Chevalier de Labouisse, as he strolled that day beneath the chestnut-trees of Saint-Cloud, saw them pass about ten o’clock in the morning, and exclaimed, “There is one too many of them,” as he thought of the Graces. Favourite, Blachevelle’s friend, the one aged three and twenty, the old one, ran on in front under the great green boughs, jumped the ditches, stalked distractedly over bushes, and presided over this merry-making with the spirit of a young female faun. Zéphine and Dahlia, whom chance had made beautiful in such a way that they set each off when they were together, and completed each other, never left each other, more from an instinct of coquetry than from friendship, and clinging to each other, they assumed English poses; the first keepsakes had just made their appearance, melancholy was dawning for women, as later on, Byronism dawned for men; and the hair of the tender sex began to droop dolefully. Zéphine and Dahlia had their hair dressed in rolls. Listolier and Fameuil, who were engaged in discussing their professors, explained to Fantine the difference that existed between M. Delvincourt and M. Blondeau.

Blachevelle seemed to have been created expressly to carry Favourite’s single-bordered, imitation India shawl of Ternaux’s manufacture, on his arm on Sundays.

Tholomyès followed, dominating the group. He was very gay, but one felt the force of government in him; there was dictation in his joviality; his principal ornament was a pair of trousers of elephant-leg pattern of nankeen, with straps of braided copper wire; he carried a stout rattan worth two hundred francs in his hand, and, as he treated himself to everything, a strange thing called a cigar in his mouth. Nothing was sacred to him; he smoked.

“That Tholomyès is astounding!” said the others, with veneration. “What trousers! What energy!”

As for Fantine, she was a joy to behold. Her splendid teeth had evidently received an office from God,—laughter. She preferred to carry her little hat of sewed straw, with its long white strings, in her hand rather than on her head. Her thick blond hair, which was inclined to wave, and which easily uncoiled, and which it was necessary to fasten up incessantly, seemed made for the flight of Galatea under the willows. Her rosy lips babbled enchantingly. The corners of her mouth voluptuously turned up, as in the antique masks of Erigone, had an air of encouraging the audacious; but her long, shadowy lashes drooped discreetly over the jollity of the lower part of the face as though to call a halt. There was something indescribably harmonious and striking about her entire dress. She wore a gown of mauve barège, little reddish brown buskins, whose ribbons traced an X on her fine, white, open-worked stockings, and that sort of muslin spencer, a Marseilles invention, whose name, canezou, a corruption of the words quinze août, pronounced after the fashion of the Canebière, signifies fine weather, heat, and midday. The three others, less timid, as we have already said, wore low-necked dresses without disguise, which in summer, beneath flower-adorned hats, are very graceful and enticing; but by the side of these audacious outfits, blond Fantine’s canezou, with its transparencies, its indiscretion, and its reticence, concealing and displaying at one and the same time, seemed an alluring godsend of decency, and the famous Court of Love, presided over by the Vicomtesse de Cette, with the sea-green eyes, would, perhaps, have awarded the prize for coquetry to this canezou, in the contest for the prize of modesty. The most ingenious is, at times, the wisest. This does happen.

Brilliant of face, delicate of profile, with eyes of a deep blue, heavy lids, feet arched and small, wrists and ankles admirably formed, a white skin which, here and there allowed the azure branching of the veins to be seen, joy, a cheek that was young and fresh, the robust throat of the Juno of Ægina, a strong and supple nape of the neck, shoulders modelled as though by Coustou, with a voluptuous dimple in the middle, visible through the muslin; a gayety cooled by dreaminess; sculptural and exquisite—such was Fantine; and beneath these feminine adornments and these ribbons one could divine a statue, and in that statue a soul.

Fantine was beautiful, without being too conscious of it. Those rare dreamers, mysterious priests of the beautiful who silently confront everything with perfection, would have caught a glimpse in this little working-woman, through the transparency of her Parisian grace, of the ancient sacred euphony. This daughter of the shadows was thoroughbred. She was beautiful in the two ways—style and rhythm. Style is the form of the ideal; rhythm is its movement.

We have said that Fantine was joy; she was also modesty.

To an observer who studied her attentively, that which breathed from her athwart all the intoxication of her age, the season, and her love affair, was an invincible expression of reserve and modesty. She remained a little astonished. This chaste astonishment is the shade of difference which separates Psyche from Venus. Fantine had the long, white, fine fingers of the vestal virgin who stirs the ashes of the sacred fire with a golden pin. Although she would have refused nothing to Tholomyès, as we shall have more than ample opportunity to see, her face in repose was supremely virginal; a sort of serious and almost austere dignity suddenly overwhelmed her at certain times, and there was nothing more singular and disturbing than to see gayety become so suddenly extinct there, and meditation succeed to cheerfulness without any transition state. This sudden and sometimes severely accentuated gravity resembled the disdain of a goddess. Her brow, her nose, her chin, presented that equilibrium of outline which is quite distinct from equilibrium of proportion, and from which harmony of countenance results; in the very characteristic interval which separates the base of the nose from the upper lip, she had that imperceptible and charming fold, a mysterious sign of chastity, which makes Barberousse fall in love with a Diana found in the treasures of Iconia.

Love is a fault; so be it. Fantine was innocence floating high over fault.

[mycrochetpattern]

Dragonfly Beach Tote Crochet Pattern

https://ift.tt/ESchZ0B

This simple crochet tutorial will help you to learn how to Crochet Dragonfly Beach Tote. At Mycrochetpattern you can find easy to understand tutorial on how to crochet this beautiful shawl, techniques used, necessary thread and hooks and video guide for this crochet pattern. We even made a research to find the best deals of […]

The post Dragonfly Beach Tote Crochet Pattern appeared first on MyCrochetPattern.

[bookshelfdreams]

💌 :) (if you still want to do these, otherwise feel free to ignore)

dark wool. light rain. drawing linen thread through beeswax. small town museums full of treasures and curiosities. hardwood floors with inlays. horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone roads. magnolia. pottery mugs. condensation on a glass of cold water. shawls. potpourri. tins full of buttons. miniatures. going for walks on watersides. morning dew caught in cobwebs. lemon slices. caramel. big, messy paintings. cats that have collars with bells on them. tiny antique shops. frog ponds. dragonflies. bows and ribbons. carrying an extra bag just in case.

[bloomgrove]

PT. I, II, II // DRIFTING AMONGST LILIES Caduceus' life in the Blooming Grove until he was found. TW. THALASSOPHOBIA, DISSOCIATION, IMPLIED DROWNING

a burial at sea must be unpleasant. a soul trapped in the darkest depths of the ocean. he wondered what that’s like but he would never want to experience it. the books in Colton’s room were enough to keep him up at night without the aid of the strongest tea at his disposal. the sea shanties were nice though.

but he’d read just about every book in the house which wasn’t much save for the cookbooks his mother and aunt kept in the kitchen, and his father had the wood, textile and metal work foundation titles.

Colton had all the fun stuff of knights slaying dragons that were more than the typical court fairytales but Caduceus often found himself skipping over the intimate parts. the stories about the sea were always more interesting anyway, even with the occasional fleeting dread that came with them. he didn’t fear the water of course, he’d been tackled into the family pond plenty by his siblings. but he did wonder. ever so curious about the strangest things.

when he finally makes his way down the stairs to set up for another day of maintaining the grove, a brief moment of surprise lingers still as he catches his reflection in one of the household mirrors. eventually having come to accept the loss he made away with the rest of his hair, shaving that side of his head completely. he just hadn’t been prepared to miss one more thing even if something as simple as hair would be considered trivial for others.

he has to tear his gaze away from the mirror before he succumbs to his recent delusions. maybe it’s the lack of sleep when he thought his reflection moved the other day. quickly he made for the bucket of supplies and his gardening gloves and stepped out into the sun.

Tend to the garden, to the graves and the Wildmother’s statue.

but statues, like reflections, don’t move on their own. sometimes he thinks there’s movement in his peripheral vision as he plucks flowers from the graves. like a pair of arms outstretched when he knew that the stone hadn’t been sculpted that way. was the Wildmother calling to him? or was he starting to make things up in his head in delirium?

daring to take a look at the imitation of Melora he discovers that her hands are where they have always been, with water falling in the seam of her fingers into the spring. Caduceus felt his fur stand up and he hurried away, feigning the shivers shooting up his spine as just the chilly air of the morning breeze.

the night longer when in darkness shadows played their tricks on him at the edges of his vision to where sleeping in his room proved futile and the sleepless nights led him to wander the dark halls of an empty house until one night he stumbles into his parents’ bedroom and he goes through their closet.

he finds his mother’s dragonfly shawl that he wraps around himself — imagines that the length covering his shoulders are her arms. he pulls out his father’s emerald haori and runs his fingers over the embroidery. the folded fabric soon finds level with his face as he takes in the scent of firewood and sawdust. and then he tastes his tears as he leans in and sobs into the memory of Cornelius Clay.

and then sunlight hits him through the slit of an open curtain when his eyes flutter awake and he’s on the couch, donning his father’s jacket along with his mother’s shawl when he went to bed and tried to dream that their embrace kept him safe. the void had been his dream.

rolling out the commune rug in front of the spring is something he’d perfected over time with a simple flick of his wrists. the incense put on and a seat taken before the Wildmother. he began reciting the prayers or at least tried to, and kept his eyes shut as he might, Caduceus opened them again not long after failed citations.

his lips quivered beneath the sun. his entire body trembled in cold anxiety. “ Wildmother, can you hear me? ” he whispered, eyes focused on the statue. he felt the breeze, faint but only a weather response that was meaningless.

“ can you hear me? ” he tries in his speaking voice, hoping for a sign that didn’t involve frogs mocking his attempt with croaks. a moment of pause. the water left undisturbed in the spring.

please. “ can you hear me? ” and the silence answered with nothing.

Caduceus stood on his feet with clenched fists and gritted teeth. lips pressed together as he told himself not to scream and instead… he stepped towards the spring, wading through the water and grabbing a fist full of the lilies that had overgrown into the pond. he tore them off their stems and stuffed their petals into his mouth, tears gathering from their bittersweet aftertaste and Caduceus, wills himself to swallow as he sobs and rakes his claws across the surface of the spring again and again until he cries out. “ Wildmother please! ”

until his knees buckle and he lets himself sink beneath the surface and into the depths. not fighting for breath, not struggling to breathe. he isn’t drowning, but he isn’t where he should be. he screams under the water, letting his breath bubble up to the top without purpose.

nobody is at the Blooming Grove. nobody is coming to save him as he sinks deeper in his watery despair. a burial at sea must be unpleasant but being in the water like this isn’t so bad. how much longer will he pretend that time had any meaning? that the clothes on his back isn’t his mother or father shielding him from the cruel reality of his unfortunate circumstance? how long can he survive underwater?

there was no more light. the lily pads that grew and unfurled their spiny backs had made sure of that. the spring was no ocean and no sailors singing sea shanties of sirens luring them to their deaths was something he’d only read in books. but just as he began to consider the cold embrace of a watery grave Melora's voice broke through the silence.

You have to fight, Caduceus. Do it now.

And he did.

[notyourtruths]

Knitting Reflections and Goals

2023 Reflections:

Finished my first (waves of change) AND second (dorel) tops

I enjoy colorwork, stranded and mosaic and, somewhat, stripes

First crochet project! (mug cozy for William)

Finally made William's cozies, only several years after promised

Enjoying the lace but not the stockinette of my fingering weight sweater (yarn from England). Endless and boring and I mostly don't love the fit so I'm not as excited about the result.

I am much more of a process knitter than a product knitter, but need to be excited about product as well.

Fiber Frolic and Lambtown fiber festival adventures

Gaining a lot of improvisational confidence, such as my pumpkin hat

Finished lace & cables Dragonfly hat in under a week

Bit off more than I wanted with the Joji knitalong, but I'm glad I didn't make the shawl I was "meh" about.

2024 Fiber Crafting Goals:

make a pair of socks

use stash yarn!

improve fit

[spacedykez]

where can we find info about your ocs. on the off chance someone wants to draw fannart.

starts vibrating at sonic frequencies.

u can find all the info i've shared on my mc ocs here, king thorn i should really rework a little because i love zem but ze just do not really have a good fleshed-out character or any good refs/drawings since i made them like months ago and my art has improved drastically.

MY SILLIEST LITTLE GUYS THOUGH MY WEIRD LITTLE BUGS ARE MY FABLEWILDS OCS <333 i should REALLY get around to making good refs of them. but u can find them all at #oc [name]. theres zephyr who ive probably drawn the Most because bug's been around the longest. aeolus & notos who each have two designs but theyre both canon because I Said So. sundew and lupine whose designs are honestly probably my favorites to draw. and then boreas and deimos who i NEED to talk more about. but i think ive posted a LOT more abt them in the meowdy & not so much here mostly because my friends love them and i never really get anyone askin about them whose not a meowdy member anyways. so since you asked.

THIS IS DEIMOS!!

xe are very sillay xe are based on a crow. xe are the dragon of Life which means xe're also the dragon of Death because those two things are interconnected. she's meant to have lots of pouches on her belts. also a big fluffy neck ruff thing and a cape made of big feathers. xyr earrings are: acorn & beetle on ears, flower & leaf on horns. but i do like the idea of changing out the flower for a skull of some sort

BONUS SUNDEW DRAWING!! bee has two tails and big goggles to scream Dragonfly at you and also chest armor not to protect zip really but to add to the Dragonfly effect. it has a shawl thingy that looks like dragonfly wings

another boreas, her design's not changed much at all. very geometric!! very shapes!! her wings are mechanical btw. because i thought it would be fun.

zeph, notos, lupine, and ao i'm sure i've posted plenty about so you have plenty to see of their designs. but just 4 u <3

SOME ZEPHYRS!!!

ao's Sun design (her redesign was quite recent. i like her new design better because its more coherent sksksks but i only have a few drawings of that; they're in his tag)

both of nox's designs side by side!! his Fire design kinda mirror's Ao's Sun design and its very flame-y. His stars design is a lot more childish & spacelike!! Fits his character a lot better. But doesn't match Ao as well.

AND one of my favorite drawings of zeph & lupine (draw / dream) + some misc. sillies <3

also more misc design notes:

Notos's stars form is meant to look a lot more childish. His clothes would have a very PJ vibe to them

Zephyr's outfit would be very leather-y! Its right leg (the one that isn't scales) is meant to be various patches of leather sewn together, and its jacket would be leather I think. Very much bard inspired!!

Lupine's outfit was inspired by the Onceler and has not changed since I designed him. I love her.

yes boreas' wings were inspired by raph from the mechs

THEIR HEIGHTS ARE AS FOLLOWS (heights do NOT include their horns/antlers/antennae!!!) Sundew: 4'8" Deimos: 5'1" Zephyr: 5'5" Notos: 5'7" Aeolus: 5'9" Boreas: 6'1" Lupine: 6'4"

[noxspost]

the deity alcove a Dik-Dik

she is a minor deity that mostly lets the more well know deities go their things but is often since with the goddess silver togue or Kirsten.

for that reason, she is often called the mother of the Balde since one of the rumors she was the one to give techno his skills because he often cares about his friends and no Governments.

she is the one of the voices he hears and the one who helps in looking for philza when his hunger is off the charts.

she loves wears skirts of furs and has only a shawl to cover her top half and she loves to dance with hopela the god of dawn or dicesra the goddes of the dusk and dragonflies.

[mizufae]

I think the yarn they used in the edging on the shawl was probably Red Heart Boutique Unforgettable in the Dragonfly colorway. I've used the Gossamer colorway several times and it has that beautiful sheen to it.

Thank you! I’ve got a skein of that yarn rolling around somewhere, though not in the appropriate color way. I agree, it has a nice sheen. Maybe I should investigate it some more for future projects!

[textillian]

Pteryx shawl is completed. The pattern is by Nim Teasdale of Nimble Knits, and the yarn is Dragonfly Fibers' MDSW show colorway, Carroll Creek Park, on Djinni. This is the first project I have done with this year's purchases from MDSW.

I will be using this to raise funds for a TBD animal charity in memory of our beagle, Comet, who passed away unexpectedly early on the Saturday morning of MDSW. Knitting this helped a bit with my grief.

[mycrochetpattern]

Crochet Dragonfly Shawl – Colorful Dragonflies

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This simple crochet tutorial will help you to learn how to Crochet Dragonfly Shawl – Colorful Dragonflies. At Mycrochetpattern you can find easy to understand tutorial on how to crochet this beautiful shawl, techniques used, necessary thread and hooks and video guide for this crochet pattern. We even made a research to find the best […]

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