#bobbin chair

[mosssik]

French corner bobbin chair with rush seat, 2000s

style: Art deco

country: France

material: Oak, rush

chair measurements: 65x41.5x41 cm

[liefst]

continuing my dyeing experiments & thrift shop finds

[krrjuus]

Kids Room Toddler in Dallas ideas for a mid-sized transitional kids' room renovation with white walls and a light wood floor.

[napleonsolo]

Southwestern Living Room Inspiration for a large southwestern formal and enclosed carpeted and beige floor living room remodel with beige walls, no fireplace and no tv

[devildom-moss]

!!! OPEN REQUESTS YEAHH!! Okay so because I'm an absolute bitch for religious guilt - could I request Raphael having to tap out during his first time having sex with MC? Like he thought he was ready but it very quickly becomes apparent that He Is Not.

Eons later, but I hope you will like this one anon. I had fun with it once I really got into it. Please excuse if the end feels a little abrupt though. There is a little bit of hand stuff, and I really tried to work in that religious guilt as best as I could. Enjoy~ also what? I'm giving it a title??

Absolution

(Raphael x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (no sex, heavy petting, check-ins, heavy religious guilt, stopping after foreplay, revoked consent)

Word Count: +2,300

Raphael’s restraint was a great creature he had crafted beautifully with something mythic to its strength. Even in his merciless rain of spears, he had always held himself back. That was, in his mind, one of his virtues: a holy skill he had mastered more artfully than most. He was not void of temptation, but Raphael practiced a strict divine denial.

Yet now that you were finally alone in his room, Raphael struggled to suppress his need. He had so seldom wanted the touch of another angel – let alone from someone as forbidden as a human. But with you, the feeling that spread through his body was stronger than “want.”  It ached and burned. Perhaps, Raphael figured, that was what he deserved for the intensity of his lust and the depth of his longing; it was all so sinful, the way his mind traced the outline of your body hundreds of times before his fingertips ever dared to, so perhaps he had earned this painful, convoluted desire.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked him nervously – careful not to get your hopes too high. Scanning the room, you could tell he had cleaned since Simeon’s last lament about the state of Raphael’s and Solomon’s living conditions. There were still sewing supplies in odd corners with random scraps, bobbins, and assorted tools adorning nearly every surface, excluding a chair and his bed. You had hoped that focusing on his room would distract you from a delusional desire: that Raphael had dragged you into his room to finally fuck you. Or, at least, it would have been delusional had he not been staring at you in a way that sent shivers up your spine as your eyes landed on his soft face.

“You’re so enticing.” Raphael’s words hung in the air. His hands reached for you, barely grazing the skin on your forearms as he dragged his fingertips down to your wrist and traced over your hands. In Raphael’s cautious mind, you were molded perfectly, and if he touched you with the force of his desire, he might change your shape forever. He knew an angel should never interfere with the lives of humans. Certainly then, that meant he could never touch your body in the lecherous ways he wanted to.

It seemed he was blind to his own allure, even as you were drawn into him by his pure blue eyes. You tried to make it chaste when you kissed him, smothering the wanton black hole in the pit of your stomach that threatened to consume you both. The sudden warmth of your body spread through Raphael. Even the sunlight that kissed his skin in the Celestial Realm could not compare.

His cheeks burned, and he felt that he might combust and be cast from the heavens for indulging in the simple pleasure of your body. Yet he pushed and pulled for more, dragging you towards his bed as his lips continued to move against yours in a heated frenzy. You toppled over him with the wanting grace of a human, pressing his shoulders deeper into the mattress as you tried to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to pull me into your bed so suddenly,” you laughed sheepishly to distract from your racing pulse. Raphael rarely kissed you like that – like he wanted you more than words could ever say. It flustered you in the way that one who does not voice their desires might be fazed when handed exactly what they silently hoped for – a combination of embarrassment, surprise, and delight.

“I don’t mind.” He was as serious as ever despite the faint pink flush on his cheeks. Perhaps that made you all the more hopeful. Raphael stared up at you with an equal desire. “Keep going.”

Following his request, you slid your hands from his shoulders, down his arms, and took hold of his hands, intertwining your fingers and pinning him on either side of his head. He let you take the lead, leaning down to capture his lips in another desperate kiss.

In a way, Raphael believed that if he let you take control, he could take less accountability for his lust. He was simply following your movements, bending to your desire. You could reshape him however you pleased if it meant he could have you. Maybe it would be okay for you to touch him. Maybe he could be forgiven if you used him.

You kissed down his neck, your breath tickling his skin. As much as you riled him up, Raphael restrained his voice and stayed quiet – save the sharp inhale when you bit him and the trembling of his breath afterwards.

“Are you okay?” you asked, pulling away before you had the opportunity to properly mark him. His willful silence – that awful habit of subduing himself – left you wondering if he was enjoying the feeling of your lips on his skin.

“I’m alright.” Raphael smiled up at you softly, panting slightly. “It feels nice. Your mouth is so warm.”

His admission sounded sweet and compliant – as if his silence was due to a lust-filled daze that had engulfed him. He looked so cute with that glazed over sheen in his eyes. “Can I touch you more?”

“I think –” Raphael started, “I’d like that.”

You let go of one of his hands to slide your fingers up his exposed abdomen, sneaking them just under the hem of his top. He shuddered at your touch. A faint blush rose on his cheeks, and he stared up at you, eyes hazy and lidded and more overcome with pleasure than before.

Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, your middle finger danced gently over his heart before you dipped down to kiss him again. Raphael melted against you, kissing back greedily. He could barely taste you with his dulled tongue, and yet he craved more. Even your subtle flavor burned in his mouth, but it wasn’t enough for him. The sheets crumpled in his free hand from growing frustration. Would a weaker angel have caved in and touched you? Would a stronger one resist you harder – never finding themselves in this position under you? Would they have felt the pull less like that of a black hole? Perhaps like a star? Perhaps you would not even be a heavenly body. Perhaps to a stronger angel, you were nothing, with no pull of your own.

As you brushed your thumb over his nipple and deepened the kiss, you earned a low groan – as if Raphael was shocked by the sudden pleasure. No one had dared tease this celestial body before you. He would never allow it.  

When you pulled back, he was panting and flushed in an erotic daze unfitting for an angel. Your name left him in a whine, “MC. More.”

His free hand slid up your neck, and he pulled you back to him, crashing his lips against yours. As waves hit the shore in a growing storm, the pleasure washed over him and threatened to pull him under. He grew more desperate and eager. He had already laid his hand upon your body. It would be a shame to stop.

You pulled the occasional whimper from his chest between heavy panting and the sound of your fervent kissing. When Raphael broke the kiss, you refused to take the time to catch your breath and, instead, dipped down to kiss up his sternum, pushing his top up as you did. He moaned softly under every brushstroke of your lips.

Somehow, your wariness had not left, ran hiding at the prospect of having such a beautiful, deadly creature in your grasp. You knew you’d never gotten this far with him before. You wanted to tread lightly, but your caution only tormented Raphael. He wanted you to take him before he could think about it – before the guilt could consume him faster than the pleasure.

“Take your shirt off,” he demanded. “I want to see you.”

You let go of him, counting the scarce seconds it took to discard the shirt, tossing it – unintentionally – in a heap of its fabric relatives. It took six seconds before your hand was re-laced with his. Raphael followed where your hands connected, up your arm, and over your chest. He admired every inch like you were a saintly statue, suddenly immovably beautiful. No matter how he touched your body, you were incorruptible.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, sounding like some benevolent saint, in Raphael’s ear. Your hand slid down his chest to the bulge in his pants. He had been so focused on the feeling of your touch – every burn caused by those beloved fingertips – that he had hardly noticed how much you affected him until you brought him to attention. Raphael keened when you caressed him, overcome by the intensity, the sharp pleasure – a lament for his own innocence. It was the loudest declaration you had received from him, and it was a mess of anxious rapture. You stopped in surprise. “Are you alright? We can stop if –”

“No. Don’t,” Raphael cut you off. His eyes were damp with unshed tears. “I can take it. Please?”

To whom he was begging, he did not know. Was it to you, whose affection had ensnared him in sin? Was it to his maker, to allow him this simple ecstasy – to reward his centuries of faithful resolve? Was it to himself – one last plea for the return of his restraint? Was it to his weakness, to overcome his fear and bless him with one sacred union?

“If you want to stop,” you bit your hope back to reassure him, “just say the word.”

“Touch me. I want it,” he insisted – still half to himself.

With the sweet, needy look on his face, you didn’t need much convincing. You undid his pants and released his aching cock. Raphael shut his eyes tight, unable to bare the tenderness in your eyes as you stroked him slowly. He had never felt pleasure like this before. The room spun and seemed to dissolve into the ether.

“I’m going to use my mouth now, okay?” you warned him, kissing down his pelvis.

“Wait!” Raphael’s eyes shot open, and he squeezed your hand desperately. “Don’t. I’ll. . . I can’t.”

You sat up quickly and watched as he covered his eyes with his arm, coveting a place to hide his shame – somewhere no one could find it. He hoped to hide where he would not be marked by your touch nor stained with your scent. Or better yet, he wanted these acts to not debase him so. Raphael felt dirty and impure – a disgrace of a seraph that, he expected, would unfurl tainted wings had he dared to test his own sanctity. I’m an angel, he reassured himself, I couldn’t spill into their mouth like some depraved creature.  One could touch a perfectly sculpted statue and it would remain, but to paint it – even with angelic fluid – would be an affront to your creator. And suddenly, he worried, What would Michael think?

It was clear that he wasn’t ready. You got off him, but when you tried to remove your hand from his, he tightened his grip and refused to let go. Confused about how much distance would comfort him, you rolled over on your back next to Raphael and inched closer without ever touching him – except through the single point of contact he had clung to. From there, he could feel your warmth without rapidly colliding with your body, resulting in his sole disastrous ruin. He stared up at the ceiling, and your eyes followed his as if he had guided you to face the heavens with him and repent.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me.” Raphael whispered so quietly that you doubted yourself.

“Are you asking me. . . or Him?”

“Both, I think.” Raphael managed a rueful smile, the corner of which you caught in your periphery.

“Well,” you mimicked his mournful look, “I can’t speak for God, but, it’s okay.”

“I wanted to, but. . .” he trailed off, grasping for something to justify himself – anything that would rectify him, even under the many scrutinizing eyes of the Celestial Realm.

“It’s okay,” you reassured.

“But it’s not. I’ve sinned. My thoughts betray me when I’m around you.”

“Oh.” That was all you could offer – a guilty sacrifice of a syllable that was as empty and baseless as compassion could be. You wished you had more to give.

“But I don’t want to be apart from you.” You were appeased.

“I don’t want to be apart from you, either.”

Raphael turned to you, eyes damp and pleading but still burning. He spoke just above a whisper, “I want absolution.”

“What?” You turned to him with your eyes narrowed. “From me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know how to give you that. I’m not a priest, and you’re an angel. What do I even say?” His request flustered you terribly. He may as well have asked you to bear responsibility for his own fall. He adored you, and it was all your fault. Only you could sanctify him again, but you had no clue how. “I forgive you. Is that enough?”

“Can you kiss my hand?” he asked you sweetly.

You reached over to take his other hand in yours and brought them both up to your lips. “I forgive you.”

You placed another kiss on his hands. It was a crude, informal cleansing – vulgar in its execution and in the rush of thoughts it inspired that flooded Raphael’s mind. And yet, he felt himself purified and restored to glory. So sweet was your vindication that he would risk himself anew.

“I may be tempted again,” he admitted. “Would you wait for me and absolve me once more when it’s over?”

[untitled5071]

Oh my gosh, that AU you wrote where the roles are reversed was so cute! Do you think we could get a small followup? Pretty please? *does the best impression of Puss in Boots eyes*

Thank you so much! I hope this is adequate, thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy!

(Read the first part here)

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Close your eyes, okay? It’s a surprise.”

The corpse looked at him with an eyebrow raised, suspicious smile on her pale lips. They were standing outside of his bedroom door, having returned not too long ago from their limb retrieval mission. The hand of the girl who had come onto him at the party on Saturday when he was too high to consent was now sewn onto the corpse with green thread, and after a quick trip to the tanning bed it was working perfectly with the rest of her body.

They had been so excited by the successful transplant that they had danced in the backyard, but then the corpse got an idea and dragged them both inside, gesturing to the piano in the living room and silently asking him to play for her. He did, plucking out the rendition of “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” that he had been learning for his dad, and while the corpse played with the piano keys to test her new fingers, he had snuck upstairs to prepare the surprise he had been planning since he discovered her messing with his mom’s sewing supplies the day before. 

Now, he smiled back at her, anticipation and excitement coursing through his veins at the thought of her reaction to what lay on the other side. He nodded towards the doorknob, and she got the message and opened it with her newly attached right hand, peering into the bedroom as he turned on the light switch. 

There on his desk sat a sewing machine, one that had come with them from the old house and didn’t see much use anymore, save for simple repairs. Next to it lay piles of fabric; old dresses his mom would never miss, scraps of fabric from abandoned projects and even clothes of his he was willing to part with. The set up was complete with scissors, a rainbow of different thread colors, pins, extra needles, anything he could find. He had even set up his Walkman with some of the tapes he thought she would like best so she could listen to music while she worked. 

Judging by the rapid, excitable squealing from the woman next to him, the gesture was appreciated. 

She raced over to the desk, settling herself in his chair and examining the sewing machine from all angles, hands hovering over it while she attempted to figure out how it worked. He grinned, walking over to her and leaning down next to her ear. 

“You like it? I don’t know if they had anything like this while you were alive but I didn’t want you sitting at home all day with nothing to do, especially since you have two working hands to sew with now.” 

She beamed up at him and he tried not to get lost in the adorable way her eyes crinkled, so instead he began to explain how the machine worked, having just learned himself a few minutes ago. He showed her the foot pedal and the dial for the different stitches, as well as how to thread the top needle and the bobbin in case the string got caught or lost. He saw her eye flick to the different fabrics hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she could use them or not, so he patted the pile and handed her the topmost piece, letting her run her new fingertips over the fabric to get a feel for the texture. 

“Here, these are all for you. Do whatever you want with them, they’re yours. No one will miss them, anyway.”

She smiled again-a radiant, toothy thing-before turning towards her new craft station and getting to work. He watched over her shoulder for a moment as she felt the different fabrics and started pinning pieces together before he decided to get changed into something he didn’t kill someone in. He took his new clothes to the bathroom, calling out to her that he would be back in a moment, but he wasn’t sure he heard him over the whirr of the machine. 

That was fine by him, though, he was just glad she was enjoying herself. 

When he emerged a few moments later, he saw her working with some dark fabric, sewing long strips of it together. As he watched, he noticed her brush her unruly hair (hair that somehow got bushier with every trip to the tanning bed) out of the way several times, attempting to tuck it behind the ear they had taken from his stepdad Brad, but to no avail. It kept falling into her face, and eventually she let out an exasperated huff, stopping her sewing so she could gather her auburn locks into her hands. 

She started braiding it, and he was entranced by the nimble way she managed to separate and weave the sections with her thin fingers. Eventually, she reached the end, and started looking around for something to tie it up with. He looked around too, and finding nothing in his room he told her to hang on as he sprinted towards the master bedroom. He grabbed one of the scrunchies his mom wore to pilates and brought it back to the waiting corpse, handing it over so she could play with the elasticity of it. After a moment of fascinated inspection, she handed it back over, looking at him from the corner of her eye with a smile, holding her hair up for him. 

“Oh, you want me to…?”

She nodded, and turned back around to give him better access as he took the braid from her hands, careful not to undo any of her hard work. He wound the red scrunchie around it as gently as it could, letting it fall out of his hands when he was done before taking a step back. 

“Better?”

She grinned at him, inclining her head in thanks before hunching back over her sewing.

He grinned back at her, unseen, and decided that observing her in her element would be more comfortable on his bed, so he laid down with his arm under his head, watching her work. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as he listened to the steady and soothing sound of the mechanical needles and her quiet humming and mumblings. 

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he was being gently shaken awake by a stitched-on hand. 

He blinked, vision slowly swimming into focus and locking onto the fond blue eyes of the corpse standing above him, her braid dangling over her shoulder. The hand not being used to rouse him was behind her back, hiding something from his view. He sat up, yawning. 

“What do you have there?”

She was bouncing on her heels, giving him a smile that made his heart swell before presenting him with a vest, made from the same dark green fabric she had been working with before. She held it out to him, and he took it almost reverently, running his hands over the expert stitchwork. 

“For-for me?”

She nodded vigorously, smile so bright it was almost blinding. She gestured for him to try it on, and he obliged, standing up and slipping his arms through the sleeves. To his delight, it fit perfectly, and the corpse flitted around him, making minute adjustments to it and smoothing the shoulders down. He watched her, dumbstruck. 

“How did you even get my size?”

She pointed to the pile of his old shirts that lay on the table, and he noticed one that had been cut up and clearly used for measurements. She held up a hand and plodded over to his closet, rummaging around for a moment before emerging with a pair of light blue jeans and his Joy Division t-shirt. She nodded to the vest he was wearing and he got the hint to take it off. She took it, folding it nicely before putting it on his dresser, giving him a look that clearly conveyed that she wanted him to wear it to school tomorrow. He nodded, utterly bewitched by her. 

“You got it. Thank you. That’s just, you’re just…thank you. Really.”

She looked down, playing with her braid sheepishly as her cheeks darkened. 

If possible, it made him fall in love with her even more. 

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside snapped him out of it, and after another grateful smile in her direction, he brushed past her to get to the door. 

“I’m going to go downstairs and play family for a bit, okay? If you want you can get changed for bed or keep sewing until I’m done, the machine should be quiet enough for them not to notice, especially if I turn on Bob Ross. And when I get back we can figure out some new sleeping arrangements, if you want.”

She blushed again and nodded before heading to the closet to select some sleepwear, closing the folding doors behind her as the front door opened beneath them. He watched her go with a lovesick smile before heading downstairs, ready to pretend like everything was normal and that he wasn’t utterly in love with the undead lady he was willing to kill for.

[faeflowerz]

Giving Head in Public: Riddle

CW: Fem!Reader giving sloppy toppy. Giving dome. Bobbin on the knob. Oral. Oh also Riddle's hung so yeah. Do not interact with this post if you are under 18 or don't have your age in your bio. You WILL be immediately blocked.

A/N: I was gonna finish part two of the first years thing but I got to thinking about this. Don't perceive me.

Sooooooooo, Riddle is def the kind of boy who would freak out if suddenly met with an s/o looking to suck him off. I got a few scenarios too. Im a whore for him and my mouth is made for him. Seriously, i blacked out for half of this.

In the rose garden would catch him by surprise for sure. It's another tea party and like usual, its a controlled chaos. Riddle is trying to have a conversation with Trey, but its hard when you're groping his thighs. You are sitting there smiling and pretending to be invested in whatever Cater is telling Ace but every so often you glance to see your boyfriend clear his throat and shift slightly. You've got your hand on one of his thick thighs and it's moving higher up and between his legs.

Riddle's trying to keep his composure. You'd been pretty needy lately and although he promised that he'd give you attention tonight, his strict curfew and this long ass party won't give you enough time with him before bed. So, this is your alternative. Your fingers sink into his soft meaty legs and the glint of anger in his big pretty eyes sends a delightful surge of excitement to your pussy. Fuck, you love when he gives you that look. It meant that you're gonna have it coming later.

When your fingers brush against a familiar lump, Riddle's face softens. He's rather sensitive and those skintight pants make it impossible for him to wear underwear. He tries to drink his tea as your index finger traces the thickness strained against his thigh. You haven't gone all the way yet, but you didn't shy away from your urges. And you can't take it anymore.

Nobody notices when you slip out of your chair and under the table. Nobody but Riddle. In that moment, he decides that he can't call you out on it. Unless he wanted the entire party to see his scepter, he has to sit there. Underneath, you're dragging your tongue along the outline of his cock, leaving slight wet stains on the fabric. You can't hold back as you go right for the main course. Pulling down his pants, his dick slowly rises once its free. You personally blame Riddle for your oral fixation.

His cock is girthy, and the tip gets bright red when he's horny, upset, embarrassed...or any other emotion he goes through when you do shit like this. Does it bother him? Yes. Does he cum harder when you're in public? Also yes. Why else would you do it besides your nympho tendencies? Your mouth is watering as you open wide to lead his cockhead past your lips. Riddle's pre spurts out when you twirl your tongue. His thighs tense up for a moment and you rub gentle circles with your thumbs to calm him down.

"Are you alright? You look a little red."

"Ah, it's nothing."

"Wait, where's...I don't see them anywhere."

"They had to...ahem, make a call." He's an awful liar, but no one calls him out on it. He's screaming on the inside as his dick slides deeper down your throat. The first time you did that, his soul nearly ascended. You wish you could see his face. He always makes the cutest reactions and its a shame when you miss out. Riddle's cock is throbbing just like you like it. Soon, you reach his base. Your nose gets buried in his soft rosebush. Despite the shower, his natural scent is already coming through. With a pleased sigh, you pull back slightly before setting a slow pace. It was agony for him but he can handle a little torture.

Riddle's weak now. His legs have gone slack as you very nearly suck the life out of him. Sweat clings to the back of his neck and he's got the cutest rosy red on his cheeks. You were nothing but trouble and yet...he never made you stop. Every time you got between his legs, Riddle never pulled you off. How could he when you clung to him so tightly?

Your eyes lull closed and you're slobbering all over him. When you grab his ass, Riddle bucks suddenly. That's when you bob your head faster. One of his hands grabs your hair and he pulls. Hard. That nearly makes you cum. Enough playing around. Riddle pulls on your hair until most of his dick is out of your mouth before he slams back into you.

When he cums, he makes sure you take it all. He likes to paint your face white, but since everyone is still milling about, you gotta swallow. The queen is pretty demanding but isn't that why he's in charge in the first place? Once he finishes, you're humping his leg like a bitch in heat. The slick of your pussy stains his boot but you genuinely couldn't care less. One more thing for him to punish you for. Just the thought of him finally fucking you into his mattress eggs you on.

And yes. Trey probably figures out what you were doing down there.

The library isn't off limits either. Like ok.

Riddle's not seen you in some time because exams always sends him into overdrive. He tends to push people away during his study sessions because when it comes to exams, he goes at it alone. Unfortunately, he demands that you also keep your distance too. Sad face. You understand, though. He's type A and you're distracting. Still, he sends you texts and sweet little notes to let you know that he does think about you. Really, your relationship is usually really sweet and cute outside of all the oral (and anal).

Anyway, you miss him. Of course you do! Your fingers are soaked and you've been moaning loud enough to scare the ghosts. Surely he's been stressed, right? Right.

You go on the prowl for him, asking around to find him. Its that terrifying glint in your eye that finally makes everyone fess up: he's in the library. Riddle won't mind if you pay him a visit. He needs a break. A good intense break.

"I thought I told you to keep your distance," he says firmly. Riddle's had his nose in his book but when your perfume comes wafting by him, he's ready to kick you out. But it's hard. When you wear lipstick, he knows you're not playing around with him. There's no way to get rid of you once you put make up on. "Darling, we can't."

"Aren’t you stressed? Pent up? Besides, you need more breaks," you plop down next to him. Riddle closes his book and stands up.

"I'll have plenty of time for you once exams are over," he promises as he disappears into the rows of bookshelves. "They're insatiable." He mutters as he puts the book back into its proper place. Once he turns around, you're behind him. Riddle nearly screams but you're pressing kisses onto his lips to shut him up. Caged between your arms, your boyfriend looks at you like a terrified animal. He knows what's coming next.

"I wasn't asking. I was telling," now your kisses trail to his neck, leaving marks all over his pale skin. Riddle begs for mercy when you rip his vest and blouse open. The air conditioning makes his nipples harden. You're already teasing and sucking on his sensitive pudgy chest once he's exposed. In your excitement, you bite into him. Those moans and squeals are too fucking good. And his tummy. Oh, it's just as soft as the rest of him. Here, you bite a whole lot more and make sure to kiss hard enough to bruise lightly. All he can do is hold onto your shoulders when you unzip his pants and let them fall. Finally.

From this angle, you can look at him while you do it. Any time he gets shy, you have to bite his belly to get his attention again. His eyes do focus on you and he's trying not to cry as you cover his dick in lipstick kisses. Eye contact both turned him on and embarrassed him in these moments. You drape one of his legs over your shoulder and let him set the speed. From what you can tell, he's been wound tightly. You empty his balls nearly every day so going without for a week was probably killing him.

I love the idea of him being the type to have absolutely no rhythm when he's horny. Riddle's brain shuts off pretty quickly once he gives in. Just like now. Your throats being fucked and effectively keeps you from breathing properly. It's like he's trying to bruise your esophagus now. With nothing else to hold onto, you grab his fat ass. "Ahn! Haah! Damn it..." he curses as he puts more weight on you. If this is how you die there'd be no complaints from you. Tears well in the corner of your eyes and now your mascara starts trailing down your cheeks. The lipstick was long smudged already too.

Your throat was so tight and wet around his dick. Part of him wished he'd never told you to stay away. Maybe he would have been less stressed with you around. Then again, plugging your hole after such a long time felt even better. Now he's letting out these cute little grunts and growls with each thrust. Riddle bites his lip to keep from getting any louder. You have to brace yourself now that he's getting sloppy.

"Almost...almost..." Riddle's balls tighten and his hips still as he shoots his thick heavy load straight down your throat. Of course you take it like a champ. With a heaving chest, he pulls out. Immediately, you miss that full feeling in your mouth. "You're...you're going to be the death of me..." Riddle pants. Then he pulls you up to your feet and kiss you. "Perhaps a proper break is in order?"

[truthandshadow]

I saw an antique spinning wheel on Facebook Marketplace for $250 that looks to be a) functioning, and b) in nice condition, and c) not too far away, and I’m really tempted. I’d certainly never get a new wheel at that price. I know about the risk of spinning wheel shaped objects but the listing comes with a chair and four bobbins and the photo has fibre actually on the wheel. No SWSO would come with four bobbins.

I haven’t even given drop spinning a honest go yet though! I’m trying to tell myself to be good and not spend money, but. Tempting.

[pheere]

'Spudnik hi!breed Loveseat' by Charlotte Kingsnorth. Made from a set of pre existing French Bobbin Chair Frames, Silk Velvet, Walnut Studs.

[chaosgremlinmunson]

STWG prompt: unexpected visitor

03/15/2024

“Stevieeeeeee!!! I need you to do me a favor!” Robin had called out from the bathroom.

“Yes Bobbin?” He sighed from his spot at the desk, going over the latest lesson plan he was creating for his first grade class.

“Can you run to the store?” She paused for a moment before dramatically adding, “I'm having an unexpected visitor and I'm out of supplies.”

Steve rose from the desk chair and came to the bathroom door, “do you remember how I asked yesterday while we were shopping if we needed those supplies?” 

“Yes, but-” Robin began.

“AND do you remember you telling me you obviously had that handled since it's your body, and your supplies?” Steve continued.

“Well yeah, but-” she tried again.

“and then, you remember how you told me it was weird to buy said supplies with your platonic soulmate because, and I quote, all the cashier's always try saying how sweet your boyfriend is for shopping for those things with you?” He was struggling to keep the smile out of his face.

“Ugh! Fine! Do you have to use logic while I'm actively having a revolution against my own body here?! I need supplies! Please, I will…. I'll tell you what Eddie was talking about to me the other day! It was about you, and it was juicy.”

Steve's whole face went bright red.

“Fine, I was going anyway, but no take backs!” He yelled back.

“Steven Anita Harrington! You sly fox, you played me!” She screeched. He cackled and walked out of the room heading to the store, what would.this life be if he didn't torment his favorite lesbian every now and again? He headed out to the store getting her the things she'd asked for along with some chocolates, hot chips, and her favorite ice cream. He also came across a giant stuffed purple frog and grabbed it happily. She'd be happy to cuddle it with her hot water bottle as she dealt with cramps for the next while. 

[searchingforserendipity25]

Hi! For the worldbuilding prompts, Galadriel + weaving or fabric crafts? — @emyn-arnens

I am so sorry this too so long @emyn-arnens! I wrote a reply to this and was a bit bashful about it (I suspect crimes against fiber craft techniques have been committed), but I'm finally posting it. Thanks so much for the ask <3

nerwen was very young, when first she asked her father to teach her how to work the wheel. 

-

this is a child desirous of learning, earwën of the teleri had laughed, when first she beheld her daughter: little nerwen had eyes like an owl, colourless and wide, watchful as she was cradled, tracking every movement and every sound. 

so it was, as she grew; artanis, her mouth pursed, her eyes hungry. earwën held great mastery in the art of the needle, from the making of nets to the impossibly delicate filigree, so thin water gathered in fine drops along the curls and curves of her designs. 

nerwen learned lacemaking from her, and from her aunts and cousins, and most of all from her grandmother, the great master and creator of the art.

the queen of the falmari worked with a hundred pins and hundred bobbins at once, her mind a mathematical marvel; and from a very young age nerwen had been sat beside her, taught how to shape her own thoughts and hands to the creation of a design. 

but the noldor dwelt in far tírion, were beset always by the cool winds that rose from túna; and so too did earwën and arafinwë dwell there often. the garments to be worn in the high city were thicker than the shifting, patterned sea-silks and bold linens of alqualondë; for the weavers of the noldor worked with wool, in the fashion of serinde, the dead queen. 

sewing was a more ancient technique than lace-making, and weaving older than either. it was the way of the noldor, that every maiden go about with their satchel of flax over a shoulder, and at every spare moment be spinning or flashing their long, long needles.

nerwen learned all she could of it, and rhetoric, the arts and the sciences, those fashionable for maidens and those most unlikely. from her father, as well, she learned much - the saw and the varnish, how to speak with living wood and make peace with dead boughs, so they might be of use again. 

 arafinwë’s craft was of making, as most of his kinsmen; but he was a petty and whimsical maker, not taken with great seriousness by any quarter in particular. less learned than his half-brother, and content with his own unglorious projects, and with making certain the projects he showed the world were so few and without distinction that none would be very curious about his craft. 

that was as he preferred. arafinwë, it was said then even by the kind, lacked a great spark of brilliance. nerwen knew the truth, even as a child: her father was wise enough not to cast too much of himself as kindling to make it into a great fire.

his concern was with the things that existed already, and those he held dear; chairs for elenwë's rest as she nursed, clever games for his children. the repairing of old heirlooms and great pieces, and of small things besides: mending the cracks of miniatures, repairing the small link of a small chain. cleaning tarnish and rust, inventing new and simpler mechanisms to repair an old engine. 

from an early age, his daughter chafed at the pretense at humility, but even in her most high-minded years she did not disdain the small wonders he did build, sometimes, for those he loved.

nerwen’s spindle was of rosewood and gold, slow to warm to her touch, perfectly balanced, well-fitted to the hands her small fingers grew into, perfectly fitted to her grasp. her father had built it for her. so too he made her first wheel from the bare bones of new timbers, and metal he worked himself in the forge.

strange were the ways of the house of the king, even among the noldor. nerwen knew this, too - for there was no ancient machine, or spindle, or row of needles to repair, and pass down as inheritance. queen indis did not spin, or sew, or spin; and all the old wheels of the palace had belonged to míriel, crafted by the king to his first queen. none touched them that did not wish prince fëanáro’s wrath. 

in the evening, when her tutors sent her away from the books and evaded her endless questions, nerwen sat by the fountains with her friends. they spun fine wool as they chatted about their lessons and their first fledgling projects, flirting with new crafts and with each other, graceless and coy, laughing swiftly, trying to get the passing swifts and robins to sit on their heads and shoulders for a little while.

and at night, narwen crept through the narrow, secret corridors that bound her father’s house to the king’s palace.

upwards and onwards, through hidden places, reciting prayers to vairë as she went, and crept, and pried open the ancient doors to the closed quarters of the dead queen.

 she ran her hands through the strong frame, still as smooth and glossy as her grandfather had first made it, when the possibility of her life had been nothing in the rightful course of things. from her satchel she brought out the flax she always carried, and setting aside her father’s latest spindle, she sat herself in the bench.

míriel’s wheel was the best of such machines in tírion, but old-fashioned. much better did nerwen love her father’s work! 

but the wood remembered. indis was the best of dancers, and a great singer, and a fine painter, but she did not spin, and taught nothing of that art to the maidens of her house - and so findis did not spin, and lalwen did not; and írissë's craft was for leather and enchantments only.

artanis laid her hands and her claim upon míriel’s wheel. it spoke to her - lent her the cold feeling of cold hands on hers, teaching how to bind work and mind to the same end. the keen memory of mastery, guiding her movements in a small haunting.

nerwen was desirous of learning always, from all the best teachers. no prince would sever her from the perfecting of her crafts; fëanáro’s wrath never found her, but from a young age she loathed him wholly, for it was a thing judged foul and ungenerous, by the falathrim and the noldor alike, to hoard a great treasure away from any grateful eyes.

[chic-a-gigot]

Journal des Dames et des Modes, Costumes Parisiens, 15 juillet 1831, (2903): Bonnet de blonde. Robe de guingans. Coeffure Chinoise. Robe de jaconat. Tablier de gros de Naples. Collection of the Rijksmuseum, Netherlands

Woman with a Blonde cap (bobbin lace) on her head. She wears a dress of 'guingans'. Further accessories: gloves, belt with buckle, handkerchief, shoe with square toe. Woman, sitting on a folding chair, with a 'coeffure Chinoise'. She wears a 'jaconat' gown and a 'gros de Naples' apron with a serrated hem. Tie neckerchief. Accessories: earring in the left ear, mittens, square toe boot. Sketchbook and drawing pen in the hands. The print is part of the fashion magazine Journal des Dames et des Modes, Paris, 1797-1839.

[avoxrising]

Ahh ok I just saw TBOSAS! Thread about my thoughts (Spoiler warning!)

I’ll be editing this post as I think of more things

ps sorry for any errors, I am using voice to text on my phone

Please add yours in the comments!

Hot Takes:

- I am so glad that they decided to keep Lucy Gray’s ending a mystery like how it was in the books. I think it was emphasized even more as a mystery in the movie as she sings a song about her being a mystery a few scenes beforehand, and Dean Highbottom even echoes that what happened to her was a mystery when talking with Coriolanus. I truly do believe that Snow lived the rest of his life wondering if he had actually killed Lucy Gray, and fighting with the demons inside of him regarding all the deaths he had caused (not that he had regret or remorse except for maybe killing Sejanus). I don’t think anyone ever found out what really happened to her.

- The best parts of the entire movie was the scenes where Lucy Gray is singing. Someone literally needs to remove that man’s whiny voice from the audiobook and replace it with Rachel‘s voice, singing the actual songs, because I cannot listen to any other rendition of any of those songs after that, and the audiobook did an extreme injustice to Lucy Gray.

- I really didn’t like the way that the first third of the movie was put together. They did it in three parts just like how the book did, but the first part felt really disjointed for me and felt very non authentic to the rest of the series compared to the other two parts. 

- My biggest issue with the whole movie was the fact that they changed a lot of small details that were in the book and it felt really unnecessary to change the very small things. For example, in the book, Arachne dies because she is feeding her tribute at the zoo, and the tribute grabbed a hold of the knife from her and slits her throat. In the movie, however Arachne is taunting, her tribute with a glass bottle, and the tribute grabs the bottle, breaks it in half, and stabs the broken neck of the bottle through Arachne’s neck. Also, you don’t see that moment of hesitation from Coriolanus. He immediately runs over to her and starts trying to help. 

- My girl Clemensia deserved more screen time

- I’m glad Arachne died, her character was really annoying

- I’m not sure if they were trying to make Lucky Flickerman funny or not but he wasn’t 

Theories/Easter Eggs:

- I’m pretty sure they didn’t mention this in the book but in the movie Granma’am tells Coryo that his father was killed by a rebel trap in the woods by district 12. This further connects Coriolanus Snow to that area of Panem and his deep rooted hatred for rebels. 

- Lucy Gray mentions to Coriolanus right before she leaves the cabin in that scene that she’s not made of sugar and my mind immediately went to Finnick and I think that could also be why Snow hates him

- Lucky’s reference to Caesar when he’s canceling his restaurant reservation and mentions the high chair!

- I don’t know if anyone got a better look at this, but in the reaping day scene with Dean Highbottom, he is walking down the aisle of the room in the Academy and you can see a plaque in the back with the name Heavensbee on it and it seems like it might say Founder of Panem or something like that. I couldn’t exactly read it because the dean was standing in the way, but I thought that was really interesting. 

- I really do think in the beginning of the book/movie that Coryo is trying to do whatever he can to keep the Snow family name and status high in the capital however, I don’t think he truly realizes what he’s capable of until he is thrown into the arena and kills Bobbin from eight. You can literally see a physical shift in him on screen after that point and when he comes home to Tigress and explains how powerful he feels, you can really see a similar look in his eyes that you do in the original trilogy. He was really a psychopath from the beginning, he just didn’t realize it until he was in the arena himself, and understood “true human nature” (it’s not human nature to be a psychopath. Please get some therapy.)

Notable Things Changed/Cut Out:

- OK so it’s completely understandable that they would have to cut out a lot of things from the book as the movie was only two hours and 45 minutes long whereas the audiobook is 16 hours long but let me tell you they cut out a ton

- As we knew going in, they removed all the scenes with the neighbor who he got the guitar from and his little shop thing that he had so that was expected but they also removed a ton throughout the entire movie. 

- They completely removed all of the funerals of the mentors who were killed, and did not even mention the deaths of the twins. In fact, a lot of the attack in the arena, and the aftermath was kind of glossed over. 

- Arachne’s death (see above)

- The district 3 tributes’ usage of the drones as weapons (removed)

- Jessup’s rabies death scene was toned down a ton. It only took one water bottle to kill him in the movie, whereas in the book, I remember reading that a ton of water was thrown his way. 

- Took out all of Clemie after snake scene.

- No mention of the erasure of the games. If you hadn’t read the books and just saw the movie you would probably be wondering why Haymitch never mentioned another Victor from 12 because the movie doesn’t explain anything about how the capital wants these games to be forgotten. 

- I haven’t read the book in like six months but I swear in the book the tributes got rabies from rats at the zoo but in the movie they say they got it from bats on the train and I just like that’s a really weird detail to change if that was changed 

- I really was not expecting for Lucy Gray to yell “kiss my ass” with that much enthusiasm/aggression at the reaping 

Things the Movie did Really Well:

- Make you hate Snow 

- I honestly feel like the movie did a way better job of giving you a look into Snow and how evil he is compared to the book. I think it helped that on screen you could see his body language and how he acted around people without hearing his own internal monologue like we get in the book. He is a very unreliable narrator.

- Tigress! I am such a Tigress Stan. She could see exactly the path Coryo was headed down, and you could literally see her heart breaking as she watches him become more and more like his father, who she says, was a man full of hate. 

- The “career pack”~ now I know it’s not technically a career pack because none of those tributes trained, but seeing Coral and her alliance in the arena, when we know based on the books that alliances were super uncommon in the games before then, was really interesting to see. It makes me wonder even more about Mags’s games and how alliances played a part in that. 

Overall Thoughts:

- I cannot in good conscience ship Snowbaird after watching that movie. The movie does a way better job than the book showing Coryo’s decent into madness and I could do a whole other post on this but holy shit he is an evil man. It’s not like we’re getting a glimpse into the good version of Coriolanus before he was corrupted, this man was corrupted already. We get to literally see scenes of him poisoning and killing people in this movie and got some people still think that shipping him with Lucy is a good idea/cute. I hope that girl ran off into the woods and lived her best life because she deserve way better. 

- The movie was honestly way less graphic than I thought it was going to be. It is rated PG-13, but I felt like they toned down a ton of the injuries and graphic scenes the book described. I would say The Hunger Games movie was much more graphic than this one was. If you’re not a fan of gore, I would say the only part do you have to worry about is in the arena, they do show the effects of rabies and a few injuries/deaths, but there’s overall not a ton of blood. They do show the hangings of people in District 12, but they don’t dwell on it too much. Even Arachne’s death is super quick compared to how it was explained in the books and really not his bloody as Suzanne wrote it. 

~

Overall I give it a 6.5 out of 10 which is much lower than I thought I would be giving it however, I feel like this may be my least favorite hunger games movie. I don’t think any movie in the world will ever beat catching fire or maybe even the first hunger games but I even felt like Mockingjay in some aspects was done a lot better than this film. The casting, however, was spot on and the cast did such an amazing job. 

I will still probably go watch it again this weekend, and I definitely recommend going and watching it, just know that there will be things that you will appreciate a lot more from the books and that doesn’t make the movie bad.  I just feel like in comparison to the other movies they did the books a lot more justice than this one did to it’s book. 

[tunastime]

I’m always a little nervous sending a scarian request but I just love the way you write them<3 so can I get scarian 10 pls 🤲

10. transparent / tangled (x) (839 words)

Grian is trying to make a sweater better. No. He’s trying to fix the holes in his sweater with thread and needles from a compass. The thread is tangled in his hands. It’s dark red, like his sweater. His sweater is draped over his knee, and the patches sit in his lap. Grian threads the needle.

He’s in an undershirt far too thin for the rapidly cooling autumn weather. Scar’s cloak is draped over his shoulders. Scar is sitting by the fireplace, his back to the flame. He’s reading the book off Grian’s bookshelf, tracing the words under his fingertips. Grian feels goosebumps on his skin.

“Why do we keep playing that game even when it breaks us?"

Scar looks up toward him. Grian looks up from his hands holding the needle and thread, still trying to spool it around it's bobbin. His eyebrows knit together.

"What d'you mean?"

"The death game," Scar says slowly. "Why do we keep playing it? Why do you keep setting it up? When you know it's horrible?"

"Was never supposed to be horrible..." Grian settles, twisting his hands. He starts to sew again. He pulls the thread through a part of his sweater. He’s sewing in a patch of blue on the elbow. He’ll be sewing patches into the shoulders too, just for the sake of it. It’s threadbare, but he can’t replace it until he’s knit a new one. And he'll have to ask Gem for the spinning wheel to do that. He has too many sweaters in too many colors and not much else. "It was supposed to be fun."

"It is, most of the time,” Scar lays back. Grian watches him pull a pillow from the chair beside him, propping it behind his head. He stretches out, crossing his ankles. It can’t be good for his back, but Grian doesn’t stop him. “But then you kill your friends, and you betray them, and you hurt them."

Scar doesn’t sound upset when he says this. He states it as if it’s fact. Part of it is; it’s a token of the games. You're tangled in the awfulness of it all. You’re always expecting someone to do something. But it was never the original intention. The first one was a game, something to keep him occupied. Something to keep other people satiated, maybe. (Though he may not ever say that. Whether or not someone heard it and whether or not that was true was for only him to know.)

"Suppose you do," Grian trails. He drops his hands in his lap. "It's...I get bored here. I know you do too, not quite mortal." He gestures to Scar with his needle before he punches it back through the fabric. Scar snorts.

"It's kind of a sick sort of fun,” he finishes. “Knowing you'll die eventually.”

"I guess so...” Scar hums. “I guess life always goes back to normal."

Normal. What did that word even mean anymore? Was there a sense of normalcy anymore? How far did they push the envelope? How much irreparable damage did they do?

Scar was still lying there, and Grian was still sitting on the floor in his house and was still sleeping next to him if he wasn’t studying in the ground below them. He was still talking and laughing and enjoying the company of a man he spent time betraying. He was still cooking for them and carving out time to do nothing at all except sit and bask and. Oh. 

"Guess doesn't make it hurt any less, though, I suppose," he says, mostly as an afterthought. They’re still a game. A game can hurt the same. Scar sighs, folding his hands over his sternum.

"Never does."

Grian turns back to his sewing project. Punches the needle through. Back in. Back out.

"Death games do bring people closer, though,” he says, smiling. “Just so you know."

Scar scoffs. 

"You're twisted."

Grian shrugs.

"You've never turned it down,” he says. Scar hums.

"No,” he says, and sounds almost surprised. “I suppose not."

Part Grian wonders why that might be. He wonders if Scar has any say at all.

“Do you think there will ever be a next time?” Scar asks him. He turns his head to him, just to look him in the eyes. Grian snorts, setting down his needle.

“You want to go through that again? Every other second you were giving me a panic attack.”

Scar shrugs.

“Dunno. You said it yourself. It’s a twisted sort of fun.”

“I guess we’re all a little twisted to keep joining in on it. What’s death when there’s no consequence, hm?”

Scar smiles, and Grian smiles back at him. Something about that smile raises the hair on the back of his neck—something tells him Scar might be scheming for the next time. He’ll want to be on his good side then. They share an unspoken moment like this before Scar turns back to stare at the ceiling and Grian finally finishes his elbow patch.

A death without consequence. What was it, indeed.

[milkweedman]

[image description: an ask by @arbrehoux​ that says “Hi! I’m just getting into spinning, and I wanted to ask how to finish off the yarn once you’ve spun all you want. I’ve tried googling it, but every website I look at skips straight from the actual spinning to soaking. I’m using a drop spindle, if that’s relevant.” end image description]

soaking usually IS the way to finish yarn ! i'll give you the best step by step i can though (and for future reference, this applies to pretty much every single spinning method, so you can do this with yarns spun on a spinning wheel, a supported spindle, a drop spindle, a navajo spindle, a charkha wheel, or whatever else you might encounter. it's all yarn, so it can all be finished the same way.)

step 0: if you plan on plying your yarn, do it before finishing. you don't need to finish singles if you plan to ply them. finishing relaxes the yarn, so if you finish a singles and then ply it, it will end up being somewhat limp unless you overply it (which makes yarn less elastic and more rough) but if you spun a singles and want it to remain a singles, never to be plied, then you can certainly finish it as a singles.

step 1: remove the yarn from your spindle (or bobbin, or whatever it is on) and wrap it around something as it comes off. a niddy noddy is great for this, but not necessary. you can wrap your yarn around a big hardcover book or the back of a chair, or whatever. when taking yarn off a drop spindle, i usually just toss the spindle on the ground and let it roll around as I wind the yarn off. if you’re worried about it catching on something, put the drop spindle in a box or mixing bowl instead and let it roll around in there.

[image description: a somewhat blurry closeup of a tattooed man’s hands. in his right hand he’s holding a hardcover book. in his left he’s wrapping yarn around the book lengthwise. a red line has been drawn in to show the path of the yarn as he winds. end image description]

step 2: tie your yarn off. you can use the messy looking ends of the yarn if you wish, or another piece of yarn or string. just tie a simple knot around the hank. you want at least two knots, but if you're really worried about it tangling, you can do more. the purpose of tying your yarn off is to stop it from tangling in the next steps, to make it easier to work with when you wind it into a ball or cake later, and to keep it looking tidy.

[image description: a closeup of the yarn on the book from the previous image. a knot has been tied around all the strands of yarn on that side. there is a red arrow pointing to the knot. end image description]

step 2.5: if you want to know your yardage or meterage, this is the time to do so. first, count how many strands you have. second, measure how many inches or centimeters it takes to span the entire length of the book (so, front, back, and the width of both the top and bottom). In this case I think it was 8 strands and 24 inches for the whole book. that means the whole yarn is 192 inches (8x24=192) and the yardage is 5.3 (192/36=5.3). same steps if it’s centimeters and meters, of course. also, if you’re thinking “wow, I have to measure whatever i’m winding my yarn on every time ? that sounds annoying”, then you’re seeing why niddy noddys are so helpful and you should get or make one. my niddy noddy takes 2 yards to span it, meaning whenever i wind yarn on, after counting it i can just multiply my result by 2 and know how many yards i have (if i have 100 strands and i know each strand spans 2 yards, that means my whole skein is 200 yards. so much simpler.)

step 3: soak your yarn. or just get it wet. i usually run my yarn under the tap for a few seconds to make sure it is fully wet, but you can also put it in a bowl with some water and make sure it's fully submerged. leave it there for a few minutes.

step 3.5: if your yarn isn't very soft and you want it to be softer, you can add conditioner (just like, the normal stuff you use for your hair) to the bowl before you put the yarn in to soak. if you're softening it this way, leave it in the bowl of water for at least an hour, or even overnight. when you take it out, rinse it briefly. this step is only necessary if you want your yarn softer.

step 4 (optional): go outside and snap your yarn like a whip a few times. this evens out twist and flicks a lot of the water off, so it will dry faster too. if your yarn has some spots that are really undertwisted or overtwisted or both, this is a good way to help reduce that and make more evenly plied.

step 5: let your yarn dry completely. in the summer i hang my yarn over the clothesline, and in the winter i usually put it over a heating vent. doesn't matter how you do it. remember that wool in particular can feel dry even when it has a fair amount of water in it, so don't grab it the second it feels dry--give it a while longer to actually dry.

you should notice that your yarn looks different now that it's dry. if it's wool, it's likely puffed up some (to varying degrees depending on the breed of animal it came from, as well as whether it was roving or a batt or a rolag or whatever else, and also depending on how you spun it. it's a cool thing to pay attention to.)

step 6: skein your yarn. pick up the hank and drape it over your thumb or hand or whatever. the vast majority of yarns will twist a little in one direction when you do this, from residual twist. some yarns will twist a lot, others only barely. note the direction that it twists in--to the left or to the right. put your other thumb at the other end of the hank, and start twisting one thumb in the opposite direction that your hank twisted in. i usually twist with one thumb until i can't easily twist it anymore, and then twist with the other thumb. your nice loop should now look kind of like a piece of rope, with your thumbs still hooked into each end.

[image description: the first image shows the yarn hooked over each thumb, with two twists in the middle. the second image shows that same yarn, which now has so much twist it looks like rope. his thumbs are still hooked into each end. end image description]

you now want to find the center point of your ‘rope’ and fold it there. your ‘rope’ should kind of snap into place, looking like a much larger version of a 2 ply yarn. it’s nice and stable like this, and can be transported or stored easily (plus it’s pretty !). the last step is to take one of the loops you had your thumb in and push it through the other loop. this stops it from unraveling.

btw: the reason we twist it the opposite direction that it wants to turn is the same reason we ply in the opposite direction that we spin. if you spin Z and ply Z your yarn isn’t going to be structurally sound, and it’ll look pretty bad, too. when it comes to skeining you’re not adding any structural stability to the actual yarn, but the looks still matter--if your Z plied yarn is twisted Z while skeining, your skein will be limp and lifeless and not very pretty. if it’s twisted S, it’ll be nice and balanced and neat looking. it’s purely an aesthetics thing, but it also only takes half a second to figure out, so why not do it ?

and you’re done ! your yarn is now finished and skeined, and you know the yardage/meterage. you can label it with all relevant info if you want (for example: 4 ounces shetland roving, 2 ply, 350 yards, light worsted weight, finished august 2022, spun on a wheel)

[withinthebrain]

Nana taught me how to sew. She sat me down with her antique Singer sewing machine, which no doubt worked better than any machine I could have bought new.

Nana collected a stack of colorful linens from her sewing closet, many of which I recognized from dresses she made when I was little, or blankets she crafted for my dolls, or oven mitts she gifted me for my first apartment.

As we sat down at her kitchen table on the wooden chairs I had sat in for nearly 23 years, Nana asked me what I wished to make for my first project. And I decided on four patchwork cushions for Nana's kitchen chairs.

Nana showed me how to fill the bobbin and set the needle. We even had a laugh at the "feed dog" before she walked me through the simple stitches to piece together the splotches of fabric.

Now, ten years later, as I sit at Nana's table in the middle of my kitchen, sewing a dress for my own daughter, I remember every sewing project she helped me create, and I am grateful to sit at her table with my children and teach them how to sew.

Photo inspo @bearingpoint