#how to wind a bobbin

[craftyladybug]

Loving my new bobbin storage box from Amazon 😍🪡

[yallstar]

found a playlist of how-to videos for the sewing machine i got for christmas and each video has zero preamble and is just long enough to cover the specific topic with minimal editing and oh my GOD not to be nostalgic but remember when youtube was useful

[batbetbitbotbut]

Scrappy 15min zine made in downtime at work about how little of weaving is actually "weaving".

Image descriptions: photos of 8-page zine scribbled in black pen, with small cartoons of weaving processes. Text per page:

How to Weave a Scarf

MATHS

measuring, winding, tying, chaining

tying, winding, threading, sleying

tying, header, hemstitch (REMEMBER)

WEAVE (bobbins, winder, shuttles, treadles, shed, picks, selvedge, tangled heddles)

cutting, hemming / twisted fringes, wash the sample, tiny changes

DO IT ALL AGAIN

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

[songbirdreaped]

open starter for anybody ; set after lucy gray left the cabin <3 run. run. RUN. was all that could go through lucy gray's head as she sprinted away from the cabin through the trees. she was running as fast as her legs would carry her, everything in her telling her that she needed to get away from him if she wanted to survive. the words kept ringing in her head three's enough for me, he'd told her when she said they wouldn't have to kill anymore. three. she knew of two. bobbin and mayfair. all she'd asked for was the truth, yet she was met with a lie. my old self, coriolanus had told her as she demanded to know who the third was. lucy gray wasn't born yesterday, she could spot a lie from a mile away.

trust was the most important thing to her. trust outweighed love and yes, she had loved him. loved. now, all she could picture was those icy blue eyes gazing into her soul. would he kill her ? she didn't know, but she wasn't taking that chance. she couldn't take that chance. that was why she'd said she was going to pick katniss, her chance to escape and survive. lucy gray wished that she'd heeded dean highbottom's warning, wished that she hadn't let herself fall for the blond. any and all love she felt was gone, now all that was left was the need to flee.

as she kept running, the brunette felt her chest tightening, the crisp air filling her lungs, stinging as her heart raced in her chest. she needed to stop and catch her breath. ducking behind a tree, lucy gray took a moment, the breaths coming out more like gasps as she stayed there. the sound of coriolanus yelling for her caused her to panic more. she wasn't a fighter, he outpowered her anyway, but she could run. she could hide.

when she spotted the snake, lucy gray decided that she'd try to buy herself some time, dropping the scarf he'd given her to cover it up. she knew by looking at it that the snake wasn't venomous, it wouldn't hurt him too badly if he got bitten. it would just slow him down enough for her to get away. after the distraction was set, the brunette began to run again, hoping that the wind in the trees would cover up any noise that came from her feet on the ground.

it wasn't until she was hidden by a tree on the outer part of the woods that she'd realized her earring had fallen out in all of the chaos. she couldn't find it in herself to care anymore. the games weren't over when she'd returned home, these were still the games. her own survival was what mattered. lucy gray almost didn't notice the sound of footsteps coming toward her, but when she did it was too late to run. whoever it was had only been two paces from her now, and with how tired she was, they'd most likely be able to catch her if she ran. her eyes shut tightly as she braced herself for the figure to come closer, assuming it was coriolanus coming to kill her, to finish tying up the loose ends.

❝ just get it over with, ❞ the words came out more shaky than she'd intended. she wasn't usually one for giving up, but she knew that she had no more energy to keep running. if coriolanus had found her, then he won.

[somecunttookmyurl]

how to wind a butterfly bobbin

lay the yarn across your palm with the tail end (this will be your working yarn) hanging out past your thumb

separate out your fingers kinda like you're doing the vulcan salute and, starting with passing the yarn from palm-to-back through the middle, begin winding the yarn in a figure-8 (if you want a very small bobbin you can do this same thing just using the forefinger and middle finger)

continue winding in a figure 8 (keep that initial tail separate and hanging out past your thumb) until it's as big as you want it, ending with the yarn going from back-to-palm over the forefinger, then cut leaving a long tail

take the yarn around your thumb, and move your thumb away from your hand

(you may wish to shuffle the wound yarn down your fingers slightly for this bit)

take the yarn around the centre of the figure-8 and poke it up the other side. make sure to also catch the working-tail strand

go over the top of the raised thumb-strand, and then take it all the way around the centre again

once more go over the top of the raised strand, but now pass it down through the loop

(if you want you can do additional wraps before this but it isn't necessary, and can make it harder to pull the strand tight)

remove your thumb

pull the strand tight, and slide the whole thing off your hand

congrats! you now have a butterfly bobbin. it will pull from the working end much like a centre-pull ball would, but will not unravel by itself

[fairykukla]

The sewing machine advice post.

Here's an introduction to sewing machines, from someone who has gone from "making costumes with a busted old machine I bought at a thrift store" to "Teaching how to care for your sewing machine as a living."

Read the manual. Can't find it? Don't have it? There are lots of PDFs online. The manual is going to tell you important things like which way to insert the bobbin and how to thread the machine. It will also tell you what kind of bobbin to use.

Get some more bobbins. The machine needs a bobbin that is wound with the same thread you plan to sew with. There are situations where you can use two different threads, but while you're learning, use the same kind of thread above and below. Follow the manual's instructions to properly wind a bobbin, and only wind one thread at a time on each bobbin.

Change the needle. I have a whole other helpful post about what kind.

When you put thread on the machine, follow each step and make sure the Presser Foot is in the "up" position before you start.

Right before you thread the needle, pull the thread to make sure it moves freely and isn't caught anywhere. Then, lower the presser foot, and pull again. It should be very tight. (If it is not tight with the foot down, raise the foot and re-thread the machine from the beginning.)

Find and get to know the Take-Up Lever. It goes up and down faster than the needle, and kinda looks like a dinosaur head. The thread has to be settled in the eye of the take up lever or your machine won't make a good stitch. It will go "stitch stitch stitch clunk bang stop." If the thread isn't in the take up lever, re-thread the machine.

You're going to spend a lot of time re-threading your machine. Gird your loins, and be prepared to do this.

Make sure you insert the bobbin correctly. Follow the manual. Once it is set in the bobbin case, the thread should pull tightly, not freely.

Your control of the fabric happens before the needle goes into it; your hands should be in front of the needle, not behind it. Don't pull the fabric from the back. Just guide the fabric from the front; don't push it or overdrive. Try using one finger on each hand to just keep the fabric straight while the machine feeds the fabric through.

If the fabric won't feed through properly, take the metal needle plate (AKA Throat plate) off and clean between the pointy bits that stick up through the needle plate. Those are the feed dogs and lint collects between them under the plate. Keep that area clear of lint and dust.

If the machine still won't feed properly, take it to a service technician. There may be a feed timing problem.

THE HAT TRICK: If you have a problem with the machine, do these three things:

Remove the bobbin, check it over. If the thread isn't wound on it properly, or if it's cracked or bent or rusty, it might be bad. Replace it if necessary.

Change the needle. Make sure the needle is inserted in the correct direction and that it is indeed inserted completely. (Choose the correct needle, too.)

Re-Thread the machine from the beginning. Make sure to hit each step, make sure the presser foot is up, and make sure to lower the presser foot at the end to check the tension.

This is really a beginner's list. There's a lot more, but I wanted to start simply. Please feel free to share it around, or add your opinions.

**My credentials: I've been teaching sewing, serving, and machine embroidery professionally for 20+ years. Been sewing for over 40 years. I'm also a trained sewing machine technician.

[tyrhinosaurus]

On your recent silk spinning post you have a paper (?) tube over the shaft of the spindle. Is that so you can slide it off the spindle without having to unwind the yarn into a ball for playing? Because if so that's genius and I'd love to know how to do it too! If not I'd love to know what it's for :) It's bautiful yarn that you're spinning!

Yep that's exactly it!

It means I don't have to wait to use the spindle again. Either because the cop needs to rest before plying/unskeining, because I only have one free spindle at a time, or because sometimes I fall out of love with a project for the moment and want to use the spindle for something else.

Bonus points for keeping the spindle a bit cleaner if you are spinning something grubby.

It's super easy, I got some scrap paper and tore off the length to make it the right height to sit between 50-80% of the shaft. I then wrap it snuggly around the shaft and use a few pieces of tape to hold it securely. The key here is to wrap snuggly enough that it stays in places, but not so tightly that you cannot remove it!

Tips

- lots of layers of paper = a sturdier sudo-bobbin. Easier to take off, put back on, and reuse.

- do not secure the bobbin onto the spindle itself with tape. This can leave sticky residue after removal, especially if the tape is on a spot where you put pressure eg where you hold it to add twist.

- check BEFORE you start spinning if the bobbin can come off the spindle. Some spindles have very wide hooks, wider than the shaft. This becomes a hurdle to removing it!

- if the bobbin is a bit loose on the shaft, it can make winding the cop tedious as it will slide and rotate. To improve this, when winding hold the shaft at the point where the bobbin meets it, so you put pressure and hold the two objects together while you wind. You can also add more tension to the winding as you go, so the cop holds the bobbin more snuggly on the shaft when you let go.

[hidefdoritos]

Galaxy Print Knee Patches

I've just spent two hours locked in mortal combat with my machine, but I emerge victorious with awesomer pants!

Yep, we're working on the same tac pants as always. I have two other pairs of solid black pants, so I can confidently decorate these to match my primarily black-and-blue wardrobe.

Step one was cutting two 9-by-9 patches. (I thought about doing cool hexagons for about 30 seconds and then couldn't decide which way to orient them, so no.) I did my usual trick of putting cardboard in the leg of the pants. Then I folded the edges under slightly and pinned down all around. (Retrospect: Since I didn't iron those folds, I should've used more pins. They kept trying to unfold as I sewed.)

Step two was finding this bobbin of variegated purple thread from my grandma. Rather than hand-winding it onto a spool, I just put it on the machine. Seemed to work!

Step three was realizing this was gonna be difficult. The knee parts of the pants are already two layers thick, and I'm adding another folded layer on top of them. Plus, wrestling the heavy pants under the machine. Eliza has a lovely feature where the bottom comes apart to help you get into sleeves and such, but cramming this fabric in was still a pain.

The above photos are called "Why I'm not a quilter." Also, they show how much trouble Eliza was having with the fabric. The stitch lengths are uneven, I kept hitting pins, and every time I stopped and started, she pulled to one side or the other. On the very first seam, in the first photo, I tried to turn around and do a second row of topstitching, but it came up so uneven that I quit immediately and unpicked it.

Also, she's had this worsening problem where, when I finish a seam, I can't pull the fabric away without turning the top tension back to 0, or the thread will just break. This necessitates remembering to put the tension back to 4. Remember that.

Of course, it wouldn't be a proper sewing project if I didn't sew the pant leg shut on the final corner. So I pulled it off the machine, unpicked it, and went back over it again.

And forgot to reset the tension to 4! Just look at that mess on the back.

I clipped the loops and just sewed it all down again in eagerness to be done. It's a tad noticeable, but I don't care. It's done!

And here's the end result!

Would it be neater by hand? Probably! Is Eliza due for a spa day at the repair shop? Yes! And am I thrilled with the end result?

ABSOLUTELY!

[thegaythespian]

Bobbin lace progress!! This took about 3 hours, including winding the bobbins and learning the stitch/method. It was going much faster towards the end, and I will only need the video tutorial for a couple more things I’m thinking, so I’m hoping I will maintain or improve the speed whenever I devote time to it again. Really hoping it turns out nice, as I would like to gift it to someone if it’s a high enough quality. The only problem I’m having is I keep accidentally hitting the cork board part that isn’t in my desk, and in turn it is messing up the bobbins, which I then have to go back and fix 💀😭 It’s also getting really crowded with 12 pairs

Overall really happy with how it’s turning out so far :D

[th3p1nkcray0n]

For all of my crafting folks out there.... can we talk about how ridiculous some of these craft stores are with pricing? I went to a new craft store and I looked at thread for my sewing machine because I haven't figured out how my bobbins work yet and the pre-wound bobbins were $6.50 each ($8.50 if you bring your own and let an attendant wind it for you). So I pass that and I look at the fabric because they had a pretty one in the window display. They were each $22 A YARD and you had to have 1 yard minimum to even check out! I asked the lady if they did half yards because I really just wanted something to add length to a few clothes so dropping $22 on just one fabric print would have been silly, but they didnt allow that either unless it was in one of their pre-cut bundles (at that point I was terrified of checking the price) I've never left a store so quickly in my life-

[jedi-bird]

Reading aita posts while trying to wake up makes me (once again) yell about how if your partner/spouse/domestic partner/fuck buddy/platonic-roommate-for-life doesn't respect your hobbies, they aren't meant for you. This is very much a gender neutral statement because I've seen it happen in many forms.

Look, they don't need to join in with your hobbies. They don't even need to like them. They're your hobbies, not theirs. But if they try to stop you from doing them, either with arbitrary rules or by destroying things involved with them, get rid of them (not the hobbies obviously, the significant other).

My mom used to sew and crochet. My stepfather hated it and kept making the space he "allowed" her to do it in farther away from "his space". Eventually she was regulated to a tiny corner of the garage and only allowed to do things if he was asleep (even if it involved fixing or hemming his clothes like he asked). Even when the weather was below freezing. And heaven help her if he woke up while she was making things.

Someone my mom knew loved to cosplay. He had spent a year working on an exact replica of a Qui-Gon costume and only needed the boots (to buy them would be about $300 at the time when the movie came out). Both he and his wife made a ton on money and each had very large "fun money" accounts that did not affect household bills or repairs or savings. She told him absolutely not and threatened to burn his costume if he bought them. He never did. She divorced him two years later to move in with her affair partner.

One of teachers my mom worked with, who I used to make enrichments for, bragged about how she threw out all of her husband's star wars toys. Originals still in their packages, prequels figures from midnight releases, special limited exclusives. All in the dump while he was on a business trip. He had then carefully stored on shelves on one side of the garage, out of the way, and came back to nothing. She came crying to me one day while I was helping set up things in the classroom about how he was divorcing her and she might wind up homeless over some stupid toys. I called her a bitch because she was.

My grandpa used to threaten to turn my grandma's sewing machines into jigsaws because he hated that she had something that made her happy. She's why I still hide my bobbins even though my partner loves that I make things (and helps me pick out colors if I'm indecisive).

On a more positive note, someone in a collector's group I'm in has art prints by an artist their spouse hates. They compromised with the prints stay in their home office or at their in person office because their partner didn't want them to get rid of them. That's a good compromise to me.

My partner loves dnd and video games. I like them too, but not to the same degree because they can make my anxiety much worse. But I watching them play while I crochet and will help them if they get stuck on a puzzle (sometimes they'll ask for an outside perspective). I help them set up for in person games and listen and provide feedback when they need to bounce ideas of someone. And I do play with them on better days because it's fun. They love to watch me crochet and call it witchcraft and calculate how many miles of yarn I use in projects.

There's a big difference with rule such as "let's make sure our hobbies are allowing us time to just be together and to talk and enjoy life" and "you can only do this when I approve it". People need to do things that make them happy. That could be writing, that could be a fiber craft, that could be video games, or even cooking random things. If it's not hurting someone, why try to stop it? Everyone needs an outlet. And if your partner or even you really can't stand something that someone does in their free time, maybe it's time to admit that this isn't the person for you.

[blankfairy]

flee the fire that devours

“I wish they were dead,” Trystane said softly.

Alicent frowned, unsure of what she’d heard. “Trystane?”

“Jacaerys and Lucerys.” His voice never rose above a whisper, distant and crackly like the ancient oak in the godswood. “I wish they were dead.”

Summary: Alicent navigates Trystane's complicated relationship with his cousins, and wonders of her own influence upon his thoughts.

Characters: Original Male Character, Alicent Hightower

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,444

read on ao3!

quick context, if you're reading just here and not ao3: trystane's about eight years old, and is the only child of larys strong and an oc, finn (who is trans, hence being referred to as both 'mother' and he/him).

Slowly, as if untangling the knots in a long-lost bobbin of thread, Alicent worked at the brown curls tumbling past Trystane’s shoulders. He was a patient boy, still, and forgiving; so unlike her sons who squirmed and cursed as she tried to brush out their unkempt silver manes. Even Helaena complained, in her own, silent way; fidgeting, muttering, flinching when a tangle was caught in the bristles. An embroidery hoop kept her busy, or a well-worn book from Orwyle’s personal collection, but Trystane…

They were seated above the training yard, privy to the training bluster of Aemond and Jace and Luke, victim to the harsh thwak of wooden swords, but Alicent was not sure he was even watching. He sat as still as a statue, hands folded over the pale marble parapet, chin atop his knuckles. He oft asked Alicent to comb his hair in the library, or her sitting room, where he could seat himself cross-legged on the floor with a thick book in his lap, or work on his penmanship, but today Ser Harwin was taking part in the young boys’ training — and so she had suggested, for more her sake than his, that they watch. Trystane didn’t protest. He never did.

“I don’t understand how you get your hair so tangled, my dear.” Alicent pinched a rat’s nest of brown strands between her fingers. “You don’t brush it every day?”

Trystane shook his head. Even that was subdued, gentle enough not to disturb her work. Sometimes she appreciated that he took more after Larys, only fond of speaking when there was truly something to say. Other times she worried he would fall behind. Most of all, she simply tried to be thankful — he hadn’t inherited his mother, Finn’s, foul mouth and stubborn temper.

“You must. Morning and night,” Alicent said, lowering her voice to listen when the chatter lulled below them. She could hear Harwin’s voice, rough but gentle, and Jace’s eager reply. When she straightened up to get a better look, she saw only Aemond, sulking in his padded green tunic.

She cleared her throat. “When I was a girl of seven, new to the Red Keep… I despised it.”Another quiet moment, the wave of words receding like a wave. Harwin would be careful with Aemond nearby, and her watching over. “My mother sat me down each morning and forced me to sit still as she brushed out every knot. The same before she put me to bed. She’d braid it to keep it from tangling further, but I’d… I’d pull it out in the night, and she’d have to start all over again come sunrise.”

A flutter of wood against wood, Harwin’s booming laughter. Alicent pulled harder at the knot, tonguing at the inside of her cheek. She went on.

“When it became clear there was no teaching me, she let me do as I desired. I thought myself a victor. Clever. I’d outwitted the fox of Florent.” A tuft of brown strands came free between Alicent’s fingers. “Within a week my hair had grown such a mess it had to be cut here.” She touched Trystane at the nape of his neck. He remained still. “Right above the shoulder. Showed me what I knew of cleverness at such an age.”

A woman grown, the memory was still as fresh as morning dew. Her despair at losing her auburn locks, her father’s disapproval, young Rhaenyra’s snickers. Even wind whipped and tousled from her first flight with Syrax, Alicent had been jealous of her sleek, silver hair. The shame for her youthful follies still burned hot in her chest and cheeks when she gave them too much thought. The only thing she had lost to time was her mother’s face. It was a blur, and had been for years; clouded by the candle-lit shadow of the Stranger and choking incense.

Trystane’s hummed, the same way Helaena did when she wasn’t listening but didn’t want to disappoint her mother. Sometimes she thought her daughter had learned it from him.

“Trystane?” Alicent removed her hand. The sight of a little white strand coiled around her thumb gave her pause. A bit of Aemond’s from his earlier tussle with her and a brush, she surmised, and plucked it off. “Are you listening?”

A loud crack split through the training yard as a straw dummy toppled into the dirt. Jacaerys stepped away, triumphant. Harwin’s words were imperceptible, but his voice rumbled with the kind of pride only fathers knew.

“I wish they were dead,” Trystane said softly.

Alicent frowned, unsure of what she’d heard. “Trystane?”

“Jacaerys and Lucerys.” His voice never rose above a whisper, distant and crackly like the ancient oak in the godswood. “I wish they were dead.”

A dreadful taste thickened in Alicent’s throat, dripping low into her belly and settling there in a hard pit. This was not her doing, surely? She spoke ill of Rhaenyra’s sons often, perhaps more than she ought to in front of Larys’ boy, but such a young, tempered spirit couldn’t have conjured up an idea like that himself…

She placed a firm hand on Trystane’s shoulder, steadying herself, and pulled him to face her. He swayed with the force of her touch, but did not fight.

“You cannot say such things, sweet boy.” Her words were a murmur, yet sharper than she liked. It was necessary, Alicent told herself; he couldn’t go around saying these sorts of things without any sense of caution. “Jace and Luke are… your…”

“Harwin is supposed to be my kin,” Trystane hissed. Such a harsh sound from him made Alicent flinch. “He’s supposed to care about me when my mother and father don’t. Right?”

Alicent snapped before she could temper herself. “It’s an unkind thing to say,” She took a deep breath. Mother, guide me.

Luke squealed, teasing; Aemond bit back with the swish of his wooden sword and a maligned insult. The beds of her fingernails itched viciously.

She continued, “Promise me you won’t say it again.”

“Is it?” Trystane tilted his head. His eyes were wide, irises as depthless and blue as the Blackwater itself. “They’re going to die, anyways. They stink of it. Blood and sea salt and cinder. If they got it over with, I could have Uncle Harwin, and mayhaps grandfather would—”

“Trystane.” Her fingers dug hard into the thin, bony flesh of his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice. Her stomach roiled. “No more. Do you hear me? You will speak no more of this. You will tell no one.”

A strand of limp auburn hair, loosened from her tiara, danced in the breeze. Trystane reached out to touch it. As soon as his dark eyes left her, she felt she could breathe.

“Okay,” he said. Whether or not he meant it, Alicent did not care to press. “Will you finish brushing my hair?”

The bluster had quieted. She worried one of them had heard; Aemond would ask about it later, or perhaps Rhaenyra herself would come to her and revile her for using a child to wish death upon her sons. Where else would Trystane have learned to say such a thing?

A ride to the Sept was certain, and much needed. Perhaps Finn would accompany her. He didn’t care much for the new gods of his mother, nor the old of his father, but she needed company in the wheelhouse, and… and to tell him to care for his son, lest he speak some treachery to the wrong ear.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Alicent nodded. “Yes, my dear.” Trystane toiled with her hair until she gently pried it from his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. Her guards floated in the space at her back, saying and hearing nothing. She parted her lips to tell Trystane to turn back around, but he obeyed her silence. She ran her fingers through his frizzy curls to ease her swimming head.

“Be kind to them,” Alicent murmured after a silent moment. “Their blood is no fault of their own.”

Trystane hummed. His gaze found home at the sight of his cousins, sharing easy smiles with the father they weren’t allowed to know. Aemond glared, spinning on his heel to eye the balcony. Alicent continued to tug the brush through Trystane’s hair, watching her second son sulk, only to halt at a flash of white peeking through the teeth of her bristles. She drew the comb back and touched the new growth sprouting from his part, paler than morning mist.

“Trystane,” Alicent frowned. “Your hair…”

“I know.” Trystane laid his head against the parapet and sighed. “Morning and night…”

[somecunttookmyurl]

techniques i use in c2c crochet (and all other applicable crochet scenarios, really) people might find useful i can post tutorials on as i go

butterfly bobbins - you do not need cardboard or plastic bobbin winders to make bobbins you can just wind yarn in such a way it forms a bobbin by itself for $0 (and with 0 tiny fiddly things you will inevitably lose somewhere)

magic knot - join yarn to keep working in such a way that a) will not come undone and b) does not require any weaving of ends

there is no shorthand official name (as far as i know) but "joining a new colour in a way that does not leave an end you have to weave in later". call it lazy join or something idk

obviously you can just. look up how to do those (except the last one bc i don't know what - if anything - it's called or if it's just something i do because i will avoid weaving at all costs) but if anybody wants and would find it useful i can just take photos of the process next time i do it in this blanket and then post it like that one time i did "how to wind a centre-pull ball" or "doing surgery on a c2c blanket to replace a square"

[thatthingilovewith]

🌧️ (chanting clembob angst clembob angst)

Your wish is my command! Note this is just the first draft!

Bobbin hated funerals.  He’d been only three when he went to his first one. For his older sister Barathea, he had no memory of this event but he was sure it was miserable.  By the age of eleven, he had gone to the funeral for every member of his family, except Brocade. Brocade had told him then, that he hoped he would be the only other family member Bobbin had to bury in his life. He’d gone to the funeral of every tribute he’d lost to the games. No matter how much their parents screamed at him, or how many disgusted looks people threw his way. He’d gone because he owed it to them for his failure.  Of all the funerals he’d attended in his life, this one was by far the worst. Funerals back home were much different than the ones in the Capitol. The family would embroider their loved ones' shroud, wrap them in ribbons, and place buttons over their eyes.  Then on their day off they’d go to the family plot, dig down until they found the last relative they’d left behind, and place them on top. Then they went home shared stories drank themselves to sleep and then in the morning they got up and tried their best to move on.  In the Capitol it seemed even death was an ordeal. People from all over, friends both old and new, some people Bobbin would hesitate to even call an acquaintance had flocked to their apartment to tell them how sorry they were about what happened. Then their had been a service with a long-winded talk about what Atticus had done in his short life, what he had meant to them all. Followed by more food then Bobbin was sure he had ever seen in his life. Even at his wedding, they hadn’t served this much.  Many people would turn up their noses if they knew how exactly Clemensia had indulged him when it came to the funeral. Brocade had been allowed to come from District 8 for it.   Something even the most polite of their friends had made know they disapproved of. They would certainly be aghast if they knew how much work he had actually done on the ceremony.  It's not like he and Clemensia were in any state to do anything. They could barely drag themselves out of bed in the morning. Brocade had tried to involve them as much as possible at first, but after Clemensia had unceremoniously vomited all over the rug after hearing Brocade use the word body, he’d done all the work necessary unassisted. That was probably for the best, part of him thought. Another part of him called him a coward, and a sorry excuse for a father, for being unable to properly lay his son to rest.