#in a sweater poorly knit

[honey-gl0w]

mewithoutYou - In a Sweater Poorly Knit

[ansu-gurleht]

the trap i set for you seems to have caught my leg instead

[just-a-hopeless-wanderer]

mewithoutYou is fucking me up man

[unopenablebox]

i was looking back at my old knitting posts to check on a thing and like yeah i really did just rocket right up the knitting skill tree over the course of a few months. no wonder i'm convinced i can knit literally anything i've spent ten minutes reading and watching videos about.

my personal knitting trajectory is that i learned to knit at age 8, stopped knitting at age 16 or so, and did not knit anything more complex than circular knit legwarmers with mild shaping at that time (so i could make rectangles and tubes and slightly widen the tubes). (ok i also did one lace scarf for about four inches but it was very bad.) then i got back into it at the end of college, and my projects were lace cowl > multiple stranded colorwork hats > socks on dpns > elaborately cabled sweater (which i finished only the back and half a sleeve of, admittedly, and am now picking up again) > most of a beaded lace crescent shawl in the span of, like, five months. and then a bunch of other shit after that! i literally can just learn to knit whatever the fuck i want, that's just uncontroversially true. what a fantastic hobby

[mashmouths]

i know i don't really post knitting things but i am sooooo close to being done with the body of a vest i've been working on for a year now :) there's another handful of rows to go at the bottom, then it's just the ribbing and i'll finally be able to wear it :)

[grub-s]

this just in: mandatory crediting of references and inspiration when you make art

[k1spiegel]

🪄

But if I'm a crown without a king, if I'm a broken open seed If I come without a thing, then I come with all I need No boat out in the blue, no place to rest your head The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead

[spiderziege]

1 and 3 for the ask game

1) what is your favorite colour to work with?

uuuhh probably orange or teal! almost all my drawings start out with a orange & teal colour palette before i add the actual colours. also i really enjoy pink tones atm

3) what songs do you listen to when youre drawing?

my youtube music recommendation is almost completely andrew bird, the mountain goats and mewithoutyou atm, so id say those! mwy is probably my favorite

[lilake]

i finished knitting my first sweater and I hate how it looks so much lol

[ripfoghorn]

Aaron's wife and kids were at the show and he kept going over to them and talking and making sure they were okay and I'm 😭 a mess

[thepartyponies]

Anyway I discovered this song recently and I’ve been thinking about it ever since

I wrote a couple original verses to the same or similar tempo because I can’t get it out of my head

[inkdrinkerworld]

adore your writing and spencer reid <<<333

all i can’t think about is knitter/crocheter reader who makes reid sweaters and cardigans and the first time she does it for him for his birthday. maybe reader works at the bau and manages to get to spencer’s desk early to leave the present for him, which is of course a gorgeous hand knit sweater<33

You and Spencer are a fresh thing. You were never a sure thing at the BAU, being brought in on a case need basis but even those short couple of days had drawn you and Spencer to each other.

Now, you’re almost six months into your relationship and his birthday is fast approaching. To deal with the stress of your job, you’d picked up crochet. A hobby to help you focus a little less on UnSubs and more on whatever you’re making.

You’re almost finished with Spencer’s birthday gift- a brand new sweater. It’s all the colours of autumn, browns and green, oranges and deep mauves. It’ll look great on him.

By the time his birthday rolls around, you’re weaving the ends in and wrapping it all pretty in brown paper with his name written in looping letters.

Everything else was planned out with the team, cake and lunch and even a little gift exchange but you want to give Spencer yours first.

It’s a rush to Quantico, there’s traffic and everyone is driving poorly and you’re panicking because Spencer is always five minutes early and you’re about ten minutes behind him.

In what you can only determine a change in luck and all of the gods on your side, you make it just in time to make a quick sprint in your heels no less to his desk to set the parcel down before he walks in behind you.

“Happy birthday, Spence!” You try for ease and an airy quality to your tone but it fails because you’re out of breath and nervous.

What if he hates it? Now you’re wondering if you got his measurements right- it’s always a gamble.

“Thank you,” he drops a kiss to your forehead and makes for the kitchen. “Did you have your coffee already? You seem wired.” He looks over his shoulder as he opens the fridge for milk.

You just shake your head. You’re trying not to wring your fingers to all hell as you watch Spencer set about making you both cups of coffee.

“There’s something on your desk,” again you try for a little ease, a little casualness but it falls very flat.

Especially when Spencer hums, a pretty smirk on his face. “Is there?”

“Spencer Reid, you can’t do that.” You stomp your foot a little and he laughs, reaching for you just as the kettle goes off.

“I can do anything, it’s my birthday.” You sigh and lean up to kiss his cheek.

“I suppose you can, but would you open it before the rest of the team get here? In case you hate it?”

He tuts, “You know I won’t.” Spencer sets both mugs on his desk, nudging you to have a sip and you frown when you realise it’s herbal tea and not the coffee you’d been hoping for. “Your hands have been shaking and cramping a lot more recently.”

You watch with eagerness as he opens the parcel, a smile breaking out on his face as he realises what it is.

“Do you like it?” You’re nibbling on your lip, ruining your pretty glossy lips.

“Think it would be too much to put it on now?” Your eyes brighten and you squeal.

“Would you really?” Spencer nods, hands already reaching for his blazer to strip.

It’s bad luck that’s just when Morgan and Emily stroll in, a low whistle sounding in the room.

“Oh okay, pretty boy, I see you!” Derek says and Emily laughs while Spencer, even after all the things he’s lived, flushes.

You on the other hand, roll your eyes.

“You know, you could’ve saved it for after the ‘happy birthday’.” Derek only shakes his head.

“I don’t think I need to wish him one if he’s willing to risk an HR meeting.”

Spencer kisses you smack on the mouth which is only fuel to the fire. “I’ll wear it tonight angel, thank you.”

You’re a little dazed and Spencer seems to relish that fact. “You’re welcome, Spence.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house. 

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth. 

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand. 

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease. 

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots. 

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet. 

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then. 

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips. 

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses. 

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom. 

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

[mayakern]

Why....why are the sweaters 3/4 sleeve??? Personally I would totally get a black sweater (or white tbh) but I can't vibe with a 3/4 sleeve (for a few reasons, mostly various sensory/attention problems) so i was wondering why that choice was made and whether there's any chance of a full length sleeve being made in addition or instead? But also I'm curious as to exactly what kind of fabric it is? Is it an anti-pill material? (Pilling is one of my fabric enemies)

so first off, this as is about the lace collar sweaters that will be hitting the store later this year. you can watch the full video here, but i’m including screenshots as well for those of y’all who don’t want to watch the video.

2nd, i get that everyone has personal preferences, but this was unnecessarily rude. you’re not going to like every decision we make, and that’s OK, but if you’re old enough to use a credit card to buy things online, you’re old enough to realize that product decisions you dislike were not made to personally gall you.

there were a few reasons we chose to do 3/4 sleeves, but the primary reason was that 3/4 sleeves work better for a variety of arm lengths. a 3/4 sleeve will look good whether someone’s arm is shorter or longer than average, whereas a full length sleeve can easily be too long or too short for the person wearing it. we also didn’t want to do short sleeves because at the time the only other shirt we had in production was the wrap top, which has short/cap sleeves.

we do have some full long sleeve shirts/sweaters in planning/in production that we have not shown off yet, but currently we do not have plans to make a long sleeve version of this particular sweater because we have no idea what sales will look like. if these sweaters sell well and there’s considerable customer demand, we’ll consider doing long sleeves. if these sweaters sell poorly they will not be returning to the store, period. we are a small business with limited funds and we cannot throw infinite money at the wall.

last, the fabric composition is 62% polyester, 33% viscose, 5% elastane. we tested a lot of fabrics for this sweater, and this was the only one that felt right. its appropriate thickness (not super thin, but not super thick, so that it can easily be layered under warmer garments or worn solo without causing you to overheat), the cute ribbing, and the texture/feeling (which don’t aggravate my textural sensitivities as an autistic person with very sensitive skin) were all just right.

we’ve also done a number of wash tests and did not encounter any issues with pilling. in general, if you take good care of our garments, that is not going to be an issue from our current manufacturer, who have demonstrated time and again that they prioritize quality labor and material that is made to last. the reason shein products fall apart isn’t because they’re made of polyester: it’s because the sewing is rushed and the fabric fibers are low quality and often have a looser knit or weave, which makes them more prone to damage/falling apart on a structural level.

as for pilling specifically, pilling is actually the fabric breaking. looser weaves/knits are more prone to breakage because they are more open and cheap fabrics are often made of looser weaves, which results in more pilling. but even a high quality material can pill under the right (or wrong) circumstances. when fiber is wet, similar to hair, it is more vulnerable to breakage, and washing machines with agitators (the big thing in the middle of some washers) are really really good at breaking your fibers, thus resulting in more pilling.

anyway tldr the sweaters shouldn’t have any pilling issues if you treat them right and full length sleeves are not likely to happen but are not totally impossible.

[calumfmu]

drunk!steve harrington x fem!reader

(fluff; wc- >1k)

okay but can you imagine being at a party, laying in a random bedroom, trying to stop the world from spinning around you. you’d been laying there for the past 30 minutes in the dark, praying that the drunkness was waring off at that point. it had actually started to work until you heard someone stumble into the room.

the lights still off you couldn’t tell who the person was until they threw themselves next to you and turned on the bedside lamp.

“oh hello” you heard the voice say next to you, looking up it was steve harrington, boy toy. he was in his classic, knit sweater pushed up to the elbows, khaki, white converse. you would never admit it to anyone but his classic was the type of stuff you saw in your dreams at night.

you didn’t know how to speak to him. he hadn’t looked your direction—ever, and the only reason you were in the same vicinity was because one of your friends begged you to go so she can get sight of eddie.

“what do you want?” there was a bite behind your voice, slight albeit still there. steve made a small frown, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout.

“that’s not very nice of you” he sighed, scooting down so his head was at eye level with you. his hair fanned out around his head, hands crossed gracefully across his chest. he was drunk, glazed eyes blinking slowly at the spinning ceiling fan.

“i had the room first.”

he turned his head to look at you before shifting his body so he was facing you, the both of you curled into each others directions.

“and i had it second, yn.”

your heart made a jump, falling into your stomach as you realized he knew your name.

“you see, i was hoping,” he began, voice deep with the drowsy effect of the alcohol on his system. hiccups teetered on every other word of his. “that i could just lay here and ac-” hiccup “-quaint myself with a new” hiccup “friend.”

you quirked an eyebrow at the ‘friend’. he chuckled, noticing the expression.

“okay fine. im piss drunk,” and another hiccup “i can’t focus on anything right now and just really need to sober up”

and there he was, classic steve. you rolled your eyes, humored by him. a conversation quipped up between the two of you, beginning at the topic of small talk at the party to more, intricate details of your personal lives.

the things you talked about that night were miscellaneous, random thoughts. they were topics you both clicked on though, laughter echoing through the room as his poorly constructed dad jokes interrupted your stories. he was funny after all you discovered. there was more up there in that brain other than the farrah fawcett hairspray fumes.

“yn?” he asked, laughter still on his breath. you stared up into his eyes, watched as they crinkled at the corners.

“im glad i met you tonight.”

biting your lip in excitement, you flushed in the face—red pooling at your cheeks.

“me too, steve.”

“you’re beautiful, yn,” he continued, voice dropped into a whisper. his face was closer to yours, your gaze falling down to look at his lips. “truly so… so beautiful”

he leaned in slowly, glancing into your eyes once more before his lips met yours. it was unsure at first, steve testing the waters as you leaned into the kiss further. as you took his lips between yours, you wish you could say that it was fireworks, something you’d seen described in a teeny magazine—but it was so much more. it was a pulsing sensation throughout your entire body, a proclamation of a feeling you had never explained before.

he pulled away after a moment, licking the taste of you off of his lips. steve placed a small peck on you again, before shutting his eyes with again with a smile.

he sighed, contentment behind his voice, “time to sleep, yn.”

and you closed your eyes, tucking your face into his chin, corner of your mouth tugging into a small smile. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to not be giddy over the moment. a giggle threatened to explode from you but you fought it back, chewing the inside of your lip. his arm came to lay at your waist, steve sighing as he made himself comfortable as well.

and if the two of you fell asleep face to face that night, no one would know. his arm draped over your waist, nose pressed into the top of your hairline as you curled up into him.

you two wouldn’t talk about it come monday morning when school was in session. you would walk by him and he by you, arm wrapped around a different girl than the previous week. you would spare glances at each other, small smile on your face as you saw him wink in your direction, hidden from his group of friends.

that night was something special between the two of you, something that couldn’t be taken away. it was a secret you both shared, a memory meant that would only be dreamt of at night in the dark of each other’s rooms.