handmade everything

The folklore among knitters is that everything handmade should have at least one mistake so an evil sprit will not become trapped in the maze of perfect stitches. A missed increase or decrease, a crooked seam, a place where the tension is uneven - the mistake is a crack left open to let in the light. The evil sprit I want to usher out of my knitting and my life is at once a spirit of laziness and of over-achieving. It’s that little voice in my head that says, I won’t even try this because it doesn’t come naturally to me and I won’t be very good at it.

Kyoko Mori, ‘Yarn’

That last phrase especially - “I won’t even try this because it doesn’t come naturally to me and I won’t be very good at it.” It really is like some kind of all-encompassing evil sprit sometimes. 

A young Iranian Arab girl wearing traditional clothes with a tribal tattoo on her chin sitting next to hand woven baskets from Ahvaz, Khuzestan.

Photo belongs to sipiid_sss

The Weaver

*continues to throw things at you because Reasons, mostly to do with the fact that this is awesome*

There was once a girl at Elsewhere who spoke to spiders.

She would study their webs, snapping pictures with her cheap instant camera and, later, studiously recreate them with graphite and ink. For the first eight weeks of freshman year her roommate hated spiders, then one evening she opened the door to see ‘him’ feeding the tarantula that had taken up residence in one corner. She never mentioned the odd teeth or the hollowness of his back, and quietly moved all the iron out of the room, bit by bit (except for the bracelet she wore and the old washers she hid in her pillows).

That was when she started weaving.

As a child she had been the one who came home with muddy shoes and dirt smeared on her face and clothes, only willing to take a bath when her father (single, divorced, but still won sole custody - a rarity in 1960’s America) demanded it of her. She grew into the girl in the oversized sweaters that were as comfortable as they were ugly, the sleeves stained with food, ink, and occasionally blood, and never paid attention to what anyone else said - mostly because she never heard. The bloodstains might have been from picked pimples and accidental nicks from the whittling knife she kept hidden in her shoe, but nobody else knew that, and she was a tall girl - six feet even - with the broad shoulders of a swimmer whose father taught her how to punch and kick and scream. So when she went to Elsewhere, the textile industry was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to be an artist, to carve stories and emotion out of wood blocks.

But then, on her first day, she found a large, hairy, potentially deadly spider sitting on her not-yet-made bed when she came out of the bathroom. She shrieked, of course - the spider was nearly the size of her pillow - and grabbed for the plunger next to the toilet (school plumbing was always going to be shit, no matter what school it was). She did not, however, try and hit the spider - don’t hurt the animals, even the bugs was one of the first things the told you at Elsewhere, right after wear your iron and keep salt in your pockets.

So instead, she took a nervous step forward. “Do you need help?” she whispered.

The spider didn’t nod - couldn’t - but the feeling brushed past her face like faint tendrils of web. Yes.

She swallowed nervously. “What do you need?”

The feeling brushed past her face again. Take me.

Her face blanched as certain meanings of the phrase came to mind as she immediately tried to scrub the images away because oh sweet Jesus NO. “Where…where do you need to go?”

Under the hill.

She swore (in Latin) - but the spider rode her yellow rubber plunger to the entrance under the hill, and when she woke up the next day she found a shawl folded neatly at the foot of her bed, made of a strange, silvery material - soft as a daydream and impossible to damage.

She switched her major to textile production that afternoon, and if you needed something stitched or mended, she was always willing - for a price. When she left, she moved back home and started up her own business, taking in customers both humanly and inhumanly strange, accepting payment in oddities as well as in the swipe of a credit card. Everything is handmade on a wooden loom, and everything has its place.

Everything has a story.



Eugene Onegin: drunk and singing karaoke at every high society party, Pechorin’s best friend and big brother

Pyotr Verkhovensky: stalking Stavrogin’s Instagram and Myspace, tagging their photographs #meandmybetterhalf #красавец #lookatthesuniinvented, otherwise respectable forthcoming world leader and your favourite politician

Nikolai Stavrogin: worked as model in spite of the strong disapproval of his mother while ‘studying’ = becoming notorious for his excessive debauchery in Petersburg, among his scandals marrying drunk because of a bet, being suspicious of various crimes including murders and speculations about his bromance (?) and collaboration on the election campaign with a young ambitious politician

Aleksey Kirillov: chooses ‘suicide and the postulate for existence of God in an a priori meaningless world’ as theme for school project (probably yelled Vive la republique! Liberté, egalité, fraternité ou la mort! after presenting his project and jumped out of the window which was, however, on the ground floor so nothing really happened except his reputation as ‘that nutty Les Mis fanatic…’ ever since)

Uncle Vanya: taking care of the estate, always doing work for others, complains about lethargy, follows healthy lifestyle blogs and tries the paleo diet but no matter, everything is same as ever

Pierre Bezukhov: socially awkward, unsuccessfully attempts to become a dandy, daydreaming about Napoleon in history class

Andrei Bolkonsky: cynical, disillusioned and depressed, disappointed by the reality of conservative values such as family life and military career gradually abandons his earlier beliefs and finds peace in unconventional relationship with a younger woman and general forgiveness for all, in other words becomes a Buddhist or some beat generation freak idk

Dmitry Karamazov: has existential moments in pubs, doesn’t even need to be drunk to act like an ass

Ivan Karamazov: too intelligent, everyone at school hates him, tired of his family, could have chosen theoretical physics but studies philosophy, morality is his fav problematic, sometimes throws altruist books against the wall

Alyosha Karamazov: never screams, always nice, helps small kids with their homework, rides a bicycle everywhere

Yuri Zhivago: wants to buy Red Velvet Cake Crème Frappuccino at Starbucks, buys Oreo Shake at Coffeeshop Company instead

Yermolai Lopakhin: tough childhood, sad eyes, successful business, marriage never

Rodion Raskolnikov: Nietzsche’s greatest fan, likes reading the Bible anyway, goes to anonymous alcoholics sessions just to declare that he’s fine and walk away, sometimes sleepwalking looking for a bloody sock (maybe that’s how he got the nickname Lady Macbeth), obsessed with cleanness, always thinks he has a red stain on his clothing and shoes, begins conversation with strangers by telling them about ideal murder

Dmitry Razumikhin: does pub crawls frequently, everyone’s favourite drinking pal, brings people home in his arms after three bottles of vodka

Anna Karenina: says shopping malls and birthday parties are dumb but still goes there, thinks she’s going to die each time she argues with the boyfriend or the boyfriend argues with the husband

Konstantin Levin: refuses to buy a smartphone, has own eco farm and environmentally friendly bio cosmetics label named Levinder, everything handmade!

Yevgeny Bazarov: gets PhD in medicine and doesn’t care, gets Nobel prize and doesn’t care, gets incurable disease leading to death and doesn’t care but he would like to kiss that girl he just saw through the window

Ilya Oblomov: lying in bed all day watching the same channel with soap operas and Bollywood dramas because he is too lazy to get up and fetch the remote control

Taras Bulba: dad of the year, likes listening to (Cossack) songs by Кубанский казачий хор [this means you should listen to their songs, I love them]

Dmitry Rudin: always talking about his dreams, going to America, starting jogging, learning Japanese and finding a girlfriend, gets invited on a date, doesn’t go, always bitching about politics, never voted

Behemoth: that fat black tomcat who is going to take over your apartment, yeah, that one lying on your couch

The Man from Underground: sits on a bench in the park and talks to himself, makes fun of himself and doesn’t mean it, compliments you and doesn’t mean it, forever alone

Pavel Chichikov: falsifying fuel consumption, making nonexistent trade agreements, doesn’t pay taxes, lmao why

Lev Myshkin: cinnamon roll too pure and good for this world, never dresses accordingly to the weather outside, doesn’t speak sarcasm, charity hero, unintentionally breaks every fragile object in 20 km distance, didn’t get the driver’s licence, pope’s rival

Nastasya Filippovna: girl growing up on Princess Diaries, steals your man, then cries, apologises to you, then slaps you

Grigory Pechorin: does nothing all day except partying and getting into fights, rotting with melancholy and futility of existence, watches Death Note and reads dark manga, always bored, thinks he’s lord Byron

//A Ratt’s living arrangements





the song of achilles and mythology morse code jewellery!

this jewellery uses international morse code to spell out a word or short message of your choice. each round gold/silver-coloured bead represents a dot, each long gold/silver-coloured bead represents a dash, and each coloured bead signifies the space in between each letter.

colours, sizes, and messages are all fully customisable and everything is handmade to order. perfect for long distance relationships!


★ Another week, another miniature scene ★

This is what I imagine my future study to look like, complete with a non-functioning old timey telephone and spinny globe. Everything is handmade with the exception of the telephone, which I modified a teeny tiny bit.

I’ve also improved on my globe design (the dramatic arc of the first one and thick black lines just weren’t working, ya know?), and am now offering it in my etsy shop for all your miniature decor and gifting needs. 

Lastly, I’m running a small giveaway on my instagram (@honey.thistle) for one of these globes and a few other minis until May 22nd 2017, so check that out for some free miniature swag :)


We have decided to extend our sale!! Spend $20 on any items in the shop and get 20% off of your order! 😊
Unfortunately, these items will not reach you in time for Christmas, as today was the last day to get any orders shipped out from USPS and still arrive on time.
But to anybody who missed our sale.. We are thinking of you!!
🎄use the code XMAS17 at checkout to redeem!!🎄
Happy Holidays, everyone!! 💝🔮🙂

Divine Daydreams Shop

A customer came into our gardeners shop to look for an assemble to put on graves (I have no idea how to call it in english, but I’m german and we call it “Allerheiligen Gesteck” it’s basically a handmade thing out of pine green, dried flowers, palm tree leaves, and other dried and sometimes dyed plant parts, it’s in a wet piece of foam and put together, by hand which is purchased for the first of November, a day to think of the dead.)
We have a small amount of assembles, since we are not a big shop but we offer to customize things if people wish to do so, no big deal but it takes a bit of time.

She looks at all the lovingly handmade pieces and asks “What does this one cost?” I reply “It’s 20€” and all of the sudden she puffs up like “What, no! Those are all ugly, anyway!!!!”

…Well thank you very much. Bitch.

I asked if I could make anything she would like better but “I don’t know what I want!”
So I describe options but she interrupts me rudely and leaves, complaining that we’re “too expensive” (again, everything is handmade!) and “everything is ugly”.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up buying an ugly ass cheaply machine manufactured thing from the nearest grocery store like other people before just to save some money…
Like, I totally get that a lot of people are on a budget (so am I!) But why be so rude?

I love my job but sometimes people do suck.


Check with your travel agent to see if there are any specific customs regulations regarding poetry and if you’re travelling outside the EEC, wrap up warm.


Hi Angels!
Its Logan, local friendly friend. Recently ive been fighting a hella case of mono, a case that landed me in the hospital for a hot minute, im back home now but still fighting and continuing with doctors visits and labs to figure out whats wrong with my immune system.
Anyway, in the meantime, the bills have started to show up and in an attempt to raise a little money to help my parents pay for some of them as i cant work currently, i came up with theme boxes! (Tagline: Like mystery boxes but better)

Shown above is a sample box based on the phrase “enjoy your stay!” From the badlands universe and album. This specific box includes concert confetti, a voided polaroid with motel directions, room key (blank key you can cut yourself) and heart of gold keychain, a rubiks cube, a sun catcher, an origami butterfly made from the sheet music to gasoline, not pictured, a pair of wicked sunglasses.

Anyway this has sort of been the idea! I can work with just about any theme and I’ll be sure to stalk your blog so you get good things!

Currently boxes are running at 20 dollars (+shipping) and include 5-7 items
Im also working on deluxe boxes which include more and/or bigger items for a slightly higher price

Example themes are:
Harry Potter
That one lyric you really frickin like
Video games
T.v. shows
Bad day
A personal box
And more :)

Ive been going local lately and id like to expand! If you’d like to preorder a box, or if you have any questions, my ask box is always open!

And if you’re interested in just donating to my family to help out, my paypal is paypal.me/bluestationtoo

I’d also love your suggestions!!!


Pairing: ReaderXReid

Prompt: You are asleep on the plane and when you wake up you keep your eyes closed and hear Spencer talking to Prentiss about you and how you make him feel.

A/N: sorry this is super short!! because it’s so short i posted two imagines in one night!

“Can we please not talk about this when she’s right there?” you heard Spencer speak, his voice at first just an echo in your dream state. 

It had been a long couple of days for the BAU team with a case that seemingly would never be solved. It had taken several sleepless nights and several gallons of coffee to get everyone through it, however now the case was on its way to the courts with a psychopathic murderer and a truck full of evidence to prove his guilt. 

It seemed as if the moment the wheels of the private jet left the tarmac you had been out like a light, the caffeine that had been pulsing through your veins finally giving in and allowing you to sleep. However, that was almost three hours ago and now you were slowly waking back up, your internal clock telling you that although you had only gotten three hours of sleep the sun would be rising soon. 

“Come on Spence, (Y/N) is fast asleep, you saw how tired she was.” you heard Prentiss’s voice speak now, your mind snapping the conversation into focus the moment you heard your name. 

You were now wide awake, however your eyes remained shut.

“I see the way you look at her.” Prentiss coaxed in a low and sweet voice. You could practically see the smile on her face as she spoke.

“She’s just… different from any other girl I’ve ever talked to.” you heard Spencer say in a quiet voice, the fear of you somehow hearing still prominent in his mind. “It’s as if she was handmade for me, everything about her is so perfect to me, I can’t imagine myself without her.”

You had to forcibly stop yourself from not letting a smile slip onto your face as you listened to his words.

“And everyday I discover something brand new about her and every day I just care about her more and more.” he paused. “I need her more and more” you could hear the faint smile in his voice. “We can talk for hours and hours about anything and she won’t even begin to get bored. Most people just sit there and space out while I talk and then get up and leave but with her, she listens and talks to me.” he paused once again. “I think I love her.”

Originally posted by spencerreideuphoria