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.
*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.
I wanted to make an entire bedroom scene, but given how I take photos… decided to split it into several different scenes so as to not overwhelm the viewer :)
This scene is focused on a mini clothes rack where you’d hang your clothes and put any used pieces in the laundry basket. Admittedly, the laundry bag turned out a little more festive than anticipated, but I wouldn’t mind owning one irl if I came across something similar.
Everything is handmade (including Grumpy Mcgrumpface) and the framed print is actually up for sale in my etsy. It’s a copy of an original gouache painting I did featuring some Canadiana, and a larger version for real-sized walls should be available fairly shortly as well.
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
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 :)
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.”
I may or may not have spent the entire day today animating this little Hatapon.
In case anyone hasn’t noticed, I am in over my head with this game, and I am loving every second of it. I have to admit that Hatapon is currently my favorite, and I dunno if any of the other lil guys can match him there!
Long coming OTTeaparty Coordinate! I went for a “Violet Lattice” Garden Party look. It was entirely based off of these OTKS by Enchantlic Enchantilly! I attached little handmade violet flowers to everything that made sense, and made a hat to pull it all together.
Thank you O-T-Teaparty Commitee, KV Photography and Nicole Keane for the photos!