One stich at a time.
Sewing for myself made more body confident than any diet ever did. #Sewingbee #imadethis #homesewn
Sewing Bee is back! Do you watch it? Not just a program for sewers, it is one of those comfort programs you can watch nestled up on the sofa with a cuppa and a biscuit.
I sew.
I’ve sewn for years. When ill health trapped me at home on the sofa I needed something to do with my hands instead of eating the biscuits.
Always in love with crafts, I watched with admiration and envy as others were…
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The Call of Cthulhu - H. P. Lovecraft
Half leather binding, with leather corners. Title stamp on the spine. Hand sewn endbands. Edges coloured with acrylic paint.
Dimensions approx. 4cm x 5,5cm
With accompanying slipcase.
materials case
binders board, 1,5 (coverboards)
cardboard (spine stiffener)
goatskin leather
decorative paper
gold foil, hot stamped (title)
materials inner book
Munken polar, 100gsm (text block)
Majestic fancy paper, iridescent, 120gsm (endpapers)
button hole silk (endbands)
acrylic paint (edge colouring)
Dimensions: ~A9
materials slip case
binders board, 1,5 (case construction)
Satogami paper (lining)
decorative paper (cover material)
Majestic fancy paper, iridescent, 120gsm (cover material)
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the thing about dean getting a hellhound is that it’s not a dog he wants. this isn’t that kind of story. he fed it so much blood that it turned away from the king of hell to nip at dean’s heels, and then he was forcibly pulled back to humanity with the mark still pulsing on his arm, forced to look at the death he’d been happy to take part in for months, and the hellhound won’t go away. it’s invisible, sometimes he’s not even sure if it’s following him or not, if he drove far enough to get away from it, but it always ends up back at his side, growling and shaking its shaggy coat and scratching up the floorboards with its claws.
it’s not a creature that can be transformed by love. it will always be a hulking, dangerous thing, will always have teeth and a desire to use them. it can only be understood, and treated with respect, and accepted for what it is. and it is not leaving. dean could kill it, maybe, but he’d probably end up torn to shreds if he tried. he can use it, it obeys his commands, but it can hear go better than stop. and without the glasses, he never really knows where it is, what it’s doing, if it’s looking at him like a companion or its next meal.
dean can chain it up in the bunker’s dungeon (it will chew itself free) and scream at it to leave (it will not go) and make himself a knife to tear its guts open (that it is too smart to let him use.) but the dog’s not going anywhere. he’s stuck with it.
so. one day. eventually. he’s going to have to learn to live with it. and maybe that’s the best he can hope for, to hold out his hand and feel an unseen wet nose press against it, sniff and growl and pad away, but without biting, without taking it as a challenge.
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couple of small thoughts about the narnia boys cuz it's wintertime and I need to make up for the depressing lack of snow here so-
Moon calls you jackalope and nightingale, as well as stardust, nightlight, doll, lamb, magpie, and cricket.
Sun calls you his Angel for the most part, though he occasionally refers to you as Tesoro or something else related to light and treasure.)
After a couple more meetings with Sun, you decide to do something that you've wanted to ever since you set foot in Narnia. Soft, powdery snow with little glints of light are just begging you to do what such a cold blanket is best for: snow angels.
Sun is absolutely confused when you randomly fall on your back into the snow. At first he thinks something's wrong and you got hurt and had he hurt you, oh you were so fragile he knew he shouldn't have let you out of the cave-
But then you laugh and smile so brightly that it overtakes all the shadows and it's all okay again. You explain to him that you're sorry, you didn't mean to startle him, the snow was just so soft and you couldn't resist, and when he asks what on earth your talking about, you stare at him blankly, and for a moment he thinks he did actually break you until you grab him by the hand and yank him down into the snow. He takes a moment to register the fact that he's on the ground, turning to you in surprise that dies on his tongue as you toss him another dazzling smile and explain that these are snow angels, and it's legally obligatory to make them whenever it snows like this, and did he really not know about this, how come he hasn't tried it before?
He just shrugs and lets you push him back down and show him how to make snow angels, prattling on and on about all the fun things you could do, and how maybe next time you could bring something you called a 'sled' (what that is he isn't sure, but you had spoken of riding it...perhaps a horse of some sort? No, no, horses were few and far between nowadays, all of the centaurs had rushed off before Afton's rise to power, and there was no way you could manage to reign such a beast in through the snow and your War-drobe...), and he lays beside you, watching in awe and fascination at the simple purity you possess, turning something as cold and cruel as this eternal frost and winter into a miraculous wonderland. How precious you were. How lucky he is, to have such a wonderful treasure such as you, sweet and bright and warm, a true angel in the snow just for him.
You run into Moon not a few days later, greeting him with the wave of a hand as he hangs off the lamppost curiously, offering no acknowledgment aside from a slight tilt of the hand and a jingle of his faded cap.
He accompanies you on your walk as always, listening to you ramble on about your dwelling and boxes you had to sift through in your garage (his ears twitch at this, but he says nothing, spending a short amount of time attempting to figure out what that is before giving up) for a 'sled' to help Sun with something. He makes an attempt to try to formulate the words to ask about how Sun is doing before you spring up with a surprised 'Oh!' and a new light in your eyes, and soon enough you're dragging him along the path with a bright determination.
He can't get over how small your hand is in his.
You lead him over to a little clearing, dropping to your knees and grabbing handfuls of snow before packing them into a rough ball and patting it down with more. The snow is less fluffy now, more compact and easy to shape. It clings to the wool of your gloves, but you're to wrapped up in the mission to notice that, or the fact that you haven't even explained to Moon what on earth you're doing.
You turn around after realizing he's just been standing there and proceed to simply state that you're building a 'snowman', which only seems to confuse him further. How can a man be made of snow? He's seen men of stone, dozens of them, hundreds, even, but never a man of snow.
You decide he's due for a proper education on snow's true purpose.
You rummage around in your pockets for some magically placed coal lumps or a carrot. You scrounge up a piece of charcoal (why is that in there anyways?) and a button, adding Moon's scarf and cap after begging him to hand them over (he learns then and there that he unfortunately can't say no to you) before proudly admiring your work. A stick takes the place of a carrot (apparently Moon didn't grow those in his garden, because at your remark he had tilted his head and squinted slightly, remaining silent as you sighed and moved on), with two branches for arms on either side.
Moon stands beside you, staring at the man of snow. It sits there with its arms spread out in a gesture of embrace, a wide smile of little pebbles planted on its face as it beams up at him. He has never seen a statue of this sort before, and in spite of its frigid material, it somehow manages to convey a feeling of sweet warmth and innocence, the like of which he hasn’t known since he met…you.
Perhaps the reason this creation has such a heart-melting presence is because you were the one to make it. How sweet you were, proudly grinning at the feat of something so simple. How easy you were to please and excite, how little it took to make you happy. A delicate thing like you, no doubt, was the only one who could take pleasure in such a simple act of a man of snow, who could appreciate a cold, lifeless being and let its existence touch your heart.
And then you turn and smile at him-him!- and thank him for his help, and he wants to tell you that he’ll do anything to see you smile like that, anything to have your warm hand tucked in his as you share this tender moment with him, but all he can manage is a small quirk of the lips and a nod.
That’s all it takes for you to laugh and grin harder, snatching his hat off the snowman and leaving its head bare as you take your prized possessions and run off. You need not wait for him for but a moment before he’s right at your heels again as you assure him that you’ll return it once you fix it up for him.
He wishes he could thank you in more ways than one.
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