#hubris quilting
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So far no one at a fabric store has asked what I'm quilting so I haven't had the chance to whip out my phone & be like well u see. this.
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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE HEADCANONS!! jade and kalim are my favorite characters and they in particular gave me so much joy. out of curiosity, whats your favorite way to knit? :) -the previous anon
I do continental and I will forever be a magic loop stan (magic loop >>>> dpns and I will die on this hill). I used to be a REALLY prolific knitter, always had something cast on, and there was one year where I somehow managed to make several pairs of (ravelry link) Fireweeds socks in the space of like a month for holiday presents. but I have early-onset arthritis and it started to really hurt my fingers, so I fell off and don't do nearly as much anymore. :(
mostly what I do these days is mini projects, like little lace panels or doll clothes/accessories that I can finish relatively quickly. I might not have the time or ability to do, like, full colorwork socks anymore, but I still like making stuff!
#twisted wonderland#toys#knitting#ironically i did use dpns for these because i don't have circulars in that size#my hubris#i had. many regrets. especially when i was down to like 2 sts on each needle and it was horrible keeping them from getting twisted.#twisted stitches wonderland is that anything#i also cross stitch but i've been in more of a sewing phase recently#my local quilt shop stocks a ton of minky colors and i've been determined to learn plushmaking
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I started work on an English Paper Piece pattern from @nonasuch (the book one!) and, wow. It did not turn out good.
I got all the pieces cut out and edges nice and flat, but I can't seem to stitch them together nicely on more than one side. Like, sewing 2 pieces together with only one edge shared is fine, but there are lots of sides all coming together on a single point and ??????
Either the stitches get really wide, or they don't lay flat after, or they get misaligned enough that the next piece is even more impossible to put on right.
Anyone else familiar with EPP that can give advice? Illustrative failure below:
(I will acknowledge that the likely answer is just Get Good, as I'm not great at tiny stitches)
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Me: cuts out a bunch of quilt block pieces and has three goes at laying them out. Finally hit on one I like. Need to start piecing
Also me: oooooh, look at this completely different pattern! I bet I could get this done in like three days.
#quilting#art problems#hubris#In my defense#the new pattern is jelly roll based and I wouldn't even need to think hard#the one I'm working on now is all triangles and is likely cursed
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Kai general and Romantic headcanons
A/N:sorry if I got any of the characters wrong, I was using a combo of wiki/Google translate as I don't speak any of the languages mentioned. Pls let me know if I got any info wrong, i will gladly go in and change it to make it right.
General:
Half Indian and half Chinese.
His and nya's last name is 鄭 (Zheng), but he says it's Smith bc when they where younger he got in the habit of lying about his name so he Didnt have to deal with CPS.
His ma is from Visakhapatnam in Andhra Pradesh, and was a practicing Hindu. Ray is from the 云南 (yunnan) province, and was a practicing theravida Buddhist. Ray is ethnically from the 傣族 (dai people, also spelt Tai in english)
Before his parents dissapearances, they both brought him to their hometowns, and actively taught him both cultures and religions, which he continued to learn about and even teach Nya about after their dissapearances.
When he was 14 he bought a small boat and him and Nya rode it across the costal line, and he promised Nya one day when he was older he'd bring the both of them to their parents hometowns.
He's a Buddhist.
He speaks so many languages.
Like so many
He's fluent in Thai, mandarin and cantonese chinese, telugu, urdu, hindi, Punjabi, arabic and ninjago-ian(idk whatever language ninjago speaks)
Also trying to learn Indonesian.
He also knows yunnan dialect bc his dad would speak in it more often than not
Absorbes info like a sponge
He likes to quilt
He always wears a golden bracelet He got from his moms jewelry box after she left.
Likes to draw but is bad at it, so he colors coloring books
Introvert
He may act all confident, but he really isn't. super insecure
Soooo good with hair
Like, has all the stops. 10 step hair care routine
rivals Zanes cooking skills.
When working out focuses on building rather than lean muscle.
Mother friend
has dragged all of his friends into the water splashing festival.
Fatal flaw is loyalty and kind of hubris (it's conflicting, ik with the insecure and extreme pride, but like- it makes sense in my head. Inferiority/maybe superiority complex.)(it makes sense bc this is such me behavior. Imagine hating yourself but thinking ur the baddest bitch alive)
Likes to stare at fire
If he can't sleep he'll make a small bonfire to stare at and think
insomnia
Chronic cigarette smoker
Romantic:
Hes more show than tell
Def acts of service (me frfr)
Although, he is very cuddly.
Not in public, though. Maybe infront of the other ninja if it was a rough day
Loves to rock you gently from side to side when yall are hug
loves to give you temple kisses
He's very gentle with you, treats you like glass
You wil prolly say ily first, and he'll go;"🧍♂️...cool?"
He has mommy and daddy issues, but HEAVY on the mommy issues. Have fun with this hyper-independant fuck who can't accept help without feeling like a failure even though they need it (I'm not projecting you are)
Goes all out for holidays and anniversaries.
Doberman/German Shepard vibes tbh
When it's just you two he doesn't feel the need to fill the air with meaningless chatter, so if he feels safe enough to just share air without talking feel honoured and cherish it bc that means he actually trusts you.
A little rough around the edges, but will remember that thing you said 5years ago on ur first date
Most dates are chill inside and take a nap
But sometimes if he can he takes you on the town or someplace fancy
Also likes to show you his favorite childhood spots
#greeny's inbox#kai ninjago#Ninjago#ninjago headcanons#lego ninjago#ninjago fandom#Ninjago x reader#Ninjago x male reader#Ninjago x you#ninjago kai x reader#ninjago kai#kai smith x reader#kai jiang#nya jiang#kai smith#Ninjago Kai Zheng
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This part is so interesting to me. Li Lianhua knows he could just let He Xiaohui badger Fang Duobing into letting him stay in a guest room instead of the woodshed. So either LLH was willing to stay in the woodshed to appease FDB or he was confident in his ability to answer FDB's questions with enough omissions/outright lies that FDB would be convinced of his sincerity and let him go.
With reference to the first scenario: would LLH do that? I don't think so. Sure, the woodshed is probably just as good as what he's used to in terms of living conditions, living in Lotus Tower, but would he - knowing he already has a deadly cold toxin in his body - willingly subject himself to what he must know is going to be a cold night in a woodshed to appease the easily appeased (fooled) Xiaobao?
No. No, this is hubris. Li Xiangyi, you really were prideful - he thinks he can talk his way out of it. And then Xiaobao tells him to shut up.
And to come find him when he's ready to stop playing these games:
He put Li Lianhua in a time out lmao.
And oh, he knows he just invited the sly old fox to try his persuasion games. See below:
"That Li Lianhua told me to tell you he's injured."
Fang Duobing: I must immediately seem unbothered by this, he wants me to be worried. I'm going to drink this tea real quick to show how unbothered I am.
And yet...
He goes to check anyway and is exasperated that he has been willingly clowned.
But here's the interesting bit.
Having drawn him here, Li Lianhua could just as for a quilt. But he doesn't, because he just has to bury every little bit of truth, every little weakness, relating to how ill he is.
So he asks first for good food, knowing Xiaobao will deny him because he's just provoked him, and then asks for the quilt as an appeal to Xiaobao's basic morals.
But Xiaobao denies him again, because he's pissed off. And he doesn't know that it's a sincere request because Li Lianhua habitually runs circles around the truth:
"Oh? I thought you had a heart disease, what cold toxin?"
Li Lianhua's face here is of a man's hubris coming home to roost. Humbled by sickness, he asks straightforwardly for what he needs - a pot of warm wine.
For a man resigned to dying, he really hates being seen as weak. Because he can't let go of Li Xiangyi. Not yet. But Fang Duobing has already, for so long, only seen him as Li Lianhua.
#nikkirewatches#mlc episode 30#lhl episode 30#mysterious lotus casebook#nikkiwrites#mlc meta#lhl meta#li lianhua#li xiangyi#fang duobing
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On the one hand - where is this contest of gardening and fruits and home crafts, I wish to move there, enter my alarming parsnips and realise my hubris when someone brings along twice as many, all perfectly straight and large enough to use as lances.
On the other hand, internet privacy is very important and I completely understand not telling strangers on tumblr where you live.
On a safer note, what was the disruptive first prize cake?
Not to worry, vegetable shows are quite niche but exist in a lot of places.
I live in the UK and keep a small allotment in a communal property, which puts on its own yearly show. They’re proper RHS-certified judges but it’s all done by the allotment committee and is as genteel and low-key as it gets (apart from the jam label swapping.) I’d like to enter the county fair or countryside shows, where you can enter more things such as enormous quilts and prize sheep, but we’ve been a little cautious with big events and COVID. I don’t have a prize sheep but I do have some decent textile crafts and would enjoy winning a prize for them someday.
But this definitely isn’t a British thing. In the USA and (presumably other countries) there are also county fairs and state fairs. I have a highly formative memory at the age of 9 of entering an oil painting, modelled on a Breyer horse of mine, into the 4H art show at the county fair. (After the previous few paragraphs of Extreme British Culture I hope you enjoy this transatlantic whiplash of the Most American Thing Ever.) it kicked ass. I won 15 fuckin dollars and First Prize in the County Fair & retired on my credentials.
Anyway it’s safe to say that such shows (and prizes) exist wherever vegetables are grown, and you’ll probably be very welcome to enter.
As for the first prize winning cake, it’s a gluten free version of a BBC Good Food recipe. Courgettes = zucchini, and I use the yellow kind that Americans call “squash” or summer squash. I do a LOT more spices than they suggest. It tends to do well in Vegetable Cake classes because they tend towards carrot cakes, zucchini-lime cakes, maybe something with pumpkin etc and a deep dark wedge of chocolatey-cinnamony-clovey-gingery mass covered in ganache is startling and interesting. But this year it didn’t do as well because somebody brought out a fucking professional showstopper courgette cake which is fair enough
Here. Pretend it’s an heirloom.
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So as a follow up to the take a photo and make quilt question it is not a good choice for a first quilt?
It depends on your confidence level, and also your hubris level.
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Almost done this quilt, even though it made me want to throw myself off a cliff as punishment for my hubris. It's a broken herringbone quilt I've been making for my bf, and I decided to fully piece both the front and the back.
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Shivering in the tent. Harry Potter Fanfic scene
Harry had once grown used to the cold. But nature, it seemed, decided to punish his hubris ten-fold. The sharp pain of his fingers had spread up his arms and into his torso, as if ice crystals were growing within his skin. Movement was slow and painful. Every effort exhausting. Every breath blew cold air onto the even colder dew around his nostrils.
Harry wondered if muggles might have survived this extended exposure.
Hermione might have been on a similar track before her voice came from a pile of blankets and scarfs.
“Ron, how did your parents manage the cold when you were kids at home?”
“Are you comparing my home to this blasted tent?!” Ron snapped.
“No Ronald I am looking for a magical solution. How do magicals usually deal with the cold?” Hermione snapped back.
“How should I know? We only ever use this tent during summer when its warm.” Ron replied hotly.
Hermione let out a harsh sigh. They were all at their limit for patience.
“I know that Ron. Muggle homes rely on central heating. Plumbing that creates heat and spreads it over the house. Obviously your home doesn’t have that -” Hermione had kept her tone calm until Ron stood and interrupted her.
“What, so you think we had to huddle together because we couldn't afford your muggle plumbing?” He yelled.
“What?! No?!” Hermione remained in her bundle. “That’s not what I am saying at all!”
“We don’t need your muggle garbage! We are perfectly fine without all that!” Ron was still yelling, his face turning red.
At least he will be warmer now. Harry thought to himself, grimly.
“Ron that is exactly what I mean! You don’t have plumbing at home because you don’t NEED it! The Burrow is obviously better equipped to deal with the cold. I want to know how so we can fix this!”
“I don’t bloody know! Mom would sometimes cast a heating charm but we have tried that! On the coldest nights she might conjure more blankets!” Ron was still yelling, but Harry couldn’t see how his words had warranted the volume. “It was never this bleeding cold. Even in Hogwarts it was never like this!”
Ron finally fell back into his chair, utterly miserable.
“Ron,” Harry offered gently, “pass me the locket. You have had enough.”
Ron was back on his feet, instantly scarlet, and yelling at Harry.
“You think you can handle the locket so much better than I can?! We hear you moaning at night wearing it. You aren’t so fucking special you know!”
The embarrassment hurt but Harry was far too cold to be angry. Where Hermione and Ron grew agitated in discomfort, Harry resided himself to it. His voice remained low, monotone. He just didn’t have the energy for shouting.
“You wouldn’t be this angry without the locket. Hermione asked you a question but you bit her head off. Take the locket off and help her think of a solution.”
Ron seethed for a few moments, seeming to grow angrier before eventually pulling the horcrux from under his jumper and throwing in Harry’s direction.
“Have it then, you want it so damn much.” he spat before taking his seat again.
The locket had hit Harry’s chair and fallen to the floor at his feet. Leaning forward to pick it up disturbed layers of clothing and blankets, exposing him to sharp cold air. Impossibly heavy and torturously cold to the touch, Harry kept the locket on his lap instead of wearing it.
A few awkward and cloudy breaths passed before the pile of quilts emitted Hermione’s voice again.
“The dorm rooms in Hogwarts have chimneys. Common rooms have huge fireplaces. Some of the class rooms and hallways too.”
They returned to an awkward silence for quite some time. It was Ron, now calm, that offered up some insight.
“There aren’t fires everywhere, but even in those rooms I never noticed ice on the windows.”
[Scene intended to open up a discussion about insulation charms, transfiguring the walls, something]
#ao3#fanfic#horcrux#harry potter#deathly hallows#harry potter and the deathly hollows#Testing out a scene
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Scrappy patchwork is coming out extremely large. I think this might be a small bed quilt size. Oh quilting hubris
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once you've committed to a Hubris Project (especially one without any deadlines) there's really no going back. just asked myself "Do I really want to hand-embroider hundreds of individual salt grains as a background texture?" but like. yes. the answer is yes. I already sewed two thousand triangles. nothing can stop me now.
#hubris quilting#a potential solution to the lack of swooshy iconography in S1#could even do seed beads if i have any small enough
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Step one- find dickasaur fabric randomly
Step two- find hexagon quilts exist from someone else on Tumblr
Step three- wait two years
Step four- decide randomly to start quilting non-hexagon quilts
Step five- said dickasaur site sends you a sale ad
Step six- hubris
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Mr. Frond?
character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS
ship with: Gayle, Mr. Ambrose
important friends: Louise (not friends so much as begrudging rivals), Mr. Ambrose (frenemy), Ms. Labonz (frenemy), Ms. Selbo, The Bog Harbor Quilting Club
general opinions: I think that Mr. Frond shines in episodes where he's not just allout awful. "A Few 'Gurt Men" is a good example of an episode where Mr. Frond is annoying but not a bad person. "The Cook, the Steve, the Gayle, & Her Lover" is a good Mr. Frond episode if you ignore that he cheats on Gayle later. :/ In fairness, we don't know if Mr. Frond and Gayle were exclusive at that point in their relationship though, knowing Gayle, Gayle probably proposed on their second date and freaked Mr. Frond out. In general, Mr. Frond seems like someone who often has genuinely good intentions but lets fame and/or hubris get to his head. I love the Belcher kids but they can be the same exact way.
#ask game#ask meme#tumblr#tumbling#tumblring#character game#character meme#asks#answered#the Askalator#thank you!#Bob's Burgers#BB#Mr. Frond#Phillip Frond
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❛ let me be young again, & the story just starting. ❜ bea for johnson!
@883333
Large cities are distinguishably manmade. Scarce strips of grass pucker out between affluent neighborhoods like a poorly sewn quilt. On this street, there is no grass. Concrete for miles. Similar in color and texture to what Johnson remembers of the newly dried lava in Pompeii centuries upon centuries ago. The hubris of this place: an elected eruption of rock gerrymandered in opposition to nature into the blocky shape of a city.
Everything is closer together. Johnson sits outside, alone, at a restaurant table a foot from another party not because he chose or enjoys the proximity but because the small slab of stone the restaurant owner has legal ownership of can fit three tables worth of outside seating but only if discourteously packed. Johnson is in the seat which situates his back to the building despite the availability to sit in the chair next to the empty table on his right.
He's close enough to hear the conversation of the occupied table on his left. Close enough to hear their breathing. If the city weren't polluted with fast, mechanical noises that seem to linger, unwanted but unignored, like a continually scratched rash, he could likely hear the wet squeezing of their esophaguses when they swallow their food and the blunt clatter of their molars as they chew. Although, the necessary order would be reversed; Johnson does not eat. He ordered a large veggie pizza (that remains untouched) and its takeaway box because he saw a closed pizza box with this restaurant's name stamped on it in Mackenzie's fridge when she was cleaning her kitchen (one whiff from meters away and it was obvious it was veggie).
Mackenzie must frequent this restaurant due to its convenience: it's across the street, two buildings over; the food, Johnson gleams from the musings of the table beside him, is of subpar quality.
From here, he watches Mackenzie's apartment's street facing window. In the early evening and the late bright of Spring, the light leaking through the window is limp and washed out like a dribble of white too thin to stream out and is instead broken into a fine mist.
The woman at the other table: "Let me be young again and the story just starting."
Something there stirs in him.
Johnson's head swivels, his attention torn from Mackenzie's window, now set on Beatríz. She is elegantly dressed. Too formal for this restaurant. Perhaps it was a matter of convenience for her, too. Or—he notices her ring, her company's lack of one, the red wine, their fond tones—purposefully inconvenient for others.
Plainly, without introduction or invitation: "You can't go back. What you should want is to want for less. But the irony is, even that is not possible. It is only another want." A single, short laugh spasms out of him as uncomfortable and commandeering of his bodily organs as a hiccup.
#johnson rudely interjecting with his own issues#i am answering this 2 months after you sent it. it's a marathon not a sprint baby#ic: johnson.#883333#883333: beatríz.#also tagging b/c you're mentioned:#vitalphenomena#vitalphenomena: mack.#i might come back to this and add more but it's publishable so!
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In honor of our first group arriving into Albion this week (and October, our spooky season), we’re going to be sharing some of our favorite skeletons that we’d still love to see! Interested in joining us? We hope so!
THE YEAR IS 1923. Welcome to Albion, a small-town, magical roleplay game based in a fictional valley in rural New England. Nestled between two mountain ridges, Albion is home to a cozy, eclectic, and ultimately slightly spooky community, intentionally isolated from the outside world.
MEET THE QUILTMAKER
THE GIFT
As the first daughter in a line of first daughters, the Quiltmaker inherits the binding magic carried through her family line. She can bind two souls together, or, when required, tear them apart. Weaving ritual into thread, the Quiltmaker can decide lineages, can create bloodlines. But this power can breed hubris. A bind will only hold if her intentions are pure.
IN BRIEF
They say history must be felt, and no one knows this better than the Quiltmaker. Dextrous with her hands and careful with her words, she descends from a long line of seamstresses, slowly patching the disparate families of Albion together.
It is a gift, to bind two souls. Should the seam tear, it can also be a curse. The Quiltmaker holds both sides of this in her hands, cutting and piecing and stitching cloth, her magic binding together those for whom she makes. For weddings, for children. For funerals. For a price. She is known to be steadfast and particular, easily focused and rarely rattled. The line runs through her family, each Quiltmaker raising the next. When it comes to her turn, she is ready.
She falters. It is less an escape and more a *pop*, one moment she is in her bed, and the next she is outside of it. *Pop, pop, pop.* The floor beneath her feet changes, the air shifts and fills with smoke. *Pop.* She is in a new house, a new life. Strong magic can do that, slip one desperate into the shoes of another. It is easy to pick up the threads of this new life, where thread is relegated to a job. She carries no needles in her home, fills the space instead with pictures and books and jars of fruit. Time passes in this way until a package arrives, soft and wrapped in brown paper. She does not need to open it to know: it is a quilt, of course. She stows it high on a shelf and leaves it there until her partner takes it down one day, and places it upon the bed. The Quiltmaker gasps, then, for two reasons: it is beautiful, richly green, the gingham of her dresses woven into squares -- and she touched it. Once a quilt is touched, the magic is complete. The popping in her ears begins again: there is no choice but to return.
MYSTERIOUS PAST
Bind-breaking can be a gentle or a fearful act, the loving unwinding of a quilt seam at a funeral, the frenzied rip as two souls unmesh. Once, the Quiltmaker tried to break a bind for her own benefit. Tell us why, and how she did it.
READY? BOARD THE TRAIN 🔮
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