#pressure washing quotes

[hi2loexteriorcleaning]

Pressure Washing Windows

Pressure washing is a great way to remove dirt, grime, and buildup from a variety of outdoor surfaces. It can also be used to clean windows, but this task requires a delicate touch as too much pressure can damage window glass and frames. The following article will cover several factors that must be taken into consideration when using a pressure washer to clean windows, including proper nozzle use, proper use of pressure settings, and how to prepare the windows before washing. By following the advice in this article, you can achieve streak-free and sparkling clean windows that will complement your home’s beauty.

If you own a pressure washer, cleaning your windows may seem like an easy and quick task. After all, how hard can it be to hook up the hose and start spraying away? Unfortunately, it is not that simple. Pressure washing windows comes with a lot of risks and requires mindful handling in order to avoid damaging the windows and surrounding areas.

Before attempting to pressure wash your windows, it is important to prepare the area for cleaning. This includes removing any screens and securing them in a safe place. It is also a good idea to check the weather stripping and caulking around the window frame to ensure that they are in good condition and that water does not seep into the structure of your home.

Once you have prepared the area for cleaning and have tested your pressure washer on a non-window surface to make sure it does not damage any parts of your home, you are ready to begin the process. Always start with a low pressure setting and gradually increase it as needed to get the job done without risking any damage. It is also a good idea to have a nozzle that has a fan spray pattern and an angle of 45 degrees or less so you do not hit the windows directly.

After you have rinsed the windows, it is a good idea to use a dry cloth to wipe them down and to remove any soapy residue. You can also use a squeegee to minimize streaks and to help get the excess moisture off the window. It is a good idea to use a biodegradable cleaner when washing windows, but if you do not have access to a special cleaner, you can use a mixture of one part vinegar and two parts water in a spray bottle.

If you are not comfortable or confident cleaning your windows with a pressure washer, it is best to hire a professional. A professional will have the experience and knowledge to adjust the power of the pressure washer as necessary in order to safely and effectively clean your windows. A professional will also be able to provide testimonials and references from previous customers to help you make the right choice for your cleaning needs. Be sure to choose a company that is licensed and insured in your area. This will protect you from any accidental damages or injuries that may occur during the cleaning process.

Hi 2 Lo Exterior Cleaning is a company that specialises in Gutter Cleaning & Exterior Cleaning services for both residential & commercial customers. We use professional & industrial equipment to make sure the job is done efficiently, to a high standard & above all else, safely. Our company specialises in Gutter Cleaning, Installation of Gutter Guard & Gutter Brush, Roof & Solar Panel Cleaning, House Washing, High Pressure Cleaning, External Window Washing.

[ribosomeraisin]

just a tag rant. again

[stonecreationslongisland]

Pressure Washing Pavers and Concrete - Dix Hills, NY 11746

http://www.instagram.com/stonecreationsoflongislandinc

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[enviedear]

hey Olivia talk about Jason and love letters pls

i can never say no to you, not like i'd say no to rambling about jason lmao!! link here to what inspired this <3

swing by my askbox 🧸ྀི

basically, i think believe that jason would be not only the best at writing love letters but also the most genuine about it. to him, they come from a place of utter devotion. in my hc, i think he'd just really struggle with getting his words out. he hates the way they sound, that they never fully convey what he means, that he stops himself more than he allows himself to speak, and mostly, he cannot handle the pressure of a time constraint. even if someone were to give him all the time in the world to open up, his chest would still get tight and his throat would feel scratchy and raw. jason todd is a victim of analysis paralysis there i said it.

no—he NEEDS another outlet, another form of communication. so he writes. he always loved reading, annotating in the margins—now he does it to his own words. At first, he doesn't even count what he writes as love letters. he's not waxing poetry, he's just explaining his fucked up perspective because you deserve to know. you deserve to be privy to whatever's going on in his head. he fails (for a while) to understand that is love, the very crux of it. the devotion to spend his free time explaining what his mouth refuses to say is love in its purest form.

his words are sweet too, no matter what he's writing. he knows his audience, you. his letters always start the same, with the salutation of 'sweetheart' and an "i love you." sometimes, all that's written is a long run-on about how he feels, how overwhelmed he is. other times, it's reminders of how much you mean to him, how happy you make him. and of course, quotes.

i am a firm believer that jason todd quotes his favorite books (modern and classic) so you better assume he's throwing in quotes that remind him of you. things like "what does money matter? love is more than money." from dorian grey after you had confessed to feeling bad about him spending money on you, or "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." from emma after an argument rooted in his apprehension for sharing, and "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." makes a common appearance. you're unsure as to why he quotes shakespeare so much, especially that line—but he's not. he knows it's the truest cohesion of words he could possibly find to explain to you just how crucial you are to him. detrimental even.

but it's not always super intense—a lot of the times it's simple letters. letters hung up on the fridge, on the dryer, in your car, even scattered little love notes in your purse/wallet. things like, "washed your clothes. you really need new leggings, i put money on the counter." / "changed your oil. remind me again in six months. i love you." / "missed you this morning. i'm coming home with dinner, your favorite. i love you."

where other men fail to find a form of communication that works for them, jason todd exceeds. besides, he's seen death once and he's not meeting it again without you knowing just how much he absolutely adores you. if he can't be here forever to give you the love he's practically overflowing with, at least the letters can outlive him. he'd like to be remembered that way—just by his saccharine sentiments for you

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @ 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 (𝐦𝐞)

[izvmimi]

cw: language. one (1) reference to a rico nasty song.

The sudden clatter of a knife being dropped on a cutting board should have surprised you, but you’re too focused on the screen of the laptop before you to notice that Izuku has stopped chopping vegetables. He looks up over at you carefully, but you continue to type furiously on the other end of the kitchen island, not registering the set of eyes focused on your person.

“Babe?”

Clickity clack, clickity clack, goes the keyboard.

He sighs.

“___.”

His voice is stern and just loud enough that you do somehow hear it, and pulled out of your flurry of vitriolic thoughts, you look at him quizzically.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You grimace, then smile and scoff in just the way that concerns Izuku even further. He could tell from the pressure on the keyboard and the small noises of frustration that slipped out of you indiscriminately that you were clearly upset about something, and he could name a couple things that had popped up recently in the news to make you feel that way, but whenever you got to typing for this long with this level of focus, it could only mean one thing.

“I’m just drafting a response to a few criticisms I’ve seen online recently.”

His lips press into a thin line.

“Love, you promised-“

You frown at him and raise an index finger. “First of all, I did not make any promises-" He raises an eyebrow and you look at him sheepishly, then look away. “Fine.”

“Let me see it,” he insists. Before you can even consider closing your laptop, he’s behind you, one hand resting softly on your shoulder. His eyes scan the top half of the reply in the comments and you watch his response attentively, taking in how his frown deepens the longer he reads.

“Baby.” He rubs your shoulder gently, but you can tell he’s between irritated and disappointed with you immediately. Defensively, you shrug him off softly then cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m just communicating my discontentment.”

“Really?” He highlights a sentence at the end, and clears his throat before reading it aloud. “If I see you in the street, bitch your ass is done? That’s discontentment?”

You can feel your cheeks burn.

“It’s a quote!!! From a song!”

Izuku places a hand atop your head and squeezes gently. “It’s also a threat?”

“But-“

“___, you’re a professional Hero. This person could be Quirkless.”

You pause, consider, and then let out a sound of frustration, raising your hands in the air before placing your forehead to the desk.

“Look, I’m just tired of unkind things being said in the media. I don’t mind if they say mean things to me but we’re gonna have a conversation if you’re gonna attack my friends so viciously.” Your voice is muffled and whiny, which means you’re in your inconsolable mood, but by now Izuku is practiced and can get through to you. Izuku’s hands shift from your shoulder to your back and he pulls the stool beside you to sit down.

“I get it, but people say stupid things all the time. Think about what people say about me daily.”

Your head turns to face him.

“The media literally adores you, what are you talking about?” Izuku gives your a cheeky half-smile.

“True, but they didn’t always.”

You give him a soft punch on the shoulder. “Show-off.”

He laughs, and pulls you to him. “You know what it was like when I was a kid though.”

You frown again, thinking about the punches she still thinks she owes Bakugou despite the fact that he’s redeemed himself, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Can I delete it?” he asks.

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Good girl.”

You feel your cheeks warm but don’t say anything as the angry text disappears. He kisses your cheek and gets up again to finish preparing the meal he’d started. You get up as well and wash your hands before joining him.

You work side by side for a few moments before Izuku bumps you gently on the hip. 

“Are you gonna save a bit of the feistiness for bed?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

You bump him back on the hip.

“Pervert.”

He beams. “For you? Absolutely.”

[maisonaime]

The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]

My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them

Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!

“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance

There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.

First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.

Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.

Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.

Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?

Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?

How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.

So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.

Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.

But to you they do.

You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.

You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.

And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.

And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.

The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.

He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.

He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.

He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.

And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.

And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.

And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.

You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”

Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

A Padawan's Confession

Pairings: Obi-Wan x padawan!reader Warnings/Tags: drama, hurt/comfort, age difference, no (further) romantic interaction Summary: G/N reader! You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, rest by a campfire overnight during a mission. As your thoughts get heavier each second he senses your trouble and you take the opportunity to announce your decision to leave the order. Because feelings far beyond the boundaries of the Jedi slowly turn you insane as your heart craves for the man who's both the furthest and closest to you.... Words: 1.7k A/n: This short story is inspired by a one shot I've written many years ago. I hope you like it! Also English isn't my first language so there might be spelling and grammar mistakes in this story!

~~~~~~

The quiet camp fire marked tonight's resting place from your stressful mission. You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat on broken trunks, your cloaks pulled around you tightly to keep the warmth of the fire around your bodies. But as quiet as the night seemed to be, your mind was the exact opposite. Hundreds of thoughts raced around and kept your pulse high and your tension at a maximum. It was at the time you eventually should be honest with your master and talk to him about your decision to leave the order. Your thoughts have been resolving around this topic for months now and with each day passing you felt more certain to pervade your decision, as the pressure and pain got worse and became almost unbearable.

While you tried to think about the best way to tell him, your master sensed your inner tension. "You seem troubled, Y/N," he observed. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

You hesitated for a brief moment before you nodded. "Yes. Kinda..."

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, his neutral facial expression slowly turning into concern. He didn't want you to feel bad. He in fact despised it when you were sad or troubled and that is why he always wanted to be there for you, support you and help you through bad times. Of course it was also his responsibility to care for you but through all the year's you've been his Padawan you grew to be so much more for him, something similar to the daughter he never had. And that is a fact he never actually said out loud but it was a silent truth between the both of you.

You let out a deep sigh but it didn't release any of the heavy pressure pushing down on you. To leave the order was a life-changing decision that couldn't be undone. It could be a big mistake—or the best decision you'll ever make. But after all it hurt a lot to even think about saying goodbye.

"I-" you started but a heavy lump in your throat interrupted you. "I can no longer do this." You automatically lowered your voice and turned your face towards the darkness behind the trees to avoid his glance. You felt tears form in your eyes, so you closed your lids and held your breath. There was almost nothing else as awkward as crying in front of your master, a Jedi in accordance with the code. 'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force,' you quoted in your mind realizing you've broken at least half of the five key principles. What a shame it would be if you'd shown your master how much you were guided by your emotions. "I'm sorry master," you said.

Obi-Wan frowned in both confusion and concern. "You're sorry? For what? What is it you can no longer do?" he asked with a calm voice. He was trying hard to hide how much he worried about you right now.

"All of this," you replied. "I made the decision to leave the Jedi order." Out of a sudden, relief flooded your veins as the heavy weight of those words left your soul with every syllable spoken.

Obi-Wan paused. He didn't even realize he forgot to beathe while the shock of your announcement washed over him. "Y/N," he finally managed to press through his lips. "Leaving the Jedi order is a significant decision."

"I know," you replied.

"May I ask why you've come to this conclusion?"

You hesitated. It made you uncomfortable to talk about the reasons. Then again, informing him was the least you could do. You still didn't manage to make eye contact. "I've broken the Jedi principles. Or, to put it better, it gets harder for me to follow them everyday. I can't no longer distract myself from my emotions and act as if I don't feel any affection. My mind starts to think in ways the doctrines of the Jedi dismiss and I'm afraid I'll and up in demise." The tears lingering in your eyes got more but you still managed to hold them back. It was obvious that your master could feel the bunch of emotions cracking through all of these walls you've built up since the beginning of your training. But there was one you could still hide. One particular emotion you hid so well from the outside and the force sensing abilities of the Jedi that you were sure, no matter how many your master could sense, that one particular emotion wasn't one of them.

"Affection, you say?" Your master responded and you nodded. "May I ask what kind of affection troubles you?"

You wish you could say that it was only a deep friendship that guided you to paths different from the force. But it was more. Something way deeper. "It's love," you said.

"Love," Obi-Wan repeated. As he turned his gaze towards the camp fire, you dared to look at him. He was obviously lost in thought. Maybe he was searching for the best response or he was thinking about you, wondering who the person might be that made you struggle this hard you considered to leave the order. "The Force guides us all on unique journeys," he then said. "And there are many that aren't consistent with the Jedi ways. You're correct, affection—especially love—is a bond that leads you on a path in-between dark and light. What could be a strength might at the same time become a weakness. Where love blooms, passion lingers. And where passion lingers, darkness awaits."

You listened to his words. It was the same doctrine you had internalized for years but the way your master chose his words made it sound different this time. You suspected that he hasn't finished his monologue yet so you stood quite, examining his side profile while his attention seemed to be caught be the dancing flames. He in fact hasn't finished yet. "As you should know I won't judge you. It's not your decision if you fall for someone. It's your decision how you deal with it. And if your feelings affect you in a way they could harm you and the Jedi order this might no longer be your journey. So don't be ashamed."

You took a deep breath and turned your gaze to the fire as well. "Thank you," you said and a tear finally released itself from your strong hold and rolled down your cheek.

"For what?"

"For your understanding."

Your master chuckled. "Let me tell you a secret. When I was your age I've been in love as well. Twice. So I know your struggle. But it was my decision to lock those feelings up and stay in the order."

You blinked in shock. Your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, has once been in love? Well, that was something you would've never expected. But at least he's managed to keep his mind straight. And with that thought you replied: "I don't think I'll ever be able to do the same. It's so hard and the person I'm into is almost always around me." You hesitated, afraid you've said too much. But in the end, it wouldn't matter what you've said the day you announced your decision.

Obi-Wan turned his head to look at you. His blue eyes shimmered in the light of the dancing fire that made his gaze seem even warmer than it already was. "Is it your friend Anakin?" he asked in curiosity and you took a deep breath before you shook your head.

"No. It's not Anakin." And with the words spoken out loud you've finally let the last of all the walls you've built to hide your emotions break into pieces. A warm wave of the force rushed over both of you and the campfire, making it dance uncontrollably fast for a brief moment. You noticed Obi-Wan shift but couldn't certainly say what exactly changed as you allowed him to find out about your feelings for him. Your cheeks immediately turned red and you felt shame rush over you. The emotion behind that wall was the exact reason you wanted to leave. Love for your master, the one who would—and should—never return your feelings. The one who was supposed to care for you, to train you, and who played great value on the Jedi principles. He wasn't even just your master, he was a Jedi master and a member of the high council as well.

Obi-Wan didn't turn his gaze away, his blue eyes now filled with a harsh realization.

Another tear ran down your cheek but you tried your hardest to not look away and keep the eye contact. In the perfect world of your fantasy Obi-Wan would've leaned towards you and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. But this wasn't your fantasy, it was reality. And in reality all he did was sit right in front of you, obviously shocked and speechless—but at the same time comprehending many details of your (probably strange) behaviour in the past. Your stares, the way you laughed particularly often in his presence, you distancing yourself from him after you made a mistake... The ways you've tried to impress him when fighting in battles....

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Obi-Wan finally said with a low voice. He was obviously still speechless.

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... You tried m to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'd never see it again....

You shook your head. "No. Please don't say that as if it was your fault. It's mine. And I'm gonna leave as soon as our mission's over."

"It is your decision how you want to spend your life. But I can't offer you what you want."

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... Everything inside of you screamed for his affection, his love, his heart. You wanted him to touch you, pull you to his chest and kiss you gently. Obi-Wan was everything you've ever wanted and the one thing you'll never get. So you tried to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'll never see it again....

[petermorwood]

This popped up on my YouTube the other day and not to brag, but...

Oh, why the hell not? It's a small brag, but satisfying. :->

I posted about refilling the Pilot Vpen (IRL-UK) / Varsity (US) - and adding how-to links - about 4 years and then again a year ago.

Here are the how-to links; I'm glad to see they're still active.

This one, like the video, calls for pliers and suggests removing the nib:

This one doesn't use pliers or separate the nib from the feed.

*****

Bragging aside, I'm pleased to see Brian Goulet of Goulet Pens giving this hack a higher profile (and Kudos for it, too - as a retailer it's more in his interest to sell them than refill them!)

His reason is very sound: those cheap little pens (usually about 3-to-4 local currency units whether €, $ or £) are ideal for FP-curious newbies or as no-loss-worries when travelling or no-damage-worries loaners.

They also have much better nibs than the price would suggest. Indeed that seems common to all the inexpensive Pilot pens I've tried, which includes every nib size of MR / Metropolitan.

In addition, IMO the notion of "disposable" fountain pens goes completely against the principal FP virtue, where once you've bought the pen, all you USE is the ink.

So in the US at least * buy that ink from Goulet. They've got one or two to choose from and a selection of samples in vials or sets...

( * In Ireland, with Pen Corner in Dublin now gone, I get mine from CultPens or Penstore.)

*****

I should mention, for completeness, that some "starter" fountain pens have prices not much more than these disposables and, refilled by "proper" ink cartridges / bottle-refill converters, don't involve anything like this trouble.

Just saying...

*****

It just so happens that one of my two Vpens was about due for a refill, so here are some pics of the process.

I scrubbed the markings off the barrels a long time ago so I could see what was inside, since refills mean the ink in the pen often has nothing to do with its colour-indicator cap.

First, disassembled and washed in changes of warm water until the water stays clear.

Here's the nib and feed: they've always come out of both Vpens as a single unit, with no need for pliers. Since the nibs show no desire to come off I've no desire to force the issue and maybe break something; those little ink-guide fins are delicate.

The filler is a small syringe begged from our local vet. I also use it to refill cartridges with custom ink colours (yup, I sometimes roll my own...)

Its "needle" is plastic tubing (an empty Pilot gel-pen cartridge, appropriately enough) which fits the syringe perfectly, and a pointy end made by stretching the tube over a candle-flame then snipping to length. If it gets too stained - this is nearly there - just chuck it in the recycle bin and make a new one.

The ink could have been any of the 30-odd I have at the minute, or something mixed specially, but I chose this one - a nice dark green - for the same reason @dduane had me buy it.

It's a very cute bottle... :->

*****

And here's the "disposable" pen refilled, reassembled and re-writing.

It really does have a better nib than you'd expect from a supposedly single-use pen...

*****

It sometimes takes a while for the ink to work its way by capillary action down from barrel to nib, especially if everything has been left to dry after washing. Put the cap on the pen and be patient.

Or speed things up by taking the cap off and running a thin stream of hot water over the barrel for 30 seconds or so. This increases internal pressure, forcing the ink along the section fins.

NB, this step is only for a refilled Vpen / Varsity. Don't try it with anything else, and in case it's not obvious, do this at a washbasin or sink, because You Never Know.

Now use a bit of kitchen paper or loo roll to blot the water which has got on the nib. This has a mild "suction" effect, and when you see ink on the paper (you might need to wet the nib again) your refilled pen is ready for use.

This wet-and-blot nib step can be used to encourage any stubborn fountain pen to get back in action, but the hot water trick, once again, is Vpen only.

Anyway, done.

[sysmedsaresexist]

⚡️News Flash⚡️

ToSD and the ICD - 2023

Autopilot functionality and self-destructive behavior in patients with complex dissociative disorders-A qualitative study

"One important theory of [DDs] is the [ToSD]. It distinguishes between [EPs] that are linked to traumatic memories and [ANPs] functioning in daily life. The 11th revision of the [ICD] newly introduced the diagnosis of [P-DID], acknowledging this theory by including components of it into a clinical diagnostic system."

It's a really interesting article that looks at those with OSDD/DDNOS/P-DID. It also has this amazing quote about functionality and distress, which everyone should read.

Please give it a go, despite the length.

---

In relating to themselves, most participants reported a functional, conformist behavior that we named “autopilot functionality,” one key feature being an explicit outward orientation of the patients, meaning that they tended to focus on other people’s needs rather than their own.

I did not exist. My environment existed. (P9)

From the participants’ point of view, parents played an essential role in the development of this outward-oriented behavior. The participants described that from an early age, they had the impression that their wishes and needs were unimportant. Rather, they felt that they had to conform to the wishes of their caregivers. This led to feelings of guilt and a constant suppression of their own needs and feelings.

The way I grew up… it was rather that I have to take care of my parents and what I want doesn’t actually matter… the main thing is that my parents are well and everyone else is well because otherwise… so I just always had feelings of guilt. […] So the relationship with myself, it was always rather oriented towards the others. (P3(2))

In this context, the participants also reported that they had learned to have little compassion for themselves, so that it felt normal for them to continue to function even though they were feeling bad.

There I am not very sympathetic with myself. That comes from the time when I was a child and for example, I can remember it well, my grandma had died and the teacher then said that I don’t have to do my homework and then I somehow didn’t understand what the one thing had to do with the other. And I think somehow that my mother is also a bit like that, that you still have to do everything somehow, even if it makes you feel bad. (P6)

The outward orientation learned from the caregivers later spread into various areas of life and affected relationships with children, friends, and colleagues. For many participants, work was a field in which they were very functional but often ignored physical needs like hunger, thirst, sleep, or pain in order to (over)fulfill the requirements of their workplace.

You start [work] at 12:30 p.m. and then you have to eat before or after, because there’s no break for six hours of work and then I just comply with the shift. […] And then I was with colleagues who said: “How that, you don’t take breaks, come take a break with us now.” And I said: “I’m not entitled to a break.” (P6(2))

The participants felt enormous pressure to maintain a façade to the outside. This could mean performing well in school or at work, or taking special care of their appearance so that nobody would realize something was not okay.

I always knew that I am not allowed to neglect my body, I have to take care, I need to wash myself, I need to brush my teeth because it’s really dangerous if someone sees that you are not feeling well. That has always been clear to me. (P4)

This mechanism of maintaining a façade had disadvantages for the participants. Because they looked so “normal” and continued to function, it was difficult for those around them to understand that they were not well, which made the participants feel isolated and not understood.

The worse I felt, the more I worked, and almost no one outside understands that. (P1)

The constant focus on functioning for others was exhausting for the participants and made it hard to develop a sense of self. For one participant, it even felt like she had to find a new identity after therapy, because she realized that she had only functioned for others.

Interesting actually that one doesn’t notice that at all. That one is actually only functioning and functioning, but functions really well, because one lives and works for other people. That was a very, very sad insight for me that I said, now I have half of my life behind me and had to realize that now I am born again, and I will look for my new identity with my new personality […]. Because before that, I didn’t feel any pain, I didn’t have any boundaries, I was perfect in everything I did, of course. And now? (P9)

Participants described that one factor that helped them to function was their lack in perceiving feelings and bodily signals. For example, they had difficulties adequately perceiving hunger, thirst, and pain. Consequently, participants compared themselves to robots or machines that worked well but were unable to be in connection with themselves.

In the end, I didn’t feel at all whether the life I’m leading right now is actually what I want or whether I’m just doing it, just to do it, let alone that I felt anything. It was really only getting up, going to work, doing therapy, going home again, working, and somehow it was just like that. I think a robot captures it quite well, well programmed, but that’s just it. (P8(2))

As already described above, these difficulties with the perception of stimuli from within the body also made it difficult for the participants not to overburden themselves. They often only noticed that they had overstepped their boundaries through extreme physical signals (e.g., migraine and sleep disturbances). They also described overburdening as a strategy to distract themselves from complicated feelings and to avoid conflicts.

I was just astonished. Shit why do I have such a migraine now? Or why am I so exhausted and empty…? So, I always had the feeling that I had to do something, maybe to distract myself and I didn’t want anyone to feel offended or somehow get into a fight with me, so I preferred to do it and think to myself, okay, I have a fever of 40 °C, but I’ll do it anyway. (P7)

[astrronomemes]

TEXT POST STARTERS IV

a collection of quotes and quips from popular internet posts. change & alter as needed.

“I can shut down each of my organs through the power of will alone.”

“May your next ibuprofen take effect swiftly and noticeably.”

“I hate when the washing machine is on the scary part.”

“The guy who designed scythes definitely knew that shit was badass. He didn’t care about wheat.”

“Going to the morgue. Y’all need anything?”

“Having a legal name implies the existence of a better, sexier illegal name.”

“Maybe this scented hand soap will be the thing that finally turns my life around.”

“I’ve faced more peer pressure in my life to start animes than do drugs.”

“Cantaloupes taste like they don’t believe in themselves.”

“I don’t have sage-green kitchen cabinets, but I’m being so brave about it.”

“Winnie the Pooh didn’t rock crop tops our whole childhood to watch us become unconfident about our bodies.”

“Maybe this to-do list will fix me.”

“Cross my dick and swear to balls.”

“The Pope wears that big hat because Jesus is under there, controlling him. Ratatouille-style.”

“I am a god among men.”

“The fact that people can see me makes me kinda uncomfortable. Not gonna lie.”

“Standing up too quickly gives me temporary access to shrimp colors.”

“I’ve had a god complex ever since I could never find my name on those gift-shop keychains.”

“I wish I was a lettuce on the produce shelf, being gently misted by the store’s automated showers.”

[idv-sweethearts]

hiii !!!! Could I request ganji with a chef s/o who loves to cook spicy foods??

Ganji with an S/O who Cooks Spicy Food (Headcanons) 🧁

Notes: Sorry about the delay. I had to study his lore, habits, and quotes to get an idea of what his personality is like. I'm so white you'd assume I find ketchup or mayonnaise spicy (I actually really like spicy food), and I'm uneducated on Indian culture, so please pardon any inaccuracies.

♥︎ So, his favorite dish is Curry Pilaf, which is described by the fandom wiki as, "An Indian rice dish commonly consisting of a curry made of a rich, coconut-milk-and-spice-based gravy and cooked with meat, paneer, and vegetables, alongside rice which is infused with spices and simmered in chicken or vegetable (celery and carrot based) stock. It is sometimes eaten alongside yoghurt".

♥︎ In researching curry pilaf, I've seen it described as simultaneously sweet and spicy in a manner that is more warm than hot. Considering it is his favorite dish, it seems he prefers foods that have a bit of a kick to them, but said heat should be supported by other flavors.

♥︎ It is noted in the in-game description of the Curry Pilaf that he sees eating with his right hand and no cutlery as a display of respect for the food. Whether this applies to this dish specifically or all dishes he eats is unclear. However, upon researching Indian eating etiquette, it seems they wash their hands before eating and then eat with minimal cutlery, using their fingers. I don't think he's a messy eater, but accidents happen with forks and spoons, so I hardly think fingers are too different.

♥︎ As such, it would be most considerate of you to avoid foods that may allow liquids to leak into the small scrapes on his hand. He wears gloves while playing, but I doubt his hands are unscathed. Gloves or otherwise, accidents happen and he'd be most grateful if you accommodated. That being said, he won't say anything for a long while if you don't. He's not the talkative type and he won't express difficulty or problems for a while.

♥︎ Some people eat their food with bread or a roll or something and use the bread to soak up all the sauces and such, and I could see him doing something like that to make sure not even a little bit goes to waste.

♥︎ He's thankful for any meal he receives and a meal made for him is something he'll be extra appreciative of. He isn't very verbally expressive, but he would display his gratitude through helping you clean up any messes. Rest assured, he's not upset or ungrateful. He's just quiet, in an attempt at being polite. As time goes on and he feels less pressure to be quiet around you, he'll get more talkative and open about how he feels.

[drchenquill]

Personality through quotes tag~

thank you @kaylinalexanderbooks for tagging me!

My prompt: [A quote about the ocean]

I'll go with Leon from "Him and Me - Bound by Fate"

Leon: "I have never really liked the ocean. It reminds me of how big the world is and how small I am compared to it. As a child, I didn't want to go near the water because I was afraid of being washed away like the shells you find on the beach. My father would put me on his shoulder and tell me that as long as he and my mother were around, no wave could reach me… and now that they're gone, the water has reached me and is slowly drowning me…"

~~~~

Tagging with no pressure @the-golden-comet , @theink-stainedfolk , @sableglass , @finickyfelix @oliolioxenfreewrites open tag~

Your prompt is: [A prompt about arguing with a loved one]

[charbroiledchicken]

just a little WIP game:

"Share one of your characters' name and a quote from them with zero context and let your followers (or other people who stumble upon your post) make assumptions about said character. You can post about more than one character but only one quote for each one for things to stay out of context." - courtesy of @rumeysawrites

Alright lets go!

Cherri (Charity) Lavigne: “Well suffice to say this has been a fucking lovely second date. But if you finally think I don’t have your locket or any remnants of it with me, I’m gonna head off.” 

Lonnie (Atlanta) Varon: “I mean you did rob me. More than once for that matter. How did you think I was going to react? With hugs and smiles?”

Jaye Blakely: “I told you, miss. I’m really sorry about your pet but if you really cared about them you would pay your respects and be done with it.”

Castor Atkinson: “I’m going to go wash the stench of desperation off, but see you when I see you!”

Marylin DeRose: “Well, son of a motherless goat, now I've really ruined my costume.” 

no pressure to do it (but please feel free to tag other people) <3

@rumeysawrites @cheekyboybeth @crowded-empty-places @reedandstorm @ravenwordss @almostdecaffeinatedfun @literally-just-zay @ghostopossumlives @yearningsaphauth @nyx-taylors-version

[columbosunday]

i am fundamentally at odds with organized christian religion but i do find it all fascinating. wheres that jenny holzer quote when u need it. pulls it out of my pocket. ah there it is. "YOU CAN WASH YOUR FACE UNTIL THE SKIN PULLS AND ITS PRESSURE ON YOUR FACE IS A CONSTANT REMINDER THAT YOU ARE ALIVE. THIS IS A MILDER AUTISM THAN SMASHING YOUR HEAD AND CAN BE HELPFUL IN THAT IT KEEPS YOU SENSITIVE."

thanks jenny!

[born-to-riot]

Messaging you... like this?

Any quote? "The games you play you would always win"- Set fire to the rain. And ship… Anything with Eris, preferably Azriel (or if you have a lot of it in your brain, do Cassian x Eris), please

Hope Azris is okay, and uh warning it’s sad and major character death ✌️

Request by: @hieragalbatorixdottir

——————

Azriel has been lying on the top of his roof, face down, head pillowed on his arms, here in the pouring rain for hours now.

He is aware that this may seem dramatic but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. He doesn’t think he can…. He doesn’t even know... All he does know is that he wasn’t expecting it to hit him like this.

They weren’t supposed to understand each other. He wasn’t supposed to fall for him.

It's not like the Mother destined them for each other. They were enemies, they had been for a long time. So why does he feel hollow, why are his insides all numb, why can’t he see past this moment, right here, soaking in the cool downpour.

Azriel’s wings automatically were raised above to let the rain pour off them, but that didn’t stop the water from reaching his hair or pooling underneath him, it's like they were pointless, he was pointless. What was the point anyway…why is he here, why can’t he move?

What is the point of being able to fly? Of being able to communicate with his shadows? What’s the point if he wasn’t able to do what mattered in the end.

Azriel inhales deeply and lets out an involuntarily shaky exhale, there's not much his body can do against the plummeting temperatures of the rain and the subzero levels of his mood and motivation.

He lifts his head up just a miniscule amount from where he had it pillowed in his arms, just enough so he could shift the positioning of his head to the left, then lays it back down, hair sopping wet and hanging over his eyes. It doesn’t cover it all though, there is still a sliver of light peeking through the dark curtain, just enough for his red stained hazel eyes to make out the crumpled piece of papyrus, its ink long washed away by the rain.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he closes his eyes, as he closes the soaked piece of paper into his fist, ignoring how the added pressure makes it fold into itself even more into a soggy pile of scrap, as he pushes his face back into his arms, forcing himself back into darkness, hoping maybe he’ll never have to go back.

How can he come back from this? He can tell his shadows are whispering in his ears trying to tell him something, he can’t bring himself to listen. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to listen to them again. Not after the news they just gave him. Not after the poison they dripped into his consciousness.

Azriel just can’t stop thinking about the perfectly printed scrawl of ink left on the piece of papyrus, the one that’s long been ruined and warped by the rain, molded to his fingers. He wishes the rain could wash away his memories too, that way he can see something else other than the repeated visions of the words that used to be.

My Shadowsinger, I’m afraid we’ve flown a bit too close to the sun, my heart will always be yours, but it seems my spirit is no longer ours to keep.

How did it even come to this point? Why did it feel like he had been felled with his own blade? Why can’t Azriel find the will to live on in a world where Eris Vanserra no longer walks? A world where Eris Vanserra no longer smiles, no longer talks?

How is Azriel supposed to get up, how is he supposed to progress? The tiny thing he stumbled upon with Eris, the relationship they both nurtured between their intertwined hands, its still alive in his chest. What is he to do when he looks for the other, when he reaches out for him, but is inevitably met with nothing but a ghost.

His family doesn’t know, he never bothered to tell them, if he couldn’t understand it himself how could he begin to hope that they might. It's hard to explain how barbed words shifted into playful teasing, how sheer hatred morphed into a cruel understanding.

How was it that Eris Vanserra was able to provide Azriel the exact inexplicable support and company he was craving? Azriel supposes he’ll never have a chance to find an answer… not after the shadows whispered to him of Eris’ death moments after he received his last letter.

Would he have been able to change anything? Would he had been able to prevent it? Would Eris have let him try?

Azriel, for the first time in hours, feels something other than the never ending numbness that had settled over his body ever since he collapsed on the ground with that stupid piece of papyrus in his hand. It's the stinging heat of anger filling him, the steam of fury.

How dare he? How dare he let himself take a risk and not cue in Azriel, how dare he leave him? How dare he force Azriel into solitude again, a world where no one understands. Fucking Vanserras, Azriel thinks, fists tightening. He feels the need to fight but there is no enemy in sight, nothing tangible he can destroy, no escape for the rage. There’s nothing.

How is he supposed to accept that?

Azriel remains in the same position, lying face-down and vulnerable in the pouring rain. He’s soaking, he’s wet, he’s cold. His body shivers anew with each fresh droplet of the ice-cold downpour, his mind is reeling.

Eris would always win their little games, always. He hates to call this tragedy a game, he does. But as Azriel ignores the pleading whispers of his shadows, his skin shriveling under the never-receding pool of water, and his future looking nothing other than dim.

Azriel can’t help but think to himself, looks like Eris has won again.