#soapy arts and crafts

[kiddobubble]

💤 ) can call me bubble or soap , he/bub/pup , transboy , gay 🪽 ) i ' m pretty new to agere & i have a caregiver , ghost ! <3 🥛 ) i just regress & i don ' t exactly know how old i get. 🍼 ) i regress voluntary and involuntarily. 🩹 ) i adore petnames , ( little one , sweetheart & any other ) 🤍 ) i am part of a collective 🧸 ) i love stuffies , drawing , naps , coloring , my cg !

[fist-amidst-the-hands]

izzy being exhausted and falling asleep during his afternoon cuddle with ed, ed doodling on him with whatever is around (ink, charcoal, etc. colorful markers if it's modern). izzy wanting to be mad when he wakes up to find ed still drawing but some of them are kinda cute actually so instead he just listens to ed tell stories about each one

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[vaaaaaiolet]

You take it upon yourself to spice up your husband's work lunches at Rebecca's encouragement, and Leon nearly dies in the process. Is Hello Kitty really a killer? Leon, for one, is convinced she's up to no good.

f / m, you're married to older leon!, crack treated seriously, fluff, slice of life, the dso is just one big happy family because i said so, bento boxes and happy ending but maybe not for chris (i still love my peanut buster king)

word count: 1.4k // read on ao3

a/n: inspired by rrcherrypie's hello kitty bento box video that i watched religiously as a kid. this entire fic is a shitpost tbh LMAO this is my government mandated apology for a story where no one goes anywhere <3 go check it out if you haven't yet!

Ever since his cop days, Leon’s learned that you can’t trust anyone whose hands aren’t in plain sight and well, Hello Kitty’s emblazoned face staring up at him from the kitchen counter doesn’t exactly have hands. Or arms.

Leon scrunches his nose at her and opts to wrap his own arms around your waist instead.

“Doll.”

“Hm?” 

Leon lines the side of your neck with kisses as carrot coins and cucumber slices fall serenely away at your knife. 

“Whatcha doin’?” he prods.

You neatly sweep the vegetables into the Hello Kitty bento box and give your attention-hungry husband a kiss to tide him over, but it’s not quite enough to satiate. Octopus sausages stare back at him with pointy sesame seed eyes, and Leon grows more unsettled by the minute.

He’s done playing nice; gives your hip a pinch. “Come on, you’re killing me here. What’s with all the arts and crafts?”

“Now, before you say anything,” your voice is soft and placating and giving him all the more reason to worry, "‘Becca came by to visit me the other day and said she really liked what I made you for lunch last week.”

“So this is for her?” Leon breathes a sigh of relief. He was starting to thin-

“No, this is for you, silly!”

And you laugh like it’s funny.

“I thought I should start putting in some more effort into your food. You’re away for work so often, and I don’t get to make you nice things as much as I want to.”

Leon chokes a little and looks back down at Hello Kitty’s gleaming metal face. “This is…what I’m taking to work?”

Your face falls. “What, you don’t like it?”

“No, doll, it looks delicious but…you really didn’t have to go all out. Your sandwiches are just fine. I don’t wanna give you the trouble, y’know?” 

“No trouble at all, baby,” you practically sing the words as you twirl to add your knife to a precarious tower of dishes in the sink, “you just say the word, and I can make you bento boxes every week.”

Every week?

You cup a soapy palm to Leon’s cheek as his gaze descends into a thousand-yard stare to rival Hello Kitty’s. “I think your friends might even be excited about your lunch now!”

Oh, absolutely. Chris was going to have a field day.

Chris completely loses his shit as predicted.

“Oh, Leon, it’s adorable,” Rebecca chimes in hopefully as Chris coughs into his fist, “you should have seen how excited she was when I gave her the box!”

The frustrated ceramic click of Leon’s teeth is somehow audible over Chris’ uncivilized howling. “So this was your idea?”

She gives him a sheepish chuckle.

“Rebecca, I thought we were friends,” he pleads as he picks up his metal fork. The team hovers over Leon’s shoulders like vultures to eye what his wife’s made him for lunch. 

To your credit, it’s a mealtime Michelangelo. There are Sanrio-themed rice balls of both the brown and white variety, vegetables neatly cut and festooned with animal picks, a beautifully folded omelet, and the ever omniscient octopus sausages. Hello Kitty’s metal face guards the entire hoard like a gargoyle. It’s enough to make Leon lose his lunch, but he’d have to have some first to cough it up.

He gives the octopus a tentative poke.

“Seriously, Leon, just man up and eat the damn thing.” Jill takes no nonsense as usual, plucking a carrot from the bed of lettuce and tossing it into her mouth. “Chris is just salty he’s having his fifth protein shake lunch of the week.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

It’s never quiet with those two around, but Rebecca gives him an encouraging smile as he gives the octopus a chew. It’s not bad, really. It’s just something about eating something with ey-

Rapid alarm beeps in the main compound snap the team’s attention away from the bento box affair and towards the map in the middle. Rebecca shoots off in her rolling chair to pull up what’s alerting the alarm system, and Hunnigan’s business voice projects into Leon’s earpiece.

“I hope you’ve had a satisfying lunch.” 

He wonders if Hunnigan ever eats as he shoves his bento box into the breast pocket of his leather jacket. 

She, however, is unconcerned. “You’re going to need the energy for the incident we’ve just gotten wind of downtown.”

The situation was supposed to be minor. There were rumors of King Tut’s Curse swirling amongst the museum staff after a rare shipment of Egyptian artifacts, but nobody had taken anything seriously until a janitor walked into the storage room and came back out more dead than alive. Things escalated after the infected janitor wandered into the World War II exhibit and bit the cleaning team there. The staff was horrified, the media was unhelpfully broadcasting the entire thing on live TV, and the DSO had blessedly quieted the whole thing down on that end before directing the case to Leon’s team as a classic T-virus takedown operation.

Easy as pie. Except the undead cleaning crew had gotten ahold of loaded World War II guns, you know, for historical accuracy. 

It’s a cinch for the most part to evacuate the visitors from the museum. Leon ushers terrified middle schoolers out of the exhibits as fast as he can while the rest of his team rounds up the infected, and it’s a routine sweep. He just feels bad for the kiddos.

“But what about the gift sho- AHH!! ” Leon whirls around to see an Infected point a knife bayonet into a terrified sixth-grader’s face. The zombie’s finger pulls back the trigger almost cinematically, and Leon’s not stupid. He’s going to be too late.

The gun fires.

It fires a round directly into his left shoulder as he shoves the kid to safety.

Leon collapses on the ground after shooting the zombie’s head to bits, but his shoulder aches something fierce. Oh God, not again, this time he hasn’t even got Ada to patch him up. He gingerly presses two fingers to the wound and pulls them away to inspect the warm spill of blood, but surprisingly, his fingers come away clean. 

Jill comes running up as he stumbles to his feet. The last of the Infected have been wiped out, she explains frantically, pulling out a roll of gauze, and everything’s secure, but suddenly she stops to peer at his spotless bullet wound.

So it’s not just him. There was definitely a shot, and his shoulder definitely hurts like a bitch. 

But where was the bullet?

You’re chewing your nails down to the quick when Leon walks into the living room later that evening. The quiet shuffle of his shoes falling onto the stand prompts you to smother in him a warm, bakery-scented hug and take him by surprise, but he squeezes you back as much as his shoulder allows.

You sniffle into his leather-clad chest. “I’m so sorry, baby, I just- I saw the news before they stopped the broadcast and I can’t believe they sent you to deal with the riot!”

So that’s what Hunnigan fed the press this time. Practical as always.

“I can’t believe I made you go to work with that stupid lunch,” you carry on, gasping as you spot the bandage peeking through his jacket, “you didn’t like it and you could have died, I’m never-”

“I’m alright, no biggie.” Leon kisses the top of your head, taking you by the arms and sitting you down next to him on the couch. You furiously wipe a tear off your face.

“It’s not alright, I’m never making you anything you don’t like ever again. That bento box is bad juju. I’m telling Rebecca never to buy anything from that shop from now on.”

Okay, so you finally admit the box is creepy. Leon bites back a laugh. 

“Woah, doll, not so fast. You think it’s the box’s fault I got hurt?”

“What else would it be? Today’s the first time you take it to work, and then you get shot on a regular patrol.” You frown as he pulls the Hello Kitty bento out from inside his jacket. “You brought that thing home?”

He chuckles. “Take a look at it. I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

You squint at the tin and realize with a startle that a bullet round is lodged smack dab in the middle of Hello Kitty’s yellow nose. Like a goddamn bullseye.

The lunchbox had taken the brunt of the hit, leaving Leon unscathed.

“Incredible.” you breathe out. 

And he’s inclined to agree.

“So, doll,” Leon grins, “got any leftovers for tomorrow? Chris is a really big fan of the octopus things.”

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[norelationtoatticus]

5 Times Bucky Tricked Steve Into Washing His Hair +1 Time He Didn’t Have To Ask

An art/fic collab for the Stucky Reverse Big Bang 2024 @stuckybangs

Fic by SquadOfCats. Inspired by and featuring artwork from the amazing @taybay14/Taybay14

Summary: During the worst of his recovery, Steve used to wash Bucky’s hair for him. Now, Bucky is a semi-stable hundred year old man who can bathe all by himself… but he misses Steve washing his hair for him. Asking for it? Out of the question. Lies, subterfuge, and expertly crafted machinations to manipulate Steve’s big, soapy hands right where he wants them? Much more Bucky’s style.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 34,886

[softpawpup]

— apollo regressor things !! ( request from @sunkidd )

✨ loves doing painting and arts and crafts

♫ begs to go play outside every time its sunny, will avoid nap time for more play time outside

️🏹 might throw a tiny tantrum about having to come inside

✨ always wants to kiss their caregiver's booboos better

♫ likes " big kid " drinks ( decaf coffee, tea, low caffeine energy drinks, mocktails, babycinnos )

️🏹 gets very messy very easily, but loves getting all soapy and sudsy in the bath

✨ likes playing with bath paints and rubber duckies

♫ loves going to the waterpark and wearing cute swimmies

️🏹 makes sure their goggles and pool accessories match their bathing suit

[soapoet]

PJO pick-a-card reading

Nico di Angelo; Your shadow side

Soapy scribbles: As the title may suggest, this reading is a little dark and full of terrors. Be mindful of this before you read, and judge for yourself whether or not now is a good time to explore the dark. You can always come back later, or never, so fret not if you need to run away and hide. Take good care of yourself, ok? ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: Triggered by SkyDxddy

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, do you feel like Atlas holding the world upon your shoulders to keep your near and dear safe and sound, whilst toying with the thought of dropping those burdens and crushing them like ants, berating them for taking you for granted? The mental load you take on leaves you feeling so capable, yet frustrated with all who by comparison appear foolish and incompetent. You think highly of yourself, but like a flick of a switch you crumble on the shower floor crying for mercy, sending prayers down the drain because yours is a life of the ivory tower and the free fall from it, repeated like a cruel joke stuck in an inescapable loop. He loves me, he loves me not, except you count petals of your own self-worth. You're a genius, you're an idiot. Gorgeous and sweet, vile and grotesque.

You're opinionated, well-read, and seemingly surrounded by imbeciles, yet a silver tongue so easily gets tied as you fear mistakes. Trauma has left you paranoid. Do you fear retaliation? The avalanche triggered by a little hiccup, which buries you, encasing your mistake forevermore, so that shame is to you what the smile is to Mona Lisa and the whole world may gawk and point and laugh and dissect and analyse and theorise centuries from now about how you, a fool, screwed up once and that once was enough to destroy the perception of you which you so carefully tried to protect.

Houdini, you vanish like ashes to the wind, yet crave to be seen and heard and felt and touched. Rejection frightens you, so you perfect the art of care and service. Who could reject a helping hand? What then, when it is never reciprocal, nobody texts you first, unless of course they need something from you? Then you writhe as the anger in your veins burn. Your surface calm hides riptides threatening to grab and pull traitors out to sea to drown. Unable to express your darkest feelings, you've made a name for yourself for your serenity, yet beneath the surface you have been screaming your whole life. Would it kill them to ask you how you are and make space to truly receive the honest answer? You feel like an imposter, a charming attendee at a masquerade who's on a wanted poster for the crimes you commit inside your head at the slightest inconvenience.

02.

Shufflemancy: (S)aint by Marilyn Manson

Everything is perfect, and what isn't must be made so. You do not take shortcuts, you do not round up or down. Like a surgeon your precision is immaculate, but the scalpel cuts deep and swift and you are full of marks of real and imagined flaws and failures you tried to surgically remove. Impossible are the only standards that you know. Enough is not a word in any language that you speak. There is always something you could have done better. As though you were born into a fixer-upper, you became an architect, drawing up careful plans of grandure, which you construct from the rubble. Yet every tile eventually cracks, the paint chips and the hardwoodwood scuffs, so you tear everything back down to ruins and begin anew. You are forever under construction, and always on a tight schedule and low on resources, and never in a million years could you hire a lending hand. Because only you dance with perfection, only you know its touch, and nobody else should get their grubby little hands on fragile things that they'll just break.

You wish so earnestly to be seen. To shine beautifully and be admired by all, but in your paralysing fear of judgement you hide away. To perfect your reflection, your craft, to stride forth with books atop your head with enviable grace. One day you'll show 'em, you say, though you know that you're both the captive of the tower and the beast that guards it. You tell yourself you must earn your keep in the kingdom, unable to rest because the list of things to do is never-ending and replenishes like clockwork, a task done only invites another.

Yet from this tower you gaze upon the crowds, green with envy for their ability to let life happen without white-knuckling the reins. To swim with the current, not against it. And those lucky few, to whom things, a struggle to you, comes with such ease? You could burn them at the stake, and perhaps have in your mind, but this fleeting image invisiblen to all, as through gritted teeth and throbbing jaw and knotted neck, all illusioned into a bright, proud smile, you're the first to stand and give ovation for the achievements of others. Then you slip away from their awfully bright light, into the shadows to scream and cry and punish yourself for not fitting into their shoes. And when they stumble and fall? From the shadows nobody can see your Chesire grin of malice. Which, of course, only adds yet another flaw, another crack in need of mending. Because oh, to be free of this never-ending waltz with self-loathing and misplaced blame, and be whole and happy within yourself and uplift others without walking barefoot on glass doing so.

03.

Shufflemancy: Nobody praying for me by Seether

Peter Pan, won't you grow up? You scrunch your nose and grimace at the very thought. You're capable and incapable baked into a concoction of leftovers at the month's end. Tired and done with the judgement of those you, dripping with sarcasm, call better folks. The naysayers nagging and sticking their noses into businesses none of theirs. Yet at the same time you feel lost and without direction. A free bird in flight, soaring across glimmering seas, with no place to land. Inertia, both an enemy and a lover, lulls you so easily into breadcrumb trails full of wonderful distractions. Only to then strike down the facade of the snow globe dreamscape as it falls and shatters on the floor, leaving you to pick up the pieces and cut your hands on the shards.

Mountains of unfinished projects and tasks lay before you, and no beaten path or compass exists for you to rely on. Alarms and memos blaring, screaming your name and calling you a failure with every ring. Everything done last minute or not at all. Feeling helpless and dependent on others for assistance as the world comes crumbling down seemingly weekly. You point to people, circumstances, the planets and the stars, looking for a scapegoat as you flee from guilt and shame in this horrid cycle you feel unable to escape. To admit you could have had more forethought would be to allow the world to place the dunce hat on your head. To never again be taken seriously. You look away, you run, from the consequences of your own actions and inactions. Hiding under a blanket like a child, certain no monster can see you if you can't see them.

The fear of missing out lurking in your peripheral like a predator waiting for its chance to pounce the second you feel as though your peers are so far ahead of you as you run the race of life with your laces tied together like a cruel joke. What did you do so differently to not deserve guidance, where is your coach, your safety network? You're standing outside in the cold winter watching families in their warm dining rooms making merry, wondering if they'd spare you a slice of bread if you knocked on the door. But the discomfort of cold knuckles against cold hard wood or fingers on a frozen knocker keeps you walking, talking to the streetlights who'd never judge you. Your constant need to justify yourself, explain every word you said which seemingly always fails to land on the tarmac. Every project takes flight but crash lands, and the whole world seems to gather to investigate and scrutinise your pilot error. And you're angry, so frustrated you could cry and wish only to raise your voice, scream in the face of judgement and close their airways. Tell them it isn't fair, that they're all lucky and have no idea what it's like to live life on hardmode, to be ridiculed and reduced to the butt of a joke, forced to serve as the archetypal fool and assumed you'll never amount to anything. Yet you fear your own shadow, certain it could overpower you because it sees what nobody else sees and knows the truth of your neglect and envy and endless chase of the highs at the cost of your desires which need the care and attention you can't give them.

[hdsudsfest]

Suds Lite 2023 - Guidelines

This year the mods have decided to relax into the bubbles and de-stress. Therefore we are running a self-posting fest for 2023!

The Suds Lite collection will be open between 1st October and 25th November and you are free to post your work at any time between those dates.

To get your soapy juices flowing we will be having a round of prompting which will open on 16th August. You can prompt as many times as you like, and creators will be free to choose from the prompts or use a self-prompt. Prompting will close on 31st August.

🧼 Rules:

Works must be inspired by bathing, washing, or getting soapy.

Works must feature Drarry as the main pairing.

Fics must be beta read and tagged appropriately.

No minimum word count for fic (drabbles and poetry are welcome!).

Podfics or remixes of any kind must have the consent of the original author

No AI-created art or fic please.

🛁 Guidelines:

Self-posting fest.

No claiming necessary! Use one of the prompts on the list or self-prompt.

You can post as many works as you like and collaborate if you wish.

Fic, art, craft, podfics all welcome

Works should be posted to the fest collection on AO3, it’s open, unmoderated, non-anonymous and stress-free! (Link to the collection will go live on 1st October 2023)

Promote your fic or art on tumblr, tag the tumblr fest account @hdsudsfest​ and tag your work using #sudsfestlite23 which we will be tracking! That way we can reblog your sudsy creations on the fest tumblr and it will also be a way to collect them in one place for easy searching and reblogging. (We can only reblog NSFW fanart if you have cropped for tumblr’s guidelines.)

If you don’t have a tumblr account let us know at hdsudsfest@gmail.com and we will send you a header form to complete so that we can promote your work for you.

🚿 Dates:

Prompting opens: 16th August 2023

Prompting closes: 31st August 2023

Collection opens: 1st October 2023

Posting/Reblogs begin: 15th October 2023

Collection closes: 25th November 2023

🫧 Come on in! The water’s fine! 🫧

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Just finished Dark Blue Kiss, and I'm sorry, but who said a soapy show like that was allowed to be a treatise on queer philosophy???

Aof Noppharnach was just like, okay class, today we're gonna talk about the relevance of semiotics to the queer experience, but I'm actually gonna make it relatable and entertaining instead of an incomprehensible academic mess. Right from the character intros, he shows an object to represent a character before panning up to their faces. And then the whole show is about surfaces and surface appearances vs. deeper truth; what we say and do vs. what we mean; the evidence of our true selves we leave in the wake of living life vs. what others make of it. We get references to all these different types of recording and documentation and public announcements but all in the context of what's permissible to share, with whom, and its ramifications. Try counting the number of times an object or an act in concealed by something--mugs inside coolies, post-its inside bags, people behind stall doors, fights beneath blankets, gifts inside boxes.

And DBK just refuses to condemn anyone for not being able to fully manifest their truth for others or capture the essence of something (that latter piece I see in all the possessiveness present in the relationships). Despite that, it still maintains that attempting to craft, depict, explain, and understand representations of feelings, experiences, and relationships (like gay rep, for example)--even if those representations can never be totally true to the thing they are representing--has purpose. The purpose, though, isn't to actually pin down the truth but to be a gesture or sign pointing for others towards the thing you find meaningful.

The final voice-over sums it up beautifully, releasing the series and the audience from being attached to its form. "If you ask me if having a relationship status is necessary, I can't answer that. It depends on each couples readiness and reasons. Love has no form and no rules." To speak or act, make art or commit to someone you love, these are not requirements but they are kinds of blessings that, once made, open doors for new experiences with people who can try to understand what you're trying to express. The beauty is in the trying.

Also, Imma need someone to remix the DBK string theme song with Ru Paul's Superstar ASAP.

[sentimental-idiot25]

{2 years into Gojo "adopting" the kids, Soooo if the math maths in my head shoko is gone off to med school, they're a year out of HS Tsumiki and Megumi are 7/8/9 and 6/7/8 respectively idk how the timeline works anymore...im writing this as im avoiding work and school so TA-DAAAAA }

"I don't know— it looks expensive," Megumi said, examining the stain on the painting in Shoko's apartment.

"Fuck," Gojo muttered under his breath, his hand scratching the back of his head.

"You can't say that word in front of us," Tsumiki scolded Gojo, covering her ears with her hands.

Moments earlier:

"Be careful with the paint!" Tsumiki warned as Gojo was creating his own version of an artistic masterpiece. He dipped his paintbrush roughly into the dollop of paint on the palette he had poured out earlier and swiftly whipped it across his canvas, creating 3-D colorful streaks.

"It'll be fine—jeez, you act as if I'm not the adult here," he said without stopping his sporadic movements.

He swiftly dragged his freshly dipped paintbrush from the lower corner of the canvas to the top corner; however, due to the amount of paint on the brush, it flew off and hit a painted portrait on Shoko's walls. The vibrant color of the paint was not well hidden against the darker hues of that decorative piece.

Gojo immediately got up, and the kids followed, "No, no, no..."

Back to the present time:

"This is what we get for sneaking into her apartment—"

"Hey! We didn't sneak in—I told her as we were on our way over!" Gojo corrected, "Plus, we left our art and crafts here last time..." He trailed off.

"So, what do we do?" Tsumiki asked as she stepped closer to the decorative painting, her finger outstretched to touch the splash of paint Gojo managed to get on it.

"DON'T!" Megumi and Gojo both said with their hands out. Tsumiki jumped from their voices.

"Let me see how much it is online," Gojo said, taking out his phone, "What the hell would you even call this? Dark painting with trees and a river?" He said aloud.

He searched for a few minutes, "Anything?" Megumi asked.

"No—ugh, it might be one of a kind," Gojo said, biting his thumb's nail.

"It's okay!" Tsumiki said, "Shoko's understanding!" She said with a smile on her face.

Megumi stared off at the painting and imagined Shoko punching Gojo across the face. He slightly shook his head to stop that image from playing.

"She hardly has decorations as is; I don't want to ruin this," He looked down to Megumi, "Here," He said, handing him his phone, "look up how to get craft paint off surfaces...I'll look through her cleaning supplies."

"Got it," Megumi said, searching it up on Gojo's phone. Gojo walked into the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets. "Soapy warm water?"

"Tsumiki! Here!" Gojo gave her a warm bowl of soapy water, as per the internet's advice, and a paper towel.

She walked back to the painting and wiped the paint. Once she saw it wasn't budging, her eyes grew wide, "Uhhh," She rubbed harder, and the paint budged—it smeared more, "Oh nooo!" She exclaimed.

Gojo's head shot up, and his eyes went wide, "Don't worry; the same would've happened to any of us," He reassured her.

He leaned in to look at the smudged bright red on the dark-hued painting and groaned, "Anything else, Megumi?" He turned back to face Megumi, who was holding the phone.

"Alcohol," Megumi said.

'Shoko has plenty of that,' Gojo thought to himself.

Gojo walked over to the cabinet where Shoko kept her alcohol. He took out a bottle of clear liquor and poured some onto a napkin and walked back over and rubbed the paint smear.

He kept rubbing, and nothing worked—just the smell of alcohol was being cast off the paint.

"What the heck," Gojo said, "Are you sure it said alcohol?"

Megumi looked up, "Rubbing alcohol..." He turned the phone screen towards Gojo and pointed at it.

Gojo ruffled Megumi's hair, "Why didn't you say that earlier!"

The sounds of keys could be heard from the other side of the entrance.

"Shit!" Gojo muttered under his breath.

"Uhh, what do we do?" Tsumiki asked anxiously.

"Just act natural!" Gojo said.

Shoko walked through the door. She stopped when she was met by all three of them standing in the living room looking directly at her. Both Gojo and Tsumiki had wide grins on their faces, while Megumi had one hand up in the air, waving.

"What did you three do?"

"Nothing!" Tsumiki said, smiling wider.

"We were just playing around!" Gojo said, walking closer to Shoko.

"Mhm-hmm," She voiced unconvinced. Gojo got closer to her.

"Did I ever tell you how pretty you looked after school days?" Gojo said with a cheeky smile.

Shoko looked over to the two children, "Okay, they're both alive so that's two for starters..." She walked past Gojo. Gojo swooped in from behind her and was blocking her view of the painting.

Shoko caught on and tried to look behind him, Gojo dodged her view with his body. She tilted her head and gave him a look, while he just kept smiling. She tried to look past him a few more times, but he kept obstructing her view. She tried to step around him, but he picked her up by her arms, as if she were as light as a feather, and put her back in her place.

"Fine!" She threw her hands up in the air. She turned around and began to walk away, Gojo let out a sigh of relief. "You just gonna stand there now?" Shoko asked, looking back at him.

"Yup," He said, rocking between his toes and heels.

"Megumi?" She looked at the kid, "What happened?"

"You can't expect him to tell on us," He reached out his hand to Megumi.

"Us?!" Tsumiki shouted.

"We are in this together," Gojo huffed out.

"Megumi?" Shoko asked again.

"Well," He looked over to Gojo and paused before looking back at Shoko, "I'll let him handle that."

"Gojo?" Shoko asked, crossing her arms.

"Well, we were painting and having fun... things got out of hand and, well," He stepped out of the way to reveal the ruined painting. "So sorry, but I'm handling this like an adult. I am an example to these children."

"After trying to hide it, hmph, right?" Shoko chuckled.

"You're not mad?" Tsumiki asked.

"Oh, not at all!" Shoko smiled at Tsumiki, "I got it for free from a friend who was moving out," Shoko looked to the floor of her living room and saw all of the art pieces the children plus Gojo made, "Plus now I got these I can hang up!" She picked up the one Gojo made, "Megumi did you make this?" She smiled and looked at him.

"No, Gojo did,"

Shoko's smile dropped slightly, "Ah..figures"

[the-knucklesverse]

Are any of the Knuckles a pure bean? If so, can we get a story featuring him?

We do indeed have some pure bean Knuckles.

The adorable and endearing, (yet often mischievous) Little Z.

The cheerful and engaging, Lavender!

The supportive and caring big bro, Boom!

The dragon with the spirit of a golden retriever, Quetzal!

These four are almost never seen angry and never hide that soft heart that almost all Knuckles' share. If someone's having a day or feeling bit down, one of these four will be more than willing to assist with kiddy shenanigans, a cheerful attitude, the big bro vibes or some dragon mandated rest.

And then we have some honorary pure beans in our quieter and more timid, Jax, Gnarly and Yunuen who aren't quite the same as the four above, but these three are unlikely to start a fight or behave aggressively. (These three have been through a lot and must be handled with care)

Now, please enjoy a little wholesome story featuring Z and Lavender, under the cut. ~~ Night

The idea struck Lavender out of nowhere, and whatever was previously on the table was shoved aside in favour of a collection of art and craft supplies. She laid out the pens, pencils and thread in a manner that was messy, but organised to her. She then got to work, smiling all the while.

Her task was simple, but it was going to be a long one. Create a handmade, custom accessory for every Knuckles here. They may all be versions of the same person, but each of them were unique and would need careful thought put into what she made, and while she didn't know now what she was going to make everyone she hoped she'd work it out along the way.

Her first idea was for her sister, she liked things to be practical and serve a purpose, so a band to tie back her spines would do just fine. And while her sister would be fine with just a plain band, Lavender absolutely had to add some flare. Some nice traditional echidna designs would make a wonderful addition.

After about an hour it started to dawn on her that she may have bitten off more than she could chew. With only one gift completed and no solid plans for anyone else, she was stumped and the last fifteen minutes had been spent twirling a pencil around in her ungloved claws. She likely would have spent fifteen more minutes doing nothing but twirling the pencil around if she had not gotten distracted by the sound of little feet moving in an uneven gait in her direction. The closer the footsteps came the more she was able to make out the sound of laughter as well as annoyed, piratey yells that could only come from one echidna.

Little Z came round the corner moments later with the same mischievous grin and giggle he always wore after a prank went off successfully. She had to commend his skill in pranking, and if one of the prank wars between her and her sister ever made it's way here she would certainly be recruiting the little zombie onto her team before her sister got the chance to.

Lavender peered around the corner expecting to see Dread run in grumbling about whatever mischief Z got up to but her action only made Z giggle even harder.

"If you're looking for Dread, he won't be following."

"He won't be?"

"Uh-uh. I got him with a bucket of soapy water. He's gotta go rinse himself now."

Lavender grew a smile to match Little Z's. Dread did smell awful rather often, it was like he took pride in poor hygiene sometimes. "Well you've saved our noses for a while. Well done, Z." She stood up and gave a little silly bow to Z, which he promptly returned in just as silly of a way

"So that's what I've been up to," He swung his arms back and forth as he spoke. "What are you doing?"

Lavender returned her gaze to her craft and huffed. She wanted it to be a surprise to all, but there was no point in hiding it now that Z was here.

"I wanted to make nice accessories for you all. But now I'm completely stumped. I haven't been here long enough to make anything as special and personalized as i made for my sister."

The little zombie somehow became even more excited and began to bounce on his heels "Oh! Oh! I can help! I know lots of little things the other Knuckles like!"

Lavender perked up and hope that she would actually accomplish this project filled her with energy. "Oh please tell me, i've been stuck for so long on this!"

"Don't worry, I got this!" Z shuffled over, grabbing some paper and pencil on the way and stood next to her. "Nile likes to be all fancy and formal. We gotta make him something that uses lots of traditional markings."

"Ooh and Ren likes to hang round the garden doesn't he? Lets make him something flowery he can put on his hat or something!"

"Good idea! For Cyber we'll have to make it a decoration since he wont be able to wear it, OH! and also I got a great Idea for Wachowski!" The two's voices became almost unintelligible to all but each other from the pure excitement coursing through them and many ideas quickly began to get scribbled down and the project was reignited.

Many hours, an one unfortunate incident with glitter later, and all the gifts were completed.

[the12thnightproject]

Warlords on the Maintenance of a Cast Iron Skillet…

a.k.a What if MC was a chef who travelled to the Sengoku with her prized possession, a meticulously seasoned cast iron skillet, and was very particular about how it was cared for…*

Nobunaga – Admires the skill and strength of the metal. Immediately investigates whether it is possible to smith cast iron armor and weapons.

Hideyoshi – The maintenance of all household implements and armor is naturally his domain, but isn’t that skillet too heavy for you, MC?

Mitsuhide – Teases MC by claiming he washed her skillet in soapy water.

Masamune – Completely understands the concept of seasoning, the concept of a favorite pan, and guards the skillet for her as carefully as he guards her heart (but… really wishes she would let him use it… just once).

Ieyasu – Was slightly curious about the skillet (after all, he feels equally affectionate about his sourdough starter) but then…

Mitsunari – Dropped the skillet on Ieyasu’s foot.

Keiji – Can this be flung like a spear? It’s got a great heft to it. It can be flung, right? Flings!!!

Ranmaru – Nearly escapes being brained by flying skillet.

Kennyo – Fascinated by the art of seasoning the skillet, and is lulled into a meditative state by the ASMR quality of the seasoning process.

Motonari – As a fellow cook, he’s interested in the pan, until he discovers that it’s never washed.

Kenshin – “What is the purpose of metal that doesn’t have a pointy end?”

Kanetsugu – As Lord Kenshin says, “what is the purpose of metal that doesn’t have a pointy end?”

Shingen – Is interested in anything that MC is interested in, although his personal interest is aligned with carpentry, not ironworks. Then MC makes a cast iron skillet pie...

Yoshimoto – Not entirely interested in the cast iron skillet itself, but very curious about the cast iron arts and crafts that MC tells him about.

Yukimura – “I don’t get it. It’s a pan. Big deal. OW! Stopping hitting me with that!”

Sasuke – Of course he knows what a cast iron skillet is, and he knows the history of ironworks… but is surprised that he’d never heard of the concept of seasoning a skillet. Fascinating. However… temporarily confiscates the skillet as he is concerned for Yukimura’s safety.

Kicho – Melts it down into a cannon ball and fires it at Azuchi castle.

*Historical note – the earliest reference I can find to cast iron in Japan is 1603 (Because of course, I looked).

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

🛁 for the emoji prompts please 🙏 😏

Getting dirty with Father Paul while you're supposed to be getting clean. Written for the NSFT emoji

Hope it's not too bad :) The ending is something of a teaser for a Christmas smut fic I'll be writing, for which you can thank @aherdofbees, who inspired me... Also, keep watching her tumblr, because an illustration which will go with the story maaay just appear there uwu @vintageglassheart02 and @aherdofbees I love u

NSFT /18+ GET LOST CHILDREN

🛁 - Shower/Bath sex

Shared baths and showers were a regular thing between Father Paul and yourself, and one of many activities you both deeply enjoyed. You loved the feeling of hot water cascading down your bodies as you stood below the shower head. Father Paul let you wash his hair, your digits scratching and massaging his scalp in slow motions, making the priest hum contently, and steal a kiss every chance he got. You washed each other’s backs, fingers working to loosen any kinks or knots that may have formed in your muscles during the day.

When Paul spent the night in your house, you’d often indulge in taking a bath which always lasted at least an hour. You even watched a film there once, thanks to a very handy bathtub shelf which provided a sloping stand perfect for a book or, in this case, a tablet, as well as room for two wine glasses to be safely stood there, while the priest’s body leaned against your own. Your head would be braced on a bath pillow, his own on your shoulder. You massaged his shoulders and spread the warm soapy water over his chest and stomach, while his hands drew circles over your thighs and knees.

While your showers and baths were always filled with tenderness, all love-filled touches, and soft damp kisses, every now and then the mood changed. 

—

You were making a Christmas wreath to hang upon your door when Father Paul arrived. You grinned when you heard him stomp his feet outside of the front door to get the snow off his boots, before he actually came inside. You carried on with your little arts and crafts project, listening to your lover then taking the boots off, and disposing of his big warm parka on a hanger. You only turned around once you heard his footsteps approaching.

You hid your smile behind your palm, mindful not to get any tree sap on your face in the process - the priest looked adorable. His hair was ruffled from the wind, cheeks rosy like two little apples and Paul’s lovely, usually pinkish lips had taken on a purple hue. “W-what’s so f-funny?” he asked with a teasing smile, his teeth still chattering a little. You let your hand fall, revealing your now even wider grin: “You look like you were just passionately snogging a snowman, love.” Paul’s lips thinned in mock-anger. “I’ll show you snogging a snowman,” was all he said before you were pulled close and cold lips crushed against your own. 

You shivered when his cold hands gripped your hips, but had to stifle a giggle soon, because you felt like you were kissing an ice lolly. Father Paul pulled away from your mouth to give you an unreadable look and then proceeded to swiftly move his hands up and under your shirt and press them against your bare ribs. You gave a high pitched squeal and jumped, slapping at his hands and trying to shove them away: “You utter tit!” He had the audacity to actually giggle and try to put his ice cold hands on you again.

You play-wrestled for a while, laughing until you ran out of breath, before he finally took a step back and raised his hands up: “Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist.” You tried to give him a playful pout, but the corners of your lips were turning up anyway. “I’ll take a shower, and, uh, defrost a bit,” Paul said, still chuckling lightly and slowly walking backwards. Before he could reach the hallway however, he stopped with a look that was (unlike his hands) very much warm: “you could join me, if you’d like.” “I’ll just finish up here,” you immediately replied, “I’ll be five minutes.” 

It had started as all of your showers, you announced your presence by knocking on the bathroom door and entered the room. Paul stood in the shower, his shape slightly blurred by the condensation on the shower’s glass wall, and he seemed to be merely enjoying the warm water running down his body. You undressed wordlessly and were soon opening the door to join him under the ray. The priest smiled at you, his colour much better than five minutes ago, and opened his arms. 

You stepped forward carefully at first, but soon embraced him, once you felt his skin was now delightfully warm. For a while you just stood there, kissing wetly, until Father Paul grabbed your hips gently and spun you around. You giggled when he pressed his chest against your back and began delivering more kisses on the nape of your neck. Soon after two soapy hands began spreading the soap suds over your neck and back. Arms, hands and fingers then. Those wonderful hands then moved up once more to touch your collarbone before descending onto your chest. 

The priest took a hold of your breasts and started massaging them, fingers grazing your nipples every now and then, making you hum and turn your head towards him, a silent invitation to claim your mouth once more. You felt long digits on your ribs, your belly, coming down to grab your hips again. And there it was - the mood changed.

So very slowly, Paul’s right hand slid down, his touch delicate like a flutter of a butterfly’s wings, fingers softly gliding over your mound. “Mm… May I?” he asked ever so sweetly against your lips. You opened your eyes to observe his own, almost black with desire, and with a smile you put your hand over his own to guide it lower. Two fingers slided down between your folds and you shivered involuntarily. Father Paul began fondling your most sensitive area and your head fell upon his shoulder, a sigh leaving your mouth as you leaned against the tall body behind you.

Soon the priest’s fingers entered you and you bucked your hips, chasing more friction. His hard cock poked into your backside and Paul let out a shuddered breath. His fingers left your body and he turned you around once more before kissing you senselessly. He blindly reached for the shower head and turned it so that the spray was directed at one of the walls of the shower, all the while pushing his tongue alongside your own in a sweet dance. He turned the shower head away once more and backed you up against the wall, making you smile against his bruising mouth.

It was such a ‘Paul thing’ , warming the cold tiles up with water before pressing your back against them, ever so mindful of your comfort. The hand came back between your legs and fingers returned to slowly pumping in and out of you, quickly finding that perfect spot within and bumping against it with purpose. A thumb flicked your clit and the priest’s lips descended to bite softly at your breast. You released soft gasps and sighs of pleasure, praising your sweetheart lovingly and gently twisting your fingers in his wet hair.

He brought you slowly to your peak and your legs threaten to give out when you tug on his hair in ecstasy. He held you, sure and steady, and pressed you further into the wall. Strong hands gripped the back of your thighs and you were suddenly lifted up. Curling your legs around his torso, Father Paul lowered you onto his hard shaft, and your moan echoed among the drops of hot water. 

He gave you a few moments to adjust to his girth, your walls fluttering around the fleshy intruder. Paul’s fingers dug into the skin of your thighs and arse, sure to leave bruises, and his mouth left sloppy kisses on your neck. He moved then, giving a hard thrust and making your back drag along the tiled wall. You hung on for dear life as he began pounding into you, kissing everywhere he could reach and producing small pleasured sounds. You tried to move your hips in time with his thrusting and soon you found a rhythm that let you slowly climb towards your high once more. 

He captured your lips again, muffling his moans and yours, as his hips sped up their movement. Then, as in slow motion, you felt him shift in an erratic manner and your mouths separate. One of his hands left your bum and hurriedly flew over to the adjoining wall, and there was a wild look in his eyes. You looked down through half lidded eyes, still holding onto his shoulders, and saw that one of his feet was much farther away from the other than it originally was, nearly at the corner of the shower, and it looked rather unstable.

“What happened?” you asked between your laboured breathing. “I slipped,” said Paul sheepishly, his hand still bracing itself against the wall, trying to keep both of you from falling down onto the shower floor. You couldn’t help but start giggling softly at the situation. The priest was sheathed within you completely, his member giving a throb every now and then, and his body was stuck in an utterly awkward position, holding himself and you up with all the strength he could muster. After a few seconds, he began giggling as well.

“Wait, let me-” you said softly and lowered the leg he wasn’t holding back on the ground, finding your footing. Letting his shaft slip out of you, you braced the priest until he could safely return to both of his feet. “I think it’ll be safer like this,” you whispered into his ear and kissed him on the mouth shortly before turning around, putting your hands against the wall and bending over slightly.

Father Paul immediately got behind you and grabbed your hips, guiding you to lift your arse a little. Then, in one fluent steady move, he was buried inside your heat once, making you drop your head back in relief. His arms wrapped around your torso and lips pressed against the junction between your neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the soft skin there. He resumes thrusting into you in the same rhythm you set before your near accident and soon you feel the heavy coil setting within your stomach.  

You pressed your hands hard against the wall, desperate for something to grab onto as Paul’s precise thrusting against your sweet spot began overwhelming you, so you let one hand drop down and take a hold on Paul’s own, intertwining your fingers and squeezing hard. The priest returned your hold and his other hand went to tease at your nub once more. “(F-F/N),” he groaned into your ear, “k-kiss me.” You turned your head as much as you could, latching onto Paul’s mouth and sucking his lower lip into your mouth, nibbling on it gently. 

You could feel him twitch within you and knew he was close. Paul was breathing hard through his nose, releasing low whimpers against your mouth, hips beginning to snap faster, occasionally breaking the rhythm. His fingers on your clit started rubbing harder, quicker and soon you were as close as he, reduced to a whimpering mess under the priest’s attention.

“H-hold on…” he stammered out and suddenly stopped moving entirely, causing you to release a needy, unhappy whine, desperate to reach your release. Father Paul had no intention to let you suffer though, stopping only to take a hold of your leg right below your knee and lift it up, pushing his chest against your back and penetrating you as deep as he could. He resumed his fast movements, hand stroking between your legs at a furious pace now while his hips pumped into you. The new angle made you see stars and you managed to hook one of your arms around his neck for leverage.

“I’m so close, Paul,” you breathed, eyes fluttering open and closed. You were becoming light headed from pleasure, the burning within your core nearly painful now. “Good,” he replied, pressing a short, messy kiss against your open mouth, “g-good, because I’m about to come inside you in thirty se-seconds.” You let out a shaky giggle, which turned into an obscene moan as you found yourself on the very brink: “Let’s make it fifteen,” you managed to get out as you let go, your back arching in a way that would be quite painful were you not being crushed by a tsunami of endorphins, your legs trembling so hard it was a small wonder you were still standing, on one foot no less.

Paul ended up following you no more than ten seconds later, your walls squeezing him tightly and the sight of you so incredibly erotic. He moaned loudly into your skin and fucked into your hole hard, riding out his orgasm. You felt hotness spreading inside you and let your head fall against the priest’s shoulder, post-coital bliss making your eyes heavy and mind empty and quiet. A few short thrusts and soft groans later, Father Paul stilled in his movements, the hand that was previously rubbing at your swollen bud coming to wrap around your waist, the other one carefully lowering your leg back onto the ground. 

He held you close, unsure whether you’re fit to stand on your own just yet and you were rather grateful for that. Your legs felt like jelly and Paul was just so comfortable to lean against. The priest’s fingers wrote invisible words across your skin as his softening member slid out of you. "Not that I'm complaining," you said lazily after a minute or two, "but we're not really saving much water, are we?" Paul chuckled and pressed a sweet peck upon your smiling mouth. "Yeah," he admitted, "better get on with it. Are you alright, can you stand?" 

The rest of the shower was filled with slow tenderness, soft hands sliding across skin and through hair, digits covered in water wrinkles. Later, as you sat in a fluffy bathrobe on the edge of your tub, towelling drops of water out of your hair, Paul would watch you, eyes warm and loving. "Paul," you said, and it was then he realised you probably had been talking to him and he didn't hear a single word. "Huh?" He asked eloquently. There was a knowing mischievous look in your eyes and a grin playing on your lips: "I asked whether you gave the Christmas tree any thought already."

Hello, hope you enjoyed reading!  I originally had a multiple orgasms idea, but it just didn't work for me, so I'll perhaps use it in some future fics.

As always, you can find this story and all of my other stories on AO3. I gobble feedback up like Christmas cookies <3

[gemloremaster]

How to Clean Your Pandora Jewelry: Keep Your Treasures Shining

Pandora jewelry stands as a testament to beauty and craftsmanship, capturing the essence of elegance in every piece. However, like any precious possession, even the most exquisite Pandora jewelry requires a touch of care to maintain its radiant allure. Whether you're a seasoned collector or just starting your Pandora journey, understanding the art of cleaning is paramount. This guide is crafted to be your beacon, illuminating the path to keeping your Pandora earrings, rings, bracelets, and pendants sparkling like new.

Cleaning Pandora Earrings

Earrings, adorned with intricate details and delicate clasps, demand extra care during the cleaning process. Follow these steps for a meticulous shine:

Steps:

Prepare Cleaning Solution: Mix a small amount of mild dish soap in a bowl of warm water.

Gentle Brushing: Dip the toothbrush into the soapy water and delicately brush the earrings, paying meticulous attention to crevices and around the stones.

Thorough Rinse: Rinse the earrings thoroughly under warm running water.

Complete Drying: Dry the earrings completely with a lint-free cloth.

Optional Shine: For an added touch of brilliance, buff the earrings with a polishing cloth designed for silver or gold.

Cleaning Pandora Rings

Rings, exposed to daily wear and tear, require regular cleaning to maintain their allure. Here's how to keep your Pandora rings sparkling:

Steps:

Soaking in Cleaner: Place your ring in a small bowl and pour a small amount of jewelry cleaner over it.

Gentle Brushing: Let the ring soak for the recommended time, then gently brush it with the polishing cloth to remove any remaining tarnish.

Thorough Rinse: Rinse the ring thoroughly under warm running water.

Complete Drying: Dry the ring completely with a lint-free cloth.

Cleaning Pandora Bracelets

Your Pandora bracelet, adorned with a collection of charms, deserves a gentle cleaning routine. Follow these steps to keep it looking its best:

Steps:

Protective Setup: Line a bowl with a soft cloth to prevent the charms from scratching.

Soothing Clean: Add warm water and a few drops of mild dish soap to the bowl. Dip a clean sponge into the soapy water and gently wipe the bracelet and charms.

Thorough Rinse: Rinse the bracelet and charms thoroughly under warm running water.

Complete Drying: Dry the bracelet completely with a lint-free cloth.

Optional Shine: For a final shine, buff the bracelet and charms with a polishing cloth.

Cleaning Pandora Pendants

Pendants, with their unique designs and materials, require specific cleaning techniques. Here's how to care for your Pandora pendants:

Steps:

Gentle Rubbing: Gently rub the pendant with a soft polishing cloth designed for silver or gold.

Detail Cleaning: For intricate details, use a cotton swab dipped in warm water to remove any dirt or dust.

Optional Soapy Clean: If needed, mix a small amount of mild dish soap with warm water and gently clean the pendant using a soft sponge.

Thorough Rinse: Rinse the pendant thoroughly under warm running water.

Complete Drying: Dry the pendant completely with a lint-free cloth.

Additional Tips for Cleaning Pandora Jewelry:

Avoid using harsh chemicals, abrasives, or ultrasonic cleaners, which can damage your jewelry.

Clean your Pandora jewelry regularly, especially if you wear it often.

Store your jewelry in a cool, dry place, ideally in a jewelry box or pouch.

For deep cleaning or if your jewelry is heavily tarnished, consider taking it to a professional jeweler.

By following these simple yet detailed tips, you ensure that your Pandora jewelry will continue to sparkle and shine for years to come. Remember, with proper care, your Pandora pieces will become cherished heirlooms, passing down their radiant allure through generations.

[selchwife]

i hate having like 9,000 insane craft ideas I want to do and like no energy for any of them. HOWEVER.

i saw a youtube video on my twitter timeline about printing onto shirts that has me wanting to try it myself! there are a couple methods you can but the one that seems simplest is block printing. there’s also screen printing but it seems easier to mess up, and i did block printing for art class in middle school so i’m familiar with it (SILLY STATEMENT BUT). i think it would be fun, and i could potentially sell things i made (<- he is getting overambitious given how much of a pain it is getting him to the post office)

im also still thinking about what to do with that empty olive jar. i washed it out but the inside still smells very olive-ish so i put a bunch of soapy water in there and am gonna let it soak. what i’d LIKE to do is make some kind of light out of it, but it’s so small that idk how much utility that would have.

i was reading about stuff you can do with jars like this and found out about this seaglass paint that looks really pretty, so i thought it’d be fun to paint it with that and put the amaurot skyline over that and then have a little light inside. Attaching the light to the lid would also be a good idea.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.8

Holidays

Air Force and Air Defense Forces Day (Ukraine)

Arafat Day (Afghanistan, Djibouti, Egypt, Kuwait, Libya, UAE)

ASB & Health Day (UK)

Be a Kid Again Day

Carver Day (Missouri)

Child Honoring Day (Raffi Foundation)

Constitution Day (Palau)

Corban Bairam Day (Sudan)

Family Day (Ukraine)

Gospel Day (Kiribati)

Hajj Day (Maldives)

Hamburg Massacre Anniversary Day

Historic Places Day (Canada)

International Body Painting Day

International Paramedics Day

Killer Joke Day

Kurban Bayramı Eve (Turkey)

Liberty Bell Crack Day

Math 2.0 Day

Mediterranean International Day

National Day of Righteous Outrage

National Denise Day

National Kathryn Day

National Love Your Skin Day

National Scince Day (Brazil)

National Videogame Day

Old Crafts Day

Olive Branch Petition Day

Oneofusismissing Day

Park Day (French Republic)

Picking Up Women Day (Japan)

SCUD Day (Savor the Comic, Unplug the Drama)

Soapy Smith Wake (Alaska)

There Has Always Been Something Day

Video Games Day

World Day of Allergies

Ziegfeld Follies Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Coca-Cola Day

Don’t Put All Your Eggs in One Omelette Day

National Blueberry Day

National Freezer Pop Day

National Ice Cream Sundae Day

National Milk Chocolate with Almonds Day

World Tea Party Day (SPANA or Society for the Protection of Animals Abroad)

2nd Saturday in July

Bald In / Bald Out Day [2nd Saturday]

Blissfest begins (Michigan) [2nd Saturday]

Bohemian Club Rites begin (California) [2nd Saturday]

Bon Odori (Festival of the Lanterns; Japan) [2nd Saturday]

Carver Day (Missouri) [2nd Saturday]

Grange Day [2nd Saturday]

International Brick & Rolling Pin Throwing Contest (Stroud; Australia, Canada, UK, US) [2nd Saturday]

International Skinny Dip Day [2nd Saturday]

Lindenfest begins (Rhineland, Germany) [2nd Saturday]

The Mooning of the Amtrak (Laguna Niguel, California) [2nd Saturday]

Stone House Day (New York) [2nd Saturday]

World Rum Day [2nd Saturday]

Independence Days

Empire of Pavlov (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Kingdom of Beaver Island (Declared; 1850) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Abda and Sabas (Christian; Saint)

Artemisia Gentileschi (Artology)

Auspicius of Trier (Christian; Saint)

Charlotte the Penguin (Muppetism)

Eid al Adha (Bahrain, Jordan, Oman, Pakistan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Yemen)

Elizabeth, Queen of Portugal (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Sunniva (Norse Goddess of the Sun)

Grimbald (Christian; Confessor)

Innocent III (Positivist; Saint)

Itchy (Muppetism)

Justica II: Day of Dike (Pagan)

Kilian, Totnan, and Colman (Christian; Saints) [Kilian: Bavaria, Austria]

Meatball Appreciation Day (Pastafarian)

Nummius (Christian; Confessor)

Peter and Fevronia Day (Russian Orthodox)

Procopius of Scythopolis (Christian; Saint)

Sunniva and companions (Norse Solar Maidens)

Theobald of Marly (Christian; Saint)

Vitulatio (Ancient Roman Fruits of the Earth celebration)

Withburge of Norfolk (Christian; Saint)

Zorak Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Batman: Gotham Knight (WB Animated Film; 2008)

Beauty and the Beat, by The Go-Go’s (Album; 1981)

8 Ball Bunny (WB LT Cartoon; 1950)

Fantastic Four (Film; 2005)

The Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling (Novel; 2000) [Harry Potter #4]

Having a Wild Weekend (Film; 1965)

Horrible Bosses (Film; 2011)

How to Have an Accident in the Home (Disney Cartoon; 1956)

Inception (Film; 2010)

Melrose Place (TV Series; 1992)

Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates (Film; 2016)

Murderball (Film; 2005)

Nowhere Man, by The Beatles (4-Track EP; 1966)

The Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling (Novel; 1999) [Harry Potter #3]

Radio Free Europe, by R.E.M. (Song; 1981)

The Sea Beast (Animated Film; 2022)

The Secret Life of Pets (Animated Film; 2016)

Shuffle Off to Buffalo (WB MM Cartoon; 1933)

Sword Art Online (Anime Series; 2012)

Thor: Love and Thunder (Film; 2022)

Wannabe, by the Spice Girls (Album; 1996)

You Better Run, by Pat Benatar (Song; 1980)

Today’s Name Days

Amalia, Edgar, Kilian (Austria)

Akvila, Eugen, Hadrijan, Priscila (Croatia)

Nora (Czech Republic)

Kjeld (Denmark)

Eleonoora, Ellinor, Leonoora, Loora, Loore, Noora, Nora (Estonia)

Turkka, Turo (Finland)

Edgar, Killian, Priscillia, Thibault (France)

Kilian, Amalia, Edgar (Germany)

Prokopios, Theofilos (Greece)

Ellák (Hungary)

Domenica (Italy)

Ada, Adele, Adeline, Antra (Latvia)

Arnoldas, Elžbieta, Elzė, Vaitautas, Valmantė, Virga, Virginija (Lithuania)

Sunniva, Synne, Synnøve (Norway)

Adrian, Adrianna, Chwalimir, Edgar, Elżbieta, Eugeniusz, Kilian, Prokop, Wirginia (Poland)

Astion, Epictet (România)

Ivan (Slovakia)

Adrián, Adriano, Priscila (Spain)

Kjell (Sweden)

Prokip, Prokop (Ukraine)

Aquila, Aquiline, Easton, Kilian (USA)

Thibaut (Universal)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 189 of 2024; 176 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 6 of week 27 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Duir (Oak) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 21 (Ding-Mao)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 19 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 19 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 9 Lux; Twosday [9 of 30]

Julian: 25 June 2023

Moon: 65%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 21 Charlemagne (7th Month) [Innocent III]

Runic Half Month: Feoh (Wealth) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 18 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 18 of 31)