#washing mum

[kundst]

Charlotte Mouwens (Dutch 1981)

The wash' mum (2024)

Inkpainting (70 x 50 cm)

[aro-aizawa]

i like to think everyone has a colour associated with them, whether its just your fave colour or what you generally wear most of or what colour your bedroom walls are. i always associate the name sophie with dark blue, my mum is always a nice turquoise, i like to think my colour is a bright sunflower yellow.

if you have a specific shade pls tell me i adore when ppl have associated colours and tell me them, bc i think of them when i see that colour

[nonbinary-sticks-the-badger]

how i feel putting on lavender body wash

[ollylotl]

a dream of home

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

Friends (that we made up for along the way) Chapter 10

Part 1 |  Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

heyy. it's only been like a year and a bit or however long but. here's what might be The Last ? chapter of this fic. unless i can think of more. but i dont think i can. it's now more so i can say i actually uploaded everything more than anything else.

Characters:  this chapter: Gordon, Edward, Henry, James, Duck

Relationships: platonic gordon&edward a major focus, some possible allusions to 2x3 - this chapter has 2&3&4&5 friendship

Genre: Human AU, hurt/comfort

Chapter’s Wordcount: roughly 1300words [under the cut]

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (they are at a pub), discussion of medical procedures, mentions of medicine, recoveries.

Chapter 10/10(?)

Edward was actually up and walking like normal by the time Henry came back. Sir Topham Hatt had spread the news the moment he’d heard Henry was in a stable condition, the moment he’d heard Henry was awake, and so on and so forth, and had even travelled to the mainland multiple times to visit Henry himself.

He had mandated that Henry had to go through a full physical recovery before he come back, but it was clear when he had returned from the mainland with a relieved expression that Henry was going to be alright.

So the day Henry actually came back, months later but looking healthier than maybe anyone had ever seen him, grinning and to a great hullabaloo, everyone decided a party was in order.

Eventually, after a huge staff party that had tired most of them out, a smaller group of them winded up that evening in one of Sodor’s best bars, and James had offered to buy a round for the table.

“Not for me,” Henry had to sigh. “My new medication, I can’t drink.”

“A fate worse than death!” James crowed in reply, before winking to prove he was joking. “So, milk for the gentleman, alright. You two?”

Gordon snorted at that as Edward patted Henry’s arm to console his fake-outrage.

“Sure,” Edward smiled. Gordon nodded, and James hopped off his tall barstool to go order.

��Medication?” Gordon questioned, turning back to Henry.

“Yeah! Turns out my heart’s shit,” Henry sighed, propping his chin in his hand. “So it’ll help regulate that so I can actually do stuff without, like, falling over.”

“Oh.”

Henry laughed at his expression. “It’s alright! I feel better than I have in years. And you’ll never believe what all the back pain was from.”

“What?” Edward leant forward too.

“Gallstones,” Henry replied conversationally. “Turns out I had a bunch of them.”

Gordon winced in sympathy. “I hear those are nasty.”

“Very much so,” Henry grinned back, and while it was very weird to see him smiling about his old pains, at least it was better than him breaking down about it. “Turns out it’s very common to mistake gallstones for just… chronic back pain. The surgeon who removed mine said he’d never seen one so big.”

He made out the rough sizing with his fingers, and Edward and Gordon shot each other a look that was verging on horrified.

Henry laughed at that too. “But I’m better now,” he said, and then he laughed again, and it was loud, and joyous, and carefree, and attracted a few glances. “I’m better! I feel good! I…”

He slumped back in his chair and covered his mouth a moment, seeming to be fighting off the fact he was tearing up a little, like the realisation that he might not have to struggle has much as he had in the past had yet to fully settle.

“That’s good,” Gordon reached over and patted him firmly on the shoulder. “I’m delighted for you.”

Henry patted him on the arm right back, hand falling away to reveal a grin breaking out over his face again. His ice-blue eyes were shining with a life that Gordon had never seen before.

“Thank you,” he said. “Cinders and ashes, it’s good to be back. I’ll tell you what, it’s been too quiet without you all. They’re a stuck-up bunch, over there. Tall poppies, the lot of them.”

James then came back with their drinks, very impressively holding four pints at once, before setting them down and distributing them.

“Hope lemon lime and bitters isn’t too much for you,” he said as he pushed the equivalent pint towards Henry.

“Perfect,” Henry smiled. “Thanks.”

James smiled back, and hopped back up next to Edward. “What did I miss?”

“Just the gory details of his surgery,” Edward said, elbowing James lightly.

“You said it without me?!” James threw a hand into the hair in exasperation. “C’mon!”

Henry laughed again. “Fine, if I must, I’ll explain even more. Hope you haven’t eaten yet!”

--- --- ---

For the first time in a long time, Gordon could actually agree with the phrase that ‘everything went back to normal’.

And the change in Henry was a relief in itself. He held himself taller, he could do more for longer, and Gordon found his energy infectious. It finally felt like Henry was the equal he always could (and perhaps should) have been.

And even more of a relief, Edward was cleared for full active duty again. The kicker was that he didn’t actually tell Gordon this to his face. Instead, Edward let Gordon leave that morning, following their recent routine, before rushing to get dressed himself and run out the door once the coast was clear.

So naturally, Gordon’s surprise was well through the roof when at 10:30am, when his train would normally cross with Edward’s at Knapford, he heard a shout of his name, and looked up from where he was climbing out of his cab to see Edward himself running down the platform, full uniform, bag slung over his shoulder, the biggest smile he’d seen on the man since Henry came home.

“Hello!” Edward chirped, coming to a halt in front of Gordon, out of breath but looking so very alive.

“You’re working,” Gordon said bluntly, stumped.

Edward laughed, loud and long enough for the worry Gordon had been sitting on for so long finally started wearing away. “I am!” he said. “Now, come, sit! I have tea!”

And they shared a morning tea on the bench on the Knapford platform. Gordon regarded the travel cups they were using with a snort of amusement – it was the same set from the last time they did this.

Perhaps, then, Edward was trying to tell him something. Maybe he was trying to do it without words, in that way Edward always claimed Gordon did too.

…It was nice to see him out of the house, up on his feet, out in the sunshine. There was even fresh soot speckled on the collar of his white shirt, and Edward had seemed to not only notice, but relish in it.

Gordon hid a smile behind the rip of the cup. It was good to see him like this.

Edward turned to him to comment on something, and caught the look Gordon had been shooting him, which Gordon quickly let drop away into something more stony, but it was too late. Edward didn’t comment on it, though. He just winked at him and passed Gordon the food he’d brought for the two of them to share.

And so they sat, and ate, and chatted. Edward wasn’t going to lie, he was monitoring that crease between Gordon’s eyebrows closely, one he swore had been deepening as the weeks had trailed on, and felt a hundred tons lighter to see it finally easing.

Off down the platform, Edward looked up to see Duck there, talking to the station master a good handful of metres away. When Duck finished his conversation, he turned, presumably to leave, but Edward managed to catch his eye.

Duck paused, eyes flicking between him and Gordon, before smiling and nodding. He shot Edward the most subtle thumbs-up he could manage, and Edward simply winked back. When Gordon eventually looked up to see what Edward was looking at, he nodded at Duck in greetings, surprised to see him there. Duck, from that distance away, grinned and tipped his hat to the two of them before skipping off.

Gordon raised an eyebrow at that, before glancing at Edward with a look that said ‘wonder what that was all about’  accompanied by an eye-roll. Edward simply chuckled a little to himself, and said nothing more.

It may take a while to get everything smoothed out, but they were most certainly on their way, and well, Edward could cope with that.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Because the bedsheet ask was so random, I have another random ask…

When you wash cups, do you let them air dry or dry them with a towel…

How did 2024 get me to this point?

Now, listen up, maggots. Picture this:

There you are, posed in front of the sink (no dishwashers please, I'm too broke to know how dishwashers work, I've only read about them in Drarry fanfics). You stand there, and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

Your cup, that you drank tea from but it was actually spiked with alcohol because your third cousin gossiped about your sister's husband to her mother-in-law and you're the go-between, is in your hand. You have just washed it.

The drops of water glisten in the noon sun. You wonder, briefly, why adulthood has you drinking before 1 pm. Then you brush that thought away like you did your sweat. Some things are best ignored.

What is important is the cup. You look at it, so wet and glistening and ready for you, and you wonder how to do it justice. Should you take the towel and gently rub it until it's dry and clean? Surely you should! You look around for the towel.

There hangs the towel, on the hook by the sink. It is coarse, and off-white, like eggified precome. Have you been reading too much fanfiction? No. Anyway, you reach for the towel, but pause midway.

The towel has been hanging there, moist from the last rubbing, fermented with bacteria and protozoans that yearn to feel its wetness and consume it. The fungi have not arrived yet, you take care to wash the towel enough for that. Or do you?

You hesitate, you do not remember the last time you washed the towel. Aftercare is a lost art, fading away like handweaving and ironworking and the knowledge that crumbled in Alexandria.

You look down at your darling cup, cradling so trustingly in the palm of your hand, still wet but not so much anymore, warming in the sunlight.

No, you decide. You will not sully your cup. You lay it aside to airdry, and cast one lingering glance at it before walking away.

The towel still remains on the hook, hanged for its crimes, left to its fate. Always to clean, never to be cleaned.

You have made the right choice. The cup will be pristine. The towel wilts in the noon sun, before hardening like plaster. A statue, a work of permanence, the mortification of the filth in flesh that the first ascetic Christians who settled in Ancient Rome preached.

All is well.

[bobbie-robron]

What, you’ve got death wish or something?

02-Jul-2019, ep. 1 & 2

[v-as-in-victor]

"Sewing is supposed to be fun!" a youtuber just said.

I hear that, but what if sewing is just how I am getting clothes because getting clothes is hard and I have a strong personal sense of style? Does everything have to be fun? Yes, I enjoy parts of the process, mostly the actual at the sewing machine parts, and the picking out fabrics part. But honestly, I'm a production sewist not a process sewist and that's just going to have to be okay.

Video games are fun. Making visual art is generally pleasurable for me. Sewing is a thing I do to accomplish a thing I want.

[stellewriites]

having my brother move back in has solidified my stance that i don’t think i could ever willingly choose to live with a man

[palettepainter]

If I get one more phone call today I'm punching the next person I see

[mentha-vacciniumrainbow]

I did a thing. The thing took 5 hours of my life. It was an accident but I still love it. Enjoy the thing! 💜

[lilithofpenandbook]

...Well I guess I've got Snape's hair then.

[milf-harrington]

really short and silly munson family piece, inspired by something that happened to me literally an hour ago

cw: spiders

---

Eddie reared back with a yelp of alarm. "Oh my god- nope. Wayne!"

Abandoning the washing basket, and whatever organs had just fallen out of his ass, Eddie stomped around the side of the trailer, checking fruitlessly over his shoulder like he was being followed.

The porch lights were warm, orange and familiar, and they helped him to breathe easier now that he wasn't alone in the dark, face to face with a demon.

"What're you shriekin' about?" Wayne was settled on the front steps, smoke curling from a lit cigarette.

"There is a big fucking spider and I almost walked directly- ah!" Eddie flinched when something brushed his jaw, slapping aggressively at his neck and face until he realised it was just his hair. He sighed, relieved. "I almost walked right into it."

Wayne eyed him, exhaling smoke through his nose before nodding towards the corner Eddie had just come from. "You need me to kill it?"

He opened his mouth, prepared with an emphatic yes please, but paused. It's not like it had gone out of it's way to attack him, Eddie had just had the misfortune of almost walking directly through it - would have if he hadn't turned the torch on when he had.

"Well, it's kind of just minding it's own business."

"So I don't need t'kill it?"

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the inky shadows. His skin was still crawling, every unexpected brush belonging to a phantom arachnid. But a quiet sort of guilt pooled in the back of his throat, bittersweet and cold, at the idea of killing it just because he was scared. He shook his head, scratching his arm. "No."

He shuffled on the spot, hoping if he looked pathetic enough his uncle would take pity on him.

"Weren't you doing something?"

"Can't you finish hanging it out? I'm still recovering from seeing my life flash before my eyes."

"They're your sheets, Ed. I just washed 'em."

"But Wayne." He whined, entirely unrepentant about the childish nature of his behavior.

Wayne Munson remained unmoved, however, and Eddie was forced to brave the washing line all over again. God, he missed the time of about 10 minutes ago when he hadn't been aware of the hell spawn watching him mutter about pegs.

[thegreatlibraryfangirl]

Care and concern from the beloved mutual @novaliae

[lordrahlprotects]

Bandcamp link

Spotify link

Folks, it's over. Song of the year is here.

[thunkinator]

does anyone else find it crazy when u try to explain how ur feeling to someone and they tell u u actually dont feel like that?? sure is to me! hahaha! crazy!!!