#print alphabet pattern

[flamestar126]

Game Night with Douglas

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What happens after Douglas leaves for a second

rambling about their outfit in tags

[limendesign]

Upper Case Letter H Vector Repeat Pattern

[contempocrossstitch]

Cheetah Pattern Letters | Counted Cross Stitch Patterns | Instant PDF Download

[nonasuch]

Miss Universe National Costume 2024, Part 2!

Splitting this off into a new post so I'm not clogging up everyone's dash quite as much.

Miss Malta is some sort of environmental protection Sailor Scout. I think the giant bow would look better on the back of the skirt but otherwise this is solid.

It has just come to my attention that I skipped over Miss Albania and several other A/B countries, back at the beginning. I sincerely apologize! She went to all this trouble putting together a Fifth Element cruise ship passenger costume, and I nearly missed it.

Miss Armenia, in what even I have to admit would be a legit Princess Leia fit.

Miss Bahrain, adding some green to her Gold And Vaguely Historical look, along with what is either a comically large prop chalice or an upside-down lamp.

Miss Bangladesh appears to believe that adding two plush tigers from the toy store around the corner from the pageant venue will conceal the fact that she is just wearing a tiger-print evening dress. Miss Bangladesh is incorrect.

Miss Belgium. Girl. No.

Miss Belize let the seventh-grade art class do her whole costume, which was a bold choice.

Okay, I think that's everyone I missed! Back to alphabetical order. And I should have to rely less on shitty screenshots, now. Some countries were benefiting from the low resolution, tbh.

Kind of feel like Miss Maldives had a luggage mishap and she's just wearing the outfit she packed for a slightly dressy dinner.

Miss Martinique's costume would honestly have looked better in the shitty screencap version. The construction is... bad. It's bad.

Feel like we're in a little bit of slump here. Miss Mauritius did not stick enough butterfly appliqués to her gown to conceal that it is, in fact, just a regular evening gown.

Slump officially over! We are so back. Everyone say thank you, Miss Mexico.

I would like this better if it had just committed to the giant skirt and not felt the need to make it a Sexy Miniskirt look. Sorry, Miss Moldova.

Miss Mongolia wanted to stand out from all the other gold armor on stage, so she decided to a) wear cooler armor and b) bring a bow and arrow instead of a sword. Great work, Miss Mongolia.

Starting to feel like I'm picking on the smaller countries that probably don't have a huge pageant culture or the budget for really elaborate costumes, but on the other hand Miss Montenegro's costume is super low-effort AND the fabrics look cheap, so what am I supposed to do?

Okay, this looks like a pretty standard Miss Universe Sexy Bird, yes? Well, THIS is how Miss Myanmar entered the stage:

She had to fight her way out of that thing! God only knows what the visibility was like in there.

I think the hat is doing most of the heavy lifting to keep Miss Namibia's costume from being Just An Evening Dress, sadly.

Oh, yikes. It's more obvious in motion but Miss Nepal's bodice looks like it's made of craft foam and it fits real weird. The rest of it looks a little like she got together with Miss Cyprus and a pile of tablecloths for a sewing bee last night, I'm sorry to say.

Miss Netherlands has chosen a Tribute to Delft. I think if I were in charge of this costume I would do a much fuller skirt that falls from the waist, instead of the weird trumpet-skirt-with-hoop we've got here. And, obviously, I would make the windmill on the bodice actually spin.

It looks like she's having some issues keeping the wings and peplum in place, but I really like Miss New Zealand's costume from a design perspective. It at least slightly resembles the bird it's supposed to be (New Zealand fantail) and I think the feather pattern is meant to be in a Maori art style.

Miss Nicaragua is a Sexy Cathedral, which I think might be a Miss Universe first and is definitely a big old step closer to drag.

Okay, pausing here to get the next batch ready.

[hatethysinner]

Saw your requests are open and I’ve been thinking about OC from Let the Wrong One In being fascinated by Remmick’s fangs once he finally reveals himself as a vampire to her and admiring his other vampiric features (claws, those Bambi-from-hell eyes). In all his 1,000+ yrs Remmick is shocked he inspires awe not fear for once

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ

a/n: YES YES YES YES YES I LOVE YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS! originally i wanted to just do a small domestic fluff fic but i got carried away bc this theme was so good so i knew i needed to format this at least semi-right 😭. regardless, it was such a needed break for me from writing the current behemoth i'm working on now. i played with the vampire lore a little bit, don't hate me </3. hope y'all enjoy! this will be an add-on to let the wrong one in, but there's no need to read it before this one (though i do highly recommend it).

wc: 4.3k

You’d always known there was something off about him.

Not wrong, exactly. Just… other.

It wasn’t just the way he’d limped through your threshold that first day, smoking at the skin like meat on a spit. Or how he never cast a reflection in the window behind the stove, even though the lamp always burned bright. You’d chalked it up to trauma at first. Sickness. Strange blood and painful burns.

But now, a week on, with the worst of the wounds healed and the swelling down to faint scars, there were things you couldn’t unsee.

He didn’t breathe when he slept.

Or if he did, it was shallow and irregular, more a mimic of habit than need. He'd go so still that you'd catch yourself leaning close to check his chest, just to make sure he was still there. Still real. Still resting in the quilt you’d laid out for him, curled at the edge of the hearth like a dog that didn’t believe it had earned the bed yet.

And he never left the house during the day. Not once. Whatever needed doing, he found a way to do it inside. Tinkering with the old radio, rearranging the pantry by scent alone, folding your laundry into neat, obsessive little squares though you never asked. He swept the floors more often than they needed it, flipped through your recipe book like it was scripture. Quiet, always. Careful, always. And secretly, it was your favorite time. The hush of morning light creeping through the curtains, the gentle rustle of him moving from place to place, like he couldn’t bear to sit still unless you asked him to.

But some nights, never on a pattern, never with warning, he’d vanish. You’d wake to cold sheets and the door left just barely ajar, hinges greased silent, latch clicked shut behind him. He always returned before sunrise, soaked in swamp water and silence. His boots left damp prints on the porch, and you’d hear him at the basin, cloth slapping water, breath low and quick like he was trying not to wake you. Sometimes he’d hum, something ancient and broken, as if to stitch himself back together before you saw him again.

And then there were the teeth.

He didn’t hide them anymore. Not the way he did the first night, lips tight and showing just enough to leave space for reasonable doubt. Now he let them rest where they were. Jagged and perfect, sharper than they had any right to be, glinting white in the oil lamp’s glow. You’d see them when he smiled, when he got too pleased with himself over something simple, like organizing your jars alphabetically or stacking your firewood into perfectly symmetrical towers. That grin would slip out before he could tuck it back. Not sheepish. Just… exposed.

And his eyes, God, his eyes.

They were still that endless, brilliant blue. But sometimes, when the light caught them just right, they glinted red. Not bright. Not obvious. Just a shimmer beneath the surface, like an ember curled deep in a log, waiting to be stoked. They never glowed, but you saw the way they shimmered in the dark. Watching you. Always watching.

He didn't try to hide it anymore. Not fully.

And you weren’t scared.

You told yourself that a lot lately. You weren’t scared. Curious, maybe. Studious. Alert in the way you were when you spotted a new plant blooming near the edge of the yard. Not afraid, just aware. You’d lived with strange things before. Nature never asked permission to be unknowable. Neither, it seemed, did Remmick.

He’d taken to helping you make tea.

He said he liked the smell. Said it reminded him of places he didn’t quite remember. The way he said it made your skin prickle. Like the memory was too old, or too far, or not quite his anymore.

You watched him now, standing at your counter, sorting dried chamomile and rose hips into little cloth sachets. He moved slowly, precisely. His hands were always gentle, careful not to bruise the petals. But the way his claws, because that’s what they were, now, no denying it, clicked faintly against the mason jars told you he was fighting to keep them sheathed.

They weren’t long. Not monstrous. But they were sharp, curved, and wickedly clean. Manicured like talons.

You didn’t ask about them.

You didn’t ask why his hands trembled when he held the lavender. Or why he never touched the garlic strung above the door. Or why he flinched, just barely, when you kissed his temple the night before.

You didn’t ask.

You just watched. Waited.

He hadn’t told you what he was.

But your body already knew.

And the strangest part? He looked peaceful like this.

Not natural. But calm. Almost happy.

You’d caught him humming again. Not always. Just at night, when he thought you were asleep. Soft, tuneless melodies, like lullabies spoken in a language you didn’t recognize. You could feel them in your bones more than your ears. They made your garden bloom early. They made the wind hush.

Remmick glanced over his shoulder now, catching you watching him from your seat near the hearth. His face split into a shy smile, fangs peeking through.

“Ain’t mean to wake ya,” he said.

“You didn’t,” you replied.

He nodded, eyes dropping, fingers twitching over the herbs. “Just… couldn’t rest. Thought I’d help.”

You rose, walking slowly toward him, bare feet padding against the warm wooden floor.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. But you saw it anyway. The way his breath hitched. The way his fingers went still.

You stood beside him.

Close.

Close enough to see the red shimmer in his eyes under the lamplight.

Close enough to see the way his pupils dilated, wide and searching.

Close enough to know.

You reached for a bundle of chamomile, brushing his hand as you did.

It wasn’t cold.

Not anymore.

Still, his eyes flicked to yours.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Bracing for what you’d say next.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Tomorrow, he’d slip up again. He’d reveal something.

And you’d be ready.

Your gut was always right.

It didn’t matter what others called it. Instinct, a gift, women’s intuition. You’d never been wrong when your stomach twisted. Not once. It wasn’t loud or flashy. Just a slow tug behind your navel, a soft unease like a sour note in a favorite song. Sometimes it whispered hours before the storm clouds rolled in. Other times, it waited until the quiet part of the day, when the air felt too still, and the cicadas had gone silent.

Today had started off just like the others.

You rose early, the way you always did. Dawn was still stretching itself over the trees when your feet touched the floor, and Remmick was already awake.

He didn’t say much when he greeted you. He rarely did. Just looked at you in that quiet, reverential way of his and passed you your robe without a word.

Together, you stepped out into the garden.

He followed your lead, of course. Always did.

Remmick didn’t crouch or dig or weed unless you asked him to. But he hovered just close enough to watch, close enough to learn. His eyes never left your hands. Not when you teased a beetle off your basil, not when you pinched the browning leaves off your peppermint, not when you leaned in close to whisper to your echinacea like it was an old friend that needed gentle coaxing.

And the thing was, he never laughed.

Never made a joke about it. Never offered some flippant remark about talking to plants or casting spells or needing company bad enough to speak to the dirt. No, he watched like you were a priestess at work. Like the words you offered your roots and petals meant something holy. He never repeated them back, never tried to mimic your tone. But sometimes, you’d find him murmuring to the lemon balm when he thought you weren’t listening.

By midday, the sun had grown fat in the sky.

Remmick had long excused himself, as he always did when the heat crested too high. You didn't press him. You never did. He slipped into the house, eyes soft, smile lingering, and left you to your tending.

Later, when you came in smelling of rosemary and sun, the house was cleaner than you'd left it.

The rug had been beaten and shaken. The wood near the back door had been re-nailed. Quietly, expertly. The kettle had been scrubbed until it shone, and your dish rack was full of hand-washed mugs. Your comb, the wide-toothed one, had been repaired, and placed carefully beside your brush, as if he knew it needed fixing and didn’t want you to see it in pieces.

He didn’t say a word about it.

You thanked him. He looked bashful. Tried to shrug it off.

That evening, he read for a while beside you. His head tilted, those sharp eyes scanning every page like they had something to prove. The glow of the oil lamp caught in his lashes, his jaw resting in one palm as he sat curled in the rocking chair across from yours. He didn't speak unless you did.

Then the hour turned late. The light faded.

And your stomach twisted.

He stood up like he always did. Slow, quiet. Said he was going for a walk. That he’d be back before the rooster stirred.

You’d heard it before. And just like every other time, you nodded.

But you didn’t sleep.

Not tonight.

You made tea, soft and floral, and sat in the quiet, letting the warmth from the mug seep into your hands. You didn’t read. Didn’t rock. You just listened.

The wind shifted sometime after two.

You felt it before you heard it.

The trees stopped swaying. The air went still. The kettle, empty and forgotten on the stove, creaked slightly as it cooled.

And then, you heard him.

Not at the door.

Outside.

Past the edge of the house.

Your ears sharpened, straining in the dark as bare branches scratched against the siding. There was a hush of steps moving low and slow along the rear of the house. Too careful for a man just coming home from a midnight stroll. You moved to the window with the light still off, lifting the corner of the curtain only enough to see.

There he was.

Remmick.

Not coming up the porch like a man who belonged.

No. He was skulking, body half-crouched, moving just beyond the reach of the moonlight as he crept toward the back edge of the yard. The swamp.

He was soaked.

Not rain. No rain had fallen.

This was thicker. Darker.

Even from the distance, you could see the smear of it.

Blood.

Not dried. Not old.

Fresh.

You watched as he reached the edge of the water, dropped to his knees, and plunged his hands into the shallows. He scrubbed. Hard. Rough. Like it offended him. Like it burned to wear. His shirt stuck to his back in deep red patches. His arms, even under the dim light, glistened with it.

Still, not his.

Not a wound on him.

His face was twisted in concentration, in something close to shame. Or rage. You couldn’t tell which. And then, like always, he slipped into the water. Up to his elbows, then his shoulders. Rinsed himself in silence.

You didn’t call out.

Didn’t step onto the porch.

Just watched.

When he finished, he stood slow, wrung the water from his shirt with both fists, and turned back toward the house.

And for the first time, you let him catch you watching.

He had already barreled himself through the back door before you could even turn around.

The creak of the hinge hadn’t finished groaning before he was inside, water still dripping from his sleeves, boot soles darkening the kitchen floor plank by plank. The air came in with him. Wet and wild and thick with swamp breath, smelling of bark and iron and something you weren’t quite ready to name.

And yet.

He stood tall.

Not frantic, not pitiful. Not the mess he looked like from the window. He didn’t stumble or stammer, didn’t make excuses or throw himself to your feet.

He just... paused.

Straightened his spine, wet hair falling back from his face, and fixed his eyes on you like a man walking into judgment.

And maybe he was.

He didn’t speak. Not right away.

He waited for you to look at him fully. Your back was still turned, hand resting on the doorframe between kitchen and parlor. He didn’t dare call your name. Just stood in the silence like he’d been preparing for this moment since the first time he appeared, no, threw himself on your humble little porch.

When you finally turned, his whole body seemed to brace.

Not in fear. In readiness.

Like he’d accept whatever came next. Even if it was banishment.

But you didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Your gaze traveled slow. From his soaked boots, caked faintly in the dried silt of the creekbed, up to the hem of his shirt, still clinging damp and dark to his torso, streaked faintly in places with something not-quite mud.

Then to his hands.

They were clean now, scrubbed raw. Red at the knuckles, scraped slightly where bark or stone had resisted him. And still he kept them at his sides, fingers relaxed, not clenched. No trembling.

His composure was deliberate.

He wanted you to see it.

And then, his eyes.

You’d always known his eyes weren’t right. Not fully.

Blue, yes. Deeper than any human blue ought to be. Not clear like the sky or shallow like lakewater. His were darker. Silted and strange. There was a depth in them, a heaviness behind the hue, like they were holding onto something old. None of this was new to you.

But tonight, they gleamed.

A red had bloomed there. No longer just a thread, but a slow-spreading stain beneath the iris, curling and pulsing like something alive. It throbbed with rhythm, like a heartbeat made visible, overtaking the soft blue with something hotter, hungrier. It wasn’t rimmed around the edge. It moved, filling the center outward, pushing into the color like ink dropped in water, stubborn and seeping. It didn’t look human. It didn’t try to. But it didn’t frighten you either.

You’d never seen eyes try so hard to stay soft.

He saw your gaze catch on it.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t hide.

Instead, he smiled.

Soft. A little strained. But real.

“Was hopin’ you were sleepin’.”

His voice still had that low, careful lull to it. Familiar. Full of the same patience he used when helping you dry rosemary or stirring your teas so they wouldn’t scorch. But underneath, it frayed. Just slightly. Like he was trying not to fray with it.

You didn’t smile back.

You stepped aside and let him pass.

Remmick took it as the invitation it was.

He walked past you without brushing your arm, though his body ached to. You could see it in the way his shoulder nearly tilted toward you, then pulled itself back like a tide fighting gravity. He stopped just shy of the kitchen, not daring to sit.

You followed.

The silence dragged.

He stood near the hearth where no fire had been lit, hands clasped lightly in front of him like he was visiting someone’s grandmother’s house, unsure where to step.

You took your time.

Watched the beads of water sliding from his shirt’s hem, down the inside of his thighs, pooling gently at his boots.

“Ain’t mean to track it in,” he said, glancing down at the muddied trail behind him.

You raised a brow.

“You’ll clean it.”

That made his throat twitch, like he wanted to apologize but knew better than to say sorry again. Knew it wouldn’t fix a thing.

So he did something else instead.

A pivot. Gentle. Strategic.

“Ya look real pretty in this light.”

His voice had dropped, syrup-smooth, the way it always did when he was trying to charm his way into something you hadn’t decided to give. But there was nothing slick behind it. No real expectation.

Just... admiration.

You didn’t thank him. You didn’t look away.

“You clean?”

The question cut straight through whatever careful rhythm he’d been trying to establish.

Remmick blinked.

His head tilted, a soft nod following.

“Best I could manage. Swamp’s cold tonight.”

“Still smell it.”

He dropped his gaze then. Just briefly.

“I scrubbed.”

“I know.”

He took a slow breath.

“I’d tell ya it ain’t what it looks like,” he said. “But that’d be a lie.”

You didn’t answer. Just crossed your arms.

He continued.

“I tried to be quiet. Didn’t think you’d catch me.”

“You always think that.”

He nodded.

“Foolish of me.”

Another pause.

The clock ticked in the corner. Somewhere far off, an owl called once and was answered.

Then you said, “You got blood on the rosemary.”

That finally cracked him. Just a little.

His mouth parted. A breath caught halfway between guilt and laughter.

“I’ll clean it in the mornin’,” he promised. “Before ya even wake.”

“Damn right, you will.”

He smiled again. Smaller this time. Relieved.

Still, he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Didn’t plead.

Just stood there, soaked through, with a red glint in his eyes and the faint scent of iron clinging to his collar.

And waited.

You didn’t dance around it.

You’d never been one for hemming and hawing, not when the truth sat that close to the surface. And tonight, with the house still holding its breath and the floorboards still damp with the print of his boots, the truth felt loud enough to touch.

“What are you?”

The question wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t spit from the tongue or dragged through suspicion.

It was plain.

Quiet.

Like you already knew the answer, but the word had slipped just out of reach.

Remmick didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard you.

He just looked at you, really looked, and for a long, long second, you saw every year behind his eyes trying to decide whether or not to run.

But he didn’t.

He sighed.

And when he did, it wasn’t the sharp exhale of a man trying to find his way out of a lie. It was deep, tired, and slow. The kind of breath you take when a door that’s been closed for too long finally swings open.

“I don’t know what you’d call it now,” he said. “Folks’ve had a lotta names. Over the years.”

You said nothing.

Just tilted your head slightly. Waiting.

He wet his lips. Slowly. Out of habit, not hunger. Like he had to remember how to speak the word, how to say it in front of someone who mattered.

“Vampire,” he said at last. “If that’s still the word folk use. Feels funny in the mouth, but that’s the one most settle on.”

There it was.

Hung there in the space between you. All sharp and simple. No lightning strike, no howl of wind through the windowpanes. Just the word.

And the man still standing where he’d always been.

Your shoulders didn’t twitch. Your hands didn’t clutch the table. You didn’t take a single step back.

You just looked at him.

“That what you are?” you asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not just pretendin’? Not just wearin’ someone else’s coat?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, his voice soft. “Ain’t pretendin’. I’ve been this for a long while.”

“How long?”

He swallowed.

The quiet ticked again. The walls felt a little closer.

“Little over a thousand, far as I can figure. Give or take.”

You blinked.

Your expression didn’t change. Not much.

But your breath slowed. Measured. As if your heart knew before your head did that the shape of the world was different now.

“A thousand years,” you repeated.

He nodded once.

“Gimme an exact.”

He gave a dry smile at that. Not smug. Not proud. Just... worn.

“Been hard to keep track. I was born before folk kept good calendars. Or at least before I cared to mark ‘em. But best guess puts me ‘round the 10th century,”

You absorbed that in silence.

He kept talking.

“Didn’t always look like this. Used to be more beast than man. Took a long time to... settle. To figure out what the hunger wanted. To learn how to pass.”

His voice didn’t shake.

But there was something behind it now. Not grief. Not guilt.

Something older.

Weariness.

“And now?”

He exhaled again. Shoulders dropping just slightly.

“Now I do what I can. Hide where I need to. Feed how I must.”

You didn’t ask what “how I must” meant. Not yet.

Instead, you stepped forward.

Slowly.

One foot in front of the other, your steps soft as you crossed the room until only the kitchen table separated you.

You didn’t reach for him. Not yet.

Your eyes flicked up to the red still faint in his irises.

“I knew you weren’t right,” you murmured.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “You never scared me.”

That made something twist in his expression. Not relief, exactly.

Something more like grief, bent toward gratitude.

“I shoulda told ya sooner.”

“You shoulda. But I reckon if you had, I wouldn’t’ve listened.”

He looked down at that.

And then, like your words finally gave him permission, he spoke.

“There are rules,” he said quietly. “Things that ain’t changed since I was first turned. Can’t cross thresholds without invitation. Sun burns me... as you know. Fire hurts. And the thirst never really ends. You just learn how to live beside it.”

You nodded.

Still, you didn’t look afraid. Just thoughtful.

“And the blood?” you asked. “Yours? Or someone else’s?”

His eyes flicked up quick.

He shook his head. “Not yours. Not ever. I wouldn’t-”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Remmick went still.

Then, slowly, he nodded again.

“I don’t take what ain’t freely given. Not anymore. Haven’t in a long time. And when I do... it’s animals. Mostly. Or people who trade it for coin, like a service. Or...” he hesitated, “... folk I trust.”

You studied him.

Your gaze raked down his frame. The water still glinting off his collarbone, the faint steam still curling off his sleeves in the warm air of the room.

“And tonight?”

He took another breath.

“Someone offered,” he said quietly. “City man. Got a house on the edge of the woods. Said he liked the teeth.”

That made you blink.

You let out a short exhale through your nose. Not quite a laugh. But close.

“And you just took off to go nibble on a stranger?”

He gave you a pained look.

“I didn’t want to wake ya.”

“You did anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

You stared at him.

Then, slowly, stepped around the table and sat yourself on his lap.

His posture tensed again, like he didn’t know what you were about to do.

But all you did was take his chin in your hand.

Turned his face toward the lamplight.

Looked again at the teeth. Always just slightly bared now, long and sharp like they’d never fully retract. Looked into those bloody-blue eyes. Looked at the man who had collapsed on your doorstep and gifted you a gold necklace and kissed your mouth like it was the last prayer he had left.

And instead of fear, you felt fascination.

You leaned in, slowly, until your breath brushed his cheek. Watched the way his lips parted as if he thought you might kiss him again. You didn’t. Not yet. Your hand moved instead, one palm against his jaw, thumb dragging lightly along the edge of one long canine.

He shivered.

You tilted your head, narrowed your eyes just slightly.

“They’re sharp,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

“I know,” he whispered, throat working. “I can cover ’em, if you’d like. Hide ’em again-”

You slipped your finger past his lips.

He froze.

Mouth open, barely breathing, as your fingertip traced the edge of his fang. It nicked you. Just barely. Just enough to break skin.

You felt it. That tiny sting.

And giggled.

Quiet and unexpected.

His eyes widened.

You pulled your hand back, sucked the drop of blood from your finger like it was stray droplet of nectar, and shook your head with something close to delight. “Damn things are sharp.”

He stared at you like you’d just blasphemed in a church.

“You ain’t scared?”

“Should I be?”

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the answer already.

Instead, you took his hand.

Turned it over, slow and reverent, palm to the low lamplight. Studied the curve of his nails. Longer than they should be, ridged like bone instead of keratin, glinting faintly like glass in the flame’s glow. They were claws. Elegant. Meant for something wild, something ravenous.

And you ran your thumb over them like they were precious stones.

“They look like they hurt,” you murmured.

“They don’t,” he said. “Not unless I want them to.”

You traced the edge of one, then threaded your fingers through his. Held his hand in yours like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He looked down at your hands. At the difference in them, warm and dark, soft and human, against his pale, calloused fingers. It looked impossible. Like everything should’ve stopped to watch it happen.

And still, you kissed him.

Just once.

Soft.

Pressed your lips to his, with the faint taste of your own blood still on your tongue.

His claws didn’t twitch. His fangs didn’t pierce.

He just kissed you back.

Slow and still, like his whole life had been building to that moment and he didn’t dare rush it.

When you pulled away, his eyes hadn’t moved from your face.

“You really ain’t scared,” he breathed.

“No,” you said, lips brushing his. “I think you’re beautiful.”

And for once, Remmick didn’t know what to say.

You held his gaze a while longer.

Then said, “All right.”

His brow creased. “All right?”

“I can work with that.”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t dare.

Just stared at you with something ancient and awe-struck shining behind his lashes, like the world had cracked open just to let him feel something holy after a lifetime of sin.

You dropped your hand.

“Go dry off. You’re drippin’ on my floors.”

And that was that.

[frederickkittens]

Sweet Lolita through the years

Part 1: Late 90s-2005 (ish) “Oldschool”

Oldschool sweet is the first truly recognizable form of sweet Lolita

Though during the Oldschool era the substyles had far more crossover and less individual traits I think there’s just enough that you still label coords from the time. When most people think of Oldschool they think of a solid color main piece with lace topped otks and a rectangle headdress… but Oldschool is so much more than that.

Oldschool in general was simpler, though some brands like Metamorphose Temps De Fille , Emily Temple Cute, and baby the stars shine bright were already making prints

Printed fabrics of fruits or florals were very common, but you did see a good amount of screen printed and appliquéd pieces coming out at the time too. Some very common sweet motifs in the oldschool era were:

•cats

•fruit

•alice in wonderland

•bunnies / rabbits

•bears

•alphabet / letter prints

•music notes

•hearts

The closer to the end of the identifiable oldschool era the more prints became popular! Though through most of the 2000’s prints would remain more minimal with the focus being on more structural elements like lace, bows, construction, and interesting fabric choices.

Due to the image limit on tumblr here’s a link to the correct sorting to see examples on lolibrary with examples of some early sweet prints and patterns. If you click the link on any of these items you’ll be able to view their lolibrary entries as well if available

Color balance wasn’t considered as highly as it is today, the overall vibe of Coords was more chaotic and experimental. A very make do attitude can be seen in many street snaps.

Patterned main pieces were another popular alternative to prints, things like gingham, stripes, tartan/plaid.

Bag choices were pretty varied, honestly in a lot of oldschool sweet coords people would use unique bags as the visual interest / focal point. You can already see that in someone of the coords above. Faux leather shaped bags like btssb’s heart bags weren’t very popular yet. A few brands had put out heart bags, such as milk, but they were much simpler and often real leather in limited colors. You also didn’t see usakumyas in their modern iteration until well into the 2000’s towards the 2010’s. Plush bags of the era did not have the same clean marketable look. Some common / popular bags were:

-basket / wicker purses

-plush animal bags

-tote bags

-matching fabric bags

-leather handbags

-designer handbags

Shoes at the time were much chunkier and much less cutesy even in sweet styles. Tea parties didn’t exist until a good deal past this time period- honestly most popular modern Lolita shoe styles weren’t really seen. Real leather was far more common, in a much more limited pallet. When you did see colored shoes they typically weren’t used to color balance a coord like we do now a days. A lot of different styles were worn though, including:

-Mary Jane’s

-Platforms

-Rocking horse shoes

-Boots

-Oxfords

-sandals

Socks are often overlooked in oldschool. I’ve seen so many people say printed socks weren’t worn even though they absolutely were and many brands made them. Sure, lace topped otks were the trend and the most popular option but simple motif printed socks absolutely existed and were worn!

Headpieces were one of the most varied category. So many different styles and kinds were worn.

-mini crowns

-hair ribbons

-hats

-bows

-canotiers

-mini hats

-lace headdresses

Jewelry / Accessories were one area that Oldschool definitely was simpler. However brands were absolutely making both jewelry and other accessories. Plain metal necklaces with various motifs were common, lace chokers, faux collars, capes, ties, and though extremely uncommon you do sometimes run across wrist cuffs. Hopefully there’s more of an effort to start documenting jewelry and accessories from this time since it’s quite lacking

Makeup and hair were something that like all eras of Lolita followed the over all cultural trends of the time. More minimal make or simple 90’s - early 2000’s makeup is seen often. As for hair there’s so many different styles that really it would be impossible to list them all. In older magazines there’s often sections with hair tutorials and makeup tutorials!

Common lace styles included Torchon, Cotton, Eyelet, and Raschel. Many different trims and such were used in addition to these.

Part 2 and part 3

Scan credits @obscuredesireofbourgeoisie

If you want to see more old magazine scans

Lolita history

Internet archive

[gamergirlwrites]

Jill Valentine NSFW Alphabet

NSFW, so it's all under the cut.

A - Aftercare

Jill's aftercare is very simple. She tends to be more independent when it comes to cleaning up, but she's always there with a glass of water and a cuddle if you want.

B - Body Part

Jill's favorite body part of hers are her hands. She thinks that they're the most useful, and she has caught the way you look at her hands.

Her favorite body part of yours is your back. Sometimes, she'll spend an hour or two just tracing little patterns on your back.

C - Cum

Jill loves to see you make a mess on her when you cum. It doesn't matter if it's her mouth, fingers, or a toy, she won't stop until it's covered.

D - Dirty Secret

Jill used to call you to the police station when she got stuck working an overnight by herself for a quickie to hold her over until she'd see you again later.

E - Experience

Jill had a pretty healthy sex life before you. She hasn't slept with a bunch of people, but she definitely knew what she was doing.

F - Favorite Position

Jill's favorite position is having you sitting on her face. She loved gripping your thighs and pulling you further down onto her face.

G - Goofy

Jill is pretty focused on sex in the moment. She doesn't like when things pull her out of it, but she won't get mad if you start giggling for whatever reason.

H - Hair

Jill tried waxing, but didn't have the time to keep up with it, so she just keeps everything trimmed herself.

I - Intimacy

With Jill's schedule, it's a lot of quick sex, but when she has the time to really show you her appreciation, it's insanely romantic. She is pulling out all of the stops that she can.

J - Jack Off

Jill doesn't masturbate, she'd rather just go see you instead. She also doesn't want you to masturbate, constantly telling you to let her know when you need her.

K - Kink

Jill's got quite a few kinks. Her big ones are over-stimulation and spanking. She loves seeing hand prints on your ass and thighs when she's done with you.

L - Location

Jill is pretty good about keeping it in the bedroom, but she has gotten you off in a couple of bathroom stalls at different bars and a closet at the RPD station.

M- Motivation

Jill tends to turn herself on by thinking about you. The thoughts will always start out pretty innocent, and then something randomly just pushes those out and replaces them with thoughts of how hot you looked the night before.

N - No

Jill won't have sex with you when she's genuinely angry at you or vice versa. She also doesn't like degradation, she's taken enough flack in her career already.

O- Oral

Jill has a bit of an oral fixation. She loves seeing you take her strap in your mouth, and always rewards you by letting you cum on her tongue.

Q - Quickie

Jill is busy, so unfortunately, most of your sex is quickies. She always makes it up to you though with something nice later.

R - Risk

Jill is very adventurous sexually. She loves experimenting with you whenever one of you hears about something new.

S- Stamina

Jill is going several rounds when she can. Sometimes, it's split up throughout the day because she gets a work call.

T - Toys

Jill is a big fan of toys. Her favorite is her strap-on.

U - Unfair

Jill is a huge tease. She loves to tease you before she leaves for work because you will leave her at least one message on her phone practically begging to get off.

V - Volume

Jill isn't silent, but she's a bit more prone to gasping and muttering under her breath than moaning or screaming. She will take it as a challenge if you try being quiet though, neighbors be damned.

W - Wild Card

Jill packs on days when she knows you have nothing better to do than think about her, and she will send you pictures so you know.

X - Xray

Jill wears a lot of brief and boy short type underwear unless it's a night out. On nights out, Jill likes to wear something with a bit more lace that will really rile you up.

Y -  Yearning

Jill has a very high sex drive and often can't go more than a day without at least trying to fuck you.

Z - ZZZ

Jill has to leave a lot after sex, but when she doesn't, she falls asleep a lot easier next to you than normal.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ꜱᴏᴜᴘ ᴄʟᴜʙ

...𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘣𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢!𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵

fluff, established relationship, domesticity, food as love language, hoodie borrowing, origami notes, quiet intimacy, comfort

word count - 600ish

It starts the Tuesday after Goldie accidentally drops a can of chickpeas on Matt’s toe at the grocery store.

She grimaces like she’s just kicked a puppy, hugging him tightly before blurting, “I’ll make you soup!”

He snorts, patting her arm as he bites back a wince. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The next Tuesday, she brings it over.

It’s raining. Her hair’s still damp from the bike ride over, and she’s wearing his hoodie… sleeves rolled, sleeves unrolled, sleeves rolled again. A too-big thermos is tucked under one arm.

“Delivery,” she chirps, nose pink, curls stuck to her cheeks.

Matt’s half-awake, barefoot, wearing flannel pajama pants and a graphic t-shirt with faded orange print. He blinks at the thermos, then at her.

“Wait,” he says. “You actually made soup?”

“Didn’t wanna break my promise.” She shifts her weight, sheepish now. “It’s minestrone. I think. I kinda just… made it up as I went.”

Matt leans in to sniff the steam curling from the lid. Then he kisses her cheek… quick, warm, casual. “Smells like you googled ‘soup’ and went feral.”

Goldie beams. “You would be correct.”

It becomes a thing after that.

Every Tuesday, there’s soup. Always different. Sometimes it’s handed over with a kiss and a sleepy hello; sometimes she leaves it on his porch if he’s still napping. Sometimes with an origami animal taped to the lid.

She folds them from receipts, from old postcards, from pages torn out of magazines – all things from the grocery store. One week it’s a giraffe made from a map of the coastline. Another time it’s a jellyfish from an old grocery list that reads: tofu. honey. green tea. socks???

One Tuesday, he wakes up early.

He has a weird dream about drowning in alphabet soup, and he wakes up, slightly sweaty and confused. It seems to work out for the best though, because just as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he hears the front gate creak.

Goldie’s there, balancing the thermos in one hand and trying to pull her sock back over her ankle with the other. She’s wearing slipper shoes and patterned pajama pants, and the hoodie again, his hoodie, so long on her it grazes her thighs.

Matt opens the door before she can knock.

“Oh,” she says, startled. Her fingers twitch around the thermos.

“Oh,” he says, smiling.

They both go still.

Then he steps forward and tugs the paper turtle from behind her ear. “You running out of hiding spots?”

“Don’t judge my craft,” she grins, shivering slightly.

He pulls her inside.

They eat the soup curled on the kitchen floor, backs to the cabinets, sharing a single spoon and passing the mug between them.

The soup is miso this time, hot and salty, with soft tofu cubes and those little mushrooms Matt likes. She watches him take the first sip, eyes flicking to his expression.

He swallows and hums, satisfied. “Ten out of ten. Can’t feel my tongue.”

She kicks his ankle gently. “It’s not that strong.”

He shrugs. “S’good. Tastes like... Tuesdays.”

Later, when she’s curled into his side on the couch and dozing against his shoulder, he whispers, “You know, you don’t have to keep bringing soup.”

Goldie doesn’t open her eyes. Just murmurs, “But I like feeding you.”

Matt looks down at her, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and slow, and presses his lips to her forehead.

“I like it too.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics ꨄ

a/n: first post of the 2k special!!! i love soup ☺️

[pocket-deer-boy]

When i was a kid there was this website called mushroomkingdom.nl that was like, run by one guy i think, and he kept up with a bunch of news about upcoming mario games and surrounding releases, as well as hosting some flash games, and having a wiki that listed every single mario character in alphabetical order, AND it had an arts and crafts section where you could print out papercraft patterns and fold up a bunch of shit. I remember attempting to fold a big model of princess peach. That site was the fucking shit. And all of it was dutch language i think. Shit like this just isn’t around anymore as far as i’m aware, and the website domain is dead. I think i do remember the person posting about not wanting to keep up the news portion anymore cause there wasn’t much else he wanted to do. Must’ve been like, 2008-2009.

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[saturn-canine]

🌙✨Dogbitch Intro Post ✨🌙

DO NOT DM ME. I DO NOT CHECK DMS OR MY INBOX

(aka: me rambling about myself because why not, let’s get weird with it)

• 🦴 THE BASICS 🦴 •

Pronouns: Bitch/They/She/It/Woof/Yip/Growl/Freak/Dog/Mutt (or anything canine-related, really. bark at me idc).

Gender: Bitch. Literally. I’m a girl in the way a female dog is a girl. There’s an asterisk there, but it’s written in paw prints.

Species: St. Bernard. Big, gentle, loyal, and a little clumsy. I’m the friend who will barrel into your life like a fluffy avalanche, ready to love and protect you with everything I’ve got.

• 🐾 THE THERIAN STUFF 🐾 •

I’m a dog. Always have been, always will be. I’ve tried to reject it, to pretend I’m just a Human™, but it always comes back stronger. My soul is a dog’s soul, and that’s that.

Species dysphoria is a bitch (ha). Where’s my tail? My real ears? My sharp senses? I used to pray as a kid to wake up as a dog, and when that didn’t work, I learned to lucid dream just to feel like myself.

My Mate’s a cat, which is hilarious because we’re opposites. He’s aloof, mysterious, and you can see his brain working but never know what he’s thinking

• 🐕 THE HUMAN STUFF 🐕 •

Disabled: I use a cane, will need a walker, and eventually a wheelchair due to a degenerative disease. I’m pissed about it, but I’m also pissed about how society treats Black women and women in general when it comes to health.

Medication: 5-6 pills in the morning, 1 every 6 hours, and another 6 at night. It’s a whole thing.

Incontinent: I’ve been since childhood (bladder issues) and wear diapers. I talk about it openly because I refuse to be shamed for something I can’t control.

Mental Health: Schizospec, Borderline, and a whole alphabet soup of other stuff. I’m insane, but in a fun way.

• 🦴 THE FUN STUFF 🦴 •

Style: Eclectic, RainbowVomitCore, or “dress-up doll puppy.” Clashing colors, patterns, and chaos make my brain happy.

Personality: I’m hot, cool, funny, and I love myself. That doesn’t mean I don’t have off days (or weeks), but I’m not gonna pretend I’m not awesome just to make others comfy.

Interests: Coffee, lavender, and being the best damn dog I can be.

• 🐾 THE DRAMATIC BACKSTORY🐾 • Growing up, I knew I was a dog. My family thought I was insane (and I am, but for different reasons lol). I didn’t have friends or siblings, so I spent my time with the farm animals. Dogs, horses, you name it. They were my family.

I’m kink-friendly, queer, and a leftist. If you’re cool with that, we’ll get along great. If not, well… growls.

Anyway, that’s me. A St. Bernard in a human body, trying to make the best of it. Woof.

🌙✨ Paws up if you vibe with this ✨🌙

Common Tags

#Dogbitch -> general me stuff. Just vibing generally lol

#Dogbitch Irl -> Selfies, me just talking ab real life stuff

#Dogbitch In Nature---> Selfies of me outside/talking about being outside

#Dogbitch eats --> Me eating/pics of food

#Dogbitch cooking -> Food stuffs :D

#Dogbitch Loves Blackcat --> Me mooning over my Mate

Creatures in my life

BlackCat: My Mate, the love of my life, my honeycat, my cakey

Otter/SeaOtter: My bff/ Platonic soulmate

Kits: My other BFF! i love them!

[fanboundbooks]

Two with one Stone By Captainofthefallen | @captainofthefallen word count: 177,528 Fandom: Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic

I was reached out to last year by a friend of the author about creating an author's copy of this story. And I was very excited to get to work on another Star Wars story.

I used a paper I had marbled at the '23 Renegade Retreat for the cover and I worked to incorporate some subtle elements into the design.

The cover titling is done in a font called Old Republic and I tried to get as close to matching the game font and color for the author name and summary section. The back image and scene breaks are the symbol of the Old Republic.

I used a double sided paper for the end pages with a purple geometric pattern on one side and stars on the other.

I also pulled in the coloring of Revan's orange and purple lightsabers for the titling and chapters headers.

I had a lot of fun setting up the chapter titles in both the English Alphabet and Aurebesh.

Had a fun little scare with this story. The story had been written 5 years ago. I had finished typesetting the whole story and would be printing it next time I got to it. Life got in my way a bit and I had to wait a week to print. When I got back on the computer I decided to just double check everything one last time before printing and I noticed that the completed date no longer said 2018 but 2023. So I jumped to the end and discovered that the author had added a new chapter the night before! 😮Luckily I hadn't started printing so I was able to add it into the book.

[limendesign]

Upper Case Letter X Seamless Vector Pattern

[contempocrossstitch]

Cheetah Pattern Letters | Counted Cross Stitch Patterns | Instant PDF Download

[cosmictyto]

Things Gabriella has Knitted (or Crocheted) for Everyone:

First, (nearly) everyone has gotten a pair of socks from her as a “welcome to the brotherhood” gift.

(In alphabetical order)

—

🐺 Arnbjorn: A bright red knitted sweater as a wedding present. He’s only worn it once. (He jokes that it's not his style but he secretly loves it. He doesn't want to ruin it on accident.)

—

🔪 Astrid: A black and red striped knitted cowl. As a wedding present. Also a matching pair of gloves.

—

🩸 Babette: A crocheted doll to better help her "innocent child" ruse + several knitted dresses in many colors. Gabriella loves trying out new patterns. And because Babette’s small, she doesn’t need as much yarn. Win win.

—

♥️ Cicero: Nothing. Though she was working on her “welcome to the sanctuary” socks for him before he attacked Astrid and Veezara.

—

☄️ Festus Krex: Black, knitted fingerless gloves (his hands get cold and stiff sometimes.) They look simple at first, but actually have a quite complex stitching pattern on them. Also a black scarf and hat (with string pom-pom.)

—

🦋 Nazir: some hard-soled slippers and a deep red tote bag (with black hand print artfully knitted in.)

—

🦎 Veezara: Bright, garish horn cozies. It was a gag gift. He loves them.

—

Bonus round

🐈‍⬛ Sajjah (OC:) A thick n’ chunky, mottled black & gray blanket (crocheted.) as well as a matching cowl + gloves set. They were working on a hat design but couldn’t figure out how it would work with her ears before the sanctuary was attacked.

[zebratoys]

I wish to give and serve by strengthening affiliation with Am Yisrael’s tribalhood and to elevate faith, hope and Oneness among our communities. I believe in gatherings that incorporate Judaica hands-on arts & crafts enrichment activities that promote communal bonding and ease uncertainty, fear, confused feelings and loss of meaning. Through engaging actively, participants will find a heavenly solace that whispers to the innermost depths of the Jewish soul.

Art gathering events are a delightful opportunity for community members to immerse in a sense of enduring peace that envelopes the spirit with purity, grace and providence rooted in holiness, symbolism and Biblical prayers scripted in the Torah. Step into a cozy bubble that brings us closer by dissolving distortions through the power of roots & culture, creativity, art and crafts.

I’m devoted to sharing good deeds, goodness and goodwill among our tribe by working with communities to strengthen our legacy and bring forth the light in us. ♡ I want to contribute to our tribal alliance worldwide, restore harmony and ease suffering by shining sparks of a unifying glow of love into our lives and throughout the world. Tap into a flow of divine energy and experience the melody of Am Yisrael’s sacred covenant with likewise joyful giving loving souls. Wishing us all this golden feeling Amen.

I am seeking welcoming Jewish communities where I may serve to inspire ideas for creative educational value-based enrichment tools with activities grounded in the Jewish heritage, providing meaningful themes referencing to Hebrew and Israel and disseminating Jewish values.

Visit www.zebratoys.etsy.com to choose from the HALELUYA Sacred Soul Art collection that includes more than 1000 Judaica art designs and Sacred Geometry Art.

Here are some ideas that you can instantly downloaded:  ► Coloring Pages for Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, Sukkot, Passover and Hanukkah. ► Amazon Coloring Books of Jewish Art and Sacred Geometry. ► Star of David & Dreidels DIY Papercrafts Decorations for Parties and Home Décor. ► Learning the Hebrew Alphabet Worksheet Art Activities. ► Kabbalah Art Wall Décor Prints and Geometric Patterns Pages. ► Meditative Jewish Mandalas with Biblical Prayers and Holy Symbols. ► Judaica Arts & Crafts Supplies for Judaic, Israel and Hebrew classes.

I would love to hear what possibilities of collaborations this inspires in you. If you have a question or need my advice on your art activities, I’m offering a FREE 30 MINUTE ONLINE VIDEO CALL tailored to meet the needs of your university, school, camp, group, and/or Synagogue. Let me know how may I help your community. To Schedule our online meeting, send me a message at oritgutmacherlevy@gmail.com or WhatsApp at +972 50 4393944