#girland

[ilwolhongdam]

Kids Room Stockholm Kids' room: large, modern kids' room idea with blue walls and a light wood floor that is gender-neutral.

[monstameme]

Kids Room - Toddler Kids' room - mid-sized scandinavian gender-neutral light wood floor kids' room idea with white walls

[kittygirlthing-silly]

AAAFUCK ithink,,,,ok first like kinda kink confession besides just posting about it like its normal maybe possibly im a lil nervous auhh

we mighttt have a pee thing i uhh fuck ok

like not like used as a urinal or whatever that feels at best like a sensory nightmare personally but like uhh there was a post a bit ago about like someone pressing on a subs bladder and it like did something in here i think like idkkk i

like i need to go kinda badly like im so augh but i kinda cant rn and it like idk it feels,,, not nice at all but im being a good girl for amy and shes praising me and being really nice and stuff and telling me not to wet myself amd.i kkinda love her so im keeping on holding it idkkkkidkidkidk is this weird? im on the kink and freak site on a horny sideblog that may be the point idk!!!! are we weird?????? hhhhhgggg i gotta pee

fuck ok i can use the bathroom now i just gotta get my executive dysfunction to stop doing its thing which is also probably a thing with amy,,shes so patient with me her encouragement never like stops being genuine idkkkk aughh <333

[m0nkeymonk]

HEEEEYYY YOOOOOO COLLAB W MY BUD @ushatpomoyev

They r doing line n Im colors!!

yep Wes Girland

[saintlioncourt]

john goblikon making wes borland laugh in the first 20 seconds of this interview

[lydiablackblade]

It's just... It's just... Aaaawh 🤩🥰🥹

Crowley as a Tinsel on a Christmas tree with Aziraphale being absolutely delighted. You can bet he stayed there for a good long week just sleeping or something idk maybe Aziraphale made him stay there. It’s your call. This is also requested by one of my lovely patrons! If you’re on here too, bless you, dear! Available on Redbubble as a print | Support me on Patreon, Ko-Fi, BMC

[ihkostwrttemberg]

Lakers-Trainer JJ Redick sagt, dass der Sieg gegen die Cavaliers nach einer Niederlage von 122-110 „nahezu perfekten Basketball“ erfordert

Die Cleveland Cavaliers verbesserten ihre NBA-Bestbilanz auf 29:4 mit einem 122:110-Sieg über die Los Angeles Lakers am Dienstagabend. Lakers-Trainer JJ Redick war sicherlich beeindruckt von dem, was er von den Cavs sah, die acht Spiele in Folge und zwölf ihrer letzten 13 gewonnen haben. Er sagte Reportern nach dem Spiel: „fast perfekter Basketball„Muss in dieser Saison spielen, um Cleveland zu…

[bastelmania]

Regenbogen-Girlande

[pumpkidgrove]

"Schrumpfkopf"⁠ "Shrunken head"⁠

Halloween 2020:⁠ TRADITOUR⁠

https://www.pumpkidgrove.de

[tishapaculba]

The Modern and Contemporary Art Festival, nicknamed MoCaf, is the latest and most dynamic art festival in the Philippines. We showcase the country’s expanding art scene by featuring works from both modern masters and cutting-edge contemporary artists.(MoCaf)

Fortunately, I had the honor to be part of their 2023 MoCaf Discoveries! 

[faboloshop]

Frühlingsverpackungen: Blumen, Käfer, Netze, Quasten, Flies, Girlanden #Blumen #käfer #netz #girlande #quaste #flies #band #geschenkverpackung #geschenk #schmetterling #papillon #fleurs #fiori #regalo #cadeau #ruban #nastri (hier: Fabolo by SoftWay GmbH) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpBbaDfKqGT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nickmelekian]

Einmal um die Brüstung gewickelt wie eine Girlande: Genießt du den Schnee? ❄️☃️🏔️🌨️ #9gformel #schnee #girlande #eis #schneezauber ##schneelandschaft #schneeliebe #schneeflocken #schneefall #schneegestöber #schneeverliebt #schneeshooting #schneewanderung #schneespaziergang #schnee #eisig #winter #winterwonderland #wintervibes #winterdecor #wintermood #winterfun #achtsamsein #ruhe #wintergarden #ausgleichzumalltag #winterfoto #auszeit #photography #winterfotografie

[emmawithtwoms]

Snowed in

@wolfstarmicrofic December 7th -423 words

Christmas at the Potter’s was always magical. Not only thanks to the wizarding christmas traditions, such as floating candles, moving nutcrackers, flying ice animals and christmas knick knacks running around the whole house, but also because the Potters put their whole souls into making their manor into Santa’s Workshop’s London division. The Christmas tree reached the ceiling, and it was beautifully adorned with red and gold streamers, plus magical fairy lights that would never turn off, and an incredible amount of christmas balls, some made by James and his parents, some bought in markets from all around the world, some gifted by friends and family. And that was just the beginning, everywhere around the house you could see girlands, streamers, candles and decorations of all sorts. Remus was amazed by it every year. 

He would have been amazed by it this year too, were it not for his amazing boyfriend, who, on the morning of the 25th of December, decided to wake him up with a shout from downstairs. Once the werewolf reached the bottom of the stairs, he needed a couple of minutes to make sure that he was not dreaming and his boyfriend was, in fact, standing in the middle of a blizzard in the midst of the Potter’s dining room. 

“Moony, look! We’re literally snowed in!” 

Sirius yelled while laughing like a maniac.

“I can see that, love. But why have you decided to bury in snow Potter’s manor?” 

Remus said, hiding his amusement while he dodged a couple of moving miniatures who were skidding down the iced staircase handrail. 

“Because” 

Sirius started matter-of-factly

“This will force you and James to help me perfect the counter spell before his parents come home!” 

“Joke’s on you Pads! My parents will love it!” 

James appeared from behind Remus with a makeshift toboggan, and proceeded to throw himself down the stairs and into the pile of snow that was now formed inside his house.

“Well then, I guess it’s just fun.” 

Padfoot proved his point by throwing a snowball at James’ face, and that started the “Great Potter Manor snowball fight of 1978” , or so James called it afterwards. 

Remus considered going back to bed for a moment, but then he looked at the joy on his boyfriend’s eyes and said a big “Fuck it”, before throwing himself on the snow, on top of Padfoot, and started attacking him with the worst kind of assault: kisses. All, obviously, to hide the enormous amount of snow he was about to throw down Sirius’ shirt.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (22) Night

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 22)

I'm so sorry. Go get those tissues. I've used all of mine.

Summary: Rosie gets devastating news, and all she can think of is how her Papa is coping.

Twenty-Two Years Old

When Dad called with the news, my first thought was quite irrational: oh no, we’re never going to celebrate our twentieth anniversary! The second thought hit me with force and made me breathless: how is Papa doing?

“I’ll hop on the next…”

“No need, sweetheart. A car will pick you up in approximately fifteen minutes,” Dad assured me, and that’s when I started to cry.

***

Uncle Myc stood and waited for me outside the car when I ran to the kerb. His arms opened and I collapsed against him, heartbroken and totally devastated. He didn’t try to comfort me with words of nonsense, like it’s going to be ok, because he knew it would be a long time before any of us would be fine after this sudden and tragic loss.

“She seemed fine yesterday,” I told uncle Myc on the way home.

“Yes, so I have been…informed,” he sighed.

“How is he?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

“As expected.”

“Rock bottom,” I mumbled, and felt my throat tighten painfully from withheld tears.

“Indeed,” uncle agreed gravely.

***

It was worse than I expected. Papa’s loud voice boomed like a signal horn from upstairs when I locked us in.

“How could you not have seen the signs? You’re a bloody doctor, John!”

The words were spit like venom. I couldn’t discern Dad’s reply, but his voice was calm. He knew Papa wasn’t angry at him, but he needed to vent his sorrow, shock and devastation at someone. Luckily for everyone involved, Papa had chosen the right person for such an onslaught.

Before I climbed the stairs, I looked over at Nana’s door.

Gone. Dead. You’ll never see her again. There’ll be no more Christmas baking. She’ll never scold Papa for being petulant anymore. England has fallen.

The seventeen steps had never been so steep, my body never so heavy, and at the same time it felt hollow. 

“Nearly there, Rosamund,” uncle Myc murmured from behind me.

I woke from my daze and realised that the shouting had stopped. In its wake came a sound so heartbreaking, it made tears flow down my cheeks. Before I opened the door, a thought hit me like a battering ram, making me lose my balance for a moment.

If Papa mourned Nana like this, he would be utterly destroyed if Dad died before him. Not even his biological family’s demise could elicit such grief from him.

***

Inside the flat, Papa clung to Dad, and it struck me how small he seemed in that moment. So lost and bereft. This was not a puzzle he could solve, or a culprit he could catch to make everything right again.

“Rosie’s home,” Dad whispered to Papa and reached for me.

I didn’t think Papa would let go of Dad, give me room, or even detect the words, but he did. My name seemed to have a magical effect on him, because he straightened, turned his pained face at me and lifted his arm to indicate that I was welcomed into his and Dad’s cocoon. We held on to each other for what felt like hours. Dad asking if we were alright, Papa muttering something under his breath, and I just clung to my parents, wordless.

Dad, always reliable in a crisis, remembered that there was another person present, and carefully entangled himself after kissing us both, guiding our arms to embrace. Papa mumbled his name questioningly.

“Just give me a few minutes, Sherlock. Take care of Rosie, yeah?”

Papa nodded and pulled me closer, cradling the back of my head, whispering my precious girland I’m so sorry you have to go through this, and she loved you like a granddaughter.

***

The days leading up to the funeral alternated between the three of us sharing memories about the core of 221 Baker Street, what we would miss most about her, and lots and lots of crying. 

Dad was our rock in all of this, despite that he grieved his former landlady too. Some nights, Papa was inconsolable, and I thought his heart would literally break. He curled up in bed and sobbed full of despair. Only Dad could hope to console him, coaxing him out of the dark place he had locked himself in.

Both me and Papa agreed that we would honour Martha Hudson on the day of the funeral. Nana’s niece, Deidre, was her only living relative, and uncle Myc assured her that we would arrange everything if she weren’t able. From what Dad told me, she was relieved, having just started her tattoo studio, and she was quite short of money after the investments. 

***

Leaving uncle Myc and his minions in charge of the ceremony, proved to be ingenious, as we all expected. Even Nana would’ve been pleased with him, I think.

It all took place at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park. The Grade II listed Georgian Mansion is a beautiful and tranquil place, posh, but not over the top. 

The pleasantly warm weather allowed us to go dressed without jackets and coats. To honour Nana, all of us wore something purple, her favourite colour. Even uncle Myc acquiesced to leave his black suit at home, and instead he wore a light grey three-piece-suit with a deep purple tie.

Deidre showed up with purple nail polish, her black hair in spikes, the dramatic makeup intact, purple leather trousers, and a matching jacket with a black shirt underneath. Her Doc Martens boots were bright red. She was over the moon about the venue and to what lengths we’d gone to ensure a proper farewell for her aunt.

***

We didn’t know all the mourners, but I think I spotted a few celebrities who wore gigantic sunglasses and hats to hide their identities, which obviously had the opposite effect. 

Ginny, who conducted the ceremony was a calming presence throughout, and informed the congregation that there would be one speech apart from her own, and musical elements performed by a pianist and Papa on violin.

Papa held it together through his potpourri of Nana’s favourite classical pieces. He had his eyes closed and lost himself in the music. It was heartbreakingly beautiful. Beside me Dad clasped my hand firmly and never took his eyes off Papa. Admiration, love, sorrow and grief washed over his face in quick succession. He rose when Papa lowered his bow and looked over at the coffin that was decorated with purple lilacs. I saw the moment his knees gave way, but Dad was already at his side holding him close whispering something in his ear. I went over to them to pry the violin and bow out of Papa’s limp hands and let him lean into Dad’s arms.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Dad murmured teary-eyed.

Papa’s sobbing was muffled by his face being buried in Dad’s neck. Dad’s hand cradled the back of Papa’s head like it was a delicate object made of china. Slowly, Dad led Papa back to his seat and he held him tight until it was my turn to honour my beloved Nana.

The night I decided how to do it, Dad and Papa asked if I was sure I would manage it on my own. I retorted that of course I would. I was not a child anymore. What I hadn't considered was that reading a poem out loud in my room was completely different than performing it in front of a crowd, not to mention the emotional impact this performance would have on me.

I got to my feet when Ginny gave the signal and walked over to stand beside the coffin and opened the book on the correct page. Dad and Papa noticed before I did. Something gave me away. Did the book tremble in my hands, did my legs quiver, or did my breathing start to go wild with panic? Whatever it was, they both stood, came over to me, embraced me with their backs to the onlookers to shield me.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Bee?” Papa asked with a thick voice filled to the brim with withheld tears.

“You don’t have to, you know. Nobody would…” 

I cut Dad off abruptly feeling the soothing effect the closeness of my parents had on me.

“I’m sure. Stay, will you?” I said quietly.

“Of course,” they retorted in unison.

***

I took a deep breath, let go of my parents and we all turned to the other mourners and I started to read with one father on each side, radiating comfort and love.

Warning

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple  With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.  And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves  And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.  I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired  And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells  And run my stick along the public railings  And make up for the sobriety of my youth.  I shall go out in my slippers in the rain  And pick flowers in other people’s gardens  And learn to spit.  You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat  And eat three pounds of sausages at a go  Or only bread and pickle for a week  And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.  But now we must have clothes that keep us dry  And pay our rent and not swear in the street  And set a good example for the children.  We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.  But maybe I ought to practice a little now?  So, people who know me are not too shocked and surprised  When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.

Today, I will nudge you in the direction of AO3 and the end notes to give you some context

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

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[keep-calm-and-watch-spatort]

Vincent und die Regenbogen-Girlande 🏳️‍🌈