#nose Ornament

[theancientwayoflife]

~ Nose Ornament.

Date: A.D. 2nd–6th century

Placeoforigin: Perú

Culture: Vicús

Medium: Gold

[arthistoryanimalia]

#TurtleTuesday :

Nose Ornament in the Form of a Turtle with C-shaped Body Coclé: Venado Beach, Coclé province, Panama, 800-1200 CE Spondylus shell, W. 7.3 cm (2 7/8 in.) The Art Institute of Chicago 1969.795

[artifacts-archive]

Circular Nose Ornament Incised with Concentric Bands

Coclé, Panama, 800–1200

[celesse]

Santa's Reindeer wooden ornaments 🔔🦌🎀

[kartoonkane]

"Behold! Your lead reindeer has arrived" ~Holly

[jaykingingram]

Dragon Age: Inquisition is a Christmas movie.

[cpahlow]

Had to share this @WeHeartIt

[adventuresofsnake]

Here's a little song I wrote, it's called

"I blinked and lost six weeks to seasonal depression"

[galeriacontici]

Jamacoaque Copper Nose Ornaments

These items are unique and seldom exhibited. They are made of solid copper and are very heavy. They have an excellent green patina on all three. The largest shows evidence of original gold plating. Manabi region, Ecuador. 500 BC – 500AD. Condition is Choice. The sizes are 25mm wide, 22mm tall, 20mm thick, 68.8g; 22mm wide, 21mm tall, 15mm thick, 33.5g; and 18mm wide, 15mm tall, 8mm thick, 10g.

The Jamacoaque civilization mastered the art of metallurgy and had a thorough knowledge of alloy production, notably a well-developed alloy of copper and arsenic. They were also well-versed in the process of gold plating. The method employed for casting metal was placing it in a ceramic crucible and heating it using wood charcoal as fuel. Air was blown into the kiln with a bamboo tube until the temperature reached 1100ºC, sufficient to melt gold or copper.

[wildbeautifuldamned]

1950's Vintage Paper Mache Rudolph Red Nose Large head H 16 x L 12 x W 9 ebay ppb76

[arthistoryanimalia]

More bling from Peru for #SaveASpiderDay: golden spiders for your face!

Spiders can be found in Andean iconography going back at least 2500 years as symbols of warfare, ritual sacrifice, and agricultural fertility. Here are three examples found on facial jewelry, from The Met's collection:

1. Nose ornament, 100 BCE - 200 CE, Peru, North Coast, Salinar culture; gold, H. 2 x W. 4 3/8 x D. 1/8 in. (5.1 x 11.1 x 0.3 cm)

2. Nose ornament, 6th–7th century CE, Peru, Moche; gold, silver, shell, H. 2 5/8 x W. 3 3/8 x D. 1/4 in. (6.7 x 8.6 x 0.6 cm)

3. Earflare frontal, Spider, 6th–7th century CE, Peru, Moche; gold, silver, H. 3 1/2 × W. 3 1/2 × D. 3/4 in. (8.9 × 8.9 × 1.9 cm)

#PleaseNoSquish 🕷️

[angstandhappiness]

Pretty pink lady

APHRODITE, Goddess of Love Hades (2020) vs. Hades 2 (TBA)

[skalidris]

shrimp.

(moche, 6th-7th century, peru/south america. metropolitan, nyc)

[krockyoriginal]

Gnomes! Big nose gnome ornaments made from acorn caps.

$8 USD

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

“hungover” - hotch x fem!reader

after a girls’ night in, you wake up next to your boyfriend.

1380 words - FLUFFY FLUFF

cw; mentions of alcohol and food, implied age gap?, typical hangover, jemily agenda (sry not sry)

a/n: I wrote this on my phone on vacation bc I have a serious problem

———————

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you are not in your clothes.

You aren’t in your clothes. And you only realize it because of the scent wafting up your nose. Sea Salt Breeze - the cologne you’d gotten him for Christmas last year - emanates from the t-shirt that envelopes your upper half. You dip your chin for another whiff, breathing him in deeply. You want the smell inscribed into your brain.

You feel the bed dip and creak and you instinctively shut your eyes, playing possum as Aaron pads into the bathroom. The door whines as he shuts it most of the way, not totally closing it because he thinks you’re still asleep and that the sound of the door shutting will wake you.

Each of your senses turns on one at a time, like your brain waves run on dial-up Internet. You open your eyes and the room is mostly dark, save for the sliver of light creeping in through the outline of the curtains. You run the palm of your hand along Aaron’s sheets and marvel over how soft they are - Egyptian cotton, he’d told you once before.

Your head hurts, but only mildly. You’d certainly been drunker before, but last night was still up there. Penelope made her mojitos strong.

You slowly sit up in the bed as Aaron opens the door, flicking the bathroom light off in the same motion. Your eyes meet his and he cracks a small smile. “Thought you’d still be asleep,” he muses. You love his pale blue boxers and seeing the hair on his legs. His calves are crazy defined - he’s a runner, after all, but still. You rarely see him in anything but a suit and tie, so it’s always a treat. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shake your head, wincing slightly at the movement. Maybe you’re a little more hungover than you thought. “I was already awake,” you mumble, running a hand over your face. “Did you put me in your own clothes last night? I have pajamas in my drawer,” you point out, gesturing to the second drawer of Aaron’s dresser, the one that contains your set of pajamas, a few spare pairs of underwear, and a couple of emergency outfits, just in case you end up sleeping over at his place.

It happens more often than not, so you keep the drawer decently stocked at all times.

“You insisted,” Aaron climbs into the bed, reaching for you. He tugs you to him and you roll over onto your side, and then halfway onto your tummy so that your leg drapes over his and your palm rests flat on his chest.

You can hear his heart beating. It’s like a metronome, steady and guiding and calm. You feel his pointed chin nuzzle into your hair and then, his lips, quick yet effective, against your forehead.

Flashes of last night run through your head. You, Emily and JJ, over at Penelope’s apartment. A symphony of girlish giggles, talking about Emily and JJ’s upcoming wedding date, drinking at least three pitchers of mojitos among the four of you. Watching Dirty Dancing and gabbing the entire time, realizing it’d be a bad idea to drive yourself home, and calling Aaron to come get you.

When he arrived, you called him Hotch and apologized for him having to come get you, and he reminded you that he was Aaron and he was your boyfriend and he would pick you up anytime you needed it. You were determined to play the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the ride home, fumbling with his phone until you found it.

You belted out (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life and demanded Aaron sing along. He admitted that he didn’t know all the words and you gave him a stern lecture until you started laughing so hard that you were in tears. Traffic lights reflected Christmas ornament colors in Aaron’s brown eyes as he drove, occasionally glancing over at you.

You swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as you berated him for not knowing the words to such a classic song.

And then, once you were back at his place, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at your shoes dumbly until Aaron offered to help you take them off. “Laces too hard,” you mumbled, and Aaron just hummed in agreement before kneeling down to help you.

And then he helped you out of your clothes. He went for your drawer, and you threw a pillow at him. “The college t-shirt,” you demanded with these Bambi-esque eyes.

“Arms up, baby,” Aaron said as he slid his law school t-shirt onto your upper half. He saved that specific term of endearment for times like these, when he was taking care of you, when he himself was exhausted. You could tell he was, too, not only because he kept yawning, but because of that glazed-over look in his chestnut eyes.

You glance down at the words George Washington University, printed over your chest.

Aaron’s arms around you tighten for just a moment as he embraces you, and you dig your face a little further into his chest. “No Jack today?” You ask, your voice coming out croaky.

“At his grandparents’,” Aaron murmurs, and you yawn. He strokes your hair. “How’s your head?”

“I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

Aaron’s hand freezes in your hair, and you lift your head, smirking at him. His mouth has formed a straight line, but you snicker and you can tell he’s trying not to smile at your dirty joke. “Degenerate,” he calls you.

“Prude,” you tease back, inching closer to kiss his jaw briefly before laying your head back down. “It hurts,” you answer his question. “But not as bad as it could.”

“That’s good,” Aaron comments, his hand running through your hair again, gently, the world’s most relaxing and least effective hairbrush. It feels nice, but his hands are so big that his fingers snag on the tangles, accomplishing nothing but making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Nothing wrong with that, though.

“Do you want some Tylenol for your headache?” Aaron asks, and you just curl up into him even more. He’s so warm, and sturdy, and it’s so rare that you get mornings like this. Either you’re both working or Jack has a soccer game or there’s something else going on. It’s nice just to lay around with him, to be mildly hungover and pretend like that’s the only thing going on in either of your lives.

“That would require getting out of bed,” you protest, and feel Aaron’s arms tighten around you. He’s a very doting boa constrictor.

“How about I get it for you, then?” He offers, and you shake your head and shift all your weight onto him. He chuckles, a deep, throaty noise you know you’re only privy to for about twenty minutes right after he’s woken up. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm, settling back in to your original position.

You lay like that with him, in comfortable silence, for a few minutes. Until it feels like you’ve melded into one being. Then Aaron finally shifts under you. “Honey, my arm’s asleep,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid to disturb you.

You slither off of him, then clamber out of bed with no amount of grace, going so far as to trip over the corner post of the bed. As Aaron sits up, you exclaim, “I’m okay!” and hold your hands out to steady yourself.

Aaron stifles a laugh and you watch him stand from the bed and he walks towards you, steadying you with one of those gargantuan hands on your shoulder. He then lifts that hand to tip your chin up. You step forward in a silent dance, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him. “Oh, shit,” you murmur. “I bet I have really awful morning breath.”

He just blinks a few times, and then offers you a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, honey, you kind of do,” he admits. You lightly punch him in the pectoral and then head to the en suite to brush your teeth.