#the flower basket

[suslucicek]

[grapeperfume]

[vintagehomecollection]

Elegance in Flowers: Classic Arrangements for All Seasons, 1985

[llovinghome]

[guineapiggies]

Via florencia_rabbit

[halloween-sweets]

[classic-art-favourites]

Portrait of a Lady as Flora by Pompeo Batoni, 1775.

[magniloquent-raven]

this post has been haunting me. i'm weak for beefy men in pretty underwear and @theweewooshow left an open invitation in the tags that i could not resist 😭 i was gonna say i can't believe this is the first fic i'm posting about these two, but honestly it kind of tracks.

hope yall enjoy!!

**

One of the things Tommy's always liked about Evan is how emotional he is. Expressive, is the word, maybe. Vibrant. It was one of the first things he noticed when they met. Poor kid was radiating nerves. The way his hands fidgeted in his pockets, and he wouldn't stop pacing while Tommy was double-checking their gear.

It's kind of fascinating to Tommy, watching Evan light up when he's happy, wilt when he's tired, always seeming to feel every emotion with his entire body.

All that to say...Tommy notices right away that something's up. There's a tiny, reactive part of him that wants to say wrong, something's wrong, but Evan's not pulling away, he just. Froze up for a second. It could've been a twinge in his bad leg when he climbed into Tommy's lap, or any number of other blips that won't completely derail the nice evening they're having.

But on the off chance...

Tommy carefully rearranges his grip, settling his hands comfortably on the small of Evan's back instead. "Everything okay?" He keeps his tone as light as his touch, and watches Evan's expression closely. Their eyes meet only briefly.

"No, uh, yeah." Evan's gaze skitters down, roaming Tommy's face, then darting away. "I, um." He grimaces, and shifts in place. The warm weight of his thighs is distracting. He's still a solid presence in Tommy's lap, and making no move to change that, despite his sudden singular focus on toying with the drawstring of Tommy's sweater.

The corners of his mouth are pursed into a frown that Tommy thinks about kissing away. That thought gets gently pushed to the side. Talking first, he reminds himself. Especially because... "If you're not in the mood anymore, that's okay."

Those—pink, perfect, God—lips part around a huff, half-curved into a grin. "That's kind of the opposite of the problem," he laughs.

Tommy can't help but mirror the smile, even if it's only a tiny one. "So, what is the problem?" He trails his fingertips up the line of Evan's spine, and down again, retracing the path when he feels Evan lean into the touch.

"It's...well, not hard to explain, exactly, but. I kinda wasn't expecting to explain..." He sighs, loud and exaggerated, and falls forward to plant his face in the crook of Tommy's neck, where he continues, slightly muffled, "How do you feel about lace?"

It's not what he was expecting to hear. Though, he's not sure what he was expecting. "Can't say I've thought much about it, to be honest."

He dated a girl back in the day who liked lingerie. She was always asking him what he thought about various scraps of silk and velvet, and it was all...very awkward. He always told her he'd like her just as much in cheap cotton and a borrowed t-shirt, which. In retrospect, was ironically true. When she broke up with him she accused him of being cold. Withholding. He brushed it off as neediness on her part.

He suppresses a wince at the memory.

Evan wraps Tommy's drawstring around his index finger, slowly curling it around his knuckle. "My ex. Taylor. She liked it. She liked...me. In it."

...Oh?

He can't picture it. Not in a bad way, he's not put off by the idea—very much the opposite—but when he tries, the mental image just...blurs. His brain is trying to mesh Evan with his hazy memories of things he never paid much attention to, and it's coming up frustratingly empty.

Tommy is very proud of how calm and steady he sounds when he says, “And…this was something you liked too?”

Warm air tickles the underside of his jaw. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Why are you telling me this now?” He feels like there’s something he’s missing. Something obvious he should have realized, if only he wasn’t so preoccupied with the way Evan’s thighs are flexing, his hand sneaking under the hem of Tommy’s hoodie, skin-to-skin, palm skimming his side, and the hot, tingling press of mouth-on-neck.

“Wanna find out?”

The second he nods he almost wishes he hadn’t, because all at once Evan is gone, and Tommy’s left sitting on his couch in a horny daze, blinking up at his slyly grinning boyfriend. As nice as the view is, his lap is cold now.

Evan thumbs his waistband. There’s excitement sparkling in his eyes, bright and shining, but he hesitates a moment before taking a deep breath and dropping his shorts around his ankles.

Oh.

So…lace. Tommy’s having feelings about lace. Not much in the way of thoughts yet. But feelings, definitely. The sudden rush of heat that burns through him leaves him a little light-headed, all the blood in his veins fizzing like he’s a can of soda someone just popped the tab on. His fingers itch to reach out, he aches with want, desire pooling low in his gut.

Thing is, they’re not even anything too fancy, as far as Tommy can tell. He has vague memories of his ex—and good God does he suddenly feel like he owes her even more of an apology—in complicated woven ribbons and things that probably looked like a crate of bungee cords in whatever bag they came in. Evan is just wearing…panties. Simple, pale blue, lacy panties. There’s a little bow on the front, and it’s unreasonably cute.

Evan hikes up his t-shirt a little, so Tommy can get a better look, presumably. Which he appreciates. He’s losing his mind a little over the trail of light blond hair under his belly button disappearing into soft blue lace. He wants to follow it with his tongue.

The attention is making Evan hard. Tommy’s not sure what his face is doing exactly, but whatever it is, Evan seems to appreciate it. He’s filling out that pouch in the front so fucking well, it’s making Tommy’s mouth water.

“So, uh. Good?” Christ, he sounds breathless and Tommy hasn’t even touched him yet.

It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to drag his gaze up to Evan’s face, but it’s worth the effort. His cheeks are flushed a happy pink, creased by a grin he’s failing to restrain even with his bottom lip trapped by his teeth. The blue in his eyes is a nearly-invisible ring around his dilated pupils, and shadowed by his heavy-lidded expression.

“Evan,” he says, a little hoarse. It’s all he can say without laughing hysterically at the sheer understatement of good. Without telling Evan, in detail, exactly how badly he needs to suck him off through that fabric. How vividly he’s imagining what it would feel like against his own cock, wondering if he could cum just from rutting against Evan’s lace-clad ass while he squirms and begs to be fucked properly.

And more importantly, it’s all he needs to say.

The rest he can just show him.

[boo-topia]

SWAP PERSONALITY PLS

Could u imagine

[dreamyeuphoricll]

Happy mother's day 🥰❤️

Yor at the very top 🥹

[life-spire]

[galleryofart]

A Garden

Artist: Albert Moore (English, 1841–1893)

Date: 1869

Medium: OIl on Canvas

Collection: TATE Britain

Description

Albert Moore was influenced by Japanese art. He produced decorative and subtly coloured pictures. He focuses on the colour, texture and movement of draped fabric on the woman’s costume. Art critic Sidney Colvin said Moore’s subjects were ‘merely a mechanism for getting beautiful people into beautiful situations.’ Moore used the flower-like symbol at the bottom of the picture as a signature.

[shrub-jay]

Cujo the Bathound

EDIT: Now a fic on AO3 :) : Let Dead Dogs Lie “Hand over the dog.” Gotham’s reputation for crime and many flavors of strange preceded it, but Danny did not anticipate being robbed at sword point for a dog. Granted, a green, glowing dog does attract some attention, but this was a city with rampaging clowns and toxic sludge. Cujo wriggled excitedly in his arms, tightening the leash wrapped around Danny’s wrist. “This dog?” Danny freed his other hand to point at Cujo emphatically, cartoonishly looking around the deserted alleyway as if the sword swinging child might have been mistaken. “Are you sure? You can have my wallet, it has 15 cents and a Bat Burger punch card, only one more visit for a free side!” “Don’t be absurd.” “Yeah, I heard you used to get a free combo. Punch cards aren’t what they used to be.” The edge of the blade pressed into Danny’s throat, Cujo jumped down and Danny raised his hands placatingly, keeping the leash out of reach of the would-be petnapper. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, what kind of person would let someone take their dog?” The kid’s face softened slightly at that, and Danny took the opportunity to swat the sword away, scoop up Cujo, and run. “STOP!” Danny kept running. Faintly, he heard the click of a device, but no one pursued him. It was a good thing too. He lied about the punch card. “Hand over the dog.” Gotham’s reputation for crime and many flavors of strange preceded it, but Danny did not anticipate being robbed at sword point for a dog. Granted, a green, glowing dog does attract some attention, but this was a city with rampaging clowns and toxic sludge. Cujo wriggled excitedly in his arms, tightening the leash wrapped around Danny’s wrist. “This dog?” Danny freed his other hand to point at Cujo emphatically, cartoonishly looking around the deserted alleyway as if the sword swinging child might have been mistaken. “Are you sure? You can have my wallet, it has 15 cents and a Bat Burger punch card, only one more visit for a free side!” “Don’t be absurd.” “Yeah, I heard you used to get a free combo. Punch cards aren’t what they used to be.” The edge of the blade pressed into Danny’s throat, Cujo jumped down and Danny raised his hands placatingly, keeping the leash out of reach of the would-be petnapper. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, what kind of person would let someone take their dog?” The kid’s face softened slightly at that, and Danny took the opportunity to swat the sword away, scoop up Cujo, and run. “STOP!” Danny kept running. Faintly, he heard the click of a device, but no one pursued him. It was a good thing too. He lied about the punch card.

Cujo was Ace the Bathound. Need I say more???

[vintagehomecollection]

Country Kitchens, 1991

[spilycoris]

i meant to only draw a reference sheet but then i slipped. whoops.

close ups below.

plus a little doodle of the yellow cat and leshy cause i didnt wanna post this on its own.

[halloween-sweets]