#thousands of ornaments

[mudwerks]

(via Harold Lloyd's Amazing Christmas Tree - Flashbak)

For American actor Harold Lloyd (April 20, 1893 – March 8, 1971) Christmas was the time to illuminate his home in Beverly Hills, California, with a magnificent tree. His granddaughter Suzanne says preparation began around Thanksgiving (the fourth Thursday in November), when her family would buy three large Douglas firs and wire them together to form one huge Christmas tree that measured 20 feet high and 9 feet wide.

The tree was covered with thousands of ornaments from all over the world, many of them highly valuable, Eventually the tree grew so large that it stayed on display all year around.

[smol-blue-bird]

my most controversial Christmas opinion is that people who have perfectly-decorated, Hallmark-channel, hotel-lobby trees are boring. a real Christmas tree should be full of brightly colored, tacky ornaments reflecting every passing interest you’ve had since you were a child. kids’ toys, references to terrible Christmas movies, random nerd shit, etc. like, you can have your classy snowflakes and icicles if you want, but half of the fun comes from the silly stuff

[iguessitsjustme]

As it turns out, not traveling home for the holidays make them 1000% less stressful. Like I love my family and I love our Christmas traditions, but I am so, so excited to have the most relaxed and chill day this year without needing to worry about packing and traveling and making sure I am spending enough time with family and participating in all of the family traditions, even the ones I don't really like. I can make my own holiday this year and while I will obviously be talking to my family on the day, it will be so nice to not have to worry about the pressure of the holiday at all.

And an added bonus for me is @heretherebedork is coming over and we are going to have the best day. So I'm not spending the holiday with my family that I was born into but I'm definitely spending it with my chosen family. (Also my mom is thrilled that Francis is coming over because my mom loves him as she should.)

[okcoolthanks]

Christmas ikea???

[comraderaccoon]

Ok, so went to Target a while back, to check out their Christmas stuff. Went down the ornament aisle and found this guy.

Anxiety

[mayplantstarrwaters]

it's 00:41 here btw, a christmassy night, i planned earlier today to open my christmas tree's wishes but i've none energy left to do this so guess i will leave this for tomorrow, so i can fully enjoy reading the wishes without feeling overwhelmed. For everyone who have sent me ornaments on my Christmas tree, i want to thank all of you alots for making my Christmas. I didn't even open any of the ornaments yet but knowing that alots of you have sent me those is enough to warm my cold heart on this winter day, i just appreciate it all alots. Love all of you, merry christmas

[gachaparadise]

Lost my 50/50 at 90. This is the 6th one in a row. I'm allowed to be mad at this point right.

[sapphicautistic]

In the 1980s in France, musicologists and archaeologists Iégor Reznikoff and Michel Dauvois used their voices to explore caves with notable Paleolithic wall paintings. By singing simple notes and whistling, they mapped their perceptions of the caves’ acoustics. They found that paintings were often located in places that were particularly resonant. Animal paintings were common in resonant chambers and in places along the walls that produced strong reverberation. As they crawled through narrow tunnels, they discovered painted red dots exactly located in the most resonant places. The entrances to these tunnels were also marked with paintings. Resonant recesses in walls were especially heavily ornamented.

In a 2017 study, a dozen acousticians, archaeologists, and musicians measured the sonic qualities of cave interiors in northern Spain. The team, led by acoustic scientist Bruno Fazenda, used speakers, computers, and microphone arrays to measure the behavior of precisely calibrated tones within the cave. The caves they studied contain wall art spanning much of the Paleolithic, dating from about forty thousand years to fifteen thousand years ago. The art includes handprints, abstract points and lines, and a bestiary of Paleolithic animals including birds, fish, horses, bovids, reindeer, bear, ibex, cetaceans, and humanlike figures. From hundreds of standardized measurements, the team found that painted red dots and lines, the oldest wall markings, are associated with parts of the cave where low frequencies resonate and sonic clarity is high due to modest reverberation. These would have been excellent places for speech and more complex forms of music, not muddied by excessive reverberation. Animal paintings and handprints were also likely to be in places where clarity is high and overall reverberation is low but with a good low-frequency response. These are the qualities that we seek now in modern performance spaces.

Sounds Wild and Broken, David George Haskell

[merakisphere]

Hello! I’m a maker of the once popular 3D wire mandala trinket from the 90’s era. During those “ancient” times, people would often enjoy this as a nifty hair piece, or fashionable bracelet. Nowadays it is more commonly used as a fidget toy and/or desk ornament. What makes this special is its hyper-versatility and the freedom of being able to use this however you can imagine.

I invite you to discover my handmade Fidget Blooms, and browse my hundreds of styles and colours favourited & reviewed by thousands of happy customers. Very demurely, use code TUMBLR at checkout for a special discount. Thank you for discovering my art, I do hope you enjoy it! :)

“The entire point of life is to take chances on dreams that seem crazy to most but feel like destiny to you.” -Timothy Shriver

I wanted to share this quote as it relates to my journey as an artisan specializing in wire art. It is a statement about pursuing one’s passion, even when others might find it unconventional or risky, as long as it feels personally meaningful and aligned with one’s purpose. <3

PS: 90s kids, don’t forget to take that Ipuprofen today for that back pain. XD

[spokenforyou]

sylus x fem reader

SUGAR COOKIES

synopsis: christmas is coming up so you and Sylus decorate and bake for the holidays. notes: wanted to make a short Sylus fluff since he doesn’t get a lot of fluff writings, and it’s almost christmas! warnings: swearing, light smacks on behind wc: 1.6k

Sylus is a bitter man to everyone but you.

Someone who practically controls the N109 Zone, owner of Onychinus, most feared man; loves to bake, but he’s not good at it. He’d own a bakery if he knew how. So, he takes today to gain the courage and ask you to bake cookies with him for Christmas.

Cooking and baking have never been something he’s good at. He’s good at controlling people, being a smooth talker, and just straight-up hot. But not anything that involves food… In reality, he’d end up burning his penthouse down. So he approaches you like an ashamed puppy, knowing you know how to cook and bake anything.

“Sweetie?” Sylus moves over to where you sit on the couch, his hand rubbing your thigh. Your eyes drift up to his and you hum.

“Yeah, Sy?” You smile at him and his heart clenches at the sight. You always made him melt into a puddle no matter what you did. He was truly in love with you. You were his kryptonite. But yet he was scared to ask you to make cookies with him.

He clears his throat and speaks quietly, “So, since it’s almost Christmas… I was thinking we could bake tonight and decorate a bit?”

Your eyes light up; you were initially going to ask him but he beat you to it. Christmas was your favorite holiday, especially with Sylus. The amount of Christmas stuff you guys had was insane, and you loved to put it all up. He’d take you shopping for decorations, and whatever you touched, he bought.

“Oh, that’d be great Sy, yeah!” You squeeze his hand. “Let’s decorate first; get it out of the way.” Standing up from the couch; he gets up with you and you head over to the giant closet near the living room, holding everything you need.

You grab out boxes, and Sylus takes them from you, stacking them on the floor. “What theme this year, Sy?” You look back at him and he thinks.

“Hm, maybe white and gold?” He smiles and shifts you to the side so he can grab your giant Christmas tree. “Here let me.” Sylus grabs the sixteen-foot tree he bought last year, worth five thousand dollars. It’s quite heavy, but he had no issue grabbing it and dragging it over to in front of the windows.

He uses his evol to get it to stand straight up and positions it so it sits perfectly in front of the city view. The tree is frosted with fake snow, berries, and pine cones; it was yet another thing you picked out.

“This looks good, princess?” Sylus looks back at you from the living room area, his hair matching the frosted branches. You smile and nod before returning to grab decorations.

You grab white and gold ornaments, lights, ribbon, a white tree skirt, and a giant star. Carrying them one by one over to Sylus, he laughs and uses his evol to grab the rest of the boxes. They fly past you and he sets them on the couch.

“I’ll grab the other decorations later.” You laugh and grab the white lights, walking over to Sylus. He gives you a soft look and smiles as you kneel to wrap the lights around the tree. You get about halfway before the length is out of your reach. Sylus shakes his head and lifts you onto his shoulder, sitting you and walking around the tree so you can get higher. The rest you couldn’t get to he uses his evol for.

Once the lights are on, you do the ribbon, repeating the same thing that you did with the lights. Sylus is there every step of the way, helping you with everything you need.

You finally finish up the tree, Sylus topping it off with the star, and you guys both smile at how pretty it looks, the city skyscrapers and stars in the background.

“So, cookies now?” He chuckles nervously as he looks down at you; you laugh as well.

“Yep, come on.” You drag him to the kitchen where you then grab your recipes and have him grab the ingredients needed. Sylus grabs everything and grabs two aprons. He grabs your pink one, tying it around you, and he grabs his red one.

“Okay, sugar cookies first.” You read over the recipe and he nods, although you can’t see him.

“Pour me one and one-fourth cups of sugar, please.” You smile up at him and rub his back as he pours it into the measuring cup.

Grabbing a bowl, you put butter into the bowl and he pours in the sugar; you grab the next ingredients and work well as a team. Normally, he’d fuck up by now.

“Eggs…” Sylus mutters under his breath and he hesitates as he holds the eggs in his hands. You look over at him, his hands shaking as he holds the eggs in his palms.

“Sylus. It’s okay, just crack them lightly and make sure not to get a shell in the bowl.” You laugh and he seems hesitant before he brings it to the bowl. He hits it too hard, and it cracks open, spewing all over the counter.

You tighten your lips and close your eyes to hold back a laugh. “Well…” You chuckle and look up at him. Egg white dripping down his hands as he sighs.

“Well,” Sylus repeats, and you can’t hold it in anymore. You bust out laughing and he looks over at you, feigning mock annoyance. He quickly washes his hands and sighs before he gets an idea.

“Sylus, that was fucking hilarious, I-“ You’re suddenly cut off by flour flying in your face. Sylus threw fucking flour at you. The white powder sprinkles down your apron and you gasp.

“Sylus, you ass!” You laugh and sprint over to the sink where he stands, tackling him. Too bad he catches you and lifts you; he throws you over his shoulder and smacks your ass. A flour hand print placed perfectly on your black pants.

“Sylus!” You laugh and he sets you back down before flicking you in the forehead.

“Shouldn’t have laughed at me. Now, you crack them.” Sylus chuckles and moves you back over to the bowl, placing two eggs in your hands.

You roll your eyes and laugh; you crack them and put them in the bowl. He watches you in awe at how you do it so easily.

“God, why can’t I do that?” He mumbles under his breath. Hearing him, you giggle and continue to do the rest of the ingredients, stirring until you knead with your hands.

Ten minutes later, you finish kneading the dough to the right consistency and he grabs parchment paper. Sylus breaks the dough into segments before wrapping them and putting them in the fridge.

Some dough remains in the bowl, and Sylus helps himself. “Must be good?” You laugh as he stuffs his mouth.

“Mhm,” He smiles, cheeks full like a chipmunk. I reach into the bowl and grab some as well.

“God, I’m so good at baking.” You smirk and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, rub it in my face, princess.” He moves over to wash his hands, having enough dough. You smile and finish the rest; grabbing the utensils you used and placing them in the bowl before moving over to where he stands

He takes the bowl from you and sets it in the sink so he can wash everything.

“I’ll do them for you, baby.” He leans down and kisses your flour-caked face. Smacking his butt playfully, you leave the kitchen and wipe your face and wash your hands in the bathroom while he does those for you.

After about ten minutes, he finishes them, not wanting to throw them in the dishwasher. Sylus grabs the dough out of the fridge and unwraps them, placing parchment paper on the table and dusting it with more flour. He grabs the rolling pin, a pan to bake, and some cookie cutters. He refuses to set the oven because he’s not sure what temperature to set it at. He doesn’t want to set the place on fire either.

You walk back out into the kitchen and see him sitting at the table with a soft smile on his face. “Cleaned up?”

You nod with a laugh and walk over to the oven, turning it to 375 degrees. You giggle knowing he didn’t want to fuck up anything else and you walk over to him before sitting on his lap.

He gasps and quickly relaxes, wrapping his arms around you.

“Let’s do these, yeah?” You grab the dough and dust the rolling pin before rolling it out to a good width. He grabs the flour and pours a pile of it onto the paper for your cutters.

He smiles as he rests his head on your shoulder while you cut the cookies out. You cut out stars, Christmas trees, snowmen, and gingerbread men and smile as you look at the cutouts.

“Missed one princess,” Sylus whispers as he kisses your neck gently. His arm unwraps from your body and he hands you a heart cutter. Your heart warms as he places it into dough and cuts it out. He then hands it to you and lets you do another.

You both cut out a heart and set it on the pan with the others; he unwraps another dough and allows you to do more.

You finish the cookies and place them all together. “They look great baby.” Sylus kisses your neck again, and he allows you off his lap to put them in the oven.

After cooking for about 7 minutes, you pull them out, and they look perfect. Sylus gets up and joins you; he pulls you against his side before praising you once again. God, how he loved to praise you.

“Magic hands.” He chuckles and you laugh with him.

“Can’t let you touch anything. Maybe you can frost them?” You giggle and he nods.

“Yeah, that I can’t fuck up…” Sylus agrees and slumps.

The two of you frost the cookies once they’re done, you sitting on his lap while he puts sprinkles on them. He kisses you now and then, just to show how much he loves you.

The night goes smoothly and you end the night eating cookies on the couch, not daring to touch the heart-shaped ones.

They were saved for Christmas morning.

[elodieunderglass]

Hey bestie whats a narrow boat? I saw you tag that on something you reblogged and I'm pretty curious now!

- Terry Darlington, Narrow Dog to Carcassone

A narrowboat (all one word) is a craft restricted to the British Isles, which are connected all over by a nerve-map of human-made canals. To go up and down hills, the canals are spangled with locks (chambers in which boats can be raised or lowered by filling or emptying them with water.) As Terry says above, the width of the locks was somewhat randomly determined, and as a result, the British Isles have a narrow design of lock - and a narrowboat to fit through them. A classic design was seventy feet long and six feet wide. Starting in the 18th century, and competing directly with trains, canal “barges” were an active means of transport and shipping. They were initially pulled along the towpaths by horses, and you can still see some today!

Later, engines were developed.

Even after the trains won the arms race, it was a fairly viable freight service right up until WW2. It’s slow travel, but uses few resources and requires little human power, with a fairly small crew (of women, in WW2) being capable of shifting two fully laden boats without consuming much fossil fuel.

In those times the barges were designed with small, cramped cabins in which the boaters and their families could live.

During its heyday the narrowboat community developed a style of folk art called “roses and castles” with clear links to fairground art as well as Romani caravan decor. They are historically decorated with different kinds of brass ornaments, and inside the cabins could also be distinctively painted and decorated.

Today, many narrowboats are distinctively decorated and colorful - even if not directly traditional with “roses and castles” they’ll still be bright and offbeat. A quirky name is necessary. All narrowboats, being boats, are female.

After a postwar decline, interest in the waterways was sparked by a leisure movement and collapsing canals were repaired. Today, the towpaths are a convenient walking/biking trail for people, as they connect up a lot of the mainland of the UK, hitting towns and cities. Although the restored canals are concrete-bottomed, they’re attractive to wildlife. Narrowboats from the 1970s onward started being designed for pleasure and long-term living. People enjoy vacationing by hiring a boat and visiting towns for a cuter, comfier, slower version of a campervan life. And a liveaboard community sprang up - people who live full-time on boats. Up until the very restrictive and nasty laws recently passed in the UK to make it harder for travelling peoples (these were aimed nastily at vanlivers and the Romani, and successfully hit everyone) this was one of the few legal ways remaining to be a total nomad in the UK.

Liveaboards can moor up anywhere along the canal for 28 days, but have to keep moving every 28 days. (Although sorting out the toilet and loading up with fresh water means that a lot of people move more frequently than that.) you can also live full-time in a marina if they allow it, or purchase your own mooring. In London, where canal boats are one of the few remaining cheapish ways to live, boats with moorings fetch the same prices as houses. It can be very very hard for families to balance school, parking, work, and all the difficulties of living off-grid- but many make it work. It remains a diverse community and is even growing, due to housing pressures in the UK. Boats can be very comfortable, even when only six feet wide. When faced with spending thousands of pounds on rent OR mooring up on a nice canal, you can see why it seems a romantic proposition for young people, and UK television channels always have slice-of-life documentaries about young folks fixing up their very own quirky solar-powered narrowboat. I don’t hate; I did it myself.

If you’re lucky, you might even meet some of the cool folks who run businesses from their narrowboats: canal-side walkers enjoy bookshops, vegan bakeries, ice-cream boats, restaurants, artists and crafters. There are Floating Markets and narrowboat festivals. It’s generally recognised that boaters contribute quite a lot to the canal - yet there are many tensions between different kinds of boaters (liveaboards vs leisure boaters vs tourists) as well as tensions with local settled people, towpath users like cyclists, and fishermen. I could go on and on explaining this rich culture and dramas, but I won’t.

Phillip Pullman’s Gyptians are a commonly cited example of liveaboards - although they were based on the narrowboat liveaboards that Pullman knew in Oxford, their boats are actually Dutch barges. Dutch barges make good homes but are too wide to access most of the midlands and northern canals, and are usually restricted to the south of the UK. So they’re accurate for Bristol/London/Oxford, and barges are definitely comfier to film on. (Being six feet wide is definitely super awkward for a boat.) but in general Dutch barges are less common, more expensive and can’t navigate the whole system.

However, apart from them, there are few examples of narrowboat depictions that escaped containment. So it’s quite interesting that there is an entire indigenous special class of boat, distinctive and highly specialised and very cute, with an associated culture and heritage and folk art type, known to all and widely celebrated, and ABSOLUTELY UNKNOWN outside of the UK - a nation largely known around the world for inflicting its culture on others. They’re a strange, sweet little secret - and nobody who has ever loved one can resist pointing them out for the rest of their lives, or talking about them when asked to. Thank you for asking me to.

[strawberrymochin]

Clan head! Gojo | warnings ⚠️ degradation, kidnapping and misogyny |

Imagine you're a kin to the zenin clan, born with no cursed energy, perceived as no important asset by your family, suddenly being kidnapped by the gojo clan members for you to replace the dead bride of the clan head gojo satoru— why you ask? Your brother naoya seemed to have killed the bride of the clan head.

That's what you heard when the soldiers who kidnapped you chatted idly drunk. You laid back in the dusty carriage, eavesdropping at their drunk conversation with your hands tied tightly behind your back. A stripe of cloth blocked your vision and your feets felt numb too.

You don't remember much of how you came to be here, nor you think you tried to resist their attack, it was just a bunch loud noises and blur of visions. Even though you attempted running away somehow you knew it'd be very well futile.

You do nothing but sigh.

The next you see the blinding brightness is when someone cuts the stripe of cloth off your skin. You feel the cold blade graze near your eyes, if the blade is turned in opposite direction it might as well blind you forever.

You open your eyes adjusting your vision, you head hung low. The floor was made of wood and someone was kneeling infront of you.

A man slides his finger under your chin forcing you to look up. His eyes were the azure of the blue. Rays of sunlight sparkled and danced in them as if it were reflecting on a thousand shards of crystals. His skin was pale and face extremely handsome. The dressing you recognise— you'd seen it when your parents used to display you as an ornament. This specific haori was worn by the clan head of gojo's.

The last you saw this haori was when you were 10, worn by a shaggy old person. It seems that the gojo's have appointed a new clan leader and you are supposedly in trouble.

He held your face with his one hand(not gentle), moving your face from one side to others, as if speculating it before jerking your face and turning back where his other attendees stand.

"this will do." He said in his velvet voice, however the tone didn't really suit him, as if he didn't meant what he said and rather was forced to say that.

The next thing you know is the maids scurrying your away to a chamber where your skin is cleaned squeaky and scented all over, your hair is brushed and adorned with some dangling jewels and your robes dirty from the dusty carriage changed to a pair of white and red robes of silk.

The maids give you a look of anticipation yet none dares to spare a word to you. Even they are confused why you aren't protesting or questioning any. Oh how could you? You weren't even allowed to speak in your own home. Your voice was considered unnecessary so you kept quiet, never uttering a word unless spoken to.

"you will be my bride. Bow your head to my words and be the subject of my desires." He announced, "and you will obey it even if my desire is your death."

Loud roars of his subjects came waving in the air, "that's what you get to have the audacity to mess with the gojo's." The public's roars died down when you kneel infront of him. Your hands touching the floor and you bow till your head touch the floor, "yes. I will be your bride,the slave of your will, the subject of your desires, even if your desire is of my death."

Gojo's eyes widened at your words but quickly masks his surprise. He, too kneels down and orders you to rise your head.

The cup of sake sat in between you two.

Soon you will be the bride of gojo satoru.

And yet you will still remain non existent to your parents.

A/n- okay sorry I'm not done with the professor series and my uni vacations were over a week ago and I've a lots of stuff to do. I just can't find time to write. So sorry but just have this non sensical blurb....

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 4. (read 1, 2, 3) tags: dubcon; nsfw

-

You only realize after the fact that you may have miscalculated in thinking that this could be a one-time thing between the two of you. 

After listening to Johnny bitch and moan during the Christmas party about having to take time off work to spend the holidays with his very religious family, you delude yourself into thinking you’ll finally be able to have some peace and quiet around the store. Not literally, of course. Working during the holidays is always a recipe for exhaustion—parents coming in at the last minute to demand toys that have long since sold out, fights breaking out in every other aisle as customers fight for the last palatable set of Christmas ornaments and boxed fruit cake. 

You’re not delusional enough to think that work will be a piece of cake, but you are selfishly a little happy that you’ll finally get some time to breathe without Johnny hovering over your shoulder at all hours of your shift. Seasonal shoppers are as exhausting as always, but you get to sit alone in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in the morning right before your shift without someone staring at you or breathing into your personal bubble. 

Johnny spends his entire time off blowing up your phone, sending you pictures of his childhood home, calling you during your breaks, and sending you weird videos that seem to have been filmed entirely in the dark where you can’t see or hear anything apart from some weird squeaks and one loud grunt at the very end of the video that sounds kind of like—you close the video.

You spend the first few days of January dreading his return. The day of is like a shock to your nervous system, the whole morning spent pouring coffee with a trembling hand. 

“Hiya gorgeous,” he purrs when you clock in for your shift. You’re somewhat used to Johnny sneaking up behind you, so you don’t flinch this time when you feel the length of his body press up against you at the time clock. 

“Johnny, it’s seven in the morning,” you mutter out through pursed lips, shoulders stiff when he puts his hands on them and digs his thumbs into the tender points of your back. You bite back a moan.

“Missed ye, kitten. Cannae believe I went a whole week without hearing you purr.”

He could’ve phrased that a thousand other ways, but he just had to choose the one that would make you wince. He digs his thumbs in again, trying to push the moan out of you, but you tamp it down. You hold back a shudder when he plants his nose onto the crown of your head and inhales, drawing your scent into his lungs. 

“Where’ye assigned ta today? Jeff owes me a favour—gonna ask him if I can spend the day with ye so we can catch up.” 

You go still when he drops a firm kiss to the side of your head. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t checked the schedule yet.” It’s a half-lie. You may not have checked the schedule yet, but you know from having briefly chatted with your manager this morning in the parking lot where you’ll be spending most of your day.

Still, it means that you get to shake off Johnny for a bit. “Lemme go check for ye, okay, hen? Stay here, a’right?”

You watch him jog off down the hall to the breakroom before finally leaving. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before he comes back. 

The first hour of your day is spent on softlines until Priya in jewellery randomly comes down with a chill and gets sent home early, forcing you to cover her section. Usually that wouldn’t be such a bad deal—it means you get to spend your shift helping people try on bracelets and rings, restocking the earring display, and leaning against the counter for hours at a time. It’s not a particularly busy station.  

While you're assigned to the jewellery section though, Johnny pops out of nowhere as you're helping a customer contemplating a birthday ring for his fiancé. With the kind of confidence that you’ve come to expect from Johnny, he uses your hand to model some of the rings, but this time it feels oddly weirdly intense. When he slides the first ring onto your finger, you can feel the way he holds his breath, even shudders a bit. He presses himself right up against you behind the display counter, hardness pressing against your hip. 

It doesn’t take long for your customer to leave. Johnny’s demeanour is off-putting, concerning even. You can’t fault the guy for being rightfully repulsed by the way Johnny crowds up against you like you’re alone together. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss through your teeth.

“Cannae help it, hen. I ken ye wanna wait, but it jus’ makes me a bit emotional seein’ my girl wearing a ring I put on.”

He blinks down at you with big, blue eyes, the picture of innocence. You should’ve anticipated there being a danger in letting Johnny stew over that on his own. Of course he’d come to his own conclusions, even one as deranged as thinking of your hook up as a step towards dating. You can’t help but side eye him. 

“We—we’re not a couple, Johnny.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Ye just let anybody eat you out in the supply closet then? S’that right?” It’s said rhetorically, like he knows the answer already. You flinch at the slight though.

“That was—” you cut yourself off to take a breath, an ache growing behind your forehead, “—that was a…it was a one-time thing. You can’t just act like we’re dating.”

His lips turn down in a pout, displeasure rippling across his face. You brace yourself for the inevitable argument, for shit to hit the fan, because obviously that’s what’s brewing under the surface. You brace yourself for worse too because when you happen to glance around, you realize how few people are actually milling around in the area. 

Then, instead of losing his temper, Johnny’s eyes grow smoky, heavy-lidded, and the pout lifts into a lazy, playful grin. “A’right, kitty, no’ dating then. That’s fine wi’ me.”

This time it’s you that frowns, staring up at him dubiously. “…Really?” It feels too sudden, quicksilver. Johnny’s fiery by nature, short tempered on his best days and more likely to grit his teeth and bear the displeasure of not getting his way than happily giving into it. His sudden smile is at odds with the version of him that exists in your mind, furious at you for denying him. 

Maybe you’ve got him all wrong. 

The gleam in his eye betrays nothing, however. “I swear.” He leans closer to you then, fingers fiddling with the name tag pinned over your chest on your work vest, straightening it. “Doesnae mean we have ta give the rest up though. Ye liked what we did in the closet, right, hen?”

It feels like he’s sucked the air out of the room, as big as it is. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Och, c’mon, kitty,” Johnny breathes, hunching just a little over and into your space, making the moment feel private, just the two of you. “Had to talk about it eventually. Did ye just expect that everything would go back to normal after ye let me eat ye out? Hey—” he catches you when you try to make a move to step away from him, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and tugging you closer to him, “—listen, kitty—it doesnae have to be anything serious, right? That’s what’s making ye all jumpy and nervous? I’ll lick your pussy, free of charge. Dinnae need any labels. How’s that sound, kitty? Dick on demand?”

It should repulse you. The way he speaks to you is crass, crude. His voice is hushed, haggard, fur stretched taut over stone—and yet, your hands tremble, just a little. It tempts you. Purring Scottish burr, lapis lazuli eyes, bristle cheeks that you still remember scraping up your inner thighs. He’s a package you can’t imagine sending back.

“You won’t get…you promise not to get weird about it?” you ask.

His smile curls up, impish. “Cross my heart, kitten.”

Maybe you’re delusional enough to think that you can have your cake and eat it too. There’s a voice in your head telling you to face the facts, but you disregard it as if you haven’t been working with Johnny for months. As if you aren’t aware of his penchant for saying or doing anything to get his way. It’s maybe naive of you. 

All you know is that he smothers a laugh when you tell him you’ll think about it. Knows he’s got you right where he wants.

You don’t fight when he drags you into the single-stall bathroom towards the end of your shift, letting him position you in front of the mirror before sinking to his knees behind you. Forces you to watch the way you come apart on his tongue, not giving you his fingers until you beg him to, the whispered plea a hairsbreadth away from becoming a scream. 

“Oh, did she miss me?” Johnny breathes, a happy laugh in his voice when he runs the broad side of his tongue over your entrance from the back. “Fuck, look at that. Winked at me ‘n everythin’. Hi darling, missed ye too.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be the same after hearing that come out of his mouth. You go hot all over again when you clench involuntarily, equal parts turned on and horrified. He sniggers before trying to cram his whole tongue up into you. 

There’s a moment of panic when Johnny draws up behind you after making you come and you hear him undo his pants. There’s nowhere for you to go with your pants still looped around your ankles, underwear pulled all the way down as well. You hear yourself hiss a startled Johnny when he slots a fat cock between your thighs, staring dumbly at the reflection of him behind you. At your back, he seems massive, lean and trim but towering over you, broad. 

He shushes you. “Dinnae be selfish, hen—gotta get mine too. Jus’ gonna fuck your thighs, dinnae fret.”

You squeak when he pushes your thighs together forcefully, dragging his cock over your folds to wet himself. Watching Johnny fuck is nothing like staring down at him when he eats you out. He pants harsh and ragged into the side of your head, nips at your ear. The glint in his eyes goes animalistic, vacant. Human desire recedes, subsumed into the animal part of his brain with the single-minded need to fuck. 

The only thing keeping him from driving up into you, accidentally or not, is the way you keep your thighs pressed together. A warm, tight channel for him to push his cock into. Thick fingers dig into your waist, sure to leave bruises. You wince when lean hips pound against your backside, growing frantic as need overtakes him. You flirt at the edge of panic, certain that at any second, he’ll pull your thighs apart and nudge the head of his cock up into you. 

“Jus’ like that, fuck,” he grunts. “Be a good little fuckin’ girl and jus’ let me—”

His tongue lolls out on a particularly rough thrust, hands groping over your belly and up to your chest, slipping his hand under your shirt and bra to pinch your nipple. He twists it mean, nasty, until you have no choice but to grunt through grit teeth, eyes watering. You feel like a doll meant for his pleasure, no choice but to grip the sides of the sink and let Johnny use you until he comes. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, eyes going half-lidded. “Love makin’ this pussy come. Love gettin’ her all messy and wet. Lettin’ me between your thighs even when I make ye nervous—fuck, ‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

White come stripes the sink in front of you, thick and viscous. Paints the inside of your thighs as well when he drags his hips back until just the head of his cock sits nestled up against your sex. Hyperconscious of where it tags your inner lips, that there’s no barrier between the two of you, just come and skin. 

The full body shake shocks you, a ripple from your heels to the top of your head. 

His free hand grasps you by the hair when you try to slip away. “Ye gonna clean up your mess, baby?”

You glance back up at his reflection in the mirror, trying to suss him out. Shark-like eyes meet yours. Something you’ve seen in glances before finally staring back at you with full force. You reach for the paper towel dispenser with a shaking hand. 

“Nah,” Johnny scolds, giving you a shake. “With your mouth.”

The command hangs in the air, no joke or laugh to undercut it. His eyes read serious to you, still dark. No leniency present in the blue. 

You stare down at his come on the sink, slack-jawed. “You don’t seriously mean—”

“Jus’ kidding, silly,” he chuckles, giving a teasing bite to your earlobe and tugging. The tension in the air disperses. “Got ye, huh?” 

You force a laugh. “Yeah…got me.”

[cazhan]

Useful Resources for CC creators & others who interested in art

I'm done gatekeeping so i thought i'd share my list of very cool websites (mostly flickr pages) with my fellow creators or just people who interested in arts. Almost all art from these sites has public domain copyrights, meaning you can use it however you want (in most cases even sell) without giving credits, but be sure to check copyrights under pictures on flickr. Links:

British Library - (flickr) thousands of scans from the books and posters, has animals, nature, ornaments, paintings of people. Very useful for tattoos, prints and design in general.

Boston Public Library - (flickr) scans of the posters, books and postcards, also has vintage photos but most of them copyrighted, so make sure to check for rights under every photo. My personal favorite is the painted postcards, check them out.

The Library of Congress - (flickr) vintage photos and most of them doesn't have copyrights, very cool for graphic design.

Biodiversity Heritage Library - (flickr) paintings of animals, snakes, birds, bugs, fish, nature. My fav page from flickr.

Swallowtail Garden Seeds - (flickr) photos and paintings of flowers. Good for reference.

Artvee - I LOVE this website. All paintings under public domain in the high resolution. You can type in keyword to search for specific painting of something, you can save pics for later or follow artists, there's thousand of choices. I just love it and you should too.

(if u see spelling mistakes look away)

[voxslays]

DECORATING THE CHRISTMAS TREE

⤷ Featuring; Lucifer x Reader, In which: Reader and Lucifer decorate the Hotel’s Christmas tree for Charlie. ˋ°•*⁀➷

It was the beginning of the holiday season in hell. Imps, Succubi, and other hellborn celebrated their familial winter traditions, while sinners celebrated the earth traditions they brought with them when they died. You were one of them. Once a simple human, now damned to eternal suffering in hell…yet it never seemed so bad. You had met Lucifer a few months back, when he had first arrived at the hotel, and once again when he saved the hotel residents from Adam and the exterminators. You had talked to him frequently since he moved in, and you two had become close friends.

Earlier this morning, Charlie had called you and the other residents down into the lobby. She explained she wanted to decorate the hotel and make it extra festive to give everyone a little holiday spirit. You were assigned tree duty. Firstly, you needed a tree. “Hey, Alastor…?” You smile sweetly. “Yes, my dear?” Alastor says, his usual radio static even more prominent this morning. “Could you make us a tree?” Before you can even blink, there is a beautiful snowy evergreen standing straight up in the middle of the lobby. “Thanks Alastor!” You run over to admire the tree.

Next you marched down into the hotel's cellar. It was dark and damp, not the kind of place you would like to spend very long in. You hurriedly grabbed the ornaments Charlie had stored. Unfortunately, there were at least ten decent sized crates of fragile ornaments, forcing you to take multiple trips. Once all of the tree’s decorations (and a tall orange ladder) were in the lobby, you could finally begin. This was going to take hours.

And then Lucifer entered the lobby, his golden eyes immediately locking onto you as you decorated the tree. It was obvious he had just woken up. There were slight eyebags under his eyes, and his hair was slightly disheveled, yet he was even more beautiful in your opinion. You couldn't help but stare at the way the lights reflected in his eyes, casting a warm glow on his face. You felt your heart skip a beat as he watched you, completely entranced by your presence. “Good Morning, your highness. I’m surprised you’re awake so soon.” You jest playfully.

​​Lucifer chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours as he walks closer to you. He leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you continue to decorate the tree. His gaze is intense, filled with a joyful and adoring look that only you seem to notice. “So… what do you think so far?” You ask, stepping down from the step stool you were standing on and admiring your work. The tree was empty except for the Christmas lights you had wrapped around its branches. "It's beautiful... just like you." Luci’s voice comes out in a childish, playful manner as he reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh sweetly. “Well I still have about two thousand…ish-? ornaments to put on the tree.” He watches as you grab a box of ornaments, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer to you, his presence looming over you. "Need any help?" His tone is gentle and charming. “Yes please!” You smile gratefully. He sits down next to you on the floor, his long legs stretched out as he begins to help you unwrap the ornaments. Luci carefully takes each one from the box, his fingers brushing against yours occasionally as he hands them to you to hang on the tree. With Luci’s help, you have to quickly pull out the stool again…and then a ladder. You almost think Alastor chose the tallest tree he could find on purpose, just to make you suffer. The tree was almost to the roof of the two-story lobby!

Lucifer laughs at your struggle, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans the ladder against the tree, watching as you climb up to decorate the harder to reach branches. "You know, Alastor did this on purpose, didn't he?" He laughs in a jolly tone. “That’s what I was thinking!” You laugh. You have reach to put the next ornament up. You shift your weight a little too much, and feel the ladder start to fall. You let out a shriek. Without missing a beat, Lucifer’s wings appear as he flies up and catches you midair. "Whoa there!" His wings wrap slightly around you protectively as he slowly descends with you in his arms. His heart was racing—not from the sudden movement, but from the feel of you in his arms. "Careful there...don't want you getting hurt."

“Thanks…!” You say out of breath. Luci sets you back down on your feet, keeping one arm around your waist to steady you. "Maybe we should just skip the top branches and focus on the lower ones, huh?" He smiles, his warm breath tickling your ear. "I can always use my wings to reach anything we miss." You smile warmly. “I’d like that.” You say, grabbing a light blue ornament gently from his grasp. As you continue decorating, Luci stays close by your side, occasionally reaching up to grab a decoration and hand it to you to hang. He hums along to the music playing in the background, his arm never leaving your waist.

After a few hours of decorating, the only thing left is the star. You carefully unwrap the silk red and golden cover and hand it to Lucifer. “Would you do the honors?” He leans in, his arm around your waist tightening slightly as he takes the star. "Of course." He gently places the star at the very top of the tree, his wings fluttering slightly as he reaches. "There we go. Perfect." Lucifer slowly descends from the tree, his golden eyes meeting yours. He keeps one hand around your waist, pulling you slightly closer. "You know, the tree looks great, but..." His voice trails off, his face lighting up with a devilish grin. "There's still something missing." He chuckles, his arm around your waist tightening. “Hm?” You hum teasingly.

Without warning, Lucifer leans in and presses his lips against yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. "Now it's perfect." You laugh gently, your giggles like music to hell’s ears. “You are so cheeky.” Lucifer chuckles softly, his red pupils sparkling with amusement and something more. "Cheeky? Me? Never!" He presses another quick kiss to your lips, then whispers close to your ear. "Though I do love it when you make that little giggle of yours." You smirk. “Maybe I’ll do it more often then.” His face lights up with a brilliant smile, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners. "I’d love that.”

[honeylullaby]

“She’s the one, Lizzie.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black & Lizzie Vereker (in regards to reader!)

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Rupert confides in his best friend, Lizzie Vereker, that he plans to propose to you…

18+ FANFIC / Super Soft Rupert 🥹🥹 And his gorgeous friendship with Lizzie!! 🫶🏽 As always, request what you wanna see in my ask box 💋

The dim winter night pierced the atmosphere surrounding Penscombe Court as violent rain lashed against the concrete. In the lounge, the grand fireplace roared and hissed, and Lizzie Vereker’s raucous laughter filled the air. “Oh darling, your laugh is just magnificent.” Rupert Campbell-Black chuckled after his best friend. “More wine?” He asked, already pouring a generous amount of crimson red wine into her glass. Leaning his head against her shoulder, Rupert sighed in contentment. Lizzie was one of the only people, besides you, that he felt he could truly be himself around. An extension of his own self.

“How are things going with you and what’s-her-name, anyway?” She asked, breathless from her maniacal giggling. You hadn’t yet met Lizzie, but he’d told you ever so much about her. “Ah, Lizzie. A gentleman never tells.” Rupert tutted in quiet response. “Do excuse me, one must use the men’s room.” He sighed, pulling himself from the sofa and exiting promptly. Delirious from intoxication and wobbling as she walked, Lizzie also rose up and decided to take a covert sneak around the lounge. There was nothing of any importance really. Delicate, marble ornaments — un-dusted and uncared for by Rupert — and mounds of paperwork, sworn into secrecy by Rupert’s other life. As she lifted one of his unnecessarily heavy camouflage jackets from his coat stand, painfully tempted to try it on and perform a fashion show, a small velvet-coated black box fell onto the stoned floor with a marvellous thud. “Oh goodness.” She fussed, scrambling onto the floor to retrieve it and place it back before Rupert returned.

“Lizzie, darling, what on Earth are you doing?” He questioned, leaning against the doorframe with a wicked grin painted over his face. “I’m so sorry!” She panicked, fingers trembling in embarrassment as she attempted in futile to return the box to his coat pocket. Rupert’s grin quickly diminished, his eyes widening in shock. He stomped over to the coat stand and snatched the box from her fingers, opening and promptly slamming it shut after he had confirmed the contents of the box was safe. “What is it?” She asked, leaning towards the coffee table and gulping down a mouthful of wine. “Sit.” He demanded, clicking his fingers towards the sofa. A small ‘oop’ left Lizzie’s mouth as she drunkenly toppled onto the sofa.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Rupert sat beside her, holding the small box in his unsteady hands. Pausing for breath, he lifted the lid of the box. Lizzie clapped her left hand across her mouth and gasped thunderously. “Rupert!” She gasped, spluttering on her wine and slamming the glass onto the coffee table, sloshes of scarlet immediately staining the darkened oak.

Inside the box sat the most exquisite, elegant ring — the most immense rock of diamond clung onto the daintiest silver band. The jewel glinted mesmerisingly against the flames of the fire. Lizzie’s orbs enlarged at the allure of such luxury. “Bloody hell, Rupert!” She panted and Rupert’s gaze followed her every move, running his tongue over his teeth in expectant joy. “I know. Rather something, isn’t it? Definitely brought a tear to my eye buying it. That’s £55,000 I’ll never get back.” He tutted jokingly. For the twentieth time tonight, Lizzie spluttered over her words again. “Fifty-five thousand pounds? Jesus, that’s more than I’ve ever earned in my entire lifetime.” She bantered back to him. “What’s the plan?” Lizzie asked again whilst biting her nails in anticipation.

Rupert stood now, closing the box gently and placing it back into his coat pocket. He paced around the room, gesturing his hands to and fro as he set the scene. “I’m thinking… picnic in the bluebell woods, when the weather’s brightened up a touch. All of her favourite foods, lay a blanket down and stay there until the evening. Watch the sunset and just surprise her with it.” That smug expression of self-pride invaded his face. It drove Lizzie up the wall. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you? You’re doing that weasel-y little smirk you do when you’re proud of yourself. I hate it.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a snigger from her companion. “Don’t be jealous, darling. It’s terribly uncouth.” Rupert jested back to her.

Tutting to herself, Lizzie grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. Once more, Rupert rested his head tenderly on her shoulder, and she raised her right hand to pat him affectionately. “She’s the one, Lizzie. I’m sure of it. For the first time in my life, I feel terrified. She looks at me like she sees right through me. Very sexy, I must say, but utterly terrifying.” He exhales. “I think that’s just love, darling.” Lizzie remarks.

“I think so.” Rupert mutters.