Name's Lexi. 21 years old but 2 and a half on the inside. A little babygirl trying to make it in the big world and indulging in my happiness meanwhile. I post anything ddlg, abdl, fandoms, cutesy, and creepy/dark. Whatever my little heart desires. I am happily taken by a wonderful Daddy who will soon be my husband and this blog is my devotion to our life :3 my blog is strictly 18+, so if you are underage, I'm sorry but I'm not willing to let either of us get in trouble. I don't make the rules *shrug* otherwise, please feel free to talk to me! I only nibble! Always hear to help out, give advice, or lend an ear or shoulder ♥
i woke up this morning to find my little guy sitting by the tree waiting for santa and i thought it was too cute not to take a picture of ^^ also yes dee is alive :O he’s just enjyoing some time off from tumblr :)
I hate tonight. I hate my life. I hate that I had to do what I did. All I can think is that I wish I had my little boy here snuggled and asleep with me and my heart just tears to pieces knowing it will never happen.
On a recent trip to Philadelphia, Chef Bill McDaniel of The Red Cat came upon two amazing classic American shops. Shane Confectionery is the oldest continuously-run confectionery in the United States, established in 1863. The Shane family took over the business in 1911, installing elaborately carved woodwork, stained glass and curved windows to showcase the chocolates and confections made onsite. Ninety-nine years later, in 2010, the business transitioned to the Berley Brothers who own the nearby Franklin Fountain and whom embarked on a meticulous restoration of the building and business. Candies continue to be made on-site, with an emphasis on locally-sourced ingredients, seasonal specialties and old-fashioned quality.
Shane Confectionery in Old City, Philadelphia DyanaSoPhotography
A hush fills the interior of 110 Market Street in Philadelphia. Little can be heard except the razory wind reverberating the curved glass display windows of the store front (creating a low-sung banshee note) and the now-and-then creak of the wide pine floorboards. The hush carries with it a certain sanctity, like the oaken innards of a chapel. It contains sounds that the eardrum cannot register: the sound of candy clerks stepping on the rungs of wheeled ladders to fetch boxes of chocolates from the topmost store shelves, the sound of jelly beans filling a brass scale, the sound of crinkled paper as ladies neatly wrap candy packages, the sound of the sharp metallic peal of the cash register’s bell clanging off of marble countertops and hand-carved Chippendale-style cabinetry. It carries the sound of peanuts and almonds being crushed by rolling pins on the upper floor, the brisk snap of shells sounding like rainfall on flagstone. It transmits the burbling hiss of chocolate stewing in copper pots over sapphire spears of gasfire jetted from wrought iron fudge cauldrons. Within the quiet the ear of the tranquil soul can detect the boastful call of master confectioners instructing new staff how to make candy treats with an unyielding eye and a cool, steady hand. The hush encloses the simmering signatures of candymaking dynasties from eras bygone. It sustains the steady pulsation of life and lives lived; it keeps the inaudible noise of the sweetness of dreams crystallizing into reality like electric crackle. The fixtures of the store themselves seem to whisper their essence, the stories they have upheld. The punch bowl lights intersperse along the pressed-tin walls and disclose a porridge-colored incandescence throughout the shop. The decorated tin of the ceiling and walls seems to laugh, tickled by the memory of the flickering gaslight of hung chandeliers which lash a champagne tone onto the fleur-de-lis motif that moves across the walls like a pulse rate.