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𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 "𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘦" 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥
Dear Marmee,
The bitter cold crept in slowly at first but there is no denying winter has arrived here in Wales. Everything is now covered in a sheet of white snow.
Every morning, I wake before the rooster's crow. Our friend Beth has moved in with us and she enjoys knitting very much. She has knitted me two new sweaters before Christmas has even come and they keep me much warmer than my worn-out coat from last Winter. It's a good thing too 'cause there's still much to be done on our farm, though I've made a rather decent amount of progress.
Even so, we hardly had any remaining produce leftover for ourselves after selling what I was able to salvage from our terrible blight. I won't burden you too much with our troubles but things have been rough here for us and I know Winifred is silently troubling herself over it.
You mentioned Jo is trying to get published? Please let me know how that goes for her. I think it might just inspire Winifred who is still glued to her typewriter whenever she has the time to write.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Sincerely, Lawrence
Dear Marmee,
I'm sorry to hear Jo was turned down in her quest to get published. Hopefully it won't discourage her from trying. Have you heard from Amy in Paris? How are Meg and Mr. Brooks? How does Beth like teaching piano?
Many of our animals, including the thorn in my side, Frank the Goose, passed on near the end of November. Without their eggs and milk to sell, money is tighter than ever.
Winifred has begun fretting over how we will make a good Christmas for Ozzy. So I've started working at the pub again to help us make it through the rest of winter and afford a few gifts for him. I'm struggling to come up with an idea on what to get Winifred, after all, how could I top her typewriter? If you have any ideas, please include them in your next letter.
Ozzy is doing quite well, thank you for asking. He likes to "help" me on the farm but mostly he enjoys playing in the snow with the garden shovels and trying to escape to our small pond. You would not believe the tantrums he throws when I have to wrangle him away from the edge. I can almost understand how my Father felt when I was a boy and he would paddle my bottom. The boy is like a fish the way he enjoys the water! Even bathtime seems to be his favorite part about bedtime.
It was a struggle to get him out of his crib and into a real bed but we needed to complete the transition before our new little one arrives. With Beth here to teach us patience, I can proudly declare we have finally succeeded.
Sincerely, Lawrence
Dear Marmee,
We're approaching our due date rather quickly, a little under 3 months now. Millie has been staying with Louise for the Winter (and giving her free cooking lessons) after agreeing to stay and help Winifred deliver the baby, which I'm thankful for. I know this is a huge relief for Winifred. Her last delivery was not without complications and I know she grows uneasy the closer we get.
I know Winifred believes the baby will be a girl but I have my own suspicions we will welcome another son. I'm not wholly certain I could handle another little girl after we lost Flora. Not yet, rather. The pain of losing a child never truly leaves, does it?
I did not mean to ignore your inquiry over how I'm fairing. I must keep a courageous face for my family, and consequently I've grown used to wearing my mask of gallantry. Since you so kindly asked though, I will admit that I am a little worn down as of late.
I spend long hours tending the farm and go to work even longer hours in the pub. Valerie, good hearted as she is, is not the best co-worker, often drinking herself stupid before the nights out. I suppose it's true what they say about you Irish folk.
Most of my trouble comes from myself, I suppose. I watched my father save this very farm many times over and I should want to do the same. But with every plant that refused to sprout, I found myself resentful over having ever inherited it.
I think of my wife, the writer, the poet, and how she is able to read Ozzy her stories. I think of Jackson with his pub, and his son, Patrick, who's becoming a doctor, and you with your bookshop. Even my father who provided my mother and I with food, and a roof over our heads because he cared for the farm so tenderly. All of you, with such passion.
Even if I was as passionate as my father, the farming industry is changing. All these extravagant advancements are putting farmers out of work all over. If the farm were to go under, what would I do? It's all I've ever known.
If I don't have time to write before Christmas Day - I hope you have a Merry Christmas. Send my love to your girls and wish them the same for me as well.
Sincerely, Lawrence
P.S. Don't be cross with me for the joke, I only say it in jest. The Irish could drink me under the table any day of the week and sing a merry tune whilst doing so which is rather remarkable.
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#lawrence is in his extensional crisis era 🙃#also did i make it canon that Lawrence made a little resting place for frank the goose? you bet!#ts4 historical#sims 4 historical#ts4 decades challenge#sims 4 decades challenge#ts4 storytelling#sims 4 storystelling#ts4 legacy#sims 4 legacy#the baudelaire legacy#1890#winifred baudelaire#lawrence baudelaire#oscar baudelaire
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Jotaro and Kakyoin LOVE to go all out with Christmas festivities, especially after Jolyne is born.
Kakyoin knits Jotaro a new ugly Christmas sweater every year, thanks to the very educational knitting lessons that Holly gives him. Holly still gifts them both (and Jolyne) sweaters, but Kakyoin likes to tease Jotaro with the cheesiest, stupidest, and ugliest Christmas sweaters he can come up with. Lots of polaroids are produced once the sweater is on Jotaro, much to Jotaro’s dismay. And no matter how much he tries to destroy every last copy, Kakyoin somehow has so many more hidden away, sent over to Holly’s house, and sometimes hung up on the Christmas tree. Speaking of…
Jotaro’s favourite part about getting ready for Christmas is finding the perfect tree and decorating it. So much so that he will wake Kakyoin up very early in the morning, and if he has to, will drag him out of bed to go Christmas tree shopping. Unfortunately for Kak, Christmas tree shopping with Jotaro is never simple. He’s incredibly picky about finding THE perfect tree, Jotaro will travel all the way across town to another tree store if he has to, dammit! Once they finally arrive back home, Jotaro will get straight to work on decorating the tree with all sorts of stuff, he won’t even bother to wait for Kakyoin lmao. A lot of times, Kakyoin will just sit back on the couch and watch his husband go nuts while sipping on a delicious cup of homemade hot chocolate, or wine if the tree shopping process was extra complicated that day. But Kakyoin always gets the honours to top off the tree with a star.
Other than the tree, Kakyoin is in charge of all of the decorations for their house. See, Kakyoin is a bit of a show off, so he LOVES to go nuts with decorating every room with Christmas junk, not that Jotaro minds too much. From covering the walls and door frames with tinsel, to decorating the surface of every table and countertop with silly little knick knacks. Once the interior is done, Kak will make Jotaro go up onto the roof and hang the lights up all over the house with directions from Kak on where to hang what.
When going Christmas gift shopping for one another, they both will ring Holly to try to get an exact idea of what the other wants for Christmas. And when Jolyne is old enough, they will bring her along as a gift guide. x)
Jotaro has such a sweet tooth, that he will bake a fresh batch of Christmas cookies every week. And every batch is just as scrumptious as the last. His baking skills are of course inherited from the one and only Holly. Jolyne is delighted to be blessed with such sweets so often, meanwhile Kakyoin, the healthy boy that he is, scolds Jotaro every time, but immediately quiets down once Jotaro shoves a cookie in his mouth.
There’s never a dull moment when going ice skating. Jotaro is super clumsy on ice while Kakyoin is as graceful as a swan. Jotaro will just cling onto the wall, Kakyoin, or Jolyne the entire time. Jolyne is just as clumsy at first, but easily gets the hang of it thanks to Kakyoin. Jotaro isn’t at all jealous of Jolyne. x)
Neither of them go caroling nor do they participate in family caroling. xD
Last but not least, it’s a nightly tradition for the Kujo family to curl up on the couch by the fireplace and just enjoy each other’s company and warmth. Jolyne sitting in between Kak and Jotaro, or on Kak’s lap, and Kakyoin cuddled up in Jotaro’s warm embrace while reading a book out loud to Jotaro and Jolyne, or just taking a snooze with Jolyne. And Jotaro is stuck with a smile on his face while holding his family close to him, silently gushing over how wonderful his family is and how lucky he is.
Whew, that was the longest ramble yet. But Christmas and Jotakak are my two favourite things, so it’s hard not to go crazy with headcanons!
#ramble#domestic#jotakak#fluff n cuddles#jojo's bizarre adventure#jotaro kujo#noriaki kakyoin#christmas
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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨'𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸
Tom Riddle x Fem! OC
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Mystery
Summary: Genevieve Moreau Kai is in her final year at Hogwarts. When she, a muggleborn, is chosen Head along with a certain prodigy from her orphanage, how will she leave her mark on Hogwarts? How will she change Tom Marvolo Riddle forever when a fated curse binds them together?
Warning: None other than Feminism. Women supporting women❤️
Photos aren't mine.
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨'𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
Genevieve plopped down on the seat next to Abraxas and dropped her bag on the floor. “Thank Christ, finally some action,” she breathed out.
Abraxas raised his eyebrows sympathetically, “You really didn’t like the class?”
“Oh please, even Binns is better than that class.” She thought of the infamous professor that always lulled her to sleep like a broken record.
The first Homemaking class was catastrophic, if she dared to put it kindly. The first class always took some time for the introduction of the class, the syllabus of the year, perhaps a review of previous materials. But Genevieve stifled a groan when her eyes skimmed through the contents of the class: sewing, baking, cooking, cleaning, pregnancy, parenting…
It was needless to say that Professor Poltish was slightly disappointed in what she had to produce by the end of that class. To her, it was a mystery how it was that Genevieve brought in a perfectly knitted sweater for her summer homework, but during class, she managed to set the pair of her baby socks on fire.
Of course, Genevieve insisted that the fire was an accident.
Compared to Homemaking, a class that not only allowed, but encouraged the usage of Incendio, was a significant relief for Genevieve. The Practical Defence Against the Dark Arts class, more commonly known as Part, was strictly limited to boys until a few years ago. Typically in their 7th year, the girls were put in Theoretical DADA, Tart, only to learn the mechanisms of the defensive spells and the tactical theories of a duel. At most, the spell they casted was Petrificus Totalus. Part, well, that was where all the excitement happened. With the intention of teaching young boys to protect their wives and kids, they were taught how to defend not only themselves but others against the forbidden curses, and how to play dirty if it meant ensuring survival.
With the coming of war against Grindelwald, there was finally a movement to allow willing girls to learn how to duel. But, with the lack of tension around the war in the UK, and the stigma towards women who dare challenge the norm, it was no surprise that barely any girls signed up for Part every year.
Which was why Genevieve was surprised to find another girl in the practical class. Naturally, she gravitated towards her in the classroom filled with rowdy boys. She weaved her way across to her. The girl had a tightly woven braid that went down to just below her shoulder, so tight that it seemed like her hazelnut eyes were pulled up.
“McGonagall, right?” she smiled and held out her hand. Perhaps though, like any Slytherin, what she thought to be a smile always came across as a smirk. As if to corroborate her suspicion, McGonagall narrowed her eyes at her outstretched hand warily.
She seemed vaguely surprised that Genevieve approached her. After a moment of consideration, “Minerva McGonagall,” she nodded and reciprocated the gesture. Her handshake was firm, in a strict and two-beat up then down. She was observing Genevieve, “I thought I’d be the only girl.” Genevieve noticed that McGonagall always had pursed lips. She wasn’t sure if she was always wary of strangers, or if this was simply her natural response to a Slytherin uniform approaching her.
Genevieve nodded, “Me too, to be honest.” Eyeing Professor Merrythought walking to the middle of the classroom, which seemed a lot bigger now that the desks were cleared out, Genevieve took a few steps back to make space.
“Now, let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?” Professor Merrythought rolled up her sleeves and put her fists on her hips. Her voice was a lot louder than she expected a woman her age to be.
As the professor started to show them the wand movement, Genevieve leaned over to McGonagall and muttered. “But us girls, we’ve got to stick together, don’t we?” She winked with a smirk that she thought uncannily resembled Lestrange, and out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she saw McGonagall’s eyes soften a bit. She decided she liked Minerva McGonagall after all, as well as Professor Merrythought.
With weight on her right feet, Professor Merrythought’s feet were spread apart languidly. She noticed that in a society that told girls to take up as little space as possible, Professor Merrythought was not afraid to claim her space. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Professor Merrythought’s raised voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Get to spell casting!” The bewildered students scattered evenly across the classroom, each pairing off.
At McGonagall’s unspoken question as she cocked her head, Genevieve nodded.
“Wanna go first?” Genevieve backed a few steps away from her, brandishing her wand from her skirt pocket.
“Why not,” McGonagall mirrored her.
She pondered for a moment to go through the list of charms and curses in her memory.
“Oculis Distortis!” she shouted and twirled her wand in the shape of an infinity sign. It was a rather simple spell, but an effective one. The spell caused a pressure on the cornea to distort it, creating an effect similar to extreme astigmatism. It was harmless in itself, but disorienting in settings such as a duel. It was an easy spell that anyone could cast, if they had the chance of finding it in “Mechanism of the Body and Mind, The.”
As the spell shot towards McGonagall, she quickly twitched her hand to draw a diamond in the air, muttering ‘protego’. A green luminescent but translucent wall appeared in front of her, undulating and glowing in sync with her pulse. Genevieve’s spell bounced off of the wall with a zap, hitting the blackboard instead.
“What was that?” McGonagall looked back at her in fascination. McGonagall pondered, her eyes clouding as if she was flipping through an invisible book in the air. “Distorted… eyes?” Genevieve was impressed by the translation from Latin that came to her easily.
“Yeah,” she nodded and shouted loud enough for her to hear among the ambience of laughter, the sound of spells, and rustling of the chairs and desks as students bumped into them. “I found it in ‘Mechanism of the Body and Mind, The’!”
Genevieve’s lips quirked up smugly as she spotted a hint of impressed amusement in McGonagall’s eyes. She steadied her feet to prepare for whatever interesting spell McGonagall was probably going to shoot her way.
Genevieve’s eyes shot up when McGonagall made a sudden movement; the spell travelled faster than any other spell she’s seen. Before she had the time to cast any defensive spells, the spell hit her square in the chest. Suddenly, her head bloated up to the size five times her original size like a balloon. Genevieve stumbled, struggling to balance her head that was suddenly so heavy. In the end, she tripped on her feet, and fell flat on her bottom. When her brain processed what had just happened, she chuckled, shaking her head. She certainly underestimated McGonagall.
“That was good,” Genevieve looked up at McGonagall who was approaching her with pursed lips, but obviously trying to contain herself from bursting into laughter.
“Found it in ‘Bogey Hexes to Ward Off Men, The’” McGonagall smirked and mimicked her. Genevieve chuckled. She knew that whatever this title McGonagall came up with was definitely not in Hogwarts library. But, she appreciated her sense of humour nonetheless. McGonagall reached her hand down to pull her up, seeing Genevieve’s head shrinking every second in intrigue. With a smile, Genevieve took the hand and hoisted herself up. After a class only concerned with making the tastiest dessert for husbands, this, the class and Minerva McGonagall, was turning out to be a nice change.
“Wanna try that again?”
“Yeah,” Genevieve brushed the dust off of her skirt and readied herself again. “Shoot me with the same spell,” she twirled her wand, her gaze focusing on the tip of McGonagall’s wand.
McGonagall stretched her neck in both directions, “if you say so.” She quickly twirled her wand and shot the spell. Her incantation was barely audible, and Genevieve took note to whisper any spells during a duel in the future.
Genevieve was caught off again by how fast the spell travelled towards her. But she was ready this time. She whispered a quick ‘protego’ to herself. She smiled to herself as her reliable wand produced the green wall in front of her, radiating energy like it was alive. It was truly empowering, knowing that this quietly powerful green wall was going to protect her from whatever came her way in the future, and she was the one who created it with her own mind. She noticed with intrigue as McGonagall’s spell evaporated upon contact with her spell with a small zap, as if it was consumed by the wall.
McGonagall and Genevieve continued to take turns, a smile growing by each spell on both of them as the excitement of the duel grew. The smile faded from her face, however, when the Professor's clap of hands echoed across the room, twice.
“Now that you got to practise a few times, let’s see if we can use that in an actual duel.” The students gathered around her again. Genevieve gladly shook the hand that McGonagall offered to her, now complete with a smile, as their duel came to an end. “Obviously, in an actual duel, your opponent would never be willing to wait for you. Duels are quick. You always have to be on your feet. You need to read your opponent so that you can choose wisely between defence and offence.”
Professor Merrythought seemed to notice the handshake that Genevieve and McGonagall exchanged. “Ms. McGonagall!”
McGonagall gasped and dropped Genevieve’s hand, facing the professor. Timidly, she looked up at the authoritative professor like a small girl who was just about to get scolded.
“How about you pair up with Mr. Prewett over here,” Professor Merrythought gestured to the open space in the middle of the class, “and show us what you two have practised?”
Genevieve patted on McGonagall’s shoulder as she hesitantly stepped forward. McGonagall was like a completely different person when she stood in front of the whole class. Any trace of confidence left her shoulders as she physically looked smaller. It was like she was still unsure if she deserved to be in this class. The professor was beaming at McGonagall as she positioned herself across Prewett a few feet away from him.
The duel started quite suddenly when Prewett shot his first spell at her, a simple Experlliarmus. The green shield appeared in front of McGonagall, barely putting it up in time as she was caught off guard. Prewett seemed to take that advantage, and smirked as he shot a Stupefy at
her. Genevieve noticed a change in McGonagall’s expression as her nostrils flared up and pursed her lips even thinner. She picked up the pace and took the moment of Prewett lowering his wand from the spell to shoot one, two, three spells at him. Prewett staggered backwards, visibly shocked by a fiery confidence that caught aflame in her. McGonagall was shooting her spells nonstop with every step she took forward. Prewett was getting cornered, too busy to deflect the spell.
Genevieve spotted Professor Merrythought proudly staring at McGonagall, quite impressed with her skills. It was a good duel. A very good one.
In one last desperate attempt, Prewett twirled his hand and muttered. Genevieve gasped as she read his lips. She recognised the wand movement. It seemed that McGonagall also read his lips muttering ‘levicorpus.’ She looked at Mcgonagall and herself, the only two that were wearing skirts in the class that sported pants. The others were oblivious to what was about to happen, too busy intently studying the duel. Of course. Of course this would be one of the spells shot at her.
Professor Merrythought also detected Prewett’s intent, and took her wand out of her hair bun. But McGonagall reacted quickly enough, and produced the protego wall again. With the spell successfully deflected, she threw one last Stupefy at Prewett. He went flying off and landed on the floor unconscious with a thud. McGonagall twirled her wand away and huffed the strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She was magnificent.
The classroom erupted in applause, and Genevieve joined in, smiling at her and attempting to clap as loud as she could.
“You were brilliant out there,” Genevieve patted her back when McGonagall came jogging back next to her.
“Thanks,” McGonagall beamed at her. She was still huffing as adrenaline coursed through her veins, sweat beading on her forehead.
“We’re coming to this class in pants next time,” Genevieve whispered, which warranted her friend a surprised, yet convinced nod as she turned to look at her.
She will never forget the look of confused surprise on Prewett when he was woken up by the professor, taking in his defeat. Genevieve smirked when a look of shame soon replaced the surprise as he looked at the tapping foot and the angry frown of Professor Merrythought, and understood how much trouble he was in.
---
“Woah, Gev,” it was Dorea Black that spun on her heels to get out of her way, nearly dropping her books. Her docile, mellow character moved out of the way barely in time. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“So sorry, Dorea!” Genevieve looked back at her. “I’m late to meet Dippet.” She hopped out of the way of fifth years filing into the common room, and slipped out of the dungeon door.
Genevieve’s Kerrybrooke flats pitter pattered against the cool stone floor as she ran up the stairs. She heaved a sigh, relieved that she switched from her worn-out Mary Jane heels, which was impossible to run in against the uneven stone floorings of Hogwarts corridors.
What on earth did Dippet want with her anyway? It was an owl that she received during lunch that day, a dark blue owl swooping down to her to drop a message from Dippet. As opposed to the owls that usually arrived as a herd during breakfast, the lonesome owl flying off was a bizarre sight. It was not even a letter. It was a simple card with minimal information asking her to come to his office at 9pm that day ‘due to an urgent matter,’ it said. Thinking back to it, she mused that the overgrown feathers around the owl’s beak resembled Dippet’s long beard. You know what they say, pets come to resemble their humans, or the other way around.
She had to admit, the idea of the headmaster's office did not particularly excite her, she thought as a queasy feeling started to take place in her stomach. It was like her stomach was dropping lower as she went up the stone gryphon elevator up to the headmaster’s office. The very few times she was there had always been due to some boys that Genevieve had punched, kicked, or bit. The last time she had visited was back in her third year, she recalled.
She hesitated, and knocked twice. “Enter,” it was a grandiose enunciation, as if it was a waste of his energy to utter another single word. Quietly, Genevieve opened the door.
Her brows couldn’t help but shoot up when she spotted Tom Riddle standing next to her open seat, across the table from Dippet. He was facing the front but had craned his neck to spot her, frozen at the doorway. Dippet and Riddle’s combined stares created a certain atmosphere that was impossible to intrude on. She checked her watch. 21:00 and 38 seconds. She was technically on time, but Riddle’s stare made her feel like she was an hour late.
“Please, come in,” Dippet motioned for her, irritation seeping into his voice by her hesitation.
Quietly, she walked across the room, and stood next to Riddle. The office hadn’t changed much since she was last there. The office was bare bones with only the bare necessities: shelves, a desk, a quill and an ink pot, and the bearded owl sleeping quietly in the corner. But, this time, she couldn’t help but notice the stacks upon stacks of papers everywhere. There were incoming piles named ‘Parents’ and ‘Board of Governors’ but barely any in the ‘Outgoing’ folder. She had a suspicion that Dippet has been bombarded with letters of complaints since the muggleborn attacks last year.
“Now that Ms. Moreau’s here, please, do sit down,” Dippet gestured to the open seats in a grandiose manner.
Riddle was quick to take up on that offer. Without making a single sound, he pulled the chair and sat down, expectantly looking at Dippet to finally start the meeting. But, Dippet did not think so. Instead, he was looking over his spectacles at Riddle, waiting.
Riddle sighed heavily, quickly disguising the roll of his eyes as a lazy gliding of his eyes across Dippet’s office. He languidly stood up and pulled a chair out for Genevieve. Genevieve took a hesitant step to sit in the chair, but Genevieve soon looked up behind her to find Riddle glaring at Dippet. The deep voice did not even try to hide the annoyance behind the polite words, “May we move on with the meeting, sir?”
“Very well then,” Dippet folded his hands in front of him as he settled down at his desk, “I appreciate you two coming at the last minute.”
“As you may have noticed about Ms.Ariana Flume, she had to leave Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.” Dippet cleared his throat as Genevieve narrowed her eyes. She supposed she hadn’t seen the Ravenclaw Head Girl in a few days, but she was from a different house in a rather big school. She hadn’t thought anything of it.
“And as you may notice, we cannot do with an open position for the Head Girl. The task is simply too big for one person,” Dippet glanced at Riddle, “even if that person may be Mr. Riddle.” Genevieve joined the glance. His expression remained blank; it caught her off guard that he wasn’t like Abraxas who would have at least tried to look humbled.
“With what’s going on in our society,” Dippet continued, vaguely waving his hand that seemed to demonstrate the letters scattered about the room complaining about the safety of students, “we need strong leadership from the professors, myself, and the students as well.” Genevieve got a sense that Dippet was truly fed up with everything- the letters, the rumours, the war.
“Since you have demonstrated strong competencies in academics, actually 2nd in place after Mr. Riddle, we are choosing you as the interim Head Girl,” Dippet concluded. Genevieve noted that it wasn’t a question. Genevieve risked a glance at Riddle again. He remained completely expressionless. Was he already told about this?
“But, Dip-” Genevieve mentally kicked herself in the shin, and she was certain that she caught Riddle rolling his eyes at her. “But, Headmaster Dippet. Surely, there are people more fit for this position?” Really, she meant there must be other students who had better past reputations with the school rules more than she did. After all, wasn’t that what the Head Girl’s work was about? Maintaining the order?
“Yes. Actually, your academic competency surpasses that of Ms. Ariana Flume somehow,” Dippet seemed to emphasise the last word to himself. “We merely hesitated due to your… erm, unruly behaviour in your first few years.” Genevieve thought back to the victorious moment when she, aged 12, was straddling Cygnus Black and relentlessly punching him in the face. Her roar then would have made any lion proud to welcome her into Gryffindor house. She couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of black eye she had given to Black.
“So, with Ms. Flume gone,” Dippet interrupted her thought, his eyes widened cautiously, clearly alarmed by her smirk at his mention of her fights. “We have no choice,” he emphasised ‘no choice’, “but to select you as the next Head Girl.”
“Headmaster,” it was Riddle’s cool and collected voice. “What exactly happened to Ms. Flume?”
Dippet visibly shifted in his chair. It was obviously information he was uncomfortable sharing with students. “Her family was brutally murdered a few days ago. They were a known wizarding family for helping muggleborns flee from Europe and the UK to Americas,” Dippet whispered. “Ms. Flume received the news by letter, and she had to return to her residence in Aberdeen.”
Genevieve’s jaw dropped. Aberdeen? But that was not too far from here! She knew this was bound to happen at some point, but there has always been a sense of false security, like these were all horrible things happening in the distant land far across the ocean to nameless people done by faceless people. But, here they were. The real tragedy that fell upon her real classmate, falling out of Dippet’s mouth like heavy stones.
Genevieve’s voice slightly shook, “My condolences to Ms. Flume and her family.”
“I’m sure that you can update her on the job description, Mr. Riddle. And I’d like to maintain this personal matter between you two,” Dippet gravely added. “Just try not to scare the prefects when you explain the changes.” He weakly added, “I am certain you and Mr. Riddle will be able to come up with something.”
On the far back end of the headmaster’s office, the grandfather clock gonged to signal an hour had passed, as if to mourn the loss of another student affected by the war.
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–––– ✨ winter winchester ✨ ––––
pinterest ⦙ threads ⦙ answers ⦙ vanity
have you seen winter winchester around los angeles? the twenty-eight year old is usually jamming to ready to start by arcade fire. word around the city is that they’re charismatic, yet, they can also be critical, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently a model/voice actor and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with a small snowflake necklace . when i think of them, i think of spread on a magazine, stacks of video games, the flash of a camera, a winning smile . let’s hope the city treats them good!
○ ′ ✨ loved by taco
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 001
𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 winter winchester 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 win, prefers winter 𝐃𝐎𝐁 july 27, 1995 𝐀𝐆𝐄 twenty - eight 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 leo 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 demi-male 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 he/they 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 bisexual, biromantic 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 crystal lake, illinois 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 los angeles, california 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 english, asl, french, 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 model/voice actor
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 002
𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 tom holland 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 dark brown 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 dark brown eyes 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 5′7″ 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 none 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 none 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 white shirts, black button ups, suits, brown jackets, beanies, knitted sweaters
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 003
𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 campaigner ( enfp ) 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 charismatic, perspective, enthusiastic, curious, festive 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 critical, unfocused, restless, overly optimistic, sensitive 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 modeling, video games, playing guitar, painting, working out, hiking, camping, golfing 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 iced coffee
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 004
𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 adam winchester, real estate agent 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 sarah winchester, elementary school teacher 𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 one younger brother, one older sister
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 005
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐒 peeta mellark ( the hunger games ) , peter parker ( spiderman ) , alice cullen ( twilight series ) , apollo ( greek mythology ) , sora ( kingdom hearts ) , theo engler ( you ) , ricky bowen ( hsmtmts )
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 006
the winchesters were just an ordinary family out in the midwest. adam winchester was a well known real estate agent for the people in northern illinois. sarah winchester was a humble elementary school teacher. with their three children, they were a perfect all american family.
the eldest child, a daughter, went on to be some sort of astrophysics or something. the youngest son was on track to be the next shawn mendes. as for winter, well, winter, he thought he would walk in the same footsteps like his parents. either being a teacher or being a police officer. but one decision changed the course of his life.
winter was the middle child, and he never thought that someone like him would end up with the life he would get. after he finished high school, he ended up in california where he took a summer job up in big bear. most of the campers were from well known people in hollywood and los angeles. actors, models, producers, politicians, you name it. and on his final day, that was when he was 'discovered' so to speak. a modeling agent from wilhelmina models spotted him and gave him his card, asking to meet once he was finished with camp.
a model, winter? winter never really thought about that as a career. especially since college was starting and he wanted to focus on school that fall. but he decided to give it a shot, meeting with the agency and somehow ending up being picked to do his first photoshoot. and then from there it was all history. that year, he decided to give modeling a chance, taking a year off of school to focus on this new path in life.
so he ended up making a name for himself. he was the boy next door, the all american boy. he was loved, by the agency, by the fashion designers, by america. so he made it big, and he somehow managed to do both that and school at the same time.
after a few years, he was one of the biggest models of his age. he may have been the shortest male model, but when the cameras turn on, so did he. but then a shift happened, and he felt like the light was dimming. winter had permanently moved out to la. and that was when he got into a lot more things than modeling. voice acting being one. when his likeness was used for a video game, he was intrigued with the acting bit as well, and he got his chance to do a game. and then he did another.
winter wasn't sure how much longer modeling would be in the picture, especially when the modeling world was over the boy next door vibe. they wanted something different, something new. and winter wasn't sure if he would be able to ride this wave.
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 007
living in a west wood apartment with another roommate.
is currently struggling getting a new modeling gigs and fears that he will be let go from his agency.
is currently working on a new video game, where is takes on the lead role of.
is debating whether to completely leave the modeling world and jump into the gaming role fully.
is starting to build his own gaming platform, and is thinking about creating his own channel where he will try new games out.
○ ′ ✨ ––––––––––––––––––– 008
CONNECTIONS
blood is thicker than water - winter may have been the middle child in the winchester family, but there were two others in the family. the eldest daughter, who was the smartest of them all. and the younger sibling who's always in his own little world. winter surprisingly has a good relationship with both, and hopes that one day they could make their way to california.
living like a married couple - ever since winter moved out to los angeles, he struggled to find a place to stay. but when he found the perfect roommate, he was pleasantly surprised how cohabitable they were. they were close. even their friends assume they could be secretly together. and the idea was enticing. taken by @starryid
two models competing for the crown - sometimes a friendly competition is all that anyone needs, but for these two male models, it's a different story. they were always competing to be the best. the one on top. some years it was winter, the other years is the other. there was a lot of tension between them, even a sexual one.
some friendships end up being like family - winter was glad to have his siblings, but sometimes having a friendship that was of your own, that ends up being their person, that's all winter needed. this is the person that ends up being like a sibling, the person he tells everything to, all his success and all his struggles. things that not even his own siblings know.
some friendships just don't last - this is a friendship that was once strong that ended up breaking. maybe from jealousy, or maybe a betrayal. this person that winter really admired, but ended up leaving behind because of feeling being hurt. and when they see each other again, would they act caddy or act like nothing's ever happened.
OTHER CONNECTIONS
friends
fwb/flings
other models
photographer/fashion friends
friends in video game industry
writing friends
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French couturier and founder of her own fashion house Sonia Rykiel. Sonya Rykiel was born on the outskirts of Paris on May 25, 1930 in the family of a Romanian watchmaker and his Russian wife. Sonya's first husband, Sam Rykiel, was the owner of a knitwear store: she created her first knitted dresses, replenishing the range of the family store. In 1962, a sweater model appeared in a horizontal white-black-red-pink stripe — it had long sleeves and a short, tapered hem. A year later, Poor Boy Sweater ("Poor Boy's Sweater") hit the cover of Elle magazine (the aspiring singer Francoise Hardy posed in it) and popularity came to Rykiel. Brigitte Bardot, Catherine Deneuve and Audrey Hepburn appeared among Sonia Rykiel's loyal clients, and after some time she divorced and, on the advice of her ex-husband, founded her own fashion house Sonia Rykiel in 1968. Rikel' s business was very successful, and she was not afraid to take on new projects
She was called the “queen of knitwear,” but Ms. Rykiel also designed interiors for the Crillion Hotel in Paris (1972), a collection for a mail order catalogue, children's clothes, accessories and perfume. In 2010, the fashion house Sonia Rykiel announced the creation of a collection of interior fabrics, in the same year an exhibition of Rykiel's drawings was held in Paris.
Mah Jong sofa model, designed by Hans Hopfer. Roche Bobois. Upholstery and carpet by Sonia Rykiel Maison.
Chic home textiles are produced in collaboration with the famous French publisher Lelievre: in the collections of upholstery fabrics of bed linen, towels, pillows and blankets with the SR monogram, there are always bright saturated colors, a clear print and an original ornament.
Sonia Rykiel 2015 advertising campaign.
Underwear advertisement for H&M brand.
H& lingerie advertisement ;M.
In 2009, Rykiel was awarded the Legion of Honor for her contribution to the French fashion industry. In the same year, the brand launched a lingerie collection with the H&M brand. In 2010, Sonia Rykiel announced the creation of a line of interior fabrics, and in La Gallerie Catherine Houard hosted an exhibition of Rykiel
In 1995, having begun to suffer from Parkinson's disease, she appointed her daughter Natalie to the post of General and Artistic Director of Sonia Rykiel. Fashion house Sonia Rykiel has been owned by First Heritage Brands, an investment fund of the Chinese Fung group, since 2012. Natalie Rykiel remains a consultant to the company. A year ago, Natalie Rykiel published a book describing her relationship with her sick mother and "the day your mother becomes your child." “I dedicated my life to building the image of my mother, — Natalie writes. — I know it's now a myth and a fashion icon. Her incredible fate is part of history.
Sonia Rykiel Spring-Summer 2014 advertising campaign. Photographer Craig McDean.
"She built her universe from the very beginning, with her own attitude to detail and sewing skills, — says Jean-Charles de Castelbajac. — She had her own view of woman and femininity, which did not separate a woman from society. Sonya Rykiel has always welcomed the initiatives of young designers. She and I have always believed that clothes are not only decoration, but also a manifesto. Her design — it's a bridge between fashion, literature, and activism."
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Style 70s
70s Fashion For Women
In the early Nineteen Seventies, boys’ trousers got here in brilliant colors and bold patterns. Plaids and stripes have been particularly popular and heaps of had matching vests, typically belted (Fig. 27). These components had been worn with brightly colored button-down shirts and sometimes with a matching jacket. The polyester leisure suit, in style amongst some men in the seventies, was additionally worn by younger boys.
Brands like Gucci, which emphasizes knitwear throughout its assortment, convey sweater vests harkening the ’70s with enjoyable and dynamic prints. As we set the tone for what 2021 will deliver, why not take a number of the best hits of the previous along for the ride? From textured trousers to tight tops, listed here are 7 trend developments of the ’70s we’re taking into 2021. People began putting earrings on their cheeks, tongues, and in other areas the place earrings had not been seen as much as that time. Some went for big spiked hair, often dyed an unusual colour utilizing meals dye.
It was lengthy sleeve and never worn with a shirt, and it likely had a single crease down the entrance of each leg. In addition to being good for the discotheque, it was also best for sporting to a party at the yacht membership. The man would have worn the jumpsuit with a big gold medallion necklace. He would have sported a baseball cap if the party have been a more informal affair.
Many of those outfits have been produced from high quality fabrics like Harris tweed, wool flannel, cashmere, camel’s hair, pure cotton and pure silk. Designers declared the hemline can be on the knee in 1971, however the public had different plans. Skirts that grazed the ankle, that had been meant to be night robes, had been being worn out on the town. Another, extra excessive, backlash have been “hot pants”, which had nothing to do with the so-called fashion world. In 1971 there was a huge impasse between what designers made and what folks wished to wear. It appeared at occasions the 2 were preventing each other like siblings.
’70s Disco Style Tendencies We’ll Be Carrying Forever
Denim jackets and collared knit shirts were a great different to the more formal styles earlier in the seventies. Sportswear also became a popular everyday casual style (Fig. 30). While bold colours and patterns were nonetheless current in the later years, they were slightly more muted and types began to shift towards the preppy look of the Nineteen Eighties in the path of the tip of the last decade. Due to a resurgence in nostalgia for the Fifties, the Teddy boy subculture made a comeback in the UK during the early 1970s.
Wear them with their jeans…They are horny and…they are comfortable. Because of the molded sole the heel isn’t as excessive because it appears. Because the materials are thin and supple, the clothes are indeed attractive, although it’s not the blatant sort of sexiness that comes from tight skirts…
Nguồn https://teemens.com/style-70s
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Todo es posible, menos tú -Jake Lockley x Reader
A/N: Yeah I just simply wanted to make a songfic and this was the result. Anyways if you're curious, the song I used for this is "Nena" by Miguel Bosé.
Warnings: None. Jake being Jake. A lot of spanish words.
When the white limousine parked in front of the stairs, it aroused the curiosity of all the boys entering and leaving the library. Some girls opened their mouths in surprise, and the boys whistled under their breath, some in derision, others in shock.
One girl got up from the stairs, closing the huge volume she had been reading for long minutes. Glasses, pleated skirt, long sleeves and a knitted vest in autumn colors, the classic nerd stamp, an invisible silhouette until they noticed her approaching the limousine. A man stepped out of it, wearing a plain black suit, worn gloves and a beret on his head, waving to the young lady.
"Good afternoon, señorita" -he said before opening the back door of the car for her. The gossip they left behind was even more intense than before as the limousine began its journey.
Jake was enjoying that game very much, and looked in the rearview mirror at the girl who was smiling, playfully, from the red-lined seat. He thought of the first time they met, when she was leaving a party and craning her neck in search of a cab, unsuccessfully; he saw her coming around the corner, and instinct made him stop next to her. The girl squeezed her chest, pulling her sweater tighter, shy and cautiously afraid as Jake lowered the glass to talk to her.
"Do you need a ride?" he asked. The girl's eyes wandered around the car, nervous. Jake smiled "Relax, there's no creepy guy in the back, how far are you going?"
"Windham," she answered simply.
"How about this? Ten pounds to take you to Windham. It'll be hard for you to find a cab at this hour, besides..." he added in a whisper, "it's no good for you to be here alone"
He saw that the young girl's mind was calculating the risks and, after a few seconds, she nodded and got into the car.
"So... Windham," the driver repeated, glancing sideways at her, "I'm Jake, by the way, Jake Lockley"
"My pleasure, Jake Lockley."
He left her his card, knowing he wouldn't gain much from it, but interested in seeing her again. And when she called him just a few weeks later, an eerie joy swept over him. He was very surprised to find her, looking in a way he wouldn't have imagined she'd dare wear: short, strappy top, well-fitted due to her generous bust, mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, a rather kitschy teddy coat. In other words, she looked like a streetwalker, a very cute one, though.
"I had a silly costume party and had to improvise," she explained as she got into the limo, her cheeks flushed, "I know I look demented.
Jake agreed, but he also thought she looked... attractive, in a very peculiar way. He glanced in the rearview mirror at her legs struggling to find a comfortable position, embarrassed by the shortness of her skirt, and the huge round earrings that swayed with every movement of her head.
Ese look cha-cha-chá, casi casi vulgar, y esas cejas…
"And how was the party?" he asked. He heard her sigh.
"I don't like alcohol that much, a couple of beers and I was already feeling dizzy. Do you drink, Mr. Lockley?"
"Not during working hours"
They passed a café Jake knew. He slowed the car down.
"And what abput the milkshakes? "
"Well, they're pretty good. I like the ice cream, the smoothies..."
Without asking any more questions, Jake parked in front of the café. He saw her frown, and smiled at her.
"I'll have a milkshake... How about you?"
Again that adorable expression of doubt. She may not have noticed it, but it was always the same gesture: she drew her eyebrows together, looked down at her hands, bit her lower lip.
She accepted the invitation, and they both went into the place. They talked for a while, laughed, Jake loved the uproarious but tinkling sound, like a bunch of rattles rolling down a flight of stairs, that produced his passenger's laughter. She brushed his knee, he caressed her fingers, and they found themselves later in the limo kissing somewhat coyly.
"There's a party in a few weeks," she told him, stretching her pleated skirt over her knees and looking out the window, "It's formal. I don't like long dresses"
"Will you need me?" Jake asked. Sometimes more was better, he thought, imagining the curves hidden by those clothes that made him think of a schoolgirl.
She smiled.
"I'm a little embarrassed to abuse your goodwill... you should charge me more."
Jake shook his head, letting out a chuckle.
Hay un ángel en tu mirada, inquietante tabú
Nena, Luna serena…
He parked in front of her apartment, left the pilot's seat and went to open the door for her, holding out a hand to her parsimoniously.
“Señorita…”
She took his hand, but tugged on it. Jake let himself be lured into the car, and she caught him in a kiss, tender but desirous. Jake reached out with his free hand to close the door as his passenger held him by the collar of his jacket. He leaned against the back of the seat and responded to the kiss, making her tilt her head as she stuck out her tongue and ran his lower lip with it, further igniting the desire that lived caged in the man.
He placed a hand on her leg, under her skirt, slipped his tongue into her mouth and the weight of his body carried them to end up lying on the seat. He brought his hand to her abdomen, under her clothes, and moved up to meet the rough texture of her bra. He heard her gasp, but he didn't stop to ask if he could continue, he needed to, and something told him she did too, so without any shame he held her breast and massaged it.
"Have you fucked?" he asked in a whisper.
"Not yet," she answered.
Jake sat up, dazed, what exactly was holding him back? Was it those two silly prudes that inhabited his mind? His hands burned with the urge to hold her, to caress the skin he hadn't seen yet, to fuck her good and hard until she thanked him with watery eyes. But he didn't.
No he podido escapar
Desde aquí, desde allá
Me dejé dominar poco a poco
She kissed him goodbye with a short kiss on the lips and winked.
"See you around, Jake. Thanks"
He drove for a long moment, looking in the rearview mirror at the seat as if he could recapture the image from minutes before. He would see her again, again and again, following that game where he never knew how and in what situation he would find her, where each time they would get a little further in that flirtation where Jake was sure that, if he didn't assert himself, he would end up losing.
Nena, ámbar y arena
Boca salvaje, solo tú
Promesas y mentiras, solo tú
Estrella de mi corazón, solo tú
Sofisticada diva, solo tú
He could wait a little longer, Jake thought before reaching into the glove compartment for his revolver.
#moon knight#moon knight series#moon knight fanfiction#jake lockley#jake lockley x reader#oscar isaac#my fanfiction
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55. Autumn Market
CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe
“Hm!”
Brutus stepped out in front of Lydia with a deep-throated sound somewhere between a harrumph and a growl.
A young teenage boy was barrelling towards them. He looked back over his shoulder, joking with his mates. He didn’t notice that he was on a collision course until he bounced off Brutus’ broad chest. The guard dog was glaring down at him.
“Um… sorry?” The boy volunteered nervously.
“Thank you, Brutus.” Lydia said lightly. “It is all fine now.” She stepped up to his side, taking his arm with a smile.
The guard dog blinked down at her, surprise writ large all over his face. His stance changing from threatening to humble, almost cowering. The boy took the chance to scram.
“Well done.” Lydia said. “That was very helpful.” The muscular man gave her a hesitant smile and puffed out his chest in pride. Lydia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. That could have been a disaster, but all went well. It was funny, watching Brutus, he was so expressive with his body language. Just like Cory.
Looking over at Coriander, he illustrated her point, looking completely crestfallen. When he noticed her looking at him, he quickly rearranged his features to a neutral expression. On a guess, Lydia handed her basket to Brutus and reached out her free arm to Coriander.
“Come on, Cory.”
With a quick step, he was at her side and offered his arm. Walking between them, arm in arm, Lydia surreptitiously glanced at Cory a while later, and noticed with satisfaction that he was smiling a little to himself.
It was a beautiful, blue sky day. The trees had begun shifting their colours into brilliant red and yellow and there was a little bit of a bite in the air.
Lydia congratulated herself for choosing to wear her thick, grey sweater with a white pattern and her fuchsia pink scarf. Cory had a dark red sweater with a blue scarf and Brutus his leather jacket. Wayland hadn’t sent him a scarf, so Lydia had lent him a green one. The fluffy scarf clashed with the guard dog’s kind of severe outfit, but he had accepted it gratefully. As far as Lydia was concerned, warm was better than stylish.
“Do you guys feel warm enough?” She asked. Both Cory and Brutus nodded.
There was a lot of people milling around under the trees next to the lake. Market stalls with awnings in a mishmash of green, blue, red, yellow and white snaked around the path and prospective shoppers wandered around looking at the wares on offer.
“If you want to buy anything, just let me know.” Lydia said, knowing as she said it that it was extremely unlikely that either of them would ask. Instead, she opened her purse and gave them each a bill. “Here, you can buy whatever you want with this, okay?”
Overlaying the fresh autumn air was the scents of the market. Someone was selling freshly smoked fish, there was a wood fire burning. There was bread baking, sausages frying and a waft of red curry from a food stall. They passed a stall selling a myriad of scented candles, some of their candles lit to demonstrate.
Some stalls sold multicoloured sweets or piles of carrots, cabbages and beetroots. Others had colourful jars of jam or pickled vegetables and bottles of berry and fruit cordials gleaming in the sun. Some displayed knitted mittens, hats and scarves in all colours of the rainbow. One woman was selling pots of chrysanthemums, rows of flowers in shades of lilac, red, white and yellow.
All three of them stared in fascination at some bees busy in a glass hive next to a stall selling locally produced honey.
Lydia stopped to buy three small glass bottles of fresh apple cider from this years harvest. At another stall she picked up some pastries filled with spinach and feta cheese and lastly, a paper bag filled with still warm jam-filled doughnuts.
Leading the way into the park, she stopped next to a maple tree that had begun switching its leaves into a vibrant orange, but that still had plenty of green leaves too. The spot overlooked both the lake and the busy market.
“Thank you, Brutus.” She took back her basket from the guard dog and took out the green-and-blue checkered picnic blanket. “Could you help me spread it out?”
Lydia sat down on the blanket and started to unpack the basket, her new purchases, some fruit, cheese and sandwiches brought from home, cutlery and glasses for the cider.
“Have a seat.” she told the two pets. “Let’s have some food.”
Brutus looked uncertainty to Cory for reassurance. Eating next to her, did his mistress really mean that they were supposed to do that? Coriander, who already had been through this a number of times before, nodded. He knelt down on the blanket and slowly, the guard dog followed suit.
Brutus had slowly relaxed his refusal to eat during the days that had passed. Lydia still had to hand him the food, but he was all right with eating it for himself now.
The food was lovely, the sun still warm and the hubbub of the market a colourful spectacle pleasant to watch from a distance.
After eating, Lydia amused herself with braiding a daisy chain with daisies scattered around in the grass. Cory and Brutus watched her with interest, and with some encouragement from her side, all three of them soon had flower crowns of tightly braided daisies.
It was so cute! She took a photo of both the pets, and a selfie with all three of them, debated sending it to Ceci and Wayland, but just kept it for herself instead.
“I brought us books.” She told them. “If you want to, we could stay here and read for a while in the grass. Cory, here’s yours.”
She had offered him the book a few days before Brutus came, the first time she offered Cory a particular book. Earlier, she had just told him to pick any book he wanted, to no avail.
Lydia had agonised over the choice. She felt that Coriander was in such a fragile state of mind, that she didn’t want to give him a book that could scare him or expose him to something that would make him feel bad. But would it be insulting to offer him a book for children, as if she thought his mind was too simple to grasp the complexities of a more grown up book?
Finally, she had settled on offering him ‘The little white horse’ by Elizabeth Goudge. The book seemed like a safe choice, exciting, but not scary, magical, with no real world connection and a hopeful ending. It did feel dated, in some ways, but she thought that Cory wouldn’t mind. So far, he had been reading it and she hoped it meant that he liked it.
“How about you, Brutus?” She asked. “I brought a few books for you, but I know that not all pets read. Do you know how to read?”
“No, Ma’am.” The guard dog said, shamefaced. “I can read signs and short instructions, but there is no need for me to read longer texts.”
Lydia, slightly regretfully, put down her own portal to galaxies and peoples far away. Luckily, she had anticipated this.
“I brought a book of fairytales from around the world. If you want, I could read out-loud to you - and to Cory too, if he wants.” She smiled. “Fairytales are for adults too, even if we often think they are only for children. There’s a lot of wisdom hidden in them.”
“I… I would like that, Ma’am.”
*
Sometime later Coriander gathered its courage to ask.
“Miss Lydia, t-this pet would like to buy something from the market. Would it be all right for it to do it by itself?”
Its mistress had looked at it, radiant with surprise and joy.
“Yes!” She had said. “Of course. We will be right here, take as much time as you want.”
It was strange how its mistress seemed to like when it asked for things.
The pet had decided that it wanted to buy a gift for her. After purchasing a deep purple chrysanthemum in a plastic pot, the pet returned back though the market.
Coriander reflected that its mistress had been looking kind of sadly at the pet every now and then during the day. At first it was wondering whether she was comparing the pet to Brutus and thinking that she would have preferred to own him instead.
But she was touching Cory a lot, in nice ways, that didn’t hurt. She petted the pet over the hair, putting a hand on its arm, holding its hand, even, once. Miss Lydia was often touching it, but this seemed more than usual. Almost as if she wanted to reassure herself that the pet was really there.
The pet worried a little, but decided that masters’ ways sometimes were inscrutable. It should just enjoy the extra attention it got from its mistress.
It was a lovely day out.
*
You guys! I have over 250 followers now! (256 to be exact!) This is so awesome and incredible!
Thank you all for your support! 💐💖
And thank you everyone for all the likes and reblogs, wanting to be on the tag list, asks and comments and all sorts of interaction. I love it so much and it is really amazing to me to see that you like my story and my characters. You are all brilliant and lovely and I appreciate you so much! ❤️
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Homie I’ve been plagued by vision of the reader knitting every Dimitrescu boy a special sweater.
Like Belmont’s, Cassandros’s, and Daniel’s are all kinda matchy and made with easy to wash material (cuz they’re messy) with their own color
And the Lord’s
THE LORD’S, HOMIE
The Lord’s fits! It’s deep red and it actually fits! Someone went through the effort to make clothing for him out of love and it fits him great!
(I like to think he cries a little; thoughts?)
It’s sweater weather:
When the reader gathers the four of them in the lounge, they’re not sure what to expect. What could the reader possibly want to show them? The reader then produces four well crafted sweaters each a different colour. They are pleasantly surprised! But how many balls of yarn did the reader have to go through to create all of these?
(Hang on I need to do the maths real quick. Let’s say the average sweater takes about 7 or 8 balls of yarn to make. That would be 3 times 7/8 balls of yarn, plus double for Dimitrescu. So that would be... 35 to 40 balls of yarn.)
It’s very rare that any of them would receive something so personalised. So when the reader produces these products, you better believe they are grateful as all hell. Snatching them out of the readers hands and admiring the fine knitwork.
The sons are in love with them! The fuzziness of the sweaters are sure to keep the boys warm and comfortable in the cold weather. And they’re just so snug! Keep an eye out for the boys, the reader might just find them cuddled up by the fireplace after a long day of hunting. They really try their best not to get any stains on them, but you know what they’re like.
The Lord is also extremely grateful. Most of his wardrobe comprises of suits and coats, so having something comfortable with a splash of colour is a nice change. It’s the perfect casual wear for his days off. Definitely get’s emotional about it on some days. The thoughtfulness is enough to make a grown man cry. Has yet to wear it to a meeting with Father Mirus, but that’s only because he thinks it’s too precious to wear outside.
At one point one of them asks the question that was on everyone's mind. How was the reader able to guess their measurements? They didn’t guess, silly. The reader took their measurements while they slept.
Just kidding! The reader asked the servants for the measurements. Since they make their clothes, they would know. Either way, they are all very grateful to be given such a thoughtful gift. And the reader shouldn't be too surprised if they find the family has returned the favour, gifting them their own sweater in their favourite colour.
#mod answers#lord dimitrescu#belmont dimitrescu#cassandros dimitrescu#daniel dimitrescu#re8 headcannons#Just the thought of the reader hoarding almost 40 balls of yarn in their room with no one noticing#homie you stashing them in your closet??#Under the bed??#oh my god#they can now take a matching outfits family photo#the ones from like the 90's omg
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