#vero emilie paint | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidecorating · 3 years

Text

L'amore Vero È Così (True Love is Like This)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

A/N: Woke up with a killer headache after celebrating the end of 2020 and thought writing something loosely based off events that took place on NYE would be a good cure. Hope this year’s been treating you all well!

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Summer nights and Spencer Reid make it hard for anyone to keep their hands to themselves. Add David Rossi’s holiday mansion and wine to the mix, and watch a dangerously hot fuse ignite

Warnings: Language (as in cursing AND me just completely butchering Italian), unprotected sex, penetrative sex

Masterlist

Maybe it was the Sauternes. Like a spark igniting along the fuse of dynamite, the sweet sting of white grape travelled down her throat, every sip exploding in kaleidoscopic vision and unfiltered words. Even so, it wasn’t the alcohol she was drunk on. No, not drunk - she wasn’t drunk - she was absolutely intoxicated. Not by anything of substance, but by an overwhelming desire for the man she had arrived with.

Spencer Reid often felt out of place standing in any absurdly large entranceway, belonging to the old Italian with new money, recurrently settling for shifting from shoe to shoe, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell with the hand unoccupied by a bottle he wouldn’t be drinking from. However, his sobriety was far from the cause of his imposter syndrome. Rather, it was the way he always arrived alone, while, what felt like, the rest of the team trickled in with their spouses or significant others. Whilst pairs would dance to vinyl sounds of Bowie, leaving little room for him and the odd number his presence formed in the abacus of the group, he would loiter in a corner, or, on occasion, entertain his godson with a pack of cards. More frequently, he would rattle off excuses about needing the restroom, only to spend his time exploring the corridors of a rather impressive house. A get together at David Rossi’s holiday home was uncommon, and the last time Spencer had wound up here, he found himself inspecting the tiny forgotten library the man housed, attempting to decipher the various foreign books residing on its mahogany shelves as he heard his friends stumbling their way through the Salsa downstairs. L'isola di Arturo, with sterling lettering on its ageing spine showing a familiar pen name, had quickly become his favourite. When he’d first translated the pages, he had chuckled at the parallels between himself and its disconsolate protagonist. However, after years of his ongoing solitude, and lonely arrivals to a castle full of people, he finally had someone on his arm.

“Wait, what does this mean? I can make out the ‘amore’ but not much else,” That someone now squinted at the words his index finger underlined as he read her the words of that very book, aloud. “Hm?” He was visibly distracted by the Patchouli blend of orange and jasmine emanating from her skin as she leaned against his shoulder to read the page herself. “L'amore vero è così,” she whispered, unsure of the correct pronunciation but attempting it anyway. “Non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana,” she finished in a whisper, affecting Spencer in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Through fluttering eyelashes, she looked up at him, awaiting his rendition, and suddenly the temperature felt as if it had risen. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here almost as many times as him; she knew her way around Rossi’s holiday home, but Spencer had insisted on showing her his favourite room, claiming she hadn’t seen it yet. Diverting her attention from Emily’s anecdotes, “I kind of want you all to myself for a little bit,” he whispered in a kiss on her shoulder, proceeding to take her hand and pull her away from chatter over a jug of Cuban rum and homemade pizza - making sure to dissect, in explanation, nearly every painting adorning the maze of hallways on their short trek. He cleared his throat, prying his gaze away from the skin her little black dress revealed, unabashedly scanning her lips before using his own to form words. “True love is like this,” he subtly eyed her reaction to his words as he tried hard to not transliterate the European language. “It has no purpose and no reason, and it does not submit to any power except human grace.” Spencer’s voice was a newly inked quill, ebbing and flowing through the hot air of the dimly lit room. The dark winged butterflies that had been floating around her stomach all evening fluttered in a frenzy at his words, and the way the chartreuse of his eyes had been absorbed by black as they laid on her. “For such a dark story, it’s so beautiful,” she exhaled in a hushed tone, stare not leaving his as he slowly slid the book into the hollow slot where it had previously inhabited, too occupied by reading her demeanour to pay the book any more attention. “You think so? The author, Morante, Elsa Morante, was actually considered the greatest writer of Italy’s postwar generation, at one point.” Spencer began to rest his weight against the wall as they conversed. “I feel as if we always hear about Bassani or Parise, and all the unorthodox things Landolfi wrote in the fifties. It’s very refreshing to hear of a woman getting some well deserved recognition in such a male dominated niche,” she remarked. A dimple appeared on Spencer’s cheek as he grinned at the way she sounded a lot like him. “Agreed. In fact, Morante actually claimed she wished she’d been born a boy, so that she could have all of these heroic adventures. Once, when she was asked about the hero of that book,” he pointed towards the worn copy of L'isola di Arturo, “she commented: ‘Arturo, c’est moi!’,”

“Living vicariously through him? Interesting,” she tilted her head slightly, “I also think its remarkable how beauty can emerge from so much pain,” she mulled aloud. His eyebrows raised at her words and the flux in her tone of voice. Slowly, she stepped towards him, forearms resting on his shoulders, entangling behind him.

Earlier, she’d had the privilege of styling him as he stood in front of their shared mirror, muttering complaints of how he had 'nothing to wear’. Now, she repeated maledictions to herself regarding the clothing she had chosen, in her head, as she admired the way his black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves - displaying intricate nerves shadowing his fingers and arms - and simultaneously unbuttoned temptingly low on his chest, exposing the silver chain presenting a small initial, hers. The summer night had made sure a thin veil of sweat coated his collarbones, glistening with his movements under the lamp light. “It’s not a surprising process though - I mean, after the year you’ve had, just look at how pretty you are,”

“Did you just-” he gulped, chuckling, “use the copious amounts of semi-resolved trauma I harbour to romance me?”

“I may have,” she whispered into the skin below his ear, both hands now tangled in his hair as he remained pressed up against the wall, grateful that every wound, fight and flaw had led them here. And she never ceased to make her gratitude known. Tonight, though, ever since she’d caught sight of his hand gripping a cold glass, the strong concoction presumably belonging to Luke, she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning his body on top of hers. Unbeknownst to her, his thoughts had been very similar from the second she’d chosen to wear the satin fabric, claiming it matched his shirt, while leaving very little to the imagination. “Y/N,” he spoke, his body involuntarily leaning into hers. “We can’t- Not now.” His body language betrayed his words. “I don’t study behaviour for a living, unlike everyone else here, but Spencer, right now, yours tells me we can,” she brought down a hand to squeeze his wrist, which was resting against her lower back. He couldn’t breathe. Tongue in cheek, he shook his head at her, a smirk breaking way. “You, my pretty lady, are something else,” he caved, switching their position in a more urgent manoeuvre than either of them anticipated. Spencer’s hands grasped her jaw, his breath fanning over her before his lips collided with hers, messily. A hand cradled the back of her head, heeding any impact with the wooden blockade behind her, fingers and hair tangling together. Her hands travelled along his body, pinky tugging on his necklace in pursuit of closeness, while her lips roamed around his bobbing Adam’s apple, eliciting an exquisite string of moans. Spencer’s leg wedged itself between hers, slowly grazing his thigh against her, using a firm grip to guide her hips downwards, her soft sighs and tugs at his roots only encouraging him.

The euphoria was short lived. A rapping on the library door tore them apart, its hinges creaking and giving way to an astounded looking Penelope Garcia. “Naughty!” she factitiously gasped. “I didn’t think the good doctor and his fine missus had it in them, but I was very, very wrong,”

“We were just-“ Y/N began, only to be cut off by the tipsy agent. “Save the excuses, beautiful lady. I was simply quested to find you two, and let you know that the rest of us are off to take a dip in the spa. Bring your boy toy, and scrumptious self, and join us ASAP - oh! And no funny business! There are children here,” Penelope gestured her two fingers away from her spectacles and towards each of them as a silent threat of ‘I’m watching you’. Y/N and Spencer exchanged a look, both flushed in different shades of red, on their way to creating a colour wheel. As Penelope spun on her heels and rushed to shut the door behind her, “Thank you, Penelope!” Y/N squeaked, Spencer exclaiming a timid “And sorry!” The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter, still frazzled. “I think I’m getting a little too comfortable with your team,” she grimaced, earning a laugh from the doctor. Later, as Spencer led her towards a bathroom, her arms occupied by a stack of towels, his hand on the small of her back, he dreaded the amount of self control he would need to invoke when the two of them would undress to change.

What she had said wasn’t entirely untrue. She was indeed very comfortable with his team. If Spencer could have met himself, a year ago, anxious to introduce who he was sure was the love of his life to his dearest friends, he would flick himself in the head. She, not alarmingly, managed to get along with everyone, almost better than he did. Somehow managing to find common ground, even with Aaron Hotchner. He recalls, one night, months ago, listening to her and the usually stoic man debate about which broadway production was better: The Producers or The Phantom of the Opera. Spencer also recalls exactly how riled up he became as he watched her put the ex-theatric-gone-lawyer in his place after calling upon Spencer for some Tony Award statistics. Admittedly, he actively needed to combat the green eyed monster on his back whenever she would go jogging with Luke - but the way she kissed him before leaving, on her tiptoes in her running shoes, whispering ‘I love you’, and ‘I’m really only going for Roxy’, helped. She had become family, the invisible stamp of approval having been silently awarded when they all saw the looks the two of them shared, the three subtle squeezes in their woven hands, and the way Spencer now smiled with his teeth - the way they way they would move the moon and the earth for one another.

Packed into the watery sauna, words exchanged between the group travelled into the atmosphere, a waxing gibbous eavesdropping overhead. She watched as Spencer squirmed across from her at the nearness to so many sweaty bodies, shoulders, elbows, knees and toes, belonging to anybody and everybody, poking him. Her eyes trailed along the dips and swells at the base of his neck, decorated in its usual, dainty, shimmering pendant, the bones there protruding as he slouched forward. Spencer’s hair was matted, condensation ironing chestnut ringlets to his forehead, complimenting his heated crimson cheeks. The butterflies returned, her stomach flipping as he ran his hand through the mop of curls to ease his discomfort. More of him - that was what she wanted. She hadn’t noticed, but she had been biting her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Pulling her back from her thoughts, a heavy exhale travelled past her left ear, changing the course of the steam emerging from the water - a stream of air enough to deflate a person, she noticed. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” The blonde rested her head against the barrier of the tub, seeing bright patterns on her eyelids as they shut over her eyes momentarily. Y/N reached over and grasped one of her shoulders in a clinical manner. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jennifer and the gruelling tension in her neck and jaw?” She interrogated, lightheartedly. “What can I say? Stress is my middle name,” she chuckled. “While we’re on the topic, though... Maybe you could give me one of those trigger-point massages,” she opened one eye, an iris burning sapphire, the blue only rival to that of the one from The Tell Tale Heart, finding Y/N’s face. Retreating her hand, having made her point, she let out a laugh at JJ’s words, “I’m afraid that’ll cost y-” Y/N’s eyes widened at the familiar dialect of the words, a charlatan on JJ’s tongue. “Wait a minute, can you repeat what you just said, but slowly?”

“Oh, I know you heard me perfectly clear,” JJ smirked at her, eyebrows raising as her eyes shifted between the flustered woman and Spencer.

They had a friendship of unfamiliar closeness, which JJ cherished. After nights of babysitting turning into wining with Merlot and dining on flaming dreaded cheese puffs, stashed away in an airtight container, upon JJ’s arrival home, the two had grown close. The agent was grateful for conversation veering away from work, and for someone seeing her from a different lens; one through which she wasn’t fizzled down to a petrie dish of a mother through a workaholic microscope. Y/N was curious to know how her famous mandatory-Spencer-de-stressing-trigger-point massages had come up in conversation between JJ and her, now guilty looking, boyfriend. She crossed her fingers in hopes that he’d spared the details of the events that usually took place following the neck rubs - another kind of de-stressing altogether. “Do you guys hear that? I think Will’s calling me- and I should go put Henry to bed… It’s quite late…” she exaggerated, wearing a redolent expression as she slunk away with a towel around her cold frame. “We’ll talk later, Jareau,” she looked up at JJ, after the shivering woman squeezed her shoulders in a bid goodnight, waving to the small crowd. Swiftly, Y/N’s gaze met Spencer’s, her figure not having left his vision once.

The yard and small pool was clearing out, save for Luke and Tara bickering in the corner, so, through the bubbling water, she waded in Spencer’s direction, noticing the way he was evidently mentally undressing her. As if by his telepathy, a thin strap of her bathing suit slipped from its place, causing the gears in Spencer’s head to stop turning as he swallowed thickly. “Hey handsome, long time no speak.” A soft smile graced his lips, adoration for her evident, in place of his muted response. Wordlessly, he slipped a finger beneath the strap, tentatively putting it back in place, refusing to break eye contact in some unspoken play for power. “What’re you up to?” She squinted, wondering exactly what his motives were. “Nothing much,” he pulled her closer by the waist, whispering in a gravelly voice only she could hear, “I’m just thinking about how you didn’t get the chance to finish what you started, earlier,”

“Are you implying that you want me to…” she floated onto his lap, hands draping around his neck to steady herself, “pick up where we left off?” The question left her mouth in a breathy whisper, straight into his ear. He turned to look at her, unblinking. “I’m implying, that I’ve had those pretty noises you make replaying in my head all night, and that I’d like to hear them again,”

“Remind me, doctor, which one of us said ‘we can’t’?,” she mocked his whine, rolling her eyes back. “I have a better suggestion, how about you remind me which one of us struggled to stand the last time we played this game?” The calmness of his voice was the antithesis of the fire she was feeling inside her. Satisfied with her speechlessness, his eyes drifted down her body as she pried herself off him, settling in the plastic indent of a hot tub seat to his side. The attention of the pair of lovers were drawn to Tara’s laughter as she stepped into a robe, calling it a night. “What’d we miss?” Spencer’s clueless innocence returned, as if the words he’d spoken before were now out of mind. Devilishly, Tara responded, “Oh, you know, just me completely destroying this man’s ego,”

“Doesn’t take much does it?” Y/N offered Tara her fist in solidarity. “No it does not,” Tara chuckled, bumping it with her own. “You guys do realise that I’m right here?” Luke scoffed, also drying himself off. “I think that adds to their point?” Spencer offered, pursing his lips, amused. “Well, I’m going to go and catch some sleep, and maybe even shed a few tears over what’s been said about me,” he playfully scowled at Tara walking away, throwing a middle finger at him through the air without looking back. “Trust me, they are very professional,” Spencer promised, turning towards his only remaining company in laughter. “I’m sure they are,” she joked returning a smile.

The two of them talked beneath an ink sky, stars like pinpricks in a blanket twinkling through their conversation, until she found herself on Spencer’s lap, once again, the ambience shifting to something far more carnal. Throughout the night, like a band of elastic stretching between two fingers, the tension between them had heightened. Now, they both tested the limits, anticipating its snap. His chlorine skin tasted electric on her tongue as she painted his neck and chest with a lilac rendition of the silver initial dangling there, letting his sighs catch in the shells of her ears. Allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, his hands tightened around her waist. “Mhm, no, Y/N,” he spoke, regaining his fleeting conscience. “This,” — kiss — “is a bad,” — kiss — “idea,”

“Spencer, look,” she glanced over at the house, and his eyes followed suite, craning his neck slightly. “What do you see?” She asked. “Aside from a house bigger than my entire apartment complex?” Her face was a deadpan. “All the lights are out, Spencer,” she gave him a look that said, come on, profiler, figure it out. Not a single connection formed in his head as he stared at the way the luminous blue of the night time water cast ripples on her skin - skin which was all over his. “All the lights are out… It’s late… and everyone’s asleep,” he reasoned, more to himself than in response to her insinuation. “We have no real chance of getting caught, plus…” her dark eyes were obscured by the eyelashes sheltering them as she tilted her head. “Would it be so bad if we did?” Two of her fingers danced along his chest, walking towards the damp hair at the nape of his neck, using the strands to pull him closer. “Everyone knowing exactly how good you make me feel?” She purred the last part in his ear, tugging at the cartilage with her teeth. Spencer partially whimpered. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous boy. You sound as good as you taste.” His eyes shut as his head hit the rim of the spa - only briefly losing himself once her mouth was on him again. “Someone’s talking like they’re in charge,” he tilted her chin up towards him, forcing her eyes onto his own. “I seem to be the one doing all the work here,” she teased. He kissed each of her collarbones, eyes still trained on hers. “You shouldn’t speak so soon.” With that, he undid the top of her swim suit, exposing her chest to the frigid night air, compelling a gasp. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about doing this a majority of the night.” The bass in his voice reached her core. “For someone who is so fastidious about cleanliness, you sure have a dirty, dirty mind, doct-” She never had the chance to finish the honorific, his lips moulding around a hardening nipple, allowing his fingers to toy with the other. Rolling his tongue around the bud, he smiled to himself as he heard her call out his name, over and over, as if her voice was coming through a scratched vinyl. “Where’s all the talk from before?”

“You’re evil,” she groaned, her hips bucking against his board short clad body.

Spencers lips travelled along the valley of her breasts, only to hike back up them at a tantalising pace, prehensile fingers covering the ground his mouth couldn’t. Her hands grasped so tight in his hair, he was sure the strands would fall out. A groan of his own left vibrations reverberating through her body, causing her heart to jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he gnarred, as his hands gripped her wrists, holding them behind her back. With his unoccupied hand, he dipped his fingers into what was left of her apparel. “Is this all for me?” He smirked at the ease with which his fingers slipped over her. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re in water,”

“You’re so impolite - even when I’m spoiling you,” tutted Spencer. Retroceding his hand, determined to leave her on edge, and her skin a mirror image of his, he continued to pin her fragile hands back against the base of her spine. “S-Spencer, please,” her words struggled to make any sense, “please, I need more,” she panted out, moving purposefully along the growing outline in his shorts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Spencer fiddled with the material still covering her, pulling it aside to make way for himself in between her legs. His eyes softened, silently seeking permission, even as she impatiently pulled down his waistband. When she nodded and eased his ailing with a soft, lingering kiss, he slowly pushed himself into her, never failing to be acutely attentive to her comfort as if it was their first time together. “This was what you were after?” Teased Spencer, his hips speeding up. “So badly,” she uttered out a sigh. “Then take it like you want it.” She craved his adept touch, and she made that known. “S- Spencer, oh god,” she groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” His breathing became heavier, softs grunts and hisses filling her ears with every movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining in a destitute way at the full feeling. At a slower pace, one of Spencer’s hands guided her hips along himself, while the other traced infinity on her sensitive nerves. “Sweet girl- fuck, you feel like a dream,” he moaned as she tightened around him. Her toes curled, the warm water of the pool splashing her bare skin. Spencer occupied all of her senses, the same way she did his. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, before he used his nose to nudge her face upwards, her momentarily open eyes reflecting constellations. Spencer kissed her once more. Her hands long freed from his grip, she left traces of herself in the form of tiny red sickles on his freckled back as her nails released some frustration.

Dragging her fingers along his torso, she felt the muscles of his stomach tighten, hers doing the same. Shaky sighs wavered from her lips at the bliss Spencer was providing. “Keep your eyes open for me, angel,” she tried her hardest to focus on his lustfully blown pupils. “That’s it. Just look at what you do to me,” he gasped out, head falling backwards, eye contact broken - only for a second - before he gulped and looked back at her. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, hoarsely, stroking his sweaty cheekbone with her thumb. She could recognise the golden gates of heaven in his eyes as he came undone inside her, warmth spilling over her in every aspect. The knots in her stomach loosened shortly after his, curses spilling from both of them. She rode him through his release, fond of the way he left light kisses on her temple, whispering compliments and confessions of love. Once he was sure she’d caught her breath, and some air had returned to his own lungs, he kissed her, gently, in the summer sauna heat, beneath the stars.

A loud cough startled the two. Stood in the open French doors of the veranda, scotch in hand, and eyes screwed shut, was David Rossi. Their minds were in the same place, wondering why they hadn't listened to Penelope’s drunken advice. “When you two are done, please remember to turn the tub lights off - and put the filter on high.” She hid herself in Spencer’s chest, heartbeat in her ears, contemplating holding her breath for a really, really long time. Spencer was flushed red, his own nose buried in her neck so as to not face the older man. “Or better yet, put some money together to buy me an entirely new spa,” Rossi, laughed, opening one eye to catch sight of Spencer giving him a shameful thumbs up. Even as Rossi wandered away, their embarrassment remained a fresh burn. Spencer groaned as her tired hand fumbled with his disastrous hair, “I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much of that he heard,”

“Or saw,”

“Don’t!”

“I’m never going to be invited here ever again, am I?”

286 notes · View notes

wellesleyunderground · 4 years

Text

Wellesley Underground’s Holiday Guide to Wellesley-Owned Businesses: November 2019

The Good Supply / Image Credit: The Good Supply

Looking for your holiday gifts? Check out Wellesley Underground’s crowd-sourced list of Wellesley-owned businesses (updated for 2019)! Compiled by Hoi-Fei Mok ‘10, WU Managing Editor.

Pinterest Board of the Shops (incomplete)

Jewelry

Alumnati Jewelry by Stephanie Christie ‘00: Handmade Wellesley lamppost earrings

Ecru Collection by Kara Templeton '12: Jewelry, home decor, and stationery

Kindred Spirit Studios by Michelle Davis Petelinz '78: Jewelry, home decor

Lauren Wimmer Jewelry by Lauren Wimmer ‘98: Jewelry

Mala Shah Design by Mala Shah ‘98: Metalworks and Reiki-infused jewelry

Ready-Made by Jenn Meng ‘13: Materials-focused jewelry brand offering minimal, everyday pieces that are affordable, hypoallergenic, super strong, and tarnish-free.

Porcelain and Stone by Kimberly Huestis '05: Nautically inspired jewelry

Space Mermaid by Stephanie Carbone '93: Sky and sea inspired jewelry

Urban Witchcraft by Elena Gauvin ‘13: hand fabricated sterling silver gemstone jewelry with a gothic feel

Wellesley Voices For Disability: Wellesley earring and necklace set, scarf and hat set, fountain pen, bookmark, keyboard covers and more.

Art & Crafts

A Riot of Color by Susan Eiseman Levitin '85: Hand-dyed yarns

Achiaa Paper and Pen by Rebecca Amponsah ‘08: Handmade paper goods and lettering

Alyssa Sketch’d by Alyssa Torres ‘09: Original illustrations/art and jewelry

Art Without A Frame by Hoi-Fei Mok ‘10: Original illustrations/art from the Dragon Fruit Project, an oral history project of queer and trans Asian Pacific Islanders

Cardiology Cards by Tamar Zmora ‘11: Break up Cards

ChemKnits Creations by Rebecca Brown ‘06: Hand dyed yarns

Connie-Chen.com by Connie Chen ‘17: Calligraphy commissions, prints, bookish apparel, oblique holders, penmanship lessons

DisaporicArts by Jenny Jean ‘13: Modern digital art prints

Fran Decker by Fran Decker '80: Original paintings, prints, tiles and notecards

Genevieve Calligraphy by Genevieve Goldleaf ‘12: Botanical illustrations and custom calligraphy

The Grey Fox Studio by Katherine Grey '08: Printmaking, drawing & painting

KT Obermanns by KT Obermanns '07: Illustrations, portraits, pinups, and caricature

Leslie Ordal Fibre Arts by Leslie Ordal ‘04: Handspun yarns, handwoven scarves, and other fibre arts. Lessons and workshops in the Toronto, Ontario, area.

Map Attic by Alex Azzi ‘15: Block-printed holiday cards, resin jewelry, vintage map crafts, ceramics, and abstract fluid paintings.

Misc Midwest by Marie Clymer Sarnacki '13: Wooden coasters and fridge magnets with a Wellesley design

Miyun Makes by Gena Hong ‘12: handmade pottery inspired by Korean traditions.

Monica Starr Creations by Monica Starr Feldman ‘14: Leather luggage tags, metal flower bouquets, embossed stationary, scarves, mason jar cozies, metal & wood working

My Big Pink Crafty Box by Sophia Giordano '09: Feminist crafts

Pick Two Pottery by Dana Lamb ‘99: Pottery

Singing Whale Stained Glass by Amy Putnam ‘90: Handmade stained glass art and shattered glass pins, plus chainmaille bracelets and earrings, including Wellesley inspired pieces.

Stephanie Hessler by Stephanie Hessler ‘84: Wellesley inspired prints, apparel, homewares

Tiny Small Joys by Alyssa Kayser-Hirsh '14: handmade books, calendars, notebooks, and planners

Wear I’ve Been by Samaa Ahmed ‘13: Art designs on throw pillows, prints, mugs, tote bags and more.

Kacie Lyn Martinez by Kacie Lyn Martinez ‘09: fiber artist who weaves tapestries and other fiber art

Photography

Az Bulutlu by Eylul Dogruel ‘07: Skyscapes, travel and abstract photography, prints and merchandise.

JezRebelle by Jess Planos '10: Wellesley photos on prints, apparel, homewares

Meera Graham Photography by Meera Mohan ‘09: Nature Prints for Sale, Headshots & Candid Portraiture

Vero Kherian Photography by Veronique (Chau) Kherian ‘05: Professional Portraits and Headshot Photography in the SF Bay area

Health & Skincare

Beautycounter by Jen Askin Pollock ‘99: Safer, high-performing products for the whole family

Box Naturals by Irene Kim ‘99: Luxe towelettes with organic essential oils

Cocofloss by Chrystle Cu '05: Flavored dental floss

EmmGerri by Karen and Kristi Jordan: Skincare lotion

Eu’Genia Shea by Naa-Sakle Akuete ‘08: Shea butter

Just Botanicals by Sonya Funaro ‘00: Handcraft organic, ethically-sourced skincare

Hubba Hubba by Megan (MJ) Pullins `94: The oldest alternative adult store in New England, stocking everything from corsets, club clothes, lingerie, and all sorts of sex toys.

Lioness by Liz Klinger: Smart vibrator

Maum Goods Co. by Helen (Tak) Kingery ‘01: Handmade essential oil products for wellness and balance

TATCHA Beauty by Victoria Tsai ‘00: Japanese based skincare products

Fashion and Apparel

A Gifted Baby by Amelia Gray ‘03: Online boutique for babies and little people focussing on small and emerging designers, ethical production practices and women-owned labels. Alums are friends and family, use code “weloveyou20much” for the 20% f&f discount:).

Baby Blast Off by Emily Bennett: Baby clothes

Catie’s Natives by Jennifer Roesch ‘92: Shirts, hoodies, and accessories that show city pride. Developed and designed by Jennifer’s 10 year old daughter. Featured in Time Out NY. 10% of profits support Hartley House which provides social services to residents of Hell’s Kitchen, NY.

Charlotte and Asher by Laura Hahn ‘06: Fashionable diaper bags

Cliobags by Alejandra Zambrano: Handmade bags

Emma Finney by Kristin Bunce ‘00: Bags and clutches

Orange Soda Baby by Dorothy Hsiung '05: Whimsical children's clothing

The Outrage by Claire Schlemme ‘06: Feminist clothing and accessories with a portion of profits to women’s empowerment orgs.

Satya Twena by Satya Twena ‘05: Hats and millinery

Stoptiques by Olga Vidisheva '07: Apparel and accessories

Wellesley Class of 1990: Purple W capes! Made of durable material - great for wearing as a cape, using a picnic blanket, keeping your car seat clean, etc.

Wellesley Class of 2003: Wellesley lamp post shirts, baby apparel, and accessories

Wellesley Class of 2007: Wellesley apron (“We can stand the heat!”), baby and kids apparel

Wellesley Club of Columbus, OH: Wellesley insignia whistle

Swells Swag by Sarie Hale-Alper ‘04: Wellesley-themed designs on a variety of apparel and accessories.

Food & Care Packages

ChocolatesU by Amy Camargo ‘94: Chocolates

Ice Cream Jubilee by Victoria Lai ‘01: 6 ice cream pints, shipped nationwide

Montecarlos Estate by Carlota Batres ‘09: Coffee

Off The Beaten Path Food Tours by Lizzie Bell '03: Food tours in MA

Sky Vineyards by Skyla Olds ‘99: Wines

Sunny Exchange by Connie Su ‘09 and Jennifer Lim ‘06: Care packages

Takeout Kit by Rachael Blanchard Lake '07: Shelf-stable meal kit

Tranquil Tuesdays by Charlene Wang '03: Tea and teaware

Toys

My Muse Dolls by Torlisa Jeffery ‘06: Customizable dolls

Animal Care

Newbury Paws by Andrea Fowler '07: Harnesses for large dogs

Wellesley DC Club: Wellesley pet bowls

Domesticat: Rocío Garza Tisdell ‘07: modern-design cat furniture and accessories

Books & Zines

DefinitiveLeigh by Leigh Morrison '15: Feminist zines

Children’s photo books by Cristi Carlstead ‘01: Colors, alphabet and numbers from various countries around the world Romance Novels by Kate Broad ‘06, writing as Rebecca Brooks: sexy contemporary feminist romance

Jambo Book Club by Mijha Butcher Godfrey ‘98: Receive two-three age-appropriate children’s books each month that feature a child of color as the star. Jambo books show children of color in situations where children’s literature rarely places them - making friends, raising pets, loving grandparents and fighting dragons. The books arrive with a personalized letter in boxes beautifully decorated with art that celebrates the joy of childhood. We serve children aged 0-13.

General Home:

Domesticat by Rocío Garza Tisdell ‘07: posters, more products in development

TAIT Design Co. by Audrey Elkus ‘18: Toys + Homewares designed and assembled in Detroit and 100% made in USA. Minimalist, mid-century modern, built to last and make great gifts. Thanks for checking us out : )!

Professional Services

Abilities Dance: Boston-based physically-integrated dance company. Able to perform at holiday parties, fundraisers, and all types of events. Always willing to negotiate rates for W alums.

Grace Astrology by Elisabeth Grace ‘83: Professionally certified astrologer; life strategist. Astrology is a powerful tool for understanding why you are the way you are; what you need in order to feel fulfilled and why things happen when they do. Improve your timing and your relationships. Based in New York -- available for parties, fundraisers, speaking/teaching engagements.

Leslie Ordal: Writing and editing, with a specialty in medicine and science but other fields also welcome. Ad copy, journal manuscripts, etc.--my clients have ranged from Big Pharma to artisans to graduate students. Discount on my usual rate for W alums! Makefast Workshop (Maura Atwater ‘08): Prototyping consultancy; hardware, software, and musical instrument design.

#wellesley underground #hoi-fei mok #wellesley owned businesses #wellesley entrepreneurs #wellesley entrepreneur series

3 notes · View notes