#miss cornelia

[jomiddlemarch]

and is there honey still 

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like kissing Faith.

This realization, occurring a moment after the kiss ended, Jem’s hand still at Mary’s slender waist, her normally pale cheeks as pink as a rare mayflower, was followed immediately by the understanding that he’d never be able to tell anyone. There was no confidant he could trust with such a secret, even if he could bring himself to so violate the rules of gentlemanly behavior. It just wasn’t done and that was before he considered speaking of kissing Mary Vance, who was accepted as Miss Cornelia’s adopted daughter, but whose personal history was never quite forgotten.

Susan, should she ever hear of it, would be scandalized beyond comprehension. 

Jem would never eat another slice of her strawberry pie.

His friends and siblings would be confused, Faith put out, her pique covering any feelings of betrayal, for all that there was nothing binding between them.

Mother would be disappointed and Dad would shake his head.

The expression in Mary’s eyes, those queer eyes he now saw were the color of moonstones, told him she understood it all. 

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about,” she said. Faith would have tossed her head making such a remark, her golden-brown curls shown to advantage, but Mary only looked at him steadily and let the hand that had been on his shoulder drop to her lap.

“You hold yourself too cheap, Mary,” Jem said. 

“That ain’t—that isn’t possible,” she replied. “Anyway, what’s a kiss amount to?”

It was a good question, one Jem had thought he’d known the answer to, just as he thought he’d known the answer to the question she was laboring over at her desk in the empty classroom, a piece of paper scribbled over and crossed-out, grey smudges on the foolscap, on Mary’s white cuffs. She would’ve laundered them herself, being Miss Cornelia’s daughter not relieving her of her housekeeping duties, chores she’d call them though Jem knew none of his sisters had ever helped even pinning clean clothes to the line.

He supposed a kiss could be an ordinary thing, a peck on the cheek or the lips, a greeting, friendly and inconsequential as a wave, a forgettable gesture of a mild affection.

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like that.

He could say, in all honesty, that he hadn’t planned it. He’d been pointing out something in her writing, a tricky bit she’d gotten tangled up in, and she’d been peering down at the page, trying to make it out. When she’d perceived her mistake, she’d looked up at him, her expression one he’d never seen before, victory and pride and delight all swirled together, altering her face from one he’d recognized without being aware of it into one he’d been startled to discover. Without a word, without a thought, he’d leaned in and kissed her parted lips before she crowed over her achievement or thanked him, the caress impetuous, a whim, irresistible.

She was irresistible. He’d grazed her lips with his own and in the space before the next heartbeat, he’d cupped her jaw with one hand and let the other drop to her waist to draw her close. He felt the most tremendous desire for her possess him, everything else dropped away. She tasted, quite impossibly, of honey, though that was perhaps because he had always liked honey best, and she was warm in his embrace, coming closer when his hand at her waist reached around her back, sighing a little when he stroked her cheek and angled her head to be able to kiss her more deeply. Every second, his desire for her ratcheted sharply upwards and she met him, her hand clutching his shoulder, her sharp tongue sweet in his mouth. She kissed the way a fast girl kissed but there was a terrible innocence to her response that made him know she’d never kissed anyone else, whatever she might have intimated to his sisters and her friends.

He couldn’t say why he’d broken away. 

A sound in the hallway or her sudden stillness when his hand grazed her breast, the need to breathe, the pounding of his heart felt throughout his whole body. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Mary went on when he was stayed silent.

“Are you sorry?” he blurted out, and hearing the words he became suddenly terrified that he’d transgressed, become that monster Reverend Meredith always warned of in his gentle way, a man consumed by his appetites, greed and lust. “Oh, God, Mary, have I made you do something you didn’t want—”

“As if you could!” she said, wry again, Mary Vance again as he’d ever known her. If she’d wanted to, she would have slapped him, he was sure of that. “There’s no person living who could make me do what I didn’t want and certainly not you, Jem Blythe.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” he said, chastened, still too close to her. Still tasting the honey-sweetness of her lips, feeling the sound of the quiet moan of hers he’d swallowed in his throat.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she offered. “Or ever again. It could be just something that happened once, like as if you’d knocked over my inkwell, and we can forget about it. If that’s what you’d like. To be easy about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he repeated, agreeing. An inkwell knocked over would leave a stain, one endless scrubbing would never entirely remove. “But I won’t forget. I shan’t.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said, her old tone mixed in with a new softness. He’d mussed her hair and some of the loose strands caught the light, a far cry from the usual trig appearance Miss Cornelia insisted upon. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see this Mary again, but it might be enough, to have seen it this one time. It was more Walter’s way to say he’d carry it as a talisman, but Jem felt it without saying it, that to have this moment might serve him well in the future.

“Mind you turn that paper in,” he said. 

“Mind yourself, then,” she said and turned away.

He wouldn’t see Mary alone for another ten years. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” Mary said, sitting down beside him, facing the water. She tucked her skirt around her and made no effort to conceal her sturdy, scuffed boots. It was a cool evening, cooler by the shore, but she didn’t have a coat or even the old wool shawl she’d refused to give up before he’d left for France. He shrugged off his own coat and offered it to her. He’d be warm enough in his heavy jersey, one the fisherman down at the harbor wore when the wind picked up.

“Not Rainbow Valley?” he said.

“Why would you go there? You’re not a child anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, unless I miss my mark,” she said. 

“No, you’re right,” he said. “Not for a long time.”

“You don’t have to talk to me about anything. Not about the War or Walter or being a prisoner,” she said. She said it without any particular tenderness, which was the most consoling part. He recalled, very dimly, that before she had come to Miss Cornelia, she’d lived through her own horrors, yet spoke of them rarely if at all.

“Don’t have to tell me about any French girls either,” she added and he laughed. 

It was the first time he’d laughed since he came home. Since he came back to the Glen, anyway, and called it home without being able to fully mean it.

“Not much to tell there. I mostly saw nuns and the Red Cross nurses are awfully brisk, whatever their nationality,” he said.

“I’ve always thought Cornelia would make a good nun, for all that she’s married,” Mary said.

“Perhaps,” Jem replied. The waves kept breaking on the sand and it was dusk, romantic if you wanted it to be. Mary had his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Jem felt scoured, raw and empty.

“Why’d you come, if you don’t expect me to talk?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

“I guess because you need someone who doesn’t expect you to talk but who’s willing to sit nearby, without fussing over anything,” she said. “I’ve plenty of handwork and housework to deal with at home. I’m perfectly content to sit and be idle and there’s nothing you can say or not say that can hurt me. I’m not hurt the way you are, I can bear whatever you need—”

“They can’t at home,” he said. Mother, with grief in her grey eyes and grey in her auburn hair, and Rilla, grown into a mother before she was a wife, Dad with something more broken inside him than any of the rest. Susan and Dog Monday and the letters from Di and Nan, blotted and halting. Una, who might as well be one of the French nuns who tended him, all of them mourning Walter and trying to rejoice at his return. Jem, trying to keep them from hearing any of his nightmares, biting his tongue when they spoke at a meal of the future or the past.

“I know,” she said. “Faith Meredith’s married a Brit. Officer, Lord Something Hoity-Toity of Fancy Abbey-on-High.”

“I’m happy for her,” Jem said tiredly. “We were childhood sweethearts, that’s all.”

“I know. Just wanted it said so you’d know I know,” Mary replied.

“If she’d waited, I wouldn’t have wanted her. I wouldn’t want her to have me now, as I am,” he said. “Befouled, diminished—”

“Walter’s dead, Jem. You don’t have to speak in his voice,” Mary said. 

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. If you don’t think I’d remember, after all those afternoons, those walks and rambles, listening to him, well then. You’d be wrong. I remember,” she said.

“I want Faith to stay as she is. Beautiful, golden, untouched, a lovely memory from my splendid childhood,” Jem said.

“Good Lord, she’d far better off than I thought, even without taking a castle into account,” Mary exclaimed. “Maybe her Lord Gawain-Excalibur-Avalon actually treats her like a women. A person.”

“I didn’t know you liked the Arthurian legends,” Jem replied, taken aback by Mary’s remark, choosing to deflect.

“I liked the sword. And the Lady of the Lake with her own place,” Mary said.

“I thought it would be like that, the War, knights going out,” he said. “I knew there’d be wounds and death, but I thought there’d be honor—"

“You always were a bit of a fool,” Mary said. “Stands to reason though, the way you were raised.”

“We had a—you’re right,” he said, realizing he did not have to defend his parents or Ingleside. “Mother was so careful for us to be well-loved. To live in a world where we might imagine ourselves heroes or able to speak with the fairies—you would have done better than I at the Front, Mary.”

“No one would do better,” she said. He braced himself for her to talk about his medals, his valiant efforts in the prison camp, how he tended those around him with what little he had. How many men had died in his hands, their blood the scent in his nose as terrifying as gas. “You lived.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Come here, then,” she said, shifting to kneel facing him. The moon had risen and it suited her, her eyes gleaming like opals, her hair silver, the shadow soft around her bare throat. She reached a hand to touch his cheek, rough with the whiskers he hadn’t shaved for the past few days. “Come here, James,” she said and the sound of his name startled him enough to move closer. To let her draw his face to hers for a kiss.

For a moment, he was seventeen again and Walter was alive, the fields of France green, the chestnut trees in leaf. Then he heard a wave break and felt Mary’s hand move to the nape of his neck, her fingers callused, and he tasted salt mixed with honey. She beckoned him and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly, trying to lose himself in her embrace. Letting her find him.

They were alone with the moon and the sea. There was no hallway and Mary kissed him well enough there were no memories, not of France or Germany or Holland, not of the ship or the train or the graveyard with the stone too white, the wilting mayflowers at its base. There was nothing Mary would not do, no end to the comfort she would offer. His hands were at her waist and her breast, eased beneath her skirts, and she coaxed him on. When he brought both back to cup her face, she’d smiled under his lips. When he lay back against the sand and brought her to lie next to him, her head resting upon his chest, she’d come with him.

“I should have asked, Miller Douglas?”

“He married Ada Parker six months ago. I didn’t shed a tear, except that they should be happy,” she said. “To be honest, I didn’t fancy being a shopkeeper’s wife, but I would have made the best of it.”

“I’m alive, but I don’t know what I have to offer,” Jem said. Mary thumped him on the chest, hard enough to notice, soft enough to be nothing more than a scolding.

“You’ve yourself and I’m myself. You don’t have to offer me anything,” she said.

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” he said.

“Then remember me. This. How it was, how it might be,” she said. “Grieve and suffer and if you want, I’ll be there for it. Or you can come round in a while, when you’re sorted out. I’m in no hurry. I’ve an idea of how to run a doctor’s house, no offense to your mother or Susan, and I’d like to try it out some time.”

“Will there be much pie?” Jem asked.

“There will be honey-cake, pots and pots of clover honey ready to drizzle. That’s your favorite.”

“Call me James again,” he said.

She propped herself up on his chest so he could see her face, the curve of her lips, her silvery hair hanging loose around her cheeks.

“I believe you meant to say, please, James. Mind yourself, then.”

Tagging @gogandmagog who posted this:

DIANA, teasingly: “You, anyhow. I saw you kissing Faith Meredith in school last week ... and Mary Vance, too.”

JEM:- “For mercy’s sake, don’t let Susan hear you say that. She might forgive it with Faith but never with Mary Vance.” From The Blythes Are Quoted

And @freyafrida who wrote "also want to write jem/mary fic now although i have zero ideas for anything apart from the ship"

#anne of green gables #jem blythe #mary vance #jem/mary #rarepair #canon au #post wwi #angst #tw: PTSD #romance #faith meredith #walter blythe #gilbert blythe #anne shirley #kissing #glen st mary #hurt/comfort #miss cornelia #mary vance is a total realist #POV Jem #veteran!jem

[philippagordon]

"I'm not hankering after the vote, believe me," said Miss Cornelia scornfully. "I know what it is to clean up after the men. But some of these days, when the men realize they've got the world into a mess they can't get it out of, they'll be glad to give us the vote, and shoulder their troubles over on us. That's their scheme. Oh it's well that women are patient, believe me."

"What about Job?" suggested Captain Jim.

"Job! It was such a rare thing to find a patient man that when one was really discovered they were determined he shouldn't be forgotten," retorted Miss Cornelia triumphantly.

Anne’s House of Dreams, Chapter 15, “Christmas at Four Winds”

#anne's house of dreams #aogg #anne of green gables #miss cornelia #cornelia bryant #she's just like me fr

[diioonysus]

hair + art

#hortense mancini by jacob ferninad voet #painting is by edouard louis dubfe #painting by joseph karl stieler #painting by leopold carl muller #venus and mars by sandro botticelli #betrothed by james christensen #elise dorothea frederike by ernst thelott #painting by jose cruz herrera #miss jane mercer by samuel bell waugh #painting by johann heinrich richter #sarah walker of canterbury by j.b. haslehurst #painting by friedrich wilhelm herdt #young woman by j.c. leyendecker #helen of troy by anthony frederick augustus sandys #marie louise of orleans by i cant find the artist #georgiana duchess of devonshire by sir joshua reynolds #maria cornelia van wassenaer by jean baptiste van der hulst #portrait of a lady by franz schrotzberg #countess claudine rhedey johan nepomuk ender #painting by thomas francis dicksee jessica #escaping summer heat by hua sanchuan #i think this is by eiho hirezaki #drawing by wladyslaw t. benda #painting by hugette clark #auguste hilber by joseph karl stieler #empress elisabeth of austria by franz xaver winterhalter #zamorka by anton azbe #painting by elisabeth sonrel #painting by john duncan #saint john the baptist by sandro botticelli

[thecoldcoffeecup]

who could ever leave me, darling?, but who could stay?

#the archer #taylor swift #the archer taylor swift #lover taylor swift #lover era #the eras tour #lover ts #cruel summer #lover album #i think he knows #mirrorball #miss americana and the heartbreak prince #false god #the man taylor swift #afterglow #cornelia street #the eras movie #the tortured poets department #this is me trying #dear reader taylor swift

[laiqualaurelote]

2023 Fic Round-up

This year I wrote seven fics and 108,512 words, which is more than I thought! Here's a round-up

maybe everything that dies someday comes back (The English | Cornelia/Eli | M | 14k)

The post-apocalyptic Mad Max Fury Road zombie AU where David Melmont hires bounty hunter Eli Whipp to track down and retrieve a fugitive called Cornelia Locke.

wins this year's award for: Fic That Fulfils My Childhood Dream (writing a zombie apocalypse)

ain't practical, a world you can't touch (The English | Cornelia/Eli | G | 5k)

The Pushing Daisies AU in which Eli can bring people back to life with his touch, but has tried his best not to until Cornelia.

wins this year's award for: Deepest Cut, Zagged

The Lady With The Recorder Asks The Questions (Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries | Phryne/Jack | T | 6k | WIP)

Modern-day newsroom!AU - Phryne is a star investigative journalist who breaks news as easily as she breaks hearts; Jack is just trying to do his best in the war on error.

wins this year's award for: Fic I Most Regret Not Finishing (I'm sorry!)

constant as a northern star (constantly in the dark) (Ted Lasso | Ted/Trent, past Trent/OFC | T | 10.5k)

The saga of Trent Crimm and his independent ex-wife.

wins this year's award for: Most Surprisingly Popular Fic

all the men and women merely players (Ted Lasso | Ted/Trent, Roy/Keeley/Jamie | T | 50k)

The Station Eleven!AU where the Richmond Players are a travelling Shakespearean company performing in the ruins of a post-pandemic England, and Trent is, despite the apocalypse, still a journalist.

wins this year's awards for: Longest Fic, Fic That Survived The Most Hiatuses, Fic I Am Proudest Of

well-versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice (Good Omens, Historical RPF | Aziraphale/Crowley | G | 3k)

The Regency heist fic in which Jane Austen, criminal mastermind and aspiring novelist, pulls off the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery with the help of a certain demon.

wins this year's award for: Quickest Fic (I wrote it in four days)

speak easy, swing hard (Marvel Cinematic Universe | Steve/Tony | T | 13k)

The 1920s Prohibition era!AU in which Tony runs a nightclub empire, Steve is an aspiring artist and/or questionably undercover agent, Sam and Bucky are bootlegging their way through America and nobody knows what Natasha is up to.

wins this year's award for: Most Historical Research (I watched two seasons of Boardwalk Empire and had to figure out multiple characters' speech patterns, then transpose these to the 1920s. Also I listened to so much vaudeville)

I don't think I will be around as much in 2024, barring unexpected hyperfixations, but I wish you all a glorious year anyway! May your WIPs be finished, your ships prolific and your fandoms full of joy.

#2023 in fic #ao3 wrapped #fic roundup #the english #the english 2022 #ted lasso #good omens #miss fisher's murder mysteries #marvel cinematic universe #the avengers #eli x cornelia #whipplocke #phrack #phryne x jack #trent crimm #ted/trent #station eleven #roy/keeley/jamie #aziraphale x crowley #jane austen #the 1810 clerkenwell diamond robbery #steve x tony #1920s au #post apocalyptic #zombie apocalypse

[batrachised]

If you could replace one character in the Star Wars universe with one from LMM, who would it be and does it make things better or worse?

at first I read this backwards and had an entire au planned out where Anakin Skywalker is the orphan at the train station...but I see it's the reverse! (would it be better or worse there? better for anakin and worse for PEI lmao)

There's obviously only one choice here. I'd replace Palpatine with Mrs. Rachel Lynde. Perks: big bad is gone, so universe is remarkably better. Downside: Mrs. Lynde plays the same corrupting role in Anakin's life as Palpatine did, except it's influencing baby Anakin to become the judgiest gossip in the galaxy. Anakin has the twins and becomes a space PTA mom like Mrs Lynde before him. Together, they rule the local PTA with an iron fist (that's what).

#mrs lynde was a red hot politician according to aogg sooo #star wars #i nearly said miss cornelia because she would have fixed Anakin. I know she could. #but mrs lydne won out #thanks for the ask!!

[wineonmytshirt]

#SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO POST !=OKJSDGJ #polls #poll #music poll #music polls #taylor swift #tswift #lover #lover album #taylor swift lyrics #cornelia street #afterglow #i think he knows #daylight #paper rings #all of the girls you loved before #london boy #miss americana and the heartbreak prince #soon you'll get better #swifties #taylor's version

[cedricsnotdead]

so we all voted for mister w.i.t.c.h. 2023 and cedric got his long felt needed revenge, and now it seems strange not to have a MISS W.I.T.C.H. ELECTION as well, so let’s do it!

now this is NOT a shipping game and you should vote irrespective of the other poll, BUT since i have to sponsor someone and cedric won the other poll may i remind you that orube is among the nominees

i know i left out notable ladies like yua, halinor, kadma, cassidy, elyon’s mother, MS RUDOLPH… please use the bonus vote and express your preference in the tags!

no before you ask phobos is not eligible as miss w.i.t.c.h. because otherwise there would be no fair competition, he plays on a league of his own

aaaand please reblog for bigger sample size!

also just a little disclaimer for my own peace of mind which i forgot in the other poll - we all know that the w.i.t.c.h. girls are minors (just like some of the boys in the other poll were), but i could not leave them (or the boys) out of the vote. use common sense and vote for whoever you think is the aesthetically best designed female character, don’t be a creep!

#w.i.t.c.h. #orube #luba #will vandom #cornelia hale #irma lair #hay lin #taranee cook #susan vandom #w.i.t.c.h. nerissa #the miss w.i.t.c.h. poll #elyon escanor #polls

[swiftie-in-the-rain]

i love lover. i love leaving the christmas lights until january and i love unbreakable heaven and i love worshipping love and i love skipping down 16th avenue and i love being right there in the front row even if nobody comes to your show and i love seeing only daylight and i love light pink skies up on the roof and i love meeting in the afterglow and i love sunshine on the street at the parade and i love rainbows with all of the colors and i love high tea and stories from uni and i love my time my wine my spirit and my trust and i love holy orange bottles and i love memorizing the creaks in the floor and i love flashing my dollars and i love running away with you and i love all the kings horses and all the kings men and i love your complications too. i love lover

#swifties #taylor nation #taylor swift #taylornation #lover taylor swift #i forgot that you existed #cruel summer #lover song #i think he knows #the archer #the man taylor swift #miss america #paper rings #cornelia street #dbatc #london boy #soon you’ll get better #false god #yntcd #you need to calm down #me! #afterglow #inthaf #it’s nice to have a friend #daylight taylor swift

[romancemedia]

Cartoon Romances + Hands on their Chest whilst Kissing!

#Young Justice #Aladdin The Series #Generator Rex #Winx Club #Cinderella 3 A Twist in Time #WITCH #Total Drama #Tangled The Series #Superman Doomsday #Spider Man The Animated Series #Moments #Miss Martian x Superboy #Superman x Lois #Aladdin x Jasmine #Cornelia x Caleb #Priya x Caleb #Rapunzel x Eugene #Cinderella x Prince Charming #Rex x Circe #Aisha x Nabu

[karmaisa-queen]

Lover 💘

Lyric lock screens - part 2

*DO NOT repost as your own*

Like/Reblog if you save

@taylorswift

@taylornation

#taylor swift #lover #lover lockscreens #lover era #lyric #lyric lockscreens #lyric wallpapers #taylor swift lyric lockscreens #taylor swift lyrics #taylor swift lockscreens #taylor swift wallpapers #taylor swift lover #lyrics #lockscreens #wallpapers #miss americana and the heartbreak prince #paper rings #cornelia street #death by a thousand cuts #london boy #quote #quotes #song #edit #reblog #follow me #nature #photo

[jomiddlemarch]

gingerbread

5. “I’m home,” Gilbert called out. He didn’t have to raise his voice much since the cottage wasn’t very large, but there was a certain pleasure in it he hadn’t had since Susan Baker had come to work for them and expected a reliable degree of decorum from Dr. Blythe and Mrs. Dr. that Gilbert and Anne felt obliged to satisfy, though there were nights they reminisced about the scrapes and nonsense they’d gotten up to growing up in Avonlea which would be bound to horrify Susan if she knew.

“I’m here,” she answered, her tone as glum as when she’d once dyed her red hair green. “In the kitchen, Gil.”

“Why, Anne, what in heaven’s name?” he said. She couldn’t blame him for his surprise, wouldn’t blame him if there had been some disapproval or judgment, for she was sitting on the floor in her stocking feet, streaked in flour, the striped cotton smock Miss Cornelia had made for her straining over her positively enormous belly.

“You’re home early,” she said.

“Old Josiah Simpson took a turn for the better, told me to go fishing or bring home my pretty missus some flowers,” he explained, a charming posy of wildflowers loosely grasped in his left hand. He laid them down on the table and knelt beside her.

“Sweetheart, what’s happened? Are you ill? Hurt?” he asked. “Is it the baby?”

“A fine mother I’d be blaming it on the baby, but I admit, it’s tempting,” Anne said, trying to wriggle into a more appropriate position, as if there could be one on the scrubbed kitchen floor.

“It’s nothing terrible, you don’t need to worry, it’s only embarrassing and frustrating and thank goodness Susan isn’t here to see it!”

“Why don’t I help you up and get you settled, then you can tell me all about it?” He reached over and took her hands, then managed to help her stand up and kept a hand at the small of her back as she lumbered over to the rocking chair in the sunny corner of the kitchen where Susan was wont to sit and knit if she ever managed a moment of quiet. Gilbert dragged over one of the kitchen chairs and sat before her, waiting patiently.

“I suppose it is the baby,” she began. “I’ve never had such a craving for sweets before and you can see by the size of me, it seems impossible to satisfy.”

“You know that’s completely normal and healthy,” Gil said. “I count us both blessed that you want something so unobjectionable. Mrs. Tom Taylor had to have stewed eel with strawberry compote and Mrs. Fred Walker wanted nothing but clams for weeks, I have it on good authority from Miss Cornelia, though I could always smell the clams before I even stepped a foot over the threshold.”

“Yes, that’s as may be. I wanted something sweet and so, I ate the last of the apple tart Susan left and tried a few of the sugar cookies in the jar, but none of it was right and I was still hungry and then I knew what I wanted. What your child was demanding,” Anne said.

“What?”

“The Blythe gingerbread,” Anne said and Gilbert grinned. “I thought it wouldn’t be too difficult, your mother had left a receipt when she visited, but it was impossible—I couldn’t reach anything with this,” she gestured to the curve of her belly, “getting in between me and the shelves, the kitchen table and the mixing bowls, and trying to open the oven door might as well have been Hercules’s thirteenth labor. I’ve made a mess of the kitchen and myself and worried you and I don’t even have one bite of gingerbread to show for it!”

Gilbert chuckled, a wonderful warm sound that had become ever more precious since they’d lost little Joy, and Anne rested one hand atop the apex of her belly, feeling the baby within respond with a reassuring kick.

“Well, that’s easily solved,” he said. “I guess those flowers I brought home weren’t the ones you needed. You just sit here and rest and let me make up a batch of the gingerbread.”

“That’s not fair, Gil, you worked all day and now you’re going to muck around in the kitchen because I can’t manage to make some biscuits,” Anne said.

“This isn’t work and I’ll have you know, I don’t muck around in any kitchen, let alone Susan Baker’s,” Gilbert said, standing up, taking off his coat, and putting Susan’s voluminous pinafore apron on over his waistcoat and trousers, rolling up his sleeves for good measure. It did seem to only be a few minutes before he’d gotten a big crockery bowl full of all the ingredients, his hands as deft in mixing up the dough as they were treating his patients or seeing to her delight in the privacy of their room, a thought which made Anne blush. Within an hour, he was setting before her a plate of freshly made gingerbread, cut into cunning little blossoms exactly like the ones in the bouquet he’d brought home. She took a bite and sighed as she tasted the spices, the rich sweetness of the molasses, the extra little crunch of the castor sugar he’d sprinkled on top.

“I have to tell you, you could never had made it, Anne-girl,” he said, sitting beside her again, the apron and rolled-up sleeves somehow making him look more manly and heart-stoppingly handsome, the touch of flour at his right temple a glimpse of their future. “My mother never includes all the ingredients or instructions in a receipt. She never wants anyone else to make her food as well as she does.”

“That’s iniquitous!” Anne exclaimed, but her mouth was still full of gingerbread.

“It doesn’t signify,” he said. “I know the receipt by heart, in every detail.”

#anne of green gables #anne's house of dreams #anne/gilbert #shirbert #married life #romance #fluff #gingerbread #fruitloopsforlife #the never-ending prompt fill #happy new year's eve #susan baker #miss cornelia #anne pregnant with Jem #tw: pregnancy #pregnancy cravings

[philippagordon]

"Some folks think his wife dresses too gay, but I say when she has to live with a face like that she needs something to cheer her up. You'll never hear me condemning a woman for her dress. I'm only too thankful when her husband isn't too mean and miserly to allow it. Not that I bother much with dress myself. Women just dress to please the men, and I'd never stoop to that. I have had a real placid, comfortable life, dearie, and it's just because I never cared a cent what the men thought."

Anne’s House of Dreams, Chapter 8

#ok this one's a little controversial but i still think it's worth sharing #aogg #anne of green gables #anne's house of dreams #miss cornelia #cornelia bryant #quotes

[melien]

Ivy Lund for @arogaba's Swift BC

Eccentric / Green Thumb / Hopeless Romantic / Shy / Virtuoso

If Ivy lived long in the past, she would probably be a travelling bard. Her friends say that she is indeed an old soul that was born in a wrong century. She prefers to stick to her style and does not want to change to a more mainstream sound just to become more popular or appeal to the masses. And if she does break through, she wants it to be for her unique manner of ballads and forest nymph-inspired aesthetic, that she hopes will find its place in people's hearts. Participating in the bachelorette might be both a chance for Ivy to advertise her music to a wider audience, hoping for it to resonate with the viewers, and possibly get to know Nina better with potential for something more.

TOU: Don’t claim her as your own or reupload, don’t change her genetics and face features. You can change anything else in her look (hairstyle, makeup, clothes, your own defaults etc.).

Private download unless she's eliminated.

CC: hair / eyebrows (Ruby) / blush #9 / lipstick #11

#sims #ts3 #sims 3 #my sims #my bc contestants #I accidentally made a whole green-haired lucy gray before i even watched the movie #yeah I made her a couple weeks ago but only got to making a post now because I was busy mostly with flat hunting #also a clear folkmore coded girlie #I missed taking part in bcs! my last contestant was made in like 2021 #and I am still thinking of restarting my own bc with cornelia that I cancelled #which I will get to for sure but it's a bit of a busy time rn but I'm def in a better mindset for playing it than I was two years ago

[taylor-swift-bracket]

#taylor swift #taylor swift poll #poll #my polls #swifties #lover #the archer #all of the girls you’ve loved before #miss americana and the heartbreak prince #cruel summer #daylight #death by a thousand cuts #afterglow #Cornelia street #the man

[365-days-of-taylor-swift]

November Day 7

heck out the masterpost to vote on more poll

You can find the other half of this poll here

#365 days of tswift #taylor swift poll #polls #taylor swift lyrics #lyrics #lover taylor swift #I forgot that you existed #Cruel Summer #Lover #The Man #The Archer #I think he knows #Miss AMericana & the Heartbreak Prince #Paper Rings #Cornelia street