#golden-lewis

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[fairmerthefarmer]

My take/designs on the pevensies! (They’re definitely heavily inspired by their looks in the movies.)

Beginning of the lion, the witch and the wardrobe

End of golden age-ish

I’d call this a WIP but it’s not really, mostly once we get into designing clothes in fantasy settings I feel very out of my depth, but I wanna practice more. I’m the most happy with Lucy’s but that’s also cause I most heavily referenced with hers.

Im mostly still just figuring out the clothes design for when they’re in narnia. I want brighter/more jewel toned and warmth to contrast with the more muted London clothes. And for the clothing design I want embroidery, but other than that I have no idea how I would make the designs of the narnian style in this era cohesive.

I also have vague main colours for each of them, lucy green, secondary red, edmund blue secondary brown, Susan purple secondary blue, Peter red secondary purple, and all of them use gold as well.

[covrettcreative]

Fire in the Forest

Seen near Lewis Center, Ohio.

[rorylovesf1]

“tortured poets department” and it’s just the 2010 f1 grid

[infinitemarilynmonroe]

Marilyn Monroe, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis at the Redbook Awards, 1953.

[delopsia]

*teenage dream blasting in the distance*

(i have totally not used this caption before)

Please do not repost without credit 💐

[haroldhearsawho]

Learning that Nix and Harry Welsh passed away exactly 10 days apart from one another, and Harry died on Dick’s birthday 💔

Dick lost both of his best friends from the war within 10 days of each other and one on his own birthday no less 💔

[shakemelikeasnowglobe]

Fernando: I know it must sound controversial after all Lance is nearly five years younger than I.

Lewis*tired*: in what Fernando Dog years?

[scrollonso]

"x should play rapunzel in the live action" "no y would be better" "z looks just like rapunzel" we all know who should REALLY play rapunzel

[dcvidsrossi]

Emily: Hey, Luke. We brought dinner.

Luke: What'd you get?

Tara: [gestures with the pizza box] A box of chicken. I hope you like it extra flat and crispy.

[thefugitivesaint]

Jessie Willcox Smith (1863-1935), ''Boys and Girls of Bookland'' by Nora Archibald Smith, 1923 Source

[ambitiouspotions]

GREENERY | NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM | ONESHOT

summary — the plans for new year’s eve change so you smoke with neville instead

word count — 2.4k

warnings — 18+ MDNI, marijuana usage, smut

author’s note — university au! modern au!happy new year!

new year’s eve was as to be expected, especially in finding neville couped up in his college apartment with nothing to do because he didn’t want to go out to the bars. you were dressed to go out with seamus, his roommate, and a group of friends that decided it would be easier if you met by the strip of bars. though when you entered the unlocked apartment shouting seamus’ name, neville peeked his head to the side, stuffing a silver container into his pocket. you walked into the living area as neville exited the kitchenette, ensuring his body was blocking the archway with his tall frame.

“hey nev, where is seamus?” you asked, pulling up the waistband of your jeans casually.

“he’s at the bar waiting for you.” neville was still concealing the container in his pocket, but his body language relaxed completely. you sighed at his response. seamus had completely misread your messages. the only reason you went out of your way in the first place is because you didn’t want to walk alone on one of the busiest nights of the year.

“do you mind if i wait here until he answers?”

neville shook his head and motioned casually to the couch. you knew you didn’t have to ask, but you wanted to be polite. there were many times before that you were here or they were in your dorm. neville didn’t move from his spot, knowing the counter in the other room was his opened stash of weed. his body language was back to stiff, knowing you weren’t leaving until seamus contacted you.

as you sat down on the worn sofa to call seamus you wiped the cushions of the crumbs that one of the boys had left. many unanswered calls and texts later you rolled your eyes. while you tried to contact seamus one last time, you noticed neville was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. you tapped your foot in annoyance, finally, a ding came through. seamus would be back to walk you over to the bar when he finished his first drink. he figured you could help yourself to his personal reserve as an apology until he arrived.

“he said to get the liquor off the counter to pregame with,” you stood up, walking to the archway where neville was standing he leaned more into the frame.

“there’s none in there,” neville said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“nev, don't be silly. it’s seamus; there is some form of alcohol in that room.” you laughed softly, only thinking of the times you were laid on the floor of the den halfway excited and halfway dying because you were trying to out-drink seamus.

“maybe it’s in his room.” neville said, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the ridge of the frame.

you eyed neville suspiciously. he had always been awkward and a bit quirky, but never so abrupt and stiff.

“what are you hiding?” you questioned, watching his cheeks go red and his hands start fidgeting with his pockets.

“nothing, i just don’t think—”

the moment he had moved his hands you caught a glimpse of the kitchen, the bottles of liquor were grouped on the table. “now, nev,” you said, pushing past him directly to the liquor as you whipped your head around, neville was trying to make it to his rolling tray on the counter.

“you smoke?” you were surprised, to say the least. neville was trying to collect his items quietly.

“yes, but don't tell anyone. only seamus knows,” he admitted, cringing at himself for the day his friend found out. he forgot to open the vent in the bathroom, and the moment seamus was in from class, the whole apartment smelled like a mix of majuarina and an ungodly amount of air freshener. neville was asking for forgiveness the moment seamus walked into their apartment. his eyes were red from his smoke session but also from crying. he truthfully thought seamus was going to kill him for smoking in the apartment.

“seamus got you to smoke? i mean, i am not going to say anything, but that's hilarious.” you took a bottle of clear liquor and got a couple of clean cups from the cabinet. even you had smoked before, most of the time with seamus and the friends you were meeting tonight.

“uh, no, actually i got him to smoke,” neville said, moving his shaggy brunette hair to the side. seamus had never tried it, to nevielle's surprise, but with a lot of apologizing and very little convincing, seamus had begun occasionally smoking socially from that point onward. he boys would sometimes get home from their classes or jobs, and both needed a little relaxation.

your phone dinged again right as you were about to pour the shots.

won't make it

girl from physics thinks i’m cute

your face dropped as you read the message. good for seamus, not so good for you. it was already dark outside and the street lights weren’t enough to comfort you on the walk to the bar. you stacked the cups to their original position and put seamus’ liquor in its setting.

“i’m sorry for bothering you tonight, nev. i think i’m just gonna go home.”

neville had a slight frown on his face when he noticed how disappointed you were.

“i was just going to get high and play video games, but you can join me.” he offered, placing his rolling tray and papers back on the counter. “i mean i know it isn’t as fun as the bar but i s’pose you wouldn’t be bored at your place.” he began rolling a singular joint and wiping his spilled greenery into his hand to throw away.

soon you were both situated comfortably on the sofa passing the blunt back and forth. your eyes were fixated on the screen as your hands moved on the controller. neville was carrying the match, but truthfully, you were just happy to be there after your friend canceled on you at the last minute. you eventually laid your head back and looked away from the television. your eyes were watery, causing the mascara on your lower lash line to begin getting liquidy. your mouth was parched, and seeing neville easily rise off the sofa to return to the kitchen for snacks seemed like too much of a task for you. you were grateful he was going.

“can i have something to drink?” you asked softly, only seeing neville nod his head while collecting a couple of goodies from the cupboards. when he returned you laid your head on his shoulder, his cologne still apparent even though the odor from the weed. you sipped the water he gave you and laughed. neville switched to some movie he didn’t have to focus on and leaned back against you. his face was flushed, but his anxiety was lessened due to the weed. you both shared a package of chocolates his grandmother had sent him for christmas.

neville had been a silent yet involved a friend with you. although you were closer to seamus because you went out to parties with him, the moments you were in their apartment, neville always made you feel welcomed. you never wanted to make him feel left out, especially in his own home, so you were usually the person to invite neville to come into your group, and neville was the person to ensure everyone in the group was happy.

you noticed him looking at you rather than the screen and looked up curiously. he had put down his candy package and cleared his throat.

“you okay?” you questioned.

“yeah, just haven’t been alone with someone so pretty in a while.” he rubbed his thumb over the mascara streaks to rid them from your face, causing some inner embarrassment seeing the black makeup come off on his pale digit.

“oh, nev,” you mumbled as he came closer to your face. he leaned his forehead against yours and felt your heart skipping beats as he caressed your cheek softly.

the softest kiss you ever experienced was in that moment. both of you were deeply fixated on each other rather than the background noise of the television or the beginning of the fireworks outside that would occasionally cause the dimly lit apartment to light in different colors. the night was still young as neville deepened the kiss, his hands moving to your back and your hands moving under his hoodie.

you switched your position to mounting his lap, and his eyes were locked on yours as you managed to slip his hoodie over his head. he swallowed hard, unbuttoning your jeans and folding the waistband down, his hand grasping your waist tightly as if you were going to leave. you pulled off your shirt, allowing neville to unzip your front closure bra. it made you shiver as his hands ran down your arms to take it completely off.

he was putting on a confidant facade as he allowed you to grind against him with both of your bottom halves clothed. loosely guiding your hips to adjust your position so you could feel his bulging erection. he was needy kisses against your chest, one hand now fixated on your nipples. he could tell you were enjoying his teasing touches because your breathing would stall for seconds at a time. every touch he gave was otherworldly.

“do you wanna, y/n?” neville had taken his hands off of you and took a moment of clarity.

“yeah,” you said confidently and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. the moment you got up to take down your jeans, he followed your lead, undressing himself. he reached into the drawer of the coffee table and grabbed a condom, sliding it on in preparation for you. your panties were slightly stuck to you as you pulled them off, as your arousal was already present.

you sat on his lap this time; nothing was separating you two. you leaned your face into his neck and gasped when you were fully seated. neville ran his fingers down your spine to settle you. your knees were on either side of him, beginning to bounce on his shaft he leaned his head back and placed another sturdy hold on your bottom. with this, it allowed you to sink deeper into his erection.

your eyes were closed tightly as you rode him, but occasionally peeking to see his facial expressions distort from pleasure. his mouth was agape every time you would flick your ass back just right, causing your walls to tighten onto the tip of his manhood.

neville settled you to a stop, he sat back further into the sofa and put you against his sweaty chest. he began to thrust into, his motions were faster and more consistent which caused him to repeatedly hit your g-spot as if it were a sport. the moment he heard your moans get louder he continued his upward thrusts.

“jeez, nev.” you moaned out, getting a fuzzy mind as he kept pounding into you. your heart felt as though it was going to beat out of your chest because of all the breathing you were forgetting to do in between the moans and gasps as he was causing you to perform.

“tell that to yourself, y/n. you're making me wonder why i’ve been smoking alone.” he took a deep breath and kissed your temple. he laid you down and slid his hands under your back, his hands grasping your shoulders as he entered again. your legs wrapped around his waist. the sweat on his hairline was beading as he continued his repetitive motions. he had to remove one hand to steady himself on the couch, looking down on you lustfully. neville felt as though he was in another dimension, his libido had excelled and the weed was giving him the extra courage to last longer inside your sopping wet walls.

your plump lips were parted, muttering his name, giving him more courage to continue pushing his hips into yours. your legs were looser on him now as they were shaking and your nails were digging into his chest. you arched your back letting out a loud and whiny moan as you reached your high.

it was hardly bearable to let neville finish. each thrust after your climax became more pleasurable than the last, making your already stoned mind get even more of a heightened sensitivity. when neville finished you shared a kiss, but he soon laid back on the sofa to keep the heat away from each other.

you lay staring at each other from opposite ends of the couch, the couch that had also scooted in the wrong direction, from your vigorous activities, before you knew it your eyes were closed and so were neville's. the loud bangs and pops from the fireworks didn't interrupt any of the well-deserved sleep. within a few hours, you vaguely remembered neville lying in between your legs and drifting back to sleep.

though the next morning when the light was barely creeping in seamus came in loudly, causing neville to quickly cover you with his discarded hoodie, he pulled his sweatpants over his crotch so he wasn't fully naked when his roommate would saw you on the couch together.

“YOU PULLED AND I DIDN’T?”

his anger was well deserved because the girl from his physics lecture led him on the whole night only to get free drinks. instead of getting laid, he slept on the dorm room floor using his jacket as a pillow.

“oh, mate, ew,” he continued as he stepped further into the living area to see the half-eaten chocolates, ashtray, and condom lying messily in the den. “gross,” he said looking around at the clothes and noticed a scuff on the floor from the couch moving.

you sink into the sofa, happy that you are somewhat covered from seamus’ judging glare.

“just go in the other room so y/n can get dressed,” neville said, leaning against you more so you weren't as exposed to seamus’ eyes.

seamus shooed him with his hand, cringing as he walked back to his bedroom. “we need a new couch!” he exclaimed, then the slamming door was heard.

“next time don’t cancel then!” you yelled back to hear him curse. you and neville pulled on your clothes tiredly.

“i’d kind of want him to cancel again,” neville admitted, pushing back your messy hair.

“i don’t think he will again, so that means have to make our own plans now.”

[caruso101]

[pickingupmymercedes]

Lewis being co-chair at the MET is something he build for years as a fashion enthuasist and now part of the creative process within the industry (although I have my critics to how that's unfolding)

you don't get invited to the MET just because you know someone there. just as you don't invite someone just because you know them.

please stop the discourse that Lewis could invite your favorites just because you want them there.

especially white f1 drivers.

the theme is literally fashion in the afro diaspora manifestations. Black Dandy is the MAIN inspiration.

there's not a single driver on that grid with the credencials to participate in a MET with that theme just because they know/work with Lewis.

[solaireverie]

"i dislike max verstappen domination" have you considered the fact that you may just be bitter and very un-fun?

[loz-the-noob]

Updated photo of the Jellycat gang for 2024!