#josephine broome

[worldofbeauties]

Josephine Broome

[collageofnudes]

Josephine Broome

[mostlybrunettes]

[digitalfountains]

Josephine Broome by Sven Kristian

[beautiful-contrast]

Josephine Broome by Julia Linkogel

[luegootravez]

Josephine Broome by © Julia Linkogel

[lavenderstobins]

Kitty (Josieverse)

for @stcreators event 07: comedy [ao3]

—

Steve comes home from work and finds the house oddly empty. Eddie's at Wayne's, he knows, but Robin and Josie should be long home by now.

"Rob?" he calls, heading up the stairs.

They're not in Robin's room, Josie's room or his and Eddie's room; not the bathroom, attic or playroom.

He's about to call for them again, heading towards the entrance to the basement, when he hears a muffled noise from the backyard.

Steve opens the backdoor and immediately finds both Robin and Josie atop the trampoline. They're not using it, though — Robin's holding Josie in her arms, her back to him, pressed as close as she can get into the netting around it.

"Kitty!" Josie shouts joyfully, waving her hands. "Here, kitty, kitty!"

"Josephine, for the last time, that is not a cat!" Robin's voice is strained. "Do not encourage it!"

"Kitty cat!"

"What's going on?" Steve calls, scanning for whatever's got them seemingly trapped. There aren't any bears in Hawkins, to his knowledge, or at least, none close enough to wander into their backyard.

A jolt of panic goes through him. The Upside Down was sealed off years ago, but what if it's reopened somehow? Could there be a democreature in their garden?

He's about to race off to grab his nailbat—carefully bubblewrapped in his wardrobe, he's not irresponsible—when Robin turns to face him, eyes wide and terrified. In doing so, he can see not only Josie's gleeful expression, but the 'kitty cat' that has them holed up on the trampoline.

It's no democreature. At the back of their garden, staring back at them, is a small raccoon.

"Steve!" Robin's face floods with relief. "Get it away!"

"Kitty!" Josie makes grabby hands in the raccoon's direction. "Fluffy kitty!"

"No fluffy kitty!" Robin holds her tighter as she struggles, wrestling to keep her from bounding towards it. "Plague carrier! Death bringer!"

"Steeeeve, look! Look!" Josie waves at him. "Kitty!"

"How— How long have you been up there?" Steve's trying so, so hard to keep a straight face. Now that there's a clear lack of danger, the situation is looking a lot funnier.

Robin, because she always sees straight through him, scowls at him. "It's not funny, Steve! Do you want us to all die of rabies?"

"Rabies!" Josie yells delightedly.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on." He ducks back inside, grabbing the broom from the cupboard. He grabs Eddie's gardening gloves for good measure if only so Robin doesn't yell at him.

Robin watches him with the eyes of a hawk as he slowly approaches the raccoon. It's a little thing, clearly young, only a couple of steps actually into their garden. It blinks up at him with big eyes.

"Go on, little fella," he murmurs, gently nudging it with the end of the broom. He's careful not to jab at it; he doesn't want to hurt it.

The raccoon scuffles back a bit, looking at him dolefully.

"Yeah, I know, it looks ridiculous to me, too." He glances back at the other two, taking in the stress on Robin's face, then prods it again. "But I think Robin might genuinely have a heart attack if you stay here any longer."

The raccoon chitters at him, possibly in annoyance, and flounces off into the woodland. Once he's sure it's gone, he heads back to the trampoline, trying to hide his smile.

"You got rid of it?" Robin squints at him, like he might've hidden the raccoon up his sweater or something. "It's gone?"

"It's gone," he confirms. Her shoulders sag with relief and she finally lets Josie slide down.

"Kitty," Josie says sadly. She stares off into the distance for a moment, but then seems to distract herself remembering that the trampoline is a trampoline, beginning to bounce wildly instead.

Robin wobbles, grabbing Steve's shoulders to steady herself as she finally emerges from the trampoline.

"Thanks," she mumbles, brushing her hair from her face.

He grins at her. "How long?"

She grimaces, flushing. "... I don't want to talk about it."

"How long, Buckley?"

"... Two hours."

[littlelostmabari]

Day 18: Close Call

This week was shit but I'm still alive :) I have a backlog that I will post eventually when they're appropriately edited!

Pairing: f!Reader (Lavellan) x Cullen

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You don't want to go to a dress fitting. Cullen doesn't want to go to dance lessons. Broom closets exist.

SFW. Unresolved sexual tension, pre-relationship. Reader is Inquisitor f!Lavellan, otherwise not described.

You had been in hiding for a little more than an hour now, and you were quickly becoming bored with picking the bristles out of the second broom.

You were not a favorite of Josephine's, especially when it came to the… thing… at the Winter Palace. The Ambassador had woken you up at quarter past nine bells with thirteen fabric swatches in all different colors and styles. Josie hadn't even bother to intentionally wake you: you had opened your eyes as the third swatch flitted over the skin of your shoulder. Your blinking eyes had met warm brown skin and yellow ruffles and a square of the most hideous puce taffeta.

And Josie had brought backup in the form of Vivienne and Dorian, who guarded the exit to the staircase and the grand doors to her balcony, respectively. Their positions had necessitated launching yourself in nothing but your nightgown over the railing and down the stairs. The only thing left behind you was the frost along the walls from her Fade Step.

It was too early in the morning to come up with a clever solution, so you defaulted to the easiest, and now you had to start working on the third broom.

About halfway through the first broom there had been annoyed footsteps and voices to match. A searching spell pinged through the closet, and you knew that Dorian had found you, yet the three passed by your hiding place without even approaching the door. You would owe him a bottle or two of the West Hill brandy.

The second broom had been fully plucked while you listened to a pair of laundry maids talking about who was bedding whom and with what frequency. There were things they spoke about that you did not need to know. They were almost done when one threw the door open, saw you, and squealed. A lot of hushing noises and promise of a sovereign later, when they finally moved on, you started to hear music from down the hallway which meant your way back to your room was compromised.

About ten percent of the way through the third broom, there was a commotion from the direction of the music, and a pair of hurried footsteps. You stayed quiet as a mouse, tucked up against the back of the broom closet with the broom clutched tightly in your hands — or, you tried to, but the broom closet was not the largest space even when it wasn't full of Inquisitor.

Unfortunately it was about to be a lot tighter squeeze, as with the briefest increase in music volume, the door swung open and another body with significantly larger shoulders than you quickly pressed into the closet and pulled the door shut behind them.

The darkness that didn't bother your eyes clearly befuddled the other person, who stumbled around in the darkness trying to figure out why the shelves in this closet were squishy and person-shaped.

"Maker's breath," came the exclamation as arms passed over your shoulders to press hands against the wall behind you, and you looked up into the wide eyes of your Commander who clearly couldn't see you, but knew he was not alone.

"'Ello, Cullen," you giggled, and relief shuddered through his shoulders followed quickly by a shiver of blush as he pulled away and pressed back towards the door.

"Inquisitor!" He clearly couldn't figure out where he should put his hands, especially because there was barely a foot of space between the two of you. He settled for behind his back pressed against the door, which only pushed his body that much closer to yours. When his eyes finally adjusted, you knew your grin would be unmistakable.

"Fancy seeing you here." You placed the palms of your hands on the end of the broom and placed your chin atop them, inching your face slightly closer to him.

"Yes, um, hello —" Cullen rasped, "— hello Inquisitor." He coughed and tugged at his collar and that's when you realized that he wasn't wearing his normal armor. He still had on his boots, but he was sans breastplate and mantle and vanbraces and only wearing his breeches and linen shirt. The music suddenly made sense.

"Dance lessons?" you giggled, gesturing at his clothes.

"Morning dress fittings?" he snickered, making the same gesture back at you. Your grin quickly faltered as your eyes darted down to your feet. Right. The nightgown. The broom dropped to the side and you made to cover herself with your hands. There wasn't much you could do, and you praised the Creators that humans had poor darksight. Even still, you and Cullen were suddenly in a resonance of stammering and blushing and it was only broken when voices echoed down the hall from behind the door. It was Vivienne's and Josephine's voices specifically, complaining that the lesser minds of the Inquisition did not appreciate the effort that was going in to make sure the Inquisition held its own at Halamshiral.

You didn't realize you had made a noise, but you must have because suddenly one of Cullen's hands was over your mouth and the other was behind your head and his body had pressed itself against you so that you couldn't move and make incidental noises against the shelves. You were up on tiptoes, hands down against the wall and back stretched to its limit.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't make me go back there." Your eyes were wide as you looked up into his, which had now clearly adjusted to the light. He was darting across your face, looking for anything that might indicate you would call out and betray his location.

"Commander!" Josephine called from right in front of the broom closet. You both held your breath — you could feel the tightness across his shoulders so you knew he was desperately begging you not to give him away. The only noise was the soft hiss of breath out of his nose and the huffing from Josephine on the other side of the door. Then, a final huff, a "where is he", and footsteps retreating down the hallway.

A moment passed, then another.

And another.

And another, and Cullen gently pulled his hand away from your mouth. You took a deep breath and it filled your lungs with embrium and oakmoss and elderflower. As your chest expanded, it pressed into his, and you realize that he hadn't moved an inch away from you even as his hand dropped from your face. Underneath the smell of the herbs there was a hint of petrichor and just the hint of whiskey, or perhaps that flavor was there because suddenly your vision was filled with amber.

His chest pressed forward with each breath too, and there was something in the twitch of his lips and jawline that made your heart leap. You'd not been this close to him before, except in your dreams. Except when the night was lonely enough that you had to conjure images of the Commander to drown out the foreboding of Adamant or the Winter Palace.

You relaxed, allowing the heels of your feet to fall to the ground, which is precisely when you realized exactly how Cullen had pressed you to the back wall of the broom closet — with the side of his hip, with his knee in between your legs. You stopped, shock still, and when he didn't pull back you dropped just a little more until your barely-clothed core rested against his unarmored thigh. That's when several things happened at once.

His eyes darted down to your lips, opened just slightly to breathe.

You brought one hand up to rest fingers on the waist of his linen shirt.

His fingertips tightened in your hair against your scalp.

And a knock echoed on the wood of the door.

"They're gone, Curly," the voice called out, a Kirkwall lilt to Varric's easily identifiable voice. Cullen flinched back from you, releasing your hair, and his eyes shockingly wide. "But they'll be back around this way in a couple minutes. If the Inquisitor is somehow nearby, she might like to know that the kid grabbed a robe from her wardrobe, it's sitting out here whenever she's ready for it."

Cullen coughed, and you heard a chuckled 'close call' from outside the door, then footsteps fading away. Cullen turned his back and adjusted his clothing surreptitiously.

"Inquisitor," he rasped, his voice scratchy. He pulled the door open and looked down the hallway both ways before stepping out and glancing down to a soft grey robe at his feet. He moved to pass it to you but stopped as the light illuminated your disheveled form. A long moment passed in which you did not make an attempt to cover yourself, before he swallowed, pried his eyes away from you, and handed the robe back into the broom closet. When it was in your hands, he strode away down the hallway with great haste before you had a chance to don it.

[worldofbeauties]

Josephine Broome

[antiquatedsimmer]

"Lucile, what are you doing out here? It's freezing!" Josephine exclaimed, her body shivering as she stepped out from the warmth of the stove-heated home into the biting, crisp air.

"I won't be long, Josie! Just need to get these last few roots cleared," Lucile called back, her breath visible in the frigid air.

Josephine trotted over, rubbing her arms in a tight embrace against the cold. "What are you digging around in the dirt for? You'll catch your death out here. Surely this can wait."

Lucile gently shook her head. "If I want to try planting this spring, I need to get a head start on clearing this place up. The overgrowth is atrocious."

"Look at the ground, poor baby," Lucile said, "The dirt is scorched and mostly rock. It's going to take a mountain of work to make it usable for planting."

"All the grass doesn't seem to mind," Josephine replied, raising an eyebrow and gently fidgeting with her fingertips in an attempt to stave off the cold.

"Well, technically it's not grass at all! It's just dead plants mixed with sticks and tumbleweeds," Lucile said, brushing strands of hair out of her face.

"It's not just that," she continued. "Our little bugs won't be long before they start walking, and that's only a step away from running, they'll need a place to play so they don't drive us crazy."

"Right," Josephine replied, her gaze drifting off into the distance.

Lucile tilted her head, noting the distant look on Josephine’s face. "What's the matter? The yard will look much prettier after everything's planted. The kids won't run us ragged in the house, and I thought you might like the idea of a garden… your garden party friends would love that."

"Oh, it's not that," Josephine said quickly, drawing her attention back to Lucile. "Sometimes I worry our children will outgrow the house, you know? I wish we had time to spruce up the place, make it more fitting for them. It feels like we're living in a broom closet."

"Hmmm," Lucile murmured, turning her head toward the house and taking a moment to think. Nothing could ever take Josephine out of her heart, but there were things she was beginning to notice about her that she hadn't before.

Josephine's privileged lifestyle… Even lived with Silas, she resided in a lavish place and was barley asked to lift a finger. Here, it was different, and keeping her happy in a home that could be the size of her old bedroom was a struggle.

But she wasn't wrong either. Their children would eventually outgrow this home, and the situation was even more tenuous given that it wasn't really theirs. They were just renting, and someday Nia's children would need to move in.

"Well, I can't exactly start knocking down walls, Josie, the wood is too old, and I'm honestly scared of what I'd find in the bare bones of it."

She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I was thinking about getting into my own wine-making. Maybe earn a few extra clams so we can start saving for a two-bedroom place in town. What do you think?"

Josephine sighed, "Perhaps. But what if you can't make sales? You sure there's no work that can pay you more?."

Lucile gently wrapped an arm around Josephine, steering her back toward the warmth of the house. "I've seen firsthand how folks around here love their wine. It's impressive, really. Brands even ship out to other places! I’m confident I can turn a profit if I come up with something good, Josie."

"Hmmm... I don't know," Josephine murmured

"There's a huge demand for it," Lucile pressed on. "A few bottles here and there, and by the time the kids are grown, we could have enough to move somewhere new.

It won't be anything grand...we're keeping a low profile, remember? Just the occasional bottle at the farmers' market.

"I know, it's not that I don't trust you know what you're doing, it's just... such a long way off."

Lucile thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about this? I'll give you some cash, and you can pick out some wallpaper to redecorate the nursery."

Josephine perked up, gasping excitedly. "Really? Even though money is tight?"

"A little color wouldn't hurt," Lucile replied with a half-hearted smile. Josephine buried her head into Lucile's shoulder affectionately.

"You treat me so well."

"Of course," Lucile chuckled. "Everybody knows if mama ain't happy, nobody is... But maybe," she nudged Josephine playfully, "you could pay me back in other ways?"

Josephine replied with a smirk and a teasing purr, "Oh, I think I know a few ways I can show my gratitude."

[mostlybrunettes]

[digitalfountains]

Josephine Broome by Julia Linkogel

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Our Farmer OCs as a vines because my brain go brrrrr again (sorry if I missed someone)

_________________________________________

Bella (@ivquatro): "I wanna be a cowboy, baby!"

Ziana (@nimillaarts): "Are you a lost possum? Do you want a car?"

Marley (@mmarggsstuff): "Two bros, chillin' in a hot tub, five feet apart cuz they're not gay!" (When Isaac and Lance in the hot tub 😂)

Eris (@lavendel081): "Can I get a waffle? Can I PLEASE get a waffle?"

Zeke (@theambivalentagender): "Get to Del Taco. They got a new thing called freesha… free… freeshavaca-do."

Bo (@boinurmom13): "I love you bitch, I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, biiiiiitch."

Miranda (@amishasp): "I didn’t get no sleep cause of y’all, y’all not gone get no sleep cause of me!"

Wren (@girls4zelda): "You spilled - whaghwhha - lipstick in my Valentino White bag?!"

Elisa (@elisa6102): "Welcome to Pizza Hut. Let me guess - pizza?" *dies*

Lucy (@doggoneaway): "So I'm sitting there, barbecue sauce on my tiddies."

May (@poxy-domain): "Let's do the fork in the garbage disposal! DING DING DING DING DING DING!"

Hestia (@g0atmama): "People say I can't do what I love without college. I don't need no degree to be a clothing hanger!"

Thad (@reallyghostlypost): "This bitch empty! YEET!"

Rain (@silly-farmer): "AHH! Staaaahp! I coulda dropped mah croissant!"

Myra (@seharuuchan): "Look at all those chickens!"

Skylar (@justashamwithwastedpotential): "I'M A GIRAFFE!"

Shiro (@shirokumav3): "Road work ahead? Uh yeah, I sure hope it does."

Fawn (@ieatsmallorphansnamedtom): "It’s a avocadooo…thanks!"

Josephine (@jazhand): "I'm in my mom's car. Broom broom."

Willow (@vilochkaaa): "Hi, welcome to Chili’s."

Julian (my OC): "Oh hi, thanks for checking in I’m still a piece of garbage."

[luegootravez]

Josephine Broome by © Mat Abad

[kindred-sims]

Caleb didn't know what he'd been expecting when he'd returned to the house that afternoon, but it certainly hadn't been what he'd found. Usually at this time of day, he could find Jo in the parlor, busy with one of her needlepoints, reading, or plunking away at the piano.

But then he hadn't.

He'd picked up on her sniffles as he'd neared the kitchen and had went to investigate, shocked to find her crumpled on the floor, surrounded by a cracked bowl and splattered ingredients.

"Josephine? What on Earth--" He knelt immediately, concern lacing his voice. Jo barely looked at him, only continuing to let out muffled sobs beneath her hands.

"I'm sorry--I'm so sorry, it was an accident, please--"

She kept apologizing over and over, even as Caleb helped her stand to her feet. He realized, in doing this, just how much she was trembling.

"Now wait a minute, hold on. Never mind any of that, are you alright?"

"I--I don't know, but--but I'm so sorry--"

Jo's sobs cut off as Caleb delicately grabbed her hands, inspecting them for any cuts. The bowl hadn't looked too broken, but one could never be too careful.

"Well, you don't seem to be injured, Thank God." he concluded about after a minute. "I think you'll make a full recovery soon enough."

Jo blinked back tears as she stared back at him.

"But...the bowl..."

"Is just a bowl. I'm not too worried about it," he chuckled. "Believe me, Josephine, these dishes are about as old as my grandmother, God rest her soul. They've certainly withstood far worse than being knocked off the counter."

"Still...I've made such a mess, though..."

She hiccupped, letting out a light sniffle as she lowered her head.

"You're...you're sure you're not angry?"

"Angry? Now why in the world would I be angry?" Caleb asked, evidently puzzled. "You said it yourself, it was an accident. And last time I checked, accidents happen all the time. Its nothing to go into a tizzy over."

"Well..."

"And besides, I'm only grateful that you weren't hurt."

Jo looked back up at him, a gentle surprise in her sad, misty eyes.

"Really? You mean that?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I? You're my wife, aren't you?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, and leaned forward, voice dropping to a hush.

"And just between you and me, I never really cared for that bowl anyway. Its already got a lot of cracks in it, what's one more?"

He glanced to the counter behind her, only now noticing the chocolate pie from where she'd hastily placed it earlier. A smile crossed his features, and he looked back to her.

"What's this? Did you make it?"

"Y...yes. I did. I wanted to surprise you..."

"Well consider me surprised then. It looks absolutely delicious," He gave her a light pat on the shoulder as he passed her by. "Let's you and me have a slice later, yeah? But first, I think we should consider getting this mess cleaned up..."

He walked away in search of a broom, leaving Jo with her mind reeling. He didn't know it then, but he'd just given her so much more to think about, so much more to consider. What she'd been expecting in response to her actions wasn't what he'd given her -- not words of anger, no shouts of cruelty.

Only gentle concern and kindness. Her father had never done those things for her before. Neither had Edward.

Maybe...maybe there was more to Caleb than she'd thought after all.

[legilimenace]

Introducing... Major Merrick "Mack" Brume

Merrick Brume didn't have any family, or so were the words given to his superior officer when asked if he wanted to write home. No parents, no sweetheart, no kids, and no siblings, but he had his brothers and sisters in arms as he would say. His life before joining the army in his youth was all but forgotten by the time the Great War came, but amidst the chaos of the trenches and battlefields there remained a piece of his identity that he could not escape, delivered on high by an all-too-familiar owl...

Full Name: Merrick Crispin Brume

Nickname(s): Mack, Mackie, Broom

Birthdate: December 20th, 1883

Hair Color: Red

Eye Color: Brown

Family: Josephine Brume (sister-in-law)

Friends: -

Enemies: -

House: Hufflepuff (1-6), never graduated

Blood Status: Disowned Half-blood

Likes: coffee, owls and other birds, muggle radio, holidays (for the festivity or an excuse to get hammered? we'll never know), local markets, quiet nights

Dislikes: purebloods & blood purists, arrogance, stale biscuits, youth fatalities

Personality: Responsible, blunt, tenacious, compassionate, observant, supportive, crass, loyal, overcommitted, non-judgmental, protective, unyielding, patient

Faceclaim: Scott Grimes