#I think she’s wearing a little bolero thing over her dress which I find both stylish and very endearing

[lesbiancosimaniehaus]

Dianna 🖤

#I think she’s wearing a little bolero thing over her dress which I find both stylish and very endearing #also she was co chairing the young fellows ball at the frick collection a #aka one of my favorite collections for the ver #Vermeer sketches alone #dianna agron

[thetravelerwrites]

Cetzu (Reptilian Changeling)

Rating: General Relationship: Male Changeling/Human Woman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Lizardfolk, Changeling, Interspecies Romance, Monster Boyfriend Words: 4356

Part 1 of 5 commissioned by @ivymemnoch​​! A woman selling her father's merchandise has several issues as a lone person out on the road and decides to hire help. She's directed to Declan's farm to recruit a bodyguard. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

When you decided to venture out on your own, you knew there would be hurdles and dangers, but you had no idea how bad it could be for a lone woman on the road.

Your father was a carpenter, specializing in sturdy, well-built pieces of furniture, like tables, chairs, chests, cabinets, and the like, and when you became old enough, you asked if you could help. You weren’t much of a carver yourself, as you were rather clumsy, but you could handle horses and drive a cart and covered wagon, so you offered to make his deliveries for him and set up a stall in various towns so that he wouldn’t be distracted from his work. After all, some of the pieces could take a week or more to make, and if he was gone to deliver his wares, he had less time to make them.

He was nervous about letting his only child go out into the world by herself, but you told him that you could take care of yourself. It took some convincing on your part. You were tall and well built, but you’d always been a little on the shy side and not what people would call a fighter. Although you were quick to warm up to people once you got to know them a bit, actually approaching them had never been your strong suit. You were also awkward and clumsy and prone to accidents. It was a hard sell, but he eventually agreed.

It hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped. The first time you went out, the entire wagon had been stolen while you’d gone in the woods to pee. The second time, you’d sold the merchandise like you were supposed to, but as you camped, bandits attacked and stole all your money at knife-point. On your way home, you’d heard tales from others about women who’d been taken in addition to the money and goods, sometimes never to be seen again and the ones that had been found wished they were dead. It scared you a little more than you liked to admit and it was at this point you decided you needed to hire help.

You stopped in Willowridge for the evening, which was larger and more busy since the last time you and your father had come through. At the tavern, you paid for a room and care for your wagon and asked the barkeeper where you could find someone big and beefy to scare off potential bandits.

With a sly grin, she said, “There was a farm in the woods where you might find such help.”

“On a farm?” You asked, uncertain.

“Oh, yes,” She said, cleaning out a mug. “Believe it or not, our highly lauded town’s sheriff, Feera, came from there. These are very helpful folk. Ask for Declan. He’ll take good care of you.”

“How do I find it? Is it hidden?”

“A bit, but look for the nectar flowers planted by the roadside. They’ll lead you to the farm.”

After a night at the inn, you hitched up your horse, got up on your wagon, and headed where the barkeep had told you to go. She said by wagon at a decent trot, it would take only an hour by road. Dubious but curious at the same time, you nudged your horse to the left, down the road toward the farmhouse and out of the town.

Sure enough, about an hour’s ride down the road, you found trumpet honeysuckle climbing up the trees and purple coneflowers and milkweed lining the road. As you got past the last bush, which had a little green hummingbird flitting here and there, you saw a smaller path branching off the main road, leading farther into the woods. Clicking your tongue and snapping the left rein, the horse turned and pull the wagon down this new unknown path. In no time at all, you saw a very large farmhouse and a similarly large barn just beyond it.

It was spring, so planting season was in full swing. You saw two centaurs hitched to plows, one piebald and one solid russet, pulling rows. Behind the tawny one, there were two cervitaurs, one male adult and one female child. The adult was steering one of the plows, while the little one watched him closely. He seemed to be giving her quiet, gentle instructions.

The second plow was being driven by a young, plump human woman with a third tiny cervitaur dancing around her legs, stumbling once or twice. Strangely, this cervitaur had two legs rather than four. You’d never seen that before. Though in fairness, it wasn’t all that common to see cervitaurs in the first place, as cruel, bigoted humans saw them as little more than animals and hunted them for sport.

Following behind the plows was a gnoll and another creature you’d never seen before, like a centaur but a dog on bottom, both using thick sticks to press holes into the rows at predetermined intervals and dropping seeds into them. Behind them was another human, though you couldn’t tell if they were male or female, as they had they had a very androgynous appearance, and a female faun. They were closing the holes and watering the spots with watering cans.

Clothing seemed to be optional here. Both of the humans wore clothes--one in a dress and the other in trousers--but very few of the others did. The only other creature in the planting field that wore clothing was the small cervitaur girl, who wore a green bolero jacket and a matching ribbon in her hair. The female faun was nude, and while everything below her waist was covered in oak-brown fur, her breasts were uncovered. You felt a vague sense of social mortification, but pushed it away when you realized no one else seemed to care.

Beyond the planting field, you saw an orchard of fruit trees, and among them were even more figures working. You saw two large bat creatures, a harpy, a kitsune, and a lizardman. They were all unclothed except the lizardman, who wore short trousers that were modified to accommodate his tail, and the smaller, redder of the two bat creatures, who wore a necklace of stones around its neck. There were also two more human women among them, wearing sensible pants and shirts. The winged creatures were up in the trees, pruning the dead or weak branches, while the others were fertilizing the soil at the base of the trees, raking and watering and spreading mulch.

You slowed your wagon to a stop near the front of the house and stepped down from the driver’s box onto the wood of the porch. You felt a little overwhelmed and weren’t sure which of the people to approach. Which one was Declan? Should you go right to him first? Was there some sort of hierarchy, someone you was supposed to talk to before you could meet with Declan?

Thankfully, before you could fret too much, an older human woman and the larger of the two bat creatures came walking up to the porch.

“Hello there, traveler!” The woman said, raising her arm in greeting. “What can we do for you?”

“I, um… I was told to find Declan?” You said uncertainly, wringing your hands a little. “I need help.”

“I’m Declan,” The bat creature said in a serious tone, stepping forward on all fours. Even crouched as he was, he was taller than you. “Are you alright? Has something happened to you? We can protect you, if that’s the case.”

Realizing how your words sounded, you clarified; “Oh, no, no, I’m fine. It’s just… I’m a merchant, and I’ve been having trouble with bandits stealing my merchandise. I was told you would know someone I could hire to guard me and my wagon on the road while I’m traveling.”

“Oh, I see!” The woman said. “You know, this sounds like a perfect job for Cetzu.”

“I think you might be right, Ryel,” Declan said. “I’ll go and fetch him.” And he wandered back toward the orchard.

The woman, Ryel, stepped up to the porch and asked your name, shaking your hand in the process. “I keep telling Cetzu he should sell his trinkets at market, but he keeps using the excuse that we need him on the farm. I think he’s just being shy.”

“I can relate,” You said, chuckling a little. “What sort of trinkets does he make?”

“Little carvings out of wood and bone. Jewelry boxes, children’s toys, figurines, amulets, religious totems, all sorts of things. He’s an artist, though he’d never admit it.”

“Oh,” You replied, marveling. “My father is a carpenter and woodcarver, too, and he does very good, sturdy work, but he’s not much of an artist.” You pointed to the wagon that had some of your father’s work on it, and Ryel went over to inspect it. You were proud of your father’s work, but you had to admit it was a little plain to the eye.

“You’re right,” Ryel said appraisingly. “It is very solid work, if a little rustic. Cetzu might be able to help with that.” She pointed at a little side table. “How much would you charge for that? My daughter Lymera’s birthday is coming up,” She pointed out to the faun still working the field. “And I’d like to build her a shrine to her patron deity so she feels close to him while she’s home. She’s a priestess in training, you see.”

Daughter? You looked at the faun again. She was a full-blooded faun, how could she be this human woman’s daughter?

As you were negotiating a price, Declan returned with the lizardman in tow. He was tall, taller than you by at least two feet, and barrel-chested with a slim waist. His eyes were like pitted silver, deep and reflective, with slitted pupils. His face was slightly elongated with his teeth settled on the outside of his lips like an alligator, alternating between upper and lower on the sides with the front of his snout toothless. His hands ended in four wickedly curved talons, though the toes on his digitigrade feet were straighter, though still sharp, allowing him to walk without difficulty. His tail was long and flat, looking like the tail of some sort of sea serpent.

His muscles were huge and broad and moved smoothly under his skin, with thick, wide scales across his back, looking sharp, but steadily shrunk in size as they drift inward toward his stomach and chest and down his arms and legs until it almost looked like smooth leather. The scales on his back were black with a silver one here and there, but his belly was white.

“Ah, here he is,” Ryel said, jumping down from the high porch, more spry than her age would suggest. “This young lady has come requesting help with her cargo. I thought you’d be perfect for the job.”

You were a little intimidated by his size and gulped. He also seemed a little awkward, fidgeting and not meeting your eye.

“Oh, stop being so shy,” Ryel said. “Shake the girl’s hand, at least, and introduce yourself.”

He looked down at your hands, and then his own. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mama,” He said, his voice rough and gravelly. It surprised you to hear such a coarse voice call this woman Mama. “I don’t want to scare the poor lady any more than she already is.”

“No… it’s alright,” You said, a little more meekly than you would have liked, and extended a hand carefully.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took your hand, but only applied the barest amount of pressure, careful not to catch your skin with his claws, and let go immediately.

“I’m Cetzu,” He said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” You replied, and told him your name.

“Well, now that we’re acquainted, let’s go inside and talk,” Ryel said, taking her… son… by the arm and leading him inside. He seemed reluctant, but allow her to pull him along. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” You replied. “But I should unhitch the horse first.”

“Sure thing, lass. Do you need help?”

“Oh, no ma’am,” You replied. “I can do this myself. Where should I take him to rest?”

“There’s a hitching post near the barn that’s got fresh hay and water,” She said, pointing at the big barn. “Feel free to come inside the house when your done. The tea will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” You said, and started with the harness. After you managed to get the horse free from the wagon and lead it to the watering trough, tying it to the post there. You could feel the others in the fields eyeing you a little, but not paying that much attention. You had a feeling random guests showing up out of nowhere was a regular thing here.

As you stepped back onto the porch and approached the open door, you heard a conversation between Cetzu and Ryel.

“Honey, you know your father and I would never push you into doing anything you didn’t want to do, but this is an amazing opportunity for you! Your work is amazing and the world should see it!”

“But you need me to help with the planting--”

“Cetzu, you can’t keep using the farm as an excuse. Between Laefa’s brood and Rantha’s family, we have plenty of hands to handle the spring work.” Her voice became soft. “I know the outside scares you, and I understand. Everyone that lives in this forest understands. Not one of us hasn’t had some horrible experience outside of this haven. You know the story of how your father and I met. You know the gnolls’ story, and the centaurs, and Caeli’s and Yala’s and Reed’s and Sayo’s. We’re all runaways, cast-offs, and survivors. But you have a talent no one else on this farm has and that shouldn’t be hidden away.”

“I only have talent because of what I am,” Cetzu grumbled sourly.

“So what?” Ryel retorted. “That’s like saying Soraya, Sayo, and your father can fly only because they have wings. It’s the simple truth, nothing more, and the same goes for you. There’s nothing wrong with who you are, my boy, any more than there is with any of your family. You are made how you are made and there’s nothing wrong with that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” He replied mechanically. It sounded like he’d heard this speech innumerable times.

“Give it thought, love,” Ryel said. “You have potential and opportunity. I don’t want you to look back with regret someday because you didn’t act on it.”

Cetzu sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Ryel said. “Now help me with the tea.”

You heard dishes clinking and decided to stop shamelessly eavesdropping and go inside. Cetzu nodded at you politely as he exited the house to continue helping with the pruning of the fruit trees.

You sold Ryel the table and helped her stash it away out of sight as it was meant to be a surprise, and she insisted you stay for lunch with the family. Strangely, or perhaps appropriately considering the motley crew that lived here, meals were not taken in the house, but in the barn.

The barn itself was built like a half stable, half house, with a kitchen area, common lounging space, and a storage loft above the stalls. A large table was placed in the space between the stalls, which were larger than average animal stalls and served as bedrooms for the four-legged family members, complete with large sleeping cushions on the floor with blankets and shelves built onto the walls to hold personal effects. The stalls had solid doors rather than gates, and they all had locks on them for privacy.

Lunch was a variety of foods, including dried and fresh cooked meat, dried and preserved fruits, and spring vegetables. You noticed that while a few of the family were omnivorous, some members only ate meat, some only ate vegetables, and the bats only ate the fruit. You were able to meet his family and learn their names, though you didn’t ask about how they all came to be here. You imagine the stories couldn’t have been happy ones if all these various creatures had somehow come to call a human woman and a giant bat creature mother and father.

After lunch, you took your horse, Jackdaw, behind the barn, where there was an actual stable for mounts and work animals. He was due for a good brush down, and as you were working, you saw the lizardman, Cetzu, coming out of the forest carrying a yolk on his shoulders with six large buckets of water slung on it. As intimidated as you were by him, the raw, brute strength of his body made you raise an eyebrow.

He nodded again as he passed you, and you debated with yourself for a long moment before calling out, “wait.”

He stopped and turned his head to look at you. “Do you need help?” He asked.

“No,” You replied, gulping down your heart and gathering your courage. “No, but… I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment? If you’re not too busy? I--I mean, I can see--I know you’re in the middle of something, so I can wait--”

“No, it’s alright,” He said, pushing the yolk off of his shoulders and carefully setting the buckets down. “What can I do for you, miss?”

“I--I was wondering… could I… if it’s alright with you… could I see your carvings?” You sort of shrugged your shoulders up around your ears, which you tended to do when you were nervous. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh,” He said, surprised. “Oh. Sure. Lemme just…” He motioned at the water.

“Yes, of course,” You replied. He shouldered the yolk again and took it inside the house, emptying the buckets into a reservoir in the bathing room. He then stored the buckets and yolk on a hook in a closet.

“There are some in here,” He said, leading you to the common area. “Mother displays the ones she likes best.”

In the room, you saw a few shelves on the wall that held a number of different carvings, from animals to plants to symbols. The one that caught your eye the most was a monarch butterfly carved of bone, life-sized, with wings carved so thin that light passed through them.

“Wow,” You breathed. “Is it alright if I pick one up?”

“Yes,” He said, watching you with slight apprehension.

You picked up the butterfly and examined it closely. You could see the segments of the legs, the veins in the wings, the thin antennae and proboscis. It looked as if a real butterfly had somehow been turned to bone.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” You told him in wonder.

“Thank you,” He said, ducking his head bashfully.

You replaced the butterfly back on the shelf and sighed. “I know you’re reluctant to leave here, and I get it. I really do. I was scared to death to leave home, too. You have this big, amazing family, but back home, it’s just me and dad, and I just want to help him.”

You turned to him and looked into his face earnestly. “Look, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’m not very good at much. I can’t carve like my dad can. I’m clumsy and prone to knocking things over and accidentally injuring myself. I’m not artistic or coordinated. I can’t cook or sew all that well. I’m not much use to my dad, or to anyone, really. But I’m good with horses, and I can drive a cart and a wagon. I figured I could sell and deliver his goods so that he didn’t have to travel as much, but I’ve managed to cock that up, too. The first shipment was taken, wagon and all, and I had to walk home with nothing but the clothes on my back. I was held at knifepoint while bandits stole every penny I had. There are horrible tales about awful things that can happen to women who travel on their own, and… I’m scared. I’m scared to do this alone. I need help.”

He listened quietly, not interrupting. “From me?”

You held out your hands in an I don’t know gesture. “How about this: come with me on this one trip. I’m selling bits that my dad made that weren’t commissioned at market in Coleville. Coleville is a day’s ride from here. We’ll stay in Coleville for three days, and you can sell your pieces along with my dad’s furniture. Hell, I’ll let you use one of Dad’s tables to display them. Then you escort me home with whatever money I’ve earned or goods I have left. At the end, if you decide you absolutely hate it, that it’s just something you can’t do, then we part ways, no hard feelings.”

“And in the unlikely event I actually enjoy it?” He asked.

“Then when I need to hire you on again, I’ll send you a letter and you meet me at my home, and we’ll go on another trip. I won’t keep you away from your family or anything. You only have to escort me when I’m out selling or making deliveries.”

He looked at the shelf that held his creations on it in contemplation before looking back at you.

“Can you give me a day to think it over?” He asked.

“Of course,” You said. “It’s your choice. But… even if you say no, thank you… for listening.”

He nodded and attempted a smile, though you could tell he was feeling nervous. You passed him to go back outside and finish brushing down Jackdaw when Cetzu called out to you.

“Wait,” He said softly. “If I don’t go, what will you do?”

You laughed a little helplessly. “Give up? Go home with my tail between my legs. Find some other way to not burden my father any more than I already do. Maybe marry some man before he finds out how useless I am. I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Shrugging, you left the room and walked out of the house back to the stable.

Ryel and Declan were happy to put you up for the night at no charge. You got a room to yourself; most of the rooms seemed to be for visitors. Caeli and Soraya, who were married, you learned, had their own room. Sayo and Lymera bunked together. All the two legged boys slept in a pile in one room, which you thought was adorable. Laefa, the other older woman helping with the orchard, had gone home to her husband and twelve children. So many people. You wondered what it would have been like to have such a big family like this. Frowning to yourself about dwelling on what ifs, you turned over and tried to sleep.

The next morning as you were coming out of your room to head down to breakfast, you accidentally bumped into Cetzu on the way out of his room, knocking you to the floor.

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry!” You said, rubbing the back of your head. “I told you I was clumsy.”

“I should be apologizing,” He said, reaching to help you up. “I should have watched where I was going.”

He pulled you up with one hand, and it’s only then you noticed the large trunk he was holding on his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Oh,” He looked at it, then you, then away. “I’ve packed.”

“Really?” You said, naked hope in your voice. “You’ll come?”

“You need help,” He said. “Mama and Papa always tell us that helping people is the best use of our strengths. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I understand,” You said. “I’m glad you’re coming. I didn’t know where else to go for help.”

“I’m happy to be of use,” He said.

You sighed heavily. “You know, I’ve lived secluded with my dad for most of my life. He’s a bit of a hermit and doesn’t leave the house unless he has to, so I know what it’s like to be isolated and scared of going out into the world, but I didn’t want to be underfoot all the time. I wanted to be of use. You’re helping me do that, and I’m really grateful.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he sort of bowed a little and continued down the stairs.

After breakfast, Cetzu loaded his trunk into the back of your wagon as you hitched Jackdaw back into his harness. Cetzu dropped down to say goodbye to his family, putting his little kitsune brother on his shoulder. His shoulders seemed able to carry anything.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Ryel said, pulling him into a hug, though with her height, she could only hug him around the waist. He put his large arms around her and hugged her tight.

“As am I,” Declan said. “You’re braver than I am, Cetzu. I’ve not left this farm since I met your mother. I’m happy here, but the world is bigger than our home. You should see it.”

Cetzu heaved a big sigh and nodded. “I can’t promise I’ll like it, but I’ll try to make you proud.”

“You already do,” Declan said.

Cetzu hugged all of his siblings, except for Sayo, who he ruffled the feathers on her head, making her hiss and swipe at him. He chuckled and snapped back at her.

Ryel surprised you by giving you a hug as well. “Take care of him for me, would you?” She said into your ear. “He’s special.”

“I’ll try, ma’am,” You said softly.

“Good.”

You got up into the driver’s box, and Cetzu popped up next to you. You snapped the reins and Jackdaw started forward. The two of you disappeared down the road to a chorus of people shouting their goodbyes.

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[thisoldquill]

The Wedding

An original fanfiction, rated G

Please do not repost my work. All original work of the Harry Potter world is not mine, just this piece.

This scene from the Deathly Hallows really inspired me to get re-acquainted with my OC, Charlotte Yang, that I made ages ago. Now that I am older, my character has grown with me and I wanted to explore her path as she becomes an adult during the Second Wizarding War. There’s a lot of backstory I didn’t explain in this fanfic (like befriending Fleur Delacour and George Weasley, or moving to Paris) but I’ll get there, I promise! I wanted to focus more on her post-Hogwarts journey mostly because we’re the same age now and both navigating our lives after school. If literally none of this interests you, skip it! But please do not send me rude comments about my work.

-Ms. Cinnamon

~~~

             Charlotte checked herself once more in the mirror beside the bed before reaching for her traveling cloak. She had decided on wearing a pretty sapphire blue sheath dress with a matching bolero jacket and heels, her hair pinned back into a neat chignon with a glittering jewel hairpin; surely this ensemble wouldn’t upstage the bride, although, that would be very difficult to do. Quickly striding to the door, she plucked the large wrapped gift box from the coffee table and locked the door behind her. Charlotte was headed off to her old friend’s wedding and made sure to book a room at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as she’d gotten her invitation. It was much easier to take a Portkey from Paris to Diagon Alley, then Disapparate to the Burrow, than to attempt Disapparate over one long trip (which might increase chances of splinching!). Not to mention it had taken many weeks of persuasion of her head of Department, Madame LaFlamme, to allow her to visit Britain for a few days. Tension had been brewing between the French and British Ministries of Magic ever since You-Know-Who had returned, so many employees alike were being restricted in non-essential travel. Her heels clipped purposefully on the cobbled road as she walked to the central courtyard, then she steadied herself to concentrate hard on the Burrow. Charlotte felt herself contort uncomfortably for a few seconds, and with a loud pop!, arrived a short distance away from the Burrow.

             There were several large white tents being hoisted up to stand erect in the field around the sloping house and she could see several red-headed people magicking the finishing touches on them. She picked up the pace to the house as to avoid running into a certain one of the red-headed men… Now at the front entrance, she rapped on the door and was met with a harried looking woman, Mrs. Weasley.

             ‘Hello, welcome! I’m afraid the wedding isn’t until later, but do come in for some tea,’ she invited Charlotte, her eyes roaming over her face in vague recognition. Charlotte had met Mrs. Weasley before but it was all very long ago now.

             ‘Do not worry, Molly,’ Fleur spoke while appearing from around the corner, ‘I asked ‘er to come a little early to ‘elp me.’ Mrs. Weasley looked relieved to not have to entertain Charlotte and bustled off. Fleur stretched her arms out and wrapped them around Charlotte in a warm embrace.

             ‘’Ow was ze journey?’ she asked and pulled back. ‘I ‘ope you didn’t ‘ave too much trouble.’

             ‘Oh, not much. I did have to remind Madame Laflamme several times that I was leaving though,’ Charlotte replied, ‘this is for you.’ She passed the pretty gift box over to Fleur, who’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

             ‘Ah merci! May I open it?’ she asked, eyeing the box in her hands. Charlotte smiled and nodded, to which Fleur unwrapped the box carefully and took the lid off. Inside sat a set of 12 glistening crystal goblets, a large crystal bowl, and a ladle with a long gold handle. Fleur gasped in delight and picked up a goblet to admire it.

             ‘Oh, ‘ow beautiful! I cannot wait to use zis!’ she gushed. Charlotte beamed back at her delighted friend; she had searched high and low along Champs-Elysée for the perfect wedding gift and knew that this set was the one when she saw it.

             ‘I’m glad you like it. Gives me an excuse to come visit more often.’ she joked. As Fleur stowed the goblet away, her fiancé, Bill, entered the room.

             ‘Bill, come meet my dear friend Charlotte!’ Fleur called out and Bill strode over. He held out his hand and Charlotte noted how confidently he shook it; Fleur had chosen a fine man indeed.

             ‘Hi, I’m Charlotte, I think we may have met before?’ she inquired as they shook hands. She’d only visited once before, but the man looked familiar.

             ‘Oh probably, one summer or another ago, it’s hard to keep track of who’s been here over the years,’ he smiled kindly then left to go help with the preparations. Fleur took Charlotte’s arm and led her upstairs to her makeshift bridal suite. It was Charlie Weasley’s old room and white curtains had been hung up all around to cover old posters and create a more bridal atmosphere. There were bouquets of flowers sitting in their vases on the window sills with notes of congratulations and Fleur’s wedding accessories were laid out on the vanity (‘a gift from Bill,’ Fleur had explained). Charlotte was led inside and saw Gabrielle Delacour and Mrs. Delacour sitting on the bed, now set in white bed linens, and chatting in French.

             ‘Maman, I ‘ave brought Charlotte,’ Fleur announced and Mrs. Delacour looked up. Although Charlotte had become more acquainted with Fleur’s family during her time in Paris, she still felt dreadfully inadequate trying to speak in French to them. Before she could try to string a horrible sentence together, Mrs. Delacour glided over and bestowed a kiss on both of her cheeks.

             ‘Eet is so lovely to see you again,’ Mrs. Delacour said warmly in a thick French accent, ‘please come visit us once we are back in Paris.’ Gabrielle came up and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek before going over to admire her sister’s dress. After pleasantries were exchanged, Charlotte turned to Fleur,

             ‘How can I help?’ she asked as Fleur began running a silver comb through her long hair.

             ‘It is quite alright, Maman and Gabrielle will ‘elp me dress later on,’ Fleur caught her eye in the mirror, ‘I wanted to catch up with you before I become Mrs. Weasley.’ Mrs. Delacour tactfully stood up to leave the room, with a complaining Gabrielle in tow, and shut the door behind them. Fleur paused her combing as she watched the door securely shut after her mother and sister, then rounded on Charlotte.

             ‘So? ‘ave you gone to talk to George yet?’ Fleur whipped her head around, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Charlotte felt herself blush immediately and crossed her arms. She had been strategically ambushed.

             ‘What do you mean? Why would I talk to George?’ she retorted defiantly. Fleur tossed her hair and went to stretch out on the bed.

             ‘Oh please, Bill told me everything about zis predicament. Not to mention ‘ow you couldn’t even speak to ‘im after ze Yule Ball,’ Fleur sighed and made herself more comfortable on the many throw pillows. “I think ‘e likes you too”. Charlotte shrugged and kicked off her heels to join her friend among the mountain of throw pillows. There was no use in hiding these things from Fleur, she usually had a way of finding them out.

             ‘All that’s in the past though. The Yule Ball was, what, 4 years ago? I am totally over him,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘Besides, it’s too late to bring up all that, especially at your wedding.’

             ‘Nonsense! It is never too late for someone as wonderful and kind and intelligente as you!’ Fleur said fiercely and several throw pillows rolled off the bed as she jerked up to look Charlotte hard in the eyes, ‘I will make certain zat you ‘ave a chance to reconcile!’ Charlotte felt a rush of affection as she watched Fleur get more worked up and jam the pillows back onto the pile. She knew it was hard for Fleur to make friends because of her blunt nature, but she was deeply loyal to ones she kept.

             ‘Besides, if you become my belle-soeur, it would be much easier to visit each other,’ Fleur added as an afterthought and settled back onto the pillows.

             ‘Yeah, and then we’ll get sick of each other,’ Charlotte laughed and the two of them fell into comfortable conversation; it was as if they were back at Hogwarts, relaxing by the lake after a long day of classes. At last, it was time for Fleur to get ready, and Charlotte slipped out quietly to leave the Delacours to prepare as a family. She descended the spiraling staircase and into the landing. There were people everywhere now, and the mountain of wedding gifts by the fireplace was so large, it was spilling into the kitchen. She tried to help Mrs. Weasley but was shooed out to the garden with the other guests. It was late afternoon now, with the sun still shining over the white tents making them dazzle and a few wayward gnomes were starting to crawl back into the bushes. Charlotte was going to walk right up to the entrance of the largest tent, then stopped; she was suddenly very aware that she’d come without a date. So, she stood awkwardly to the side, as couples began to file in, and debated if she should wait until she could enter unnoticed (‘I really should have brought Axel with me,’ she muttered to herself), but felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see Luna Lovegood and her father smiling at her. Both were wearing garish marigold-yellow dress robes that clashed horribly with their blond hair; though once you got over the shock, their ensemble actually looked quite festive.

             ‘Hi Charlotte, fancy seeing you here,’ Luna greeted in a dreamy voice, her huge eyes gazing up at her.

             ‘Hi Luna, Mr. Lovegood,’ she greeted back and blinked, recovering from the visual assault that was their dress robes. Luna had been her fellow Ravenclaw, and although they weren’t in the same year, it was still nice to see a familiar face.

             ‘We’re about to go in, care to join us?’ Luna asked and Charlotte nodded, grateful. They approached the entrance of the tent and a grumpy looking red-headed boy greeted them.

             ‘Hello Harry,’ Luna said and the boy seemed to be caught off-guard. Charlotte eye her incredulously, that was not Harry Potter at all.

             ‘Luna! How did y-,’ he sputtered while Luna smiled serenely at him.

             ‘You’ve got a certain aura; I can tell it’s you because of it,’ she replied calmly. Harry seemed to regain composure and mumbled something about Polyjuice potion, then lead them to their seats. This had startled Charlotte. If Harry Potter couldn’t even show his face at an extremely protected wedding in the middle of nowhere, then they must be preparing for the worst. Surely the Death Eaters wouldn’t try to come here? She made a mental note to ask him about this, in case she could offer insight from the French Ministry, not that it would be extremely helpful. The current rumor going around the office was that the French Minister was going to decline partaking in the looming war against You-Know-Who in Britain. Still deep in thought, she sat in her seat and was awakened from her reverie when the lights dimmed. She didn’t have time to chat to the other guests around her when music began playing. Everyone looked around to see Mr. Delacour proudly standing with Fleur, their arms looped together. They began to walk (Fleur more so gliding) down the aisle while Gabrielle and Ginny Weasley followed behind, looking pretty in gold colored dresses. Charlotte gazed at her friend, who was normally so beautiful, but now was exceptionally so as a bride. She didn’t notice that tears had welled in her eyes until one slid down her cheek. It was Fleur who was so caring and sharp-witted once you got to know her, who comforted Charlotte when her parents moved away from England, who made sure she was looked after upon moving to Paris… If anyone deserved to have a beautiful wedding, surrounded by wonderful family and friends, it was Fleur. Charlotte wiped her eyes hastily on her sleeve when she saw someone hold out a handkerchief to her.

             ‘Thank you-,’ she whispered but the rest of her sentence dried up in her throat as she looked at the person offering the handkerchief. It was George. The man she had avoided for so long, standing beside her in the dark, offering a damn handkerchief to her with a stupid grin on his face. Charlotte snatched her hand back as if burned, then turned to face Fleur and Bill, stiff as a board. It became very difficult to listen to the couple profess their love to each other and she thoroughly wished she could Disparate right then and there. Finally, the tiny wizard at the front finished speaking and waved his wand with a flourish, asking guest to please rise. The chairs vanished and a glossy dance floor was spreading out beneath their feet. With everyone letting out gushes of excitement and shuffling to speak to other guests, Charlotte used this commotion to slip away from George and into a crowd of middle-aged wizards.

             ‘Right, if I just go congratulate them, I can be on my way,’ she thought and made up her mind while working her way through the crowd towards the newlywed couple. It was quite difficult with everyone dancing and merry-making, that she ended up sidetracked on the way to Harry’s table. Charlotte then remembered she wanted to talk to him about the Polyjuice potion (and Death Eaters), so she took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to look like she just wanted to sit down for a drink. Settling neatly into the chair adjacent to him, she noticed he was staring intently at Ginny and cleared her throat politely.

             ‘So, why the different look tonight?’ she asked cautiously and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, ‘I suppose you’re expecting something bad to happen?’ Harry sat still, and she could tell he was debating on if he could trust her or not. As he hummed and hawed, she took a sip of champagne; it fizzed pleasantly in her mouth and went down easily as water.

             ‘Well actually, yeah,’ he finally spoke. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’ He motioned to the festivities and Charlotte bobbed her head as neutrally as she could. Harry was always up to something it seemed. She had not had a single peaceful school year since he’d shown up at Hogwarts in her third year and trouble always seemed to follow in his wake. A silence ensued as she pondered what to ask next.

             ‘I’m sorry about Dumbledore, I know you had meaningful relationship with him,’ she said carefully, she didn’t want to seem to nosy. ‘And I’m certain he’s left you something to do, like the other times.’ This much was true; Dumbledore, while kind to all of his students, seemed to take a special liking to Harry. He turned sharply to face her and leaned in forward to whisper.

             ‘That’s none of your business!’ he said through gritted teeth. Ah, so there had been something. Charlotte set her glass down and leaned forward.

             ‘I know it’s not, and I’m sorry that I pried into private business. I work at the French Ministry of Magic, and I want to warn my colleagues about anything fishy going on here,’ she apologized, trying to soften her voice. ‘I wanted to know if Death Eaters were on the move to France and if I could be of assistance to you.’ Charlotte saw Harry relax and uncross his arms.

             ‘S’all right, just private matters. I don’t think Vol-, You-Know-Who is interested in France at the moment,’ he replied gruffly but looked more at ease. ‘And so far, Death Eaters haven’t fled anywhere.’

             ‘Well, send me an owl to Paris and I’ll try to help you if I can. The French Minister is being maddeningly stubborn on this,’ she scoffed at the last part, ‘he wouldn’t be too pleased if Death Eaters started popping up like weeds in France, would he?’ This last quip earned a laugh from Harry and she drank the last of her champagne. Charlotte didn’t want to ask more questions and make him uncomfortable, so they sat and watched people dancing and laughing, surprisingly taking comfort in each other’s company. Suddenly, as if the Red Sea was being parted in front of them, Fleur glided through the crowd towards their table. She beckoned for Charlotte to take her outstretched hand and follow her, which Charlotte did and she said good bye to Harry.

             ‘Don’t worry about ‘im, Viktor will keep ‘im company,’ Fleur said breathily, the excitement of the wedding leaving her a little hoarse, ‘come and dance!’ They weaved through the crowd until they stood in the middle of the dance floor. Fleur dropped Charlotte’s hand and went off to speak to the band, leaving Charlotte quite stranded and embarrassed that everyone was watching what would happen next. The wish to Disapparate was growing stronger the longer she stood there, then when almost lost her nerve, someone touched her arm gently.

             ‘May I have this dance?’ George smiled at her and bowed gallantly for extra effect. Charlotte was going to decline when she saw Fleur glaring at her with a look that said I-set-this-up-for-you-so-don’t-blow-it. Gulping, she took his hand and felt his other hand settle lightly on her waist. The music had now changed from swift, upbeat songs to a slow, romantic waltz. George had been, apparently, practicing dance for several years now judging by the way he waltzed her around the floor as if it was the most natural thing for him. Round and round they went while other guests clapped appreciatively and began joining in. Here, under the lights of the wedding, Charlotte could finally take a good look at her dance partner. His hair, flaming red as usual, was combed back smoothly and his eyes shone with something deeper than having fun with an old friend. Her eyes flicked to the smattering of freckles on his left cheek (which looked very much like the constellation Leo) and grazed slowly up to the rather bloody mess of the missing ear at the side of his head. George caught her smile and grinned,

             ‘Like my latest injury? I think it becomes me,’ he joked, Charlotte was not laughing.

             ‘What happened? Oh, George,’ she gasped. ‘Did one of your products blow up in your face?’ Momentarily forgetting that she should be avoiding him, she almost tripped over his feet as she was too busy staring at his missing ear. George shook his head playfully, still smiling, and pulled her off the dance floor. He led her to a more secluded table, away from the crowd with his hand still tightly holding hers. He glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers, then said in a low tone,

             ‘Snape’s work. He cursed it off when we moving Harry here.’

             ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, quite puzzled. Snape was literally awful to be around, but would he really attack a student?

             ‘Sorry, can’t tell you much about it, but I’ll be fine. Top priority is to keep Harry safe until he goes back to school,’ George said casually, as if he was having a chat about the weather. ‘Anyways, what have you been up to these days? I heard you left London.’ Charlotte was slightly taken aback at this sudden change in topic, but pushed her questions about the incident to back of her mind.

             ‘I left for Paris. Who told you?’ she asked back.

             ‘Oh, I have my sources,’ he winked in such a George-like way that a rush of repressed emotions of her school-girl crush on him flooded back. How she had come to love that wink, paired with that charming smile! Her sixteen-year-old self used to turn to mush whenever he would indulge her in one of the two during classes. But then the Yule Ball happened, and things weren’t quite the same between them after that. Charlotte shook her head to clear her thoughts and saw George had an uncharacteristically somber expression on his face now. This was probably the first time she’d ever seen him be serious.

             ‘Why didn’t you write to me?’ he asked quietly. ‘Why didn’t you come visit me when we first opened the shop?’ Charlotte knew the truth of course. She had been hurt that he didn’t ask her to the Yule Ball (even as a friend) and the second blow came from when he left school suddenly without bothering to tell her. They never actually dated but she thought he had felt something for her as she did him; it had been like a breakup at the time and it had been a relief to her that he was no longer around.

             ‘I-I was busy with N.E.W.T.s you know, getting ready to leave Hogwarts and all,’ she lied pretty unconvincingly. George’s hands gripped hers even tighter so that it hurt a little and she yelped.

             ‘Don’t go back to Paris!’ he pleaded and she was shocked at the intensity of his voice. ‘Please, stay here, I’ll take care of you,’ George now looked like he was on the verge of tears. Was this all a hallucination? When had George ever pleaded with anyone for anything? Charlotte’s pulse quickened as she considered the possibility that he may like her back. After three years of resigning herself to the fact her old friend would never love her, it was quite earth-stopping to hear this confession. Her heart leapt in hope, but quickly sank. She couldn’t just abandon her career, her sister, her life that was waiting back in Paris for the chance at long-waited love. It was extremely tempting, but deep down she knew now was not the right time. Unfortunately, she never got to answer when a chorus of loud gasps erupted from the crowd on the dance floor. They watched from their seats as a shimmering lynx Patronus landed silently on the floor. It opened its mouth and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice rang throughout the tent,

‘The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegeour is dead. They are coming,’ and then it vanished as quickly as it had come. The whole tent went silent, then pandemonium broke out. People were scrambling everywhere trying to Disapparate, trampling over fallen dishes and broken glass. Charlotte leapt from her chair, wand ready, and went to find Fleur. She saw her huddled with her parents and sister, trying to soothe them in French.

             ‘Fleur! We’ve got to leave,’ Charlotte shouted above all the noise. Fleur looked up, her body relaxing with relief.

             ‘I must stay ‘ere to protect ‘Arry Potter and ze Burrow,’ she yelled back, ‘take my family with you back to Paris!’ Charlotte nodded then turned to the Delacours, panic on their faces. She grabbed Gabrielle’s and Mrs. Delacour’s hand roughly and pushed through the crowd to the garden with Mr. Delacour following closely behind. However, people seemed to be going more insane outside than in and she gripped hard on the hands she was holding.

             ‘Quickly, grab onto me and don’t let go!’ she ordered and concentrated with great difficulty on the Leaky Cauldron. They were plunged into darkness, squeezing uncomfortably through space and arrived with a loud pop! in Diagon Alley. The Delacours stumbled to the ground from the force of arriving but Charlotte landed easily on her feet.

             ‘Is everyone alright?’ she asked but the Delcaours looked rather pale and shaken. She looked around the deserted alley; no Death Eaters had shown up yet.

             ‘Oi! Who goes there? It’s past midnight!’ a voice chastised through the night. It was Tom, the innkeeper, and Charlotte rounded quickly to face him.

             ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Tom, will you please show the Delacours to my room?’ she asked while pulling out her room key. ‘Take this, please make them as comfortable as possible and I’ll pay the difference later.’ Tom seemed to understand the urgency of her request because he herded the frightened family into the inn without question. Charlotte watched them disappear inside, the turned quickly on her heel to the exit of Diagon Alley. Now she had to focus on contacting Fleur somehow and arrange for the British Ministry to take her family home. They were probably tracking every magical movement in Britain by now, so sending an envoy from France would raise alarms. As Charlotte walked along the Muggle streets, she thought with a pang of sorrow that she hadn’t said goodbye to George or Fleur or anybody for that matter. Charlotte knew a war was coming, she wasn’t stupid, and she had trained rigorously to react accordingly if this kind of situation ever happened. But this wasn’t a simple test she could pass, it was real war; the time had come to test her skills, cleverness, and most of all, if she had the bravery to face what was coming.

#harry potter #fleur delacour #george weasley #fanfic #harry potter oc #orignal character #harry potter fanfiction #charlotte yang #luna lovegood #ravenclaw #deathly hallows #ms cinnamon #the burrow

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.

But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Six: The Christmas Party II

With only an hour left we sprinted back to our dorm. While Nica and Chloe started folding up their clothes and throwing them into the trunks, Milla and Blair went through their nightstands and I tidied up the bathroom. Over the course of the last four months we had collected all kind of trash in that room and we had spread our shower gels, shampoo bottles, potions and make-up kits all through it. I went into both of the shower cabins to organise the bottles and viles there according to their owners, making one extra pile for all the stuff I couldn’t place.

Next I looked at the five sinks and the big mirror. One hell of a mess. To make a plan for the sinks I started by cleaning up the mirror and the little shelves in front of it. Organising the make-up and brushes per owner I filled the shelves with them, cleaned the sinks themselves and then repositioned the toothbrushes and –pastes.

“Bathroom is done!”, I chirped when I entered the dorm.

“Wardrobes are all empty!”, Blair replied, her hair standing up in every direction.

“Milla and I are done and Nica and Chloe are just now moving on to the nightstands. How late is it?”

“Quarter to eleven. You better hurry up!”, I suggested as I threw myself on my bed and took out my thriller from my backpack. I had just gotten back into the action and could have bitten my nails at the scene that was described – the heroine entering an old and abandoned asylum – when Chloe sat down next to me and made me shriek.

“Don’t do that! Mer-lin. You wanna give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry. We’re done, though. Want to go downstairs?”

We all put on an extra jumper and stuffed our coats with scarves, gloves and hats. Then we headed to the foyer. And waited. And waited. And waited. At twenty past eleven I got aggrevated. “It would be very much like them to just let us wait here. They haven’t pranked us at all since we’ve become friends”, I said tapping my foot on the first step.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be them, but they should be smarter than to piss us off hours before two of us are being their dates”, Chloe answered.

Half an hour late the boys sprinted down the stairs and nearly ran into us, profusely apologising to all of us.

“All my fault, I ran into Lily!”, was one of the first things I could hear.

“We got carried away teasing him”, it came from Remus.

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry”, Pettigrew kept going on while Black smirked to himself remarking that we had seriously waited for them.

“Shush! Shut up!”, Chloe ordered them to silence.

“Did you at least get a smile out of Lily?”, she then asked Potter. “She didn’t say I was an arrogant pest. Which is nearly as good, right?”

“Sure, Potter, sure.”

Five o’ clock came rather quickly. I had not expected the day to fly by as it did. The snowball fight had been epic. The teams had been determined by our birthdates: First six months of the year against last six months of the year, which meant that Remus, James, Chloe and I had to take on the other five. It also meant that we had completely missed Black’s birthday on third of November which we all felt terrible for. He assured us that it wasn’t a big deal since we had basically known him for only six days at the time but we all felt that we should have given him something for his birthday.

After lunch we went back outside to play three rounds of quidditch and then we warmed up while being introduced to a couple of very helpful secret passages. One led from our common room up to the seventh floor on which the Gryffindor common room was located and we all were convinced that that passage would be used a lot. Another one was a short cut to the dungeons and then there was a secret room behind a statue of a three headed lion, that the boys usually used when they were pursued by Filch.

They wouldn’t tell us how long it took them to find all of these secrets but they did hint that there was an arsenal of hidden passages that they didn’t show us.

We had so much fun that none of us really wanted to get ready for Slughorn’s party although it had been everything any of us had talked about in the last week.

“Guys it’s five! We’re supposed to be at Slughorn’s by six thirty.”

“Relax. You have forever”, Potter tried to calm Nica down.

“If we would all not care about our hair, like you, maybe”, she answered with a smirk. “But we have five girls and two showers, need to dry our hair, put on our dresses and jewellery and make up our faces. Ninety minutes hardly seems enough.”

“I’m sure none of you actually need the make-up”, Black commented absendmindedly.

“That’s how you make all the girls fall for you”, Chloe slapped him against the shoulder.

“What? I mean that.”

“Well, thanks.”

We walked them to their common room and learned that the portrait of the fat lady with a Milla-pink coloured dress was actually the entrance to the famous red and gold den. We rushed down to our common room via the newly discovered secret passage.

“Shower’s free!”, Chloe yelled while rushing past me in her towel.

“Finally!” I grabbed my house-crested towel and headed in. After the snow and the quidditch I needed a shower. It was a quick one, though, since my lengthy hair always needed a lot of time to be dried. Even with the drying charm I had learned from my mum. I used it on the bathroom and mirrors first, so nobody would melt while doing their make-up and then put on my rings, necklace and earrings while an invisible hair dryer blew at my hair, making it stand up like I’ve been electrocuted.

Milla already wore her lilac mini dress that made her look several years older than she was and went into the bathroom to do her makeup; Nica was trying to get her afro into perfect shape, while still in her underwear; Blair wore that awesome midnight-blue dress and put on her new blue heels, her hair already done; Chloe had started with the make-up and needed me to help her zip up her dress.

Once she was zipped in my hair was dry and I brushed it out in the bathroom. Instead of my typical topknot I braided it into one thick strand and rolled that up at the back of my head. As soon as I was done with that I ran back to my desk and put on my lovely charcoal grey dress with the burgundy pattern. Blair who was done first did up the buttons on the back before I slipped into my burgundy pumps that I had bought especially for this party. The little bolero jacket that matched my dress I left hanging for now. Back in the bathroom I went in heavy with the eyeliner and grey eye-shadow – both things that I didn’t do on a day to day – and found a wonderful dark red lipstick.

Nica was the last one to put on her dress – in the end she had decided on a mustardyellow numbers with a white paisley pattern  that barely covered her bum – and a little stressed we stumbled down the stairs into the common room. Crick and Magnus were already waiting there for us, talking to Felix who was fidgeting with his tie.

“I’m the luckiest man alive”, Magnus uttered when he kissed Chloe and made her twirl.

“That. Dress. Is. The. Bomb”, Crick stretched every word as he kissed Blair on the cheek. She blushed and thanked him. “You don’t look bad yourself.” The boys all wore dressrobes, all black with yellow ties. I suspected that Felix had asked Crick for advice.

“Toby’s already gone and Sian said not to wait for her. Shall we go?”

“I told Siobhan to meet me on the third floor. I think she’ll tag along with Potter”, Felix bumbled along still fidgeting with his tie as we climbed the stairs.

“Are you nervous, kid?”, I asked smiling up at him as he had had the nerve to outgrow me at only thirteen.

“No…I mean…a little?”

“Don’t you worry. It’s gonna be great. I promise. These parties are amazing.”

“What do I talk to her about?”

“What do you usually say to her?”

“We mainly talk about potions. I tutor her after all.”

“She’s a quidditch keeper and you’re a quidditch fan. You’ll figure something out.” I padded him on the back as we rounded the corner to the statue of Avery the Antisocial where the boys and Siobhan waited.

I watched Felix hug her and compliment her black dress with a smile before I acknowledged my own date.

“Pettigrew! Don’t you clean up nicely!” His dress robes were a dark grey, as if we had planned it and his golden tie matched the buttons. He had obviously done his hair and levelled himself up in the process.

“I thought I was supposed to say that to you”, he grinned.

“Did you buy the dress after finding out which robes I’d wear?”

“Sure, all carefully planned.”

“For real, though, you look great.” He offered me his arm and I took it.

Potter was folding himself over complimenting Nica on her little nothing of a dress, while Black stared at Blair.

“Oh my god. You look like one of those pin-up girls.” He realised her insecure look. “In the best way possible. Hottest girl of the night! Well done, Cricket.”

“Thanks, Black.” Crick didn’t like Black, I knew it but his smile was genuine. I couldn’t help but feel like those two boys understood each other in that moment. They understood that Blair did look great in her dress and that she needed to hear it. They both earned an enormous amount of points in my book for knowing her so well and caring enough to build her up.

“I’m lost for words.” Remus mouth was half opened as Milla turned around in front of him.

“Is that good or bad?”, she asked with a rosy face.

“Good. You look…so good.”

Black who had stopped complimenting Blair notched me in the side. “This is going to be so great”, he whispered, earning a knowing look from Pettigrew.

“Is that what you two always whisper about when you have your little one-on-ones?”, he asked me as we made our way to Slughorn’s office.

“Which that do you mean?”

“That that”, he nodded at Remus who now offered Milla his arm, still obviously in awe.

“Ehm… yeah. We’ve been trying to get them to admit that they like each other.”

“Seems like Sirius is right, then. Even a blind man could see that they do. You should have a splendid night.”

“I expect to have a splendid night whatever they do”, I replied. “And I’m making you responsible for that!” He gave me a heartfelt smile and nodded. “I’ll do my very best.”

In our fairly big group we rolled up to Slughorn’s  Office and were allowed in by one of the houseelves. As every year the room looked stunning. It was even bigger than at the dinner and the pretty big four round tables had disappeared. In their place were little bar tables and sofas in one corner and an impressive dance floor in the other. From a central point in the ceiling panels of golden satin and purple velvet draped down into every last corner of the room, giving the impression that it was a giant tent outside rather than just another office in the castle. The floor was covered in tiles of black marble with golden accents. Somewhere out of sight a band was playing Christmas tunes and instead of candles the room was lit by tiny perfectly round glasses with yellow and red flames in them. It was a sight to behold.

Pettigrew had a hard time closing his mouth as it fell open whenever he spotted a new absurdity. Slughorn made a point of inviting old members of the club to his Christmas parties as well as other important people he knew. While we were slowly making our way to the buffet to finally eat some dinner, I was fairly certain that I saw two famous quidditch players and big head from the ministry. The first person who spoke to me, though, was somebody I didn’t expect at all.

“Miss de Witt, long time no see. At first I wasn’t sure if it was you.” A stocky man in his sixties, with a receding hairline and square jaw reached out to shake my hand. It took me a moment to recognise him. It had indeed been forever ago.

“Mr Armstrong?”, I eventually said shaking the man’s hand after I had imagined him without the giant glasses, more maroon hair and a beard.

“The very same, the very same. How are your parents?”

“Doing well, I hear. I have to admit it’s usually Felix who writes them. He’s here, too. Have you already run into him?”

“Not yet, but I’ll make sure to do so.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Peter Pettigrew, a six year from Gryffindor, very gifted prankster. And Peter, this is Healer Lawrence Armstrong, he used to be my father’s superior at St. Mungo’s.”

“ Pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“And you, Mr Pettigrew, and you. Is it your excellent pranking that got you invited to the party, then?”

“ To be honest, Sir, I wasn’t invited at all. De...Jette offered to take me since all my friends got to go. I’m afraid Professor Slughorn is anything but impressed with me.”

“Oversight on his part”, I assured Mr Armstrong. “Peter, as I said, is very analytical.”

“Just not a potion’s master, I suppose. Horace can be a little small minded”, Mr Armstrong smiled at Pettigrew who  in turn smiled at me.

“But do I understand that you managed to impress Horace, Miss de Witt.”

“Partially, I suppose. I am a prefect this year, that always makes it easier to get invited. But Professor Horton seems to have mentioned that I don’t have a lot of problems in Defence against the Dark Arts.”

“I hear she’s brilliant!”, Pettigrew chimed in.

“He will be pushing you for Auror, I reckon.”

“Occasionally. Do you mind my asking how you know him, Sir?”

“Not at all, not at all. I used to go to school with Horace. We always were friendly and remained in contact. When I can make it I always come to find new healers for the hospital. Retired or not. As a matter of fact your mother was at these parties, when she was younger. I got her to consider the career.”  I had heard that story only about a million times but still nodded my head and “ooh”ed.

“If I remember correctly you never wanted to take after your parents, right?”

“I’m not that good with broken bones, I’m afraid. The blood I could do but broken bones and vomit make me shriek. I don’t think I’d be a lot of help to anybody.”

“Fair enough. What about you, Mr Pettigrew, ever considered the noble profession of healing others?”

“Ehm… Truth be told, Mr Armstrong, I think I’m not good enough at Potions to get into the program.”

“So, you have thought about it?”

“I’ve entertained the thought, Sir, yes.”

“Well, with a clever and trusted girl as Miss de Witt in your corner, I’m sure you’d manage to get in. Just you write me if you should want to apply.”

“Are you serious, Sir?”

“Absolutely. Have a good night, kids.”

“And you, Mr Armstrong.”

Once the former healer had left us Pettigrew fell into my arms and thanked me over and over again for having introduced him. He apparently had always wanted to become a healer and was rather crushed when he found out what the required NEWT in Potions was. Beaming with pride and joy he filled his plate with snacks and fingerfood and dragged me over to his friends.

“Guess what de Witt just did!” In every detail he described the conversation we had just had while I wondered where Remus and Milla were off to. Blair caught my look and grinned. She whipped her chin to dance floor.

“T’is the season”, a hoarse voice whispered into my ear when I had just found Milla and Remus shaking their every limb to the rather boring music. It wasn’t over the top romantic yet, but they were clearly too busy with each other to notice that we weren’t around or that I was watching them.

“T’is”, I answered. While I chatted to Black about our dreams for our two best friends a six year girl who I thought was in Gryffindor ran into me, spilling her drink over my brand new dress. She neither stopped nor said sorry and just went on.

“Pardon me!”, I yelled after her but she ignored me. “What’s her deal?”

Potter came towards us with a raised wand and rescued my dress form being ruined. “This is what happens when you speak to Sirius for too long at an event like this. People will think that he’s into you and then the girls get all catty.”

“I talk to Sirius all the time! What’s different now.”

“You usually don’t look like that when you talk to him”, Pettigrew grinned.

“Aren’t you full of compliments today. Thanks doe the cleanup, Potter.”

We spent about an hour just watching Remus and Milla getting more and more comfortable with each other before we decided to join them on the dance floor. I spotted Felix and Siobhan a couple of times both seeming rather unimpressed with one another. Shame. They looked cute together.

While we were mainly hopping around in a big circle every now and again, when the band played a particularly classic song, Potter, Black and Chloe showed off their pure blood upbringing by forcing the rest of us to formally dance with them. The first one who got me was Black who knew exactly what he was doing despite usually neglecting everything he was taught by his parents. Especially when it came to etiquette of any form. When I asked him about it he just shrugged and said that he liked dancing.

At some point Milla and Remus joined us again, a lot less nervous or flustered than at the beginning of the night, which had all of us others grinning knowingly. Although only Black and I had really talked about what those two were blossoming into the rest was fully aware of it as well.

After my round with Black I did two more with Potter, while Pettigrew was taught by Chloe and Blair – who let go of her shyness halfway through the night and revealed that she, too, had been tortured by her parents with dancing lessons. When Pettigrew and I attempted one of the marvellously complicated dances together we even looked half decent. Mag and Chloe snuck off at some point to enjoy each other and remained missing for the entire night. Felix waved me goodbye around midnight leaving Siobhan to giggle with some fourth year Ravenclaw and looking very relieved. His date had gone a lot worse than mine.

I thoroughly enjoyed my night with Pettigrew. Just like Nica and Potter and Crick and Blair did. We were all fully aware that we were here as friends and that it was good fun that we were all together. The awkwardness of having to find something to say or jumping at accidently touching each other was absent all night – if you exclude Remus and Milla who got less and less awkward as time went on. All of us girls got hit with disapproving looks and elbows in the sides when we were talking to Black, who apologised to all of us and explained to me that this was the reason he didn’t want to take Nica.

“So, this happens regularly?”, Blair laughed with red cheeks from the spiked punch.

“Three years ago I came with Mary MacDonald, she’s a friend of Evans’. I asked her because James wanted to ask out Lily and we thought his chances would increase if her friend was glued to me. Mary actually liked the idea but she was treated like a leper for a month. She still scolds me for that…”

“Speaking of Evans…” Potter dashed away and managed to convince Lily to dance with him. It took him a good five minutes and it looked like she was leaving him to stand by himself at least three times but in the end she took his hand. He taught her the same dance Black had taught me. The easiest one. And coincidentally the one that had both partners stand the closest to each other. He wasn’t dumb, our Potter.

As soon as the song ended Potter indicated a bow, said about two sentences and came back to us where he was met with applause.

“How on earth?”, gasped Remus while high-fiving Potter.

“I took Blair’s advice. Not too over the top. Polite. Genuine. And I told her that I thought I deserved one dance after four years of let downs. Besides, I think she wanted to learn how to dance. Seemed into it.”

“Well done, mate!”, Nica screamed. Then she leaned into him and whispered something that had him smirk and blush at the same time.

“Well, of course I’ll show you that again.” They both disappeared into the mass of people on the dancefloor and – just like Mag and Chloe – weren’t seen or heard from again. Nica, it seemed, had accomplished her mission.

Us girls exchanged looks that ranged from impressed to shocked but ultimately forgot about the whole thing as we had too much fun.

Professor Slughorn had to force us out when the dark of night turned into dusty grey of dawn. Apart from us there was a drunk and sleeping vampire left, who Black had decorated with garlic stickers and two snogging couples. We thanked him for the splendid party and walked into the corridor.

“Last smoke together?”, Pettigrew suggested and we all agreed. The courtyard was still really dark as the trees and walls blocked out the slowly rising sun.

“Would it be proper mental to suggest to go up to the astronomy tower and watch the sunrise?”, Blair asked just before we were done smoking.

“No! I love it!” Nica was in. So were I and Crick.

“Little romantic for my taste, but fine” Black nonchalantly snipped away his fag. Pettigrew was game for anything.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed”, Milla said. “I’m knackered.”

“I’ll escort you to your common room then, make sure you don’t get lost.” Remus managed to ignore our grins and didn’t even blush. “Meet you lot up there?”, he asked over his shoulder when he lead Milla back to the foyer.

“Oh. My. God!”, Black chirped when the two were out of earshot.

“Such a sap”, I commented while we slowly walked towards the door and made our way up the stairs.

After a spectacular sunrise in the bitter cold we bid our Potter-less Potter-posse goodnight and went to our dorm. I just wanted to sleep. It had been a really long day. But when I saw the look on Milla’s face I knew that the night wasn’t over yet.

“He didn’t kiss me!” A tear rolled down her cheek, painting a small blackish-grey line on her face. It wouldn’t be the last one.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders era #harry potter #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #original character

[buttercupsfrocks]

Hey, Tumblr, did you know that there’s an Interior Design Police as well as a Fashion Police?! Strangely neither did I until I stumbled upon a listicle entitled 75 Things No Woman Over 50 Should Own on the delusionarily titled bestlifeonline.com. There, along with the usual arbitrary selections of sartorial crimes against humanity, (tracky bottoms, skinny scarves, bolero jackets), were the following:-

Tapestries. (What, even if one designed and made them oneself, comme ça?)

Neon signs.

A piggy bank.

Novelty salt and pepper shakers, (Oops!)

A vinyl tablecloth. 

Novelty pillows. (Dang!)

A rolodex.

Indoor wicker furniture.

A lava lamp. (Who doesn’t love a lava lamp? Not this fully paid up B52s fan, I can assure you).

A dish of seashells.  (D’oh! Missed the memo again).

Framed autographs (yep, got one of those too).

Talk about random. And there’s more; much more. It appears I should have jettisoned my giant pin boards at least twenty years ago, along with my magnifying mirror, stuffed animals, coloured pens, fairy lights, frameless posters, cheap mismatched silverware, decorations based on cartoon characters, mismatched towels, striped wallpaper, tassels, and elaborate keychains. (They’d have a blue fit if they knew that one of my keychains has both a twiddly fake key and a tassel on it). In fact the entire website is little more than an endless litany of stuff you should feel ashamed about owning, wearing, and in some cases, even saying. Like I totes can’t say “totes” – me, a writer, who loves slang so much she has at least a bookshelf-and-a-half dedicated to it. I also can’t say: “OMG”,  “humblebrag”, “talk to the hand”, “fauxpology”, “sorry not sorry”, “I can’t even”, “as if”, “sus”, (a term in common UK parlance among people of all age groups for the duration of my lifetime), “ship”, (fuck you; Spuffy forever), and…wait for it…”adulting”, even though I plainly know a good deal more about doing it than the embarrassingly embarassable twelve year old ninny who probably wrote the article.

And still on the subjects of lists that give me the right royal pip, there’s thelist.com. 

“If you are familiar with Dr Martens, you are too old to wear them.” 

I’m sorry, what now?! 

“We know those Crocs and orthopaedic shoes are super comfy, but they're not doing you any favours. There's something to be said for smart, sensible footwear, but you don't have to sacrifice your style and give away your age just to save yourself a few blisters”.

Unless of course you suffer with any kind of condition that dictates you  have to wear fugly orthopaedic footwear, as numerous older people do. And blisters are the least of my problems, bub. Believe me the bunting and party hats come out when I can persuade anything approaching normal-looking footwear to accommodate my orthotics. Doc Martens are one of the precious few options available to me. I am, incidentally, feeling especially “salty” (another word my age precludes me from using), about this right now as, having discovered I can sometimes wear sandals with a moulded orthotic-like sole, these Office sandals... 

...which I genuinely love and desperately wanted to rock this summer, damn near crippled me when I tried them on. 

For all the blather about older women being able to cast off the shackles of convention and wear what we please, (or whatever the expert du jour thinks is within reason), the same unspoken assumptions that prevail in mainstream ladymedia are present in spades on these websites. Nobody reading could possibly be fat, or if they are they’re assumed to be fighting their poor beleaguered bodies unto death. The only chub ever alluded to, (albeit soto voce), is “middle aged spread”, but only the vestigial kind that can be miraculously rendered  invisible by the belting of an “unflattering” oversized garment in the middle. 

“Show off your curves by adding a cute belt to that dress or coat. It will accentuate your shape and let you still wear those comfortable items in your wardrobe without looking like you're wearing a muumuu.”

Never mind that I quite like wearing a muumuu, far from showing off my curves, belting any of my coats would make me look like the Albert Hall, which while undoubtably a Look, is not one I’m after.  

“Balance is important when it comes to crafting a stylish look. Wearing oversized clothing disrupts that delicate equilibrium and unintentionally ages you.”  

What. Ever. 

The hectoring never lets up. 

“There really is no such thing as grown up glitter when it comes to apparel, so it's best to accept that fact and avoid glittery tops, bottoms, and everything else!” 

“Dressing like the '80s or '90s can be fun for a party, but being attached to a trend from your youth can look tired and disconnected and therefore can make one age themselves.” 

“Large prints, especially on a tight clothing item like leggings, are an avoid-at-all-costs look. They are just too loud and aren't a piece that helps you look your best”

Among the ten items everyday.health.com bans me from wearing on account of my encroaching dotage are “too trendy denim”. Apparently I’m “not in my element” with it so my hard work was all for nought. Also verboten are oversized, overly decorated hobo bags, cheap unflattering underwear; (fat chance of finding cheap underwear in plus-sizes anyway though apparently I should do like the Sainted Gwyneth and wear Spanx under everything. Because she totally needs to and I so enjoy colic); and…wait for it…wait for it...  

...“loud accessories”. This includes, horror of horrors, plastic earrings, which apparently I forfeited the right to wear at 35. (Do they count vintage phenolic, bakelite, and lucite as plastic I wonder? Because if enough rich older women get dissuaded from wearing it I might actually be able to afford some instead of faking it). Instead I’m exhorted to make a... 

“Stunning Substitute: think quality and quantity. Limit yourself to one funky accessory per outfit – as long as it’s well-made. Think a leopard-print scarf, thin silver bangles or a gold clutch to dress up nice jeans and a simple top”. 

Yeah, no. And, by the way here’s a picture of Helen Mirren in quite the loudest plastic necklace I’ve ever seen which, as you can plainly see, ages her terribly. 

*snort*

Which brings me neatly to the subject of role models. Dame Helen comes up a lot. Here’s Harper’s Bazaar with some more:

“Pay close attention to the way women like Robin Wright, Julianne Moore, and Kristin Scott Thomas dress. And revel in the moment when you can justify shopping for labels like Céline, Calvin Klein, Jil Sander, and the Row — because not all sweaters are created equal. The Perfect Length (not too long, not Rihanna short), with the just-tantalizing-enough neckline, is more than worth the extra zeros”.  

Wow. So much nope to pick apart in just three sentences! 

Firstly, while I’m sure they’re all perfectly charming, I look nothing at all like any of these women, so why would I aspire to their style? Secondly, they have allllllll the extra zeros in their bank accounts while I have zero zeros. Thirdly, even if I could afford any of those labels, (a sweater from The Row costs well over a thousand quid by the way), why the love of little fluffy kittens would anyone think I want to dress like this?

I mean I know I like an oversized garment but I’m good with Monki, thanks. If that lot doesn’t say, “this was the only shit I could find to fit me”, I don’t know what does. And quite what the tiny, terminally haggard looking Olsen twins, who dreamed up the wretched label, would look like in any of this eye-bleedingly expensive folderol I shudder to think. You’d probably need to send in the fire brigade to find them in all that fabric, poor loves.

At its root shaming-as-entertainment is a tool for capitalism, both simple and complex. Feel mortified for owning something age inappropriate? Buy something new and more grown up, preferably at enormous expense. Or, if pay day’s too far off, invest in some garbage gossip rag and bitch about the state of those richer and more famous than you are. It’ll make you feel great for all of five minutes, then you can fill the emptiness that follows in its wake with some cheap fast fashion or cake. Even though cake is naughty and unclean and fast fashion is killing the environment; but hey that’s what diet books (kerching!) and gym memberships (kerching!) and ethical fashion, (with a cut-off size of 16), are for, right? 

Ironically, in yet another catalogue of grievous mistakes to make once you’re over forty, bestlifemyarse.com includes “neglecting your mental health” and “basing yourself-worth on what other people think”. But how the hell are women expected to do that under a constant barrage of opprobrium, not least since also included in the aforementioned list is “avoiding the scale”?

Tumblr, I put it to you that people are just as likely to buy stuff if they’re feeling good about themselves than if they’re feeling shite. I fucking love stuff but there has to be an alternative way to sell it that’s less damaging to our sanity and self esteem. That’s in part why fat women created their own media. But, the more it edges into the mainstream, the more it it puts the wind up advertisers and those who rely on their sponsorship. So now our message – the one about self acceptance and being able to live unrepentantly in the bodies we have – has been appropriated, de-fanged, and rebranded as “Body Positivity”, an ersatz movement intended to reassure average-sized women fretful they might be a little bit fat, with the added proviso, “as long as you’re healthy”, (i.e not fat). And while the net abounds with token examples of older lady bloggers granted the status of fashion maven, they’re all slender as reeds, and most of them are ex-models. Big fucking whoop. Meanwhile anyone of any age who is objectively fat is “promoting obesity” simply by expressing our personal style in public.

My collection of shells incidentally, includes some my mum brought me back from the Channel Islands when I was a child; a conch a friend dove for  in the Virgin Islands and presented me for my 19th birthday; several beauties that held pride of place in a late family friend’s study for decades; an abalone shell from New Zealand plucked from the beach by my Kiwi pal Di; a sand dollar from Ocean Beach in San Francisco given to me by my dear friend Jude who died of secondary breast cancer a few months before Jane did; some pebbles gathered with my friend Lesley in literal sub-zero temperatures on a completely deserted beach one not-so-flaming June up north, both of us in hysterics over the utter bleakness of it all, and a load more shells from the Pembrokeshire coast contributed by my friend Steve’s departed mum back in the 1980s. Even the bowl itself was given to me by Karen, whose parents found it in the attic of their new house and thought I might like it. It’s a veritable a lifetime in shells; a celebration of love and friendship spanning decades. In short it has meaning, which is a damned sight more than you can say for any of these wretched lists.

Rise above the buzzkill, Tumblr.

#What I'm wearing #Plus size style #Fatshion #OOTDs #Ageism #Sizeism #Got my ranty pants on #Fuck fashion rules #Fuck interior design rules too

[ijustwanttowritefanfic]

I Would Never Lie

First Kiss Prompt for @rwbyrarepairweek with everyone favorite lesbian lizard, Ilia, and RWBY’s first known useless lesbian, Weiss!

“I need your help,” Weiss said. “I need to spy on Blake and Sun.”

“I’m in,” Ilia said, grabbing her mask and standing.

“No, no, not like that.” Weiss grabbed the mask out of Ilia’s hand and placed it back down. “They are going to get tea, and I want to listen in. It’ll be less suspicious if we didn’t wear all black and hide on a roof.”

Ilia looked down at her outfit, a black, skin tight suit with her sword and dust cartridges on it. “Uh…”

“Come on, you look my size.” Twirling, Weiss walked out of the room. That butt was much bigger than her own, but she opted not to say anything.

In her own room, a too well organized room that had spots for her school books still, Weiss pulled a red dress out of the closet. She held it up, frowned, and tossed it onto the bed. Peasant blouse and long skirt? Weiss tossed that onto the bed. White dress and bolero jacket? Onto the bed. Pencil skirt and fitted top? They did have similar sized chest, but that one joined the rest on the bed. A corset and dress held Weiss’ attention for a bit, but it joined the rest on the bed.

“Do you have anything with shorts? Or maybe pants?” Ilia said, not the most comfortable in skirts and dresses.

Weiss glared over the top of a green flared dress before pushing it at Ilia. “This’ll look good on you.”

Ilia blushed, taking the dress. Reaching up, she started undoing the buckles on her suit. When the chest piece fell open, Weiss turned a pretty shade of pink and spun around.

“Oh, should I change in the bathroom?” Ilia felt her own blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Yes, please?” Weiss said, pointing to the door that lead to her bathroom. Holding the top to her chest, and the dress in one hand, Ilia skittered into the bathroom.

It smelt of fresh fallen snow, a clean sharp scent that Ilia had noticed around Weiss. Grabbing one of the bottles from her vanity, Ilia tried to read the label, but it had a lot of extra letters and a few oddly placed apostrophe. The whole thing screamed expensive, and Ilia put it down.

Stripping out of her clothes, the struggle of putting on a dress began. Why would the zipper be in the back? Reaching around, she could manage to place a finger on it, but not move it up. With a sigh of defeat, she opened the door, and poked her head out.

Weiss had also changed: a short black skirt with a white double breasted vest over a black, long sleeve shirt, white thigh high socks and black boots. A black and white purse sat on the table next to a small green one that matched Ilia’s dress. The girl had ran off with a matching wardrobe. Ilia was never going to understand these humans.

“Weiss, could you give me a hand with this?” Ilia stepped out, holding the dress to her front as she turned around. “I’ve never understood why dresses are made this way. It’s so hard to put on yourself.”

A warm hand pressed against Ilia’s back. Weiss stilled, and Ilia turned her head to catch Weiss mouthing a “Wow” before the zipper moved up her back.

“It’s so that the zippers and buttons do not interfere with the lines of the dress, and they can be covered with-” Weiss offered a cropped white cardigan,”-with accessories. Here, let me take in the bust a bit.” Grabbing something on Ilia’s back, the high waist of the dress fit snuggly against her breasts, granting them a bit of a lift.

“There, now aren’t you pretty.” The smile Weiss flashed at Ilia washed away all the anxiety of wearing a dress. Even if the stupid thing did not have any pockets.

She put on her old boots without a word from Weiss.

“What are you doing?” Weiss asked as Ilia grabbed her sword and pushed it into her new purse.

“Taking my weapon with me?” Ilia said, feeling ashamed. “I mean, there's no belt on this dress, and walking around with a weapon in my hands just feels like I’m going to cause problems.”

“We’re just doing a little spying in a tea cafe,” Weiss said. “How much trouble can we actually get in?”

Ilia shrugged. “It is Haven?”

“...You’re right, let me grab some dust.”

After stuffing her own purse, Weiss and Ilia stepped out of Weiss’ room.  Yang poked her head out of her room, right next to Weiss’.

“Hey, what are you guys up to?”  She eyed both of them, and her smile became a grin.  “Going on a date?”

Weiss sputtered.  “What, no. No, we’re just out for a walk, and I want to show Ilia Haven.  What makes you think it’s a date?”

“Yeah, it’s totally not a date,” Ilia said, talking over Weiss.  “Just going to check out some sights with Weiss in this dress she loaned me.”

Yang opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Well, okay, you two have fun on your not date.”

“We shall,” Weiss said.  Twirling around, she looped her arm in Ilia’s and dragged her out of the house.

Ruby pushed open her door, a matching grin on her face.  “Are we going to follow them?”

“Ruby! That would be horrible,” Yang said.  Pulling out her sunglasses, she slid them on.  “Let’s do it.”

Weiss lead Ilia to a little cafe not too far from the port of Haven. Wide ocean filled their view, and the salt air added a bite that made Ilia glad she had a coat. Weiss flicked her white hair over her shoulder, the breeze catching it as it floated back down

“See them?” Weiss whispered, looking around.

Ilia scanned the room, before spotting Sun facing them, a familiar black haired girl facing away from them.

“There,” Ilia said, tilting her head at the pair. Sun frowned at something Blake said, pulling his white shirt closed against the cold. Man liked to show off his abs, but he paid for it as well.

“Find us a seat, I’ll get drinks,” Ilia said, moving towards the cafe bar.

“Espresso, two shots,” Weiss said. “There is money in the purse. Get whatever you want.”

Ilia walked up to the cafe bar, ordering Weiss’ coffee and debating on what she wanted. Seeing that they serve flat whites, Ilia ordered one for herself. The barista, a bearded man who looked like he needed a good night’s sleep and not more coffee, told her he would bring the cups out to her. Using Weiss’ money, she left a generous tip, which received a grunt of appreciation from the barista.

The booth Weiss picked had them sitting right next to Sun and Blake. Weiss lay huddled in the corner, looking to everyone who could see her that she was trying to listen to the people next to her.

“That isn’t how you do that,” Ilia said, sliding into the booth across from her. “You need to look like you belong here, not like your a teenager trying to peek into the girl’s shower.”

Weiss sat up. “How would you know what that looks like?” She leaned hard against the wall separating them from Blake and Sun.

“It’s just an expression, from school and stuff,” Ilia blushed, slouching in her seat.

“Hmm.” Weiss smirked but then Blake spoke and her face became serious.

“They’re all on their way up here,” Sun said. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“You’re their teammate, I’m sure they won’t be too harsh on you,” Blake said, voice full of compassion.

“But, what if Neptune is mad? I haven’t spoken to him since the Fall of Beacon.” In the short time Ilia known him, she had never heard Sun sound this sad.

“Why not?” Blake asked.

“Cause I knew he could be upset I ran off without him,” Sun let out a loud sigh. “I’d love to have taken him with me, but you know how he is with water. And you decided to take a boat.”

“I never made you come after me, Sun.” Heat entered Blake’s voice. “You need to own up to this.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sun said, sounding dejected.

“Damn,” Weiss said, leaning back into her seat when their coffee arrived. “I was really hoping for something else.” She sipped her cup.

Ilia sipped her own, hiding a smile. She wondered what Weiss wanted to know.

“-Yang is important to me,” Blake said, and both of them glued themselves to the wall to listen.

This knocked Iia’s cup over, spilling the drink over her hand.

“Ahh,” Ilia screamed before covering her mouth. She hissed in pain, the hot milk burning.

“Wait, that sounded familiar,” Sun said.

Over the top of the partition, the wild blonde hair of a goofy idiot appeared. “Ilia! Weiss! What are you two doing here?”

“Sun, don’t stand on the...” Blake cut herself off. “Weiss and Ilia are on the other side?”

Sun nodded. “What are you two doing here?”

Weiss looked up with panic in her eyes, caught and now scared.

“We’re having a date!” Ilia said, much too loudly. “See, I’m wearing a fancy dress!”

Boots hitting a table alerted them before Blake appeared next to Sun. “Arryn’s Grace, she is. I can’t believe it.”

Sun narrowed his eyes. “Neither can I… I think they were spying on us.”

“Are you calling my date a liar, monkey boy?” Weiss said, anger driving out the panic.

“I’m just saying, if it is a date… how about a kiss?” Sun teased.

“Sun…” Blake and Ilia both said.

“This is totally a date, right Ilia?” Weiss said. “We’d love to kiss each other, right Ilia?”

Ilia turned a bright red, her whole body. “...yes?” She said.

Leaning over the table, Weiss grabbed Ilia’s face and kissed her on the lips.

Her lips were warmer than Ilia thought they should be. Soft, and lovely. Tasting of the espresso she had, but also a bit minty. Ilia unfroze, leaning into the kiss, moving her own lips against Weiss as she closed her eyes...

Which she promptly opened when Weiss slipped her tongue into Ilia’s mouth, opening her mouth and kissing Ilia more. Weiss’ own eyes were closed, although one opened and looked up at a flabbergasted Sun and a blushing Blake. The kiss went on for a few more moments before Weiss broke it off.

Ilia sat back in her seat, breathless and giddy. Warmth spread from her mouth to the rest of her body and Ilia wanted to float away.

Catching her own breath, Weiss watched Ilia through half lidded eyes. Those soft lips curled up into a smirk.

“Well, damn,” Sun said. “Do I leave a tip?”

Blake elbowed Sun hard in the side, and he fell back. “Sorry about him, we’ll let you two get back to your date.”

Ilia and Weiss nodded, smiling at each other. Blake stepped down from the table and dragged Sun away, who protested half heartedly.

Weiss moved from her side of the booth and sat next to Ilia, who turned to smile shyly at Weiss. “Shouldn’t we follow them?”

“I have a better idea,” Weiss said as she leaned over to kiss Ilia again.

“This is a much better idea,” Ilia said, leaning into the kiss.

Across the cafe at another table, Yang turned to Ruby. “I share a wall with Weiss, can I sleep in your room tonight?”

Blake slid an arm around Yang’s neck.  “I have some space in my bed, if you’re looking for someplace to sleep tonight.”

If you enjoyed this story, a cup of Ko-Fi is a great way to say thanks!

And thank you for reading and have a nice day!

#RWBY #rwbyrarepairweek #Weiss Schee #ilia amitola #weiss x ilia #prismatic ponytails #Bumblebee #Little bit of seamonkey as well

[anothergracekellyblog]

GRACE KELLY - HER BIGGEST GAMBLE (PART 2) by Maurice Zolotow

THE AMERICAN WEEKLY - April 21, 1956

Can a shy girl who became a movie star carve out a new career - as a princess? 

Photo by Howell Conant

SOURCE: Newspapers.com

PART 3 here

Click Keep reading for the full article. 

PART II

The position in which Grace Kelly finds herself today must be intensely painful to her. For a long time, she has desperately avoided being the center of attention. She has been elusive. She has been secretive. She has kept to herself. Being a shy and sensitive person, she likes silence and solitude.

Even though she has been compulsively driven to seek success in a profession which swarms with lovely lunatics who are fond of doing and saying bizarre and unconventional things, this lean and intense blonde has persisted in her withdrawn pattern of living.

Her reserve, which is actually a disguise to mask the insecurity she feels with other people, has been interpreted as aristocratic hauteur. Her timidity has been called serenity. Her long silences when interviewers probe her inhibitions about divulging the dimensions of her bosom or the length of her long, lean legs, are described as manifestations of a snobbish disdain for the manners and morals of Hollywood.

So now, this girl who has always tried to shun the glare of publicity has become a focus of international excitement from the principality of Monaco to the principality of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. If the future wife of Prince Rainier III, His Serene Highness, the Prince of Monaco, Baron du Buis, Duc de Valentinois and Marquis des Baux, carries out her threat to retire from motion pictures, it would cost her studio at least $10,000,000 a year for the remaining four years of her contract.

The triumph of Grace is one of the most astonishing reversals in the whole saga of Hollywood. Four years ago she was in several unsuccessful Broadway shows. Then, almost within a year, she catapulted to the heights. She won the Academy Award for her portrayal of the tortured wife of an alcoholic in The Country Girl. In her two upcoming films, The Swan and High Society, her qualities of subtlety, wit, emotion and human understanding will be displayed in even more sharpness because she is constantly polishing her technique as an actress.

One morning between scenes during the shooting of High Society I sat in Bing Crosby's dressing room. He plays the ex-husband of a girl named Tracy. Crosby remarked, "This Tracy character that Grace is doing, well, it's the most. It will be a whole new Kelly. She starts out being a little held down and then she breaks it up. She gets real high. She even gets drunk in one scene. Man, this girl achieves a real coup d’état.

"You see, first she's untouchable and then she breaks down and becomes a real woman. She kind of broke down a little in The Country Girl but in High Society she breaks down all the way. I think what happened is her being in love and that this romance with the Prince, old Rainier, helped to bring out this gal's warmness. And isn't that something about Monaco putting her picture on a postage stamp? I also hear they're putting her on a coin. It sure will be the best looking piece of change in the world."

To come to know Grace Kelly even casually, as I came to know her for a few brief days, is to realize that physically and spiritually she is quite unlike most of the characters she has portrayed so elegantly in the movies. It is proof of what an extremely gifted actress she is that when you are about to come into contact with her you expect to meet the chic and elegantly voluptuous creature who flirted so outrageously with Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, who resolutely went on the make for Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief, who passionately kissed Clark Gable in the rain in Mogambo, and who broke William Holden's heart in The Country Girl.

That afternoon, as I plodded through the crowds in the Metro commissary, I was filled with misgivings because I could not see the enchanting blonde goddess anywhere. I thought for a moment she might have forgotten our appointment. But she was sitting at one of the tables against a wall.

The reason I did not see her was simple: she doesn't look like an enchanting blonde goddess. She was wearing her glasses, but that was not the reason. She was wearing an azure-colored blouse tied with a string around her slender neck. She was wearing black bolero pants and ballet slippers.

She is unusually tall for a woman almost five feet eight inches tall but she does not carry the weight that ordinarily goes with this height. She is about 110 pounds in heft give or take a few pounds. Her eyes, which are large and deep and extremely penetrating, are a lovely sky-blue color. Her hair, which is soft and straight, is worn long, almost to the shoulders. She has strong eyebrows, a delicately shaped nose, a small but firm chin, an alabaster skin that is translucently clear, beautifully formed ears and thin but very expressive lips.

Through some fortunate chemical interaction, Miss Kelly and I happened to hit it off almost immediately. I felt comfortable and happy with her, and I believe she also felt at ease with me. For this reason, I was able to catch a glimpse of her that few outsiders have known.

This aspect of her personality only comes out during one of her upswinging moods that usually follow the finishing of a movie or any satisfying experience that makes her feel good about herself. She then becomes playful, whimsical, gay, high-spirited. In this mood, she loves to tease people, giving play to an almost childlike mischievousness.

During her New York years, for instance, she once lived in an apartment with very little furniture. She used to startle young men who called for her by dressing up in a long black dress, letting her hair hang wildly over her face, and sitting crosslegged in an empty room, lit only by one candle in a bottle.

When I visited her house and started to light a cigarette, she said, handing me a pack, "Use these matches from Monaco."

I looked impressed. I saw the big word "Monaco" on the folding matchbox. I lit my cigarette and remarked, "Isn't that nice the Prince sending you matches from Monaco. How thoughtful!"

Seeing I had been neatly fooled, Miss Kelly broke into spasms of girlish delight.

"Read it again," Miss Kelly said.

I did. The matchbox cover read: "The Monaco Grocery and Delicatessen. Imported and Domestic Food Products. Finest Wines. 8513 Santa Monica Boulevard at La Cienga."

But her prevailing mood is one of introverted detachment from her surroundings. She can get lost in her own thoughts and emotions and she will sit by herself for hours, silently knitting or looking out a window.

For at least three hours a day, she must be by herself. During these interludes she retraces the events of the day, analyzing the motives of the people she has encountered, wondering which of her actions she might have altered.

One of her friends told me, "She has a secret life in which she finds peace."

Her circle of really close friends is very small and they are all New Yorkers. They include Rita Gam, Broadway producer Gant Gaither, her Music Corporation of America agent, Jay Kanter, and his wife Judy. The members of this group have a secret signal three bird whistles in rapid succession so they can identify themselves over the telephone. But even with her closest friends, Grace will be bashful. Few of them have heard her play the piano, although she is a tolerably good pianist.

It seems peculiar that somebody with such a character should plunge into the profession of acting, acting, and the answer to this riddle is a complicated one that takes us deep into her psychology and into her inner conflicts. But first, we must clear up two misconceptions Grace Kelly is not a debutante and she does not hail from the "Main Line" of Philadelphia society.

She was born Grace Patricia Kelly on November 12, 1929. The family then lived and still does in the East Falls of Schuylkill neighborhood of Philadelphia, a solid, no-nonsense, bourgeois neighborhood. The Kelly family is not in the Social Register. Nor is her father, John B. Kelly, worth $20,000,000.

Some years the John B. Kelly construction company, one of the nation's biggest contractors in the brick-masonry line, has done that much gross business. But Mr. Kelly probably is not worth more than a small handful of millions and he is certainly not one of the richest men in America, as he has been inaccurately described.

None of the Kelly children was reared in the lap of luxury. They ate sturdy, simple meals and they were not tended by retinues of nurses and governesses.

Another misconception about Grace Kelly's life, it seems to me, is that she had a blissfully happy childhood. The sadness and loneliness that Grace Kelly projected as Mrs. Elgin in The Country Girl could have come out of her experience as a human being. She understands loneliness and misery.

Both of her parents are strong, unusual personalities. Mrs. Kelly, who was Margaret Majer, comes of German stock. As a girl, she was tall, blonde and beautiful. She was a fervent suffragette and physical culturist. In 1914, when she was about 13 years old, Miss Majer went to the Philadelphia Turngemeinde, a gymnasium and social club for gymnasts, to practice high diving. She was introduced to a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man, 10 years older than herself, who had come to play handball.

That man was John B. Kelly, a lusty young Irishman, with a keen mind and tremendous ambition. When he met the future Mrs. Kelly, he was a bricklayer's apprentice six days a week and an athlete in his spare time.

Jack Kelly was a great basketball player and a good boxer. He fought in army bouts during World War I in the heavyweight division and knocked out a man who later gave Gene Tunney a lot of trouble. He probably was the best all-around oarsman this country has ever known.

Politics, business and athletics are the three goals of his life and of these the most important is athletics. To Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, athletics is almost a religion. Of their four children, three fitted into the pattern beautifully.

The oldest child, Peggy, born in 1925, was a swimming and diving champion. She is married to George Davis, the owner of the Philadelphia Ramblers, a hockey team. Their nine-year-old daughter, Meg Davis, finished second in the Junior National Figure Skating meet in 1955. She was younger than most of the other competitors.

John B. Kelly, Jr., was born in 1927. From the time he was five, his father had him out in a boat and was drilling him in the technique of rowing, John Jr. has won the U. S. sculling championship six times, the Canadian championship five times, England's Diamond Sculls twice. He won the European championship in 1949.

During World War II he did some boxing in the Navy as a lightweight. He met his wife, Mary, at the 1952 Olympic Games. She was a member of the American swimming team.

The youngest Kelly child, Lizanne, was born in 1932. She was captain of the girls’ basketball team at the University of Pennsylvania and is married to Don LeVine, who is a broker with a stock exchange firm in Philadelphia.

By a strange fluke of biology, into this family of boisterous gladiators and Amazons, there came a quiet, sensitive, artistic, gentle creature - a girl named Grace.

Next week Mr. Zolotow tells why this shy girl became a great actress and why he thinks she fell deeply in love with Prince Rainier.

#grace kelly #maurice zolotow #prince rainier #1956 #howell conant #engagement portraits #sheila edit

[chibinightowl]

A Man Walks Into a Saloon

@charcoal-soul, your little head cinemas are going to be the death of me.  

For those who aren’t privy to these little headcanons, welcome to the Wild West where Bruce is the town Sheriff, Dick is his secret deputy who really has too much fun wearing a skirt, and Stephanie runs the local saloon. 

I could be persuaded to continue this. We’ll see.

~*~*~*~

Dick is a performer, through and through. It’s in his blood, is part of the very essence of who he is. But just because he’s on stage dancing his heart out in men’s burlesque show in front of a crowd of rowdy customers doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention to what’s going on around him. Bruce trained him better than that.

Not that anyone knows he’s a deputy for the wily sheriff. Much of his work here at Stephanie’s saloon is just that. Work. Bartending and running tables when he’s not on stage or rehearsing, but through it all, he keeps an eagle eye out for folks who just don’t look like they belong here. He’s gotten to a point where it’s practically a sixth sense.

And that sense is screaming at him as his blue gaze lands on the tall man who strides into the saloon and takes a seat at the bar. He looks road weary and dusty like most do in these parts, as does his companion, an equally tall woman with fiery locks barely contained in her long braid. Normally his attention would be on the redhead, especially since she’s dressed in men’s clothes rather than the divided riding skirt that’s more common in these parts, but Dick keeps going back to her dark-haired companion. There’s just something about him that sends a tingle down his spine.

This warrants further investigation.

But first, there’s a show to finish.

When he and the other men are done, they hop off stage and work the crowd. Or rather, Dick works the crowd while the others run off and change. While they’re all part of the entertainment, he’s the only one as comfortable in women’s clothing as he is men’s. And that means more tips and more attention for him. Dick has no problems playing both sides of the fence and Stephanie knows he’s more than capable of taking care of himself if someone gets too handsy.

One less thing for the saloon owner to worry about.

Dick slowly makes his way to the bar, stopping here and there as he does to chat. One woman even stopped him to ask where he found the rich blue silk that stands out so vibrantly against the black of his skirt.

“Had it special ordered from St. Louis,” he says, twirling around so she could see the full effect of it. “No offense to Mr. Pennyworth, but this just ain’t something he keeps in stock down at the general store.”

“It sure isn’t,” she agreed, her eyes lingering not only on the silk, but also on the ribbed corset in matching colors going up his waist.

Dick grins and winks at her as he walks off. The corset is strictly for show, as is the little bolero jacket he wears over it. His best friend Wally often teases him for how he looks in costumes like this, but to him, it’s all part of the act. Stephanie doesn’t care what he wears as long as it brings in customers, so he’s allowed free rein.

As he approaches the bar, he can’t help but like what he sees and wonders if maybe the shiver earlier was simply him picking up on the gorgeous hunk of a man sitting there. From behind, all he can see is broad shoulders, well muscled arms, and a solid trunk of a torso. The man’s jacket falls over the back of the barstool so Dick can’t make out the rest of the package, but so far, things look promising. Time for a closer inspection.

The stool on the man’s right is open, so Dick flops down with a flourish of silk and lace. “Hey, Steph! Got anything you’d think I like?” he calls out to the busy bartender/owner. The blonde woman knows better than to give him too much alcohol after a show (especially since he has another set in an hour) but dancing and flirting is thirsty work.

“Honey, you like it all,” she replies, dropping a pint of beer in front of him. “Try not to have too much fun in that new skirt of yours.” Steph winks and bustles off, her own purple and black striped dress looking fantastic on her. He’d ordered the silk for hers along with his own.

Dick salutes her with his glass. Turning, he looks at the two strangers and instantly, his heart starts beating harder. The woman is stunning, but the man…he can’t find words to describe him. His face looks like something out of one of Tim’s history books, the ones about Ancient Rome or Greece.

Time to turn his flirting up a notch.

“Hello, stranger,” Dick says with a saucy smile and runs a gloved hand over the smooth fabric of his skirt, outlining his thigh in the process. He picks up his beer and takes a sip, eyeing the man over the rim. The man is dressed for traveling, his dark brown leather jacket shiny with age. A dusty cowboy hat rests on the bar next to an empty shot glass and a mostly full glass of beer. “You must be new in town,” he offers with a wink. “I’d never forget a face like yours.”

The man honest to god blushes. Dick wants to crow in delight as red stains his cheeks.

“Yeah, Arty and I are just passin’ through.” The man replies as he tries for casual, even running an awkward hand through his black hair while his companion laughs boisterously. He’s young, probably around Dick’s age, but he’s got a white streak in his hair that’s rather eye-catching.

“Jay, I swear you always act like this whenever anyone hits on you.” The woman, Arty, slaps him hard on the shoulder. She catches Dick’s amused eyes. “Don’t let the blush fool you. He’s had his eye on you since we first walked in.”

Jay groans and gives Arty a good-natured shove. “Shut it.”

Dick laughs because this is just too much fun. “If it’s any consolation, I have too.” He takes another swig of beer and holds out his hand. “I’m Dick.”

The man accepts it and grips it firmly. “Jason, but I go by Jay more often than not.”

Dick reaches across Jason to shake Arty’s hand too. She also has a very firm grip. “Artemis. Only yahoos like Jay get away with Arty.”

“Noted. So, what brings you two into town?” Dick settles in for some small talk. He’s got the time but maybe if he plays his cards right, he won’t be crashing into an empty bed tonight. It’s rare that someone gets him this interested this fast, but hopefully Jason won’t be like the others.

He has a tendency to be attracted to the wrong type, usually with questionable appreciation for the law. Wally and Tim both joke about his poor taste, but Dick only has to remind them that they’re both single and to shut up, that at least he gets laid on occasion. Stephanie doesn’t run a brothel, no sirree, but she doesn’t care (much) what her employees do in their off time.

“Like I said, we’re just passin’ through,” Jason replies easily as he sips at his beer. “Wanna try and get to Colorado Springs before the end of the month. Heard tell there’s gonna be some hirin’ down there for some merchant trains and we could use the work.”

Before Dick can probe further, there’s a commotion over by the main entrance. Shouts ring out and Stephanie reaches under the bar for her shotgun.

“You assholes take it outside!” she shrieks loudly and pumps the shotgun for emphasis. “Now, before I blow someone’s hand off!”

Dick doesn’t even realize he’s stood and sits back down, but as he does, he catches sight of Jason lowering his jacket back over the gun on his belt. The stock on the revolver is inlaid with pearl. That’s an unusual sight and one that doesn’t exactly fit with the poor cowboy image the man is trying to portray.

Something isn’t right here.

He starts talking with Jason and Artemis again, casually flirting and enjoying the crap out of the blushes he gets from the other man. Soon enough, his hour is up and it’s time to get ready for his next show. As he stands, Dick runs a gloved hand over Jason’s lightly stubbled cheek. “Keep your eyes on me,” he whispers and leans in to plant a kiss where his hand just was. Jason looks startled, his deep blue eyes wide as he blushes again.

Artemis laughs raucously as Dick walks away, making sure to put an extra sway in his step.

Jason is seriously cute and Dick really wants to find out how far down his neck the man’s blush goes, but he’s still bothered by the sense that something is off about him. He’s halfway through the next set when he figures it out. Only years of performing keep him upright and in character.

The man sitting at the bar is the Red Hood.

Bruce had shown him the new wanted posters that arrived with this morning’s post. The sketch doesn’t do the man justice at all, especially since he always wears a red bandana over the lower half of his face and the brim of his black cowboy hat pulled low, but the sketch did mention his deep blue eyes.

Some additional information about him was passed along only to law enforcement, which Bruce shared with him as well. Like the pearl gripped revolver and the fact that his accomplice is suspected to be a woman. Dick remembers the poster for Artemis being even more vague as she wears a full wrap of faded red around her face and head, leaving only her eyes bare, probably to conceal her feminine features and that massive amount of red hair.

The pair are wanted in conjunction with over a dozen robberies in the last year. Almost no one is ever seriously hurt but one man was killed when he tried chasing after them. He’d been shot in the shoulder and the impact sent him flying off his horse where he then landed wrong and broke his neck. Accidental to be sure, but murder is murder.

Dick wants to groan in frustration as he kicks up his legs and dances around the stage. Why does this always happen to him? It’s like he’s one of those magnets that attracts trouble rather than iron shavings.

But he remembers Jason’s blush as he flirted with him and how sweet he is, even while telling Artemis off for ordering a third beer. This can’t be the same person that has a $500 reward for his capture.

Additional verification needs to be done first. After all, the sketches for the Red Hood Bandits are iffy at best.

It doesn’t take long for Dick to rejoin Jason and Artemis after his last performance. Stephanie drops off another beer for him, which he downs quickly. “Care to take a walk, Jay?” he asks with a wink. “I could use some fresh air.”

Artemis all but pushes Jason off his barstool. “You do too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Jason curses and mutters something that Dick doesn’t quite catch, but has his companion laughing uproariously as she slaps his hat on his head and shoves him towards the door.

Outside, the night air is cool against Dick’s flushed skin and he welcomes the change in temperature as he and Jason stroll down the wooden sidewalk. Jason’s heavy boots jingle slightly as they walk from his spurs. He awkwardly holds out his arm for Dick, who can’t help but laugh lightly at him. “I am a guy, you know. I just wear women’s clothing because it’s fun.”

“Well, my ma beat it inta me ta always offer my arm to a lady and since the one I travel with never wears a skirt…” Jason’s lips quirk in amusement.

“I accept then,” Dick replies and takes his arm. The man is taller than him but not by much. Warm too, but in a good way.

They stroll for a little ways before Jason speaks up again. “Ya know, wanderin’ off with strange men may not be the smartest thing for someone like you ta be doin’.”

Dick waves off the warning. “Thanks, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“That so?” In the faint light from the moon, Dick catches a glint in Jason’s eyes.

Challenge accepted.

Before Jason can react, Dick has him firmly pressed against a wall, out of sight of the street and one of his secreted knives pressed lightly against his throat. “I grew up in a circus,” he breathes into the other man’s throat. “Learned a few other things besides how to put on makeup, kick up my heels, and look fabulous in a dress.”

“I see that,” Jason replies carefully, not moving in the slightest against Dick’s body, which he thinks is a crying shame. “So what now? You gonna rob me?”

Dicks smiles into the warm skin and presses his lips firmly against Jason’s fluttering pulse. “I can think of one thing I want to steal from you.”

“What’s that?”

“This.” Dick slides the knife back into his skirt and presses even more against Jason, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. The man gasps into it, startled, but then lets out one of the sweetest moans he has ever had the privilege to hear.

Oh, good lord. If Jason is the Red Hood, boy is Dick ever screwed.

#chibinightowl writes #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #JayDick #Wild West AU

[sophiadevris-blog]

Nicki's Quinceanera

“Wake up, Nicki! It’s your birthday! Come have breakfast!” You open your eyes and see me standing in your bedroom doorway, grinning. “Yes, mama,” you answer sleepily, “I’m coming…” You throw back the pink satin comforter and purple bamboo sheets and roll out of bed. You grab your lavender terrycloth bathrobe and wrap it around you, shivering slightly, needing more warmth than your thin cotton pajama set can provide. A yawn escapes you as you walk slowly toward the kitchen and wafting scent of breakfast.

I am bustling around the kitchen, preparing a light breakfast for us. There is fruit cut up on the table along with your favorite yogurt and muffins. The thick aroma of my coffee warms you as you eat. “Well, sweetheart, are you excited? I know you’ve been looking forward to this for quite a while,” I ask, sipping my rich coffee. “Yes, mama,” you reply, smiling at me thru your hair, “very much! I hope it all goes like we’ve planned.” “It will be fine, darling! Now, eat up and go have a bath, and I’ll set out your things.”

You finish your breakfast, then climb back upstairs to your bathroom. You strip out of your robe and jammies, then spend a few minutes admiring your nubile body in the full-length mirror. Deep purple polish on your toes and fingers, long, shapely legs, narrow hips, just a little bit of plump to your belly, breasts filling in nicely, long brown silky fine hair, straight white smile, and gorgeous deep blue eyes… Satisfied, you step into the shower. Once you are washed throughly and rinsed off, you dry yourself, enjoying the steam from the shower and the feel of the soft towel over your softer skin.

You step out into your room where I have laid out your clothes for the day. There is a purple satin bra and matching panty and garter belt set, with sheer black thigh-high pantyhose. Your gorgeous deep purple dress hangs on the bar in your closet, and your matching ballet flats are at the foot of the bed. The heels that you will wear later wait in their box; I will help you into them at the ceremony. Your jewelry is boxed up as well, waiting for its own proper time.

You remember what I’ve told you, and start with your stockings and garter, fastening the stockings into the garter clips just as I’ve shown you. You step into your panties, pulling them up and smoothing them over your hips and ass, enjoying their texture against your skin. Your bra is next, and you are pleased with yourself for getting it clasped on the first try. You pause again to admire your lingerie, seeing a woman looking back at you from the mirror where so recently a child had been.

I step into your doorway then, and chuckle. You turn and see me, then smile and twirl, your hair flying out around you. “I love it, mama! I look so pretty!” I laugh happily and reply, “Yes, darling child, you do! Let me help you with your hair now, and then we can get you into your dress.”

You obediently sit down on the stool in front of your dresser, and I begin to comb your hair. I am firm but gentle and soon all of the kinks and tangles are worked out. Your hair gleams in the sunlight streaming in thru your window. I braid it neatly into a crown for you, mindful of where your tiara will sit later, then finish the rest of it in a braided coil sitting neatly at the back of your head. Several strands are left loose, curling sweetly at the nape of your neck.

“Now, darling, let’s get your dress on you!” You nod eagerly, and I take the bag off of your gown, letting the ruffles and petticoats flow free. You gasp, having forgotten how full the skirts were, and I grin. I undo the corset laces of the bodice, and arrange the dress so that you can safely step into it. You daintily put in first one foot, then the other, standing in a pool of deep purple satin. I gently bring it up around you and you shudder in pleasure at the feeling of the satin and tulle gliding over your stockings. You slide your arms thru the straps and I adjust the bodice around you, pulling everything into place. We are both giggling a bit now, out of sheer excitement. “Now, sweetie, hold on to your door frame, and I’ll lace you up!” You glide over to the door, and get a good grip. One by one, I pull the laces thru, tightening the corset as it molds to your body, accentuating your breasts. You are secure, fitted firmly and properly into your dress, and you are gorgeous.

I help you into your ballet flats, then grab your matching bolero jacket and help you into that, as well. You sit once more, and I apply light makeup to your eyes, bringing out their color even more. “Alright, little one, I believe you are ready. Do you feel ready, dearest?” You nod, “Yes, mama, but I’m nervous!” “That’s ok, sweetie, it’s completely normal. I’ll be there with you! Now, let’s get ourselves to the car so we won’t be late!” I have already dressed in my silver beaded gown and done my hair, so we head downstairs and grab our things, then head out to my silver Tessa S. I have started it ahead of time, so the seats are warmed and soft jazz is playing on the radio. I open the door for you and help you in, assisting you in arranging your skirts so that nothing gets caught in the door! I stow a bag in the back, then I come around and slip into the driver’s seat, and we are off.

The drive seems familiar to you, and you realize you’ve gone this way before. “Mama, aren’t we headed to the rec hall? I thought that’s where the party was!” I chuckle, “No sweetie, this is part of your birthday present! I have rented out the Manor for your party, the same place you had your last ball!” You squeal in delight, and soon you see the large building around a bend in the road. There are deep purple balloons decorating the wrought iron fences, and many cars parked in the lot already. We pull thru the gate and up the drive, and stop at the marble steps. A valet takes the keys and a footman takes the bag, and we glide up the steps to the front door. An impeccably dressed butler opens the door for us, and we step into the foyer.

Immediately inside the door, you are surrounded by your friends, your court. They are all so excited to see you in your fantastic dress, and wish you a happy birthday. The seven young gentlemen you chose are there, all dressed impeccably in matching green brocade vests and tuxedos. You greet them all by name: “Chris, Jake, Colin, Tobias, Pedro, Felix, and Oliver, thank you all for being here, being my chambelans!” They all smile at you and mutter appropriate words, but Tobias especially has that heat in his eyes when he sees you dressed like this, and you blush under his steady gaze. You turn and greet your ladies, “Lynn, Jen, Jessica, Kaylee, Lisa, Emily, and Barbara, thank you for being my damas. Your dresses are all so wonderful!” Again, giggles and pleasantries, but you notice Kaylee looking at you in much the same way that Tobias just did. You blush again, and file that away for future consideration. I step up then. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, do your best for Nicki today! The dance is just like we practiced, the space is a little larger, but I think you’ll like it. The MC’s name is Luther, and he’ll give you cues. All ready? Great!”

You hear a voice then, a deep bass rumble, calling out, “Please welcome the court of Nicki Joy Devris!” Familiar dance music starts, and two by two your friends file thru the doorway into the ballroom, falling easily into the moves you’ve all practiced for the past several weeks. As the last two dancers leave, we are briefly alone, and I kiss you firmly on the cheek. “Good luck!” The music slows, then pauses, and you hear Luther’s voice again: “Announcing Miss Nicole Joy Devris!”

Your feet carry you they the door and follow the steps of the dance, your mind whirling faster than your body. You dance flawlessly, passed from one friend to another, dancing with all of your court in a spectacular arrangement of choreography. The music crescendos and then ends with you and your court in tableau, all eyes on you. Your cheeks are flushed from the dance and everyone one there is clapping and laughing in excitement. The music fades slightly as everyone finds their seats. You struggle for a moment to regain your breath, as the corset is rather tight and you did not practice dancing in it. I step up behind you and offer you a cool glass of water, which you take gratefully. You hand me the glass back, and I give you one of your favorite dolls. You hold it gently and look at it fondly, but we planned this, too, and you know it’s part of the ceremony.

The music swells, then drops away, and Luther’s voice booms out again: “Miss Sofia Maria Devris and Miss Nicole Joy Devris!” The dance floor clears, and a slow waltz begins. I take your hand and lead you out to the floor, you still holding your doll. We curtsy to each other, then I take you in my arms and we dance close together, one last time as my little child. The waltz ends, and you turn to your younger cousin Daisy, and hand her the doll. She takes it, and curtsies to you. You smile at her, and music begins again, a more upbeat tempo. I lead you back to our table, where your chambelans wait. They have set a chair on the table and as we approach, they lift you up and set you on it like a throne. Everyone claps and there is a round of laughter. You stick out your feet from under your skirt, and I remove your flats. Tobias steps up with a box in his hands, grinning from ear to ear. I open the box and remove your new purple sparkly heels. Oohs and aahs come from the crowd when I hold them up, then slip them on your delicate feet, and buckle the straps around your ankles. Pedro and Oliver help you off the table and set you on your feet, and you wobble just a little for a moment, reaching out to me for support. I take your hand to steady you, and you blush sweetly.

Kaylee steps up beside you with a velvet pillow. On it are a gorgeous silver ring with a deep purple stone, and a stunning silver tiara with amethyst and crystal accents. I lift the tiara onto your head, setting it deftly around your braid and adjusting your hair pins to hold it in place. There is applause and cheers, and I slip the silver ring on your finger and kiss your cheek. I can’t help but cry just a little as I help you on your journey to become a beautiful young woman.

The music picks up again, and Kaylee and Tobias each take one of your arms and swing you out onto the dance floor. They swing you around, passing you back and forth between them. As the music increases in tempo, you lose all thought but that of the dance, so you are surprised when the song ends and you are in Kaylee’s arms. Her face is just inches from yours and her light pink dress mingles with your deep purple. She takes your hands in hers and raises them to her lips, kissing your fingers. A round of cheers and applause follows, and you blush furiously. Tobias steps in behind you and twirls you around, then repeats the kiss to your fingers. Another round of applause washes over you. He smiles at Kaylee and you suddenly realize that they planned this out ahead of time. Back and forth between them you go, while the rest of your court dances around you, weaving graceful patterns together. You are aroused by their obvious desire for you, and just give in to the music and the evening.

You dance with your friends and some relatives, stopping here and there for a bite to eat or something to drink, until it is quite late in the evening. Most of your court has paid their respects and wished you happy birthday before heading out. Things are winding down, and finally only you and I and Tobias and Kaylee are left in the hall. You are exhausted, but thrilled with how the evening has gone. I look knowingly at the three young people in front of me, and I say, “Nicki, it’s time to go.” You smile, relieved I have made the decision for you, and turn to your friends. You all exchange hugs, and they lean in together and each kiss one of your cheeks. You blush furiously, and Tobias bows and Kaylee curtsies, then they both take their leave. We follow them out and our car is waiting. I help you in, arranging your skirts again, and as we drive home you rest your head on my shoulder. “Mama?” “Yes, Nicki?” “That was wonderful. Thank you.” “You’re welcome, Nicki. Happy Birthday!”