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birch88mcclure · 2 years

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Replica Bottega Veneta Handbags Archives

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wastelesscrafts · 3 years

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Hello! Your post on Visible Mending just crossed my Dash and I'm very interested in it! I can only really do basic hand sewing (Haven't tried to get fancy) and I ended up buying a pair of pants with manufactured holes in the knees. I don't like them but the pants are comfortable (And were decently expensive) Which might be the best way to mend away these holes with one of those tecniques?

I'm happy to hear my post on visible mending has inspired you!

Mending knee holes in pants:

There are multiple methods you could use to fix holes in the knees of pants, depending on the type of hole.

Simple rips:

If it's a simple rip (no missing fabric or damaged edges), you could use a ladder stitch to close the rip. You'll still see a line where the rip sat, but at least it'll be closed. If the look bothers you, you can always add some embroidery to hide the seam. You don't need amazing embroidery skills to do this: there's a lot you can do with a basic straight stitch or running stitch.

If you have a sewing machine and some fusible interfacing handy, you could also try this invisible denim repair method by Goheen Designs.

(Image source) [ID: a diagram showing how to do the ladder stitch. A threaded needle connects eight parallel points on two separate pieces of fabric. Text reads "Ladder Stitch. Squishicutedesigns.com.]

Holes:

If we're talking actual holes, as in missing or damaged fabric, a ladder stitch won't suffice. You'll need to add extra fabric to replace that's been lost.

Take a look at this tutorial by Wren Bird Arts on how to patch up a hole from the inside of your garment. She explains how to do this both by hand and by machine.

The only stitch you need to know to follow this tutorial by hand is the running stitch, although I would also recommend a blanket stitch or whipstitch to finish off your raw edges. By reinforcing these edges, you'll prevent the fabric from unravelling. This will make your mend last longer.

If you decide to use this method, you'll need to find fabric that matches your pants if you don't want to draw attention to your fix. You could also go the opposite route and use a contrasting fabric or even a bit of lace to make your mend a design element rather than just a fix.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of the crotch of a pair of blue jeans. Each side has a hole that's been mended: one by hand and one by sewing machine, as indicated by text and arrows.]

Sashiko, a type of traditional Japanese embroidery, is another method you could try. Check out this sashiko tutorial by Soluna Collective, or take a look at the links on sashiko in my visible mending post.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a hole in a pair of blue jeans that's been mended with sashiko: a geometric pattern of crosses sewn with white thread holds a patch of fabric in place.]

If you want to get really creative with patching, you could also make custom patches in any shape or fabric you want. Sew them on with a backstitch and finish off the edges with a whipstitch or blanket stitch.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a green fabric patch shaped like the Pokémon Oddish sewn onto a blue pants leg with the use of a backstitch and a blanket stitch.]

You also could try darning, which means weaving extra fabric over the hole. Tumblr-user Delicatefury does a great job at explaining how to do this. You'll need an embroidery hoop and embroidery floss (or something similar) for this. Darning can be tricky, so if you've never done it before, practice on fabric scraps first to get the hang of it before you start working on your pants.

(Image source) [ID: six photo's show the progress of a hole in a red piece of knitted fabric being darned with green thread. A needle first sews new warp threads across the hole with yarn, then weaves new weft threads over and under these warp threads.]

Conclusion:

There are plenty of ways to fix up holes at the knees of a pair of pants. Have fun with it!

If you're scared of putting that first stitch into your pants, remember that you probably won't really wear them anyway until you've fixed the thing that bothers you about them. So even if you mess up, you won't have lost much. Plus, most mends can be undone or covered up if you don't like the final result, so you can always start over. :)

If you're looking for inspiration, check out Pinterest or take a look at the following fixes:

(Image source) [ID: a patch of colourful darning on a piece of black denim fabric.]

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a hole in a pair of gray jeans that has been patched up and embroidered to look like a night sky with a dark cloud, white stars, and a crescent moon.]

(Image source) [ID: monster patches: holes in the knees of a pair of jeans have been patched up to look like monsters. The hole forms the mouth of the monster, with white felt teeth poking out. Two embroidered white crosses form the eyes of the monster.]

(Image source) [ID: a close-up of a hole in a pair of light blue jeans that has been patched up with a blue floral fabric. Blue flowers have been embroidered around the patch.]

(Image source) [ID: a pair of jeans that has been mended and embroidered at the knees with geometrical patterns in gold thread.]

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

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Who is Prince?

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 25: School Dance

Ao3

~~~~~~~~~~

Years ago, Marinette and her Mother, Diana Prince, moved to Paris for her mother’s work on a historical reconstruction, so she was enrolled in College DuPont. Within a year she became the top student but seeing as she was chosen to be Ladybug, and that she was on call for both young hero teams meant she missed a lot of school. Fortunately, they chalked it up to travels with her mom, as they both used that excuse as it was mostly truth. The school allowed her to do a majority of her schooling online so long as she came in for her exams and practicals.

It was in her ninth year that some one figured out that the quiet girl sitting in the back that disappears randomly was the ever elusive Marinette Prince, but since she just went as Mari and she rarely spoke to anyone it became normal for her. It wasn’t until an Italian exchange student confronted her with it.

“You are Marinette Prince, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You are a prodigy in the fashion industry!” The other girl commented with admiration.

“I am sometimes called that, yes.”

“Question, why does everyone in the school speak like you are an urban legend?”

“I don’t really know it might have to do with me being out often, or that I keep to myself, but I really don’t know.” She finished as she washed her hands.

“Why not just come out?”

Marinette just shrugged. “There is no need to.” She walked out of the bathroom.

- - -

The next few years Lila made it her mission to get Marinette into the spotlight.

Elect the girl to be class president.

She gets the seat but does the work independently, no one in the class any wiser.

Asks her to join them on a free day as a class.

She already has plans, or gets an emergency call, and can’t make it.

Signs her up for the student talent show.

She is out of the country, but she sends in her work for her classmates to model for her.

Everything she tried to get the girl the recognition she deserved was always a miraculous catastrophic failure.

But this this might just work.

“Alright class we need nominations for the Dance Court Royalty.” Miss Bustier cheerfully clapped from the front of the room.

“Oh, why don’t we nominate Adrien and Lila!” Rose shouted out excitedly. Most of the class murmured their agreement.

“You guys are so sweet, but I think maybe Marinette should be nominated instead.” Lila cooed her thanks. It’s not that she didn’t want to be nominated, she just didn’t do much. But she wasn’t blind to all the work the little blueinette put into their field trips, fundraisers, and dances.

“You want to nominate the girl who no one knows to be on the court. Why?” Alya asked from next to her.

This is something that she could not understand. She had been with this class for close to five years now and not one of them has put two and two together to get four yet. “Because if she wins, she’ll be forced to come out and we will finally know.” She did continue, “She works so hard as our president, her fundraisers, dances, and trips are always amazing. The only bad part is we don’t know her to thank her.” Lila reasoned. The class lapped up her reasoning and decidedly put down Marinette Prince and Adrien Agreste.

This has to get her to reveal herself. She has to be present to accept and she knows in advance and can’t plan her way out of this. An emergency could come up though. A small voice whispered in her head, but she ignored it.

- - -

Marinette couldn’t believe her luck; she was sitting in the back of the class when Lila supplied and nominated her. She didn’t have anything against the Italian. She was just confused why Lila was constantly and admittedly pushing her to come out to the class.

The fact that she was ahead in the polls just seemed to make her retreat further, but she would take this with grace.

She arrived at the dance in a pale silver blue dress that faded to a pale pink almost nude with long-sleeves and an illusion neckline. It was covered in a delicate embroidery of silver blossoms and branches. Gems are strategically placed to catch the light when she moved. The skirt wrapped around her and a slit ran up her right. A tule skirt trailed behind her, kitten heels in the same pale pink. Her hair draped in loose curls, over one shoulder. The dress

“You look stunning, Mari.” A voice spoke from next to her. She turned and there stood Adrien.

“You don’t look that bad yourself, Agreste.” Was her response, a small smile on her face.

“So, who is the lucky guy?”

“There is none.”

“Really?”

“Is it so surprising that a woman does not need a man to protect her?”

“That’s not… I mean… I didn’t.” He stammered.

Marinette walked away from the stammering blonde, hopefully he draws up his courage latter and comes and speaks with her.

After a while Miss Bustier took the stage. “Now to announce the King and Queen of the dance.” The entire student body turned towards her and paid rapt attention. “The crown for king goes to Adrien Agreste.” Adrien walked up to the stage and then he was crowned, light applause rang through the room. “Now for our queen, Marinette Prince.” She made her way up to the stage and was crowned as there was applause.

“FINALLY!!!!” a voice screamed out from the crowd; every head turned towards it. “it only took three years but FINALLY!!!!” Lila shouted from the crowd.

“Gurl, what are you talking about?” Alya asked breaking the tense silence.

“Mari is Marinette Prince; she is finally owning it.” She smiled ecstatically.

“Is this all you have wanted Lila?” Marinette asked from the stage.

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

“Well it seems your patience has been rewarded Lila.” The rest of the night went well, or as well as an Amazonian princess who wanted to be on a battlefield than dealing with teenagers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug@astoriaandroses @icerosecrystal @t1dwarrior-of-earth @moon5606 @zalladane

#maribat #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #ml marinette #lila rossi #Is this Lila redemption?

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 years

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Royal Rakshasa Guard (Aureus)

Relationship: Male Monster x Female Reader

Summary: Out and about when you weren’t supposed to be, you get caught by one of your favourite guards.

The Gilded Guard

One then two then three.

The blade swished and moved around you, whipping around your head, but the two of you were one and melding together. Like a leaf, it could sway and float in the air without disrupting those around it, one with a serene atmosphere. You had heard this before, but not intentionally.

Sweat built on your forehead, seeping into your hairline as you continued to keep in time with the beats of every hit: dodging and weaving as your opponent continued with their attacks. You were lucky for the helmet guarding your face for protection and recognition, the head of your King father’s military was relentless when it came to training rookies, and not once did he seem to slacken.

“Again,” his voice was strained from the possible exhaustion. “Up, on your feet—widen your stance, boy.”

“Sir.” You obeyed gruffly, your short posture seemed to help keep your balance for the most parts, but you found yourself constantly being thrown off your feet every so often. It was no wonder Aureus was the perfect fit to be your personal guard: protective, loyal and true, looking for the best of everyone around him but himself.

The sword in hand wasn’t as long and sweeping compared to his spear, easily able to knock you off and hit in places where you knew it would leave bruises. But for every hit meant it would be easy to shake off the fall. Get up, up before he strikes you whilst you’re still down.

His golden eyes seemed to mistakenly hold some pity for you, not as much as all the other times you had trained. To him, some lackey who was shorter and skinnier than all the other boys appeared out of nowhere, a wooden sword in hand and always wearing a helmet. The only thing he could see where your eyes: bright and eager, your small exterior attempted to hold some power when you spoke that one early morning in the training yard.

‘I require a shield and sword. Mornings before dawn for your lessons so you teach me to become a warrior.’

“Twist your arm more—turn into the strikes—yes, better. Again.” Your personal guard was as tall and lean as any other knight of a high rank: dressed in the shining armour that held no scratch nor scrape to the material, as clean and glistening as golden coins. His name held a fitting meaning.

Marvelling at his looks didn’t help you allow to concentrate, subsequently, the earth met your body as you crumpled to the ground with a grunt, squeezing the wind out your lungs. You attempted to get back up again, the soreness to your body didn’t help when all you wanted was a hot bath for your muscles, but Aureus dismissed you. “We finish for this morning, lad.”

“But I’m far from done,” you caught your breath, panting. “Do we not have another 5 minutes, Sir?”

The Rakshasa’s charisma grew on the broadness of his smile, his face relaxing with ease. “I must attend to the Princess, she will be up and ready for her sewing by now. I must leave, until tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You realised too late, your guard down. “Thank you, Sir. Until tomorrow.” You hurriedly bowed and took off the opposite way, hoping that Aureus didn’t say anything in question. The Rakshasa watched quietly, observing your retreating form as you scurried across the courtyard, opposite to where the barracks of where the recruits stayed. Sighing to himself, he collected the wooden swords and spears back up before making his way to where he needed to go.

Only now did the sun begin to reach the red mountains, kissing the amber sky and reaching towards the town in surrounding golds and oranges. The golden sands surrounding the town grew with life as people grew bustling with their businesses: royal guards swapping in patrol with those of the night-time shift, with the head of the guard greeting those he spotted.

The dusky hues were bold and bright across the empire of sands, glittering brightly like gemstones across the palace tiles, giving the name of the Ruby City a fitting name.

Aureus stretched as he made his way through the courtyard to your apartment, greeting the maids as he passed, approaching your door and knocking curtly. The small “come in!” from the inside brought him to open the large wooden door, greeting you was always a treat for his day.

You always somehow managed to be awake before he arrived: stretched like a cat in the sunlight by the window, calmly and quietly proceeding with your embroidery. What you were sewing was indistinct to Aureus, just from how crooked your stitches were.

“Good morning, Aureus,” you smiled to him earnestly, your cheeks flushed with morning glow. “Had a productive morning so far?”

“So far strenuous, but my morning has brightened by being in your presence.” He greeted, bowing dutifully. His golden armour shone even in the shade of your apartment. “His Grace has asked for your presence for breakfast.”

“Very well.” you hopped down and placed your things down, passing him slowly, almost dragging your body across as if you were in pain. Your knight was quick to notice something was wrong practically immediately, “Princess, are you well?”

“Yes, I just—didn’t sleep very well last night. I will need a bath for my muscles.” You corrected sincerely, though Aureus didn’t respond with your explanation. His ears flattened against his head, his expression drawn from the notion. It was interrupted when he felt you link arms with him. “Come now, let me greet my sisters.”

Your sisters Marguerite and Cassia had been ten-and-two and eight compared to you near to your adulthood. Though they had taken on the more devoted roles of court, they were better ladies compared to you. You would know they would be better rulers compared to you when the issue of the throne would one day come.

“Oh, looks who finally decided to join us,” Marguerite was the first to announce your arrival into the large dining hall, smiling when she spotted the Rakshasa behind you. “How was your morning, dear sister?”

“Swell,” you quipped, coming round to kiss your father on the cheek. “What is the agenda today, father?”

“Lords and their sons come from the west in hopes of joining kingdoms through marriage,” the emperor was small and kindly from his seat at the head of the table. “You and Marguerite will be there to welcome our guests, and I shall match you with suitable sons.”

Your smile dropped from your face and you silently took your seat, the middle sister being the one to voice her opinions as bitterly as you had been thinking. “I suppose I shall send off my freedom now. At least some people get their freedom now to defy the norms of society.”

“No-one is doing that,” you warned quickly. “We all have our duties as women and young girls. We do what father thinks is suitable for us.”

“Yes, suitable.”

You rose from the table, Aureus was quick to follow you out as you said your excuses of not being hungry, straining in the corset of your dress as you left. You didn’t need to say much to Aureus as you went back into your room, the Rakshasa hovering in the doorway. “Princess?”

“You are free for the rest of the day, Aureus,” you forced a smile, strained as you had been in your clothing. “I don’t think you would want to spend it with me.”

“Quite the contrary, Princess,” he couldn’t help the smile to adorn his features, dazzling teeth on show. “But if you wish for me to leave you be, I shall have someone stand outside your room.”

He bowed courteously, his smile radiant as he took his leave. He would leave you for the rest of the day, knowing that you wouldn’t need him for your studies and lessons, but lingering close by if anything were to happen. Though he knew of your duties that were required, he knew of the love so unrequited that it stung his chest whenever you were nearby. A protective love – perhaps at first – but he saw your drive and wants, your dreams and strength, something that made him swell with pride. Had you been able to marry whoever you wanted, he would’ve been hoping your heart would’ve felt the same for him, but he didn’t believe you felt that same way within your chest.

The next day came and he had left his post earlier than expected, leaving another guard to train the rookies as he had decided to go to your room in hopes of speaking to you about his… feelings. A heartfelt confession, perhaps? No—you could decline his feelings that same day, but there was no hope in trying.

He had reached your apartment with his legs carrying him quickly, knocking once, then twice at the door, loud enough for you to hear, and when he heard movement from the inside, he was left bewildered when the person he wasn’t expecting opened the door.

You were there more ready than he had expected for the day, your hair tied in a neat knot, bare with little makeup on that you were required to wear at court. You seemed just as stunned to see him there, rigid in place with what you were wearing. Instead of wearing the normal heavy garments, you were dressed in boy’s trousers, a training doublet and breastplate were too bulky on you and hid your lithe figure, making you appear more boyish to what you normally wore. In your grip was the same helmet the boy he trained wore, tarnished and beaten with age.

You seemed to be outweighing whether to speak or close the door on him, your eyes shifting, “I can explain.”

“Oh,” Aureus piqued, a smile growing. “Knowing that you were the one that punched that boy’s tooth out makes this a whole lot better.”

“Please, Aureus. Don’t tell my father—if he were to hear of this-” your eyes were wide and frantic, but he was quick to step in and close the door so no soul could hear. “He will not be pleased if he finds out.”

“He doesn’t need to know, Princess,” the Rakshasa assured slowly, taking your hand into his, kneading your fingers carefully. “I will not tell a soul.”

You looked at your hands connected with awe, your eyes searching his own for something you didn’t know, but there seemed to be relief bubbling over the surface of your vague expression. “If there is one thing I must ask, would you continue doing something for me?”

“Continue what, Princess?”

“Continue training with me,” you hushed, squeezing at his paw. “I do not want to stop something like this with you. Even if I must cover my face, I do not want to lose this opportunity.”

Aureus’ laugh was full of mirth, gently bringing you to him in a reassuring hug, nudging you with his head. “Then this will not stop, my Princess.”

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hillbillyoracle · 4 years

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September Self Care Challenge

The last few months have been hell for me y'all and there's absolutely no sign of it letting up. The astrology for this year is pretty clear that it's only looking to get more intense between now and part way through next year so I'm trying to focus on ways I can better ride this wave out. I realized other people might appreciate these challenges that I've created for myself so I decided to share them with all of you. Please take what is useful and leave the rest. Try as much of it as you can or as you want. I will say it would probably help to use a journal throughout this process or a planner. Whichever works for you!

The Routines

Given the astro weather and what's going on in the world generally, now is a really good time to reexamine routines and solidify the helpful parts. I've been doing a lot of this lately and it's been really impactful.

So one part of this challenge involves creating both a morning and evening routine that has at least one of item of maintenance self care, kindness self care, and reflection self care. Expression self care too if you can manage it.

So for instance maybe your AM routine would be:

Brush teeth + get dressed (maintenance)

Morning pages, TMS journaling, or a tarot challenge (reflection)

Make a nice cup of tea and read or listen to something (kindness)

And maybe your PM routine would be:

Brush teeth + wash face (maintenance)

Write about what happened that day (reflection)

Put on a diffuser and read of listen to something (kindness)

Try to stick to it more days than you don't and that's already a win.

I also like to anchor my routines around 123 and 321. In the morning, I like to write down

1 way I can give back to someone

2 things I want to get done

3 things I'm thankful for.

In the evening, I like to write down

3 things I accomplished

2 ways to improve

1 thing I'm proud of or thankful for

These could count as reflection if need be. I just find them really handy for starting off and finishing a day on a good note.

The Content

I've been feeling bombarded by content that stresses me out lately. I can tell it's been taking a toll on my health. As a disabled person, I've had watch so many people, including family, suddenly decide COVID wasn't worth worrying about while I remain in the same lockdown as ever because I haven't stopped being high risk. It can be really overwhelming seeing how little folks care.

But I was recently introduced to the idea that instead of trying to scroll through the news less, it was more productive to focus on what I want to do more of instead. So I've cut back to reading a news roundup around midday and then focusing on completing the following challenge.

Read 5 new books

Watch 5 new films or documentaries

Listen to 5 new podcasts

Listen to 5 new albums

Create 5 new works

When I say new, I mean new to you. I've found that novelty helps keep my mind from wondering which is helpful in these times.

What work is is ultimately up to you. For me it will be mostly writing and embroidery this month. Maybe some knitting or crocheting. For you it could be creating a new art piece, learning a new song, taking and editing 5 new photos - whatever would really engage you in a meaningful way.

The Prompts

These are designed so that you can pull cards for these, journal through them, or both. So please do however many of these are actually helpful to you and then don't sweat the rest. I wanted to include a tarot challenge as a way to help take care of one of the reflection categories for the routines and prompts deeper thinking on the theme.

1 T - What's been getting in your way lately? How can you get it out of your way or adapt to it?

2 W - What spell work would improve your life? What do you need to perform it?

3 T - What have you been wanting to learn more about? Where could you start?

4 F - What's would make you feel more confident in your body? How could you do that?

5 S - What's your biggest limitation you're facing? What can you learn from it?

6 S - What talent could you share with others more? Where could you start?

7 M - What's been bothering you around the house lately? What would lessen it?

8 T - What way to move your body would bring joy? What do you need to start?

9 W - What friend or community have you not reached out to in a while? How can you?

10 T - What spiritual practice brings you peace? What would you need to do it more?

11 F - What small change would feel luxurious? How can you implement it in your life?

12 S - What structures do you need to set up? How would they benefit you?

13 S - What way could you brag on yourself a little? Who would be proud to hear about it?

14 M - What food would make you feel more cozy? What do you need to be able to make it?

15 T - What is the biggest drain on your energy? How can you lessen or get rid of it?

16 W - What really needs said? Who needs to hear it?

17 T - What could you give someone to cheer them up? Who should you give it to?

18 F - How could you spend more time with beauty? Where should you look?

19 S - What should you cut back on? How would it benefit you?

20 S - What would make you more sovereign? How can you implement it?

21 M - What intuition have you not been listening to? What does it say?

22 T - What's a better way to deal with anger? Where can you learn more?

23 W - What charm could use refreshed or recast? What needs to be different?

24 T - What opportunity is presenting itself? How can you take it?

25 F - What could you revel in more? How can you make it happen?

26 S - What needs to be gotten rid of? Where's the place to dispose of it?

27 S - What's the dark side of your ego? How can you manage it better?

28 M - What would make your home more calming? How can you bring that in?

29 T - How are you when you're aggressive? What's a better way to get what you want?

30 W - What connection needs extra energy? How can you add to it?

Conclusion

I hope this helps folks. I know it's been helping me since I started doing it and I thought it would be nice to make it more of a community wide thing. So do that parts that speak to you and leave the parts you don't. But please tag me in your reflections, use hashtag #SeptemberSelfCareChallenge, and share your experiences. We're all going through some rough shit these days. Let's take care of ourselves at least a little each day.

#witchblr #witch #tarot #tarot challenge #september tarot challenge #self care

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gay-ghosts-committing-crimes · 3 years

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Two Best Friends Going to the Thrift Store!! (They Don’t Kiss)

AO3 link is here

Summary: Bobby and Flynn decide that watching people get their nails painted isn't fun, so they figure that shopping is the only answer.

Warnings: swearing and a sickening amount of platonic friendship

Words: 1,472

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant-blog-blog @real-smooth @juline-dizznee @it-tastes-like-lizard

Flynn groaned from where she lay sprawled out on Julie's bed.

"I'm bored," They complained, idly picking at the covers, "I'm too gay and adhd for this."

Bobby agreed from his spot on a beanbag. "Don't get me wrong, I love the vibes, and if anyone can pull off red nail polish, it's Reg, but watching nails get done? Not my version of a hot girl summer."

Julie rolled her eyes at them and continued painstakingly painting Reggie's thumbnail, making sure it was completely even before responding.

"First of all Flynn, don't pick at the blankets, your nails are still drying, second of all, Bobbin, you are literally nonbinary. You don't get a hot girl summer."

Bobby clutched dramatically at their chest, purposefully deepening his voice and pouting.

"Jules! The pain- who knew you were the gatekeeping girlboss of the Molina family? That's so transphobic." They paused, clearly waiting for someone to stand up for him. No one did.

"Fine, I see how it is. It's because I'm amab, isn't it? If Luke and Alex were here, they would let me have a hot girl summer."

Reggie piped up, "They probably wouldn't. Luke would be on Julie's side, and Alex would either agree with Willie, or if they weren't here, say something sarcastic about how you haven't earned a hot girl summer."

Bobby huffed, flipping over on the bean bag so he was basically upside down, and made a face at Reggie, who only smiled and shrugged, his cheeks lightly pink.

Flynn laughed but didn't disagree, and Bobby glared at them before flipping them off and haughtily crossing their arms. She only cackled more and he gave up, scoffing under his breath.

Julie hummed quietly under her breath as she worked, and Flynn made various noises to stim in an effort to not ruin her nails, but otherwise the small group fell quiet.

Finally Bobby couldn't handle the silence and pushed themself up, stretching and ruffling Reggie's hair before grabbing Flynn around the waist and lifting them up onto his shoulder, ignoring her protests about being careful of her nails, and heading for the door.

"Flynn and I will be back, we've got hot he/they and she/they shit to do." Flynn grumbled from where they were thrown over his shoulder, complaining about how they treated her like a rag doll, but didn't put up a fight to leaving. After all, she had been bored too.

"Alright half-pint, where to?" Bobby gingerly set her down once they made it outside, this time noticeably more careful about their nails, and she gave a nod of thanks.

"I'd pinch you for calling me that, but my nails are still drying," She glared disapprovingly at him, but they only gave a cheeky smile and started walking, leaving her to follow.

"I think there's a new thrift store we could check out; I've been meaning to get some nice platform shoes."

Bobby nodded in understanding and plucked at their black shirt, which they had cropped himself "I've been wanting a new crop top or two," They replied.

Flynn checked out their outfit and raised her eyebrows approvingly. Bobby was sporting his black crop top, a pair of red high-waisted cut-off shorts, and black combat boots with rainbow laces. Their hair was loose, and he had black winged eyeliner to finish off the look.

"You can't really go wrong with a crop top," She agreed, and he grinned in response.

"Thanks half-pint." They went to rub his knuckles on her head, but laughed and pulled away when they threatened him with being called a CisHet™.

"Hey hey!" He gestured placatingly as he laughed, "No need to be harsh!"

She rolled their eyes, but gave a soft smile and bumped their shoulders together.

They slung their arm over her shoulder and started walking again.

The thrift shop was mostly empty of people when the friends got there, but the selection was good and they both enjoyed searching the racks and showing off the random treasures they found tucked away, like a pair of boots that would have been a near perfect match of the combat boots Bobby was wearing, except for the fact that they were a beautiful floral pattern, and an adorable button up with sunflowers and bees that Flynn found between an atrocious neon orange jean jacket, and cute quarter-zip jacket with handmade embroidery on it.

Bobby paused their search for the Perfect Crop Top to hold a teal dress against his chest, and raised an eyebrow at Flynn.

"Well, what do you think? Figure this would convince Julie that I deserve my very own hot girl summer?"

Flynn snorted and shook her head, grabbing a garish purple dress with more frills than square inches, and handed it to him.

"Try this," They smirked, "You'd have the hottest girl summer of us all. Might even catch yourself a man in that outfit."

He stopped as if considering, and then regretfully shook their head, "I couldn't. There's only one person I'd want to catch, and I wouldn't want to make anyone feel bad by being the hottest in the group." He winked and bit his lip to make the fuck-boy face, to which Flynn responded by slugging them in the arm.

"Never, and I mean never, do that at me again, and also? I literally exist. I'm the hottest of the friend group. We all know this." She posed for a second and then turned back to the dresses, eyeing them up and down and smiled to themself.

"'Only one person'," They teased, partially pulling out a sequined pink dress and wrinkling their nose before glancing back at Bobby, "Please, you are head over HEELS for him. I'm surprised you haven't made a move yet honestly."

She grabbed a lavender sundress and held it up for his approval.

"Cute, I like it for you. And it's not "surprising" that I haven't made a move. I'm just... being patient. Besides little miss disaster lesbian, you haven't stopped pining over Carrie in years, and you haven't even asked her out once!! at least I've done more than that."

Flynn spun on him, "What?! You didn't tell me?!?!?"

"Wait wait wait, it wasn't anything big!" Bobby held up their hands and took a step back, "We were all up until like, four in the morning, and high on lack of sleep and all that, and I said we should all go on a double date. Luke pouted because he didn't want to go without Julie, and Alex was already asleep, so it was just me and Reggie.

"I guess now that I think about it, it was kind of a date? But like, a platonic one." They shrugged and turned back to searching the racks of clothes, but Flynn wouldn't let go of it so easily.

"So you're telling me you went on a date, with your crush, alone, and you think he doesn't like you back?! Are you fucking kidding me?? Oooh, pretty!"

They paused their rant momentarily when a cute pair of pants caught her eye, and she held them up to see how they looked. Flynn put them back and shook her head.

"Anyways, he's as much in love with you as you are with him. And. I'm getting these sunglasses because fuck you, that's why."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "I wasn't going to tell you not to, but aight. And he might like me back. It's not like-" They waved their hands vaguely, "- like Luke and Jules."

They were practically made for each other, and it was never a question about whether or not they liked each other back. They just. Did.

"With Reggie it's different. He's been through a lot Flynn, and I'd die alone a thousand times before hurting him. I just don't know if he feels the same about me."

They were both quiet for a bit, flipping through hangers and assorted shoes. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a thoughtful one, and Bobby was grateful that Flynn was able to tease and annoy, but ultimately listen and offer advice too. They were a good friend, and Bobby wouldn't trade it for the world.

After a while they went to check out, the cashier offering them a smile and polite goodbye when Flynn pushed open the door, warm air flowing around them as they began the walk back to Julie's house.

"Hey Bobbers?"

"Yeah half-pint?"

"I don't think the boys, or you, would ever let you come close to hurting Reggie. And by the way? He tooootally likes you back."

"Yeah?" He gave a grateful smile.

"Yeah."

"Thanks half-pint." They laughed when she flicked them, and pulled her into a hug before linking their arms and singing a song under his breath.

It was a good day to have friends like his.

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imaginingmultifandom · 3 years

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Ugly Sweaters (12 Days of Christmas)

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Fred Weasley questions how hard it can possibly be to knit Christmas sweaters like his mother does. A playful competition between him and you ensues, and neither of you want to lose this bet.

A/N: This is the Second Day of 12 Days of Christmas

Prompt → Ugly sweaters

It was quite early this morning at the Burrow, and you still felt rather sleepy as you sat at the table having breakfast with your boyfriend Fred. It was the day before Christmas, and it certainly wasn't time for any gifts yet. Still, Molly came over to you with a neatly wrapped gift in her hands as soon as she spotted you.

"Oh Y/N, I'm glad you're both awake already. I thought it would be good to give this to you early so you could wear it in this cold," She handed you the package with a smile, and you opened it gratefully.

"Thank you, Molly," You grinned whole-heartedly at the woman in front of you as soon as you had opened it, holding up the knitted sweater with your initial on it that she had just gifted you, "It's so beautiful. But you really shouldn't have-"

"You're welcome, dear." Molly interrupted you gently, "You're part of the family now, of course I made you one too."

"Thanks so much," You had only been in a relationship with Fred since the beginning of the year, so the fact that she already welcomed you into the family meant a lot to you, "I'm sure it must have been a lot of effort."

"It's really not, Mum uses a charm to knit most of these sweaters-" Fred interrupted your conversation rudely, munching on his breakfast in between words.

"I'm sure it's still a lot of work," You interjected, and Molly backed you up in front of her son.

"Fred Weasley- I don't think I've taught you to be this rude to your mother," She scolded him, but Fred only grinned at her, "If you think it's that easy, why don't you try and make them next Christmas? For the whole family, of course-"

"Why wait till next year?" Fred prompted, seemingly enjoying to scolding looks you were both giving him and wanting to tease you further, "I can make one today and still have a relaxing Christmas,"

"I'd like to see you try." Molly huffed at her son, and you grinned at his cockiness.

"I'm sure Y/N could, too." He added, "We could even make it a competition."

"Don't try and pull me into this," You rebutted, even though you were quite sure that it was already too late for your refusal. Fred always managed to pull you into his pranks and ideas, which was part of why you liked him so much.

"Come on darling, are you that scared to lose?" Fred smirked at you, knowing that he could count on your competitive streak.

"What would the competition even be?" You questioned, your curiosity taking over.

"We'll both try and knit a sweater, with or without magic," Your boyfriend explained, "And whoever's sweater looks better by this evening, that person wins. The loser has to do the dishes over the Christmas days."

"That's a huge bet," You figured, knowing how many dishes would pile up just today with how many people were here, especially with the holiday feast would prepare.

"That's why it's fun," Fred shrugged his shoulders, "I already know you can't resist a competition like this, darling,"

"Fine, I'm in." You grinned at him, "Let's do this."

"You two really are quite a match," Molly said after having observed this interaction, and walked towards the kitchen with a laugh, "Knitting needles and wool are in the cupboard over there," She pointed out, before returning to the stove and continuing to cook.

Both Fred and you got up at the same time, rushing over to the cupboard to be the first to start on their sweater.

"I've got no time to lose," Fred playfully lifted you up just as you opened the cupboard, turning you away from it and letting you down on the ground again just so he could be the first to grab some utensils.

"You're an arse," You teased him, but your loving tone made it clear you didn't mean that. You grabbed some needles and wool after him and made your way over to the couch so you could figure this all out. You had heard Hermione use a charm to knit some hats for house-elves once before and you tried your best to remember it.

Meanwhile, Fred sat down at the dinner table again. He had seen his mother knit these sweaters lots of times before, surely it couldn't be that hard?

Both of you took your time to try to remember the exact charm, all while making sure the other didn't eavesdrop on you to get a clue.

You quietly muttered what you thought were the right words to your knitting needles, but they didn't move at all.

"How's it going over there?" Fred's voice called over to you.

"Perfectly," You lied, sounding as self-assured as possible, "I'll be finished in no time, I'm sure."

"Same over here," Fred returned your words, all while his needles weren't moving either.

It took both of you a bit more time until you finally remembered the charm, and even then things didn't go smoothly.

Almost an hour later, as most of the others had begun to wake up too, you had at least managed to get the knitting needles to start the sweater. You wondered how it was going for Fred, but you didn't have to question that for long.

"What are you trying to do there?" George had woken up as well and you could hear his deep morning voice coming from where Fred was, even as you sat on the couch.

"I'm competing with Y/N. We're trying to each make a sweater by tonight and have the best one win," You could hear Fred explaining, and you tell from his tone of voice that he was concentrating intently.

"That doesn't look anything like a sweater," George commented, and you couldn't contain a quiet laugh, "In fact, that doesn't look like anything at all, Fred."

"I'm working on it," You could hear Fred answer, "Watch and learn, George."

You laughed again and then decided it would be best to go back to concentrating on your own work.

By the time Molly called everyone together for lunch, you had only managed to knit one arm. Nevertheless, as you sat down next to Fred to eat, you were making sure to sound triumphant.

"You were right, this really is easier than I thought," You teased him, and Fred simply smiled at you.

"Exactly," He rebutted, "I feel the same." You didn't believe him at all, you were sure he hadn't managed to get further than you with his sweater.

After lunch, you immediately went back to your spot to knit. The others only laughed and shook their heads at both of your competitiveness, finding your contest rather amusing.

George, Ron and Harry even volunteered to be judges on your sweaters this evening, and you happily accepted them.

As the evening arrived, and you had finally finished your work. You had only been interrupted by some snack breaks, and eventually by Fred who had sneaked up to you to steal some kisses. You had hurriedly hidden your sweater then and hoped he hadn't caught a glimpse of your progress.

After dinner, it was time for the judging. The Weasley Family and Harry all gathered in the living room, which was already beautifully decorated for the upcoming holiday.

You went out of the room and quickly pulled over your self-made sweater. It was falling apart at some seams and looked way messier than any knitted fabric you had ever seen. But, it was a completed sweater. Somehow, at least.

As you stepped into the living room, and the others made a point of cheering for you loudly. Fred stepped into the room after you, and you saw what he had made for the first time.

His sweater was only holding together very loosely, and there was only a huge hole on the right side where an arm should have been. Fred had simply shoved his arm through the hole, with no fabric covering it up.

On his chest, there seemed to be some embroidered letters, but you couldn't tell what they said even as you squinted your eyes at it. It was even messier than his usual handwriting.

"What in the bloody hell have you tried to write on there?" Ron asked his brother, while Harry and George were still laughing at the missing arm.

"Isn't it obvious?" Fred grinned, and swung his uncovered arm around your shoulders to pull you close, "It says: Y/N+Fred."

"God, that's so cheesy," You teased him, trying to cover how touched you were by his sweet gesture.

"Oh, I know you like it, darling." He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before letting go of you, turning around to reveal a drawn on heart on the back of his sweater that no one had noticed yet, "Even the judges have to admit that this is true fashion,"

Everyone laughed out loudly, and you felt your heart flutter at Fred's suaveness

"You don't even have a whole sweater," Harry laughed, "The embroidery's lovely, I suppose. But Y/N has my vote,"

"Good decision," You gave him a thumbs-up, and Fred mockingly huffed.

"I have to agree," Ron said, and George nodded as well, "Nice try, mate. But Y/N at least managed to make something that's wearable. She wins,"

"Thank you, thank you," You bowed down jokingly, "I'm honoured to win this contest,"

"Oh, come on," Fred remarked sarcastically, "You guys just don't have any taste. At least I showed my love with this sweater,"

"And it was very sweet," You turned to Fred, wrapping your arms around his torso, "But still, that doesn't change the fact that you'll be on dish duty all Christmas," You stuck your tongue out at him, and he rolled his eyes. He couldn't pretend to be mad for long though, and a grin quickly appeared on his face again.

You all shared another laugh at Fred's awful sweater and he joined in with some jokes about the practicality of a sweater with an armhole.

After the others had scattered around the house again, only Fred and you were left in the living room. You sat down on the couch and your boyfriend joined you, swinging his arms around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest.

"Just so you know, your sweater would have gotten my vote," You remarked gently, "The embroidery was a nice touch, I have to admit. It was quite romantic actually,"

"Only for you, love," Fred whispered and leaned down to kiss you softly.

Just as you wanted to kiss him back, he pulled away slightly so his lips were hovering over yours.

"You'll help me with the dishes, right?" He murmured against your mouth.

"Never." You teased and quickly closed the distance between your lips again to kiss him before he could have the chance to complain.

Of course, you ended up helping him, proudly wearing the sweater he had made. Turns out, a missing armhole really comes in handy when washing up.

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #imagine fred weasley #12 days of christmas #harry potter imagine #imagine harry potter #fred weasley

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its-f4nf4n-again · 2 years

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Sometimes it is hard to be patient with the process.

I have a lot of grand plans. The remnants of them can be found scattered around my house; the chandelier I made for the bathroom, but never installed. Greeting cards I bought because they reminded me of someone only to remain unsent, my well wishes unwished.

Bolts of fabric. A sewing machine. Itineraries thoroughly researched, but never executed. Books with pages marked halfway through.

This hoop.

I don’t think I’ve ever abandoned a hoop (though certainly there are some I should have; looking at you, White House embroidery project). But after unravelling an eye for the fourth time, I just decided I’d had enough.

(And the fabric is torn now, anyway, so what’s the use?)

I keep thinking back to 3-4 years ago when I was working as a full-time writer. Really loving what I did, even if creating content for doctor’s offices and med spas wasn’t really my number one dream, it was adjacent. And sustainable. Reliable work I thought I did well and made me more money than I needed to just survive (finally!).

And I think now of how I work two jobs and I’m going back to school just for the mental stimulation. For some direction.

It hurts to watch the people around me find so much success. To start families and private practices while I spin my wheels in the mud of my poor decision-making.

While I flounder blindly, searching for the thing I will be good at.

The thing that will give my life meaning, fulfillment.

But everything I try is just one more thing I cannot find my footing in. No matter how good my intentions, how true my desire to succeed. No matter how many tutorials I watch or classes I take or how hard I practice.

No matter how many times I reach out hoping to forge a connection.

Maybe I am just too exhausted by my state of being. Maybe this is the culmination of decades of insomnia, what is reaped from the sowing of rancid seeds.

But all the motivational textbooks in the world will tell you giving up is not an option.

So I keep trying. Keep coming up short.

And I know I should be grateful for the process, for the chance to test my mettle in new ways, to expand my understanding. To learn and grow.

But I am tired of growing. I want to be grown.

And sometimes I can’t help wishing I could just get to the end, already. Just find the space where I can exist as myself and feel like I finally belong. Am wanted. Am worthy.

I wish I could finish a fucking hoop and think, “Yeah, this is something I can do. Something I am good at.”

#shouting into the tumblr void #bnha manga spoilers #only like very sort of vaguely but just in case

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alloftheimaginesblog · 3 years

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You’re Never Helping Again (Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader)

Plot: A follow up to ‘Let Me Help’ in which it's made apparently clear that Indy definitely overestimated his ability to teach the gendered nuances of Victorian Medical practice or something. All your students demand that you never let him teach one of their lessons again, He pretends that it went effortlessly and was the best lesson he's ever taught.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

PART TWO OF ‘Let Me Help’

Part of my Secret’s Out Saga (Plus Size History Professor Reader x Indiana Jones) series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

For once in your life, you listened to Indy and you did exactly what he instructed you too. You never liked following rules, especially when it came to men and boyfriend’s rules but you knew that he was right. You were running yourself into the ground and you needed to let yourself up for air, even if it was a few hours of self care.

You’d been in Indy’s apartment many times before, you stayed over multiple times during the week, but you’d never been here alone. You’d never let yourself in with a key before, you’d never kicked off your shoes and hung up your jacket as though it were your apartment; you’d never even made yourself anything to eat here before, Indy always took care of that! It felt strange, extremely odd, that you were here in his apartment without him. It almost felt... exciting? He had said he was meaning to give you a key soon anyway... was this what it was like? A proper, long-term adult, serious relationship? You smiled to yourself as you explored his apartment, wanting to soak up everything whilst he wasn’t here. You’d never really had this before - never had anything this serious before. Men just never treated you the way he did. Men around here just weren’t... they weren’t like Indiana.

His living room was organised chaos. There was mess, like coffee cups lying on the table and on his desk and his jacket and shoes in a pile the end of the sofa, but the rest of it was organised chaos. Piles of papers stacked high and low, messy but organised. He had piles of essays to grade, dissertations to grade, books stacked, piles for his newest research papers; it was organised but it was chaos. His living room was exactly how you’d imagine it to be; brown and leather - that academia look. He had trophies and certificates on shelves, you smiled as you read over them, he was still young but my god, he had accomplished so much. He had replicas of artefacts on the walls and on the remaining shelves but as you looked, some of them looked a little too old and a little too perfect that you were sure it was the real thing. He never failed to surprise you.

You made your way to his bedroom, now this was your favourite part of his apartment. It was simple, not a lot in his bedroom. Four post brown wooden bed, messy bed (he was never one to make the bed in the mornings), wooden drawers and wardrobe. It was very basic but it was the little details that you loved. He had drapes around the bed, that usually remained tied up they were more for decoration, but he had told you the story of how he came to be in possession of them. When you glanced at them they just looked plain white with some dark embroidery but when you looked up close, you realised that it was writing all around the bottom of them. He’d told you that he’d been in India years ago and helped them get an artefact back and they’d given him these drapes which had ‘Indiana Jones; our hero’ in their native language all around it. You had laughed when he told you that, “Of course, you’re the only person I know that would have drapes singing your praises on them and get away with it.”

A photo in a frame was perched against his bedside cabinet. It was a picture of you, not you and Indy, no, just you. It was a picture of you reading a book whilst curled into his couch. It was a grainy photo, black and white and a little faded but he loved that picture. You’d never really liked it, the curls in your hair had come loose, your lipstick was all faded, your glasses were half way down your nose, you were in your pyjamas and could see all your lumps and bumps and yet, Indy loved it. You’d asked him why he loved it so much one day, he just smiled and said, “It’s just... you.” You placed the photo down before heading to his closet. You did have a bag of clothes here but who in their right mind would turn down the chance to steal one of his shirts?

You filled the bath and whilst you waited, you were reading his newest research paper. He had let you read the drafts but now, this was close to being the finished thing and you couldn’t help but want to read it. He never failed to amaze you with his academic talent, the knowledge that man had; the first hand experience this man had with so many cultures and artefacts, it blew you away every time. You’d finished reading just as the bath was ready, “Incredible,” you whispered as you stood to put it away back on his desk - you knew that if you kept it in the bathroom with you you’d somehow end up dropping it into the bath.

The bath was a perfect temperature, you were glad for it. Sometimes if a bath is too hot you get too stressed about trying not to lobster yourself that you don’t enjoy it and sometimes if you make it too cold... well, that’s just no fun, is it? You sunk into the warmth of the water, relishing in its soothing touches. You washed your hair, trying to detangle the mess of curls with your fingers as you let the soapy suds clean away all your worries.

Soon, you were out of the bath and padding around the kitchen trying to find something to eat. You’d put on one of Indy’s looser fitting shirts. It didn’t button over your stomach so you’d pulled on one of his stretchy t-shirts under it. You found leftovers in the fridge from the night before, homemade spaghetti and meatballs. You had been surprised when you found out that Indiana was a decent cook. You thought that with him being so busy teaching, writing and adventuring that he wouldn’t have a lot of time to cook for himself. Sure, he loved Chinese take out but he could whip up a decent meal.

It wasn’t long after you’d reheated the spaghetti that you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps. You poked your head out of the kitchen to see Indy taking his jacket off and taking his glasses off, “How you feeling?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen with you.

“A lot better,” you admitted, “thank you... Really, Indy, thank you.” He smiled bashfully as you thanked him, “I hope my students weren’t too wild for you.”

He shook his head, “One of the best lessons I’ve ever given actually,” he said quickly... too quickly.

“Yeah?” You asked with a frown, “cause it was going to be a pretty full on lesson about Victorian medical practice, that can get quite tricky especially when we bring gender into the equation-” He cut you off.

“You don’t think I could handle it?” Indy asked, unusually defensive.

“Of course you could, Indy,” you rolled your eyes, “I was merely saying that sometimes even I find teaching Victorian medical practice hard going, there’s just a lot and I know my students, I’ve trained them to question everything so that they know and understand every single detail.”

Indy raised his eyebrows, “Oh I know they question everything... Believe me, I know.” You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed eager to drop the subject and he’d already done so much for you today that you just shrugged and passed him a plate of spaghetti.

The rest of the night was spent with you going over the research you had and what you still didn’t have sources for. Indiana proved to be very helpful. He had hundreds of books, some in shelves, some scattered around, and he was able to find the sources and missing pieces of information that you needed. It didn’t take long until you had finished your first draft. You beamed as you put the pen on the desk, “I’m finished. I did it!” Indiana was right there beside you, giving you a kiss on the forehead, and singing your praises, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Indy,” you whispered as he congratulated you, “Thank you.”

It seemed a wise choice to take the rest of the night off after that. Yes, you were aware that you had papers to grade and dissertation drafts to sift through but you could get to them tomorrow. Tonight, Indy had better plans for you. He was going to help you relax with something a little more intimate and pleasurable than grading papers.

The next morning, you’d used some of your spare clothes that you left at Indy’s to get dressed and found him in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee waiting. You ate a small breakfast with him, talking about your lesson for the day, “You might want to go over yesterday’s lesson again with your class,” Indiana said nonchalantly, “Some of your students didn’t really fully understand and I ran out of time.”

You narrowed your eyes but nodded anyway. He didn’t know that your students would tell you exactly what happened yesterday so you let him believe that he was safe for a while longer.

You felt great. You felt like the weight had been lifted off of you shoulders and you were refreshed and well-rested. It just showed you how much having someone help you out benefited you. You couldn’t thank Indy enough, you just appreciated it so much; that he would help you out like that. His sweet gestures always made you feel like the luckiest woman alive.

With your lesson plans and papers in hand, you walked into your class to see all of your students already there, “Class doesn’t start for another forty five minutes!” You frowned, “What’s going on?”

“Thank god you’re back!” One of the girls, Sarah, said with a huff, “You are never letting Dr Jones teach us again!”

You put everything on your desk and sat in your chair, “Why?” You asked tentatively, “What happened?”

“He had no clue, Professor!” A boy at the back told you, “First twenty minutes started out strong but as soon as we started asking questions, he just rambled and could not figure anything out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they told you more about what really happened. Poor Indy. He had tried, he really had tried but he was just not prepared for the inquisitive nature of your students, “He was getting so annoyed that we asked so many questions,” another girl said, “after about an hour of his rambling, he eventually handed us out textbooks and told us to read in silence for the rest of the time.”

Wiping your eyes for the tears of laughter, you took a breath, “Well, Dr Jones really helped me out yesterday and he at least tried to teach you, that’s more than what some people would do. I apologise that I wasn’t here though.”

“Professor, please promise that he’ll never teach us again. Promise us.”

This started your hysterical laughter again, “I promise.”

You couldn’t wait to see Indiana at lunch. As always, he was waiting outside of your class to walk you to his where the two of you would eat lunch, “I went over everything again and they all seem to understand a lot better now,” you said, trying to not smile.

“Yeah?” He asked, clearing his throat, “Good.”

“They did tell me something about yesterday though,” you smirked as you walked into his classroom, “they never want you to teach again.”

And so, the jig was up, “They told you, huh?” You found yourself doubled over laughing as you recounted what they’d said to you, “Well, it’s not my fault they ask too many questions!” Indiana exclaimed, “Everything I said, they questioned!”

“Thank you for covering for me but you’re never helping me again.”

#indiana jones x plus size reader #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones one shot #Indiana Jones #plus size series #secrets out saga #secrets out #one shot #os #reader insert

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

Text

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s notes: Surprise, have a double update! Have another chapter of light-hearted dialogue and self-indulgent smut featuring my favorite song from one of my favorite bands. Lord knows these two deserve it because of what I have planned in future chapters.

I watch you taste it, I see your face, and I know I'm alive | you're shooting stars from the barrel of your eyes | it drives me crazy, just drives me wild

The next morning, the air is cold and crisp, and the sun barely provides any warmth as it kisses Takatora’s skin. Yamaneko is thankful for what little heat it provided her this morning, warming her ever so slightly. The rest was taken care of by the warm cup of coffee in her hand.

One of the Beach’s mechanics was busy checking the tires of the vintage four by four they’ll be using to grab supplies as the duo approached him. In the car is the girl that Yamaneko saw arriving with her father, whose face contorts into horror when she sees the two militants approaching.

“Tatta,” she calls out to her companion, panicking. “Militants!”

The young man, who seems like he’s around Yamaneko’s age, turns around and practically jumps, a look of unbridled panic on his face as the two approached him.

“Drive,” Yamaneko tells him, going right ahead and opening the door to the back of the car. The girl jumps off the back in a hurry, moving to the passenger seat in the front, nervously glancing at Tatta. The militants sat in the back.

The poor boy was shaking, clumsily pushing the key into the slot and turning it, the engine roaring to life.

“Um… where to?” Tatta asks the two of them. The girl next to him busied herself by looking outside the window, the sun imbuing her bronze skin with a golden hue and the breeze blowing through her shoulder-length hair.

“Shimokitazawa,” Yamaneko says mid-yawn. “Just drop us off there and you can go on with your supply run. Pick us up in the afternoon.”

“Got it,” he replies, stiff as a board in the driver’s seat.

Yamaneko notices their unease. Flicking her coffee stirrer towards the front, she laughs as the two flinches. “Relax. If we wanted to hurt you, we would’ve done it by now. We just want a ride, that’s all.”

The girl shifts in her seat and gives Yamaneko a nervous smile. “So, what are your names?”

“Just call me Yamaneko. He’s called Last Boss.”

“Your friend doesn’t talk much, does he?” the girl asks, each syllable spoken with caution. “I-I mean not like it’s a bad thing…”

The militant woman smirks, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah. He’s the quiet type. What about you two newbies? Care to introduce yourselves?”

The boy and the girl glance at each other, as if gauging who should go first. “I’m Kodai Tatta,” the boy answers, then the girl opens her mouth to talk. “Zia Hinata.”

“Zia, huh? Not a lot of Japanese girls have that name. Is one of your parents a foreigner?”

When Hinata doesn’t respond, Last Boss leans over and glares at her. She yelps, and takes a deep breath. “Y-yeah! My mother is Filipino,” she near-exclaims, pitch rising an octave or two.

Yamaneko puts a hand on Last Boss’ arm and laughs. “No need for that. She’s obviously just scared of us.”

She can practically hear the sigh of relief Hinata lets out from where she’s sitting when he withdraws.

“Saw you arrive a few days ago,” Yamaneko comments. “It looks like Niragi has taken an interest in you.”

The sharp exhale Hinata gives her says it all. “Yeah.”

“Word of advice? Niragi tries to break anyone who makes his cock hard. If he attempts to fuck you, just try to pretend that he doesn’t faze you. He thrives off of his victims’ fear.”

Tatta almost swerves into a barricade, and he exhales a few times while fixing the cap on his head, while Hinata presses a palm on her forehead. The boy with the cap gives his companion a nervous, concerned glance.

“Yeah, well, about that… I knew him before I ended up in this place. So, I doubt that will work,” Hinata mentions, nervously picking at the skin around her fingernails.

“He’s a bastard even back then, huh?”

“Actually, no. He was my upperclassman. I was his only friend in middle school. He was nothing like that back then… Now he’s, well, evil. And he won’t leave me alone. Supply runs with Tatta are my only escape.”

“Well, this is awkward,” Yamaneko comments, cringing and gulping the rest of her coffee. She tosses the cup, the wind carrying it away. “Thanks for confirming that he’s always been a loser though. Good luck getting that bastard off your back.”

The rest of the ride is filled with uncomfortable silence, with Yamaneko having given up on making small talk with the new citizens of the Beach. Perhaps it comes with her status as a militant. People were told to avoid them to avoid trouble after all, and she couldn’t blame Hinata being cautious around them after her experience with Niragi.

As they approached Shimokitazawa, Yamaneko’s sleepiness wears off entirely and a smile laden with nostalgia sweeps across her face. Quaint little shops of vintage clothes lined up in the streets, along with abandoned cafes, record stores, and bookstores. Even Last Boss’ interest seems piqued, eyes lively as they pass by the storefronts. Tatta takes in the sights as well, mouth open in wonder, and half of Hinata’s body is practically outside the window as she gawks at the colorful neighborhood, the street murals a welcome change from the half-naked bodies of the Beach.

They stopped outside a cafe, and the two militants hopped off. Tatta doesn’t drive off though, still impressed by this odd little neighborhood in the middle of the once-bustling Tokyo.

“Hey! Don’t you two have a supply run?” Yamaneko shouts playfully, while Last Boss is already wandering off to check the place out.

“Sorry! I got distracted,” Hinata shouts, then she pauses. “I wanted to do a mural in a place like this.”

“Then hurry up so you can do that later,” Yamaneko replies, one hand on her hip.

“Y-yeah! We’ll come back to pick you up from the same spot in the afternoon,” Hinata shouts back, and she ducks her head as she sits back down in the car. She looks to her companion, and whispers, “Let’s hurry. I wanna explore this place later, too.”

Tatta smiles at her, and drives away.

As the car speeds off, Yamaneko turns around and runs after her lover, who stopped in front of a bookstore. The female militant wraps an arm around his, and leans against his bicep. “You wanna check out this shop first?”

Takatora nods, and they enter the store together, the bell making a faint chiming sound as he pushes the door open. Books, manga, trinkets, and other items lined up on the shelves; an impulse-buyer’s worst temptation, and a book lover’s dream. Like a child let loose in a candy store, Yamaneko grabs a basket and starts to rifle through the assorted items.

“My sister told me about this neighborhood, you know,” she comments offhand as she continued looking through the items. “Aside from Harajuku, this is the other place I used to blow my allowance on.”

A small smile tugs at Takatora’s lips, watching as his lover adds knick-knacks and other clutter in her basket, and he turns to browse some books.

Some time later, Yamaneko comes behind him and buries her face on his back.

“Found anything you like?” she asks, and the taller militant turns around to face her, a few blank notebooks tucked under his arms, and a mountaineering encyclopedia in his hands. He folds the encyclopedia and holds it out for her to see, and he has a sheepish expression on his face. Yamaneko holds out her basket, and he drops the items in with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I didn’t know you’re into mountaineering,” she comments.

“Not really. Explorers. But I couldn’t find a book about them.”

“Oh? Who’s your favorite explorer?”

“Robert Edwin Peary,” Takatora responds, and Yamaneko smiles.

“Tell me about him.”

She listened to Takatora talk, trying to fight the huge smile from blooming on her lips as she heard him say anything more than a short sentence. As she listened to him talk about how Peary lost his toes to frostbite, she packed their items with care in a shopping bag, then they moved on to the next store.

They pass by a small sukajan store, and a cold breeze that sends chills up Yamaneko’s spine urges her to check it out. Various bomber jackets with beautiful, intricate embroidery hung from the shop walls, and she couldn’t help but admire the artistry in each stitch. A particular jacket caught her eye, a black one with a roaring tiger and peach blossoms embroidered on it.

She tiptoes to reach it, but her shorter stature prevents her from taking it, fingers barely brushing the hem of the jacket. Amused, Takatora extends his arm and takes it from the rack, and hands it to the shorter militant. After muttering an embarrassed “thank you”, Yamaneko puts on the jacket, and admires herself at the dirty mirror nearby.

“This jacket reminds me of you,” she says to her lover. He responded by pulling her close, silently asking for a kiss.

Yamaneko responds by tenderly pressing her lips onto his. Before he can taste her with his tongue, she pulls away and gives him a devious smirk with half-lidded eyes. “If we continue this, we would end up spending the day just fucking. There’s more places I want to see, c’mon.”

Looking at her with longing, Takatora relents, nodding. He follows her out of the store, and they pass by several shops and cafes before ending up in an antique shop by noon. He was taken aback when Yamaneko squealed, and she ran towards the glass storefront. There, she marvels at an antique sewing machine, eyes glittering with excitement.

“It’s a Singer,” she gasps, trying to contain her excitement. Pushing through the entrance, she rushes in and lets her hands wander over the black finish of the machine. Meanwhile, Takatora leans at the door, mouth tugging upward upon witnessing his lover’s excitement.

“We’re taking this back to the Beach. I don’t give a shit, I’m not leaving this here.”

“If that’s what you want, Yamaneko,” Takatora responds, walking over to ruffle her hair.

As she fusses over the machine, he explores the rest of the shop. Aside from the old typewriter that he decided he will be hauling back to the Beach too, an old instant camera on a dusty counter catches his eye. Long fingers gingerly pick up the Polaroid, and brushes the dust off of the item. Under the counter are boxes of old film, and he reads the instructions on the back.

The sound of a shutter breaks Yamaneko out of her trance, and she turns around to see her lover holding a Polaroid and a photograph, waiting for her image to show up on the paper. She grins and nudges him.

“Nice find,” she says.

Takatora aims the camera at her again, and Yamaneko smiles for him. Sweet. Inviting. One that she hasn’t given anyone in a long time.

As they wait for the photographs to develop, the wildcat saunters over to a vintage Sansui turntable, browsing the pre-loved vinyl records piled neatly beside it. Ranging from the 50s to the early 2010s, Yamaneko browsed through them, most of which are from UK and US musicians. Her English wasn’t the best, so she just picked what she thinks looked most interesting; a vinyl record whose cover had a white owl imposed on a black background as the album art.

Behind her, her tiger prowls, pressing himself against her back as she places the needle on the vinyl. He buries his face in her hair, taking in her scent, and his free hand roams her body, while the other still holds the Polaroid. Through his black pants, he’s already at half-mast, and Yamaneko giggles at her lover’s earnest desire to have her.

“It’s already noon. Those two will be back soon,” he whispers. “Can we do it here?”

She spins around, pulls him by his jacket, and plants a hard kiss on his mouth, restraint slipping away. The camera makes a light clatter as Takatora puts it down on the pile of records, both of his hands cupping his lover’s face as he kisses her deep, permission to taste her granted when she parts her mouth.

Reaching behind, Yamaneko undoes the strings of her top, which she pulls and tosses to the nearest surface. Spindly hands grab the soft mounds on her chest, squeezing hard enough to draw a whine from her. The wildcat throws her head back, and her lover swoops in to assault her neck with kisses as his fingers fondled her nipples.

Before he can lean down to suckle on them, Yamaneko kneels and undoes his belt, pulls his trousers down, and licks at the skin on his flat stomach. Damp and hot against her cheek, she rubs her face against his clothed cock, smiling impishly as she teases him and draws a rasp from his throat.

Deft fingers pull the rest of the fabric down and the tattooed militant’s cock springs out of his boxers, stiffening from all of his lover’s teasing. At a torturous pace, Yamaneko drags her tongue from the underside of his shaft all the way to the tip, encloses her lips around the head, and pulls back with a lewd pop. One of his hands grasps at her wild hair, holding on for dear life.

She looks at the camera from the corner of her eyes. “I have an idea,” she croons against the angry, blushing head of his cock. “Why don’t you go ahead and take more photos to remember me by?”

Her lover gulps, cock twitching from the request. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t,” Yamaneko hums, and gives his head one teasing lick.

Grabbing the camera again, Takatora could barely aim it properly as Yamaneko finally went ahead and took his whole length in her mouth, soft lips sliding against his shaft as she bobbed and twisted her head at every stroke. Small hands grasping his length, she opens her mouth to stick out her tongue, and presses it on the underside of his head, holding that position long enough to let him take a photo.

As soon as she hears a click, Yamaneko goes back to work, this time enclosing his balls with her warm, wet mouth as her hand stroked him, humming in delight as she drew a lengthier rasp from her tattooed lover, his head thrown back in bliss. Afterwards, her mouth goes back on his length, and she goes all the way to the base of his dick, doing her best not to choke. Yamaneko pauses so he can get a picture, looking at him with an inky, black tear running down her cheek.

The sight almost drove her tiger wild, who began to fuck her mouth hungrily, gaze searing as he watched his length disappear in her loving mouth. More tears start to stream down out of his lover’s eyes, which remains fixed on his, and wet, lewd sounds fill the shop, accompanied by her choked moans and the music blaring from the Sansui.

“So good… You make me feel so damn good,” Takatora whispers, breath rasping as he continued to violate her mouth.

Legs shaking, his breathing quickens as he comes closer to the end, and he presses Yamaneko’s face against his hips, grunting as he floods her mouth with his cum. Her throat constricted around him as she struggled to swallow the load, overflowing from the corner of her mouth, mixing with the creamy formula of her lipstick. Takatora pulls her head away from him, and predicting what follows, Yamaneko grabs her jacket and opens it wide, the fabric sliding off of her shoulders, letting the next spurt of his cum land on her face and breasts. Panting heavily as she gasped for air, she looked up to him, a satisfied smile on her open mouth, and she milked the rest of his come onto her tongue.

With an unstable hand, Takatora photographed all of those moments, letting the instant film fall to the ground. They’ll pick those up later.

For now, he picks up his lover and puts her on a nearby surface, a delicately-varnished, antique wooden table. Clumsily, he loads the Polaroid with another box of film, and takes more photographs. Makeup ruined, smiling, and naked from the waist up, she lies on the table to catch her breath, beads of cum dripping to the side of her breasts. He preserves the fleeting moment with another click of the camera, then he puts it down beside her. He kissed her skin and tasted himself in the process.

A warm tongue flicks on the wildcat’s hardened nipple, and she moans as Takatora toys with them, flicking them back and forth with a finger, swirling his tongue around it, then putting it in his mouth. The sucking motion makes her hips buck against him, her juices staining her underwear from her arousal.

Frantic and greedy, he pulls those away, and photographs her naked body. He dips two fingers in the entrance of her pussy, and the wildcat arches her back, a low moan rumbling from her throat, while her lover takes another shot, this time including her face, twisted from lust. Then, he gets to work, setting the camera aside once more, and shoving his face against her crotch.

Long fingers assaulted her hole, stroking at a sensitive spot, while his tongue played with her swollen clitoris, earning him a sustained moan. With his free arm, the tattooed militant takes one of his lover’s legs and hooks it over his shoulder, his cheek resting on her creamy thighs as he continued to fuck her with his hand.

Yamaneko cracks her eyes open, and sees their reflection on a mirror right across them. She picks up the Polaroid, her turn to capture the private moments between the two of them. Her lover's lips, stained with her juices, seal against her sensitive bud and she almost drops the camera from the way it made her feel, her legs quivering and toes curling from the sensation.

She swore she heard him chuckle against her with a near-sinister tone.

Just when she thought he couldn’t push her any further after that, he adds a third finger, and his pace turns brutal. Yamaneko’s hands scramble for purchase against the varnished, wooden surface, trying to find an edge she can cling to. A searing, almost painful pleasure builds in her core, which bursts and sets her on fire as a fourth finger fills her, the stretch pushing her over the edge.

White spots filled the wildcat’s vision as she came, crying and moaning as she rode his fingers. They pull out of her ruined pussy, a wet, sloppy mess staining the antique table, earning him a whine.

Yamaneko rolls over, panting and resting on her stomach, the sound of the shutter clicking again. Arching her back, she puts on a show for her lover, smiling as he used up the last of the film. She relaxes as he busies himself with loading the last box of film.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks her, a hand on her ass, gently squeezing the globe of muscle and fat. His cock, semi-hard again, rests between her buttocks.

“Yeah. Can we go slow at first?” Yamaneko replies, looking over her shoulder.

“Sure.”

With unexpected tenderness, he parts her legs, and tucks his cock inside her. He pulls her jacket down halfway, exposing her upper back, and he presses his lips on her skin, sucking at the back of her neck. This makes his wildcat arch her back, throwing her head back in desire. Her walls clench around him, which makes him harden further. His tongue traced circles on her shoulder as he started to rock his hips again.

Yamaneko moans his name as he clamps his mouth down on her good shoulder, the scrape of his teeth shooting pleasure down her spine.

Each thrust is torturous, deliberate. A staccato of gasps filled the space as the head of his cock kissed a sensitive spot deep inside her with each stroke, accompanying the music. Sucking hard on her neck, Takatora’s hand moves to her breasts, fondling them as he went on with his ministrations. One arm propping herself up, and another reaching for the Polaroid, Yamaneko takes a photograph of the tender moment through the mirror, and she sets the camera down, content in letting her lover take over and be in charge of their collective pleasure.

Takatora takes off her jacket, and his hand presses itself on the small of her back. Her tiger leans over to whisper, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Can we go faster now?”

“Please, go as fast or rough as you want,” she moans, looking up to him. She braces herself, grabbing the edges of the table for what’s coming. “Use me, Takatora.”

He smiles, and grabs her neck to push her head against his chest. Takatora gives her a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, their juices mixing together.

As soon as the kiss ended, she let out a strained moan as her lover bucks forward, sharp hips colliding with the soft flesh of her ass. Lewd sounds of flesh slapping together fills both of their ears as he fucked her forcefully, ruthlessly. Yamaneko’s holes quiver as Takatora repeatedly fills her, pussy squelching at each thrust, while his thumb hovers over her other entrance, teasing it, gathering the wetness from below and spreading it over the puckered hole.

“Should I put it in?” he rasps, and Yamaneko nods repeatedly, desperately.

“Fuck, yes, please!”

Grinning, panting, Takatora slides his dripping thumb in, and the tight ring of muscle constricts around it. The rest of his fingers grip her ass, pulling and pushing her against his cock. The action made Yamaneko throw her head back and scream as a wave of pleasure crashed through her body, the combined pressure of his cock and finger making her holes pulse simultaneously.

Another mind-numbing orgasm turns her limbs into jelly, and she sprawls on the desk. The aftershocks of her high milked the cum out of her lover’s cock, who grunts and gasps as he reaches his own release.

His thumb slides out of her first, then his member, and he lies on top of her, their sweat and other bodily fluids mingling together. He kisses his wildcat’s neck, covered with a film of salty sweat, and gently cups her face to press his lips against hers.

“Good?” Yamaneko asks, and he nods.

The taller militant’s weight leaves her, and she felt exposed. He retrieves her clothes, and she gets up to sit at the edge of the table. Helping her get dressed, Takatora gives her a small, bashful smile. “Good?” he asks her in return.

Yamaneko smiles back and nods, glancing tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies.

When their clothes are back where they should belong, the pair started picking up the scattered photographs from the floor. Everything looked scandalous, save for Yamaneko’s photograph where her back was turned from the camera, and the one where she smiles at him.

Takatora decides that those are his favorites, out of all of them.

As they went out of the store, they saw the four by four parked nearby. They didn’t even notice the other two coming back earlier.

Around the corner, Tatta and Hinata sit on the sidewalk, chatting amongst themselves, and behind them is a street mural with fresh paint. When Yamaneko approaches, the boy couldn’t look at the militant, his cap shadowing his face, and Hinata nervously glances at her, dried paint on her flushed cheeks.

“Ah, hey Yamaneko! Um, you two were busy, so Tatta and I just worked on this while waiting for you,” Hinata tries to say with a straight face. She fails. “Don’t worry we didn’t see much. We’re so sorry,” she continues, and both of them bow in apology.

So they did see them.

Yamaneko cackles at her scandalized expression. “What are you two, children? Your parents more or less did the same thing to make you. You’ll see even more of that action at the Beach in public. Get over it and help us load our stuff.”

Hinata clears her throat and nods, standing up and avoiding looking at her. Tatta follows suit, walking like he broke a leg, one hand covering the front of his shorts.

“Hell, you two might as well enjoy each other’s company too,” Yamaneko adds, shouting after them.

Without seeing their faces, she just knows the blush on their faces got deeper.

#Smut #nsft #alice in borderland #Imawa no Kuni no Alice #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #aib #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #kodai tatta #oc: zia hinata #fanfic: dormouse #fanfiction #character study

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.”

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #my art #my writing #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #katriona cassiopeia #andre egwu #bill weasley #badeea ali #orion you sneaksy bugger #definitely manipulating things to 'learn more about your enemy' and warm them up to you #so as to make connections you could use to do diplomacy later when the ruse is up #but at the same time...you sure are oddly comfortable with putting yourself in risky positions to interact with carey-bear ain't you >3 #iris's face claim is a brown-haired devore ledridge #I'll probably be drawing her at some point with andre -- GOD do I feel bad for this guy #as naive as he is about the cromwell family dynamic I think he already prefers carewyn's company to iris's #but honestly who wouldn't *snorts*

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