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slothfulpundering · 7 years ago

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Hey~

First, I wanna apologise for the lapse in activity but I will be working on catching up on the drawing projects I have planned/ said I'd do; I aim to have this done by late January.

Above is me (aka Lolz) and several alternative selves, this was inspired by @forgivemeimmasin ^w^ (Left to right we have: Undertale, Horrortale and Mobtale- then underneath- Underfell, UnderSwap and Monster self or Monster sona).

Ut: is basically just ‘me’, has poor sleeping routine either no sleep or too much sleep so they can often be found snoozing is bizarre places around the house or in weird positions (beware if attempting to move in a sleep hugger and cant sleep unless hugging something or someone). Also a nerd to the core and lover of puns~ Clumsy too, will sometimes trip over nothing.

Ht: (this self and uf self have my ‘bad’ traits amplified) sadly ended up in underground after jumping and stayed a long time with Toriel for a long while. Though after comforting tori after a bad episode- ends up offering to go and try to free her along with the other monster, if she wishes. Tori offers a soft look before suddenly turning violent- questioning if Lolz wishes to abandon too as her claws dig painfully into the others arms harshly as a desperate attempt to keep them close. Though Lolz shakes their head, enduring the pain, replying “ i only wanted to help”. (P.s. if you cant read my notes, it says “ripped sleeves off when they attempted to help heal a small monster’s wound”).

Mt: Typically acts in polite yet warm professional manner (and just like ut self) is often least suspected of doing something wrong (e.g. when I was in school a certain boy was teasing me- something that happened frequently- so eventually since I had a much shorter fuse back then ended up saying his names and when he turned, face planted a text book I thew... ironically it was the guy that the teacher ‘shouted’ at ^^’), Anyway Mt Lolz often relies on this as form of defence. they also has my habit of being able to move silently and scare people without meaning too (...sometimes). (P.s. the notes say “ ‘borrowed’ a certain skeletons hat“, within the triangle states “!!! Retreat Advised”, Lolz is asking “Excuse me, can you please repeat?” and the lower writing is referring to the gun they are ‘hiding’ a “1934 colt Fizgerald ‘fitz’ special”). On side note unlike most of alternative selves, they only have one ear piercing, while US has nose rather then ear piecing.

Uf: ended up leaving their ‘home’ and taking a walk to cool their head- not paying attention to where they are combined with their clumsiness... fell the underground. They have a pretty bad temper, with a fuse that can be pretty short though they are working on this. uf though is typically numb, often preferring to hide their emotions in public- especially crying! - often using anger as a crutch and has my pessimism increased and more lapses of low mood, plus isolating themselves from others as result of trust issues. Clumsy like Ut self, they are prone to injuring themselves, as shown by the plaster on their cheek, but often ignore the pain gained. Has pretty dark humour (shared with most of other selves though they hide it more) and surprising about of patience given their short fuse. (p.s. Like most of my alternative selves we’re not practically ‘girly’- as such at first opportunity attempted to self cut hair which Toriel had to fix- and is still a huge nerd in particular about chemistry, biology, psychology and the stars but not psychics something shared with all selves excluding US who is actually good with psychics, rather then chemistry though still loves space).

US: (swapped with close friend and house mate). The most ‘girly’ of the Lolz’ s and goes by L instead, though nicknamed Rapunzel by ‘me’ or the ‘Lolz personality’ of this au. Has most interest in in hair, make up and nails, along with being ‘most fashionable’ of the selves. Likes puns just not to extent of other selves, gets easily annoyed (most likely to confront someone) especially when her one pun sets of the ‘lolz personality’ or another several puns- sometimes ruining the thing they were watching. Also much more confident in flirting with opposite sex and is still a nerd. Most willingly active of all the above selves.

Monster self/ Monstersona: i’d likely be a Kitsune or a dragon, though given space and being prone trickster like traits i.e. love of word play (especially puns) / harmless pranks and mischievous nature, which several friends would agree too I thought it’d fit. Plus some have said despite how I look I often act older, which feels pretty kitsune-ish (and I'm a nerd for mythology:3 ) As Lolzstersona is showing i have quiet the sweet tooth ~

#Can you guess my soul colour?#;3 #feel free to ask for more #drawings or info #sorry for long post #I think that's everything... for now at least

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calacuspr · 4 years ago

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Calacus Weekly Hit & Miss – Lewes FC & Gordon Elliott

Every Monday we look at the best and worst communicators in the sports world from the previous week.

HIT – LEWES FC

Every year on International Women’s Day (IWD) we see organisations looking to align themselves with topics such as gender equality, female empowerment, and fighting bias.

The theme for IWD 2021 is #ChooseToChallenge, encouraging individuals and businesses to seek out and celebrate women’s achievements to help create an inclusive world.

While it’s easy to produce words on the importance of such issues, it’s the organisations that have proved they are committed to enforcing change that have the most credibility in this space.

East Sussex football club Lewes FC offer a perfect example after the fan-owned club promised equal investment, support and pay for their women’s and men’s teams in 2017. Four years on, Lewes are still the only club in Europe to have taken the stance.

This unique selling point has made Lewes an attractive employer to work for, with former England star Claire Rafferty joining the club as a non-executive director and Equal Playing Field co-founder Maggie Murphy taking on the role of general manager.

“For me, there wasn’t any other football club that I was interested in joining. It wasn’t really about football, it was about changing football,” Murphy explained in an interview with The Guardian.

“Joining the club, a little bit was about putting my money where my mouth was and to try and see if it’s possible to create a better type of club. Lewes had already done all the hard work, they’d already established the equality principle in 2017. So for me, this was like, well, let’s see where I can help to take it next.

“Football has so much potential to influence and impact culture. If we don’t engage with football as a vehicle for social change, we’ll get there, we’ll get wherever we’re trying to go, but we might just get there 10 years later than if we had used football as that vehicle first, because in this country it is so powerful.”

In December, Lewes benefited from a six-figure investment from fashion company Lyle & Scott, with the ground-breaking collaboration helping provide the club with funds for new players and enabling grassroots community outreach and the development of club facilities.

“The fact that they were willing to back us with such an investment in the middle of a pandemic was a huge validation for us of everything we’ve been putting into place for so many years.

“In the US, in the summer, fans were buying [National Women’s Soccer League sponsor] Budweiser to give to the Houston Dash players. Women’s football fans are very loyal to brands that back the product.”

Lewes FC offer a perfect example of an organisation benefiting from success that has stemmed from putting purpose at the heart of everything they do.

Results on the pitch have also improved with the team accruing more points in the 2020-21 season than in any previous campaign, however, it is the way that the club has communicated its core values and key messages in recent years that has really resonated with their audience.

A BBC Sport study recently revealed that the overwhelming majority of sports now offer equal winning prize money to men and women at the top level, but the biggest gap remains in football, and by some distance.

The hope is that other clubs will begin to follow the lead of Lewes and take action to provide female athletes with the same opportunities as their male counterparts, or as Rafferty commented: “I hope one day we don’t have to have special days and every single day is International Women’s Day.”

MISS – GORDON ELLIOTT

There is regular debate about the well-being of horses through their participation in horseracing and high-profile deaths at marquee racing events.

The British Horseracing Authority understandably goes to great lengths to underline its commitment to horse welfare and says: “Responsibility for the care of our animals rests with everyone in the sport. British horseracing is run by people with a deep love of horses.”

So the reputation of the entire sport has been rocked over the past week with photos emerging of three-time Grand National-winning trainer Gordon Elliott which showed him sitting on a dead horse.

Elliott did the right thing, making a statement on Twitter in which he explained the context for the image and promising to co-operate with The Irish Horseracing Regulatory Board (IHRB) investigation.

He said: “I apologise profoundly for any offence that this photo has caused. I can categorically state that the welfare of each and every horse under my care is paramount and has been central to the success that we have enjoyed.

While the way you react to a crisis often has a bearing on its longer-term consequences, it does not guarantee that those involved can come out unscathed.

The story has had devastating consequences with Elliott's yard sponsor eCOMM Merchant Solutions terminating their contract with the trainer.

Betfair also ended their sponsorship of Elliott last week, with a spokesperson for the firm saying: “While we recognise that Gordon deeply regrets and apologised unreservedly for his poor judgement his actions are completely at odds with the values of the Betfair brand and that of our employees. With that in mind, we have decided to discontinue our association with Gordon with immediate effect.”

Gigginstown House Stud, one of Ireland’s leading owners groups, said it will continue to support Elliott with joint-owner Michael O'Leary, backing the trainer despite his error

In a statement, O'Leary said: “The care and welfare of all our horses comes first with all our trainers. Sadly, from time to time our horses suffer injuries and/or fatalities and we expect all such cases to be treated with the care and attention they deserve.

“We accept that the photograph was a grievous but momentary lapse of judgement from Gordon, and not in keeping with our 15-year experience of his concern for and attention to the welfare of our horses. We all make mistakes, and what is important is that we learn from them and ensure we do not repeat them. We accept Gordon's profound, sincere and unreserved apology, and we will continue to support him and his team at Cullentra as they work to recover from this deeply regrettable incident.”

The story has taken on national importance, with Irish Sports Minister Jack Chambers admitting that Elliott should at least be barred from taking part at the Cheltenham racing festival in late March.

Mr Chambers said: “I think he needs to be held fully accountable. I think anyone who saw it was shocked by it and we need to uphold the highest animal welfare standards in Ireland.

“Any and every sanction should be on the table. It is important. We have a significant amount of equestrian activity in Ireland and we need to set a really high bar when it comes to welfare standards.”

The British Horseracing Authority said it was "appalled" by the image and banned Elliott from saddling runners in Britain while the investigation was undertaken.

Elliott was subsequently banned from racing by an IHRB hearing for 12 months with six suspended and was also ordered to pay costs of €15,000.

The IHRB stated: “We consider that a suspension of Mr Elliott’s training licence is merited. In all of the circumstances of this case, to reflect the seriousness of the offence and the damage to the Irish racing industry, to deter other offences of this nature and having taken into account the mitigating factors we have heard we consider the period should be 12 months however the last six months of this will be suspended.”

Elliott made another statement after the verdict and said that he “will carry the burden of my transgressions for the rest of my career,” adding: “I will never again disrespect a horse living or dead and I will not tolerate it in others.”

However that ban looked toothless at the weekend when it emerged that Elliott’s horses could run under another trainer, Denise Foster, with a tweet from the stables, later deleted, saying that “Gordon will be available to assist her as she requires.”

Animal Aid Horse Racing Consultant, Dene Stansall, admitted that the sport’s reputation had been hugely undermined by the verdict.

“Animal Aid’s dismay at this pathetically small level of punishment, follows the initial shock when the disgraceful images first appeared. The Board’s decision lacks integrity and backbone and has failed the horses who are the real victims of this industry. This shows that the industry cannot self-regulate horse welfare – there needs to be a separate and independent welfare regulator that can impose its own sanction on the industry and upon individuals within that.

“A key question which needed answering before the image emerged, and still does, is why are young horses dying in training. Morgan, whose lifeless body was treated with such contempt by Elliott, was just seven years old. He was a victim of racing, without a doubt.”

The sport suffered a further blow when a video of a jockey sitting on another dead horse was circulated on social media.

Rob James, who rode the Elliott-trained Milan Native to victory at the Cheltenham Festival last year, said he was “heartbroken by the damage” he had caused.

“To try defending my stupidity at the time would add further insult and hurt to the many loyal people that have supported me during my career. I have caused embarrassment to my employers, my family and most importantly the sport I love. I am heartbroken by the damage I have caused and will do my best to try and make amends to those hurt by my conduct.”

With horse welfare such a key issue, the actions of individuals can have a devastating effect on the wider reputation of the sport and it will take more than social media apologies to recover.

#Gordon Elliott #BHA #Rob James #Michael O'Leary #Denise Foster #IHRB #Cheltenham Festival #Lewes FC #International Women’s Day #gender equality #Claire Rafferty

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bewarethephantomoftheopera · 7 years ago

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“When The Wind Blows Some Buildings May Fall...”

“The Licensing Act 2003 is an Act to make provision about the regulation of the sale and supply of alcohol, the provision of entertainment and the provision of late night refreshment, about offences relating to alcohol and for connected purposes.” (The Licensing Act, 2003, p.10) Local authorities establish a licensing policy which shows how they make decisions based on applicants and individual decisions around licencing, this policy must be reviewed every five years. Within the Licencing Act there are 4 key objectives which have to be present within local policies, these are Prevention of Crime and Disorder, Prevention of Public Nuisance, Public Safety and Prevention of Children from Harm. (The Licensing Act, 2003, p.12) You must apply for license if you have a venue or event which includes activities such as; the sale by retail of alcohol, the supply of alcohol by or on behalf of a member of a club, the provision of late-night refreshment, the provision of regulated entertainment. However, in 2009 the 2003 Act was amended “to ensure that a sexual entertainment venue license is required or held…as such entertainment is expressly excluded from the definition of regulated entertainment found in the 2003 Act” (Home Office, 2010, p.10) nevertheless if the premises carry's out other licensable activities, as above, they will require a premises licence, club licence or temporary event notice. Put into practice, this means the majority of lap dancing venues and similar clubs will require both a Sexual Entertainment Licence and a Premises Licence. (ibid.)

The Windmill strip club in Soho, London faces closure after staging striptease shows since 1932 (86 years) (BBC News, 2018). The club is famous for not shutting its doors during the Blitz, and beginning the careers of stars such as Bruce Fosyth and Peter Sellers (Sheppard and Prynn, 2018), in 2005 Mrs Henderson Presents starring Judi Dench was released which is inspired by the story of The Windmill and where it began. (ibid.)

“The Nazi’s couldn’t close it…now the feminists have.” (Spillet, 2018). A women’s right group had reason to believe that The Windmill were breaching conditions placed within it’s license about performer/customer interaction, and felt the management were prostituting the dancers; the group hired former police officers as an inside eye to the establishment. (BBC News, 2018) After agreeing the former officer described his experience within the club, which showed strong links between the women’s rights groups declaration. (ibid.)

The investigators report states: “'I was approached by a dark-haired female who was wearing a see-through dressing gown and red bra, suspender belt, and knickers and high heeled shoes. She told me her name was Summer. I bought her a white wine and a Malibu and coke… she began her dance during which she removed all of her clothing until she was fully naked, as she performed she rubbed herself up and down my groin area.”

He continues: “I was approached by a tall Asian female…she was dressed in a black bra, knickers, stockings and a see-through short dressing gown, she asked for a glass of champagne which I bought her, we then had a conversation where she offered me a VIP dance for £160 where I could touch her. I agreed and we went back to the VIP lounge.” (Spillet, 2018)

The investigator also claims that out of the £160 the dancer paid the security guard £10 to ‘look the other way’. (BBC News, 2018)

Section 2.5.40 of Nudity, Striptease and Sex Related Entertainment under Conditions states: If nudity or partial nudity forms part of the entertainment (e.g. striptease, pole or lap dancing), or is part of the operation of the premises (e.g. topless or fetish bars and clubs), the Licensing Authority will attach conditions to any such premises licence it may grant to promote the licensing objectives. These will include conditions relating to the exclusion of persons under 18 at all times from premises where these activities take place; the prevention of views into the premises; prohibiting exterior advertising of the sex related entertainment at the premises; and the leafleting or touting for business. Conditions will be imposed requiring that all service is to seated customers; prohibiting the participation of customers in performances and on maintaining a minimum distance of one metre between performers and customers and between performers during performance. This is to ensure that it can be easily observed that no touching or other acts that would constitute disorder take place. There will also be conditions on the installation and operation of CCTV and retaining recordings of performances and on the employment of supervisors. The Licensing Authority may attach other conditions as appropriate. (City of Westminster, 2005, p.52)

From the investigators report The Windmill has breached several of the conditions, highlighted above, that have been put into place by the Westminster City Council within the terms of granting the venue a license; the venue was investigated by council officers and on the 4th of January there was a letter stating that there had “been a significant improvement…however, conditions are still being breached.” (Sheppard & Prynn, 2018)

The venue is currently owned by Daniel Owide, who ran it alongside his father who unfortunately died in December 2017. Owide wrote in a letter which apologised for the clubs failing: “I spent a lot of time caring for him and regrettably I acknowledge that I have diverted my attention from running the business during this challenging time. We have dismissed six dancers, suspended 10 dancers and sent dancers home during the night on 10 occasions. Any breach of the ‘no touching rule’ results in immediate dismissal. I am now confident the entire team are committed to ensuring our compliance and we will work tirelessly to ensure no future lapses.” (Sheppard & Prynn, 2018)

Big Country, the firm which runs the venue, applied to renew its licence for striptease, pole-dancing and table dancing from 9am to 5:30am daily except Sunday. On the 11th January the City Council decided that they would not be renewing the venues sexual entertainment license, Council leader Nickie Aiken said: “There is a thin line between seedy and bohemian, what was happening at this club — historic though it may be — crossed that line.” The chairman of the council’s licensing committee Angela Harvey also commented: “"After careful review of the evidence provided for and against the renewal of this sexual entertainment licence, Westminster City Council has decided not to renew this venue's licence. Serious breaches of licence conditions will not be tolerated in Westminster's licensed venues. We expect any business operating under a licence within our city, to do so in a safe and responsible way, ensuring protection of all those who come into contact with this form of entertainment."

The club has declined to comment on the City Council’s decision.

Personally, I feel there is blame on both halves. The above explains why The Windmill is in the wrong breaching elements of the conditions put into place, however I feel the council has some responsibility to do routine checks on establishments, one of the conditions above is ‘There will also be conditions on the installation and operation of CCTV and retaining recordings of performances and on the employment of supervisors.’ from this they are able to create a basic picture of what is happening inside venues. In this case a reflection on the CCTV by a licensing inspector showed that “excess of 50 per cent of the dances would reflect [licensing] breaches or cause for concern” in October alone. By putting into place regular inspections of CCTV or ‘mystery shopper’ like experiences, for example what the women’s right group initiated, gives the council and authorities a true representation of a club.

Bibliography:

BBC News (2018). Soho's historic Windmill strip club faces closure [Online]. Availble from: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-42647774 [Accessed 12 March 2018]

City of Westminster. (2005) CITY OF WESTMINSTER STATEMENT OF LICENSING POLICY [Online] Availible from: file:///C:/Users/User/AppData/Local/Packages/Microsoft.MicrosoftEdge_8wekyb3d8bbwe/TempState/Downloads/Licensing_policy_2005.pdf [Accessed 14 March 2018]

Home Office. (2010) Sexual Entertainment Venues Guidance for England and Wales [Online] Availble from: www.licensingresource.co.uk/sites/all/files/sex/sev_guidance.pdf [Accessed 14 March 2018]

Sheppard, O. & Prynn, J. (2018) Historic Soho lap-dancing club The Windmill Theatre faces closure after performers flout 'no touching' rules [Online]. Availble from: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/historic-soho-lapdancing-club-the-windmill-theatre-faces-closure-after-sting-finds-performers-flout-a3736546.html [Accessed 12 March 2018]

Spillet, R. (2018) The famous Windmill Theatre strip club in Soho could lose its licence over claims performers flouted 'no touching' rules [Online]. Available from: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5261787/Sohos-Windmill-Theatre-strip-club-loses-licence.html [Acessed 14 March 2018]

The Licensing Act. (2003) 2003 CHAPTER 17 [Online]. Availble from: https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2003/17/pdfs/ukpga_20030017_en.pdf [Accessed 13 March 2018]

#Mrs Henderson Presents #Judi Dench #The Windmill #Soho #London #Licensing Act 2003 #City of Westminster

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archieimagines · 7 years ago

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Dancing Barefoot in the Dark | George Weasley One Shot

requested by: idk, me? word count: 1430 words

He’d seen her leave the hall in tears.

The way she'd looked was burned into his mind. Even with her hair in a disarray, her makeup smudged and dress lopsided, he'd never seen anyone look such a picture of beauty.

It was late. He made an excuse to leave the Ball. His date didn't seem to mind - they never really clicked. Besides, he couldn't get that darned image out of his head.

In a slump, he made his way to the Gryffindor common room. He whipped his tie off and ran his fingers through his long, red hair, shaking it out of the style he'd attempted to tame it with.

His feet ached from the dancing, and he was exhausted from the general activity of living.

He thought back over the night. He and Fred had tried to slip gigglejuice into Snape's goblet of whatever, but it was a bad idea to target a potions master with that prank. Should've gone for Mad-Eye.

They'd swapped dates for a while, and were disappointed when neither of them noticed that they were dancing with someone entirely different. Girls were so disheartening.

Then he remembered her. She must've thought boys were the disheartening ones after the big show of... well, he didn't really know. But there was drama.

He made a point to trick someone into telling him what happened tomorrow.

He skipped up the last few stairs of the staircase, desperate to take his shoes off and hop into bed. He sang the password to the fat lady and waltzed inside, putting on a show for whoever was in the common room at the time.

Inside, he waltzed some more, until he realised it was empty.

...But he wanted to finish the dance, so that's what he did.

And then, he collapsed onto the sofa, flicking his shoes off and wiggling his toes at the fire. The room was dark, only lit by the firelight and the moon pouring through the window.

A voice.

"George?"

He blinked. "No, Fred."

"Fred?"

A face peeked around an armchair in the far corner of the room, cheeks stained with makeup tears.

He realised who it was, and decided he didn't want to pull a prank on her. Not right now, at least.

"No, I am George. Sorry."

"Why are you apologising?"

"I... I don't know? Let me be nice."

"A nice Weasley twin?" She scoffed, but he didn't miss her smile. "I don't think so."

He raised a brow, "Yeah, I guess not. You're the canary cream girl, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. I was coughing up feathers for a week."

He couldn't help a laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that. We're working on it."

"Don't worry about it. ...Do you mind if I have one?"

He gave her a funny look. "Why would you even-"

"For someone else?"

This ignited his interest. "Ohh, sure. Who's the lucky asshole?"

"McLaggen," she said, and George nodded. That's who she went with to the Yule Ball tonight. He'd seen them dancing once or twice. Well. His eyes kind of sought her out the whole night, but you know. He wasn't about to admit that to himself.

He reached into his back pocket, and found a warm, squished yellow sweet. He'd taken it to the Ball with him, just in case.

He held it up and examined it, "This one's been warmed up and squished by my bum. I can get you a new one if you'd-"

"No, that's okay, that's perfect," she rushed, at his side and squinting at the deadly treat in his hand, "A bum sweet is just about all he deserves." A devilish smile pulled at her lips, and George found his own smile widening at the sight of it. He sensed a kindred spirit. Or at least, someone that'd get him in trouble approximately five times a day.

The kind of mischief that her smile promised was exactly what he wanted.

He placed the sweet in her outstretched hand. "So," he tread carefully, "Do you need to talk about... why some humans are better as canaries?"

She laughed, a delicate tinkle that told him she understood what he was getting at. "Tactful, Weasley." He gave a small bow, and she continued, "McLaggen would be better as a canary because he’s a sucky human. And the bonus is that he wouldn't be able to talk. Really, the amount of rubbish he says is incredible. A lot of talent, there." She stopped, and from the bitterness in her voice, he could tell it wouldn't be wise to ask for more.

A silence fell over them like a fresh layer of snow. It was gentle, undisturbed, but a little sad. He looked at her, fiddling with the wrapper, lost in thought. Just as he was about to nudge her, share a joke or something, she sighed.

"I ruined my own night, you know."

He was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, I just feel a bit guilty. I was so looking forward to tonight and then I caused a scene and left before midnight." She laughed, but it was blue. "It's kind of a shame. But, oh well." She stood, her feet wobbling in her heels and her hair falling around her shoulders, canary cream in hand. "I guess I'll be heading to bed." She offered George a brilliant smile, and he was so taken by it that he almost forgot to smile back. "Thanks for this," she held up the sweet before her, gave a shy nod, and turned to go.

George sat there, listening to her heels clack against the floor. They were uneven sounds, and he was sure she tripped at one point, but he sat there and listened, the urge to do something laying just beneath the surface of his mind.

He stood and called her name. She turned towards him, expectant, and he found himself panicking as he looked for something to say. Then, an idea came to him as if a balloon had popped. "Shall we fix your ruined night?"

Her eyebrows knitted together and she took a step towards him. "What do you mean?"

He tried to keep his voice from shaking. "I mean, we could- we could you know, go back down to the hall. You could, you know, be my second date."

Her gentle laugh tickled his heart again. "That's really a lovely idea, George. But my feet are killing me and my makeup is everywhere. And I'm sure your feet must be sore, too," she nodded towards his feet, dressed in only socks.

His cheeks darkened. She had a point. "Well, yeah, you're right." He lapsed into silence again, and they stood there for a while until she went to go again.

"Or," he called, snagging her attention again, "We could dance, you know, here? No shoes, nice and comfy." He couldn't help the hopefulness slipping into his voice. He just wanted to dance with her, just once, in that dress with her hair a mess, her makeup questionable. It was like she was a painting. No one else could achieve this kind of broken beauty if they tried.

Her face lit up at his words. "In here?" He nodded. "But... there's no music."

George shrugged, pulled his socks off and held out a hand. "Do you want to dance or not?"

Her hand slipped into his and his heart swelled. He pulled her closer and knelt before her, undoing the buckles on her heels. It was fiddly, but he managed. "These cannot be comfortable."

"My feet have been crying since nine o clock," she chuckled, stepping out of the shoes with a sigh of relief.

Shoes aside, he cleared his throat and started to hum, not surprised when she was too busy laughing to actually take his outstretched hand. "Oh come on," he laughed, slipping his fingers between hers, "I'm trying my best here!"

Wiping a tear from her eye, a happy one, she said, "Yeah, I know, sorry. Okay, okay. Let's go," and rested a hand on his shoulder, the other placed lightly on his hand. He took her waist and pulled her close, his fingers resting delicately on the dip of her spinal cord, his palm snug against the curve of her waist.

Once again, he tried his best to hum, but found himself interrupting with a laugh every now and then, and then his voice breaking, and sounds coming out a lot more strangled than he intended. But still, he hummed, and they danced barefoot in the dark.

written by archie

#fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #one shot #george weasley #romance #yule ball #harry potter and the goblet of fire #read me #harry potter #weasley #weasley twins #new blog #written by archie

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mybeautifuldecay · 8 years ago

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Rent Re-Imagined. A One-Shot Fic.

Anonymous said: What if Jamie and Claire gave into their feelings before they married and murtuagh caught them...

...well, I hope this matches your vision, Anon.

Thanks to @outlandishchridhe as always for writing my grammar wrongs, you gem.

A tiny break in the university madness gave me a bit of a chance to write. If you’ve asked me for something, never fear...I am still going to honour them. Just when I have time to do them justice.

MWAH.

Slipping behind the largest trunk, Claire slunk closer to the debris at the base of the tree. She could hear Dougal and Jamie talking --animatedly. Jamie, it seemed, did not agree with his uncle on some matters pertaining to the earlier escapades with the locals and his eager need to tear the shirt from Jamie’s back at any God-given opportunity.

Claire didn’t blame him. Thinking about it made her blood boil and she had to grip the bark with some vigour in order to keep herself sat still and not go tearing down the hill towards Dougal herself.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head backwards, thinking instead of her own intimate matters. As much as she tried to force back the *affectionate* feelings that had begun to manifest themselves deep in her chest, the camaraderie she felt towards Jamie had bloomed. Claire found herself almost drawn to the Scot, her movements mimicking his in the strangest of ways. Her body was attuned to his.

How else had she found herself here? Close to him once more, eavesdropping on his conversation, not for the actual words, but just to be within close proximity of the man.

She was so consumed by these thoughts that she failed to notice Dougal stomp passed her, his long gait extended by his increased ire at his argumentative nephew. The crack of fallen branches pulled her from her reverie though, and she dipped lower, her shoulders hunching closer to the trunk in order to stay out of sight.

A distinct sound of gaelic curses rang out only moments later, causing Claire to jump a little. Turning onto her knees, she crawled over the roots and glanced down into the small valley beyond her hiding place.

Watching, she scrunched her eyes to see in the dark as Jamie, venting his frustration in the safest way possible, smacked his clenched fist against the closest tree. Claire, from where she knelt, could see the tense set of his shoulders as he pulled his arm back once more, his head falling forward as he pounded the rough bark.

His words, foreign to Claire’s ears, were almost unintelligible from this distance, and she climbed closer in order to get a better view. Arguing with herself, she decided it was best to let him get this pent up aggression out of his system before she showed herself.

“Ye can come out now,” Jamie spoke, his voice hushed as he turned a little. He could see her slumped behind the hillock, catching a brief movement out of the corner of his eye as he stood still facing away for the most part.

Standing and brushing herself off, Claire stumbled down the wee bank and brought herself to Jamie’s side.

Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers towards his blood-stained ones, not saying a word as she summoned his knuckles for inspection.

“You should be more careful, Mr MacTavish. You could easily pop the joint if you catch it wrong. Tree bark isn’t known for its gentle properties you know,” she teased as she turned his battered fingers over in her hand, examining the damage as carefully as she was able.

“Jamie, please mistress,” he whispered, nothing but humour in his tone, “...and trees are safe, Sassenach.”

Smiling, she tugged him over in the direction of the small fire he’d lit for himself and bid him to sit.

Pulling a small tin from her pocket, Claire reached for her small collection of medical supplies.

“Verra prepared, mistress Claire,” Jamie joked, quirking a brow at her stash. “Expecting to ha’ wounds to attend were ye?”

“Well,” Claire returned, too fast for Jamie to concoct a response, “if *you’re* involved --Jamie-- there is bound to be physicking required.”

That silenced him, and he kept his mouth shut whilst Claire finished off cleansing his cuts and bandaging them to avoid the filth of the road.

Though large, Jamie’s hands weren’t callused. Working as he did with heavy tools, Claire had assumed differently, but as she twisted and turned them about, ensuring her handiwork would stand the test of their arduous journey, she realised that they were incredibly soft and mostly free from scars.

She recalled that first day in the stables at Leoch and his tales of outlawry. It was hard to imagine, with him here now in front of her, that he was wanted for murder. Looking up at him, she could see the firelight glint in his aqua eyes, the red/yellow tint shining in his vivid irises.

He had a kind face and a gentle touch. Nothing about him suggested violence or danger.

Licking her lips, she shifted her bottom, her knees slipping further apart as she leaned closer.

Unaware of her subtle movements, Jamie had almost completely closed his eyes now. Lulled by her rhythmic ministrations, he’d chosen blissful ignorance ahead of actively contemplating what he might like to do with Claire.

Her skin glowed in the flames, the pale ivory of her flesh catching the dim flickers as it illuminated her from behind. She was something --otherworldly.

Cracking, the fire spat out a stray piece of ash as it sparked and settled once more, shocking Claire as she shimmied closer to Jamie in an attempt to stay away from the burning debris. The action brought them nose and nose, and Claire held her breath as she tilted her head to the right, sliding the tip of her nose along the bridge of his.

He smelt...intoxicating. Whisky and woodsmoke lined his skin, the calm puffs of his breath wafting over her lips as she held herself steady.

She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the moment she felt his tongue peek out from behind his lips, darting out to moisten his dry skin, she was lost. Leaning forwards she took his mouth against hers, sucking his upper lip between her teeth as they moved together unconsciously.

Claire didn’t recall turning, but before she could pull herself away and apologise for her rash actions, she was on her back in the leaves, her legs parted as Jamie angled himself as close to her as he could get, tugging his kilt out of the way in the process.

Too late, she realised, as she pulled her skirts up, wrapping her feet around Jamie’s knees and urging him forward with her body.

Gasping, she opened her eyes as bare skin came into contact with bare skin, her head unable to comprehend the actions that had led them here. Jamie’s brow was scrunched tight, his eyes clenched as he fought not to simply thrust his hips forward and end this subtle dance. Claire could see it in his face, how much he ached to let go, how much he wanted to twist his hips and sheath himself deep inside her, but something was holding him back.

“Y-you haven’t...have you?” Claire stammered, the dull thud of her heart audible in her ears as she spoke, “you’ve never lain with a woman before.”

Shaking his head vehemently, Jamie pursed his lips together and rolled his arse in time with Claire, her thighs tightening around his hips as he felt the telltale dampness coat him.

Gasping, Claire rocked herself closer still, angling herself into the right position for him to simply slide himself upwards…

She waited, her heart picking up pace as she tried to stay as motionless as possible.

“It’s alright, Jamie,” she coaxed, pushing her shoulders against the cold ground to lever her upwards as she kissed him softly, her tongue lingering on his lips as she relaxed once more, “I want this...I want *you*.”

Pushing himself inside her, Jamie moaned, his whole body trembling as his will broke, her words shattering the carefully built wall that had kept him from destroying Claire’s fragile reputation.

Unable to think, he let his body guide him. Claire’s hand roamed over his shirt-clad back and down until she’d pulled his kilt up further. The cold air slid along his exposed legs, causing his arse to clench as she took one naked cheek in each palm and directed him.

Digging her heels into the sodden earth beneath her, Claire let her legs fall open wider, her knees almost touching the ground as she met Jamie’s movements. Pushing her groin against his over and over again, grinding herself against him to create as much friction as possible.

With one final groan, Jamie juddered, tensed and flopped against Claire, his energy spent as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck.

Panting, Claire twined her legs with his as the tingling faded from her extremities.

Rendered insensible by the blinding lust that had just consumed them, both Claire and Jamie lapsed into unconsciousness, the chilly air unable to penetrate the heat their combined bodies had just created. Steam seemed to hang in the space around them as the fire dwindled, a fine mist encasing the now-sleeping lovers.

Coughing -- loudly -- Murtagh kicked Jamie’s filthy boots as he crossed his arms, his ire showing openly on his face.

“Ay! Laddie...wake up ye lazy dolt!”

Stunned by the sharp intonation of his godfather’s voice, Jamie hunched his shoulders to hide the shock he’d just received at being so rudely woken. Forgetting himself, his hands tightened on Claire’s shoulders, his sleep-hazed state making him feel as if she’d always been there, not remembering that she was a new addition to his nighttime routine.

Tugging the shawl around her half exposed shoulders, the colour drained from Claire’s face as the sudden realisation of her late night actions sunk in. Untangling herself from Jamie’s grasp, she sat up and slowly opened her eyes.

She prayed that only Murtagh stood before them, hoping beyond hope that she could convince the dour Scotsman to turn a blind eye to her less than reputable actions. But luck wasn’t on her side.

“I see our feral cat has some...impressionable skill at leading men astray,” Dougal muttered, his tone dripping with derision.

Claire could picture the look on his face without having to see it, but she was no coward. Opening her eyes fully, she rolled her shoulders back and clenched her teeth together to avoid saying something cutting in return.

Jamie remained silent too, his hands grappling to find hers as he rubbed some manner of warmth back into her digits, calming her as he did so.

“Uncle,” he began, an air of warning to his tone, “dinna go throwing insults around, aye?”

Scoffing, Dougal twisted the knife in his palm, using its sharp point to balance it precariously in the centre of his hand. “What else would ye have me call it,” he mocked, his eyes narrowing to slits as he began pacing in front of them.

Murtagh remained quiet now, his focus solely on Jamie as he tried to block out the view he’d had of the intimate moment between Jamie and Claire. Not meaning to catch them in the act, he’d come searching for his godson only moments after Claire had. Knowing the lad probably needed some alone time, he’d waited for just a wee bit longer than normal before heading off after him.

He’d had time to think as he’d clambered away from the scene, eager not to hear any more of their amorous activities. Desperate to keep the others in the rent party away, Murtagh had occupied the group with bawdy songs and whisky until most had passed out drunk.

Dougal, however, saw through the act. Noticing that Jamie hadn’t returned and that Claire had seemingly vanished, he’d bided his time before creeping off in search of the pair of them.

Finding them curled up, asleep by the fire he’d watched Jamie stoke earlier, a devious smile had lit his face and he’d snuck back off to contemplate his next move.

“Weel, tis of no matter,” Dougal continued, smirking as Jamie’s face turned a lurid red. Claire gulped loudly, her pulse throbbing painfully as her throat felt like it might close. She could tell from the devious look on Dougal’s face that this wouldn’t end well.

“No matter?” Jamie spat out, incensed by his uncle's games.

“Aye, my boy. Ye ken the way of it. If you canna keep yer legs closed there are consequences.”

“Don’t you dare--” Claire began, her embarrassment completely fizzling now. Replaced, instead, with white-hot burning rage.

“Och, I *dare*,” Dougal sneered, interrupting her diatribe, “mistress Beauchamp. If you canna contain yerselves, then you will have to be marrit. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire’s eyes widened, her heart stuttering in her chest as the words found purchase in the air around them.

Married?

No.

How could she…?

She was *already* married.

Jamie’s hand tightened on hers, the warmth of it silently soothing her frayed nerves.

“Married?” Murtagh whispered, echoing Claire’s unspoken sentiment. “Are ye mad, Dougal?”

“Am I…? No. I amne. We dinna ken fer sure, but he’s lain wi’ her now, she could be with child. It has been known. Do you wish her to be kent as a hoor, spoilt goods for anyone to take a wee keek at?” Dougal glowered, his advantage hard pressed to be beat.

Even Murtagh couldn’t disagree with his assessment of the situation.

“Married…” Claire murmured, her voice sending warm shivers down Jamie’s spine as he brought her closer to his side. The shuffling of the leaves around them made Claire blink as she turned to stare at her husband-to-be. “Jamie, I-”

“Hush, Sassenach,” he interjected, quashing her apology before she could voice it. “I promised I’d look out for you at Leoch, didn’t I?” he reminded her, his kind eyes holding hers as she nodded in reply. “And that hasne changed between here and there.”

Turning back to Dougal and Murtagh, Jamie clasped his hand around Claire’s back and brought them both to their feet. “Aye, uncle,” he agreed, holding his hand out as if to cement the *arrangement*, “but I have three conditions...if we’re t’ be wed.”

Laughing, Dougal shook his head, running his hand over the peak of his forehead, “T’would be easier to just kill ye both!” He jeered, a tiny hint of promise in his tone.

“That is as maybe,” Jamie returned, an equally dark hint to his voice as he gently drew patterns over Claire’s back, “but much harder to explain, wouldn’t you agree?”

Spitting a mouthful of saliva at his feet, Dougal blinked slowly and turned from the pair, stomping off once more in the direction of Rupert and the others.

Claire exhaled, her lungs pulsating from holding in the oxygen for so long. Leaning her head against Jamie’s shoulder she made to apologise once more, only finding herself incapable of speech, decided instead to forego it in favour of clenching his hand softly in hers.

Sensing her meaning, Jamie kept her close, turning them both in Murtagh’s direction as they awaited his reaction.

Quirking a bushy brow, Claire saw his lips twitch beneath his thick beard as he reached forward and smacked Jamie, his fingers catching Jamie’s thick curls, the smack echoing through the trees surrounding them.

“Foolish boy…” he spat, keeping his voice low as he went from anger to acceptance in two words, “it’s a dangerous game yer playing here. Ye ken well how changeable Dougal can be. How easy his moods slip from playful caution to deadly.”

Shrugging off Murtagh’s warning, Jamie sighed and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Then maybe it’s best if we’re wed quickly, aye?” He replied, walking himself and Claire in the direction of the camp.

Murtagh hovered behind them for just a moment, scratching his head as he watched the pair walk away, seeing the strange closeness they’d come to accept in just one short evening. “Aye,” he mumbled. “I guess ye had.”

“In a church!” Jamie yelled, his head turned towards Murtagh, a coy smile lighting his face, “afore a priest.”

#outlander #fanfiction #ficlet #Jamie X Claire #Claire canna wait AU #Rent Re-Imagined

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