#the poster was in an archival sleeve | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greyeyedmonster-18 · 6 months

Text

(found this in the archives/dust of my computer desktop and figured why not post it to tumblr. please enjoy this lily and sirius friendship dribble or whatever this is.)

A Good Nights Sleep

It was late November and the entirety of the Gryffindor house had celebrated a Quidditch win the night before, resulting in nothing other than a mess in the common room and a hoard of students nursing headaches and exhaustion. Lily Evans didn’t know who brought the alcohol (a seventh year perhaps), and she didn’t know what possessed her to drink it alongside Marlene (who was on a table by the end of the night), but she had, and she struggled to open her eyes the next morning.

She was tempted to go back to sleep, the curtains around the four poster bed shut entirely blocking out the rest of the world, and it was impossibly warm even with the cool early winter temperatures. Her head nestled against the pillows, making to grab the comforter and roll over to get some more sleep, but instead of a blanket, she grabbed an arm.

Instead of rolling over into another pillow, there was the unmistakable presence of another person in bed with her. Her eyes sprang open, no longer exhausted, her brain scrambling to remember what the hell happened last night.

You were drunk

Mary was in the room with someone.

You wanted to go sleep

Remus! You asked Remus for his bed!

Just until Mary finished and then you would go back to your room.

Lily tried to sit up, her brain connecting the dots and realizing this definitely wasn’t Remus. There was too much weight, too much hair. She kept wiggling in hopes of waking up the sleeping form of Sirius Black on top of her that was the culprit of the warmth she had woken up to. Any closer to Lily and they would’ve been a single person, his leg thrown across her hips, his face near her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her like an octopus. Sirius stirred briefly, not opening his eyes.

“Stop moving, McKinnon,” he mumbled, “Go back to sleep--”

“Not McKinnon,” hissed Lily, “Get off me, Black!” Sirius made a noise of confusion before sitting up rapidly, running a hand over his face and hair at the voice that was definitely not Marlene.

“Oh god, ah, shit,” Sirius said, his long black curls rumpled from the sleep. Lily would’ve found this less composed and less aloof version of Sirius endearing had it not been for the fact he had just been on top of her moments before. He moved off her rapidly, a rush of cold air hitting Lily’s body, Sirius staring wide-eyed at her trying to make sense of the situation.

Lily sat up as well, her hand reaching to her own hair that she was certain was a messy, red waves falling onto her shoulders chaotically, “What the hell are you--”

“Shhh,” Sirius gave her a look, his eyes widening as he put his hand over her mouth.

Lily was tempted to bite him, but she saw Sirius reach for his wand, casting a silencing charm around the bed before removing his hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked him

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he responded back, “This is my bed!”

“This is Remus’ bed.”

“No, it’s not,” Sirius said looking at her in utter confusion, “This is my bed, which is why I’m in it.”

“What do you mean it’s not Remus’ bed!”

“You’re not very bright in the morning, are you Evans?” asked Sirius, tiredly pressing the heel of one of his hands into his eyes before reaching to his wrist for a hair elastic to tie his hair back.

“All I know is that I was drunk and came up here because Mary was in my dorm doing merlin knows what and I thought I would be able to just nap in Remus’ bed until I was sober and figured it out but now I’m in here, with you, and thank god we’re both fully clothed.” Lily was still in the jeans and sweater she wore the night before, Sirius in a long-sleeve shirt and--, “Or I guess as clothed as you possibly can be.”

Sirius looked down at himself, closing his eyes and muttering something to himself in another language Lily didn’t understand as he realized he was in a pair of boxers, “I was drunk too,” he said as a means of explanation.

“I should hope so,” Lily said, her fingers tangling in her hair as she attempted to finger comb it, “Do you have an extra hair tie?” she asked,

“What?”

“I would really like to leave the dorm not looking like a bird built a home in my hair overnight,” she looked at him.

“Oh, right…” Sirius looked around briefly before sighing, taking his own hair down once again and handing it to Lily, “Just take that one, I’ll find another.”

“So what’s your excuse?”

“It’s my bed!”

“When I got in it, it was empty. So you saw me sleeping and just thought ``oh why don’t I go have a lie in with Lily?” she asked, “Really?”

“I was drunk and I didn’t pay much attention to who it was. Honestly, I thought it was Marlene, I dunno, I...didn’t look too hard.”

“Charming, Black.” Lily rolled her eyes. Sirius, for all the qualities that Lily found redeemable, had a reputation for being a bit of a...well, a bit of a...tease and a flirt and everything that followed that subsequently. According to Marlene and Remus, it wasn’t uncommon for Sirius to have guest’s in his bed, nor for him to be a guest in someone else's. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sirius separate from his friends after dinner to chat up a girl from Ravenclaw or a bloke from Hufflepuff. And now Lily was just another girl that Sirius Black had in his bed.

To her surprise though, Sirius actually looked slightly embarrassed by his explanation, rubbing the back of his neck slightly, “I was drunk and...I just saw big hair and obviously I passed out, so it’s...fine.”

“Yeah, this is fine,” Lily said dryly, gesturing to the two of them in Sirius’ bed. He was now farther away, his hair tossed to one side and the blanket on his bed pulled over his body as he sat with his knees drawn up, leaning against one of the posts.

“You didn’t see the bed just over there with all the bloody books?”

“I mean, maybe! This one was the neatest! Drunk Lily logically said it had to be Remus’.”

Sirius gave her a quiet lopsided grin, “Oh, Evans…” Sirius shook his head, “I’ll let you continue to think that. Be blinded by Moony’s good-boy image, prefect and all--”

“Exactly! Prefect’s make their beds.”

“Mhmm,” Sirius nodded sarcastically.

“Shove off. So I was wrong,” she said, “Now can you get me out of here?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Are we in agreement that this never happened?”

“What never happened?”

“Good girl,” he winked at her before moving to step outside his four poster, and Lily let out a breath. She wasn’t sure which part of the scenario was the most mortifying.

The fact that she had been drunk enough to crawl into someone else’s bed.

The fact that she thought Sirius’ bed was Remus’.

The fact that she had spent an entire night next to and sleeping with Sirius Black

The fact that she had woken up feeling warm and comfortable under Sirius’ bodyweight. As much as she wanted to get out and get back to her dorm, she was also tempted to lie back down in clean, soft sheets, still warm from where they had both been lying all night.

The fact that, shock factor aside, Lily didn’t actually mind waking up next to Sirius who gave her his hair tie off his own head and thought to put a silencing charm around the bed. She didn’t mind the arms that were around her, and hadn’t woken up at all throughout the night to realize her mistake. The fact that cuddling with Sirius Black had given her a great night's sleep.

The curtain to the four poster opened, and Sirius was standing there, in a pair of sweatpants and his hair tied back now.

“James is gone already, the other two are sleeping,” he whispered and inclined his head, towards the doorway. Lily stood up out of bed, already missing the heat from the covers, and stepped onto the hardwood, not even bothering to look for her shoes. Sirius opened the dormitory door for her

She pointed her finger up at him, “Never happened.” Sirius gave her an amused nod and Lily turned back around, rushing down the staircase to make it back to her dormitory before too much of Gryffindor started stirring.

After spending the remainder of Sunday after breakfast trying to restore the common room and wake-up just enough to do some studying for the day, Lily hardly bumped into Sirius at all. Aside from the table where he was more content to make conversation with their housemates and flirt with a Ravenclaw girl sitting behind him. Indeed they were both quite content to pretend it never happened at all, even if Lily hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sirius’ arms around her.

Sirius was a big bloke. He was tall and broad and had a loud laugh and took up physical and emotional space wherever he went. And not in a bad way. Though Lily would be one of the first to admit Sirius was arrogant as all hell and impulsive and lost just as many points for Gryffindor as he won them, she couldn’t deny that he made everyone feel at home.

She had seen him a few times talking with first years late at night in the common room, offering quiet words of comfort.

He didn’t blink when he loaned out his textbooks to younger years (the textbooks that Lily knew Sirius read front and back and made notes in the margins was, even if he pretended he didn’t). As much as space as Sirius took up, he tried his hardest to make room for everyone else to be the loudest and the brightest.

It shouldn’t have surprised Lily that this translated to the bedroom as well. Even though they had only literally slept together, given the size difference between her and Sirius, his body on hers should’ve been noticeable.

She should’ve felt crushed underneath the weight of someone twice her size but she didn’t. Lily hated sharing a bed. She liked having space for herself and loathed the nights her roommates insisted on sleepover’s in one bed. There had even been a night or two where she had left the company of a boy to go back to her own dorm to sleep alone. Lily Evans didn’t cuddle. She was not interested in the holding or someone else's body in her space while she slept.

Unless that someone was Sirius Black, which was annoying in about a thousand ways.

Monday morning, just after breakfast, she exited the Great Hall with her friends only to have someone grab her elbow from behind, pulling her backwards.

“What--”

“Got a second, Evans?” asked Sirius, tilting his head and grinning at her. He had pulled his dark hair back with a headband that day.

“We have class,” she looked up at him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, “Also, you don’t need to man-handle me to get my attention.”

“So much more fun though,” Sirius grinned, and Lily rolled her eyes.

“Class?”

“I know, I’ll be quick,” he said leaning against the wall and ducking his head down to catch her gaze better, “I...I know we said that it never happened but...I actually...thought it was bad form.”

“Which bit?”

“Oh, the...whole thing, really,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets. It was rare that Sirius dropped his cool exterior. It was rare that anyone, let alone Lily got to see Sirius for who he perhaps really was and not just who his reputation made him out to be, and who Sirius preferred the world to see. “I was drunk and I really did think you were McKinnon, that aside, I...don’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage or anything like that. I know it was probably alarming for you to...wake up with...me on top of you and uh then I was in my underwear, but I swear I didn’t..and...I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re apologizing?”

“Trying to.”

“You don’t...need to do that, Sirius,” she said looking up at him.

“But I do because I…” Sirius paused, “respect you and that...wasn’t exactly respectful yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Lily smiled softly, “But it’s really okay. I promise you.”

“And also that James is my best friend and this very much violated our code of ethics even if it was just...sleeping.”

“Of course.”

“And I...also don’t much like you thinking I just...launch myself into bed with anyone who happens to be in my bed already. I was drunk and I--”

“I thought you didn’t care what people thought.”

“I don’t. I care what you think.”

Lily was struck by the honesty of that comment, looking away from Sirius to a point on the wall, “It’s okay. I’m not...upset or mad. I know you weren’t taking advantage or anything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I...may have thrown a bigger fit than warranted,” she admitted and Sirius laughed, “Appreciate the apology though.”

“Alright?” he asked, catching her gaze again so Lily was forced to look into grey eyes that she had frequently heard about from whispers in the castle. Lily also couldn’t deny that Sirius Black was very good-looking, which just added insult to injury

“Alright.” she nodded, “Question for you?”

“Sure, Evans.”

“The people you do...share beds with...do they stay the night? Like that?”

“More or less.” Sirius admitted

“Because it’s no wonder there's a trail of broken hearts after you in these halls. Sleep with people like that, giving them the wrong idea… honestly Sirius, I can’t even be mad because I slept so bloody well.”

Sirius laughed, the two of them beginning to walk to class after Sirius pushed off the wall to stand up again, “I’m sure you’re a good shag, but if you’re going around letting people wake up next to you when you’re up in their entire business...that really seals the deal.”

“You slept well?”

“I did! It was horrifying. I can’t remember the last time I slept that well,” she told him and Sirius grinned, “Is that what you do? Do you like to cuddle?” she teased, raising her eyebrows playfully. But Sirius just shrugged, “You do?”

“It’s like….a reflex or something, I dunno. Sometimes James and I have sleepover’s and I do the same thing--”

“Of course you do.”

“Mostly I...just really hate sleeping alone. And...I think part of me thinks that I...can make people stay like that. If...I just lay on top of them, they can’t leave...and I don’t know, maybe they don’t want to go that way either.”

Lily turned her head slowly towards Sirius, “Did you just give me a real answer?”

“I did.”

“That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“You probably also weren’t expecting an apology.”

“No, I wasn’t….” she said in disbelief.

“There you are then,” he smiled at her slightly and Lily tried to prevent her face from giving her away the flurry of emotions inside her head.

She knew Sirius. She had seen the darker parts of him before, late at night in the common room when everyone else was sleeping, especially before school breaks. She had seen the way he sat up straight in class sometimes, paying such close attention that Lily knew it was to avoid talking with his friends.

She knew that past the facade of SIRIUS BLACK was just...Sirius. Who she liked a great deal. Who made her laugh, and who had thrown a punch at a Slytherin before he was even able to get the first syllable of mudblood out.

But even understanding all of that. She never understood the appeal, nor had the desire to date him. Sirius was just Sirius. Annoying, frustrating, unexpectedly generous and soft all wrapped together.

“I’m...going to need you to say something obnoxious so I can keep myself from falling in love with you, I think,” she said finally, and Sirius laughed, “I’m being serious. You’ll find me in that bed of yours tonight and I won’t even blame it on alcohol. Because how you’re talking and looking at me and...I slept well. So say something annoying to remind me that it’s you and I’ve absolutely no interest.”

Sirius laughed, running his hand through his hair as he thought, “Oh! How’d you do on the last transfiguration exam?”

“98. What about you?”

“105.”

“Are you kidding me, Black?” she asked, scowling and Sirius laughed. Lily made a noise of frustration briefly, remembering that Sirius Black was one of her biggest academic competitors across all subjects. Sirius had told her years ago it was mostly to keep his parent’s off his back. They had no control over the sorting, and if he didn’t want them involved, he needed to do well academically. She had thought that once Sirius was no longer living with them that his grades would start leveling out, but it hadn’t been the case. Sirius had received 10 OWL’s and still annoyed Lily to no end.

“How’d you do that?”

“Extra credit.”

“You said you didn’t answer extra credit questions because you didn’t need the credits!”

“Yeah, that was before McGonagoogles gave me detention for not applying myself in her class and lectured me for the duration of the detention.”

“That was your detention? A lecture?”

“While I alphabetized her bookshelf,” Sirius groused, “So, now I answer extra credit…”

“Unbelievable.” she said, shaking her head as they reached the door to history of magic. “Annoying. That definitely did it.”

“Good.” Sirius grinned and they separated, Sirius going to take his spot next to James on the bench and Lily by Marlene.

“What’d Black want?” she asked

“Don’t worry about it.”

Later that night, Lily and Remus had gone to the library, textbooks and chocolate in front of them as they waded through Herbology together. Remus had his palm on his forehead, bent over his notes, his eyes moving to Lily briefly.

“I think Sirius had a girl in our dorm a few nights ago…” he muttered, and Lily’s eyes went wide. Remus had been pining over Sirius since the latter part of fifth year. They had grown closer over the summer, since Sirius was no longer with his parents and spent the entirety of the summer break with James. It didn’t help matters that Sirius was well-liked and Remus was often witness to flirtations and hook-ups on the other boys behalf.

“What makes you say that?”

“His bed curtains were closed all the way,” he said, “He never closes them all the way unless he has company. I know Saturday was a party, but I don’t remember...seeing him with anyone.”

“Maybe he...just wanted privacy after drinking.”

“Sure.” Remus shrugged, “It’s just...nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s just...frustrating. It’s like his new self-destructive bender is shagging anything that moves--it’s like he came out of the closet just so he could have more options-- and he doesn’t even have the decency to do it, not in our dorm? With all of us there?”

“Remus,”

“I know, I know, I can’t be frustrated when I’m not exactly doing anything but…” Remus shook his head.

“It was me,” Lily said, looking up at the ceiling of the library.

“What?”

“I was the girl in Sirius’ bed on Saturday,” she told him, and Remus stared back, immediately going to pack his things up, “No, no, no, not like that. You remember I asked to sleep in your bed?”

“Vaguely?”

“I thought Sirius’ was yours because it was clean and made-up,” she said, “And I was drunk and it looked the most inviting. I didn’t get a chance to ask him but...does Sirius make his bed? Really?”

Remus smiled wryly, “He does. Every single day. He used to make all of ours, somedays still does, but we’ve...collectively had an intervention. Especially after he organized all of our sock drawers.”

“A...bed...making intervention,” Lily whispered, looking at Remus with mixture of horror and curiosity, “I have so many questions.”

“He cleans,” Remus offered, “Just...he cleans.” Lily couldn’t help but notice the way Remus ducked his head, concealing a smile. Concealing just how endearing he found this particular quality of Sirius’ to be.

“Anyway,” she said, “You...don’t need to get annoyed because it was just me. And uh, I don’t want to date him. And we just slept. I was drunk, he was drunk, fully clothed.”

“Oh…well, alright. Sorry about that. I should’ve told you which one was mine.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, “He...apologized to me after it all happened, and kind of explained it. And...honestly, Remus? I have never been held like that in my life, I was this close--” Lily held up her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, “to being repeat offender and--”

“What? I’m not hearing this.”

“Imagine being me now! I was conflicted all Sunday.”

“If this is a joke--”

“It’s not,” Lily laughed, putting her hand under her chin and staring at her best friend, “I wish I was kidding. But...I dunno, Remus. You spend more time with him and know him better than most people I would guess and...probably get to see what I saw yesterday and today when he apologized more often...like Sirius Black without the smoke and mirrors?”

Remus stilled and looked at her, “You can’t date him, that is a--”

“Oh, no, no. Absolutely not,” she clarified, “I suppose….I get it now. Why you would.”

“You...get it?”

“Besides the obvious...physical reasons,” Lily told him, “I get it now. I get...why you fancy him, why you want to date him, why...anything. I get it. Didn’t always before but...now.”

“Because he held you? God, this is my nightmare,” Remus grabbed Lily’s wand on the desk lightly, “Do me a favor and just shove this into my temple.”

Lily laughed, “I’m not going to do that. I just...think that...if I figured out all of this in, what? Twenty four hours? It’s not going to be long before someone else does and that someone else might have way less self-control and stubborn pride than me.”

“Are you suggesting I get drunk and sleep in his bed?”

“I mean...when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?”

#sirius black #lily evans #remus lupin #hes there too #i very much love a sirius and lily friendship #and i was pleased to find this #i think its like two years old at this point

79 notes · View notes

nyupreservation · 15 days

Text

Surveying Spain: Working with Spanish Civil War Posters at NYU Libraries

Hi, my name is Mia Lindenburg. I am a graduate student undergoing NYU’s Dual Degree program, where I will get an MA in literature and an MLIS. This semester, I have been working with NYU’s Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department, mentored by Lindsey Tyne (Conservation Librarian), Laura McCann (Director of Preservation), Weatherly Stephan (Head of Archival Collections Management), and Felix Esquivel (Collections Manager, Special Collections), to survey the Spanish Civil War Poster Collection (ALBA.GRAPHICS.001). This internship has helped me to prepare for a future career in special collections libraries, where I will be required to work with delicate material similar to what I see in this collection. I am very thankful for this opportunity and how it has allowed me to delve deeper into archival work with a hands-on approach.

In addition to working with the Preservation department, I have been lucky enough to work with the Archival Collections Management (ACM) and Special Collections departments, allowing me to see the different perspectives of handling a large and often complicated collection. This blog post will demonstrate the different ways in which these departments added to my learning experience and show some of the special facets of working with this collection in particular.

BUILDING THE DATABASE

Before I began surveying this collection, I had to create an infrastructure that would allow me to compile the data I would be collecting. I used the software AirTable to build this database. First, I had to move the data that had already been collected into my table. This came from Archives Space (AS), an archives information management software used by NYU Libraries. This had much of the preliminary data I would need to fact-check against in the survey, such as poster locations. After I had brought the AS data into the table, I created fields that would duplicate the AS fields but with the descriptor (survey) to show any differences. Additionally, I made new fields for things we might want to consider, such as condition and size.

UNIQUE POSTER FORMATS

“I tu? Que fas per la victoria?”

ALBA-ES 46, copy 4 “i tu?” (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

The first set of posters that I want to discuss is ALBA-ES 45 and 46, also known as the two sides of “I tu? Que fas per la victoria?” a Catalan poster depicting a bloody soldier advocating for his audience to participate in the war, to support the cause. This collection has many copies, encapsulated (meaning this poster is inside a protective mylar sleeve) and unencapsulated, of this poster. The copies pictured below interest me because they were particularly delicate. You can tell from the photos that they were split into pieces, making flipping the posters to inspect the back difficult. These will need a lot of conservation work, although they may not be an immediate priority since so many copies are in fine condition.

ALBA-ES 45, copy 4 “i tu?” (Photos by: M. Lindenburg)

“Allisteu-vos a les milicies antifeixistes”

The poster “Allisteu-vos a les milicies antifeixistes,” belongs to a series of posters collected at The Franklin Institute in Philadelphia as part of a circulating exhibit.

ALBA-ES 116, recto, “Allisteu-vos a les milicies antifeixistes” (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

These interest me because of how they were mounted for the exhibition. Rather than encapsulating the posters or leaving them untouched, this exhibitor chose to attach muslin across the back and use cardboard and grommets to hang them.

ALBA-ES 116, verso, “Allisteu-vos a les milicies antifeixistes” (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

Annual Xmas Eve Ball

Poster ALBA-US-15, uses a mounting technique commonly used with posters associated with the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade (VALB).

ALBA-US-15 (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

It is mounted on a paperboard, which makes it somewhat heavy and unwieldy when grouped in folders. Take note of the headline of Zero Mostel, which shows the support the VALB received, even from celebrities.

THE INSCRIBED NAMES & WHO THEY WERE

Archie Brown is a signature I’ve encountered a lot in this collection.

ALBA-ES-8 (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

Brown was born in 1911 in Sioux City, Iowa. He was brought into the world of labor activism at an early age. 1934, he was arrested at a Young Communist League (YCL) event in San Pedro. But he continued with his activism despite this. In 1937, Brown got tuned into the struggles in Spain, particularly after his brother was recruited to the International Brigade. In San Francisco, Brown was denied a passport because of his radical reputation. So, he went to New York City and stowed away on a ship to France, where he would travel to Spain. He joined the forces of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade and, even after the war, continued to fight as a soldier and an activist.

Archie Brown, 1982 (Photo by: R. Bermack). Image Source.

Harry Hakam is an interesting character, partially because of his frequent correspondence with other members of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade.

ALBA-ES-77 (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

Hakam was born in Brooklyn in 1913. In February 1937, he sailed to France, arriving in Spain in March of the same year. He served primarily as a battalion runner, returning to the US in 1938. However, it’s his correspondence that makes him shine. His collection marker (Hakam) is found on many posters that share others’ names, meaning he likely sent these posters back and forth between fellow members.

Harry Hakam. Image Source.

We don’t have as much information on Al Erdberg, but we do know from the Harry Hakam Papers (ALBA.046) and the fact that Erdberg shows up in the Hakam posters that they had correspondence. Erdberg was likely part of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade or a state-side supporter. This would be an interesting figure to research further.

ALBA-ES-30 (Photo by: M. Lindenburg)

REHOUSING

A big problem I encountered when surveying these posters was with the housing rather than the posters themselves. Often, I encountered groups of ten or more posters in a folder, making the folder heavy and difficult to move. Further, if these posters are in mylar encapsulation, they become even heavier. To remedy this, the posters need to be rehoused into sturdier folders. I began some of this work with Laura McCann this semester, and the rehousing of the posters will continue through the summer.

VELCRO STICKERS

Some of the posters I found had velcro stickers left on the mylar encapsulation. These are likely from previous exhibition techniques, where the posters were attached to a wall using velcro. However, this technique is now deemed problematic, so Lindsey Tyne and I used a process to remove these stickers. We used a hot iron to heat small metal spatulas, which we then used to melt the adhesive of the sticker and lift the velcro off. This is a delicate process, but we got into a rhythm and moved fairly quickly.

Mia removing velcro (Photo by: L. Tyne)

This collection has taught me many things. I have learned to be patient, think carefully, and always be on the lookout for new observations, among many other smaller skills. If I were asked to advise someone starting a similar project, I encourage them to take note of their natural rhythm so that they can figure out which order of surveying works best for them to maximize efficiency. I would also tell them not to be afraid of asking questions, even if it’s clarifying something they think you already know. This has been an incredible experience, and I feel so lucky to have been a part of this collection. Thank you for taking the time to read my post!

#nyulibraries #nyuspecialcollections #libraryconservation #paperconservation #librarypreservation #preservingthepast

24 notes · View notes

thinkingimages · 9 months

Text

Finsen's apparatus for concentrating the sun's rays, illustration from Medical Electricity and Light: An Elementary Textbook for Nurses (c 1910)

“You have this Edwardian nurse in leg-of-mutton sleeves and steampunk eyeglasses doing something very technical”, explains Natasha McEnroe, Curator of the Florence Nightingale Museum. We're looking at a photograph from around 1900 in the museum's The Kiss of Light exhibition. The nurse is outside using a large lens, known as Finsen's apparatus, to focus direct sunlight onto the face of a woman with lupus vulgaris. The treatment is far less simple than it seems—such nurses knew the risk of burning.

In the early 20th century, light therapy was a very popular treatment for various ailments including lupus vulgaris, scrofula, and rickets. It took a skilled technician to administer treatment, and they were almost exclusively women. McEnroe was enthusiastic about running this exhibition in the small, temporary space at the back of museum after being approached by historian Tania Woloshyn, who had uncovered the hidden history of these female technicians through her archival research. Together, Woloshyn and McEnroe designed the exhibition and excellent accompanying book.

Many British hospitals administered light therapy to patients, especially in the interwar years. Nurses appear in nearly every photograph of light therapy, whether intimately holding the face of a patient to ensure precise application of light, or entertaining small children who needed reassurance when facing the intimidating apparatus. Yet, McEnroe says, nurses are “totally missing” from medical discussion of the “powerfully bactericidal” effects of light therapy. But the exhibition displays show the all-female nursing team of the Light Department at the Royal London Hospital, who were “praised for their exacting standards and kindness towards patients”, or the staff at the South London Hospital for Women and Children, who were all women.

There is a retro futurism about many of these images. We move from Edwardian outfits to 20th-century posters of lurid orange babies and grinning, tanned mothers. Photographs document how light therapy moved away from health care and into the domestic sphere. The picture of the “Homesun” mercury vapour lamp from the 1930s reflects this shift towards light therapy in the home, to which medical professionals were vehemently opposed. There are accounts of people falling asleep in front of their lamps and being burnt, or even, as the exhibition book describes, “being electrocuted while using them in the bathroom”.

Health professionals took light therapy seriously from the early days of treatment, because they knew that overdoses could be damaging. But the public's view that “tanned skin” was a reflection of “health” was unstoppable, and “by the late 1920s”, explains McEnroe, “light therapy became conflated with general sunbathing in the public realm”. The museum is responsibly addressing present-day concerns about sun exposure and skin cancer in a series of public events, talks, and lectures, and the museum is also giving visitors Cancer Research UK leaflets about sun safety. It's interesting to note that next door at St Thomas' Hospital there is still a phototherapy department, used mainly for dermatology."

Hidden histories of light therapy

Kelley Swain

Published:August 22, 2015DOI:https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(15)61527-6

PlumX Metrics

#Hidden histories of light therapy #Kelley Swain #Medical Electricity and Light: An Elementary Textbook for Nurses #Medical Electricity and Light #Hospital Clinic #Medical photographs #Light #Light Therapy

28 notes · View notes

imasloid · 3 months

Text

SHINY COLORS FASHION ANALYSIS - ILLUMINATION STARS (PART ONE)

This is a project analyzing and taking a look at the fashion design and application in the multimedia series, The IDOLM@STER: Shiny Colors. This section is about the classic idol star and sky-themed unit of the series, illumination STARS! If you want to jump to a specific section, go here!

(This is a reprint of my thread on Twitter. I put it on Tumblr for easier reading and for archiving purposes. Enjoy!)

UNIT PROFILE

Members from left to right: Mano Sakuragi (櫻木真乃), Hiori Kazano (風野灯織), Meguru Hachimiya (八宮めぐる)

Official Description: A new generation idol unit formed by three girls carrying a small light. Although their radiance is still faint at the moment, while sometimes clashing and supporting each other, they will continue to journey towards the first-class star!

-----

UNIT COSTUME ANALYSIS

Foreword: This is the first thread I wrote, so it’s going to be a bit all over the place, but the later sections are much more organized and consistent… Nevertheless, thanks for reading!

The poster unit of Shiny Colors, illumination STARS is comprised of the red, blue, and yellow representatives of the branch. Like the other iM@S “traffic light” units, their costumes have of simple but classic idol elements as well as symbology representing their branch.

Using their costume “Sparkle Illumination,” I’ve shown some examples of classic idol elements and Shiny Colors symbology that are present in illumination STARS’s unit ensembles. These themes will be expanded on in their other costumes’ analyses later!

The third theme, “Individuality in Unity,” describes how their costumes, though similar in design, have minute changes in detail to show off the members’ unique personalities. As the members are the red/blue/yellow reps of Shiny, this theme is central to their dynamic as a unit.

Here their costumes “Siriusly Crown” and “Planetes Series” are showcasing the theme “Individuality in Unity.” The variation in details can be seen in many idol costumes, but it’s very prevalent in iS’s costumes to symbolize their typical “red/blue/yellow” traits.

This isn’t to say that iS is a basic “red/blue/yellow” unit though. The members’ personalities deviate from the typical “red/blue/yellow” traits: Mano (introverted and shy), Hiori (self-conscious and emotionally charged), and Meguru (lonely and sensitive). But more on that later!

---

UNIT COSTUME #1 - Sparkle Illumination (スパークルイルミネーション)

“Sparkle Illumination” is iS’s main unit costume, and is the most representative of the unit, their core themes, and aestethic. The name references the branch name, Shiny Colors, as well as their unit name, illumination STARS.

Speaking of symbology, this costume shares a lot in common with the branch-wide main costume, “Beyond the Blue Sky.” Their shared elements (seen in picture) and them both being the first costumes you ever see in the game symbolize the first flight into the sky with the player.

Though the costume is mostly the same across all members, there are some minute differences in detail that show the individuality and personality of Mano, Hiori, and Meguru. As seen in the graphic, it is mainly in the sleeves and bottoms.

Bringing back this image from earlier, the classic idol elements, sky/space motifs, and color scheme of “Sparkle Illumination” represent their newness to the idol world as well as their (seemingly typical) desire to “illuminate” the idol world with their own unique color.

---

UNIT COSTUME #2 - Siriusly Crown (シリウスリークラウン)

“Siriusly Crown” is iS’s second unit costume, the first part of the name being a play on Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, & the word “seriously.” The costume represents Mano, Hiori, & Meguru earnestly chasing their dreams of becoming the brightest idols in the world.

As hinted by the name, this costume has a very heavy star motif. Their bottoms feature a pastel starry galaxy and gold stars adorn their bodies in their bows, armbands, and chains. The frills, bows, preppy tops, and soft pastels give the costume a softer edge.

Compared to “Sparkle Illumination” which focused more on classic idol elements & the “wing/sky” motif, Siriusly Crown leans in more into the “space” theming of their unit and shows more variation between their respective costumes. Both costumes have the same star armbands.

Though “Siriusly Crown” has the same color scheme throughout all the costumes, there are many detail variations that emphasize the individuality of each member. Mano’s is pure and fairytale-like, Hiori’s is classy and chic, and Meguru’s is sporty and bright.

This picture elaborates more on the variation in costume between Mano, Hiori, and Meguru and how it showcases their charm and unique personalities. For Siriusly Crown, the most difference is in their top and bottom styles which tells the viewer more about them visually.

Siriusly Crown’s design heavily references Mano as the center, leader, & the glue that holds the unit together. The majority of the costume is light pinks and lilacs (colors that Mano wears in later costumes), while dark blue and gold are accents, giving dimension to the costume.

Along with the color scheme, the symmetric detailing signals to the viewer that Mano is the center/leader of iS and is the unit’s core. Hiori/Meguru’s details having similar but opposite placements denotes their supporting of Mano, being an irreplaceable part of the team.

---

UNIT COSTUME #3: Twinkly Cheerful (トゥインクリーチアフル)

“Twinkly Cheerful” is illumination STARS’ third unit costume. “Twinkly” obviously refers to their unit name, & just like with Siriusly Crown, a very heavy star motif. This costume’s theme is joy in unity, holding hands to transform into idols magical-girl style, hence “cheerful.”

This costume shares many elements with past costumes “Sparkle Illumination” and “Siriusly Crown,” as seen in the graphic. It combines the classic idol costume feel of Sparkle Illumination with the heavy sky/space symbolism of Siriusly Crown with a “popstar” aesthetic.

Because the concept of this costume is “unity,” the costumes are mostly similar with small differences in the tops and the sleeves. Even their hairstyles are similar high ponytails. Mano is still identifiable as the center, but the costumes look much more unified.

Twinkly Cheerful leans heavy into the western “popstar” look with the starwing insignia, polkadot sheer fabric, furs, dual-color headbands, cropped top, & in-ear mic, reminiscent of a poppy girl group. In a way, they’ve transformed (see animation) into the idols of their dreams.

---

UNIT COSTUME #4: Planetes Series | Stella / Luna / Sol (プラテネスシリーズ | ステラ・ルーナ・ソール)

“Planetes Series” is illumination STARS’ fourth set of unit costumes and features the idols as angelic guardians of a city lost to time. These outfit mark a new direction these & later costumes take the “sky/space” theme, presenting the girls as higher powers or cosmic forces.

“Planetes Series” is the only illumination STARS unit costume that has separate names for each variation. Planetes Sol (Meguru) represents the sun/day, Planetes Luna (Hiori) represents the moon/night, & Planetes Stella (Mano) represents shooting stars/dawn.

Compared to all of the costumes we’ve seen so far, “Planetes Series” has the most variation in costume between the idols with different color schemes, fabrics, and textures. However, shared core elements and explicit theming assist in connecting them together.

In the Planetes Series, each idol represents a form of illumination in the sky, a “star” type, as well as a period in the diurnal cycle. True to their unit name, each idol illuminates a distinct time of day using their own “star” (sun/stars/shooting stars).

Mano’s position as leader/center is reinforced in these costumes as she represents dawn/dusk, the liminal states between day (Meguru) & night (Hiori). Unlike the sun or moon that are seen only at day/night, shooting stars are seen at the cusp between night and day.

---

GO HERE FOR PART TWO (i hit picture limit)

#imas #idolmaster #shiny colors #the idolmaster #illumination stars #mano sakuragi #hiori kazano #meguru hachimiya #fashion #jfashion #idolm@ster #scfa

9 notes · View notes

dont-touch-the-phlebotinum · 1 year

Text

With a faint ding the elevator doors peel open. Steve's been reassigned enough times by now to know the drill, and this, stepping out into a narrow, dingy sub-basement corridor, isn't it. The place seems more likely to house cleaning cupboards and dusty storage rooms than offices. If he thought his own cubicle upstairs was depressing, it's nothing compared to being forced to work down here every day.

It doesn't exactly fill Steve with confidence.

"This way," says Agent Cunningham. The click of her heels echoes off the bare walls as Steve follows.

"So, are the rumours true?"

"I don't know what rumours you're talking about."

"Cunningham," says Steve.

She stops with a sigh and looks back at Steve. "He's mostly harmless," she says.

"But he likes the freaky cases."

"Well that's why you're here, isn't it, Agent Harrington? And if your record is any indication, you shouldn't have any trouble at all finding a scientific explanation for those freaky cases."

She turns and walks ahead, leading Steve farther into the forgotten depths of the building until they reach a door with an X on a scrap of paper taped in place of a name plate. Cunningham raps primly at the door – not that anyone inside is likely to hear it over the heavy metal blaring from within – and lets herself in.

Steve takes a cautious step after her and peers around the room. It's more of a closet than an office, the precariously stacked archive boxes and piles of manila folders loaded atop every surface only adding to the claustrophobic feeling. Newspaper clippings are pinned to the walls alongside blurry photographs of dark shapes in the sky and what Steve's fairly sure is another Bigfoot hoax. There's even a poster of a UFO right opposite the door, for God's sake.

If someone was trying to decorate for a deranged conspiracy theorist, they'd come up with something like this.

Steve wonders if maybe that's the point.

Finally his eyes land on the mop of dark curls bent over the desk, haloed in cigarette smoke and bobbing along to the music until Cunningham turns off the stereo.

"This had better be good, Chris."

"Eddie, this is Agent Harrington–"

He spins around in his chair to face them, and Steve's eyes track over him; the scars on his left cheek, faint but still visible; the shirt sleeves rolled past the elbows to reveal tattooed forearms; the dark eyes glaring back at them. He doesn't look like a conspiracy loon. He doesn't look much like a federal agent, either. What he looks like is the kind of guy Steve would drag home from a seedy bar and never see again come the morning.

Steve shakes away that thought.

"I told you I don't need a partner."

"And I told you that decision is out of your hands," says Cunningham. She turns to Steve with a smile, as if the two of them aren't currently being glowered at from across the room. "Steve, meet Agent Munson."

"Harmless, huh?" mutters Steve.

"Mostly. I'll leave you two to get acquainted," she adds, louder, and gives Munson a stern look. "Be nice."

Before either of them can protest she's stepping out of the room. The door shuts behind her with a definitive click, plunging the room into a stony silence.

When Steve looks back Munson's already watching him, sizing him up without subtlety. A hint of a wry smile hovers at his lips. "Is this a punishment for me or for you?" he says.

"Both, I suspect." There's a pencil sketch tacked up beside him – some kind of monster without a face that he's willing to bet Munson drew himself – and Steve studies it with a grimace. "You really believe in all this stuff?"

A quirk of a dark eyebrow. "You really trust your government to be wholly open and honest about the existence of the paranormal?"

"We work for the government."

"And?" he says. He shakes out another cigarette and is about to place it between his lips when he frowns down at the pack and decides against it. Instead, Munson picks up one of the pens scattered across his desk, clicking it over and over, so fast it grates on Steve's nerves.

He watches the discomfort flicker across Steve's face, and doesn't stop.

"So you're here to, what, report back to the brass that I'm as out of my gourd as you all think I am?"

"That's not my brief."

"What is your brief?" Munson shoots back. His eyes fixed on Steve are hard, but wary, perhaps. Defensive. It's not a look Steve was expecting from a man who drapes his reputation around himself like a mantle.

"These cold cases of yours," Steve says. "Maybe there is no scientific answer out there. But where there is, it's my job to find it."

"What happens when you can't?"

The words are a challenge, and after a lifetime of competitive sports the old cockiness is creeping back in before Steve can even think to repress it. "I don't think that's likely."

Munson grins and pushes himself out of his chair, snatching up one of the folders on his desk as he saunters across the room towards Steve. "Beg to differ," he says. He hands Steve the folder.

Inside is a picture of a doctor surrounded by smiling patients and a lurid newspaper headline about MK-Ultra by some writer called Murray Bauman. The publication is unfamiliar, which doesn't do much to reassure Steve that this Bauman guy isn't a quack.

"You ever heard of Hawkins, Indiana?" says Munson.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #steddiedaily #my writing

84 notes · View notes

shittybundaskenyer · 2 years

Text

✹ ▬ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 [ THE ART OF THIEVERY PART II ]

rating: Explicit

pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

summary: You miss your meeting with Arthur at the church. He comes to investigate.

warnings: low honor Arthur (low honor arthur but he's too nice here so more like medium), deputy Arthur, reader is a thief, strangers to lovers, lust at first sight, catching some feelings, midnight swim, horse theft, sexual tension, some touching and spicy thoughts

word count: 4532

a/n: so i guess this is a mini multichapter-thing now. i planned 5 parts at least so stay tuned guys! i know i promised more spice and it’s coming!!! i just have to set up things first. you get some feels and some touching until then. <3

PREVIOUS PART | MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | NEXT PART

After that night in the Parlour House you become almost like a duo with Arthur. He chats up the folks in the saloon, plays the part of a good lawman—with his rare charming smiles and that telltale glint in his eyes—while you go and slip your delicate little hands into hidden pockets and heavy-looking purses.

The only problem is, you can't sell everything at the fence now. You know the guy, Clarence, a slimy little weasel who set up shop next to the caravan where your temporary home is. But the thing is, he doesn't buy from you no more. He thinks it's gettin' suspicious, so many pretty jewelry, so many angry rich folk, so you're left with a whole lotta stolen goods stored under your bed and no place to get rid of them.

And you didn't show up at the church yesterday with Arthur's share.

Every time he arrives to that church, dressed up as Gray’s deputy, looking like a goddamn poster-boy for the law—it becomes more and more. The way he coaxes the money out of you—not that you would not give it to him anyway; but Jesus, he loves playing with you. Having you pressed up against the crumbling stone wall with his hands in your skirt, one seeking out the treasure from your pockets and one petting you between the thighs until you yield, until you bite into his lip and draw blood.

Fuck.

This will be the second day in a row you can’t go. Christ, he’s gonna be so angry.

You turn onto your side, kicking down the threadbare blanket from your legs, almost whining from the stuffy heat. It rolled in from the bayou a few days back and got stuck in Rhodes like an unwanted guest. The night is infuriatingly hot. Your hair sticks to the nape of your neck, like a kiss from a previous lover, and you button open the top of the chemise you're sleeping in. Or rather, trying to sleep in.

This is the first night you're spending at home since forever and you can't even close your eyes.

You rise from your bed with a sigh, wiping your forehead with the back of your palm while you reach for a crate that you use as a makeshift bedside table. You feel over the wood until you find what you're searching for—a pack of smokes.

You put a cigarette between your lips and light it with a match you found under your bed.

There’s a mirror to the side, stolen from a homestead back north, a frilly, gold-dusted thing with a cracked corner. You can see the smoke curling around your face in the reflection—and then, a shadow behind you. Moving slowly, shaped like a man.

Somehow you know it's Arthur, even before he picks the lock on your door instead of knocking. He just stands there, looking down at you as moonlight spills into the small room, your face illuminated by the glowing orange dot that is the end of your cigarette.

"Whatchu doin' here, Mr. Callahan?" you sigh and put out the cigarette in a tin cup on the windowsill behind you.

"Told ya to stop callin' me that when it's just us two."

You smile and make a circle in the air with your finger.

"The walls too, have ears, good deputy."

Arthur sighs and leans against the rickety doorframe, grabbing his gun-belt in his usual manner. His hair is a bit messy when he pulls down his hat and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his striped shirt.

"Haven't seen you in two days. I came to check on ya, thought you was sick," he steps closer, puts his hat back on. His gaze lingers on your disheveled form, your bare neck and shoulders and the thin chemise that barely leaves anything to the imagination over your breasts. You doesn’t care. Not when the memory of him between your legs is still so vivid in your mind. You know he’s not here for that. But that doesn’t stop you from noticing the faint rosy tint that spreads over his sun-kissed cheeks, even in the weak, pale moonlight.

"No, I'm just miserable," you groan and stand up, stretching your arms above your head. You tossed and turned the whole evening, restless and angry. There’s no point in pretendin’ to rest.

"What, can't get that pretty lost girl act of yours ready?" he puts a hand to his waist, playing with the end of his gun-belt with a thumb. A few shiny cartridges are missing from it.

"It's the goddamn heat. I haven't seen rain since May," you step beside him and rummage through the small commode he’s leaning on, and you pull out a skirt and a blouse to put on. You might as well go and do something useful now. Maybe ride out early and take the goods to Emerald Ranch. Maybe you knock on Clarence’s window until he gets so annoyed be buys your goods. Or you convince Arthur to share a drink with you.

"Well, you just missed a real nice brawl with them Lemoyne raiders,” he catches glimpses you while you dress, but he looks away, tryin’ to act like a gentleman. Most of the time he is, you realize, besides from that one time he held a gun to your back. “The look on their faces when I pulled out the sheriff star… Put them behind bars, the goddamn bastards,” he laughs and you finish buttoning up your blouse, feeling the sweat already pearling on the small of your back. This damned town and its damned summers.

"I'm glad at least you're having fun," you look up at him and your eyes meet for a second, until he turns his head in such a way that the brim of his hat masks his gaze. It’s too late now. You already noticed the puffy red skin that swelled under his left brow, a bruise you’re sure is gonna blacken til’ morning. "Gave you a real nasty blackeye though."

Arthur huffs, like a mustang caught during his half-hearted escape.

“So, little Miss,” he straightens his spine and now looks you dead in the eye. You’re close enough now that you can see a small smear of blood on his jaw, caked into his beard, but he misses no teeth and that’s good. “Will ya tell me why you’re leavin’ me hangin’?”

“What do ya mean?”

“Are ya settin’ me up, birdie? Do I have to remind ya your place?”

You know it’s all talk. He could’ve shot you and robbed your home blind. He picked the lock of your door anyway. But it’s the game he’s after, the one you’re always willing to take part in.

You know he wants the money. The money you don’t have yet.

"I don't have the money," you blurt out, but you regret it almost immediately when his hand flies to his side. It’s more like a warning, but a few days back you saw how Arthur plucked a bird from the night sky with a single shot fired from hip. "I—I have your share, so don't worry, I just can't sell these to that chicken Clarence McMiller. He says folks are gettin' suspicious,” you step back towards your bed and pull out a chest where you stored all the stolen goods, neatly arranged by what kind they are: silver, gold, pearls, platinum, bone. They glint like flowing water of a river as night falls.

"An' what he gonna do? Call the law on ya?" Arthur scoffs. Now it sounds a bit silly, that you think about it a bit more. Clarence would call the law and the only man that comes would be Arthur. He would play an all high-and-mighty, shining brass-star, menacing righteous eyes and words of justice-kinda feller and you would cower under his gaze and Clarence would smile like the goddamn bastard he is. And later, when the sun dipped low Arthur would take you to that old battlefield and he would have you pressed flush against him and the stone wall of that church-ruin while the wind would make the bell sing above your head.

You shake your head and close the chest back.

"Maybe?"

Arthur lays a palm on your shoulder and looks down at you. He’s not angry.

"I thought you was a smart woman," he gives you one of those rare smiles of his and gestures towards the door of your cabin. You follow him. "So this is why ya didn't show up at the church?"

"Yeah,” you nod while you pick up your boots from beside the steps that lead to your home. Arthur’s already outside, fishing out a cigarette from his pocket and putting it between his lips. He lets it just dangle there while he asks,

"You was afraid, ain't ya?"

You was. A little. He looks real menacing when he wants to, and you’ve had your fair share of bad men in your life, so you didn’t want to make things worse and make him angry at you.

"I—"

"Don't worry, little Miss. We're business partners,” he lights his cigarette with a match he struck against the sole of one boot. His spurs jingle as he makes his way towards the post where his horse is hitched. “I ain't gonna kill ya. Or not just yet."

"Well, that's reassuring.”

Arthur just laughs at that and checks the girth of his saddle with one hand, then the straps on the holster that keeps his rifle always at hand, and then puts his cigarette back between his lips.

"Were you drinkin'?" you ask when he starts to hum a little tune, something so uncharacteristic of the man you get to know until now. He’s strangely at ease tonight, forgiving in the stillness of the night.

"Just a lil'."

He unties the bridle of his mare and pulls himself onto her back, looking down at you with that same lawman-poster-boy look that you always thought he could be perfect for.

"So, care for a ride, little bird?"

Now? With you? Where? You have a lot of questions, but the only one escaping your lips is the most stupid one. Of course.

"What?"

Arthur chuckles. He finishes his cigarette and flicks it into a patch of mud in front of another small cabin nearby. He reaches his hand out to you and gestures for you with his fingers to come closer.

"Ya know how to ride?”

You nod and grasp his hand.

He lets you put your leg into the stirrup and helps you to swing your other one over the horse’s neck. You sit in front of him in the saddle and he cages you in with his arms as he clicks his tongue and urges his mare into a gentle trot.

“So, where to, Madam?” you feel his voice rumbling against your back inside his chest, broad and warm and solid, his breath soft against the back of your head, the top of your nape. Christ, what you’ve gotten yourself into?

"Just take me somewhere cold."

You leave the caravan behind, the little shop of Clarence McMiller and the large oak tree the Grays usually use for public hangings. The dark sky stretches long and wide above you, full of glinting stars and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Night-bugs buzz away beside you, make the horse under you flick her tail furiously. Arthur murmurs sweet words to her to stay calm and you think you’ve never been at peace before in your whole life.

"Can't promise anythin', but I have a nice place in mind," Arthur finally says to you, and it takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s answering your earlier request.

It’s already better—the cool wind, the horse’s rhythmic sway under you, Arthur’s calm breaths pressing into your back. You could sleep, just like this. Memories from a long time ago swim up inside your chest, like treasure from a lagoon’s bottom, faded and broken but still rich in detail. The smell of the mountain air up north, the way you used to ride along the narrow trails of the Grizzlies, the wild horses up there that your father tamed.

Not this stuffy heat, not this town of the ugly and the rich and moonshine and foolery.

"My poor Ginger died last year in colic,” you murmur and Arthur listens, letting the reins lay loose around the horse’s neck. He barely has to hold it. “I'm stuck here since then. She was a real sweet mare.” There’s a sigh and it comes from you. Ginger was a real nice horse. A pretty chestnut mare with a red mane and a white star up on her forehead. "I don’t have the money for a new horse."

Arthur just hums at that. "But you dance around that saloon since a year then."

"Yeah… I guess it's just complicated."

That is something you don’t think you can talk about with him just yet.

"Do ya have a debt or somethin'?"

You shake your head. Not really. It’s not a debt if you never asked nothin’ for you in the first place. The only loan you got was harsh words and merciless fists.

He leaves you alone with his questions and you’re grateful for that.

You just can’t wrap your head around how a lawless bandit is more kind than most of the folk you’ve met in your life. Because it’s jus like he said—you’re business partners, and he treats you fairly.

The road narrows into a trail as you take a turn somewhere in the heart of Scarlett Meadows, and soon trees envelop you from above. It’s already so much colder here, even though the air is thick with water, the shadows are long and the damp ground splatters into cool flecks of mud on the bare skin of your knee, where your skirt is rucked up as the horse trots along. She nickers happily. Somewhere, deeper in the forest a stream gurgles with fresh water.

Only the moon lights your way, and in the darkness you sink deeper into the cradle of Arthur’s body.

He doesn’t protest.

He just grabs the reins with one hand and wraps the other around you middle. There’s nothin’ more to what you’re doing, but the closeness is nice. You trade breath for breath, when you chest hollows, his expands. Your spine to his sternum and sweat between. His stubble close to your neck. His hips swaying, and yours too. Nothin’ more. Nothin’, until you want it to be more.

But it’s gone before it can bloom.

The mare slows to a halt and Arthur sighs into your hair.

You’ve arrived at a small pool that bubbles into a waterfall in one end, the birthplace of the same stream you’ve followed since you entered the forest. The moon ripples into distorted ribbons in the water’s reflection, a lake of silver and ink. Fireflies and moths and dragonflies buzz around, the little stars of the forest. You’re already in a dream world.

“We’re here,” Arthur murmurs and you almost shiver from the rumbling of his voice. You feel him shift behind you, and then the warmth of him disappears as he dismounts.

He doesn’t go far though, he looks up at you and extends a hand towards your thigh, gesturing for you to follow. His hand wraps around your wrist and he holds you steady until you stand on your own two feet.

“How do you know of this place?” you walk beside him towards the steep edge of the lake while he leads the mare with one hand. She huffs and nips on Arthur’s shirt collar, nagging him for a treat.

“I don’t have anythin’ on me, girl,” he pats the horse’s neck and stops to take off her bridle. At least she can graze in peace for a while. “Here you go… So, what did ya say, birdie?”

“When did you find this place?”

Arthur stops at a nice, flat boulder and takes off the bridle and his boots while he answers. “I went fishin’ with a friend of mine. He knows all them hidden gems of water ‘round here.” He arranges his boots in the grass beside the big rock and sits down onto it, looking back at you with an arched brow. “Ya gonna jus’ stand there?”

So this is how you end up in only your chemise with your feet dipped into the lake’s cool water while Arthur works open the top three buttons on his shirt.

“So, whatchu thinkin’, where should we sell all those stuff?” You notice how his gaze lingers on your bare shoulder as he speaks. “I know a feller at Emerald Ranch but he’s… Well I guess we have some bad blood between us.”

“What, you robbed him?”

Arthur gives you a small, almost shy smile, like he’s thinkin’ about a nice memory. But it warps into a smirk, a dangerous one, and his eyes glint cold when your gazes meet. Something wild and clawing flutters alive in your chest. A blue moth, carving it’s way out.

“Yeah, and then some. But I heard he’s okay now. Got a real nasty scar though,” he mumbles the last sentence and you gasp.

“Ya really are a great piece of work, Mr. Callahan!”

“Yeah, well, that’s no concern of yours. I ain’t gonna hurt you, little bird,” he pats the back of your hand that lays still between you on the cool surface of the boulder. You flinch a little. He pulls back and you already regret the reaction. You can’t help it. Heat and sex, you can tolerate. Enjoy. But softer gestures, something as basic as a tap on your shoulder—it’s different. You always wait for the next touch. Something not as gentle. A slap, a fist, a strike. “Sorry.”

“No, I—” you bite back the words. It’s so much easier when he takes the reins and has you pressed tight against him, has his hand between your thighs, his lips on your throat. It’s so much easier when lust clouds your mind. Softness, it’s—It’s scary.

“Can ya swim?” he asks a few seconds later, trying to brush off your reaction. You’re grateful for it.

“‘Course I can,” you nod, pulling your hands into your lap and drawing a circle with one foot in the water. You watch the ripples it creates, how they collide with Arthur's ankle beside you.

Arthur's chuckle makes you look up at him and there's mischief glinting in those sea eyes of his.

“Great, then fly little birdie!” he grins and you’re too slow to stop him. He curls an arm around you—strong as a horse—and he pushes you into the lake.

You do fly a little, a heartbeat of free fall, and you sink under the ink and silver, into the dark pool of coldness. You sink and the air bubbles around you, but you’re not panicking. After days of heat, there’s finally a release.

You swim up and the world rights around you. Water is everywhere—your ears, your eyes, your mouth, but you smile when you spot Arthur dumping his hat and gun-belt, ready to jump at the edge of the boulder you was sitting on.

“Ya okay?” he asks and you hastily nod and then lay back on the water, let it support your weight. You float, like a corpse dumped into a river, but you breathe, slow, steady, just like you learnt all those years ago back home. You weigh nothin’. You’re not more than a petal the wind swept over the lake.

Arthur watches you in awe. You know he jumped in, from the gentle waves that rock you away, and then the bigger ones that he creates with broad strokes of his arms. He swims beside you, touches a palm to the middle of you back under the water.

“You told me you can swim, not that you float,” he chuckles and you open your eyes, gaze up at him with the water still sitting in the nooks of your face.

“You didn’t ask,” you return the smile and swim away on your back while Arthur tails you like a stray dog that wants you as his new home.

When you stop he’s right beside you, peering into your gaze with his hair all around his face, beard dripping, eyes as clear as the water under you. The bruise around his eye darkened, and it makes his face look almost cruel, even though he looks down at you like you’re the reflection of the disappearing moon and the stars that go to sleep.

“Thank you for bringin’ me here,” you murmur and he nods, eyes softening, his mouth opening on words he doesn’t say in the end.

You watch him for a moment, in this vulnerable state, with his palm warm on the dip in your spine again, like he can’t believe that you won’t submerge. Like he doesn’t want you to. A safety measure. Something gets ripped open in your lungs until a meadow spurts out.

The sky turns into the colors of purpled smoke, the first sign of the morning, and somewhere deep in the forest an oriole starts to sing. One hell of a love-song. And one hell of a man beside you. Above on one of the the overhanging elderberry branches a pair of rainbow-blue dragonflies mate. A wheel of lovers.

A strand of hair fall into Arthur’s eyes.

“Sure,” he finally manages to say, voice low, but missing that edge he uses when he threatens someone.

You sink back into the water until your feet touch the soft floor of the lake. You turn towards him, aware of the chemise sticking to your skin, translucent at most places, but Arthur is non the better. His shirt is soaked, buttoned open almost to his stomach, and the hair on his chest glints wet. Rivulets of water drip down the hollow of his throat from his hair, smearing some blood there too, a fleck you didn’t notice earlier.

Maybe it’s the wee hours of the morning doing this to you—the moon dipping down while the sun hasn’t risen, a blessed hour shielded from their watchful gaze. Only a few stars, only two seafoam-eyes are the witnesses of your actions.

So you reach forward and touch a palm to Arthur’s chest. He flinches just like you did before, not used to the touch, to the softness of it. There’s a question in his gaze, in his hand that now curls around the arch of your hip and squeezes. You don’t tremble. You just touch and you get touched by him, his palm skimming your belly, then the underside of one breast. He’s close now—you stepped forward or he did, or something otherworldly force pulled you together like a body mends a wound. Slowly, with time, with something new, something raw as the seal of naked flesh.

His thumb draws a circle around one nipple, a spot of fire, and then many more. Your toes curl into the mud.

You touch his neck, wash away the blood and the tip of your finger turns a muddy pink with it. Arthur lets out a sound—a growl or a groan, or something more akin to what a wounded animal makes. You think you grow wet between the thighs.

He leans in, blackened eye already closed from the swelling, and the other hidden by golden brown lashes. There’s no kiss. Just quiet observation, silent touches, a forest of life to surround the quiet in your chest.

“Little bird—” he whispers, but the rest of it hitches in his throat.

A noise, hoofbeats of a trotting horse break you apart.

“Shit.”

Arthur glances at his mare who grazes peacefully not too far away, and the illusion of peace is shattered. You barely have time to swim back to shore and throw on your clothes before a man rides close, dressed up in an olive jacket and checkered pants with a hat hooked full of lures. There’s a fishing rod strapped on his saddle and he hums a quiet tune as he slows his horse to a halt.

He eyes you for a second, the disheveled look of your hair and the wrongly buttoned up blouse, and then he looks at Arthur who’s drenched completely, eyes burning with a desire to kill.

“Are ya alright, Miss?” the feller asks you, and you can’t find your words for a second.

“Yes,” you mumble, but Arthur gives you a helping hand.

“I was ridin’ by when I heard screamin’,” he explains as he puts his gun-belt back on. “The lady here was drownin’.”

The stranger raises up an eyebrow while he looks at you.

“Mr. McMiller here saved my life,” you nod and hug your hands around yourself.

“And what was a fine lady like ya doin’ out at the lake when even the fishes sleep?” asks the fisherman.

You feel sooner than hear the rumble that erupts from Arthur’s throat. He has his gun cocked in a second, barrel aimed at the stranger’s heart. The man gasps, puts up his hands in surrender.

“That was one too many questions, friend,” he snarls, the tenderness long gone and the outlaw back in place. “Git down from that horse, and don’t make me repeat myself. I don’t want to spatter your brains in front of the lady.”

The man does as he’s told.

“Good. Now you’re gonna wait at that rock while we leave,” Arthur gestures towards another large boulder, a bit away from you and the horse. “Don’t bother goin’ to the law, I’m gonna know about it.”

Arthur picks up his hat and puts it on his still dripping hair, and then pulls the bridle of his horse over one shoulder, all the while keeping the feller still in the sight of his six-shooter.

“Bring the gentleman’s horse, sweetheart,” he says to you, and waits until you mount up. “Now Mister, you are very kind. Giftin’ horses to ladies speaks of great chivalry.”

The fisherman just scoffs, defeated.

You ride away when the sky turns golden. Warmth flutters restlessly inside your belly as you pat the liver chestnut stallion on the neck and urge him towards home. Arthur catches up to you quick, riding without a bridle until you’re out of sight and off the main roads. Rhodes glows red in the distance, bathed in early morning light.

“So, whatchu gonna call him?” Arthur looks at you and slides off his horse to put the bridle back on to not raise suspicion in the waking town.

“He’s mine?” you sound surprised, and it’s because you are. Is this a gift?

“‘Course. Next time you can show me your riding skills and then we can go and sell your goods someplace nice.”

You can’t help but smile at the implication. Christ, this whole thing—this is the first time since years that you’re feeling this much alive.

“Whiskey,” you decide. Whiskey, after that night in the Parlour House. Whiskey, after honey-brown locks.

"That's a real good name," Arthur pulls himself back up and nods towards Rhodes.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan #middle honor arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #low honor arthur morgan x reader #the art of thievery #part 2 #ao3 #fanfiction

147 notes · View notes

rjalker · 2 months

Text

anyways. here's a fucking thread pointing out the blatant racism. At least there's one other person besides me who has a problem with this shit.

actually since Reddit fucking sucks for archival purposes I'll just copy and paste the entire thing here:

April 3rd 2024 for posterity.

____

Title:

So you understand that AI voice acting steals jobs from real voice actors, now can you understand that giving roles designed for Queer people of color to cishet white men is also stealing jobs from real Queer people of color?

Post:

Whitewashing does not exist in a vacuum.

Cis people giving roles designed for trans characters does not exist in a vacuum.

For every cisallohet white man who gets a role that was designed for a nonbinary person of color, there is now one more nonbinary person of color who's out of a job.

Rich successful white men do not need any more roles in Hollywood, especially not roles that should be going to Queer people of color. In the official art, Murderbot has dark skin. It has the darkest skin out of everyone in the Preservation Aux team.

[ID: A black and white digital drawing, showing a scene from The Murderbot Diaries book series. Murderbot, an androgynoid with very dark skin, wearing a white shirt and light pants, is leaping sideways over the chairs the other characters are sitting on, using one arm on the armrest to swing itself over, with its face hidden, and only the back of its head visible. The other characters are staring up at it in shock, confusion, and amazement: Ratthi, who has dark skin that is slightly lighter than Murderbot’s, is below it, throwing one hand out in shock, sending his mug of a dark liquid flying. He is wearing a light, long sleeved shirt and skinny jeans. Pin-Lee, who has light brown skin, is standing at a short table in the background, wearing a long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a short skirt. Bharadwaj, who has brown skin, leaning forward over the table to stare, with only her long sleeved shirt visible above the table. Overse, who is white, is sitting in a chair next to Ratthi on the left side of the screen, looking up, with Arada’s light brown, bare legs and feet in her lap, with a beaded ankle bracelet. Overse is wearing a long sleeved shirt and leggings, and her own shoes are kicked off on the floor in front of her. End ID.]

Colorism exists in the real world. People with darker skin face more systemic hatred and disenfranchisement than people with lighter skin. Racism is already a systemic inescapable problem. Colorism only makes it worse.

Murderbot in the official art is not just a person of color, it has dark skin, and is the darkest of all the "main characters" we see.

Real dark-skinned, Queer actors deserve the opportunity to shine in roles designed for them. It is blatantly racist for these roles to instead by stolen by white people of any kind, but especially heinous for the roles to go to cisallohet white men who are already incredibly successful.

Because Alexander Skarsgård and Apple TV have made the blatantly racist and exorsexist decision to cast him in the role for Murderbot, this means that real nonbinary people of color have just lost what could have been a breakout job opportunity.

If you understand that using AI for voice acting is depriving real people of jobs, then you also need to grasp that allowing white people to steal roles meant for people of color without any backlash or criticism is directly contributing to and upholding white supremacy.

Every role meant for a person of color that goes to a white person instead is another person of color who's now out of a job.

Whitewashing characters for live action adaptations does not exist in a vacuum. It's not harmless. It's not "chronically online" to have a problem with it. It's a direct result of white supremacy, and literally allows white supremacy to continue being upheld.

AI steals jobs. So does whitewashing. If you care about one, then you need to also care about the other. White supremacy and whitewashing go hand in hand. Apple TV deciding to whitewash Murderbot is not harmless or simply "cringey". It's literally real life racism, colorism, and white supremacy, even before we get into the blatant exorsexism and transmisia of stealing roles from out trans nonbinary people.

____

and yes. If people comment I will also edit all of those comments into this post because Reddit fucking sucks and you can't save it to the Wayback Machine. So this post will keep getting edited and probably get even longer.

Edit: actually no I'm just blocking all these people.

6 notes · View notes

brokehorrorfan · 1 year

Photo

Enter the Video Store: Empire of Screams will be released on June 27 via Arrow Video. The Blu-ray box set includes five genre films produced by Charles Band’s Empire Pictures: The Dungeonmaster, Dolls, Cellar Dweller, Arena, and Robot Jox.

The Dungeonmaster is a 1984 fantasy-horror anthology with segments directed by David Allen, Charles Band, John Carl Buechler, Steven Ford, Peter Manoogian, Ted Nicolaou, and Rosemarie Turko.

Dolls is a 1987 horror film directed by Stuart Gordon and written by Ed Naha. Stephen Lee, Guy Rolfe, Hilary Mason, Ian Patrick Williams, and Bunty Bailey star.

Cellar Dweller is a 1987 horror film directed by John Carl Buechler and written by Don Mancini. Debrah Farentino, Brian Robbins, Pamela Bellwood, Vince Edwards, Jeffrey Combs, and Yvonne De Carlo star.

Arena is a 1989 sci-fi action film directed by Peter Manoogian and written by Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo. Paul Satterfield, Hamilton Camp, and Claudia Christian star.

Robot Jox is a 1990 post-apocalyptic sci-fi action film directed by Stuart Gordon and written by Joe Haldeman. Gary Graham, Anne-Marie Johnson, Paul Koslo, Robert Sampson, Danny Kamekona, Hilary Mason, and Michael Alldredge star.

The limited edition box set includes 15 postcards, five double-sided posters, Arrow Video membership card, and 80-page book featuring new writing by Lee Gambin, Dave Jay, Megan Navarro, and John Harrison plus archival material.

Each film is housed in its own Blu-ray case with reversible sleeves featuring original and new art by Ilan Sheady, packaged together inside a box with art by Laurie Greasley. Specs and special features can be found below.

The Dungeonmaster:

New 2K restoration from the original negative with original lossless mono audio

3 cut of the film: US theatrical version, pre-release version, and international version (under the title Ragewar)

Audio commentary with actor Jeffrey Byron, moderated by film critics Matty Budrewicz and Dave Wain (new)

Interview with actor Jeffrey Byron (new)

Theatrical trailers

Image gallery

Computer programmer Paul Bradford is sucked into a fantasy world by Mestema, a demonic sorcerer in search of a worthy opponent.

Dolls:

New 2K restoration from the original interpositive with original lossless stereo audio

Audio commentary by David Decoteau, Empire alumnus and friend of Stuart Gordon (new)

Audio commentary by director Stuart Gordon and writer Ed Naha

Audio commentary by cast members Carolyn Purdy-Gordon, Stephen Lee, Carrie Lorraine, and Ian Patrick Williams

Interview with editor Lee Percy (new)

Toys of Terror: The Making of Dolls - Interviews with Gordon, Yuzna, Purdy-Gordon, Williams, Charles Band, and Gabe Bartalos

Film-to-storyboard comparison

Theatrical trailers

Image gallery

A group of strangers find themselves forced to seek shelter at the isolated home of an old toymaker and his wife, only to find that the puppets and dolls have a vicious life of their own.

Cellar Dweller:

Additional picture restoration with original lossless stereo audio

Audio commentary by special make-up effects artist Michael Deak, moderated by film critics Matty Budrewicz and Dave Wain (new)

Grabbed by the Ghoulies - An appreciation of John Carl Buechler by film critics Matty Budrewicz and Dave Wain (new)

Interview with special make-up effects artist Michael Deak (new)

Original sales sheet

Original production notes

VHS trailer

Empire Pictures trailer reel

Image galleries

A comic book artist (Jeffrey Combs) with a penchant for the macabre takes inspiration from an ancient tome and unleashes an ancient evil.

Arena:

New 2K restoration from the last known surviving 35mm elements with original lossless stereo audio

Alternative full frame presentation

Audio commentary by director Peter Manoogian, moderated by film critics Matty Budrewicz and Dave Wain (new)

Interview with co-writer Danny Bilson (new)

Interview with special make-up effects artist Michael Deak (new)

Theatrical trailer

Image gallery

In the far future of 4038, a short order cook becomes the first human in 50 years to compete in an intergalactic boxing event on the far side of the universe.

Robot Jox

New 2K restoration from the original negative with original lossless stereo audio

Audio commentary by director Stuart Gordon

Audio commentary by associate effects director Paul Gentry, mechanical effects artist Mark Rappaport, and stop-motion animator Paul Jessel

Interview with actor Gary Graham (new)

Interview with actor Anne-Marie Johnson (new)

Interview with actor Paul Koslo

The Scale of Battle: David Allen and the FX of Robot Jox - Interviews with visual effects artists Steve Burg, Yancy Calzeda, Paul Gentry, Kevin Kutchaver, Dennis Muren and John Vincent (new)

Original sales sheet

Original production notes

Theatrical trailer

Image galleries

Men and women pilot giant machines in gladiatorial battle to settle international disputes over territory.

Also included:

15 postcard-sized art cards

5 double-sided posters

Arrow Video “membership card”

80-page perfect-bound book featuring new writing by Lee Gambin, Dave Jay, Megan Navarro, and John Harrison plus archival material

#the dungeonmaster #dolls #cellar dweller #robot jox #arrow video #arena #dvd #gift #ilan sheady #laurie greasley #stuart gordon #charles band #john carl buechler #jeffrey combs #horror

28 notes · View notes

wreckedtodeathandback · 26 days

Text

It was instinct more than anything that had his gun drawn in the span of a single step backward. But it was also instinct that held the barrel toward the ground.

“No-no-no-don’t-don’t-don’t.” She scrambled back and her hands came up between them. Spread fingers trembled as she pleaded. Voice seeped in desperation. “I can explain. It’s old. It’s so old. I’m not-I’m not infected.”

His vision was still tunneled to her arm where the sleeve of her shirt was hiding what had clearly been an infected bite. He didn’t want it to be true but how many had he seen by now? On posters plastered all over the QZ. On desperate people pleading for lives that were already lost. Just as she was pleading now.

#this happened a little earlier than expected pls enjoy!#rooftop rendezvous #tlou fanfiction #ellie and joel #writing things #my fics

5 notes · View notes

anxiety-elemental-kay · 11 months

Text

Eidolon

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Multi

Fandom: Trigun Stampede (Anime 2023)

Relationships: Meryl Stryfe/Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Meryl Stryfe/Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Characters: Meryl Stryfe, Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Additional Tags: Post-Episode: e12 High Noon at July (Trigun Stampede), Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Mashwood Week 2023, Prompt: Ghosts

Language: English

Words: 2,373

Summary:Vash was gone, but she saw his face everywhere.

He watched the purple star fall back to earth, bright and blazing, and JuLai destroyed in a blast of light.

Note: After the DDoS attack on Ao3, I’ve decided I’ll also start posting my fic here on Tumblr, but I’ll add a link to Ao3 for people who’d rather read there instead. This is for @mashwoodweek day 3, based on the prompt “Ghosts” Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48448810

Vash was gone, but she saw his face everywhere.

On new wanted posters, smiling face above the largest bounty ever issued on No Man’s Land. Wanted for plant theft, terrorism, and mass murder. Dead or alive.

“Why did they have to use this photo?” Vash complained to her once.

There were plenty of people who claimed to be Vash the Stampede, stories of a demon clad in red terrorizing a town, but each one she investigated turned out to be imposters. Each wielding Vash’s reputation like a sword. There were no confirmed sightings of Vash in two years.

“Idiot blew himself up,” Wolfwood said to her once, after they’d shared too many drinks in an effort to satisfy the yawning void of their shared grief. “He’s scattered across fifty square miles of desert. There’s nothing left to look for.”

Merl had no reason to believe otherwise. They’d both seen the same thing.

His image continued to follow her.

—

Nicholas remembered watching twin stars fly up and up into the sky, higher then anything he’d ever seen. He watched the purple star fall back to earth, bright and blazing, and JuLai destroyed in a blast of light.

As soon as he realized what was going to happen, as that purple light began to bloom in the city’s heart, he’d grabbed Meryl again and dove for the relative cover of her truck. Heat and air and the light of judgment roared around them, he tried to curl his body around hers, until it all faded. It left behind the smell of molten glass.

Meryl wanted to go search, try to find something, even giving his sleeve a tug, but he did nothing, so she left him behind. He’d considered stealing her truck, but didn’t have it in him to betray someone else who was too hopeful, too idealistic, too stupid and soft for their own good. Instead he walked, his namesake his only company.

He didn’t think Meryl would want him there when she came back, anyway.

Vash the Stampede, falling star, left a blackened crater where once stood a city. Leaving a blackened crater inside Nicholas.

—

They used the photos she took when they ran her story.

Meryl prided herself on her photography. Several of her pieces had been displayed in the November University annual art shows. Her parents were very proud, and had a couple hanging back in her childhood home.

She was inexperienced in journalistic photography, a lack quickly exposed once she was in the field. However, she could track her improvement over the months she’d traveled with Vash: her compositions improved, there was less blur in her unplanned shots, and she’d gotten better at catching small, important moments.

Vash was smiling in so many of those pictures, and real ones too: petting a stray black cat, sharing donuts with all of them during a quiet afternoon, Wolfwood catching Vash cheating at cards.

(She did not share those pictures.)

Bernardelli liked her photography, but hadn’t been as happy about her prose.

She’d earned respect at the office, when she’d finally stumbled back to civilization and reported in. Even when she told the story of Roberto’s death, the other journalists clustered around her, a weary empathy in their eyes. She wasn’t the only one to lose a mentor, a colleague, out in those hellish wastes. It would be okay, they reassured her, this is the scoop that’ll make your career.

But reporting that Vash the Stampede was trying to stop the destruction of JuLai? Nonsense. Everyone knew he was a monster, a force of pure destruction. Why else would he be called the Humanoid Typhoon? Why else would JuLai have been destroyed?

And no one was going to believe her story about an evil twin brother. Didn’t she know better than to believe such an obvious lie?

She’d been made to revise her story several times. The terror of JuLai still haunted her, the dual grief of losing Roberto, killed for her own recklessness, and Vash, disappeared because even though she had saved him, it hadn’t been enough. She moved through the world as if already in her grave too, so when her editor demanded she make changes, she didn’t object, and rewrote her article until they were satisfied.

There were a lot of things she would have done differently, if she had the chance.

—

The Eye of Michael did not call for him.

Nicholas would have gone back, like the loyal hound they’d made him. It didn’t matter what the contract said, at the end of the day it was only ink. If they went back on their word he would still obey them, for he had no other power that could possibly save the orphanage, and the children who shouldn’t share his fate, Livio’s fate.

But they did not call for him. He made no effort to reach out. There did not appear to be any consequences to this.

What was he even supposed to do now? Was the Eye spying on him? Did Conrad see him save Meryl, tell the rest of the order of his betrayal?

He went back to Hopeland and the orphanage was still there, untouched by time or malice.

Nicholas couldn’t stand to get too close, not that anyone there could ever recognize the thing their big brother Nico became. He’d gotten a pair of binoculars, got as close as he dared, and hoped no one would spot him spying on the orphanage.

All looked well. The most violent thing he saw were the occasional bandaged knee.

He remembered the last time he’d been to Hopeland, aboard the sand steamer he’d followed Vash onto. He’d hoped it would be boring, keeping the Typhoon on a tight leash because the moron would throw himself into danger the first chance he got. If only Livio hadn’t followed him there. If only a lot of things had been different.

It was also the first time he truly saw Vash.

Lit up by the blue glow of the plant behind him, a color so rare on this dry planet, Vash stared at them with a face and eyes lined with intricate patterns.

Monstrousness revealed. A thing none of them were meant to see.

Meryl had been the first to move then, to go to him when Vash fell. Nicholas had too much of his humanity stripped away to do anything but stare at the limp body, even as he wondered if this meant his mission was a failure. As human as Roberto was, the reporter had seen enough horrors to be cautious of Vash and his alien nature.

She’d been the only one brave enough to reach back out.

Now, Nicholas looked out over the orphanage’s courtyard, a home he could never return to. Miss Melanie peeled potatoes while keeping an eye on the children playing in the dirt, and Nicholas realized he missed Meryl too.

—

The first time Meryl went back to the crater, it was to construct a memorial.

Looters had already gone over what wreckage laid directly outside the blast zone, leaving only twisted metal behind. A chainlink fence had been erected around the crater, to keep the curious away. She spent several hours finding scraps that were the right size for her plan but light enough to carry, and hauled them over to her chosen spot along the fence.

Once she had her improvised gravestones erected, she flipped through a private album she’d brought along. She’d added to it ever since she first made it at the age of eight, when she first showed interest in photography. Each picture had a date written on its protective plastic sleeve, following Meryl through her life, from childhood to school to college and her very first job.

She’d added those pictures not meant to her bosses or the public.

There weren’t many group shots, heart sinking as she searched. It wasn’t a vacation, she’d been on the job, and though she had no idea what Vash would find in JuLai, she could have never known how suddenly and how violently their shared journey would end. She wished she’d taken more.

The perfect photo wasn’t one of hers after all. Wolfwood had stolen her camera, and turned the lens on all of them. Wolfwood made a goofy face, Vash flashed a hand sign he later explained the meaning of, Meryl was trying to snatch her camera back, and in the back Roberto looked over at the three of them with a weary fondness.

The tough and tender days they shared and loved.

She used a bent nail to pin the photo in place, and left a pack of Roberto’s favorite cigarettes at the memorial’s base. She added a new marker to her map, and drove away in mournful silence.

—

Nicholas hadn’t been looking for Meryl, but he still found her. He hadn’t recognized her at first when he walked into the nearest diner for some grub. There was something different in the way she carried herself, no longer read to him like a little girl trying to act tougher than she was. There was more steel in her now, and when she spotted him she was quicker to recognize an old companion. He waited for her to yell or scream or try to shoot him with that stupid tiny gun. She smiled instead, just like he might have.

Nicholas didn’t know if he was going to laugh or cry or break something.

“I missed you, asshole,” she said, with the kind of playful bite he realized he yearned for, so he did all three.

He apologized for getting them kicked out of the diner, but Meryl only laughed, bright and for a moment, untroubled.

—

They cross paths several times over the next two years.

To Nicholas’ surprise, Meryl chose to stay in the field. He thought about it, then realized that no, he wasn’t surprised. Little Miss shared Vash’s absolute absence of self-preservation and bottomless courage. Brave and stupid.

She’d given him a radio frequency to use if he wanted to get in touch. He didn’t have the guts to use it, but maybe if he heard a particularly wild rumor that a journalist might go and investigate, maybe he just happened to wander in that direction too. Entirely coincidence. He wasn’t desperate or anything.

Once, when they were both tired and lonely and full of the same grief, they’d rented a room together. They held each other close, and stripped each other of their carefully constructed armor. They kissed, they bit and scratch and pulled each other close. The only two living souls left who knew what happened, who knew the love and terror of No Man’s Land’s fallen angel. They were alone in the world, no one else like them left.

“Do you think this is how Vash feels?” Meryl asked, and Nicholas had never been good with words, so he clung tighter instead.

He felt awful, after. Like he’d soiled her by touching her after everything, like he’d betrayed Vash once again. He’d let himself forget he was a thing made of violence, that could only ever do violence to others.

“I liked it too,” she told him anyway, and he didn’t believe her.

—

They’d found the same lead independently of each other.

Meryl was already at the town’s bar when Wolfwood walked in. By now a glance was all he needed to ask her if she wanted him to join her, and she nodded, so he sat on the barstool to her left.

“You get a good look at the guy yet?” he asked, laying his covered cross against the chair to his own left.

“Nope,” Meryl said with a frown. “I’m not optimistic though, not from the things witnesses say about him and his gang.” She sipped her glass of tea, grateful the bartender had served it without condescension. “I still want to make sure, but it’s probably another imposter.”

Wolfwood grunted, a low, gruff sound he made when he didn’t want to admit to disappointment. Their fitful, improbable search was weighing on him more heavily than it did her. At least she got a story and a paycheck out of these ventures, which was cold comfort, but more than Wolfwood ever received. She feared one day he’d whittle himself down to his bones and there’s be nothing she could do for him.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

“Too bad,” she said with an expression that was only half a tease. “You’re stuck here with me now.”

The bartender handed Wolfwood his drink. “Worse people to be trapped in hell with.” She punched his shoulder.

Two people burst into the diner, a tall man and a young girl, and all attention snapped to them. The locals soon turned away with rolled eyes with shared mutters of “Just Lina and Eriks”. The girl, about twelve maybe, scuttled over to the bar and started talking to bartender, clearly familiar with each other. As her guardian followed, Meryl felt her stomach drop to the uneven floor.

There he was, the phantom that haunted them both for two years.

She didn’t call out to him, wouldn’t expose him, not while a man with a mask of his face and wielding his unearned reputation like a sword terrorized this place.

She wanted to, wanted to call out his name and hear his voice in answer. At her side Wolfwood stared out at the void in their hearts, though he’d never say it, never admit to it, he’d never been that good at hiding what he truly felt. She could see what Vash had in those eyes, long ago.

A vacant stare found theirs, as the young girl at his side continued to chat with the bartender. Eyes so startlingly blue without tinted glasses to hide them were wide, as if he were the one who saw the dead among the living.

(In a few moments, a cannonball would crash through the bar’s door. A bandit would threaten a man’s life, demand a chance to punish a child. Instead a fallen angel would offer his body and pride in exchange. There would be gunshots and blood and rescues and reunions.)

Vash looked away, his hair hiding his face from them both.

#trigun #mashwood #kay writes things

8 notes · View notes

mothgodofchaos · 2 years

Text

Fireplace

Soft winter moments today? I think so. This totally wasn’t inspired by @umbral-archives‘ Lumberjack!Murdoch, not at all. /s Murdoch x GN!Reader, TW: blood, fire Words: 700

It was cold up in the cabin, you shivering up in a blanket. You knew he was busy, so you simply kept to yourself, snuggling up in one of his sweaters with your cup of coffee. The quilt was made of flannels that he outgrew, but kept around for you. His shoulders had gotten too wide for them, but you had the quilt quietly commissioned. Murdoch beamed when he realized what you were wrapped up in, not quite a hug from him, but very close.

You hear the door to the garage open and close, a quiet grunt and some thundering footsteps of boots hitting the wooden floor. He brushes the snow off of his hat as he enters the living room, stopping when he sees you shivering on the couch. “Angel, why are you sitting here in the cold? You look near frozen! Why didn’t you ask me to provide a fire for you?” “...You were busy outside, I didn’t want to bother you…” He kneels down in front of you, taking off his gloves as he takes your freezing hands in his. They’re warm, rough, enveloping yours as he looks into your eyes. “I will never be too busy for you. That is a promise, my angel~” He takes off his coat, wrapping it around you, helping you put your arms into the sleeves. He adjusts his sweater, smoothing it out before going over to the fireplace. You put on his gloves, anything to keep yourself warmer in the freezing cold room. “Won’t you get cold, Mur?” “I’ll be alright, angel. I can put on more layers if I get too cold. Right now I want to make sure you’re warm. The fire will take a moment to build, but I’ll be sitting in front of it. You just stay there.” He gets up from his place, crouched in front of the fireplace, to move to the back porch. He grabs some of the wood he chopped earlier that week, holding several bundles on his shoulders before stacking them all nice inside. The occasional glance over at you to make sure you’re warming up puts a small smile on your face, which puts that glimmer back in his eye. Tears up some wanted posters and newspapers he cut some clippings from and throws them in the bottom, topping it with some kindling. A one-two click of a lighter and it ignites, and he quickly moves in with some of the smaller sticks. You watch the flames’ light flicker across his face, that soft smile turning into a murderous smirk before your eyes. He continues to build the fire until he puts a large log on top. Standing up, hands on his hips as he proudly looks over it. Murdoch moves both of the armchairs in front of the fire, scooping you up and placing you in one of them. You can feel the heat on your face, allowing your legs to escape the cocoon of blankets to reach your feet towards the fire. “It’ll need a moment to burn, so it’s not as big and hot as I am~” You roll your eyes at him, kissing him lightly as he bends down, a low chuckle as he presses another kiss to your temple. His hand squeezes your shoulder as he walks behind the chair and down the hall, returning with a scrunched up article of clothing. He throws it in the fire with a satisfied sigh, wiping the remaining blood on his hands on his handkerchief. He considers the two armchairs, before picking you up again, to which you squeak for a moment at, before you’re put down in his lap. “Decided you were too cold, MurMur~?” “Angel, you know I will always take any chance to be close to you~”

You cuddle into his chest, watching the fire as you hear a satisfied sigh from him, the rise and fall of his chest shifting you slightly in your seat. You drape the blankets over both of you, taking off his coat for it to be replaced with an arm around your shoulders. Together, you watch the shirt burn, knowing it just means more time with your Killer.

#murdoch #murdoch markiplier #murdock markiplier #murderiplier #murdoch x reader #murdock x reader #markiplier egos #gn!reader #TW: fire #TW: blood #stabbington #chaoswrites

38 notes · View notes

lesbicosmos · 1 year

Text

day 4 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 4 prompt: time

my interpretation: different time period au (medieval/merlin)

summary: ginny is the king's ward and chris is her maid, but there's something more between them. ginny suggests they go for a picnic in the woods and lesbianism ensues

notes: if you've seen merlin, here's my list of character parallels for this au:

ginny = morgana chris = gwen neil = arthur todd = merlin keating = gaius mr perry = uther (bc shitty father figures) charlie = gwaine knox = lancelot meeks = leon pitts = percival cameron = elyan then stick is a stablehand and all the horses are named after midsummer nights dream characters because i had to include that somewhere

also on ao3!!

we lay here for years or for hours

Ginny awoke to the bright light of the morning sun shining behind her eyelids as she heard the silk curtains being carefully opened.

“Good morning, my lady,” came the familiar cheerful voice from over near the window.

Ginny finally opened her eyes, stretching her limbs in her huge four-poster bed as she followed Chris with her gaze.

“Morning, Chris.”

This was their usual routine for the morning: Chris brought Ginny out of her deep sleep with her soft voice and the dazzling sunshine through the window. Then, as Ginny was fully waking up, Chris fixed the curtains and replaced any candles that had fully burnt. Ginny’s breakfast would always be on the table and her hairbrush would be on the dresser ready to be used.

As Ginny stood up from the bed, Chris left the room to go and get her clothes for the day. She walked over to the table and popped a grape into her mouth just as her maid came back into the room holding Ginny’s favourite dress. It was soft satin and a gorgeous purple colour with gold embellishments and a sheer blue cardigan. The dress made her feel like a princess, which she supposed she was, really. She lived in the castle with the King as her guardian, after all. A smile spread across Ginny’s face as she took the dress from Chris’s hands and went behind the changing screen.

“Can you help me with this fastening?” she asked after a few minutes, stepping out from behind the screen.

“Of course!” came Chris’s reply, and Ginny turned around so her back faced her.

Ginny felt Chris’s hands take the ribbons at the back of the dress and began pulling them slowly tighter. There was an odd silence between them as she did; not awkward or uncomfortable, by any means, just…odd. Tense, almost. Ginny felt her breath hitch when Chris’s hand lightly brushed her back as she threaded the ribbon through the loops to fasten the dress.

Once she’d finished, Chris moved over to the dresser to get the sheer cardigan, allowing Ginny to slide her arms through the wide sleeves. Then she stood directly in front of her, her fingers working on the cardigan’s front fastening at her abdomen. They were so close together, their faces only a few inches apart. If Ginny moved just a little bit further forward-

“Is there anything planned today, my lady?” Chris broke the silence, taking a step backwards and breaking Ginny out of the strange trance she’d fallen into.

“Chris, please,” she said, a soft smile on her face. “I’ve told you; you can call me Ginny. We’re friends, there’s no need for the formalities.”

She swore Chris’s cheeks became slightly pinker as Ginny sat down at her dresser.

“Sorry, my- Ginny. Is there anything planned today?”

Chris took the hairbrush and began slowly combing through her dark hair.

“Not specifically. Although, it does look like a fine day to go for a ride in the woods.”

“Of course. Would you like me to go and tell Neil once I’ve finished your hair? Or would you like the King to accompany you instead?”

Ginny lightly chuckled. Chris was always so focused on making sure she was doing her duties. Ginny wished she knew just how much she meant to her.

“No, no, Chris. Not with either of them. I’m sure Neil has his princely duties to be getting on with, anyway."

Neil might as well have been Ginny’s brother. They were raised together as children, have known each other practically all their lives. Whilst they do bicker sometimes, they’ve always been close. There was an understanding between them, but neither had exactly figured out what.

“If he ever wakes up, that is,” Chris laughed. “As I passed his chambers I could hear Todd having to practically hit the bedframe with a sword just to get him to open his eyes.”

“The future King of Camelot, ladies and gentlemen. I still can’t believe people think he’s going to be the best King the land has ever known.”

Chris seemed surprised at that. “You don’t think he will?”

“Oh, I think he will. With his kindness and ideas, this kingdom will prosper once he’s on the throne instead of his father. I just think it’s ironic that he’s still the same dramatic prince as ever.”

“He has always been one for the theatrics, hasn’t he?”

A memory flooded into Ginny’s mind, of her and Neil around aged 10, having been bought wooden swords by a visiting king. They snuck out into the courtyard in the night, playfighting and putting together a choreographed performance, which they showed the King the next day. He didn’t seem too impressed. He never was.

Ginny shook the memory away, aware that she’d zoned out for a few seconds.

“Anyway, no. I don’t want to go for a ride with Neil today.”

This was her chance to spend more time with Chris.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Chris’s eyes widened in shock, stopping the gentle brushing of Ginny’s hair.

“Me?”

“Yes, Chris. You.”

Ginny stood up from her chair, so there was very little space between the two of them once again. There were a few seconds where that tense silence returned and neither of them moved. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even breathe.

Inevitably, the moment ended, and Chris spoke.

“Are you sure, my lady? You know there’s been bandits hiding out in those woods for weeks now, I can’t protect you if something happens. Perhaps one of the knights-”

“Chris. I want to go with you.”

Ginny looked at her maid sincerely, trying to show how desperate she was to spend time with her. Chris didn’t seem against the idea, but the look of worry on her face was impossible to avoid. Ginny had an idea.

“How about we ask a few of the knights if they’d tag along with us, then? Just to keep lookout in case the bandits are still around. I’m sure Charlie, Meeks and Pitts wouldn’t mind a day in the woods, if we offer them food.”

Chris seemed to visibly relax at that, placing the hairbrush back down onto the dresser.

“Okay. I’ll go and send word to them, ask if they have any duties today.”

“Thank you, Chris.”

Chris smiled brightly and turned to leave the room, but Ginny spoke again just as she got to the door.

“If they can’t come…”

Chris turned around.

“It’s not like I can’t protect us.”

Ginny gave a quick wink, and she watched Chris look down at the ground as if hiding her blush. She nodded and left the room.

It was around an hour later when Chris returned to Ginny’s chambers. She’d managed to convince the three knights to join them, and had then gone down to the kitchens to fill a picnic basket with the best food she could get: bread, fruit, the whole lot. The basket was fairly heavy by the end of it, but the weight wasn’t the thing that made her drop it onto the ground as she entered the room Ginny was in.

Ginny stood by the window, focused. She’d put on the leather sword sheath she’d been gifted by Neil a few months ago, and was sliding her sword into it. Chris knew that Ginny was good with a sword, that was no surprise to her; she simply couldn’t get over how the sight of her with the weapon made her feel even after this time. She really shouldn’t have found it so incredibly…attractive. If she had to die by sword, she’d willingly meet her end by that specific one, she thought; then mentally scolded herself for thinking it.

“Chris, you alright?”

“Yes! The basket’s just…a bit on the heavy side,” she lied

Ginny walked over to her, opening the basket and seeing what was inside.

“Oh, strawberries! My favourite!”

“I know,” Chris smiled. “The knights said they’d meet us by the courtyard gates, so we’d better get the horses.”

Ginny nodded, and her and Chris both reached for the basket handle at the same time, their hands brushing for a moment.

“I’ll take it, my lady.”

“Please, Chris. I insist.”

Chris couldn’t argue with her. She took a step back and let Ginny take the woven picnic basket and walk towards the door.

“Going out?” a quiet voice called from behind them as the two women made their way through the halls of the castle.

They turned around to see Todd walking out of Neil’s chambers, carrying a freshly polished chest plate. Sometimes Ginny forgot that he was technically the prince’s manservant – they were so much closer than that, and it was clear to everyone who knew them. There were rumours about them, but only few knew that those rumours were true. Ginny and Chris had known for over a year, ever since they’d caught the two of them exchanging secret kisses in the armoury.

“We’re going into the woods for a picnic,” Ginny told him.

“You could join us if you’d like!” Chris chimed in.

As much as she loved Todd, Ginny didn’t really want him crashing their picnic. Sure, the knights were going to be there, but she’d make sure they were standing at such a distance that meant her and Chris would have some privacy.

“I can’t, sorry,” Todd said, and Ginny silently thanked him. “Got to prepare for the knighting ceremony tomorrow.”

“Of course. We’ll see you at dinner later?”

“Yep,” Todd replied, adding a quiet “have fun, you two,” before turning around and walking in the direction of the armoury.

As Chris and Ginny walked into the courtyard, they felt the warmth of the early summer sun shining down on them. It wasn’t too hot to be uncomfortable but definitely wasn’t cold – the perfect day. They walked over to the stables, where a blond stable hand was tending to one of the knight’s horses.

“Stick!” Ginny said as she walked over to him.

The stable hand turned around and gave a small bow when he saw Ginny.

“My lady, what a lovely surprise. What can I do for the two of you?”

“Could you ready our horses? We’re heading into the woods with a few of the knights.”

Stick nodded but then seemed to freeze for a moment and looked apologetic.

“I can ready Hermia for you, my lady, but I’m afraid Lysander suffered an injury a couple of days ago and isn’t quite back on his feet just yet.”

Hermia was Ginny’s horse – she’d had her since she was a child: a gorgeous black stallion. None of the servants were allowed horses of their own, but Chris had taken to Lysander a few years ago, and now she was about the only person he’d allow to ride him without knocking them off his back. He was a young grey mare, who currently lay inside the stable, one hoof visibly damaged.

“I can ready one of the other horses for you, if you’d like, Chris?”

Chris opened her mouth to respond but Ginny cut in.

“Nonsense. She can ride with me. That’s alright with you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Chris stammered, slightly taken aback.

Stick gave them a nod then went to fit Hermia’s saddle.

“Are you sure, Gin? I can take one of the other horses, it’s not too much trouble.”

“Gin? That’s a new one.”

Chris’s cheeks appeared to grow redder as she realised what she had said.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. I love it.”

Chris relaxed, smiling.

“And of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Besides, it’ll be one less horse for the knights to keep track of once we’re out there,” Ginny chuckled.

After a few minutes, Stick walked out of the stables with Hermia’s reins in hand.

“Here she is, all ready.”

“Thank you, Stick.”

Chris held out her hand for Ginny to use to help her mount the horse, then Stick helped Chris up so she was sitting behind her. Chris awkwardly put her hands in front of her, trying and failing to keep herself stable but not knowing what else to do with her hands.

“Chris, you’ll fall off like that,” Ginny laughed. “Put your arms around my waist.”

Chris’s mind may have slightly short-circuited at that, and it took her a few seconds to comprehend what Ginny was telling her to do and follow through with it. She did, delicately moving her arms forward underneath Ginny’s until she was practically hugging her from behind, their bodies flush against one another. Ginny took Chris’s hands in her own, pulling them tighter around her.

“There’s no need to be so gentle, you can hold on tighter than that.”

Soon, they were riding together across the courtyard to meet the knights, who were waiting for them outside the gates.

“Took you long enough,” said Charlie as they approached.

“We had horse trouble.”

“Right. Of course.”

They began riding through the town and out of the city, the forest surrounding getting thicker and thicker. The five of them all laughed and joked together; sure, they were all important parts of the royal household but beneath their sophisticated jobs, they were all just good friends. Charlie and Neil had become friends the moment they met when they were young boys, and with Ginny being so close to Neil already, she got dragged into the friendship, too. Soon enough, they were all teenagers and the boys had befriended the rest of the knights and they became one big group. Ginny loved them all dearly, loved spending time with them outside of the context of ruling the kingdom; but she not as much as she loved spending time with Chris. Sometimes they got too boisterous, and all Ginny wanted was to sit in her room with her maid, both of them doing each other’s hair and talking about everything and nothing.

Now, they were riding through the forest together, Charlie and Ginny and Chris side by side at the front of the group, and Meeks and Pitts taking up the rear.

“So what ‘important knightly duties’ have we dragged you three out of for this?” Ginny asked, an almost mocking tone to her voice.

“Just our daily training session with Neil.”

“Wow, he actually let you miss a session?”

“See, Ginny, we didn’t exactly want to miss it,” Pitts chimed in from the back of the group. “But Chris said you were offering food up, so…”

That was the easiest way to get the knights to do anything. Offer them food, or a way to disobey the king.

“Well, thank you, nonetheless. I may be highly skilled with a sword, but I can’t say fighting with one is exactly my intention for the day.”

Still riding beside her, Charlie was close enough to lean over and whisper a question only Ginny could hear. Luckily, Chris seemed busy looking around her at the beauty of the forest, distracted by a bird in a nearby tree.

“And what exactly is the intention?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing smirk growing on her face. Ginny really should never have told him about her feelings for Chris. All he’d done was mock her – lovingly, of course, but still.

“Oh shut up,” was all Ginny could reply, subtly turning her head to check that Chris was still zoned out and hadn’t heard. She seemed to be. She had also, however, leaned her head into the crook of Ginny’s neck, which she as desperately trying to ignore. Chris really wasn’t helping her keep her feelings secret, was she?

After at least 15 minutes of riding through the forest, gossiping with the knights about the king, Neil and Todd and the other knights, and having such an intense fit of laughter at one point that all of them nearly fell off their horses, they came upon a small clearing. Wild violets grew scattered around the patch of grass and the sunlight shone through the gap in the trees. The battlements of the castle were faintly visible above the top of the forest.

“This look like a good spot, my ladies.”

It was the perfect spot.

“Absolutely. Now, are you three going to stay close?” Ginny asked.

“Yep. We’ll stand guard around the clearing, don’t worry,” Pitts replied.

“Maybe a but further into the woods than that, Pittsie! Give them some privacy, you know.” Charlie turned to face Ginny and winked.

Ginny could have strangled him. Not that she would, of course. She loved him too much for that. But she wished she could do it in spirit. She prayed Chris hadn’t seen.

As Charlie and Pitts began looking for a spot to keep watch from, Meeks helped the girls down from their horse. He took both Hermia and his own horse by their reins and lead them away to follow the others.

“Enjoy your picnic!, remember to save some food for us!” he called before he disappeared into the woods.

Chris set the picnic basket down on the grass, detaching a soft lilac blanket from where it was tied to the back of it with leather straps. Wordlessly, Ginny held out her hand and Chris handed her two corners, taking the other two herself and the two of them gently laid the blanket onto the ground, careful to avoid the violets that appeared to be everywhere around them. They sat down, Ginny cross-legged and Chris with her feet on the blanket and her knees up. She tried not to pay attention to the way Ginny was sat so close that her knee was brushing her thigh.

“Let’s get the food out,” Chris said, more trying to distract herself than anything else.

There was more food in the basket than seemed physically possible: all different types of fruits and sandwiches and other baked goods. Ginny reached for a strawberry, taking a bite of it, and humming in pleasure at the taste.

“These might be the sweetest strawberries I’ve ever had, Chris! Where did you get them?”

“Palace kitchens,” Chris shrugged.

“I’ve never had strawberries from the kitchens! Not ones this good at least.”

“I may have stolen them from what was supposed to be the king’s lunch…”

“Oh you little rebel,” Ginny grinned.

Chris had taken a sandwich and was slowly eating it, gently carding her hands through the patch of flowers right beside her. Here eyes seemed to widen with an idea.

“Gin, we should make flower crowns! My mother taught me how to make them when I was little, I could show you if you’d like!”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea!”

“I really want to make one with these beauties,” Chris indicated to the violet patch. “But you should make one with daisies. The stems are easier to work with.”

Soon enough, the two of them were sat opposite each other on the picnic blanket, two piles of flowers beside them. Chris picked two of the violets up, slowly demonstrating to Ginny the way to thread together each stem.

“You just keep adding flowers like this until it’s the length you need, it’s easy once you get used to it. I’ll show you how to close it off when we get there.”

Ginny nodded. If she was being honest, she was probably focusing more on the fact that Chris’s nimble fingers looked so pretty tying the stems together than on what she was actually demonstrating, but she got the idea.

“Like this?” she asked, after replicating what Chris had done with the violets on her daisies.

“Yeah, that’s it! Just keep adding them, now.”

They must have spent half an hour in content silence, just threading flowers together. Unbeknownst to each other, both of them had taken a few moments of that time just to admire the other person, watching them work, all the emotions showing in the look in their eyes. They had made eye contact a couple of times, and both had simply smiled at each other or giggled quietly. Chris was a lot further into her project than Ginny was, being much more experienced with the craft.

“The one with violets in her lap,” Ginny muttered, looking across at Chris with the bundle of perfectly threaded bright purple flowers lying on her knee as she struggled with a stubborn stem.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a line from a poem Neil told me about the other day. It fits you.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wish I could tell you the rest of it. It was written by an Ancient Greek poet, so we only have fragments of her works.”

“That’s…oddly sad.”

“I know. She was nicknamed the Tenth Muse, too. It would be incredible if we could read her full poems, know her mind even better.”

Chris hummed in agreement, focusing once again on the flower that didn’t seem to want to thread into the rest of the crown.

She finally fixed it in, sighing in relief.

“Can I check if it’s the right size?” she asked, holding it out towards Ginny.

“Of course,” Ginny replied, placing her work in progress down in front of her and lifting her head up.

Chris moved so that she was sat behind her, placing the crown on her head and checking the ends met at the back.

“Perfect,” Chris said, and Ginny could feel her breath on the back of her neck. She fought back a slight shiver.

“Here, I know you’re not quite done yet, but I’ll show you how to close off the crown.”

Chris held the ring of violets out in front of her, demonstrating the specific way of threading the final stem into the first.

“I think I get it?”

Chris grinned at her, then leaned forward and placed the crown onto Ginny’s head. Their faces were so close at that point, all it would take would be a slight push forward from either of them and they would be-

“Can I measure this on you?” Ginny asked, ignoring the thoughts in the forefront of her mind at that moment.

“Sure.”

Chris turned around so that Ginny could copy what she had done a few minutes before, holding the daisies around her head. Her hands brushed Chris’s hair in the process, and it was so soft. Ginny thought she would do anything to run her hands through it. The crown fit perfectly.

“It fits,” Ginny said, and Chris turned around to face her again. “How do you connect it again?”

“Here, I’ll help.”

Ginny expected her to take the daisies from her hand and finish it herself, but instead she held Ginny’s hands, guiding her to where to thread the stem. She was trying and failing to concentrate on what to do rather than the feeling of Chris’s hands on hers so softly.

“There you go. Finished.”

The two girls smiled at one another for a long moment, then Ginny reached up to place the crown on Chris’s head. The slight pink tint of the inside of the petals matched her blonde hair perfectly, and she looked like a living embodiment of the sun. One of the daisies in the chain hadn’t been secured in fully, so it fell across her forehead haphazardly. She still looked perfect.

They had realised they’d all but forgotten about the food, so Chris offered Ginny more strawberries, which she gladly accepted. Chris caught herself staring at the gorgeous woman sitting beside her, paying close attention to the way her nose scrunched up slightly when she smiled at the taste of the fruit; the way the late morning sunlight reflected off her eyes, making their green-blue colour shimmer like the ocean; the way her soft dark hair- oh.

In the midst of her staring, Chris noticed something in Ginny’s hair – some kind of tiny insect that must have crawled out of one of the violets on her head.

“Oh, Ginny, hold on a second. I think there’s an ant in your hair.”

Ginny laughed slightly, her eyes moving upwards as if to look at the tiny reddish bug. Chris, hesitant as she was, shuffled closer to her, her hand reaching up to gently pick the ant out of her hair. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed the closer her hand got to her face. It took a few tries, but she got it out, setting the insect down on a leaf within arm’s reach of the blanket.

Ginny watched her as she did so, her hands so delicate as not to harm the ant. She saw her lips quirk up into a tiny smile once it was safely on the leaf. It was only when Chris turned back to face her that Ginny fully comprehended the position they were in, yet again. They were so close, even closer than they had been when they crowned each other with flowers; Chris lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, Ginny sat only a few inches from her, leaning back on her hands. She couldn’t think what to do: she didn’t want to move; she didn’t think she could; but being this close to her maid meant all Ginny could do was stare at her.

Ginny was sure her feelings for Chris were slowly getting stronger as time went on – it was definitely getting more and more obvious to those around them, that’s for sure. Neil and Todd both knew, and so did half of the knights (perhaps not Knox though, he was a little slow in that area). She honestly didn’t know how Chris herself hadn’t figured it out yet, especially now in this moment, where Ginny’s gaze couldn’t help but move to Chris’s lips, soft as they always looked, soft as Ginny had always imagined they’d feel against her own.

“Ginny?” Chris’s voice broke her from the moment, and she panicked she’d noticed her staring, and was about to say something that would mean they would never be the same again. Ginny quickly looked back up to Chris’s eyes, anxiety filling both her heart and mind.

But Chris’s eyes weren’t looking into hers. They were looking lower, at her lips. Her breathing seemed somewhat laboured, and her voice was barely a whisper.

“Strange request, but…” she paused momentarily. “Can I-“

Ginny’s mind was racing, but she knew what Chris was asking. Before she could even finish the question, Ginny replied.

“Yes.”

Time seemed to slow down as Chris moved forward slightly and closed the small gap between them, tiny gasps leaving both of their mouths as their lips connected. They were just as soft as Ginny had expected, as soft as she’d dreamed they would be in the many times she’d daydreamed this event. In the heat of the moment, Chris lost balance on her elbow and fell backwards so she was lying on her back on the blanket, her daisy crown falling off her head. Neither of them cared; Ginny simply followed until she was practically on top of her, the kiss deepening as a result of the change.

Eventually, the need to breathe interrupted their moment and Ginny slowly lifted her head.

“You taste like strawberries,” Chris exhaled, barely audible.

Ginny just laughed softly; It was the only thing she could think of to do in that moment. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her again.

“I’m glad I came on this picnic with you, Gin.”

“Me too.”

She leaned down again, her fingers finally able to brush through her silky hair. This time, Ginny pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s nose and admired the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly as her eyes closed, before moving her kisses elsewhere: Chris’s cheeks; forehead; jaw; sternum, just above her delicately sewn blush pink corset. Ginny seemed intent on kissing every inch of the other woman’s face, committing it to memory. If she had the time, or indeed the artistic skill, she would have spent hours painting her; recreating the gorgeous patterns of steel grey in her irises, the tiny, excited smile on her lips, the soft curls of blonde hair that fell over her face. She would paint it all, ensure she would never leave her mind for even a moment.

Just as Ginny moved her kisses back to Chris’s lips once more, there was the snap of a branch behind them, and they jumped apart quickly.

“Hate to interrupt this clearly incredible moment between the two of you, my ladies, but Meeks and Pitts have spotted a bandit camp about a mile north.”

Charlie.

“So, unless you want to be interrupted by an ambush instead, we’d best be going.”

“Of course,” Ginny replied, trying to ignore the embarrassment of the moment and comprehend the situation. “Could you ready the horses? Chris and I will pack up.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Charlie gave a small bow and turned to leave, but instead faced the two women once more, a playful grin on his face.

“Also, I thought I was promised food from this picnic for skipping an important training session to be here protecting you?”

Ginny thought for a moment, then lobbed a bread roll at him. It hit him in the chest, but he caught it nonetheless, nodding and leaving.

“Damn bandits,” Ginny swore under her breath, just loud enough for Chris to hear.

“You know,” Chris picked up her daisy crown and replaced it on her head, then moved to take Ginny’s hands in her own. “There are still no plans for the rest of the day. We could spend it together if you’d like.”

Ginny just smiled, pressing a quick but heated kiss to Chris’s lips before they began packing away the picnic basket and blanket.

The ride back to Camelot was oddly quieter than the journey there, likely because the knights had noticed the subtly different way Chris and Ginny seemed to look at each other, or the way Chris was much more comfortable sitting behind Ginny on the horse, holding her waist tighter.

Charlie leaned over to Ginny, whispering once again.

“Nice headpiece by the way. Interesting choice, violets,” he grinned at her knowingly.

“Shut up.”

Ginny couldn’t help the smile growing on her own face, too.

#when is it my turn to make flower crowns and recite poetry in a meadow with someone :((#also apologies if theyre slightly ooc??#i may have had them take on some of morgana and gwens personalities :')#anyway this is my fav one ive written and im probably gonna continue the au ngl #dps #dead poets society #dps fandom #dps fanfic #chris noel #ginny danburry #chrisginny #chrisginnyweek

7 notes · View notes