#i went to a local gallery today (not the one i work in)

[imflyingfish]

working in an art gallery and talking to a lot of full time artists has given me CRAZY imposter syndrome btw lmao

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐀𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 || 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 10k +

This was an older fanfic I wrote in my notes a little while ago that I decided to - try - to revive and post while I work on other fics. (I swear I'm gonna write about other characters other than Arthur lmao--)

Summary: ( Based on the stranger mission: ''an artist's way,, in CH4 ) You run into Arthur while on an errand in Saint Denis while he invites you to come with him to Charles Châtenay's gallery. Afterwards you two go out for a drink, then eventually to a local hotel where you find out Arthur had been drawing you in Charles' "style"

Warnings: smut with plot HEAVILY based off the game's mission - Reader briefly mentioned to be a virgin, fingering, unprotected PIV sex, riding, creampie, oral sex M!receiving + F!receiving. Younger woman reader, Arthur's a big boy, canon that he grabs the headboard sorry not sorry.

More and more you’ve found yourself becoming the gang’s “errand boy” which was often Arthur’s job, though he’s been gone more often now, either on bounty’s or doing the dirty work in the gang. So Dutch had you do the clean work. You’d say you didn’t mind it, the running around at least, after all it was one of your only excuses to get away from camp. You’d jump when Pearson needed more herbs or vegetables from the store or if Dutch needed some cigars. You usually went to Saint Denis most of the time, it was the closest to camp after all -and something about running these errands in the city made you feel right at home. The gang was a downgrade from growing up in the city of course, still not completely used to it: the running, it was as if every time you were comfortable everyone had to pack up and move to a whole new location. Hell, sometimes it means crossing states.

You had just walked back to your horse after buying some goods from the general store across the street, packing your purchases into the saddle bags of your hitched horse -some canned fruits and vegetables, cigarettes as per request from most of the people in camp, and some ammo Dutch asked for, just to stock up I suppose. As you worked on buttoning the flap to the saddle bag back down, making sure none of your goods would be seen by people walking by, after all you spent your hard earned -ahem, stolen money- on those things, you could’ve sworn you heard a man ask for directions, a man with a voice as familiar to you as you own.

You looked over your shoulder to see the man, the sandy brown locks under the gambling hat told you enough, why was Arthur in the city? You didn’t think Dutch had any chores for him today, thus why he asked you to go to the store. He held a small card in his hand, looking from the back of it before his gaze fell back on the woman passing, the one he had asked for directions. Once he got them he’d nod to the woman, eyes falling back onto the card as she walked off. 

You’d pat your horse on the neck before walking onto the sidewalk where Arthur stood, he didn’t notice you til’ you tapped on his shoulder. “Arthur?” You were sure he nearly jumped out of his skin. If your voice wasn’t so familiar he probably would’ve elbowed you out of pure defense. 

“Wha–” His brows would furrow together as his mind cranked to figure out your meaning, that was until you pulled your little shopping list out from the satchel swung over your shoulder. “Oh, that.” 

“Christ–! you tryin’ to kill me sneakin’ up on me like that?” He’d pause for a moment as if his brain finally processed that it was you. “The hell are you doing here anyway?”

“Good news, you’ve been replaced.” 

Of course he couldn’t care less about being ‘replaced’ in that department. It was usually a pain in his ass –And honestly you were a pain in his ass too. It’s not that he didn’t like you, you were just ultimately too spunky for his nature. He’d gladly admit you were a good shot, a good killer. So with that you made a good member for this gang. Personality wise he couldn’t help but wince at your jokes while others would laugh, the tiniest amount of attitude that laced each of your sentences. He wasn’t one to like immaturity, especially from someone who was an adult. Though, you were barely even that.

“Do you know where this is?”

“Have fun runnin’ around with that list of yours then. Seems you’re really movin’ on up.” He’d scorn.

He’d look down at the card in his hands, then back up to look around his surroundings.

He handed you the card, the finished paper now warm from him holding it for so long now against your fingertips. It was an address to one of the buildings on this street, you were surprised he hadn’t realized by now.

“That woman didn’t tell you? It’s right on this street.” 

“No.” He’d roll his eyes. “She looked at me like I lost my mind.” 

You’d snicker at that, now walking down the sidewalk with him, both of your boots clicking against the stone sidewalk. Then you stopped in front of the brick building. ”Here, I think.” You’d give that card one last look, noticing the name on the back of the card, you’d squint to see if you were reading it right -Charles Châtenay? you could’ve sworn I heard that name–

My eyes flicked up to the poster on the side of the brick, looks like it was what I thought after all. I usually pick up the paper when I go this route. The route of aimlessly following Dutch’s list as I walk or ride around the city, gives me something to read when I get back to Shady Belle. Seems the artist had an open gallery today. you couldn’t help but snort, the thought of you, Arthur Morgan going to an art gallery full of practically- well, pornography, now that just might be the funniest damn thing you’ve heard all week. -Your immaturity was truly striking.

“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Morgan.” You’d snark. Of course when Arthur wasn’t acting like the man he was -the same man with five-thousand dollars on his head alone, the same who’s murdered more than a person could fathom he was just your regular ol’ suck up.

“Don’t start with that now, I’m already annoyed I gotta go to this thing.” He tapped his boot onto the sidewalk, taking that card back from you and putting it back into his satchel. “Well, ‘less you wanna come in with me. You’d have a field day with this kinda thing. Châtenay seems like a man who’d entertain you anyway.”

You’d think it over for a moment, you could hear chatter already coming from the windows of the building that were open just a crack. Surely you’d find entertainment in it but you were also fond of the arts as well. Though paintings of women laid out nude wouldn’t strike something in you as it would in a man, you’d be surprised if you were the only woman in that building other than the ones on canvas. –At least this would bring some entertainment to your day. 

“Up the stairs and to the right.” He’d recite the directions written on the back of that card. “I think I can remember that.”

“I’ll keep you company. Lead the way– or, shall I? Seeing you’re horrible with directions.”

You two walked into the building together, up the stairs and to the right and you were there. The first hall was filled with sculptures, beautiful paintings hung against the blue walls, the next room you two stepped in was Châtenay’s, you and Arthur’s gaze met with women’s breasts and men’s cocks painted with oils on the canvases. It surely was– something. Arthur tugged his collar to clear his throat. 

The room had more of a variety of guests than you thought, actually more women than men which came as a shock up until you realized these women were actually the models conversing with the other models. They seemed quite proud of their work, respectably so. Arthur had spotted the french artist across the room chatting one of the models up, he wouldn’t want you to get mixed up in his own charades so Arthur would squeeze your shoulder for your attention just for a moment.

“Why don’t you stay here, pretend to be a model or sumthin’, princess. Wouldn’t want you to get your ear talked off by Charles.” 

Your eyes fell on the french artist as he stood distracted across the room, you could barely hear nor understand the words that he was blabbering out through his thick french accent. Something told you maybe it was a good idea for Morgan to handle what he’s gotten himself into with this man before you were stuck talking to someone you could hardly understand, stuck replying with ‘mhm’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ as if you knew what he was saying. Although you’d feel a bit awkward standing there and staring at the intimate paintings of both men and women while standing in the same room as the people being portrayed in oil, it’d probably be best for you at least, you were only here to keep Arthur company and today you felt you’d be less of a nuisance to him by obeying his wishes.

– That evening only got more interesting from there on. It was quite ridiculous, you and Arthur couldn’t have been there for more than fifteen minutes before all hell started to break loose. The husbands and wives of the models had practically raided the building before shouting at their spouses, you couldn’t really tell what was happening between Châtenay being attacked by the men and the women, being hit with a variety of chairs, purses, and of course, fists. Before things could get out of hand with you in the mix Arthur came over to you. He had a wide smile on his face, could’ve sworn this was the first time you’ve seen him laugh so hard he had developed tears in the corners of his eyes. 

“Sure thing.”

You watched as Arthur walked away from you all the way to the other side of the gallery leaving you alone with the model’s dressed in their elegant, expensive attire that you could only dream of owning. And unfortunately due to the paintings you now know what’s under the rich clothing.

“You should probably get outta here before you get in the mix of fists, sweetheart–” His voice quickly cut off by a crash as he escorted you out of the gallery. “Wait outside.” He’d pat your shoulder, leaving you standing at the top of the stairs as he left to go help the artist.

“Sure– thing.”  It was like that turned into your only response.

You didn’t really have time to leave with a jest, or something more than two words, not to be a pussy but you really didn’t feel like being hit by a stray flying chair, so you just walked down the stairs and back outside. You’d laugh to yourself as you walked down the street and away from that brick building, of course the highlight of the day only lasted a short moment, it was quick and rushed, but really you didn’t need to stare at those paintings any longer than you already have. -You felt as if Charles or the gallery wouldn’t be mentioned or thought of again, at least in this moment. But you’d be wrong about that. -The sun was setting now, it looked beautiful against all the buildings that made up the city, you found a bench to sit on, figured you’d read that paper you got earlier while you waited for Arthur. Your eyes would skim the words but nothing would really register.

____

A little while had gone by and after the sun finally set, the stars scattered against the dark sky as you stayed patiently waiting on that wooden –and quite uncomfortable bench, constantly finding yourself adjusting and shifting to get more comfortable, ‘course it didn’t work . You heard footsteps, looking up from the newspaper you felt you read about a hundred times by now out of pure boredom you were relieved to see that it was Arthur.

“Jesus, I thought you’d never come back. Why’d you take so long?” 

“Had to escort the dumbass home so he didn’t get killed. Seems he had a whore waiting for him an’ everythin’.” 

You’d let out a short breath at that, not quite a laugh, you felt your body getting a bit tired but you quickly shook off the feeling, rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm before standing from the bench, leaving the paper behind you, you had a bit of a ride back to Shady Belle, wouldn’t want to fall asleep on the back of your horse. You also had to get all that food and goods you bought back to the camp –though you weren’t quite sure how urgent we needed the provision.

You and Arthur started walking down the sidewalk, side-by-side, the night air now nipping at your skin through the thin fabric of your blouse. It had been too long without a good tease from you to purposely annoy him, clearing your throat to prepare to speak.

“How do you know that artist anyway?”

He’d look down at you as he walked, that was a fair question to ask.

“I met him in the saloon –not the big one down the street here, the smaller one. Don’t know if you’ve ever been there.”

You’d shrug. “I’ve passed by it.”

Arthur would nod. “Met him in there and somehow he convinced me to go to that little show. Gave one of his–”  He'd stop his words looking down at you before shaking his head. 

“Nevermind” 

Charles gave him one of his many artworks, a nude woman, an illustration that he embarrassingly kept safely in his satchel since. And now he’d especially not want to tell you, you were already amused that he even went to the damn show which he himself had more fun that he should’ve. Though, to mention, he didn’t start having fun til’ Châtenay was getting his ass handed to him.

You on the other hand were now dying to know what he gave Arthur, –can’t just start a sentence without finishing it. You had a feeling begging him for the answer wouldn’t work of course, you’d try anyway.

“Oh come onnnnnn.” You sneered. “M’sick of you doing that, you’ve been on this earth long enough to realize you can’t just start a sentence without finishing.”

‘N’ I’ve known you long enough to know I shouldn’t be givin’ you any more reasons to laugh at me.”

“I don’t– laugh,” You’d scoff. “Five months isn’t long either, you barely know me.”

Morgan let out a sigh, tying to think of a good excuse to kinda brush away what he said. Something to finish the sentence he started. “He gave me some money, paid me to go to that exhibit. Don’t want you goin’ around thinkin’ I’m a pervert who went for a good time.”

You’d look up to him after he said that. If that’s all it was –money. “I wasn’t thinkin’ that.”

Well, maybe it crossed your mind once or twice. But then again why would he stop himself from saying that? Right now you couldn’t bother to make sense of it, you just shrugged it off. –Now the walk was silent for the most part, there wasn’t really anything to say. Once you got to your horse you’d pat the saddle bag, feeling that your goods hadn’t been stolen, letting out a sigh before turning back to Arthur.

“We should both get back to camp before someone gets worried.”

Really, you didn’t know who would get worried, you’ve stayed the night at a hotel in the city more times than you could count just so you could sleep in a comfortable bed ‘stead of your worn, hard cot. 

“No one will be worried. Come on I’m the one who made you stay out here longer than you intended, I’ll buy you a whiskey or sumthin’.” 

You’d look at him, almost surprised to hear the offer. It was rare for him to be sweet, if that was the right word for offering you a drink. It sounded good, the thought alone of the cool alcohol burning down your throat already waking you up a bit more than you were.

“That’d– that’d be nice.”

_____

Not too long after those words were shared you and Morgan had made it into the saloon, the faint playing of the piano heard from across the street now loud along with the chatter between people sitting and eating at their tables to the men around their table playing poker. Since it was a bit later in the day –the night now fully taking its course, it was like a signal for men and women alike to flood the saloon. You and Arthur had found a booth to be separated from the crowd at least a little bit. You both set your satchels down on the corners of your seats, Arthur’s finger tapping against the finished wood that made up the table before he took out a cigarette from his satchel along with his lighter, flicking the flame before holding it against his cigarette to light it, Adjusting to stuff the lighter conveniently into the pocket of his pants, inhaling the tobacco into his lungs before blowing the smoke away from the booth.

“I’ll get up, get us some drinks.” 

“Mhm.” You’d hum as you watched him shift out of the booth, walking away to go to the bar. You’d notice something in his empty space, a piece of paper had fallen out of his satchel. You didn’t think anything of it of course, didn’t bother reaching over to put it back in for him. Curiosity killed the cat.

A few minutes later Arthur came back with a couple bottles, sitting back down into the leather seats of the booth with a sigh, the bottles clinking against the table as he placed them down.

“Thanks.” You'd nod, popping the cork out the bottle with your thumb.

“Just two beers, don’t wanna get too drunk, not here.”

Boy, was he wrong. 

After those two beers Arthur had gotten up again to get another. Once beers were out he went to whiskey. One whiskey was out he grabbed any alcohol they had at that bar. Two turned into four. Four turned into six, –eight… Ten.. Fuck.

To be fair you didn’t have as many drinks as Arthur deciding to play responsible tonight, but it was still enough.

The once clean table turned into a mess of empty bottles, glasses, Arthur’s cigarettes and the ashes from made a mess of the ashtray pushed to the side of the table. Random splashes of golden liquid dripped on the table. Now piss drunk in a booth with an also piss drunk Morgan was… Actually a real fuckin’ good time. A peep could escape your lips and Arthur could double over the table with laughter, same with you. 

One idiotic conversation after another you finally thought of it again even through your drunken haze –whatever that artist ‘gave him’ to persuade him into going to the gallery. Why was it clawing at you so much? You usually weren’t so interested in him or his life. Maybe it was because you knew he was blatantly lying to you. 

 “Now– you tell me the hell that– that artist gave you– remember?” 

Finishing the sentence with a hiccup you’d look back at Arthur. Now since you both were a couple more shots away from passing out onto the sea of glasses that made up the table, both of your tongues were loose, of course.

The picture he slid over to you from the other side of the table was a photograph of a nude woman of course, her bare breasts on a perfect display as she perched on a chair. You couldn’t help but laugh, was he really carrying this around all this time? Sure– that creep of a man could truly draw, but Arthur wasn’t one to keep aimless gifts close to him, definitely not directly in his satchel for safe keepings –though you couldn’t imagine what he was actually doing with this picture. If it’s what you thought that would be pretty damn pathetic. 

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he reached into his satchel. “Goddamn, guess you know how to loosen a man up–”  He pulled out that piece of paper that was earlier peeking out from the top of the leather. “--Gave me this pretty little drawin’. Ain’t she a fuckin’ ‘beaut, eh?”

“He surely can draw– that man–” You’d slur, sliding the illustration back to Arthur, wasn’t something you really needed to study.  “--Now, you don’t–” You’d clear your throat “Surely you don’t–” “Now princess, I’d need a lot more than a sketch for that.”

The music, the chatter, the yelling and hollering in the saloon was echoing through your head. You were sure the pianist practically banging on the keys of the piano would split your ears open if you stayed in that place any longer –you’d ignore it for now, hell maybe even another drink would solve that problem.

You’d laugh, his words melted right off his tongue from the alcohol. Right now you couldn’t even force yourself to think anything of the words he was saying, and anyway, the thought of a man –even Arthur jerking off to a measly sketch of a woman sounded more unappealing than something that’d get you going. Why would it anyway? Arthur was– well, he was Arthur. You’d often be cautious to even call him a friend of yours. Though right about now in the haze of booze that clouded your brain and same his, he’d most definitely call you his friend as an introduction at least.

“...I didn’t need to know that information.” You’d finally get past your lips with another giggle, slouching over the table with that damned empty bottle still in your grasp, being swung around to enunciate all your sentences. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, he couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips –blame the brandy for that. He leaned back into the leather seats of the booth, his arm lazily draped onto the table, tapping his finger against the glass bottle he held –completely empty. 

“You asked.” 

He shrugged, taking a long sip from the glass bottle, savoring the feeling of the cool liquid slipping down his throat, feeling unnecessarily in love with the burning. You’d pout, tap your finger against the bottle you held, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, a smirk quickly replaced how your bottom lip would stick out from your top.

 “Didn't expect an answer– not like that–” hic “–not from you.”

“What are you– drawin’ these types of things too? Psh– maybe you needed the reference.” You’d mock him, that brought a scoff from his lips as if you just said something so fucking absurd, he shook his head, slamming his bottle back down onto the wooden table as you swirled your empty bottle around the table. His gaze was seemingly stuck on the table as if he was examining the grooves and knots in the wood, running his finger along the imperfections.

“No, I–” His voice was conveniently cut off by a bang coming from one of the tables, more loud hollering, yelling –looks like someone won a poker game at least, the table surrounded by wasted men, all a bit too excited to be here tonight. Arthur was clearly getting antsy and the alcohol was even clouding your vision. 

Imagine a radio overlapping ten different songs over each other and now replace the songs with the not-so pleasant sounds of men who’d been guzzling booze all night screaming over losing their money by their own stupid and idiotic decisions, women cackling over the city’s pointless gossip– that damn piano! You were ready to smash your beer bottle over the pianist’s head–

 You tried to take a swig from your empty bottle before tossing it onto the table with the others. With a groan Arthur buried his face into his worked palms, he seemed just as sick of it as well.

“Goddamn–” He’d groan. His hands pressing harder into his face as if he was desperately trying to wipe away the noise. “Fuck. Fuck…” 

You two just couldn’t stand it anymore. 

__________

So, why stand it?

You and Morgan made it out of the bar successfully without beating someone with one of the bottles from the mess you had carelessly left on the table –you two getting out of there in time for the bartender to say anything. Swinging your satchels over your shoulders you two left the godforsaken noisebox that saloon had turned on, now all the ‘’hootin’ ‘N’ hollerin’,, was a faint sound heard from the distance as you walked down the sidewalk.

You rubbed your temple with the pad of your thumb, feeling a little better now without all the over fucking excitement.

“Gah– fuck.” Arthur would lean up against the brick building beside him, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before looking forward, noticing the lit sign for the hotel in the distance. It was quite obvious you two wouldn’t want to be riding your horse back to camp right now. Morgan checked his pocket watch, the arms of the clock pointing to 11:35. ‘Kay, not too late.

“You don’t wanna ride all the way to camp right now, do ya?” His voice deeper than normal from all the drinking, the slurring.

“Not particularly,” 

With a pause your head turned to the sign of the hotel, it’d be better just to go right straight there, once again you might’ve gone it anyway tonight just for that comfortable bed that comes with the deal  –Hell, two dollars could get you a bed with two rooms if you’re lucky enough. 

A hum escaped your throat as you nodded. “I–”

“Dont– don’t worry I’ll be payin’” 

As if you didn’t have two dollars to spare you perked up a bit at that. Guess it was all you needed to hear.

No more excuses, you’d be spending the night with this drunken fool. 

You two both were wobbly on your feet, of course with the amount of shots and bottles practically swallowed whole you could go figure that. You walked into the front doors as you tried to adjust your clothes, Arthur pushed his hat up so it wouldn’t be slouched over his eyes.

“Ah, may I help you two?” The clerk at the front desk had one of those fake overexaggerated smiles on his face.

“Just lookin’ for a room to stay the night. Nothin’ special.” He’d clear his throat, trying to shake off the drunken slur that was making his voice. “Two beds.”

Of course he had to clarify that– er, it only made sense anyway. It’d be really awkward if you and Arthur had to share a–

“Sorry, we don’t have rooms with two beds here.”

Shit.

Well it was logical at least, why would they? Let’s think. Who actually gets hotel rooms – commonly it’s men who’ve bought themselves a whore for the night or someone looking for a place to rest on their ventures. Not often you have two drunken outlaws stumbling in asking for two beds.

“Fine. M’That’s just– fine.” 

Arthur would pass some money over the desk to the man behind, in exchange he received a key to the room.  

“Upstairs, first room to your left, enjoy the stay folks.”

Jesus, you could’ve sworn that smile was melting off that clerk’s face as he spoke. You’d rub your temple again as you and Arthur just said a quick ‘’thank you,, in unison. 

Both of your boots would stomp heavily up the stairs. – upstairs first room to your left. Once there you turned to it, Arthur put the key in, turned it, opened the door. The rusted hinges creaked as it opened, though despite that sound the door opened to reveal a very nice looking hotel room. The bed was made, a thick quilt and were those– satin pillows? 

Surely this was paradise.

Arthur’s eyes looked around the room, other than the bed, a dresser in front, couple nightstands and an oil lamp to give the room a nice warm light –there was an arm chair pushed to the side of the room. 

“I’ll take the chair.”

He groaned as he shimmied his coat off of his shoulders, lazily throwing it onto the arm of the chair. Now with this action he also removed his satchel, it hit the nightstand by the bed, narrowly missing the lamp and hitting the edge before his palms met with his forehead again.

“M’gonna try to find a bathroom in this place–”

You’d let a scowl cross your mouth as he said that, watching as he stumbled out the door, closing it behind him.

Well, at least you could get some peace and quiet– is what you would say if there wasn’t the sound of the bed creaking clearly from rocking back and forth and a quick pace wasn’t coming from behind the drywall of your own room. Whatever, somehow that could be easily ignored by you.

You did notice something more interesting than that though –something you couldn’t seemed to ignore: Arthur’s satchel had fallen from where he had thrown it, landing onto the floor as all his things fell all of it –a mess of papers and money, a couple packs of cigarettes too. You’d click your tongue as you went to pick it up, noticing his journal had fallen out too.

You crouched down to start putting his things back into the leather bag, the money, the cigarettes, though your hands lingered on the worn leather back of his journal for a bit longer than they should’ve.

No, you shouldn’t.

But what if you just– one peak wouldn’t hurt. 

Arthur would probably take a while anyway figuring he went to presumably empty his body of all the alcohol he had drank in just one evening.

 Though as you looked more at the mess on the ground below your knees you’d notice the papers more, one was right side up but underneath the journal, so you’d lift it. Doing so revealed the full drawing done in pencil–

A sketch of a nude woman much like one Châtenay had drawn. But this one– it seemed different. There was more detail, more fluidity to the art, it looked all the more real. Down to the freckles drawn down the valley of her breasts.

You flipped over another stray paper, this one of the same. A naked woman, her breasts on full display, detailed. You’d flip another

And then another.

You’d open his journal.

Flipping through the pages where he’s drawn various things, trees, animals, beautiful scenery of places he’s traveled with the locations written in the corners, some pages filled with chicken scratch of his thoughts– you’d pay no mind to those. You started to notice the pages that were ripped out from his journal yet kept in, more drawings. 

Were you going crazy or did these drawings turn from your average woman with long wavy locks and bright eyes to– you…?

You felt a coil in your gut as you looked down at the images, not the bad kind of coil that you’d get while you’re being chased by an armed man or the kinda coil you’d get as a kid when your parents caught you stealing from the cookie jar– no, you could tell it wasn’t that kind from the additional heat that pooled in your tummy.

Your breathing would pick up, your eyebrows knitted closely as you looked down at these drawings. Your eyes. Your lips. Your nose. Quite obviously your hair too–

Fuck. You were beginning to hear footsteps stumbling down the hallway. You’d quickly shove the contents of his satchel back in, you surely didn't have time to worry about where everything went– if it’d just fall out again, if he’d notice it had been ran and rummaged through. Once it was all in there you quickly latched the button and placed it back on the nightstand, quickly standing from your knees as soon as he opened the door.

“Hi–” 

How could a two letter greeting sound guilty as ever?

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as a grunt escaped the back of his throat, though now looking at him maybe you didn’t wish you were as drunk as him right now –even if it probably meant you’d be forgetting about those drawings by now, maybe you’d just brush it off. 

He closed the door behind him as he coughed into his fist, gently guiding you out of the way so he could get to the satchel on the nightstand– 

Fuck.

As he undid the button he reached in to grab a packet of cigarettes when he noticed one of them was missing. 

“You take one of these?”

He’d say, popping the last one of the packet actually still in his satchel between his lips before lighting it.

“What– no! No– I don’t smoke…”

He’d look at you with his half-lidded gaze he’s had since the saloon, furrowing his brows at your reaction, frazzled for no good reason.

“Christ, girl. You don’t take your liquor well.”

That was funny, you’d think it was the other way around.

“I think it’s quite the opposite, Arthur.”

You’d see his gaze shift to the floor as he looked around, where could’ve that pack gone? He was sure he had a second one– no, he knew he had a second one since he just went out and bought it earlier in the day and– Ah, there it was. Halfway to being pushed completely under the bed Arthur bent to pick it back up. He was too delirious to think of why it even got there.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at him, his body– those fingers that you now knew were once holding a pencil to paper, sketching you, what he imagined to be underneath those pretty blouses you wore, those skirts that stopped at your ankles. 

This was killing you. Even though you hadn’t said a word to him you still felt like you were lying to him, deceiving him. You never had a problem with that before anyway, why start now? 

You knew what else you always were –that damn loud, snarky girl he always hated to be around. The one who’d let any words leave her mouth without a thought and now you’re here, standing in silence, you’d think your mouth was sewn shut. 

Under the shadow of the bed Arthur saw something else– a paper.

Shit. 

He tapped his boot on top of it and dragged it out, the sound of the paper sliding across the wooden floor heightened your senses again. Course it was one of those drawings, those drawings. It was his turn for his heart to rapidly thump against his ribs.

“Fuck.” You’d hear him groan as he bent down to pick up that paper now, looking it over, it wasn’t one of the drawings of you, one of the quick sketches of a woman he hadn’t named.

“You didn’t–”

…

“I did.”

The room fell silently quickly after that, how could it not? There was no point of you mustering up a flustered, messy defense in a long drawn out blabber that’d escape your lips so you’d just admit it. It wasn’t nothing you did wrong anyway. Arthur sighed, rubbing his hand over his face once more as he shoved the drawing back into his satchel, easily frustrated now he’d just crump it up into a ball before getting it into the leather bag. He braced his hands on the edge of the night stand, taking in a deep long breath before letting out an even deeper and even longer breath out. 

You should say something– say something so he could look you in the eye.

“I– didn’t ask for those.”

“I know.” He’d breathe.

“I didn’t even realize you considered us friendly– I had no clue you–”

“I know.”

Your fingers would twitch at your sides, swallowing hard.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

At first in his head those words sounded– like they could be angry, it might’ve been his brain telling him that. Then he heard that tone– that almost breathless tone in your voice. He finally got the courage back to look you in the eyes, his fingers peeling away from the edge of that nightstand, if his nails dug into the finished wood any harder he would’ve left indents.

“You should be angry with me.”

“I’m not. I mean– I couldn’t be farther from that.” 

You’d stop a moment, his breathing was heavy and so was yours. Arthur would push and twist his cigarette into the ashtray to put it out, blowing out the rest of the smoke through his nostrils with a suppressed, small cough.

“What are you then, princess?’

The name he had been calling you all day now sounding completely different in this heavy tone. You knew exactly what you were. Voicing that would be a little difficult. You felt if you did end up blurting something out it’d either kill the moment or kill him. His voice still had a slur to it from the alcohol, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Your own throat ran dry as you flicked your eyes to his plump, pink lips.

A man like Morgan knew what that look you gave meant, he’s had his own fair share of whores over the years, working girls were his usual go-to after Mary at least, before too. I mean, Christ, the man had himself a son once he knew what your eyes alone were saying.

“Why don’t you find out…” You’d finally blurt.

His boots clicked against the ground as he walked close to you, his hand reaching out to cup the nape of your neck.

The way his face slowly, so carefully slowly moved towards yours you’d think he was going in for a slow, gentle capture of your lips– not quite.

His face twitched– leaving you with a brief flash of micro emotion before he would collide his lips against your own, his fingers curling and tangling in your locks of hair.

___________

His tongue delved into your mouth before your own body got the chance to respond, your arms quickly wrapping around his neck as you moaned into the kiss. His hands slid down your shoulders, arms, the curve of your waist, hips, all the way down to your thighs, hands moving to the back of them to hoist you up against his body, his palms laid flat against your ass.

Your legs locked around his hips, finding difficulty to find a place to settle your hands as his tongue fucked your mouth, his shoulders? His arms? You’d eventually give them a home on his vest-covered chest, your fingernails digging into the black leather. 

He could feel the denim of his pants stretch around his growing cock, he hoisted you higher, your clothed breasts practically at his lips now, those lips quickly parted from your lips to move down your neck, sucking at your pulse point.

You would never consider yourself noisy, not ever. Your life so far had never called for sex, sure men had given you their eyes, licking their lips seemingly to grab your attention but they never did, failing miserably instead of getting what they wanted from you. Playing with yourself was a lost cause but you’d count it as experience, the frustrated pumps of your own fingers into your pussy weren’t enough to draw pleasure, relieve the ache in your stomach, it only made it tighter.

Arthur had sucked a hickey into your skin, he made sure it’d be hidden by your hair since it was so far up on your neck. His roughened hands still would squeeze your ass cheeks, fingers working you like dough before giving it a quick, hard spank. Almost just muscle memory for him.

With a grunt he’d lower you two down onto the bed, his mouth quickly returned to yours with the same –nearly violent pace. The bulk of his muscles pressing into your more so petite form. His hand roamed your body – your legs, thighs, stomach, moving up to cup then squeeze your soft breast, the pad of his thumb teasing your budded nipple through the thin fabric of your blouse rewarding him with a moan from your sweet lips.

Just the feeling of his clothing rubbing against his body was driving him mad, ‘’uncomfortable,, couldn’t even express it anymore, it was hell. His hands reluctantly pulled away from you, at a quick pace his thick fingers undid the buttons of his heavy vest, when that was gone, quickly discarded to the floor he finally felt like he was gaining - at least some - of his breath back, now it was a matter of his shirt, quickly undoing the buttons of that next. Fuck, he needed you.

He needed you right fucking now. 

He shimmied the shirt off of his shoulders, down the muscles of his arms before it dropped to the floor behind him –he was on top of you again. His hips bucked into yours quick and hard. Grinding. Rubbing.

Your hair would splay behind you on the bed, always thought in moments like this your eyes should be closed, that seemed like common knowledge, your half-lidded eyes still refused to fully close, especially now that his shirt was off. You’ve of course seen Morgan with his shirt off before, tending to his wounds, his cuts, bathing in the lake out by camp– close up like this it was different. His biceps pulsing as his hands braced on either side of your head, fingers curling into the blanket. Puffs of hard breaths would escape him, it was almost like a pattern before he’d grab you by the sides of your thighs tight.

Arthur would let himself fall back against the pillows that piled against the bed frame, dragging your body right onto his lap –now it was obvious how hard he was, that mass between his legs pulsating against your ass, your back pressed against his chest as he snaked an arm around you, quickly so fucking fast. He’d begin unbuttoning your blouse, tugging it right off of you, you were surprised he didn’t tear the fabric off of your pretty little body. His hands moved up, groping and squeezing your tits from behind, one of his hands moved down your body, down your sternum, stomach, and past the hem of your skirt, dripping your hand under it before his thick fingers found your panties.

Fucking hell you were soaked.

“Jesus christ… Fuckin’ hell you’re soaked…”

He’d grunt, he hadn’t spoken in a while, so focused on his movements, breathing. This was something he couldn’t ignore. He placed a kiss on your nape before his fingers would slide past your wet underwear, his hips involuntarily thrusting into your ass, squeezing your tit harder as he pushed two of his big fingers into your hot cunt. Your head lolled back against his shoulder as you practically squealed. 

“Arthur–!”

Your mouth was wide open, sharp, sinful moans escaping from you as his fingers curled inside you, fuck. If you couldn’t even handle his fingers how would you handle his cock. You can only imagine how fucking big it was. Big hands, muscles, body, it’d be one of god’s greatest jokes if it didn’t live up to the rest of his body.

Your cunt would clench around his fingers- it had been this whole time. His fingernail scraped across the tip of your erect nipple again, you’d squirm in his arms, your own fingers digging into his massive biceps, the tip of your finger tracing the vein that ran down it, his muscle would twitch.

With a wet squelch from your tight pussy Arthur would withdraw his fingers from your walls, you weren’t finished. Wasn’t his concern. The coil in your gut felt like it’d burst any second, your cunt left throbbing, empty without the fill of his fingers.

He was gonna give you something better than his fingers.

“Lift up…”

His mouth was pressed against your ear feeling the hot breath fan onto your lobe. His hands gripped onto your hips, pulling that pretty dark skirt right down the length of your legs, you could hear the clinking of his belt behind you, making your ears perk. 

Another command escaped his lips, you’d nod as you shakily got off of him, kneeled onto the bed. Arthur blew out the oil lamp on the bedside table, the room now lit by the paleness of the moonlight that shone through the windows, the curtains spread. It wasn’t like people would see anyway, though it’d be a good show.

“Up.”

Once he had unbuckled his belt he threw it to the ground– Arthur didn’t wear briefs, why would he? They caused him more discomfort, an extra layer of tightness to his balls and shaft. One tug of his work-pants and his hard, thick cock sprung from the confines of the black denim, the light from the window reflecting on the bead of precum that beaded off his cockhole. His size was impressive, sending a signal through your body– you couldn’t control yourself anymore. You ripped your underwear right off of that poor bundle of nerves that it protected, tossing the wet lace down onto the floor.

You practically crawled to him, his hands reached for your hips before pulling you on top of him, walking on your knees over him, his cock shooting straight up as it twitched with your pussy like it was fucking magnetic. You’d sink your body down onto the thickness, moaning his name as you sheathed him into your pulsating cunt. His hand wrapped around the headboard, gripping it for dear life as he pumped his way into you–

“Fuck!” Your hands braced on either one of his hips before one trailed up to his chest.

“That’s it– that’s fuckin’ it, princess.”

His thrusts quickened, his back arching up with each fast pound of his pelvis. His cock slipping deeper into your gummy walls with each snap. His dick curved inside of you, the head of his shaft kissing your g-spot, he felt so painfully good, your teeth bit into your thumb to try to muffle the sounds escaping your mouth, your body shaking. 

You didn’t want to let yourself be this –a mess on top of him. Riding him. You had to gain some control even with his cock slapping inside of your sore hole. His eyes opening up, releasing the headboard to trail back to your breasts, those scarred, calloused hands - once again - giving the tender mounds another generous groping. Your hands would run to rest on top of his own big ones, the size of him consuming every sense –not only his dick, his hands, his body. Looking down and seeing the muscles in his stomach tense and twitch, his head arching backwards into the comfortable pillows behind. He was close. Surely you were too.

His hand ran to the small of your back as he helped you a bit, pushing himself up against the headboard so his body was lazily sat up now, your hips rolling back and forth into his as you ground down, making a loud, throaty moan release from the back of his throat, his balls slapped against your ass, now you’ve got it. Bouncing up and down on his cock leaving him with no mercy.

“You’re gonna make me cum, princess– you’re’mmmm–”

His eyes locked onto the sight of your perfect tits bouncing up and down as you took his cock, he felt his sack tighten up, that unbearable sensation deep in his gut, he was gonna cum. He needed to cum. Though you were still chasing that high as his fingers dug into your waist, your skin there raw and pink from the tight hold. The base of his cock rubbed against your clit, the coarse hair crowning it scratched against the sensitive, swollen bud, the sensation making you lose every bit of yourself to him.

With one more curved thrust from him you’d climax, your body collapsing over top of his as you did. Making sure to cry right into his ear. Your trembling fingers clawing and digging into the broad, tense muscles of his shoulders. His eyes rolling back into his skull as his orgasm followed yours, strings of hot semen coating your inner walls as he fucked it into you, making your pussy milk out every hot, thick rope of cum, his head falling foreward between the valley of those pretty tits he’d been admiring all night. 

“Oh fuck, princess.” 

His voice wavered as he tried desperately to catch his breath back though it seemed it’d all been stolen from his lungs.

“Oh, Arthur…”

That desperate whine squeaked from your lips. A kiss was planted on your clavicle before he’d guide you so you were underneath him again, careful not to jar you too much after all he was well aware of how hard he had just fucked that tight little hole of yours. He’d pull his shaft out from those walls that were spasmed around him just a second ago, watching all that access, hot seed spill out from your pink petals. 

Did you think that was it? Surely you had to return the favor.

Arthur had a cigarette lit and hanging from his lips that were wet with his own salvia, your head between his legs bobbing up and down on that thick cock that was still coated with your own juice. His fingers tangled up in your hair, fucking your mouth with the same force as he had with your cunt just moments ago. The cigarette in his hot mouth was the only thing suppressing his noises, taking it between his fingertips just to let out a loud long moan. 

You’d gag when his swollen tip hit the back of your throat unexpectedly, your hands digging into his thighs as your eyes held close so fucking tight tears welled up in them, making your vision blurry as you looked up at Arthur, eyes closed, puffing on that cigarette. Your left hand went to wrap around your base as you pulled him nearly completely out of your mouth, your lips still wrapped around his cockhead, your tongue tracing his hole.

“Goooooood fuckin’ girl… Keep going–” 

Your hand jerked him off now as your abused throat got to catch a break, though it’d still need to be put up to work, hm? You hopped onto his thigh as your hand now caressed his chest, trickling your fingers down his thick chest hair that covered the tan skin. Your thumb teased his red hot tip, before you kept rolling your hand up and down –he was close, you now leaned to tell when that vein that ran down his low stomach all the way down to the middle of his shaft began to twitch and pump you’d get to milk the man dry a second time. A mix of your drool and his precum dripping down his length.

Your fist tightened around him as your mouth locked with his as he held the smoking cigarette between his forefinger and his middle, his hand wrapping in your hand to the nape of your neck, hips bucking into your palm, he cums again. Hard. Right into your fist. 

Arthur was panting like a damn dog, you had jerked him off just right to get his legs to tremble as they spread for you. He broke away from your mouth to catch his breath that you stole from him. You trailed a kiss to his neck, he had been marking you all night you thought it was only fair to give him some too, sucking a purple mark into his skin before trailing your mouth down.

“Good girl— good fuckin’ girl…” He was a mess.

His praise was always a godsend to you, ringing through your ears, you craved it. Your tongue ran down his collar, his shoulder, then down his arm, those pulsing muscles that were smooth to the touch, glistening with his sweat. The way his chest began heaving heavily as you traced the thick vein that ran down his bicep with your tongue.

Receiving was something that his body needed. But giving was something that he craved. Just hearing the sweet moans and cries from a woman’s mouth as it hung agape was something that could get him off more times at just the thought of than a blowy. 

–Though now your legs were on his shoulders as he pumped his tongue into your walls, running it up and down your slit as he - messily - ate your pussy, he was starving for it after all. Your back was arching upwards but his hands were too occupied holding your ankles to the dips of his shoulders to touch you anywhere else, his nose pressed against your clit –even his nose could find work. Your pants were hot and labored, all you can let out those sharp, gorgeous whines of his name, the one you’ve grown so accustomed to.

“Arthur!”

Again.

“Fuck- fuck, Arthur–!”

His name learned to roll off your tongue like honey, it seemed to be becoming the thing that came natural to you in life. He loved it, his mouth sucking feverishly at your clit, he knew all  those sweet-spots, you weren’t a religious girl, - if you were you wouldn’t be in your right mind to let Arthur do these truly sinful things to you - but you’d thank god to every whore, every woman that taught him these tricks. 

Your thighs would squeeze his head til’ it was about ready to pop, though that’s just what Arthur wanted, mumbling praise into your sweet, slick folds as his fingers moved into the mix too, forcing your body to that high you’d been desperately chasing, the pad of his finger pressing against one of your soft spots.

You’d cum hard on his face, your glistening climax now coated his beard as he removed his face from your thighs, looking at your heaving, shaking body now beneath him. Resting your legs down he’d slowly lower himself back onto you, his lips kissing from your navel to your lips, his body - and yours, of course - finally feeling a bit heavy.

“You’re too good f’me, girl…”

At the moment there was not enough oxygen in your lungs to give him a vocal response, you’d just nod, your cheeks flushed a pale pink. His hand moved to brush some hair away from your face, strands stuck to your cheeks, forehead, it was a sight for him. He’d pick you up, pulling you to sit in his lap as he held you to a tight embrace, nipping and kissing at your neck. He was so needy for you. 

______

The night had settled, only a bit. You found yourself tucked in Arthur’s arm with the warm quilt thrown on the hotel bed covering your bodies, both sore and spent.

Arthur had been flipping through the pages of his journal now, it only felt right to shamelessly show you the works he’s done of you now, of course those were only a couple.

“I stopped doin’ them for a while now… Most of them was from when I was drunk. Foolish.”

He’d explain, though it didn’t seem like it needed an explanation anymore, you didn’t care after all though you appreciated it. Your hand would reach out to touch the page, feeling the rough paper beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t mind…”

“Yeah well, maybe now you can model f’me, hm?… I’m always better working with a reference.”

You couldn’t help but giggle.

“It's a date then.”

You two had both fallen asleep shortly after, his sweet praises in your ear til your body was limp against his own, his fingers combing through your hair —a moment of intimacy and peace like this after he had fucked you so thorough. Not a thought of worry in your pretty little head.

 'Cept maybe how the ride back was gonna feel on that soreness between your legs– 

[mz4250]

Today I proudly celebrate 10 years of 3D modeling free 3D printable minis!

Today I proudly celebrate 10 years of 3D modeling, printing & painting D&D minis, all for free and all for the world to enjoy! It all started 10 years ago when I posted on reddit a simple black dragon I put together on Tinkercad that the local library 3D printed for me. It blew up on reddit so I made another dragon. Then I learned Blender and decided to 3D model the entire Monster Manual. From there this went from a simple hobby to now my full time profession and I'm loving it!

Thank you all for your kind words and support over the years. I was able to set up a successful Patreon, grow a small community, and model over 5000 minis! If you ever need a mini 3D printed for your games chances are I've made it. Just google "name of creature mz4250" and you'll see the free link, be it on Shapeways, Printables, Thingiverse or on Patreon directly.

Here are a few of my favorite galleries of my works that I think would set up anyone for their D&D campaign. The free file links are below each image:

Monster Manual - https://imgur.com/gallery/1R9Rt8G Monsters of the Multiverse - https://imgur.com/gallery/KBiK1Yp Fizbans Treasury of Dragons - https://imgur.com/gallery/xrvhfIf

I've actually made a variety of other D&D books ready for 3D printing but these are the must haves I feel :)

Anyway thanks again friends! And as always all my models are free and posted daily here: https://www.patreon.com/mz4250

Oh and if you're curious about about my Patreon I offer my patrons access to all my 5000+ pre-supported TTRPG models in one place, along with commercial options, a discord, and requests board. The drives have all the same models that are already out there for free in the internet. Its more for convenience rather than exclusivity.

Stay awesome friends!

[kaivenom]

A girl boss to a gangster (Tommy Shelby edition)

Based on this imagine i did, there will be four parts i think. Same gangter!reader but with a differente shelby each time (like the title says)

Masterlist

People tent to call you "the Red Nightmare", and people often think you are a comunist gentlemen but surprise... red is also a lady's colour.

You were going to Birmingham to see the outlook of the city. Your family wants to expand the bussiness to England and that place is a good start and you are the most capable option of your crew.

You parked the car on the side of the road and went to the Garrison, people have told you is a place very frequented by the local mobs. Maybe you get to do some alliances with them, it would be better than start a band war.

Ordering a drink was easy and the ambience was nice but some dudes started to bother you. In fact, even three boys from the VIP room got out to see.

You wanted to keep a low profile but these men were so insufferable that you ended up beating them. Now that they are on the ground, you wanted to go back drinking, but that was not the case.

"Good morning lady, i would have to ask you to get out." the bartender approached you.

"Jerry, go take a smoke, i have it from here" one of the VIP men sat next to you, dark hair and a lost look "that was quite impressive."

"Well, i can't expect the men to do the work."

"Well, this is my bar, i was going to do something."

"Too late i think."

"It is..." he lighted up a cigarette and offered to you, you took a slight hint "if a woman like you were from Birmingham i would have known you by now so... who are you?"

"I am just a lady."

"That's not true and i advise you not to lie to me." suddently the conversation changed to a much darker tone.

"I am (Y/N), The Red Nightmare. You?"

"Tommy Shelby, of the Peaky Blinders."

"Then i think is good that we both matched here."

"I am not sure about it then, why are you here?"

"Bussiness expansion. Partnership?" you asked with a smile.

"Then maybe we can work something out."

From that moment, it was like being a invited royal, you didn't have to search for a hotel or a chofer. It was like the Peaky Blinder was following you everywhere and so was for the next weeks.

------------------

"Lady (Y/N), Tommy Shelby invites you to an evening to the art gallery. Dress nicely." the courier said to you with a calmed voice.

-----------------

And so you did, you dressed with a red dress, obviously, and went to the gallery. Tommy's chofer left you in front of it, where you saw a very dressed up Shelby.

"Good afternoon, mister." you said with a smile, on the psat couple of weeks, you started to feel better around him.

"Afternoon lady, let's enter." he offered you his arm and like ussually he had a serious face but he looked more relaxed that in the other meetings.

The paintings were beautifull and wine was served to the costumers but there was a lot of people, it doesn't look like a place to a meeting.

"Mister Shelby" you positioned yourself next to him, but looking at the picture, "what is the subject you want to discuss today?"

"None." you almost choked on the wine.

"What?"

"You heard me, this is no business meeting. We already did a lot of that, i wanted to get ot know you a little more...you, not the Red Nightmare."

You were blushing a lot at these revelation, but you wouldn't confront him about it, deep inside you wanted it to happen.

After the gallery, you both went dinning at the Garrison and continued chatting and having a good time.

This thing started to happen more often and more sentimental every time. From time to time, both opening up about feelings and memories, like the war.

One particular night, it was raining and he appeared on your door, all wet and with a sad look. He told you about his nightmares and apparently, this night was a really rough one and he wanted to talk to someone. He talked about that time on France while laying on the couch, with your hands on his hair.

Then, when you both were about to fall asleep, he kissed you, not with lust or angriness but with love and sweetness instead. One thing led to another and you passed the night together.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on his chest and his hand passing thru your hair. When you oppened your eyes, a small smile appeared on his face, it was one of the few times you saw him done that.

"Let's get married." he said with a blank stare.

"Pardon?"

"The thing about your family business it's still going and we didn't solve it yet. A marriage would be the best solution."

"So, after all this, you are asking for marriage just to set a deal." you were starting to feel angry and used.

"Yeah, i thought about it for a while but i wasn't planning on doing it beacuse it's a vulgar way to solve things... i couldn't do that to you. But, after the last few weeks i was starting to think about it less for a bussiness and more like a desire, and after tonight i want to marry you, no matter what. Even if a have to ask you to a hundred more dates or appear on your door at night."

You looked at him, almost crying that this man is trusting you enough to ask you such a important question. Your brain is going very fast, analizing all the facts and possibilities and at the end, you threw all of that to the window.

Passing your hands to his cheeks and leaving a small kiss on his lips, you nod playfully.

"Then let's go call aunt Polly, she will get excited that we finally get married, she likes weddings a little to much."

"Then i shall write my family and tell the news."

You spent the rest of the morning in bed, celebrating the compromise, and later on, you make public, to surprise of no one.

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will... (Brush Name, Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader)

The new gallery space was open, and under everyone's noses a local artist was featured and studied by a enthused debutante.

W.C:~2.3k Warnings: Erotic works, Semi public sexual interaction (no PIV but there is not-so-dry humping), horny paint/art talk, (please let me know if I missed anything)

Your feet were planted solidly on the spot as they had been for the past few too many minutes.

A few steps to the left... and then you were still again, your eyes stuck on yet another hung canvas.

The shades of summer warmed the very air around you, you felt the sand under your toes, the ocean air whipping across your face and whistling past your ears. Your mind was held within the work as you stood there, completely in another world.

The opening of a small wing in the Carroway gallery was hardly a large event in the busy calendar of the Ton, especially when it sat, as it did, between a dozen or so back to back dances, balls and garden parties. There was barely a hundred people milling about the space, and with such grand high ceilings and vast wooden flooring it seemed close to barren.

Walking around the room as you were, other people were barely a consideration as your eyes flickered from one work to another, so a graze of wool sweeping past your bare elbow was a jolt enough to pull your eyes from the wall. The man was speaking, that was for sure, but the words were a flurry of mumblings to your ears, that were still working to tune back in to the world around you.

Your gaze followed the arm by your side, as it pointed about the work, to points and places your eyes never found, too busy working their way backwards towards the man's face. His vest and coat were finely made, the collar of his shirt and the scarf that secured it were very much the same but were overshadowed completely by the flurry that was his Adam's apple as he spoke so vehemently. Finally finding his face you trailed along his jaw, over his lips that danced about impassionedly, up his nose, and settled on his eyes, as fervent as his mouth but with a sparkle that was uniquely his.

'Mr. Bridgerton' Your utterance had interrupted his speech and led his words to a startled end as his flittering stare found you.

Functionally half asleep, you passed by the curtsey you were surely meant to give, and instead followed his arm, still held in gesture, back to the paint strewn canvas.

He greeted you briefly before following your lead and returning his focus forwards, at which point you spoke softly once again; 'I apologise for my absent state. Would you greatly mind repeating yourself?'

He released a chuckle before pausing a moment, seemingly caught in a silent conversation with himself, that concluded in summarising his point. 'I was only stating how enthralling this artist's use of the lighting was, as if the well itself was a set atop a stage, all but commanding our attention, yet I suppose you are my case and point.' His voice flowed like honey lilting over every syllable as he went.

'I suppose I am... You seem much better at keeping yourself grounded.'

'Practice makes perfect, as they say'

'Are there any you have seen that have tempted you today, into breaking that perfect run?' A smile crossed your lips as you kept your eyes fluttering about the space, avoiding the painting itself in an attempt to keep your feet on the ground.

Benedict stood a little taller, casting his gaze about the room a quiet hum sounding from his pursed lips and drawing your own attention. So much so that you had to blink quite a few times to tune back in as he returned his focus to you, the arm that was stretched towards the art was now hooked in your direction.

'Let me show you, hm?' Meeting his eyes you threaded your arm through his and nodded up at him, 'Please,' The word was barely a whisper as it slipped out of your mouth but his soft smile made it apparent he'd heard you clear as day.

His steps were slow, decidedly so, as if he was holding himself back from hurrying to his favoured piece, presumably for the sake of not drawing the full attention of the attendees. Benedict was nodding politely at those you passed, and although you were thankful for his tact, a part of you yearned to witness the full excitement he was so evidently supressing.

The work he brought to you was, by most members of the Ton's opinion, obscene at the very least. That much you had gathered by the wide berth given to the space where the painting hung, and upon settling your eye on it, you caught on to why. Following the strokes, the fleshy tones and the heat of the captured moment, you felt yourself slipping away from where you were and the man who remained intertwined by your side.

It was as if the flesh in front of you was our own, as if you could feel the artists eyes, their brush, tracing the curves of your form, and as your mind fell from its place in the gallery, you began to feel your chest burn.

Your breath grew shorter the longer your eyes rested on the art, this was a change the man by your side took in stride as his own gaze fell from the frame to the placard beneath, wherein the name 'Barnard Blake' sat neatly engraved.

B.B.

He was nothing if not slightly cocky, so yes, despite how seemingly obvious the pen name might appear, it was still the one he chose to use for such pieces that weren't as fit for the eyes of polite society. This moment however was a new one for him; getting to see the reaction people had to his art, and it was a rare treat, even more so, for the viewer to be someone so apparent in their appreciation for the medium.

Benedict watched as your glazed eyes roved the piece, he grew more and more desperate to hear the thoughts that he could feel building within your mind, so with a light hand he ran a path along your skin, hoping to pull you back to the surface.

The heat of his fingers in the chill of the winter air did its job of tearing your focus from the art in front of you, yet as your eyes moved from the wall, it fell to his presence against your flesh. Flickering your eyes back in front of you, the name beneath the the frame rung through your mind, it was one you hadn't heard before and still it prompted a strange sense of Deja vu, one that was echoed again by the touch upon your arm.

'Mr- Benedict, what is it about this that draws your reverie?' You dropped your pretence, in front of a piece like this, one he himself had pulled your attention to, there seemed no need for title or formality.

His eyes seemed to taunt you, never meeting your own but tracing your features lazily as he spoke; 'It feels extensively personal, like the artists eyes are my own.'

'Is that so...' You mused returning your eyes to the work, 'Is that perhaps because they are?'

Benedict's eyes seemed to remain unfazed for a few moments even as his lips formed a question of his own, 'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying...' connecting your eyes with his you watched them shift, as you brought your hand to his, stilling it in its trailed path. 'Bernard, were those lines, those strokes, strewn by these hands?'

'And what if they wer-'

'Say, Bridgerton? Surely you are not exposing this young woman to such profane works?' One Lord Hollowvale had stepped up behind the pair of you, so slipping your arm and hand from his, you withered at the draining warmth as his presence drifted, albeit mere inches from you.

'Of course, Hollowvale, we were simply passing through this part of the collection' Benedict's voice was even and slightly raised as if seemingly fixing himself back to formality.

'Good, good. Anyhow, I've been meaning to speak with you regarding...'

Taking this as a good point of flight you curtseyed your goodbyes and with a brief meeting of Benedict's eyes, you took your leave.

You returned quickly to your prior process of staring and floating away, now, however, the observation was now intercut with moments where you searched the space for his familiar frame. Lord Hollowvale alongside a few other men conversed with him for the following hours, by now you were approaching the last of the paintings, and soon enough you were moving to leave. Against any thought you dawdled as you left, stepping into the hall you trailed the trim of the panelled walls with your eyes, somehow straying even then...

Drifting so much so that you failed to note footsteps, only noting their adjoined figure as his shadow darkened the wood you stood atop.

'Leaving so soon?' Turning your head to the man behind you, you shivered as his touch found the hand by your side. Drawing a line from the tip of your middle finger, over your palm and up your arm, Benedict's touch was like fire tearing your skin asunder and leaving a burning heat in its wake. As his hand raised to toy with the hem of your sleeve your breath caught, and your lungs began to ignite.

'I believe you asked me a question. Care to remind me of it?'

His voice was low, words ghosting past your collarbone as his head dropped down beside your own, seemingly revelling in the lack of thoughts thriving between your ears.

Cobbling together the syllables you could, you spoke, your voice barely a whisper, 'W-was that work, the-the nude, did you paint it?'

It was then his hand delved beneath the fabric of your sleeve, curling around it and slipping it from your shoulder, replacing the silken fabric with his lips against his skin. Benedict's arm sweeping over your front shelved your chest as he grasped your side, his mouth patterning a pillowy trail across to your throat, secured a latch like pucker against your flesh releasing only briefly to murmur out his response.

'And what if I had?' his words rushed air down the front of your dress teasing your bosom with their heat and running a titillating sensation up your spine.

'Then I would label you lewd, and rakish for exposing me to such debauchery.' Your words sounded unsure of yourself despite any inward conviction.

'You would shame me so publicly? Call me such things with my lips on your skin? With my hands upon your body?' He emphasised his words with an open-mouthed press of his lips and a squeeze of his hands, the other of which had snuck to grip the fabric on your hip, bunching it up between his fingers.

'I would not' The chuckle that hummed against your neck spurred you further, 'For then I would have to submit myself to that same title.' At this Benedict raised his head, leaving in his wake, a chill as the air brushed over the memory of his kiss. His grasp spun you beneath him, pulling your front to his own as your eyes met once again.

'You never said what you thought of the painting, what you felt as you fell into the work. I watched it happen and I admit, watching you trace my lines with your eyes as your mind drifted was an indecently captivating sight.'

'I-I was feeling your touch, your brush against my skin, your eyes covering every inch of my body. It was what clued me in to you, your touch on my arm, drawing across my skin. It was identical. Had you paint on your fingers I was sure you would coat me all the same.'

'Is that what you want? My mark upon your flesh, adorning you head to toe?' Benedict was teasing that was for sure, but the look in his eyes let you know there was no word he did not intend to follow through on.

'Y-yes Bene-Benedict I-' Your words fell short as his hand at your hip began gathering more and more of the fabric of your dress, tugging it higher and higher until that side was all but bare, the skirt collected at your hip. Looking down at the space by your feet, you watched as his leg snuck between your own, the harsh cloth grazing the sensitive surface of your inner thigh and pulling the air from your lungs in a shuddering exhale.

'Yes what lovely?' His tone was even and his lips stamped the corner of your mouth as he awaited your breathless answer,

'I want your touch, and everything it leaves. I want you closer.' The words were rushed, tumbling from your lungs between pants.

His hold on you drew you closer as his lips pushed against your own and as your hips dragged over his leg, the knitted material drawing a whimper from your throat that fell right into his mouth. Your hand clutched his shoulder in a scramble for balance, leaning completely into Benedict as the sensation between your legs sent a delicious heat throughout your body that warmed the very air around you. Shifting slightly as you breathed your way through the overwhelming feeling, you moved back and forth over the meat of his thigh the drag eliciting the most intense desire in your stomach.

Your eyes, screwed shut in the heat of the moment, darted open as Benedict dropped his leg from your core, the wetness clinging to your skin was set alight by the chill of the winter air. Senses shocked and desperate for more your voice whined, 'Benedict P-please, stay.'

looking to his face as the weight of your dress fell back into place, you followed his sight down to his leg, where a darkened stripe had been drawn the length of the cloth. 'Oh-Oh I'm so Sorry.' Tilting your head back up to his own, he connected your lips once more before wordlessly tugging his scarf from his collar and pressing it to the wet patch.

'It will stain...' you trailed off, your cheeks burning with heat, that only grew worse as the man above you met your statement with a raised brow, a wicked smirk and the muttered,

'Will it now?'

Benedict was much too joyous at the ruin of his pants in your opinion, but how could he complain. If you were willing to bear his marks he was happy to wear yours.

[changingplumbob]

Knightstone Household: Chapter 9, Part 9

Adam wakes up in a good mood. It’s his day off meaning he can take some time to work on his skills. First up though, food for the family. He cooking away but actually thinking about the painting he wants to finish when he feels things get hot. The food caught fire! Smiling through the chaos he took steps to douse the flames and, leaving hot breakfast for his family, heads upstairs to shower.

Suzanna: Good morning Silas

Silas: Morning Mummy

Suzanna: Are you feeling well still? You didn't catch a chill from the snow?

Silas: Yeah I’ll be fine

Silas speed eats his leftover pancakes so that he can do some reading before school. He’s been feeling like mysteries. Suzanna leaves him to clean the dishes and do other chores while a freshly showered Adam sits down. He’s not too sure about Silas reading such a big book when he’s not even eight but Adam read plenty of books he shouldn’t have when he was young. Seems silly to tell him off for curiosity that’s harming no one else.

After he’s finished Adam heads back upstairs to the veranda. He has a set of easels up here, the surrounding views often inspire him. Thinking hard he begins to paint. His day job is critiquing art but he enjoys creating his own works. When he finishes he congratulates himself on another excellent art piece and after some thinking decides to sell it to the local gallery to increase his fame.

Suzanna: Silas if you don’t leave now you’ll miss the bus

Silas: Sorry mum. Can I invite Ruth and Tyree around after school

Suzanna: Sure, I’ll let your dad know. Have a good day

Silas: Bye Mummy, love you

With one son at school Suzanna went to check on the other. Pollock had been having a sleep in but was happy enough to get up and be put in front of food. While he ate Suzanna carried on with her chores, four people made a lot of laundry.

Pollock: MUMMY

Suzanna could hear him from the bedroom and went back to get him out of his high chair. Before she put him down however she gave him a big snuggle.

Suzanna: What are you going to do today

Pollock: Not no

Suzanna: Whatever you do you let Daddy work when he needs to okay Moondust

Pollock: Yes Mummy

While Suzanna started tending her garden before her shift the frost slowed her down and she didn’t manage to finish. Going to find Adam she asked if he could finish it, kissed him on the cheek, and sped off to work. Adam went outside and watered some of the plants, although it was a bit tricky to tell what needed a drink in the snow.

Adam checked the machine but the washing was still spinning so he got out his guitar and practiced a few songs. Pollock, who had been reading inside, came out at the sound of music.

Pollock: Daddy play

Adam: Sorry buddy, I need to practice

Pollock: No Daddy. I play. Daddy watch

Adam smiled as Pollock began the task of moving himself down the stairs and jumped in the snow. He was glad Pollock was content to entertain himself.

Eventually the washing was done and Adam hung it up before collecting Pollock to take inside.

Pollock: Why in Daddy

Adam: We were outside for a while, don’t want to get too cold. Can you feel the heater inside

Pollock: Yes. Daddy can play?

Adam: You want to play or you want me to play with you

Pollock: With Daddy

The pair played for a while but Adam wanted to work on his writing so he took Pollock in to the office room with him.

Adam: Alright Pol, stay in here where Daddy can hear you okay

Pollock: Kay Daddy

So while Adam worked on his latest book Pollock happily played with the toys, enjoying scuttling through the tunnel especially.

Pollock: What Daddy do

Adam: Hmm? Oh I’m writing my book

Pollock: Huh?

Adam: It’s a science fiction book called We Came From Sixam

Pollock: Did Daddy

Adam: No Daddy didn’t. Mummy and Daddy came from earth carriers. But when you write books you can make up your own stories. My main character comes from Sixam

Pollock: Oh. Kay

Pollock grabbed his tablet and sat by Adam as he did his final edits. Eventually Adam felt like the book was good enough to go to the publishers. With Pollock escorting him he went to the mailbox and posted off the manuscript. Later in the evening his publisher called to let him know the book had been nominated for an award, very exciting!

Previous ... Next

[itspupppycat]

I have successfully replaced all the builds in Oasis Springs today. It took a little work because not one but twice my game decided to just get stuck in a loading screen, thankfully I replace builds from build mode so I was able to save as I go and didn’t lose any progress. I only know to do that because this is not the first save where I’ve had this happen, I learned that lesson.

Tomorrow I’m going to replace the Landgraabs and the Calientes, I’m keeping the Roomies and Johnny Zest they are all always good friends to have. I’m gonna avoid procreating with premade Maxis townies so I’ll be on the gallery tomorrow finding sims to populate the world of Oasis Springs.

I like to keep my gameplay fairly localized to one or two worlds. I don’t really like to travel to the other worlds unless there is a festival or they’re going on vacation. Something about it just makes me feel more immersed in my game.

The last time I did the short lifespan legacy I just plopped my sims in Newcrest and went from there with no set up at all. I’ve since learned I like to do set up so I don’t have to fiddle with things as much during gameplay (or maybe I just enjoy setting up lol).

[museumelina]

Ali Cherri, The Dreamer, 2023, Montpellier, La Panacée, part of the exhibition "Être Méditerranée", June 22-September 22, 2024.

July 14, 2024. I like going to museums and galleries at any occasion.

I appreciate that some people flock to them specifically during the summer (whether they're on holiday or locals with more time to spare), specifically because these spaces are air-conditioned. I visited a museum a couple years ago during a severe heatwave and the museum not only waived entry fees that day but they'd also set up a sort of "cooling station" in the lobby where you could just sit and drink water and have a snack, also free of charge and with no obligation to actually go and see any of the art if you didn't want to. I loved that, because the museum in question basically made a statement of "museums are a public service" in not so many words.

It was hot today, not a heatwave but still a bit stifling, and we were out and I'd yet to see one of the summer expos in town so we went, only to find that the space isn't air-conditioned, like at all, which is alarming from an art conservation perspective but also deeply distracting from a spectator perspective, because we ultimately rushed through the exhibition to get back outside.

Regardless of the discomfort, I did stop and spend time admiring this piece by Ali Cherri. I always snap a picture of the cartels so that I can put an artist and a title to the work later, so I didn't actually read it at the time but this work is called The Dreamer, and I love that because while I was going around and contemplating it, I wanted to ask it, "what are you looking at? what are you thinking about?"

[theshejen]

Casey Novak Enimies to Lovers Chapter 2

Casey had called you into her office right after you got nearly enough information on El Fuego to act on it.

“What?” You asked, winded from walking so fast into her office. The sooner you arrived, the sooner you could leave.

“Need you to sign some paperwork for me,”

She was being really pleasant for someone who just outed you. Part of you felt conflicted at giving her ice so you quickly signed the form before turning to leave.

“Was that your first time at a club like that?”

“What does that have to do with the Case?” You ask, trying to be gentle. “It doesn't, I am just curious, ya know.”

Casey has pinged for you but she did seem…inexperienced. “It's a nice event every month or so. Dancing, a few performances, and drinks.”

“Cool,” she hesitated. “That'll be all, Detective,”

That afternoon, Liv and you had gotten to El Fuegos ex employee. Someone who used to sell her drugs and knew about her people. You had gotten to him and now all that was needed was El Fuegos house, which he claimed he didn't know. “A night in Rikers might change his mind,” Liv commented, looking through the glass at the loser.

The pair of you were walking out of the building when Novak called you, requesting your presence. You gave Liv an eye roll before you got off the phone. The two of you said goodbye before you mentally prepared yourself to deal with the annoying redhead.

You strode in, all cockily. “You asked to see me, councilor.” “Yeah,” she said with a smile, gestured for you to sit and leaned against her desk.

“You were there when they arrested Mark Gibbon, correct?”

“Yeah, that was like four months ago, why?”

“It would be a big help if you testify. He claims I have a bias against him and I'd like for you to testify that he doesn't and that he was difficult with all involved in his investigation.”

You threw your head back and laughed. The redhead gave you a quizzical look. “You want me to help you after you outed me?” You laughed again.

“Screw you, Novak,” you went back to writing on your notepad when she sat on the chair next to you.

“I need your help with this Detective. To show that I have integrity,” Casey pleaded, almost softly. “First off, I've only known you a few months, secondly you have other people here who know you better who you hopefully didn't out too,”

Casey stood up, “That's the point, you don't know me well enough to cover for me since we aren't friends and haven't had a chance to be,”

“Maybe I'll be your rock…I'll think about it.”

………………………………..

You wanted to tease the woman and it had worked. You barged into her office two days before she needed you and the look on her face….you figured this would be a fun time in court.

“Detective, have you experienced ADA Novak being unprofessional?”

“She's a pain but I don't hate her. Novak is good at her job which is a lot more than I can say about skeevy cops.”

“Do you know why her integrity is being questioned?”

“Because Mark Gibbon wants to get off by saying Novak hates him. When I was in the army, I helped disciple people. Someone like Ms. Novak may get a talking to but she's one of the good guys, always does the right thing, I have no issues with her and have never seen her behave unprofessionally or out of line, even at after work functions.”

“What makes her so difficult, Detective?”

You licked her lips, instead of giving you that look in her office, the redhead was glaring at you. “She's a crusader for the truth, desperate to do the right thing, like a Jedi.”

A few of the gallery laughed.

“She's a pain but good at her job, great even,”

After the win court all of you celebrated at the local bar. You were sitting in the corner sipping your third lager beer when she came up to you. “Thanks for helping me out today,” Novak offered.

“You didn't seem to like said help at the time,” you said, sipping at the last quarter of the beer, stumbling a bit in the chair to look at her.

“I was about to head out, join me?” You nodded and chugged the last bit of beer. The two of you wandered outside. You couldn't help but notice her beauty.

“You're a virgin aren't you, councilor?” She gave you a confused look, “How can you tell?” “I don't know, just can,” you laughed a bit. She glared at you. “I think you need to learn to be nice,” “I am to most everyone…except you,” you laughed again. “You know what, you can find your own way home.” She says shoving you a bit. You felt bad suddenly, ruining her win, “Case, love come back, I'm sorry.” But she was already away.

After a morning of delivered breakfast you did some work and thought about what you had said to her. Sunday afternoon you had been called in and stayed until Monday 5pm. Being a hair younger than everyone, except Novak, you didn't mind as long as you got Chinese food.

“Can I talk to you?” A familiar voice grumbled behind you. You felt drunk again, this time from the lack of sleep.

“I need you to research this guy for me tomorrow. I think he is our link between this case and the one from four years ago.”

“Four years ago you were in diapers,” you lent to her. “What's in it for me? You out me, I help you, I help you again….” “You were a bastard to me at my celebration, “I get why you walked away, but if you didn't I would have apologized,”

She huffed. “Well please start research on this,” “Novak, I'm happy to help tomorrow but I'm tired and I'm not your bitch. I'll do this tomorrow, I promise.”

“ Fine,” she gritted through her teeth. “Don't know why you're such a dick about everything.” “Because I don't work for you,” “Actually you do,” she claimed before turning and walking away. Why was every conversation and interaction with this woman difficult?

[harleychick91]

SuperCorptober Day 22: Art

Friends To Lovers

“You seem rather perky today,” Lena grinned. “What is it?” Taking her normal seat on the couch, the businesswoman studied me. “Something good happen at work?”

Sitting, I unpacked our lunch. “Sort of. It does deal with work but not totally.” Pulling out my phone, I brought up a picture and gave my phone to Lena. “Have you heard of this new artist, Sarah Bennett? Some of her paintings are in the newest collection at the art gallery in town.”

“The one that opened last month?” A dark brow rose.

“Yes. I’ve saved a few pictures if you want to swipe through them. Beyond the woman’s name, there’s virtually zero information about her. Miss Grant wants me to find out who she is for an exclusive.”

Handing me my phone back, Lena nodded. “How do you plan to do that?”

Grinning, I shrugged. “I was hoping you knew something about her since you know people in the art world. Or maybe a lead on the type of art she does? My guess is that she orders all of the art supplies online and has them delivered so she can keep her identity secret.”

“Maybe she wants to stay hidden?” Lena offered. “Like Supergirl.”

“Possibly. If that is the case, I’d write the article without revealing too much.”

“You do have that talent,” the brunette smiled. “You always respect the person you’re interviewing and never write something they truly want to keep private.” Lena chuckled. “I’d know.”

“I do my best.” Looking back at the pictures, I chewed the inside of my cheek. “She captures her subjects in a way that’s incredible. Each detail is done with such care. With the amount of paintings in the gallery, she must have a studio somewhere in town.”

“It sounds like you have a crush on Sarah Bennett,” Lena teased. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Heat crept up my neck. “Oh, I don’t… It’s just…her art is…”

“Kara,” Lena placed a hand on my arm, “I’m joking. I’m glad you enjoy her art. If I find anything out, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” I smiled. “Now, let’s eat!”

“Yes,” the CEO laughed. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for being late again.”

Xxx

A few days passed and I still had no leads on Sarah Bennett. Sighing, I stared at the blinking cursor on my empty word document. “Kara Danvers?”

Looking up, I raised my hand. “Over here.”

“I have a delivery.” Placing an 8x10 package on my desk, the man smiled. “Sign here.” Doing as asked, he tipped his hat. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Carefully, I unwrapped the brown paper. A soft gasp escaped my throat when I saw myself staring back. Oh, gosh. This is gorgeous! Unfolding a note, my cheeks flushed.

To my greatest admirer. This is how I see you. -Sarah B

Placing the note down, I picked up the painting. I look beautiful in this. Whoever this woman is, she sees me in a way I don’t see myself. I have to find her.

Walking past my desk, Winn stopped. “Wow. That’s incredible. Who’s it from?”

“Sarah Bennett.” I slid the note under my arm. “I guess she found out I’m a fan of her work.”

“Does Miss Grant know yet?” The man grinned. “She’s going to freak.”

“No. It just arrived.”

“Have fun dodging her,” he murmured.

Taking my lunch break, I kept thinking about the painting. I wish I knew more about her. If I knew something, anything, maybe I could find her. Grasping at straws, I found myself in front of the art gallery. Maybe the owner knows something.

Entering the gallery, I went to the new artist section. My jaw slacked seeing a new painting. It was two women, one blonde and one brunette, sitting at a small table at a local coffee shop. That looks like me and Lena.

“Kara, you’re back.” John, the owner, came to stand beside me. “It just arrived this morning. She named it: Friends To Lovers.”

My stomach dropped. How does she know?

Finish reading on AO3 or FFN

[tveitertotwrites]

Tobias Carrick Appreciation (Part 1?)

Hey everyone! So I obviously had to participate in Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week (both since I didn't do it last year and also having an OC that romances him). For today's prompts, I am just going to answer them as questions and not in a fic. I am also going to answer both prompts/questions along with the prompt from last year but I am only counting it as one creation since it is all going to be in the same post.

Starting with last year's prompt, Where did he come from?

My HC for Tobias is that he grew up in the Midwest (either Indiana or Illinois). He was born on May 25th, 1983. His parents divorced when he was 3 and he has an older sister named Maria who at the time was 5. His father, David, decided to move across the country to California and start a life with his new family, meaning Tobias and Maria stayed with their mother, Naomi. His mom decided to not remarry and focused on her job and her kids.

He decided to take up medicine after seeing his sister, who did gymnastics, get injured multiple times and wanted to learn how everything works and heals. He went to Columbia for Undergrad and then obviously John Hopkins for Med School. From Middle School to Undergrad, he played Baseball and Lacrosse, helping his team to sectionals many times.

In school one of his favorite subjects was actually English. He liked reading poems and hearing different stories. His other favorite class was Art and was pretty good at it and got some local awards for his art in high school.

Now on to this year's prompts/questions, If Tobias could no longer practice medicine (the reason is up to you). What would your Tobias select as his new career? What would he pursue? Would he be successful?

If he had to stop practicing medicine, I do think it would be in favor of helping someone get something the really needed (idk what it would be). I think he would then try to pursue art or music (as I HC that he's good at playing guitar). He could either make art for different galleries or be a guitarist for an artist when they tour and would be pretty successful.

And the other question/prompt, Does he travel? Have hobbies, or is he a workaholic through and through? What does he enjoy to do when he has downtime? What does he wish he had time to do? Does he have any hobbies he doesn't want anyone to know about? Where does he like to travel? Does he overpack or underpack? What's his ideal vacation/holiday? Does he travel solo or with others?

Tobias does love to travel, he takes a yearly trip to Greece with his mom and sister (and then with Adelaide as well once they're together). He likes booking warm/tropical places depending on the time of year because he likes being able to swim in the ocean or some body of water. He occasionally does city trips like London or somewhere else but it's not his ideal choice (the majority of his city trips start after meeting Adelaide). Before Adelaide and Tobias get together, he sometimes goes alone on trips and sometimes invite friends. One of his favorite spots to vacation at is Spain (specifically Majorca). At first he used to underpack a little but now he tends to overpack a little (especially after having kids).

Tags: @jerzwriter @storyofmychoices

[vera-king-hrfl]

Heat of the Night part 3 (thank you @crowwolf for the title, it fits!)

This is still going to be sweet and cute for a while, but y'all know me, I'm a fiend for drama, so there's some foreshadowing in this one. 😈

Also, we're not doing the typical BG everyone is pansexual thing here. Don't get me wrong, I love that and most of my stories are that, but this one is written with more of a 1980s Earth mentality toward homosexuality, so some of the upcoming drama will surround that attitude. It's not in this one, and I will include warnings in the future when it does come up. ❤️

Cal hangs around the house the next day, making breakfast, doing laundry, and cleaning up the place a little. Living with his sister is nice, but they are both rather messy people, so there's always a lot to clean up on their days off. He’s sitting at their little dining table with Lia, eating while she giggles over Baldur’s Mouth, the local tabloid rag, telling him all the juiciest gossip about rich people they'll never meet.

"Oh, now this is interesting." She sips her coffee, eyeing Cal and waiting for him to ask her about it. But her brother knows Lia's game; the little tiefling loves chattering on about anything and everything, and can’t hold back for long, so he just smirks and finishes his toast before resting his chin on his hand and staring at her.

The standoff doesn't last long, as he'd expected, and Lia finally hmphs. "Oh alright, fine. Do you remember Lucretious?"

Cal nods. "Mhm. She used to run the extraplaner circus..."

"Yeah, that's her. Well, apparently she's opening an art gallery not too far from here next week. We should go and support her." She perks up and grins. "Hey! You should show her your stuff. Maybe she'd like to give you a bit of wall there."

Her brother snorts. "Pffft. I'm not good enough for that. We can go, Lucretious is a sweetheart, but keep your trap shut. I'd just embarrass myself."

Lia rolls her eyes. "You are so good enough. Your drawings are beautiful, Cal. But fine." She gets to her feet and grabs her bag, and Cal entertains a brief hope that maybe she'd forgotten about the previous evening. He's not that lucky though, and she continues as she roots for a trolley token. "I'll leave you alone about the gallery, if you promise to call that guy today." She grins at Cal's flinch. "And don't think you can avoid it. I memorized that number last night."

Cal huffs. "Meddling brat. Fine. I said I would call him, and I will. Just don't be a pest about it."

"Alright. I look forward to hearing how it went. Just remember, we have dinner at the tower with Rolan tonight. Then you can tell us both." Her grin widens as Cal groans. He loves his brother, but the older Arch Mage and professor is skeptical about anyone trying to date his siblings, and has a tendency to cause scenes. He'd been fine when Cal declared his preference for men, but the young tiefling hadn’t really dated anyone in a few years, and he expects the third degree about anyone he goes out with. So he just waves his sister off and goes to do the washing up while she leaves for work.

Later, he's sitting at the table with a sketch pad in front of him, doodling and stressing. The pink napkin is on the table too, and his eyes keep drifting to it, breaking his dubious concentration. Finally, he sits back and scrubs at his face with both hands before looking at the thick, charcoal decorated paper. All the anatomy studies he'd been working on that morning were quite a bit darker than he was accustomed to doing. It was a challenge to leave enough white space to really define the lean muscles on the tight, limber torso... but the way the light hits that nearly black skin... he looks at the napkin again. There is no way that man will ever let me see him like this.

Finally, after annoying himself to the point of courage, he picks up his communicator and slowly enters the number on the pink paper. He stares at the thing as if it's about to attack him for a second, then sighs and hits send, standing up to pace as the tone plays in his ear.

"Vendui?" The soft voice is familiar, but Cal doesn’t recognize the greeting.

"Uh... sorry, I'm looking for Ryldinn."

He hears the smile, while causes his own lips to twitch in answer. "You have found him. Is this Cal?"

"Yeah it is... we met last night at the White Swallow." He winces. Obviously Ryldinn knows that, you idiot; he was there. But the rather sexy accent is more noticeable now than in the noisy club, and it's throwing him off. As does the pretty little laugh that follows.

"How could I forget? How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. And you?"

"Bwael, yes, wonderful, now that I hear you. Have you had chance to decide whether to see me? May I think that is why you call?"

Cal has to sit down at that. It’s like a dream, the lovely man seeming so eager to see him again. He holds the device away from his face to clear his throat before answering. "Yeah, it is, um... if you want to. Where would you like to go?"

"There is a café near to my home. Evae Aloun. Do you know it? Right near the Upper City gate. What time would you like to meet? I am not busy today."

"Uh... today? I mean, yeah I know the place. I have dinner with my brother around eighth bell, but anytime before that would be great."

He hears the adorable smiling sound in the soft words again. "Very well. I shall be there at the third. I am happy for this, Cal. Will see you there."

They say their goodbyes and Cal ends the call, staring at the comm for a moment before tossing it next to him on the sofa and sitting back, pushing his hair behind his horns. He glances at the clock. Just after first. He has time to get ready, but he’s not sure if he's prepared to see the beautiful man again. Some part of him still thinks this must be a mistake, or a joke of some kind. Maybe Ryldinn had been dazzled by the flashing lights in the club, or something...

He groans and stands, going into his room to spend an inordinate amount of time agonizing over his appearance. He settles on a short sleeved shirt and some decent jeans, then stands in front of the mirror to fuss with his hair and tug at the shirt to try and hide the little belly that he'd grown in the last few years of single life. Finally he sighs and rakes the dark locks into a ponytail, grabs his keys and money, and leaves the house to catch the trolley.

The time he left at should have brought him to the cute little café a bit early, but a delay in the trolley service makes him several minutes late instead, and he hurries down the sidewalk, hoping that Ryldinn won't be upset. He doesn’t see the man at first, when he reaches the place, and his stomach sinks for a minute as he considers that perhaps Ryldinn had grown tired of waiting and left. Or maybe he'd never meant to come here in the first place. Cal sighs, looking around for a minute.

"Hi."

At the soft sound, Cal spins to see his date standing behind him, smiling. "Oh... hi Ryldinn. Im sorry I'm late, the trolley..."

The drow chuckles and takes Cal's hand to lead him to a table outdoors, near a corner. They sit, and Cal wracks his brain for something to say. "You look nice," is all he can come up with. It's true, too. The pretty little man is wearing loose soft pants that cling precariously to his narrow hips and an expensive looking vee neck t-shirt with some modern art piece printed on it, cropped just enough to skim his waistband. Delectable little peeks of his silky grey skin show when he moves to wave the smiling dwarven waitress over, and it's all Cal can do not to stare at him. Ryldinn is even more gorgeous in the sunlight, his hands, arms and face gleaming, though his big eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses. He'd left his shimmering hair down too, and he sweeps it back after the lady takes their order, resting his chin on his hands to look at Cal.

"Thank you. You look quite good yourself." Ryldinn isn’t lying about that, and he's thankful for the glasses that let him inspect the handsome tiefling without seeming like a creep. He can sense Cal's apprehension, and doesn’t want to scare the man away. But he looks anyway, appreciating the way his chest and strong arms push at the fabric of Cal’s button down shirt. Astarion was right, the beefy young man is undeniably Ryldinn’s type, and he'd been captivated by him the moment he'd walked into the bar the previous night. Said tiefling is possibly blushing now, though its hard to tell with the reddish shade of his skin. Ryldinn can’t see very well anyway, in the bright afternoon sun, but it's impossible to miss the shy grin and the way his burning eyes flicker over Ryldinn in a similar appraisal, and then dart away nervously. The drow smiles, pleased that Cal seems to like the way he looks.

Their drinks arrive, and Cal adds milk and sugar to his coffee while Ryldinn blows on his own decalf espresso. "Do you take sugar?" The tiefling offers Ryldinn the container, but the dark elf shakes his head.

"No thank you, Cal. You sweet enough for the both of us." He's rewarded with another cute little flush, more obvious this time, and decides to make small talk to put the man at ease. "So," he says, sipping carefully at the hot cup. "What was wrong with the trolley?"

Cal shrugs. "Just the usual mess. I guess some rich politician got murdered early this morning and they're doing an investigation. They rerouted all of the cars to another street."

A thin white eyebrow raises above the rim of the glasses. "How shameful. What is the city coming to?" There’s a dash of irony in his voice that Cal can't quite place, but he puts it down to the accent, or perhaps the rumored violence of his former society made the man more immune to things like that. "Do not worry though, I would have waited longer."

"Uh... heh, alright." Cal is actually enjoying the company now, relaxing a little now that they're here and Ryldinn seems to be openly flirting with him. He thinks maybe there's a possibility that the drow does actually like him. He certainly seems to. "So, um... what do you do? For work, I mean."

Ryldinn leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. "I am a procurator at a specialty book shop in the Upper City. It's not that interesting, really. I just find books for people who want them, but the owner is kind to me, and I get to meet interesting people. What about you?"

"Nothing that posh, I'm afraid." Cal chuckles a little. "I'm a mechanic. I work for a friend of the family fixing whatever needs fixed. Including these rickety trolleys, when the company decides they're on the verge of falling apart. But if you do rare books or whatever, maybe you know my brother, Rolan."

Ryldinn sips his coffee again. "Mm, I've never met him; the boss usually entertains the more important clients. But I do believe I have found some things for him. It must be interesting having an Arch Mage for a brother."

Cal grins. "It’s stressful, actually. He's... well. He's a bit cranky and pompous, and very protective of me and our sister. Do you have family here?"

"Oh my. I hope he's alright with us seeing each other. I wouldn't want a wizard mad at me. But no, I don’t have any family." The last sentence seems to cool Ryldinn’s expression a little, and Cal hurriedly moves on, thinking that may be a sensitive subject for the man.

"Oh, he'll disapprove at first, I'm sure, but he'd disapprove if I was dating a Grand Duke. It's fine. Besides. I'm enjoying this. I haven't been on a date in a few years, and certainly not with someone so..." he blushes and buries his face in his cup, hoping he didn’t go too far.

But Ryldinn just smiles, sets his cup down, and lays his hand on the table, palm up. "So what?"

Cal swallows, looking at the offered hand for a second before gently taking it, curling his rough fingers around the slender dark ones. "I'm going to be honest with you, Ryldinn. When I first saw you I didn't think... well I thought you were just being nice, or teasing me because I'm new. I've only really been "out" for about a year and I've never dated a man before. I don’t really know how all of that works. But I do like you and... I think you're very beautiful. I just couldn't imagine what you saw in me. Astarion did say I was your type, but he was being kind of... I don't know. I'm just really nervous."

Ryldinn nods, squeezing his fingers a bit and seeming to consider. Finally he smiles. "Don’t worry about him. We've known each other for about fifteen years, and though he can be a jerk sometimes, he's the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother. So he's a little... protective as well, I suppose. But, Cal... I'm not... I have not dated anyone in... well I've never actually had a boyfriend or anything like that. But life gets lonely, you know? So, if you are willing to give this a chance and see where it goes... I do find you very attractive as well, I will admit that, but there’s something else about you. I cannot really express. I am more good at reading your language than speaking it. I am getting better at it, but my boss speaks drow, as well as Astarion, so I don't practice as much as I should."

"I understand you perfectly, Ryldinn, it's alright." He looks at the soft hand in his for a minute, digesting Ryldinn’s statement. He thinks Cal is attractive, along with whatever else he's noticed that seems to please him. "Yeah, I'm willing to give it a chance. Not only because you're good-looking. You were just really nice to me. You're the first guy who's really shown any interest. I just... I want to get to know you better."

Ryldinn smiles, and they chat for quite a while, about their work, local events, casual things, until the shadows start to lengthen over the café and it's time for Cal to go get ready to spend the evening with his siblings. Ryldinn stands when he does, and Cal hesitates for a minute before gently taking his arm and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. The drow dimples, pleased. "I am busy tomorrow, but perhaps I could see you the next evening? The view of the sunset from the bluff outside the city is lovely."

Cal grins. "It’s a date. I'll call you later to work out exactly where and when. Um... this was nice. Thank you."

[bklynmusicnerd]

"It's easier to be alone, because what if you learn that you need love and you don't have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It's like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever." - Meredith Grey (Grey's Anatomy)

So I definitely feel like today was the best in terms of the writing for Trina's grief so far, just because it finally grounded it in a clear direction, survivor's guilt. Trina's grief manifesting itself as survivor's guilt makes so much sense for her character because it's the natural culmination of her savior complex.

That inherent belief that it's her job to save the people around her, the foundation of many of her key relationships and her status as a heroine, is also the belief that leads her to coming to the conclusion that she wishes she had died instead of Spencer.

I feel like it's easy to write that line off as a classic "soap heroine can't live without her love" moment but I actually think it's a little deeper than that for Trina, I think she's basically drowning in this idea that she doesn't deserve to be the one who lived. I've said it before, but this isn't just a sense of loss for Trina. It's a sense of failure.

Spencer having to sacrifice himself for her, in Trina's eyes, is her failing to protect him and be his "hero" (one of the "last" things he said to her before he went overboard). It doesn't matter if that's a completely irrational conclusion, it speaks to how Trina burdens herself. She won't take the compliment when it's given to her but she'll always take the blame, even when no one gives to her.

Cause no one else is burdening themselves with the "loss" of Spencer to that extent except maybe Nik, who turned himself in and is doing penance in the local clink like he's not an incredibly wealthy and powerful man. But to get back to the Trina of it all, she goes to the gallery seeking a sense of usefulness, gets triggered by the first painting she holds, is taken back to a moment of bleak helplessness, and is completely overwhelmed by the anxiety she experiences over the memory of Paris alone (TA played not just the grief but the hints of ptsd so smoothly). This is the kind of fluidity in Trina's grief that I was hoping for as opposed to the one-note, generic "boo hoo" stuff.

She can't move on because she can't forgive herself, and Ava just gets that immediately and starts listing all these people who need her to stay alive for them, herself included. She tells Trina that she's grateful to Spencer for what he did because she needs her, and cuts through (however temporarily) Trina's sense of not feeling worthy of it.

In general, I love how dark things got with Trina's pov today, I don't think we've ever seen her come this close to suicidal ideation before, but I think it works. She's mentally stuck in this moment where she had to watch someone she loved die for her and it all happened so fast that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The panic, the frustration, the despair Trina displayed today, all makes sense in accordance with this survivor's guilt arc. The only problem is that's a heavy story that requires way more screentime that it's currently being given to be told properly. But, I do think it's interesting that Trina is sort of stuck in grief even though she doesn't want to be.

She's punishing herself by putting her education on hold, and the gallery isn't the reprieve she's used to it being for her during hard times. How far is Trina's survivor's guilt going to go and how far is she going to take this idea of punishing herself? Trina is a character that likes to have control over her life and right now, in the aftermath of all of this, she has none. She can't move on and there's nothing and no one for her to save (yet) so she's just stuck in this moment of failing to be the hero.

This is why Trina's admission to Ava that it "feels like [she] can't breathe" hit as hard as it did. It feels like we're watching Trina succumb to a darkness that Spencer credited her with saving him from. That's the tragic irony of this whole thing, it's not in Trina's instinct to give herself credit for all the ways in which she saved Spencer, but she will replay on a loop the one crucial time she thinks she failed him. It's important to remember that Trina felt this sense of responsibility toward Spencer way before she knew she was in love with him. She was always going to lash out at herself the most.

[charlesandmartine]

Friday 18th October 2024

The first British person to spot what we now call Darwin was Lieutenant John Lort Stokes on HMS Beagle in 1839 but it wasn't until 1869 when a small settlement was established here and initially became known as Palmerston after Lord Palmerston the then Prime Minister and in 1911 the town was renamed Darwin. A port was soon established to supply the settlement but in 1897 a cyclone destroyed the whole lot; a cycle to repeat itself in 1974 when Cyclone Tracy flattened the entire town again killing 68 souls. Between Cyclones of course was a small conflict called WW2 which found Darwin a quite attractive target to the Japanese who successfully carried out a huge number of bombing raids, 64 in all. The mastermind Japanese commander who attacked Pearl Harbour then turned his attention to Darwin. American bases were established here and I'm sure over the next fews days we shall investigate these further.

Now affectionately referred to as 'The Top End' Darwin offers the tourist a great deal of interest.

The day started with a shortish run along the footpaths adjoining the Esplanade; early enough for it not to be too hot. Just as well, because the heat is on and it was promised to feel like 38 degrees.

Whilst still bearable we walked along the Esplanade passing the war memorials and down to where we first came ashore from our cruise in 2016. Memories were jogged and furthering these we thought we might catch a hop on hop off (hoho) to the Art Gallery. It was then we found that instead of paying £24 each for the hoho, we could catch a number 4 bus which was totally free!! Free entry to the Museum and Art Gallery as well, so perfect day all round! Now you know how it is when you ask for some travel advice from a bloke at a bus stop, any bus stop anywhere in the world, you ought to just know this is probably the one person in the universe that you shouldn't have freely opened yourself up to. I mean he looked innocent enough! We heard his travel plans, how much he was paying for his accommodation, about his brothers and so it went on. He got particularly exercised when talking about kangaroos. Part of the problem was that most words were expletives; if we could have cut those out the conversation could have been a fraction of the length. Then the bus came we made our goodbyes but he jumped on and sat next to us and enriched us with further insights. During the fairly short journey the driver chose to share his favourite album over the bus speaker system at several decibels! When he turned corners with his indicators going, we had a disco you could charge for. The benefit in all this was we struggled to hear what our new pal was saying! We reached the Art Gallery and it appeared he was going further. Clearly not an art lover.

We have been to this gallery before and it is predominantly exhibiting indigenous art, but it does have on display the pride of place work of a local taxidermist in the form of Sweetheart, a 16ft 10in crocodile! Sweetheart had not been very nice to a local community so it was decided to send a team of suicidal experts to capture and rehabilitate said 50-80 year old reptile. Sadly the operation did not go well for Sweetheart, and he died in the process, but lives on in his stuffed new attire. When the taxidermist did what taxidermist have to do, they found all manner of items within such as a sheep, various engine parts and bits of boats. The last time we visited this place, there was an excellent exhibition of pictures and reminiscentcies of the 1974 cyclone. It was closed today for refurbishment, but there was a powerful film being shown of the after effects of the storm. People's lives were completely shattered; destroyed. There was nothing left and everything needed rebuilding; property, lives, and way of life. But through it all, the people interviewed had nothing but praise for the help they received from friends, government and charities.

Bus back, no mate on board and unmolested we spilled into Coles for some further provisions. We ended the day on our lovely balcony, the sun casting its long beams shimmering across the sea whilst we sipped a chilled SB. Great day.

And on queue, as the sun disappeared completely, its work done for the day, a thousand birds incognito heralded the event yet again as though an orchestra under the control of a batton, their cheerfulness and zest filling their environment with song. Then, suddenly, without warning, all was quiet again until dawn.

[curatorsday]

Wednesday, November 20, 2024

I had a rather varied day today. In the morning I went to one of our local gun shops to pick up a Civil War era rifle used by a member of the 107 NY Volunteers that had been shipped from a donor in Arizona. I'm happy to say I passed the background check (though I'm not sure why they needed to know my weight). In the afternoon, I worked with our Education Director hanging up artwork from her first grade classes in our Bank Gallery.