#processional weapons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mystical-flute · 2 years ago

Text

Journey to the Past (Part 7 of The Road Not Taken series)

After getting Wano's poneglyph rubbing, the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates are invited to Shusui's internment at Ryuma's temple. While there, Zoro discovers Wano is more familiar to him than he thought...

Contains spoilers for post-Wano and SBS 105

Also on AO3 || Buy me a ko-fi

“How far down is this thing?” Nami asked. “It feels like we’ve been walking forever!”

“I do apologize, but our poneglyph has been kept safe and secure here for centuries. We don’t intend to make it easier to find,” Toki replied with a distant smile. “I have to admit I am very impressed you managed to best my husband and his warriors. Not many people survive the climb up Wano’s waterfall.”

Robin frowned as she glanced at the intricate carvings along the walls and the strange kokeshi dolls that dotted the little shelves closer to the lanterns. “I have a question, Lady Toki. There’s a poneglyph in the country of Alabasta. It mentions the Ancient Weapon called Pluton, and it stated that Pluton was here in Wano. Is that true?”

“Yes. Pluton is here,” Toki said. “However, I cannot show it to you. It lays under the remains of Old Wano and Mount Fuji itself.”

“‘Old Wano’?” asked Law.

Toki nodded and gestured toward the glass blocks they were nearing. “Have a look and see for yourselves. We’re well below sea level at this point.”

The pirates scampered over to the glass windows below them, then fell silent in shock.

In front of them, thousands of feet below Wano’s sea, was a village, almost perfectly preserved. The familiar symbol of the Kozuki clan dotted several of the buildings, along with the symbol of the Kurozumi and Shimotsuki clans. Flags were strung between some of the buildings, as if it had been drowned in the middle of a festival.

Surprisingly, Sanji was the first one to speak. “What - Lady Toki, what is this? What happened here?”

Toki smiled weakly and glanced at the village, almost in a dreamlike trance again. “That is the result of hiding an ancient weapon. The walls around Wano were erected in order to keep Pluton hidden from the world. As a result, rain water ran out of places to go when our rivers and lakes became full, and so the land was flooded, and we had to make do by establishing settlements upon Mount Fuji instead.”

“So this is freshwater. That explains the carp that were around the seas.”

“Yes, I suppose that would have far-reaching consequences even outside Wano,” Toki agreed. “When people speak of opening the borders of Wano, it is meant literally. The walls around Wano will have to fall in order to get Pluton out from under Mount Fuji. You can imagine that would create a host of other challenges.”

“It would destroy your current way of life,” Franky said with a low whistle. “I guess that’s why they’re considered to be so dangerous then, huh? I’ve seen the blueprints for Pluton, it’s huge.”

“Indeed, Franky,” Toki said. She looked at the remains of Old Wano again before turning away and gesturing toward the end of the staircase. “The poneglyph is at the end of the staircase.”

“Thank you, Lady Toki,” Robin said with a grateful smile, and led the way to the poneglyph, with Law hot on her heels.

“It’s hard to believe we’re already at three,” Law said. “Just know that once we leave here, we’re back to being enemies, Straw Hat.”

Luffy shrugged. “Sure, Traffy. Whatever you say!”

Toki had to hide a smile behind her hand as she observed the pirate crews. She knew there was no way those two crews would be anything but allies - if not friends.

The only question was, which of them would reach Laugh Tale and finally begin to free the world from the government’s regime?

She knew, of course, she could just vanish a year or two into the future and find out for herself, but that wouldn’t be very fun if her husband and children weren’t with her.

And so Toki would be patient, and wait for the final war to begin in its own time.

---

The shogun’s processional carriages were decorated with the finest sails and draped with the proper mourning silks. No, no human alive in Wano had ever known Shimotsuki Ryuma, and only legends remained of the man, but to the people of Wano, it felt like a homecoming for Shusui, home at last after twenty years.

And the pirates, having been given the blessing of the Kozuki clan, were on one of the large carriages as the procession made its way from the Flower Capital to Ringo, with permission to witness the event, dressed in traditional Wano funeral kimonos.

It seemed the whole city - and people from the surrounding towns and villages - had come to see Shusui for themselves as the procession passed by. Shusui was in a coffin of its own, transparent, and carried by Shimotsuki Yasuei and Ushimaru.

“It’s good to be in a country that respects swords,” Zoro said with a rueful grin. “Though I’d expect nothing else from Wano.”

“It does seem like you’d fit in well here, Mosshead,” Sanji said. “Maybe we can just leave you here.”

“Yeah, the same way we should have left you with Big Mom.”

“Will you two be quiet?” Usopp hushed. “People are starting to look at us!” They weren’t enemies to Wano, after all, and keeping it that way would be for the best.

For once, Zoro and Sanji obliged, looking out opposite windows of their large carriage as the procession exited the capital and headed toward Ringo.

Ringo’s environment was drastically different from the Flower Capital. Gone was the warm sun and light breeze of a summer’s day, replaced by fierce cold and snow, with a wind that bit into the thick outer layers of the borrowed clothing the pirates wore. Suddenly, all of them understood why exactly the samurai had insisted on the blankets inside the carriages.

The graveyard was easy to make out, even through the falling snow. The hilts of the swords used as gravemarkers stood proudly in the distance, untouched in the decades or centuries they’d been there, at rest with their masters.

Shusui, revered as the greatest sword ever wielded, would finally rest there again.

“Amazing,” Robin whispered as they crossed over a bridge, entering the cemetery itself. “Everything here must be well preserved.”

“Makes sense. That zombie I fought on Thriller Bark still had some meat left on him,” Zoro agreed. “Bandages too, over his eye. Still, I’d rather not know what Ryuma looked like if it meant he actually got to stay here in Wano where he belonged, no matter how cool his sword is.”

“I still can’t believe how messed up that Moria guy was,” Franky said with a frown. “But he must have been even stronger at one point in order to sneak in here and steal a corpse.”

“Almost makes you wonder what happened that caused him to become who we fought.”

‘Almost’ being the operative word, because none of the crew exactly liked thinking about what had happened at Thriller Bark. Zoro and Sanji seemed especially tight-lipped about it.

The procession stopped in front of a large temple, clad with the symbol of the Shimotsuki clan. A small fire burned inside it, a welcome feeling compared to the snow and cold surrounding them.

The people of Ringo were gathered outside, and the Shimotsuki clan lined the temple steps and entryway, ready to welcome their founder’s sword home.

Ushimaru and Yasuei moved methodically up the temple steps and inside, the rest of the clan following. A prayer soon rang out, and Zoro startled when he realized he recognized it.

It was the same prayer that his old master had used the day of the village geezer’s funeral. Kuina’s grandfather, if Zoro remembered correctly, and his grandmother had been particularly upset that day too. It was a hazy memory, but she said the prayer without fumbling over it, as if she’d known it all her life.

… had she?

Now that he thought about it, he realized there was a lot of weird stuff about his grandmother he never figured out. Like how she never spoke of where she came from, only ever giving a vague mention of an island in the north.

… just like Ringo was in northern Wano.

Holy shit, had that been what his grandmother meant? And the fact that people in Wano knew about the Wado…

Zoro suddenly felt like he needed to sit down, but he forced himself to remain standing. It wouldn’t look good if he suddenly looked weak in front of the powerful Wano warriors. Even some of the kids felt powerful, from what his haki could sense.

After the ceremony, with Shusui proudly staked in the ground once again, surrounded by candles, two men approached the crew - the same men who had carried Shusui to its resting place.

“So you’re the man who wields the Wado Ichimonji, hm? I’m surprised Kozaburo would hand it down to someone that doesn’t bear the Shimotsuki name,” the first man said, staring at Zoro with a mistrustful gaze.

“Don’t be foolish, Ushimaru,” chastised the second. “Look at him. Doesn’t he resemble your sister somewhat?”

Sister?

Ushimaru squinted at him, and for the first time in a very long time, Zoro actually felt very small.

“Ah… I suppose he does have similar features to our family, Yasuei. What did Oden say your name was, boy? Zoro?” Ushimaru said.

Zoro nodded and swallowed thickly.

“Do you know of a woman named Shimotsuki Furiko?”

Well, shit. His hunch was right. Maybe. He didn’t know what name his grandmother had before she became a Roronoa, but if this guy knew her first name and said he looked like her… then this had to be her family.

His family.

“She was my grandmother,” Zoro said, before he glanced at Yasuei. “You look kinda like a geezer who lived in my village. His name was Kozaburo.”

Yasuei laughed. “Shit, you know that old geezer?”

“I did until he died.”

Yasuei’s laugh turned into a sigh and he scratched at his beard. “It seems unfair that fate would bring one of Wano’s sons home only for us to learn that news. A damn shame, really.”

“One of Wano’s sons?” Jinbei asked, and Zoro was glad for him because he felt dumbstruck as to what he was supposed to say or do.

“Indeed. Shimotsuki Furiko was my older sister, and she illegally left Wano fifty years ago,” Ushimaru said, looking at Zoro. “That makes you my nephew.”

Whoa. This was his uncle. Zoro never thought he’d meet any of his family - he didn’t think he would even care to learn about them… but now that they were here on Wano, and now that he knew he was a part of a great clan of prideful warriors, well… it had a warmth spreading through his chest he had only felt one other time - when the crew had been reunited at the Sabaody Archipelago after two years.

It was a feeling of homecoming.

And while it felt good, Kuina’s words, her complete and utter devastation at what Koushiro had told her about women never being able to be as strong as a man. If Koushiro believed Kuina couldn’t become the strongest swordsperson in the world, then he must have learned it from Kozaburo… who would have learned it here.

“Come, we’re having a banquet in Ryuma’s honor,” Ushimaru said, clapping a hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “You and your friends are welcome to join us.”

The crew, of course, never refused a banquet, so they followed the rest of the Shimotsuki clan to the large meeting house in the center of the city. The whole city was ready for a celebration, really, with the way people grabbed sake and plates of food, eating outdoors despite the freezing elements.

The sake flowed freely and the food was plentiful - Luffy was well on his way to one of his famous inflated stomachs and Zoro had realized he really needed to take some Wano sake on the ship with him when they left the island. The only weird thing was that Zoro was seated in the middle of the Shimotsuki family, each of them coming up to him and introducing themselves as a cousin, a grand-aunt and a “not really related to him but a very close family friend so it counted, right?” All of the names had started to make his head spin, so he’d moved to sit over with the rest of the crew - or, what was left of them.

Hiyori and other local musicians played what he learned were traditional Wano songs, while, to Zoro’s great surprise, Izou and Kikunojo got up and danced on the stage, while Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper danced on the ground with Ringo’s natives.

“Their family owned a dance studio here until he was arrested for extortion,” Jinbei explained when he followed Zoro’s gaze. “But Izou never gave up his love for dance, and it appears his sister hasn’t either. Izou said Oden and the scabbards were always supportive of it when they first joined up with him.”

Hm. Support. Kuina didn’t have that until Zoro had said something to her. She had been ready to give up on her dream, all because of her father’s views. His stupid, untrue views, that the Shimotsuki clan followed. Kuina could have been the world’s strongest if fate hadn’t taken her away so early.

(She was, after all, the only person to beat him a thousand times. Not even Mihawk had done that)

His fists clenched in fury as he rose to his feet and moved back toward Ushimaru and Yasuei - revered as the two elders of the clan.

“Ah, Zoro! Are you enjoying yourself?” Ushimaru asked with a wide grin. “Your friends are quite entertaining!”

“I have to ask the two of you something,” Zoro hissed, voice low.

Ushimaru sensed the danger in his tone, and sat up straighter, setting his mug on the table. “Alright. What is it?”

“I want to know why you guys taught your family that women couldn’t be the strongest swordsperson in the world.”

“Ah… of course. The old mindset. It was how things worked back in Sukiyaki’s time. Things started to change with Oden, when he elevated Kiku to equal status among his samurai, and then Shinobu in his ninja squad,” Ushimaru explained. “Why do you seem so troubled by it, Zoro?”

“Because I was only given the Wado Ichimonji due to its past owner’s death. My best friend, who was told she could never be the strongest because she was a woman,” Zoro said. “Her name was Kuina, and she was Kozaburo’s granddaughter.”

Ushimaru closed his eyes. “How tragic. No Shimotsuki should ever believe themselves to be lesser due to their sex. You are free to use the temple to say a prayer for her, if you wish.”

A dated worldview from someone who had lived in an isolated nation, and continued to be isolated in a sleepy village in the calmest sea in the world. The fact that no one from Wano would have gotten out and gotten to the East Blue to tell them how things had changed didn’t surprise him, but it did make him irritated that someone had told her that even for a second.

Still, he nodded and went into the temple, lit some incense, and knelt down to pray. He prayed that Kuina would be able to see what he was doing, how close he was to accomplishing his - no, their - goal of becoming the strongest swordsman. How close the crew was to finding the One Piece and elevating Luffy to the title of king.

“I’m almost there, Kuina. Just like we planned. I’m going to become the World’s Strongest Swordsman… and I’ll make sure the world knows your name too. I promise.”

“Oi! Zoro! They’re bringing out dessert! Hurry up and get some before Luffy eats it all!” Usopp called, shattering the temple’s peace.

Zoro felt the vein in his forehead throb in irritation before he stood up. He took a look behind him, at the incense sticks that burned low, and at Shusui. It had been a good sword to him, and while it still felt strange just leaving it behind, he knew the way it had gotten to him was not what any swordsman would want, especially seeing how revered swords were here, being used as gravemarkers to never be disturbed, forever with their masters.

Shusui deserved to rest here in Wano, even if Reuma’s corpse was stuck at Thriller Bark.

A sudden breeze in the temple felt like someone shoving him out the door, and as he stumbled forward in shock, Usopp had actually held out his hands to steady him.

“Whoa, Zoro! What’s wrong? Is the Wano sake too much for you?”

Zoro frowned, eye trained on Usopp. “You didn’t feel that breeze?”

“Huh? What breeze? Come on man, I think you need to sit down.”

Zoro began to follow, but turned to take one last glance back at the temple, where the glow of the candles and incense was undisturbed by the breeze. He smirked, realizing what must have happened.

“Don’t worry, Kuina. It won’t be much longer.”

#one piece #fanfiction #roronoa zoro

1 note · View note

armthearmour · 4 years ago

Text

A beautifully etched processional Glaive with an undulating edge, Saxony, Germany, 1550-1575, housed at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

#weapons #polearm #glaive #processional #europe #european #germany #german #saxon #saxony #hre #holy roman empire #renaissance #khm #vienna #art #history

1K notes · View notes

hunnybadgerv · 2 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the fabulous @nirikeehan, thank you so very much. I wasn't sure what you'd like to see. Have a little Hawke/Cullen and some Hawke/Templar!Sebastian to choose from.

The tinkle of crystal rang amidst the smooth sounds of the stringed quartet providing an ambiance for the occasion. Siobhán Hawke couldn’t even really remember what the dinner was meant to celebrate or commemorate. She just knew that her husband insisted that he needed her there and that he’d had the dressmaker working on something special. As usual, the dress was impeccable, the perfect shade of red to compliment her sienna skin and deep mahogany hair, which she wore up because seeing her bare neck always drove Sebastian to distraction. A smirk curved the corner of her mouth when she caught his bright eyes fall upon her from across the room. She brushed her fingertips along the column of her neck, attempting to make the movement seem absentminded to anyone else who might notice it. He, of course, would know the real reason she did it; the quirk at the corner of his mouth confirmed as much. Then for good measure, she laid her hand at the base of her throat, the web between her thumb and forefinger covering the divot at the base of her neck. To someone else, they might guess she was checking the way the necklace around her throat lay—Sebastian’s mind however would be drawn right to the way he liked to caress and gently tighten his grasp on her throat when he sought to get her chin out of the way to gain access to the sensitive skin that always earned him vocal indications of her pleasure. The Prince of Starkhaven’s eyes darkened slightly as his gaze narrowed on her. Siobhán winked at him and gave him a playful smile before an older woman approached her for small talk. This court was largely different from the ones in Kirkwall and Orlais. The Vael family’s reputation and foci in the region ensured it was a less devious social situation, which suited Siobhán’s tastes just fine. She also wasn’t sure that Sebastian’s concrete views and opinions on the world would have suited a more flippant and zealous court. He tended not to mince words, which would get one in trouble in places where people used words as weapons more freely. Once her slow stroll through the room had brought her to the edge of one of the buffet tables, her attention and her grumbling stomach called her attention to the many culinary delights the kitchens at the castle had prepared for the evening. Noticing one of her favorite treats near the edge, she grabbed a napkin and slipped into the line to grab one of the luscious tiny cherry tarts and set it on the pristine white cloth. When she escaped the processional around the table, a hand landed at the small of her back, drawing her attention from her sweet prize. Glancing over her shoulder, she cast a quick and genuine smile at her lover. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me,” Sebastian trilled, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. Siobhán slowed her pace, but still moved past the thickest part of the throng. “I have,” she chided. “How else might a lady keep your interest keen if not by distracting you from afar.” “Minx,” he teased. This time when his lips lowered to her shoulder, he gave her a tiny bite before pressing a soothing kiss to the same spot. She laughed playfully, finally stealing a bite from the tart she’d captured. Sebastian moved closer, the metal baubles of his ceremonial jacket cool against the skin of her back. She could feel his breath on the shell of her ear even before he spoke.

Tagging some folks I hope are writing and up for some sharing: @shadoedseptmbr, @alyssalenko, @chyrstis, @painterofhorizons, @theoriginalladya, and @foofyschmoofer.

Thank you again for the tag @nirikeehan.

#Badger Scribbles #WIP Wednesday #Templar!Sebastian #Siobhán Hawke #Dragon Age

9 notes · View notes

lady-dionysus-the-shitfaced · 3 years ago

Text

So, there has been a lot of anxiety in my life lately, most of that comes from living in working really far away from my home country, but!!! I have been trying really hard to get some more fix writing done! This is the next segment of my freaky Friday fic I wanted to write. (The first part is like 3 posts down on my page) enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was fortunate then that the awkward sense of foreboding that had fallen on the group would be disturbed by the by the ill co-ordinated surprise attack of a single red bokoblin. It lurched forward from the trees with a wet squeal, swinging nothing more than a rather robust tree branch in the face of nine battle hardened warriors. Four observed the dim witted creature to move with the sort of brashness that can only come from idiocy. It seamed to lack even the most basic awareness of the hero’s ability and made a mad swing at Legend who had been walking closest to the verge from which it sprang forth. The co-ordinated effort of the entire group seemed, in hindsight, over kill as reflexively legend drew his sword the others likewise drew weapons adopting fighting stances, blades and keen eyes trained on the creature. So it was with a single practiced slash of Legends sword the beast evaporated in the black and red smoke of malice its war cry dyeing on the calm breeze.

“Like I said, the enemies hear shouldn’t pose a threat.” Wild Sniggered slightly as he turned from the scene and continued walking.

“Come on it isn’t that far of a walk if we keep going we should be there in an hour or so.”

Inky silence that had dribbled its way into the group since Hyrule’s interruption seemed to pass as they wandered forward content in the relative safety of the area and the pleasing sunshine that fell upon them.

True to his word it was little over an hour till they reached the summit of the processional way the dirt and broken cobble road fading to dirt and untrodden grass and the cliff face the opened out to the vast expanses of the kingdom. The castle, death mountain all the way to Hebra lay before the chain to gaze upon.

“Wow the view is amazing from here.” Hyrule wandered closer than others to the cliffs edge.

“It’s like you can see everything from here.”

“Yea, almost everything. The Gerudo desert and the forests of Faron are hidden south of the plateau,” he started before falling quiet again, and Hyrule subconsciously turned back to him sheepish expression already plastered on his face as he though he had once again put his foot in it ruining the mood. However, Wild simply smiled starting straight ahead seemingly content and happy to look at the kingdom.

“But it’s still an amazing view.” He finials finished in a wistful tone that was unusual but not unpleasant coming from him. He walked forward to Hyrule and the others felt content to concern themselves with other things, sitting on the grass and making conversation among themselves. Offering Wild and Hyrule what little privacy they could for their moment. The two stood there for a few long moments soaking in the scene. It was surprisingly Wild who broke the silence first. “This was the first thing I saw after I woke up. I had no idea who I was, not even my name. Where I was, how old I was. Nothing. But I knew that this was the most beautiful thing I would ever see.”

“This exact spot was first thing you saw?” The statements tasted weird in Hyrules mouth as he said it. Something they where missing was staring them right in the face. Wild smiled slightly as he turned back towards the the others a somewhat intrinsic signal that they should follow and that their small respite was over.

“Yea, why do you think it’s called the shrine of resurrection.”

It was a delayed action to start walking after him, the reality of what they where about to face had left him reeling.

“So are we all ready to go down?” Wild asked looking at the others, most of whose where sitting on the grass at ease.

“Down where?” Legend, tried to look up at him but the glare of the sun made it hard to fully incline his head in wilds direction.

Wild replied by only pointing to the small cave entrance behind the group that had until now remained unassuming and unnoticed by the others.

“In there? Why, your slate can teleport us from anywhere right? Why do we have to go into the spooky cave?” Wars was looking skeptically at Wild. It seemed when it came to being in his Hyrule nothing was ever going to come easy, and the others had such animosity towards the land that convincing them to do anything was exhausting.

Wild rubbed the side of his face reflexively, sighing as he did, why couldn’t they just trust him.

“Yes, my slate can teleport us from anywhere, but it can only transfer us to a set location.” He was becoming exasperatedly animated his hands following on with his words gesturing to indicate the process of teleportation.

“And since last time so many of you complained about the rough ride, its probably going to be smoother if I take us in small groups.” He made direct eye contact with Wars at this point.

“so I can take me and three others to Myahm Agana shrine in Hateno village then come back for another group.”

That seemed to be the end of his explanation.

“Ok so the cave comes into this equation where?”

“I already said I can only teleport to set locations, so when I come back for the next group I can’t just turn up here, so we are going to the spooky cave because it is an area I can teleport back to. So lets not sit around, lets go.”

He turned and started walking, eight pairs of eyes trained on his back at the outburst, he was the last of them that wanted to come back to this damp tomb but it was the closest place for the plan and the sooner they where all in Hateno the sooner he could forget about this and he didn’t want to answer more questions. He had already started walking down the slope of the cave and he could hear the foot falls of the others following behind him.

#linked universe #lu warriors #lu legend #lu twilight #lu wild #lu time #lu four #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu wind #linked universe fanfic

20 notes · View notes

barbucomedie · 5 years ago

Photo

Ceremonial Glaive from Germany dated to 1620 on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London

This glaive has a steel blade etched with the initials “FE” and the arms of Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II along with the emblem of the Order of the Golden Fleece.

It was a processional weapon for ceremonies and possibly made to commemorate the Catholic Victory at the Battle of the White Mountain, 1620. This resulted in the defeat of the Kingdom of Bohemia and Frederick V of the Palatinate during the Thirty Years War.

Photographs taken by myself 2016

#military history #art #thirty years war #holy roman empire #hapsburg #germany #german #early modern period #17th century #victoria and albert museum #london #barbucomedie

227 notes · View notes

brooklynmuseum · 5 years ago

Photo

Join us as we take you on a tour of African Arts—Global Conversations. Curated by Kristen Windmuller-Luna and presented by Bank of America.

African Arts—Global Conversations puts African arts where they rightfully belong: within the global art historical canon. This exhibition pairs diverse African works with objects from around the world in groupings throughout the Museum.

These groupings explore how shared themes such as portraiture, faith, modernism, and origins developed independently in different parts of the globe and fill in the blanks of decades of art history teaching.

Beginning in our introductory gallery, two idealized portraits of African rulers made centuries apart greet visitors.

These portraits respect cultural norms about how a ruler is expected to look, often combining distinctive individual features with visual concepts such as divinity or rulership.

Kuba artist (Bushoong clan). Ndop figure depicting Nyim Mbó Mbóosh (reigned circa 1650), Nyim Mishé miShyááng máMbúl (reigned circa 1710), or Nyim Kot áNée (reigned circa 1740), circa 1760–80. Mushenge (Nsheng), Kasai Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Wood, tukula, 19 1/2 x 7 5/8 x 8 5/8 in. (49.5 x 19.4 x 21.9 cm). Purchased with funds given by Mr. and Mrs. Alastair B. Martin, Mrs. Donald M. Oenslager, Mr. and Mrs. Robert E. Blum, and the Mrs. Florence A. Blum Fund, 61.33.

Kuba ndop (commissioned royal portraits) represent the concept of leadership and contain a ruler’s life essence.The hand on this drum identifies this ruler as one of three Kuba nyim (kings): Mbó Mbóosh, Mishé miShyááng máMbúl, and Kot áNée.

Other royal indicators include his long-brimmed headdress, cowrie belt and armbands, and calm expression.

Egyptian artist. Ptolemaic Prince, 51–30 B.C.E. Egypt. Quartzite, 12 1/2 x 5 5/16 x 3 3/8 in. (31.8 x 13.5 x 8.5 cm). Charles Edwin Wilbour Fund, 54.117.

Ancient Egyptian sculptures use hieroglyphic text to identify subjects by name, but a blank back pillar suggests this sculpture is unfinished.

Although this figure is unidentified, his youth, crown, and Hellenistic hair and face suggest that he is Caesarion, son of Cleopatra VII and Julius Caesar.

Warriors hold a valued place in many societies across time and place. Warriors’ memorials reflect what societies think these figures “should” look like, often representing ideals rather than individuals.

Huastec artist. Warrior Figure, circa 1440–1521. Xico Viejo, Veracruz, Mexico. Sandstone, 65 3/16 x 14 3/4 x 7 1/2 in. (165.6 x 37.5 x 19.1 cm). Frank L. Babbott Fund, 39.371.

Wooden stelae (left/middle) memorializing powerful Konso warriors in Ethiopia were grouped with additional sculptures of weapons, slain animals, and defeated foes. The stelae memorialize specific male Konso ancestors, emphasizing his individual deeds as well as his connection to shared experiences and values.

The stone Huastec warrior figure (right) from Mexico is adorned with fearsome symbols of death such as the human skulls on his skirt and bead-and-human-heart necklace. Huastec viewers who saw these elements knew he was likely Micoatl-Camaxtle, the god of hunting and warfare.

Nestled amongst our European paintings and sculpture collection are three Ethiopian processional crosses.

Beginning in the medieval period, the Christian Ethiopian Kingdom and numerous Italian states enjoyed a lively relationship that included travel and exchange of religious art and ideas between the two regions.

Ethiopian Orthodox priests carried these copper alloy crosses atop staffs (right).

just as their Italian Catholic counterparts carried wooden ones like this (left).

Amhara artist. Processional Cross (qäqwami mäsqäl), late 15th or early 16th century. Possibly Lalibela, Ethiopia. Copper alloy, 11 1/2 x 7 3/16 in. (29.0 x 18.3 cm). Gift of George V. Corinaldi, Jr., 81.163.2.

An Ethiopian artist incised Mary holding the Christ child, archangels, and saints on this fifteenth- or sixteenth century cross.

Master of Monte del Lago (Italian, School of Umbria, second quarter of the 14th century). Double-Sided Processional Cross, second quarter of the 14th century. Umbria, Italy. Tempera and gold on panel, 39 1/16 x 16 9/16 x 4 5/8 in. (99.2 x 42.1 x 11.7 cm). Gift of Mary Babbott Ladd, Lydia Babbott Stokes, and Frank L. Babbott, Jr., in memory of their father, Frank L. Babbott, 34.845.

While the Master of Monte del Lago painted Crucifixion scenes on this fourteenth-century gilded Italian cross.

A trio of ceramics made by living artists born in Kenya, Korea, and Nigeria shows the ways that modern ceramicists can choose to draw inspiration from their own regional heritage, or not.

Magdalene Anyango N. Odundo DBE (British, born 1950, Kenya). Symmetrical Reduced Black Narrow-Necked Tall Piece, 1990. Farnham, Surrey, England. Terracotta, 16 x 10 x 10 in. (40.6 x 25.4 x 25.4 cm). Purchased with funds given by Dr. and Mrs. Sidney Clyman and the Frank L. Babbott Fund, 1991.26. © Magdalene Anyango N. Odundo

Dame Magdalene Anyango N. Odundo fires her dramatic pots multiple times to create glossy, iridescent surfaces.

Born in Kenya, she learned ceramics in Britain (where she lives today), citing pottery traditions from multiple other countries as her primary influences, drawing ideas from Nigerian Gwari ceramics, Native American Pueblo pottery, European Modernism, and even ancient Cycladic art.

Kang Suk Young (Korean, born 1949). Untitled, 1992. Korea. Unglazed porcelain, 24 13/16 x 6 x 6 in. (63 x 15.3 x 15.3 cm). Purchased with funds given by Dr. and Mrs. Richard Dickes, 2006.20. © Kang Suk Young

Kang Suk Young uses porcelain, a medium that is traditional in his home country of Korea, but he creates forms using slip casting, a method he learned in France. He pulls the porcelain from its mold when it is still somewhat soft and twists and bends it to create something that is lively and anthropomorphic.

Ranti Bam (Nigerian, born 1982). Antafi, 2019. London, England. Terracotta, 15 3/8 × 8 1/4 × 8 1/4 in. (39 × 21 × 21 cm). Gift of Anne Goldrach in honor of Anne Pasternak, 2019.25. © Ranti Bam

Ranti Bam has created a very complex object, contrasting a heavy clay slab with delicate painting, and a rough surface with areas of shiny glaze.

The painted surface references woodgrain, but in an unlikely color of dark pink that gives the vessel its name, Antafi, a word that the artist derived from the Greek word for “rose” (triantafyllo).

Although these artists participate in the multinational field of contemporary ceramics, their work has until now been categorized by the museum according to their place of birth.

Grouping these ceramics highlights how museums (including Brooklyn!) tend to leave artists born outside of Europe and the U.S. out of conversations about contemporary art.

Kongo (Yombe subgroup) artist. Power Figure (nkisi): Woman and Child, 19th century. Lower Congo Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Wood, glass, upholstery studs, metal, metal and glass buttons, resin, 11 x 5 x 4 1/2 in. (27.9 x 12.7 x 11.4 cm). Museum Expedition 1922, Robert B. Woodward Memorial Fund, 22.1138.

This sculpture is linked to a Kongo fertility-focused women’s cult that flourished during the height of the Transatlantic Slave Trade. During this period, women both raised children and took on customarily male agricultural roles. Made into an nkisi (power figure), it underscores how Kongo women supported future generations during a time of widespread social upheaval and trauma.

Louis Rémy Mignot (American, 1831-1870). Niagara, 1866. Oil on canvas, 61 1/2 × 104 1/4 × 4 1/2 in. (156.2 × 264.8 × 11.4 cm). Gift of Arthur S. Fairchild, 1993.118.

Displayed in a gallery devoted to Civil War and Reconstruction-era (1861–1877) American art, this sculpture provides a poignant Central African perspective on the widespread repercussions of the Transatlantic Slave Trade.

On the fifth floor, you’ll find a pairing of two great leaders: Wóót and George Washington. Artist-made images created before the invention of photography, they show how two artists represented their society’s founding fathers.

Kuba artist. Mask (Mwaash aMbooy), late 19th or early 20th century. Kasaï Province (former Kasaï-Occidental Province), Democratic Republic of the Congo. Rawhide, paint, plant fibers, textile, cowrie shells, glass, wood, monkey pelt, and feathers, 22 x 20 x 18 in. (55.9 x 50.8 x 45.7 cm). Museum Expedition 1922, Robert B. Woodward Memorial Fund, 22.1582.

The Mwaash aMbooy mask personifies Wóót, mythical ancestor of the D.R. Congo’s Kuba peoples. Kings performed this mask during initiations and funerals. One performance tells the story of Wóót’s role in the Kuba kingdom's founding and his ties to its first ruler.

Gilbert Stuart (American, 1755–1828). George Washington, 1796. Oil on canvas, 96 1/4 x 60 1/4 in. (244.5 x 153 cm). Dick S. Ramsay Fund and Museum Purchase Fund, 45.179.

Gilbert Stuart’s larger-than-lifesize portrait of George Washington reminds a young republic of the soldier who led them to victory and the statesman who stepped down from power for the country to flourish for some.

Both works rely on extensive symbolism and create enduring images of “founding fathers.”

While Stuart’s portrait turned an individual into an icon, the Kuba artist’s Wóót mask connected a current ruler to his dynastic past.

Beauford Delaney began including African artworks in a series of compositions from the 1940s as he deepened his engagement with the African American cultural movement called the Harlem Renaissance.

Beauford Delaney (American, 1901-1979). Untitled (Fang Sculpture, Crow and Fruit), 1945. Oil on canvas, 25 x 30 in. (63.5 x 76.2 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn Museum Fund for African American Art in honor of Arnold Lehman, A. Augustus Healy Fund and Ella C. Woodward Memorial Fund, 2014.73. © artist or artist's estate (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2014.73_PS9.jpg)

In this dynamic and brightly colored still life, a bird of spirit figure hovers over a bowl of lemons, presenting them as an offering to Fang ancestors represented by the reliquary sculpture seen at right.

An Ntem River Valley Master. Reliquary Guardian Figure (Eyema-o-Byeri), mid-18th to mid-19th century. Wood, iron, 23 × 5 3/4 × 5 in. (58.4 × 14.6 × 12.7 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Frank L. Babbott Fund, 51.3. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: , 51.3_overall_PS9.jpg)

By showing this painting alongside its specific source and acknowledging the contributions of Fang master artists, this grouping brings to life a transatlantic cultural dialogue and exchange.

This is just a small glimpse of the works on view in this groundbreaking exhibition. Come see for yourself as soon as we reopen our galleries!

Thank you for joining us on our tour of African Arts—Global Conversations. Join us next Sunday for another tour of our galleries!

Installation views of African Arts—Global Conversations by Jonathon Dorado.

#Virtual tour #virtual #virtual programming #Brooklyn #Brooklyn Museum #arthistory #bkmafricanarts #global conversations #african art

83 notes · View notes

moon-ruled-rising · 4 years ago

Text

as the rain hides the stars | xvii

Read it on ao3... or Wattpad...

Babe, there’s something lonesome about you.

Something so wholesome about you,

get closer to me.

-Hozier, “From Eden”

The Godswood of Winterfell was always magical. Something about the overgrowth of the plants gave it a mystical quality and enhanced that it was a holy place. It was surrounded by activity and noise but remained quiet and peaceful, wholly removed from the frenetic atmosphere of the castle. Jon found himself there often, listening to the soft bubbling of the hot spring and the light birdsong. He’d spend hours there if he could but somebody always discovered him and the moment was ruined.

Now, instead of the uninterrupted nature scene, there were a hundred or so chairs arranged in front of the heart tree to form a long aisle lined with white and wine colored flowers and twinkling lights. The decorators even wove them around the tree branches, letting the strings dangle off and wave like the branches of a willow. At the beginning of each row of chairs stood an arch, laden with flowers and greenery. There wasn’t an altar or arbor, the Weirwood provided all of that, its red leaves stretched over the place they would stand.

On top of the ethereal decor, the excited energy from everyone gathered for the rehearsal ceremony created a palpable buzz. Jon hoped it was enough to cover up his apprehension. He refused to be nervous, it wasn’t any different than all the state appearances and functions he participated in. But there was still reason to be hesitant.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dany’s voice called from the back of the seating area, “The final fitting took longer than expected.”

The wedding planner assured her it was okay as Dany charged up the aisle. When she reached the front, a bundle of fabric was pushed into her arms and she settled into the seat next to Jon.

“Is that a bride’s cloak?” “Yes,” she sighed, “I had to make a compromise with Her majesty so I could repay a favor I owe someone.”

He assumed she meant the single photographer that prowled around the area of the Godswood, whose obnoxious camera clicks interrupted the soft bird song and whispers around them.

Dany unfolded the bundle and swept the black cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp with ease. Jon was a little pleased to see it was lined with fur.

“You’ll be glad to have it tomorrow,” he commented.

“Why? It feels fine right now.”

“There’s going to be a cold snap.”

The forecast didn’t predict for anything other than a rain shower over night but Jon could tell. The drizzle would turn to flurries and the snow would stick around long enough for the wedding ceremony around noon. At least it would be ice and snow instead of muddy and damp.

“Let me guess, you can feel it in your bones?”

“Something like that.”

“Doctors say that’s a sign of arthritis.”

Jon splayed his hands out in front of him and then turned them so Dany could see, “They look fine to me. Would you like to assess them, considering you have a wealth of medical knowledge?”

“Mm, I’ll pass, thank you.”

He shrugged and dropped his hands but unconsciously popped the joints. He noticed Dany doing the same thing.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” the wedding planner said, “We will be running through the whole ceremony so everything goes smoothly tomorrow. After the processional we will have the opening remarks and invocation from His Highness, Benjen Stark, a reading from both sets of Their Majesties, then the unity promise and changing of the bride’s cloak, then we’ll exchange vows and rings, and finally the recessional. It should be noted that the vows and rings section will only be mentioned.”

They were given the run down of the processional order and dismissed to their starting positions. Dany retreated back down the aisle with Sansa and Arya right behind her, wrangling a gaggle of high born children. A stirring, melancholy melody started from the string quartet behind the seating and his father and Catelyn started down the aisle. They were followed by Elia, escorted by Bran as her husband would be responsible for leading Dany.

As was a royal wedding custom, the bridesmaids and pageboys followed the bride down the aisle, so Dany walked before them. With her brother absent, she forged down the lengthy walkway by herself. She was far enough away that she looked small and lonely despite the bodies behind her.

That Dany reminded him of the version he’d first met, the outer shell of Daenerys that the media observed and critiqued. Jon would’ve assumed she used her solitary nature as a form of elitism. Keeping people at an arm’s length and seeming to float above them just to show she was better. But he knew her at least a little bit better than that and was starting to understand it.

Being alone was easier for Dany. He noticed that long and lengthy social events weighed on her. She still smiled and made conversation, like any good Princess was taught, but she always slipped away quietly when things settled down. It made sense then, why she skipped the gala to swim in fountains.

As she neared, Jon saw that instead of a bouquet she had a sword in her hands. It took him by surprise until he remembered that she was supposed to have it. The presentation of a weapon the groom could use to defend the bride was meant to further reinforce the idea that she was under his protection. Rheagar would carry it tomorrow but, for now, it was hers. And paired with the stoic look on her face, Dany looked like a painting of a warrior queen Jon saw at a museum opening once. A romanticized rendering of a woman standing against the backdrop of a dark, furious storm. Her dress and hair caught in the forceful gales before the skies opened up, the sword held tight against her chest.

Then the breeze picked up, tousling Dany’s hair and fluttering the white silk of her rehearsal dress. And Jon wondered if the Gods pulled that warrior out of her frame and set her walking down the path toward him.

“You picked a fine young woman, Jon,” Uncle Benjen remarked.

There weren’t priests for the old gods so the wedding committee picked the closest thing they had to a holy man. It helped that Uncle Benjen was ordained by the state too.

“We’re just lucky she hasn’t sprinted back down the aisle yet.”

Jon elbowed Robb in the ribs, “That’s because this is a rehearsal, dumbass.”

“You never know.”

But they did know and there was no chance anyone was allowed to get cold feet.

Finally, Dany was standing at his side, her stoic expression as they turned to face Uncle Benjen. As he started in on his opening remarks, Dany set the tip of the scabbard into the ground and rested her crossed wrists on the pommel.

The invocation started when Uncle Benjen started asking the Gods to watch over the ceremony and provide a number of things to the couple about to be married. It was during this that Dany leaned toward him and whispered,

“So, do you have a huge bachelor party planned for after this?”

“You mean like a stag party?”

“Yes, that.”

Jon hadn’t wanted to tell her about the custom practiced in the North so it would come as a surprise. But he figured Dany wasn’t a big fan of those, so he decided to tell her. The ceremony moved on to the readings.

“Actually, we have this… tradition-” the look she gave him was full of annoyance- “where the groom has to steal their intended from their family. Otherwise he isn’t worthy of her.”

“I think we’re far past needing to worry about ‘worthiness’ but continue.”

“And we get out of the castle for a while.”

“Just us?” she raised an eyebrow.

“And the security detail.”

“Alright, I’m in. Just one more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I supposed to put up a fight?” the smirk on her face…

“You can if you want to,” Jon agreed.

“I’m in.”

Uncle Benjen stated it was time for the unity promise and motioned to Dany.

“If you plan to steal me, then you’ll probably need this.”

She offered the sword to Jon, the modestly embellished scabbard glinting as he took it. A hand-and-a-half, a bastard sword. A small smile bloomed on his face, he wondered if Dany knew it was called that. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a little worn from use, and the silver pommel contained an egg shaped fire opal that shifted between orange and green and red. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard enough to reveal the swirling texture of the blade. Valyrian steel, the technique of making it was long lost to the world. Owning one was rare as the Targaryens kept them in a private collection.

House Stark had one in their possession, the greatsword Ice. It was gifted to them by the original dragon lords of Valyria who settled on Dragonstone, before Aegon’s ambitious conquest and the doom. The greatsword was only used in the coronation ceremony of a new King of the North now but it was still considered to pass from king to king as though they still used it in battle.

It would belong to Jon, without question. But there was a time when it couldn’t be. He couldn’t remember if he really wanted the sword and he certainly didn't expect it. But what young, bastard boy doesn’t want to rise above his station by some miraculous means?

“Does it have a name? All the best swords have names.” Jon prompted, wondering if Dany knew any of the history behind the weapon.

“If it did, we don’t have any record of it. It’s one that we loan out to museums but I’ve always been fond of it so I figured it could find a home here.”

There was something wistful about her tone, as though she wasn’t really talking about the sword.

Jon handed the sword to Robb, who placed the Stark bride’s cloak in his hands. He turned back to Dany and she removed her Targaryen one. The direwolf embroidered in pearls and jet gave the cloak weight and her shoulders shifted trying to distribute it and keep the clasp from her throat.

“May you each bring your best self to the other. May you each bring commitment as well as faith to the task set before you. May you maintain enduring respect and trust. May all who follow your lives have cause often to rejoice, not only in happiness, but also in your brave and generous living,” Uncle Benjen recited.

Jon couldn’t think of a more perfect blessing for a marriage forged in politics. There was no reflection of love, merely neutral intent and factors that would make any business relationship successful.

They had to go through the recessional, Dany and Jon retreating down the aisle to the playful cheers of their family. Luckily, the wedding planner deemed the single run through acceptable but there was still one more rehearsal waiting for the happy couple.

The tables of the Great Hall were pushed to the sides, as they would be after the dinner portion of the reception, to create a dancing space. Above them hung the banners of every house in the North, from Karstark to Reed, and the decorators hadn’t spared the hall in their descent upon the castle. The same flowers and lights were strung through the heavy chandeliers, similar bunches near sconces and on window panes.

The choreographer gave them last minute reminders before the music started. An old fiddle, guitar, and pipe ballad at a walking speed, perfectly paced for two arguably amateur dancers but a tad melancholy for a wedding celebration.

“Are you ready for this?” Dany asked over the music as they circled each other.

“As ready as I can be. You?”

“We’ll see.”

The first pass of steps was easy and they stayed far enough away to avoid injury. The next part brought them closer until Jon offered his hands and Dany accepted them. They both had to focus harder to keep from making mistakes. However, their little blunders still happened.

The instructor once explained the symbolism behind the steps and their order. Something about the development of his and Dany’s relationship but also the expected camaraderie between North and South. Jon didn’t know if any of the wedding guests would pick up on it, they would be too drunk to really care, and all he could focus on was how complicated the steps were despite the slow pace of the song.

Jon second guessed his hand placement and missed the intended mark entirely, colliding with Dany’s rib cage. She stumbled but recovered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to remember what piece of the overly complex choreography came next.

She chuckled and shrugged it off, “If it boosts your confidence, you’re better than a good portion of the partners I’ve danced with at court.”

She looked up at him, inclining her chin in the slightest hint of movement. Their bodies were pressed close together as they moved back and forth across the floor, allowing them to lower their voices.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Not all noblemen are light on their feet. I’ve had my fair share of toes and fingers crushed.”

“Fingers?”

“It’s a long story,” she dismissed.

“One for tonight?”

“If the conversation leads us there.”

They quieted as they came closer to the end of the dance, the series of steps and passes and small hops requiring their full attention if they wanted to get through it. Dany stepped on Jon’s foot when she was behind the music.

The apologizing started again but was cut off when Jon wrapped his arm securely around her waist for a small lift, foreheads bent close to offset the gravity. Dany’s cheeks were a deeper shade of pink when he set her down but whether that was from the dance or something else he couldn’t tell.

They entered the last section of the dance, a series of spins and twirls ending with the two facing each other, palms touching. Instead of the expected applause, they were celebrated by a groan from the choreographer.

They received a sum of all their mistakes, accented by looks of disappointment, but Jon and Dany fell into their regular fit of stifled laughter that came with the hilarious thought of broken toes and misplaced hands. They would run it two more times before they were allowed to leave the Great Hall, tired and sweating.

Jon found Robb and Theon in the smoking lounge with a large group of people fussing over a pile of foam swords. Left overs from someone’s birthday party long ago but they would serve their purpose.

“We’re going to have to split into teams, Dany doesn’t have enough family for it to be any fun,” Robb said as Jon approached.

“Sansa and I will be with her and the Southern Queen tonight,” offered Arya as she poked her sister with the soft weapon.

Sansa knocked it away but when Arya stuck her again, she gripped the foam blade and pulled it from the young troublemaker.

“And I plan to be there too,” Rhaegar Targaryen, who arrived at Winterfell only an hour ago, pitched in.

“Just don’t give Dany a sword. She’d love to knock me senseless right about now.”

“I will make no such promises,” Jon answered, not wanting to deny Dany the satisfaction taking her anger out on her brother in a relatively harmless way.

After double checking the transportation and destination arrangements and sending Sansa and Arya off to ‘guard’ Dany, Jon was able to relax into some light drinking with the men who joined him. They lounged around with their glasses and laughed at stupid jokes they had heard a millions times before. He was already feeling a little more like himself, ready to run through the halls of the ancient castle wielding a foam sword like a damned idiot. It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin that night’s fun.

Jon stood, raised his glass and said, “Alright boys, let’s go steal my bride.”

Cheers and laughter rose up as Jon drained the contents of his glass and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jonerysfanfic #jonerysfanfiction #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #ao3 #ao3link #wattpad #wattpadlink

4 notes · View notes

likeawildthing · 5 years ago

Text

tell me s’more

9,100 words of light-hearted Summer Camp fun, a day late for the August @jilychallenge! A03 <> FFN

eleven.

James rolls the window up, down, and up again until his mom intervenes, flipping the window lock switch so the window is stuck halfway down. He ducks to avoid the wind and settles for bouncing his feet on the back of her chair. That lasts about thirty seconds before she pushes her seat back an inch. James notes the warning and stops.

She should understand his excitement, because he’s going out of his mind with anticipation—eight glorious weeks of summer camp. Hogwarts! The promise of adventure outweighs the weird name.

He’d normally reject anything his parents showed any enthusiasm for on principle, but his uncle (who James trusts implicitly) told him about an abandoned mine shaft, endless s’mores, and even gave James his vintage camo jacket for capture the flag.

Mostly, the prospect of an entire parentless summer with Sirius is going to be awesome (even if they’re in the Michigan UP with spotty cell reception).

He unconsciously taps his mom’s chair again (apparently), because before he knows it she’s reclined her seat all the way back. He’s squished, pinned, but not painfully so. She’s cackling evilly. He knows from experience that she won’t relent until he promises to either keep his feet off her chair or switches to his dad’s side of the car.

In a blinding stroke of brilliance, he gives her a double Wet Willy instead. She shrieks and pulls her seat up immediately. He’ll pay for that before the day is out—she might raspberry him in front of Sirius, or cry.

Doesn’t matter, worth it.

The drive would be more bearable with Sirius, but his parents had insisted on flying. And James’s dad forbade him to ask “how long” before they’d even left Chicago. Now, the GPS marks their progress as they meander through boring Wisconsin. His mom tells him that when they get to Cokeworth, they’ll be close.

His dad unlocks the window controls, and his mom rolls her eyes, and James daydreams about using the pocket knife his dad had slipped him that morning to carve his name into his bunk while he rolls the window up, down, and up again.

- - - - -

Lily swings back, forth, and back again on the rickety swing, picking shapes out of the clouds, tuning out Petunia. Petunia, who glares at the long processional of flashy cars and rants about elitism. It’s the same as every year, first Friday in June, start of summer camp. Pet’s only ranting because she’s jealous she’s not going to Hogwarts.

(God, Pet, who cares if rich kids are going to rich camp? She doesn’t even like being outside anymore, but it’s that she’s left out that bothers her.)

Never mind any of it—the day is glorious after months of snow, and Lily wants nothing more than to swing and feel sunshine on her face and not be in school.

Their mom teaches summer school, but this year Pet was declared “big enough to look after them both.” Lily loves Jessica P., the neighbor who normally comes over and watches them and takes them to the movies.

(Jessica P. approved endless ice cream and always sided with Lily.)

Dad said Pet’s only job was to make sure Lily did not get “seriously maimed or injured, whatever that means, not to boss her around every second of the day. He also said Lily was perfectly old enough to go off with her friends in the mornings, or to the gas station or park by herself. He also said not to tell mom that last part.

None of that has stopped Pet from bossing her around every second of their first day alone (nothing new), but Lily is old enough to ignore her (also nothing new).

So aside from chores and Pet’s bossiness, it’s going to be an amazing summer. Once the pool opens, Pet will be too busy swooning over Owen to pay her proper attention. And Lily got an iPod in January and Lizzie has promised to show her how to steal music. Pet will calm down (or get distracted, or both), and then Lily’s got weeks of new music and swimming and popsicles and adventures ahead of her.

How cool could a stuffy old place full of rich city kids be, anyway? If it’s the sort of place this new version of her sister wants to go, then Lily wants nothing to do with it.

Probably.

And okay, capture the flag would be awesome, but what’s it to her?

Lily puts her earbuds in and pumps for the sky—not even Pet’s incessant whining will ruin today.

James is a Gryffindor (obviously), which means he sits in the Lion sections of the mess hall, at lodge, and at campfire. He’s the youngest of his seven cabin mates, though it hardly matters because Sirius it there. James’s bunkmate, Remus, is cool even though his name is Remus. Everyone calls him Lupin to make up for it. James goes by Potter, which makes him feel older than he really is.

Camp is so much more than his uncle and parents had told him. James can already speak Pig Latin, eat seven marshmallows at once, and light a fire.

(Ok, so he just threw the match on the fire frank had built, but still. Awesome.)

He put up a solid enough defense during Round 1 of capture the flag that his captain moved him to offense for Round 2—youngest in living memory!

Frank, James’s counselor, is the coolest person James has ever met, despite the fact that (at seventeen) he’s practically an adult, and even though he does armpit checks to make sure they actually showered with soap every night. Frank calls Pete’s armpits weapons of mass destruction, which is hilarious and also true. Pete (who can’t be called by his terrible last name Pettigrew) pretends to shoot missiles, which is maybe trying too hard to be cool. But he can do armpit farts and burp the Canadian national anthem, which demands mad respect.

Hogwarts is, hands down, the best place James has ever been. School’s okay, but everyone here is relaxed and wants to have fun (the best parts of school, in James’s opinion). No one except McGonagall minds if he breaks the rules, or even bothers to enforce them.

He doesn’t even mind the singing.

James loves it all so much—completely unironically—that he’s too busy to be homesick. Almost. He writes to his mom every week and looks forward to his candy-smuggled care packages, whatever the camp rules say. But he’ll never tell anyone, not even Sirius (especially not Sirius), that his raggedy stuffed dog (Cat) is squished at the bottom of his sleeping bag. And though he doesn’t care cuddle Cat and give his secret away, James’s toes rub against the scraggly fur at night. (It’s almost good enough.)

And while he hasn’t found the mineshaft yet, he’s snuck out three times. Sure, Frank did bust him each and every time, but some things can’t be helped.

James will work out a workaround and do some proper exploring before the summer ends.

- - - - -

Although Lily doesn’t like like anyone, Carlie Ray Jepson almost makes her wishes she did. Almost—Owen broke Petunia’s heart into a “million tiny pieces” (even though they weren’t even dating!), and she’s been even more insufferable than usual.

If liking someone means carrying on like that, no thanks! God!

Summer had started out great with half a dozen sleepovers and swimming, but now her only friend within walking/riding distance, Lizzie, is grounded for piercing her little sister’s ears. So Lily’s bored out of her freaking mind. She could play Club Penguin indefinitely, but the Evans house only has one computer and, whatever mom says about sharing, Petunia’s been pulling rank to torture her Owen Sim in weird, creepy ways.

Lily spends most of her days at the park, or scrounging for enough change to grab a treat from the gas station, but one day while exploring she finds a rundown fort-ish structure in the woods. It was maybe once a fort and could definitely be one again. An amazing one.

(It probably belongs to an axe murderer or is cursed and Lily will die a violent death, but that’s a risk worth taking. It’s mysterious and interesting and suits Lily perfectly.)

And OK, she might be a little too old for a fort, and Pet would say she’s seen Bridge to Terabithia too many times, but who cares?

Being the little sister means almost everything she owns belongs to Petunia first, and what she owns outright still has to be shared. Lily feels the same way about this that she does her iPod. Anyway, Petunia would ruin this in the same way she’s ruined everything lately: by being rude, or snobby, or distant.

Puberty has ruined her sister, and their friendship, and Lily vows that it (puberty, being a troll, etc. etc.) won’t happen to her. Her mom has urged her to be patient, and one day she’ll understand, but no thanks? Lily will stay eleven and a decent human being, thank you very much. God.

For now, she’s got another month left of summer and a fort to make awesome for when (if) Liz gets ungrounded.

- - - - -

Whatever James said earlier, it’s not like James wants to sneak out of camp. It’s that every adult in his life has conspired against him and he’s left with no other choice.

James doesn’t mind mice, but Frank did not appreciate one running across his face in the middle of the night. (Wimp!) The mouse infestation was blamed on James’s candy stash. And yes, there may have been a correlation, but to blame it entirely on the sweets was bad science without investigating other contributing factors. No one else saw it this way, however, and McGonagall wrote home to all Gryffindor 1 parents kindly asking that they stop sending sweets.

James’s mother stopped immediately, and his dad stopped when caught out by James’s mom. Even his uncle sent his regrets.

When hunger pains struck at 3 am last week, frank threw an apple at his bunk. Ridiculous.

And then James’s commissary privileges were restricted when his second secret stash was found.

All of these were annoying and insulting, but the final straw, the one that really did James in? The brainless decision to eliminate chocolate from campfire.

1. Graham crackers and one pissant marshmallow does not a s’more make.

2. 2. Sacrilege.

So, again, with every adult in his life conspiring against him (even Frank, who at 17 barely counted as one), James really feels that he hasn’t been given any other choice.

The opportune time to sneak out is all swim, when the Gryffindor counselors are on break and the counselors in training and lifeguard are left to keep fifty kids from drowning. Even they have figured out that James and Sirius cannot be trusted alone together, but James bribes Pete to fake a stomach ache.

James then volunteers to take him to the nurse.

The plan works beautifully. They, the youngest Gryffindor boys, have pooled their resources with the idea of sending him and Pete to the gas station. They change clothes in the woods and hike out using the map his uncle had sent as a peace offering.

X marks the spot. The sweet spot. (Sirius had punched him when he told that joke, but Pete laughs when James tells it again.)

The laughter stops when Pete, anxious about what his mother will say should they get caught, heads back when they take two left turns even though the map only said one. Then it’s just James. He’d barely paid attention during orienteering, but the thought of another s’more-less campfire keeps him going.

He’s got the map, nearly $30 in loose change and small bills, and the rest of the summer at stake.

As his giant nerd dad would say, onward and upward.

- - - - -

Lily’s painting her fort a pathetic sort of pink—red front door paint mixed with white trim paint, thanks to dad’s borderline hoarder tendencies—when a boy wanders by. As her fort set deep in the woods, this is unusual. And boy is a loose term, as he looks a little bit deranged and a lot bit disheveled.

Also, he greets her by asking whether she is a mirage.

Deranged or not, he’s the most interesting thing to happen to her in ages. Or at least a week (since Lizzie got herself grounded again.)

Once they both establish that neither is an axe murderer, and that he’s from Hogwarts, and he’s lost after wandering in the woods for hours, and she not only knows where he is but where he wants to go, he—James Potter—starts talking and does not stop.

He promises to pay her in candy if she guides him to the gas station, even more if she can guarantee safe, but discrete, passage back to camp. Lily would have done this free of charge, but she’s not stupid. She pretends like it is a big burden and negotiates a decent haul. He balks at her $5 price, but at the end of the day, she points out, he’ll have $25 more in sweets than he’ll have without her assistance.

It’s impossible to argue with that, although it’s clear he wants to, so they fist bump and she leads the way.

While he’s got no shortage of confidence (a bit too much after having got lost in the woods and thinking you were near death when the road was literally a quarter mile away), he’s far from the vomit-inducing scum Pet has always made his sort out to be. As he prattles on about Hogwarts, his enthusiasm is infectious, even if she only understands about half of his references.

At the gas station she carefully selects her sweets. An argument breaks out as to whether the $5 included tax, but as he did not specify this, Lily gets exactly $4.98 in candy with only a twinge of guilt. (That isn’t enough to make her put anything back.) She insists that he gets Peanut Butter Cups for s’mores. He cringes and argues, but buys them when she insists that she won’t lead him back to camp unless he gets them.

But when it comes time to pay, he comes up short. $30 short to be exact. Best as he can figure, he threw out the money, along with all of his supplies, when he panicked in the woods. GOD.

It was a stupid thing to do, and she tells him so, but he’s so despondent she doesn’t have the heart to be angry with him any longer. She pulls her own $5 from her pocket and tells him to pick a sweet to keep. Only because he’d been through so much and, if he’s right, he’s in for a world of hurt when he gets back to camp.

(His half hour excursion has turned into a two hour ordeal.)

On cue, Frank (who is, to Lily, to her older cousin’s ex), bursts into the gas station. It’s clear he’s been running—he’s all red and puffy in the face, and he can’t exactly speak because he’s trying to catch his breath. He holds up a single hand to James, who sets his candy slowly on the counter and puts his hands up (as if it were a bank robbery).

And it sort of is. Lily feels like that scene in the Lion King when Simba gets in trouble, except she’s Nala. Without another word, James follows Frank out the gas station, presumably back to camp.

Summer’s nearly over, and its’ been dull, and as Lily eats her PB cup, she wonders if Hogwarts might mean something to her after all. Not for Potter (a proper twit, all things considered), but all the things he’d talked about—the games, and the campfire, and the archery and kayaking and capture the flag—those sound divine.

And ok, summer camp (and Hogwarts in particular) sounds like a little bit of a cult, but for the first time Lily wonders what it’d be like to join.

twelve.

Cokeworth news, like that for most small towns, consists of the local school’s honor roll and the library’s updated summer hours. So when the local summer camp changed ownership and the new owner lowered tuition to encourage local campers, it was News.

It was certainly News in the Evans household. Lily had surprised even herself in begging to go. She hadn’t given Hogwarts a ton of thought over the school year, but Petunia had grown increasingly distant and the idea of spending another summer with her is unbearable. Besides, Lizzie is too good at getting into trouble to rely upon for consistent summer fun.

And despite her parents’ reservations—the length of time away, the tuition (even reduced)—Lily got her way in the end. Petunia was angry because her parents had vetoed her trip to Disney (which was, as her mom pointed out, only 5 days and twice as expensive as camp), but Petunia wouldn’t have any of it. She hissed horrible things to Lily when their parents weren’t paying attention.

But Lily was going to Hogwarts, and she was thrilled about it, and Petunia couldn’t ruin that for her.

Anyway, she would have been just as annoyed to have Lily hanging around all summer.

After a tense dropping off with her sister, Lily bade farewell to her parents and headed to Gryffindor 1. Her counselor Alice was cheerful and friendly, and Lily was thrilled to see schoolmate Mary MacDonald in her cabin. They weren’t close, as Mary was a year younger, but it would be nice to see a friendly face.

- - - - -

If it’s even possible, James is more excited to return to Hogwarts than he’d been to come in the first place. Although his parents may disagree, the ride up is triple fun because Sirius joins them.

He’s got Frank as counselor again. They’d made a truce last year when Frank had agreed to reinstate s’mores, proper s’mores, if James agreed not to sneak out anymore. At least he didn’t have to worry about that again. (Frank definitely had to worry about the sneaking out though.)

Besides, his dad stocked a respectful stock of snacks in a rodent proof container.

As camp begins, James enjoys a certain level of notoriety for his gas station stunt the previous summer. Whether good or bad, he doesn’t care—at least everyone knows his name. (As it should be.)

The three people he cares most about—Sirius, Peter, and Remus—are all together again. He’d kept up with them all throughout the school year, and the first night in the dorm is like coming home. Not that school friends aren’t great, but most school friends just don’t get camp. Even Sirius had told him to shut up about it when he went on about it too much.

Even if Sirius isn’t as hooked on camp as James, he’d follow James anywhere.

The others balance out his and Sirius’ collective stupidity, and they’re both funny in their own unique ways, and it’s just—they’re better together than apart. Most importantly, this year they’re the older Gryffindor 1 boys.

It’s going to be awesome.

- - - - -

Dumbledore, the camp’s new owner, is wildly eccentric, but to Lily that seems a prerequisite for the job.

Hogwarts is so much more like a cult than Lily had ever imagined, but it’s an amazing cult.

One she doesn’t quite belong to yet, but desperately wants to. As one of only a handful of local kids, Lily didn’t now the camp language, camp jokes, or layout. Apparently some prominent families had pulled their children in protest at the change, and others weren’t thrilled with the newcomers. Mostly though, everyone is nice, and Lily ignores those who aren’t.

Each camp day is like two weeks in real life, so she makes friends fast and her indoctrination doesn’t take very long. She and Mary do roll their eyes at one another when one of the other girls complain about rich kid problems, but that’s the worst of it.

Lily’s so busy sunup to sundown that she barely has time to consider life out of camp.

She loves arts and crafts and field games. She can find a path through the woods better than anyone else in her cabin, though she can’t paddle a boat to save her life. Even the cafeteria food, which the snobbier kids complain about, is a thousand times better than the garbage her school serves during the school year. In truth, there isn’t anything Lily doesn’t love, but her favorite is capture the flag.

Capture the flag is also James Potter’s favorite, and he insists Gryffindor lost last year because he was banned for the (infamous) gas station incident. Lily thinks he’s just a little full of himself.

To knock him down a peg, she scares the Gryffindor 1 boys one night by telling them about Dogman. Sightings date back almost a century and Lily adds in all the right details, like the glowing red eyes and her perfect impersonation of the howl. If they knew anything at all, they’d know Dogman is an LP monster, but they don’t and they fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

Rumor has it the boys slept with their lights on for days.

Lily feels bad, but not that bad.

- - - - -

Priority number one is to get a proper map of the place. By midsummer all known parts of camp are marked and the southeast quadrant is charted a little at a time. The map is Lupin’s brainchild, James just does the art.

He tries to pay attention in orienteering but he still can’t reliably tell east from west. His real takeaway is to always have Lupin with him if he’s in the woods.

After Dogman, James sleeps with his flashlight for two days until Frank takes his batteries.

James’s favorite part of the summer so far has been fleshing out his vocabulary, as he and his friends have properly discovered swear words and use them liberally when the little boys aren’t around. Frank calls him out of he uses too many “fucks” in a day, but otherwise lets them be.

He (weirdly) draws the line at their making up dirty lyrics to the camp song though, because sacrilege.

James’s real sore spot this year is capture the flag—he’s been put on defense again and has to prove himself before he’s allowed to switch back. And even though she saved his life last year, Lily Evans is bossy about defense strategies.

(Even though she’s never played before this summer. And yes, her ideas are generally good, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

Tonight’s the last round of the summer, and he’s in charge of defense, and he’ll be damned if they don’t win.

- - - - -

It’s the last round of the year and Potter’s got a stick up his ass about being in charge again.

He’s actually a brilliant strategist (though she wouldn’t tell him that, his ego doesn’t need a boost from her). It’s that way he assumes he’s in charge that rubs wrong with Lily. And it’s not that they aren’t friendly—the girls mostly keep to themselves and Lily told Olivia the truth about last summer, who told everyone else, and James had been a bit embarrassed about all of it. Come to find out he’d told a different version of events to the camp. Lily hadn’t meant to embarrass or contradict him, but he hadn’t been overly thrilled about it.

They steered clear of each other in general, but not tonight. Because the Golden flag is on the line and they’ve got to kick some serious ass.

His strategy is, as usual, brilliant, and she’s too keyed up to make a fuss. As she’s the lightest person who isn’t terrified of heights (Liam W. got stuck during Round 3 and his wails gave their position away), Lily climbs into a pine and starts lookout.

Everything’s going fine until she carelessly climbs too high in an effort to see more. Her branch cracks and she falls out of the tree. James, in the tree just to her left, hops down and comes to her aid. She’s done something to her ankle she can’t stand on it. Neither of them know what to do, but it hurts so much she starts crying.

Just then, the crack of a branch alerts them to someone else’s presence. She didn’t shriek, and she doesn’t cry out now, however much it hurts, but it feels like Round 3 all over again.

But then, something happens. She and James make eye contact, then nod in mutual understanding. The golden flag is more important than an injured ankle. She mouths “go” and he doesn’t wait for her to change her mind, sprinting off to the left so he can assess the danger and reinforce their defenses.

It is fractured, she finds out hours later, but they win.

- - - - -

Maybe Evans isn’t so bad after all.

thirteen.

Third year, James finally understands why most camp activities are separated by gender—he and his mates discover girls. He doesn’t like any girl in particular, but it doesn’t matter. Frank gives a long, awkward speech on day one about dorm etiquette and allows as much shower time as necessary to keep the cabin “decent”.

Second week, James earns a lifetime ban in archery when he accidently shoots Flitwick in the foot. It wasn’t his fault the girls were playing volleyball in the next field over.

- - - - -

Despite her best efforts, Lily grows boobs and hair in places she’d never dreamed. (It’s awful.) Her personality doesn’t turn to sour grapes like Petunia’s, whose distance only grew in the last year, but she doesn’t feel comfortable in her own skin and some days, she hates everything.

She grew about three inches over the school year, making her taller than the Gryffindor boys her age. It drives Potter nuts and she loves it. Her mom says her arms and legs need to catch up, but her paddling strokes (which had gotten better by the end of the year last year) are off, and her kick doesn’t connect with the soccer ball in the right way.

Even capture the flag feels like a lost cause.

Her friends are all going through the same thing, and the awkwardness Lily felt the summer before is gone. These are her friends, her people, and she’s been fully indoctrinated into cult camp. Now she’s the one reliving inside jokes and making up songs about the cute older counselors. Growing up is awful, but at least she’s not alone.

- - - - -

Frank teaches James how to play guitar, but the triumph of the summer is finding the old abandoned mineshaft. Sirius calls it underwhelming. For James it’s the principle. It’s been on his camp list for two years of searching, and he’s glad to have it crossed off.

While he’s still shit at orienteering, he has most of camp memorized so it hardly matters.

- - - - -

Stephanie Pearson brought an Ouija board and claims that, like her great aunt, she’s a clairvoyant. The girl has watched too much Ghost Hunters, but what else have they got to do? Scaring each other shitless is one of the best things about camp.

The planchette moves, honest to god, spells out the name of the ghost who definitely-doesn’t-but-maybe-does haunt the old latrine. Mary swears it wasn’t her, and Lily knows it wasn’t her. And it’s all so ridiculous, but Stephanie has a fit, admits she was never a clairvoyant-anything, she made it all up, and throws the Ouija board out the window.

They sleep with the lights on for two days.

- - - - -

She can build a better campfire, but James Potter is taller than her by the end of summer.

fourteen.

It began simply, escalated quickly, and ended abruptly when James accidentally fell through the Gryffindor Girls’ 2 dorm skylight. (He doesn’t break any bones, though that might have garnered more sympathy from his mother when she received the bill to replace the window.)

And even though his punishment, sharing laundry duty with Evans, will last for the rest of the summer, James doesn’t regret a single decision he’d made.

- - - - -

Alright—Lily had started the prank war against the boys, but it had been a total accident.

She hadn’t meant to leave her cinnamon sugar toast by the boys’ clothesline. She will never, ever tell anyone this, except maybe Lizzie, but she’d seen the swim trunks, gotten distracted thinking of certain boys in them, and left her toast on the post from which the clothesline hung.

By the time word spread around that Lily Evans had sabotaged the boys clothesline with fire ants, causing several boys to get bit you-know-where, she’d earned an astonishing level of notoriety for the second summer in a row.

To admit it had been an accident wasn’t something Lily’s honor would permit.

Besides, the boys would never believe her, retaliation was coming whether she took credit for it or not.

They retaliated swiftly (and rather amateurishly) with cicadas in the girls’ sheets. The girls responded with water guns in the middle of the night, which led to a sprinkler in their cabin in the middle of the next.

The girls looked to Lily as their de facto leader, citing her strategic brilliance. Lily felt rather lost, but her lovely counselor Alice (also Frank’s girlfriend, in interesting developments since last summer!) helped her along.

Things turn when the girls steal the boys’ chocolate for campfire night. Although Lily knows she’s stoking the fire, tucking the spent wrappers into Potter’s pillow, she doesn’t care until she and her friends return from swim to find dismembered doll heads screwed to their bunks. In a bold and dangerous move, the girls, under Lily’s direction, steal the golden flag from the boys’ bunk even though it’s their week to have it. The girls send them go on an hours’ long scavenger hunt to earn it back (giggling as the boys enduring a series of humiliations including, but not limited to, a botched haircut and racing around the pool in ill-fitting heels).In the end, they discover that it had been under Potter’s bed the entire time.

Lily expects something big in response, and rightly so. She even hears the boys on the roof, but she damn well expects Potter and his mates to keep off the skylights.

Well.

Dumbledore, who permitted rather a lot, negotiates a ceasefire with all parties involved. And, while Lily will have to wash the boys’ dirty laundry every Sunday for the rest of the summer, she knows the prank war will the stuff of camp legend.

So, worth it.

- - - - -

James proudly sports a ridiculous reverse mohawk that he can only hope will grow in by start of school.

He doesn’t even think about resenting her for it—Evans beat him fair and square and he respects that. And though he scribbles them out every time, he finds himself using his newly re-acquired drawing pencils to doodle her initials in the corner of his chord sheets.

fifteen.

Lily gets a ukulele for Christmas and, by the time camp starts (and about a thousand YouTube covers later), she’s convinced herself she’ll be the next big camp star. Problem is, she can’t actually sing. That’s never stopped her before, and no one at camp can sing anyway. Star might be stretching it, but she has to intervene or Potter will start taking over campfire.

(Fake it till you make it, right?)

It’s not that he’s bad at singing. He wouldn’t be terrible at singing. She’s always had a deeply weird, intense rivalry with Potter. Ever since that first day in the woods, she can’t shake the feeling of trying to outwit him. And while the prank war had ended in her favor last summer, it had technically been a draw rather than an outright victory.

It’s that he’s good at everything and she sort of hates him for it. Or wants to. It’s hard to hate Potter, but he’s not god’s gift to the world. He’s not. His ego is bigger than Shaker Creek after a good rain and he doesn’t need to add “lead campfire” to the list of reasons to inflate it. (Even if he’d look good doing it. She can admit as much. She’d be an idiot not to.)

So it’s not that she wants to poison him with iocane powder, but it’d be nice to win outright for once.

She plays and sings—badly, but at least she’s having a blast. And that’s what camp is all about.

And at least she looks cute, thanks to Mary’s ability to fishtail braid, because she secretly hopes that hot, funny counselor-in-training Dan (Divine Dan) will notice her. Potter can hold his own with a guitar, but Dan is tall and likes the same movies as her and he’s in a band. She wishes he’d sweep her off her feet and canoe into the sunset. (Or at least take her to the canoe shed to make out.)

It’s not like everything she does is to get Dan to notice her. Mary corrects her every time she insists this, saying it’s only about 80%. Yes, she’s wearing make-up every day, even at camp. And yes, she pretended to know nothing about archery so he would teach her. But it’s 60% at best.

She’s at camp, after all, there’s still plenty of fun to be had. Having a summer crush is a nice, nice bonus.

(And having a cute braid, a new push up bra, and a ukulele can’t hurt in getting his attention.)

- - - - -

James sets his marshmallows on fire during four consecutive campfires, distracted by Evan’s strumming and her bigger tits and her hair shining in the firelight. He doesn’t ask her out, because he knows she has a thing for Dodgy Dan. (And he grits his teeth a lot because Dan is stringing her along, and he wants to intervene but it’s definitely not his place.

He doesn’t ask her out, but he sort of wants to. A little. (A lot.)

He’s such an idiot, but she let him paint starry night on her ukulele. Asked him to, actually. He likes her even though she went to show Dodgy Dan just after he’d finished. And he likes her even though she’s a bit of an idiot, insisting on eating her s’mores the wrong way.

But doesn’t that make him the idiot?

His friends say yes, especially Sirius. He can’t disagree, but he does minimize the whole thing. To distract himself, he insists they cause some good old-fashion, non-prank war mischief.

They’re at camp, after all. What’s the point in wasting the summer pining over a (gorgeous, funny) girl?

Garbage bag slip-and-collide is born during after a burst of inspiration during free time one Tuesday. Like any game worth playing, the rules are overly-complicated and subject to change, and the chance for injury is exceedingly high. They last two hours—with a dozen others joining in, even Evans—before McGonagall discovers them.

She chews them out for half an hour, shouting about the liability and a gross misuse of camp property until her voice grows hoarse and James offer to get her a drink of water so she can keep going. Sensing impending doom, Dumbledore finally intervenes. They have to replace the broken laundry carts and apologize to the activities director for taking the helmets without permission (used and borrowed at Evans’s insistence), but that’s the worst of it.

The nurse patches up Davies’ cut, so no lasting injuries.

Still, the Marauders (a nickname they’d picked up from Frank last year for their night-time explorations) sneak into town to get some more garbage bags and pop up games happen throughout the rest of the summer.

- - - - -

Lily is paired as co-captain with James Potter for Round 5.

She’s not against it, or him. Any mind that can come up with the best game in years, slip-and-collide, can strategize a winning strategy for capture the flag. And she can (and does) criticize Potter for his ego, but she’ll never question his dedication to winning capture the flag. His mania in that is matched only by her own.

But camp is half over and she doesn’t want to subject herself to two weeks of bickering while they prepare. And the more time spent bickering, the less time she can hang out with Dan.

Still, in the name of recapturing the golden flag—currently in Ravenclaw possession, humiliating to say the last—they set aside most of their free time to strategize. They agree only that she’ll lead defense (he doesn’t have the patience for it) and he’ll lead offense (she doesn’t have the physique to brutalize the enemy) before they’re at loggerheads.

The year before, their counselors had insisted on using rock, paper, scissors as a mechanism for solving disagreements. Lily suggests trying it now, for civility’s sake. They use it strategically when presented with equally good ideas, but differing opinions as to which is preferred—mainly flag and player placement.

It’s true that they know each other well enough to predict what the other will do. (James prefers to change it up but she guesses his pattern, and Lily prefers scissors, always.) They try to fake each outer out—it never works. They sometimes have to go to ten rounds before someone wins.

Still, it’s better than bickering unnecessarily.

Sometimes Lily won’t budge from her position, but Potter listens and even changes his mind a few times. He turns out to be funny in a different way up close—cornier jokes, almost dad-ish in nature, a bit awkward and goofy because his arms and legs are too big for his body and he’s always bumping into things. And he’s less bro-ish without his friends around to egg him on.

It’s a different version of Potter, an easier one to manage. One she doesn’t mind at all, actually.

At the very least, it makes planning for capture the flag easier. They’re able to plan a solid strategy with minimal bickering and get everyone on board.

- - - - -

Lupin calls their bickering flirting, Pete calls it foreplay, and Sirius’s response is always muffled because he gets a pillow to the face.

Frank just rolls eyes. James can’t prove it, but he suspects Frank and Alice arranged the co-captains thing.

(He’s not complaining—it’s been brilliant. Why they hadn’t been using rock, paper, scissors for the last several years, he doesn’t know.)

(Because Evans is fun to poke fun at, and she can dish it back twice as much.)

- - - - -

The match isn’t without hiccups, but Gryffindor wins the round.

(Just barely. Owen P. tripped and nearly lost the Ravenclaw flag he’d just grabbed and James Potter, his relay, had to bust ass in the opposite direction to get it from him. And then, when he was outrunning three Ravenclaws, he fell eight feet down a hill, and wrist is sprained, but they win and she’s over the moon.

Lily hugs him to the exasperated nurse’s station to get a sling.

- - - - -

James is the hero of Gryffindor. It makes him (as Sirius says—ten shades of loser), but of the celebrations afterward, the one that matters most is the hug Evans gives him. And that she volunteers to accompany him to the nurse’s station to get bandaged up.

James is always on his toes with Evans, trying to get the upper hand. What that looks like, he has yet to figure out. He does know that, while he’ll only admit it to Cat, he’s a bit depressed when their co-captainship is over (even if the end result is a victory).

She just wants to be his friend. He sees that. He can do friends.

Friends is a hell of a lot better than nothing.

- - - - -

Lily’s joy over their victory is gives way to heartbreak because Dodgy Ducking Dan is in love with another CIT, Kaylee Peterson. Or at least Mary saw them heading toward the canoe shed (holding hands!) after dinner.

And even though she and Dan weren’t dating, he’d definitely flirted with her.

Mary tries to be sympathetic but, while the other girls spend the night vilifying Kaylee, Mary shrugs and says it’s not like summer camp romances are forever, and it would’ve ended at the end of next week anyway when camp ended.

Intellectually, Lily knows this—she’d spent the summer before (when she wasn’t pranking the Gryffindor 2 boys) pining over Jake P., a Ravenclaw. They’d kissed twice, and it had been nice, but it also hadn’t been a big deal. Their romance had ended with camp, no big deal. But this was different—she’d really liked him. And he’d said she was so good on ukulele, and had bought her a Reece’s before campfire.

(And if that isn’t leading a girl on, what is?)

It does occur to Lily that she’s acting a bit unhinged, pretty much exactly like her sister did not so many summers before. The only thing she does with this information is imagine torturing a Sim Dodgy Dan in horrible, creepy ways. She doesn’t have a computer at camp, so she settles for making a little voodoo figure of him in arts and crafts.

Lupin declares this wildly unhealthy and calls for an intervention.

An intervention at summer camp looks like this: bribe the CITs with soda to look the other way, take an off-trail night hike over the hills, bushwhacking past the frog pond and out to the old lake in the corner of the property. Canoe at midnight. Tip over in the lake, getting soaked, because you are stupid enough to get into a canoe with James Potter. Sing at the stars, even though Pete makes fun of your terrible voice. Laugh until you almost pee your pants. Brave the haunted outhouse because you will pee your pants if you don’t piss soon. Ignore that Mary and Sirius definitely left to make out (trust that they will find their way back). Bid Pete and Lupin a good night when they give up and head back to bed.

Take Potter to your long-abandoned pink fort. Find that it has been painted blue by parties unknown. (Or green, it’s hard to tell in this light.) Reminisce about the first time you met, about life outside camp, and art and movies and favorite vines and food and families and what a shit singer you really are. Talk until the coldest part of the night sets in and you realize the counselors will set out a search party for you soon.

Talk for another hour for good measure.

Finally yawn and stretch and stand up, because if you don’t leave soon you won’t be back before everyone wakes up. Wish the next fort occupant happy daydreaming and fortifying. Head back to camp, slowly and a little bit reluctantly, but a tiny big happier than you were at the beginning of the night. Full, at any rate, though of what you aren’t sure.

Still indulge in a good cry in bed, because sometimes boys can be complete assholes.

Amend that later, because sometimes (some) boys can be kind of amazing.

Although she and Potter have followed each other on social media (as camp friends do), they exchanged numbers and promise to keep in touch throughout the school year. It’s going to be interesting, being friends with Potter, but she’s not not looking forward to it.

sixteen.

CIT James obeys the rules, listens to his counselor faithfully, and never sets a bad example for his charges, the campers. This is the lecture he receives from McGonagall on day one, anyway. The serious façade lasts about as long as it takes for Frank to say both hello and holy-shit-I-thought-it-would-be-Lupin in the same breath. After that, it’s business as usual.

His parents had floated the idea of skipping camp this year, going on an extended family vacation somewhere, but James had scoffed. Where else would he rather be than camp? His friends take the piss about the CIT thing but they’re back at camp, too: Sirius as a lifeguard, Lupin as Gryffindor 1 CIT, and Pete as an archery assistant under Flitwick.

Even though they don’t have any real authority, they enjoy late curfew, unstructured free time, and access to the staff areas. (Not that restrictions have stopped them from doing exactly as they pleased before. It’s just nice that they may get have less tellings off from McGonagall this summer).

The only tradeoff is no capture the flag—campers only. James still plans to coach his boys to victory though.

James takes over for swim, lunch, and from lights out ‘til midnight. He also helps with wake up, breakfast, and morning activities. The rest is free time.

It’s going to be a fantastic summer, because Evans is a lifeguard.

He’d known it intellectually, but actually seeing her on the lifeguard stand for two hours every day is a different story. He neglects his charges more than once because Lily Evans is in a swimsuit all day, every day. He does his best to avoid staring.

(Although, to be fair, he is always staring at her, swimsuit or not.)

To avoid being a complete creep, he mostly sits by Sirius’s lifeguard stand, pining.

They’ve transitioned from competitors to friends (competitive friends) this year, having kept in touch throughout the school year. His summer crush did not end at the end of the summer. It’s grown into something more, he doesn’t know what, but his throat goes dry and his hands sweat and he feels like he’s perpetually making an ass out of himself. He’s not used to being out of his depth, but that’s exactly how he feels with Evans.

- - - - -

Coming back to Hogwarts wasn’t even a question Lily had asked, but she second guesses herself by the end of week one.

Camp isn’t the same without Mary, who took a job at Meijer in April. And being on the caregiving end of things has changed her perspective. Her CIT friends are still in that in-between stage of not-quite-campers, not-quite-staff, but she is firmly in the staff side of things. Her her car insurance isn’t going to pay for itself, so she’d joined as a lifeguard rather than a CIT.

It’s okay, but all the boys are staring at her, and some don’t even try to hide it. She gets it—pretty girl in a swimsuit—but it’s exhausting. She often retreats to the staff cabin to avoid the male gaze.

James Potter keeps staring at her, too, more than his usual even though he’s putting in a good faith effort not to. Thing is, she likes it when he stares (though she’s putting in a good faith effort not to).

They’d never been exactly unfriendly, but a year of late night Skypes (and a Chicago meetup over the New Year) solidified their friendship. The flutter in her stomach when she catches him staring, the way she laughs at all of his jokes (even the unfunny ones) indicate a big flashing more than friends neon light, but Lily remains cautious.

They’re friends, good friends, and she doesn’t want to upset that.

Anyway, she’d ruined most of her summer pining over a boy and she’s determined not to let that happen again.

Still, she can admit that when James joins her most mornings for second breakfast after he’s done with morning crew and before she readies the pool for the day, it’s the highlight of her day. She and James are the official campfire starters now, because James is in fact the best but McGonagall won’t leave him unsupervised with any kind of fire starting paraphernalia. And when Frank officially passes on sing-a-long leader baton to him, she’s genuinely happy for him and tells him so.

It’s going to be an interesting summer.

- - - -

During week three Sirius threatens to drown him if he keeps whining about Evans without doing something about it.

He’ll drown himself if he can’t sort it out. He said he wouldn’t waste another summer pining after her, but this is less pining and more active, mutual flirtation. (If he’s not imagining things, according to Lupin and Pete.)

Most interesting, she’s flirting back. Others have noticed and pointed it out. He didn’t dare believe them at first, but the evidence is stacking up in his favor. She turned down not one, but three date requests (that he knows of). She brought him cereal the other day when he didn’t make their standing breakfast date.

The Gryffindor 2 campers take bets on when James will make his move.

Sirius’s idea isn’t a bad idea, all considered. He hasn’t got any better ideas. It’s not a very good idea, but Sandlot is one of her favorite movies and he can always play it off as a joke. She’ll get a kick out of the reference, and maybe it’ll break some of this tension between him.

So the next day while Sirius is on break James pretends to drown. Although he’d watched the scene over and over the night before he goes off script, begging Evans to him before he sinks to the bottom of the deep end.

Never one to back down from a shenanigan, she rises to the occasion, making a big show of pretending to rescue him. She drags him out of the pool, calls his name. He doesn’t stir, just pretends to be on unconscious. He can’t see her, but he hears her intake of breath when she figures out what he’s doing.

(The scene, of course, is that Squints kisses the girl while she starts giving him CPR. It’s “highly problematic,” as Lily says, but they both find it hilarious.)

He can’t see her, but he knows she’s deciding what to do.

James’s heart skips a beat when she says “stand back” and starts administering CPR. It hurts, she’s not exactly going easy on him—and the anticipation builds in James. He’s about to make his move, whatever that move will be, when—

—someone licks his face?

- - - - -

Lily descends into a fit of giggles as the mangy camp dog, Cleo, covers James’s face in slobbery kisses.

He sputters, jumps up, and gives them both a betrayed look. All of the kids had jumped out of the pool when she’d rescued James, even though, by the time she started doing CPR, most of them knew it was a joke. His eyes were closed, but the smirk on his face gave the fact that he was definitely not unconscious away. She tells him it serves him right (and it does), but she’s laughing and she knows she’s flirting.

Everyone else does too—Lily realizes her fatal mistake in delighted expressions of the campers’ faces; this will be all across the cap by dinner. She shouldn’t have reacted to him like this in a pool full of kids, or at all.

Like most things with James Potter these days, she just can’t seem to help herself.

- - - - -

Sirius offers to pay Lily to be a counselor next year if it means she’ll wear more clothes. She’s going to go after the counselor position anyway, but she makes a mental note to negotiate a hefty bonus from Black, later.

As staff, both James and Lily are subject to the Wheel of Doom—a decade’s old torture device in which anyone who receives mail must take a spin and suffer whatever minor humiliation the wheel dictates in order to receive it.

Because it’s a camp tradition going back decades, staff receive a lot of mail from campers, their campers. Sometimes alumni send a letter to “Gryffindor 2 counselor” not even knowing who the recipient will be. But the real drama is the letters staff send to each other—deodorant coupons, toenail clippings, crusty old socks.

Sirius sends James something so awful he never pulls it out of the envelope and burns it at campfire that night.

Lily is careful to mess with everyone except James for the first half of the summer. After his stunt at the pool, campers are openly teasing her now, sometimes alone but definitely when they’re together. She decides to take matters into her own hands. They’re in this awkward neither wants to ruin their friendship holding pattern and something’s got to give.

Because they are friends, but there’s more. She lives for second breakfast and late 3 a.m. woodland chat sessions. She adores his stupid made-up constellations and insistence for hiking when he can’t use a compass to save his life and his sideways grin and endless thirst for adventure. He’s brilliant and funny and the darling of the camp, a fixture.

She’s not wasting her summer pining after a boy; he’s one of the reasons she loves camp in the first place.

So, after a summer of no letters, she sends James Potter a picture of the Sandlot cast with the words “game on” scrawled on the back. The spinner wheel renders judgment; he puts on his sweatbands and leads the camp in a quick aerobic session.

(No reason she can’t have fun in the process.)

Next day, he receives two guitar pics (each in their own envelope) and takes a pie to the face.

On day three she sends three letters—a ransom letter (letters cut out and everything) for Cat, a legitimate hard copy photo book of Cat going around camp, usually with Lily’s purple nails present somewhere in the frame, and his own map of the camp (with a post-it on top spelling out “1am, tonight” next to the canoe shed.

- - - - -

He’s half-impressed at her gall, half-embarrassed that the entire camp now knows he sleeps with a stuffed animal. And while he knows no harm will come to his childhood best friend, he didn’t know anyone knew about him in the first place.

He shouldn’t be surprised, not when it comes to Evans, not anymore.

And it’s pathetic, but his main takeaway—as he’s in a tiara dancing to Dancing Queen in front of the entire camp—is that Lily Evans must like him an awful lot if she’s willing to invest that much time and energy into a prank.

He doesn’t notice until after dinner that the last back of the post-it is signed with “X O –your favorite lifeguard.”

#jily #jily*#jilychallenge #james potter #lily evans #linds writes #i'm a day late!!#but ah well

109 notes · View notes