#But it's always Vassar

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

Has anyone written an actual nero/sporus castrate and marry tomgreg fic yet?

Tom, holding a scalpel: did you think it was a metaphor, Greg? Did you think this was freshman English at Vassar?

[rosewaterandivy]

Summary: it’s always the best laid plans of mice and men, isn’t it?

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.4K

Warnings: gilded age!au, miscommunication, a comedy of errors/manners, society snobs, a masquerade ball mishap, arranged marriage, steve ‘down bad’ harrington, and a reader/mc who doesn’t have time for this shit - she was educated abroad, she went to Vassar with Miss Nancy Wheeler, okay?!, back on my iliad bullshit (i know, i know)

playlist | m.list

I. Coup de foudre

It’s a dreary December evening in Manhattan. The streets are damp and slick accompanied by the cacophony of hooves, equipages and carriages trundling down the way. Somber topcoats and fur-trimmed capes hide the tailored waistcoats of the men and ornate skirts of the ladies, as is to be expected with the current onslaught of weather. 

Small white flurries of snow that are sure to bring a swift end to laborious dinners and engagements at the club. And the man in the sleek black equipage himself is all too relieved about it— at least he would be released from the obligation of hearing his father’s friends complain about these upstart robber barons descending like a horde of locusts on Fifth Avenue.

A quiet night in his study would be a welcome distraction.

That is, if they can ever get home in this weather.

He can hear the whinny of the horses from up front and the soothing tones of the driver. The streets are probably close to icing over at this hour, making it difficult to find traction. 

Suddenly, the equipage swings quickly to the side and careens into something with a loud thud, sending its sole occupant straight into the door with a smack. He hisses lowly at the twinge in his forehead as the driver descends with a flurry of apologies.

He opens the door himself and steps outside before the driver can assist him. The white puffs of his breath speak to how quickly the weather had turned. He draws his coat closer and approaches the two drivers as they attempt to settle the horses.

“Gentlemen,” He greets, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Noting to worry about Mr. Harrington,” His man, Andrew, assures him, “The ice just snuck up on us is all.”

He nods taking in the damage, dents and scuffs on both vehicles but the horses appear to be fine. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brings out a small notebook and a pencil to scribble his information down for the other driver. Is about to tell the man to bill him directly when someone steps out from the carriage opposite.

The footsteps themselves are delicate and tentative. He tears his gaze from the driver’s, glancing back only to find a young woman emerging from the carriage. She’s holding her skirts in one gloved hand, shivering in the cold. 

“Is everything all right Jesse?”

Her voice is like music to his ears, melodic almost. And she looks like something stolen from a painting— bright and alluring.

The winter light is quickly fading, and the lamplighters were sure taking their time this evening. Her cape is dark, like his coat, but the split at the front reveals a purple skirt trimmed in demure black lace, signifying an exit from her period of mourning. 

Her man, Jesse, shepherds her back toward the coach, “Let’s get you back inside Miss, don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Of course,” She says with a shake of her head, “How silly of me.”

And before Steve can embarrass himself in an attempt to introduce himself, she’s safely ensconced back in the carriage. Her driver returns and takes the paper from Steve, tucking it into his coat.

“Apologies gentlemen, but I must be on my way.” He pulls himself back onto the driver’s box, “Have to get the young Miss home to her brother’s, you understand.”

He tips his hat, and with a tug of the reins he’s gone.

Steve finds himself standing right where she left him, feet riveted to the very spot where she once stood. He must have taken a step toward her at some point, like an utter madman, probably startled the poor girl half to death.

Despite their disastrous non-meeting, he can’t seem to shake her from his mind. As if everything had been in black and white until she stepped down from the carriage and breathed color into his world, spring bursting forth at the sound of her voice. It sounds positively insane, even to himself, but if Robin were here, she’d understand.

Hell, she’d probably have a word for it too. 

Something French, inevitably.

“Mr. Harrington,” Andrew says, a hand tentatively resting on his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Steve blinks; a feeble attempt to clear his mind from thoughts of the mystery woman.

Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, “Right sir, let’s get you home then.”

The journey back to the Harrington family manse was uneventful. The familiar brownstone facade came into view as Andrew swung the equipage onto the street outside the house. Luckily, the home was large enough that his late arrival wouldn’t be noticed. 

He thanks Andrew and watches as he takes off with the horses for the carriage house a few blocks away. Stepping into the house, he makes quickly for his study slipping through the door just as one of the maids turns down the corridor.

Steve shucks his coat onto a nearby chair and tugs off his cravat with one hand, the other pouring a healthy portion of bourbon into a highball glass. He downs the amber liquid too quickly, the burn welcome against his throat. 

After pouring another glass to sip from, he settles into a heap on a club chair by the window. Resting his jaw on a hand, he faces the glass panes, eyes trailing the flurries of snow outside, unsettled by the quiet of the street. His mind won’t stop racing, vacillating between kicking himself for not getting her name and hoping he’d run into her again, albeit this time under better circumstances.

Little did he know, that several blocks away a man was questioning poor Jesse about his whereabouts when a slip of paper was placed into his hand. He scans it quickly, face paling at the name scrawled there: Steven Harrington.

“How could you let this happen Jesse, really? The accident, I understand, but allowing my sister out of the carriage unaccompanied?”

“Sir, I had no—”

“I’ll not hear your excuses.” Christopher Fairchild balls his hand into a fist, the paper crumpling in his grasp. “You said he saw her, Harrington, that is?”

“Unfortunately,” Jesse admits, “I intervened as best I could and got her back into the coach. He seemed rather transfixed by her.”

His employer grunts, “Yes well, that is unfortunate. What if someone had seen her with that man, no chaperone in sight?” He turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, says with a scoff, “Not even out to society and potentially scandal-ridden.”

At this point, his wife, Marian, chooses to enter, having seen the young lady to her rooms and getting her settled for the evening. She places a tentative hand on his shoulder while Jesse trains his gaze to the floor.

“Darling,” She soothes, “Your sister is asleep as is the baby, don’t get yourself into a fit at this hour.”

He sighs as her palm moves in slow circles against his back and takes deep breaths. “Of course dear,” He sips from his drink and turns to her. “I just worry about her. All the work you’ve put into her debut and planning the ball.” Christopher places a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to blush. “I don’t want it to be all for naught.”

She sighs prettily. 

“It won’t be,” Marian advises, “You’ll write to the Harringtons tomorrow and we’ll get this matter settled. And there won’t be a speck on your dear sister’s reputation, I’ll see to that.”

But, oh dear reader, where would be the fun in that? 

As we all know, the New York winter season is winding down rapidly, and do we not deserve something to keep us warm over the holiday? I would say so! 

So, in honor of her long-awaited arrival, let us give a hearty New York welcome to Miss Eleanor Fairchild! Fresh from the society of Paris and a graduate of Vassar along with Miss Nancy Wheeler, her debut this week is the talk of the town. 

Despite her indecorous brush with Mr. Steven Harrington, I am sure she will not have a shortage of suitors after the ball this weekend. 

But the question remains, my loyal readers, of who will take a shine to Miss Fairchild and step out from the long shadow cast by the Harrington name? 

Only time, and this weekly missive, will tell.

Morning in New York was startling and nothing like waking in Paris.

House maids, lady’s maids, and valets moving up and down the stairs, knocking on doors to air out the linens and draw the curtains aside to let the murky winter sun stream through. There was, of course, the soft babbling from the nursery as Gus woke from his repose, the nursemaid and his mother close at hand.

A sharp knock sounded from the door just as you drew the bedclothes closer to you, content to roll over and sleep through the gray morning.

“Bonjour mademoiselle, vous permettez?”

“Oui!” You say, curious at the chipper voice now opening the door, “Sorry, yes, you may enter.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

The girl, your new lady’s maid, softly shuts the door and turns to regard the room.

It’s certainly larger than what you’d grown accustomed to in France. But then again, most everything was in New York, especially so since you hadn’t returned to the city in well nigh on a year or more.

The room itself is well-appointed and elegant, Marian saw to that; soft colors and fabrics, diaphanous and frothy, a subtle nod to Versailles no doubt. You hadn’t had much time or energy to give it a glance last night, more inclined to have a late dinner, divest yourself of traveling clothes, and pass out as soon as possible.

The lady’s maid continues her silent assessment as another knock sounds from the door. She steps to open it and let in the housemaid.

“Good morning Miss,” She greets with a smile, her voice rounded with a warm Irish lilt. “I ‘spect you’ll be needin’ a fire this morning.”

You nod just now noticing the chill in the air. She busies herself with the kindling and sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The maids exchange a few soft words before she steps out to get the firewood from the Useful Man down the hall.

“Apologies,” You say by way of greeting, “But I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Oh, pardonne-moi,” the lady’s maid curtsies briefly, “Je m’appelle Marie.”

“Marie,” You repeat, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Moi aussi, mademoiselle.”

And from there, the ritual of dressing began. The house maid, Louisa, lit the fire and spirited you out of bed to air out the linens. At Marie’s suggestion, she also tackled unpacking the various trunks placed near the dresser and closet.

“These are fine frills Miss,” She smiled, her fingers delicately folding chemises and hanging skirts or dresses. “The Missus said your debut gown came all the way from Mr. Worth’s shop in Paris, is that true?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the memory, ivory chiffon and silk revealing the décolleté and arms, gauze and tulle providing a tempting illusion of bared skin. A full skirt with bustle that would skim the floor accompanied by a small train. With gloves and a fan to match, of course.

“Indeed, it is,” You allowed with a cheeky wink, “But I think Marie would have my head if I touched it before Friday.”

Marie, for her part, merely smirked and continued her preparations for your bath.

Across a few city blocks, a footman knocks on the imposing doors of the Harrington manse. The family butler, Campbell, just happens to be descending the stairs and takes it upon himself to open the door.

“Good morning sir,” The footman says with a bow, “Mr. Fairchild bid me to deliver this.” He hands over an envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel Harrington.

“Yes, well,” Campbell sighs, opening the door to let the footman in. “I’ll get this to him. If you hurry, Cook can scrounge up some coffee and a pastry for you. Just take the servant’s hall to the right.”

“Much obliged,” The footman says with a bow as Campbell starts up the stairs.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat, if a bit cramped. Must be the young Mr. Fairchild then, rather than his wife sending the correspondence.

Mr. Harrington’s study door is cracked open, the sound of papers shuffling to and fro on his desk as the butler enters. He briefly glances up to find Campbell, “Happen to know where I put those contracts, Campbell?”

“Perhaps the drawer on the left, sir.”

Mr. Harrington pulls the drawer open, “Right you are, good man.” And thereby loses himself to perusing the documents and thus ignoring Campbell.

“A letter has arrived for you sir,” He says stepping closer to the desk, “From Mr. Fairchild, it seems rather urgent. I have his footman waiting for your reply.”

“Hmm, well let’s have it then.”

He takes the letter from the butler’s hand and slips the blade of the letter opener under the paper. Retrieving the missive, he scans through it quickly, lips pulling down in distaste.

“See to it that Mrs. Harrington gets this,” He instructs, pulling out a new sheaf of paper and beginning his correspondence. “If she wishes to see my reply, she best be quick about it.”

The letter itself detailed the unfortunate meeting between Mr. Fairchild’s sister and Mr. Harrington’s only son. The man was understandably concerned about how it would seem should someone have happened upon them sans chaperone, as the young lady had yet to make her debut into society.

Mr. Harrington’s reply was cordial in an attempt to smooth things over— the Fairchilds, like the Harrington’s were of good stock, two families of the New York Four Hundred deemed to be unblemished and acceptable company by none other than the Grande Dame herself, Mrs. Astor. It wouldn’t be fitting for reputations to be sullied as the result of a simple misunderstanding.

As expected, Samuel’s wife, Amelia, swanned into the study seemingly in the midst of her morning toilette. Her hair was up, but she still wore her housecoat as her day dress had yet to be put on by her lady’s maid. Mr. Fairchild’s letter waved about in one hand, while the other pressed upon her chest as if to stop her racing heart.

“That boy of yours is going to give me heart failure.”

Samuel signs the letter with a flourish and lays his pen to the side.

“Oh, so he’s only my boy when he acts indiscreetly with the fairer sex, but he’s your son when he’s winning accolades at Harvard and breaking hearts abroad, is that it?”

She tuts and sits demurely on the divan, “Well, yes. Precisely that Sam.” She fans herself with the letter as her husband leans against his desk. “The social set have already written him off as a lost cause and we can ill afford a whisper of a scandal, especially now.”

Sam passes the reply to his wife and pauses, as if to choose his words carefully.

“Still moving forward with your plans to find Steven a wife then?”

“Of course, dear,” She answers brusquely, “There are many suitable ladies this season of decent breeding and passable looks.” She glances up and passes the letter back to him. “Your response is sufficient, send it off with the footman.”

Amelia rises from the divan and turns to leave. “Wake Steven and have a talk with him will you? I’ll send Maude out to the florist, he should write a note of apology for her to send along.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Amelia leaves just as abruptly as she appeared. Samuel sighs and furrows his brow, the inklings of a headache coming on. He taps his fingers against the desk and checks the time.

“Campbell,” He calls into the hall, “Have Calvin wake Steven and tell him to see my in the study.”

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a seat and settles himself behind the desk once more.

“And have Cook send something up? Coffee and breakfast for two.”

Awaiting the arrival of his son, Samuel Harrington turns and faces the bay of windows that look out onto the street below. He watches as Fairchild’s footman hops on the back of the coach and slides from his view. He contemplates his son’s options, admittedly there are few.

Such are the advantages and disadvantages in marrying a woman who’s as sly as a fox. It’s just a matter of out-maneuvering her; an entertaining and seemingly endless chess match that’s lasted even longer than their marriage.

But the silver lining in all this, he supposes, is that Steven Harrington, their sole child and heir, just so happens to take after his father in this respect, in that he’s crazy like a fox.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

As for the young Mr. Harrington, well, suffice it to say he had quite the morning. The newly arrived Miss Fairchild, however, had a luxurious start to her day (that is, if one discounts the pulling and pinning of hair, the tugging on of stockings and tightening of corset laces).

You joined your brother and sister-in-law in the dining room while another maid fixed a plate of breakfast for you; Pierce, the butler, stepped in to pour the coffee. You thanked them both and broke your fast, listening as Christopher and Marian discussed the events of the day.

“I’ll need to see to the accounts today,” Your brother said, turning his newspaper with a shake. “Everything should be in order before the ball this weekend.”

Marian nodded and sipped from her coffee cup. “I have some calls to make today, and thought Nell could accompany me.”

Christopher slowly lowers his newspaper and glances your way— don't feel obligated to do this, you haven’t been properly introduced into society yet.

Buying time, you take a bite from the flaky croissant on your plate and ruminate. In a way, both Chris and Marian are correct; you aren’t obligated to escort Mrs. Fairchild, nor would it be wise to turn down an informal introduction to those in Marian’s circle. She would, after all, be serving as your chaperone, and, along with your brother, introducing you to Manhattan high society on Friday at the ball.

Your debutante ball, to be precise.

At the time, Vassar was a welcome distraction and reprieve for being paraded around like a prize calf at auction. But then came the unfortunate illness and demise of your parents, followed by a year of mourning.

It would seem that your time of delay had finally come to its end.

After all, no one wanted a spinster for a bride.

Dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin, you clear your throat and brace yourself.

“That sounds lovely, Marian. I’d be happy to escort you today.”

She smiles and makes to reply, but before she can open her mouth to do so, a knock sounds from the front door. Puzzled, the three of you glance at one another, clearly not expecting a caller at such an early hour.

Pierce nods to someone by the door, bidding him to open it. He quickly returns with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, only to set them to your right and hand you a card. Baffled, you take in the spray of purple orchids, white tulips, lemon geraniums, the sprigs of rosemary, and tucked away behind the hearty green stalks, the shy blooms of forget-me-nots.

Respect, sincerity, an unexpected meeting, remembrance, and affection.

“Well,” Marian prompts from across the table, “Who are they from?”

It’s only then that you recall the card in your outstretched hand. Slipping from your reverie, you thumb open the small envelope.

Miss Fairchild—

Please accept my sincere apologies for our run-in yesterday evening. I hope it did not startle you. I’ve liaised with your brother about the repairs, and in the meantime will give you use of my equipage and pray it will suffice. I also hope that you’ll enjoy the flowers and please know that they relay my deepest and most sincere sentiments.

Cordially yours,

Steven Harrington

P.S. Je vous prie d’accepter mes sincères regrets et ma sympathie à l’occasion du décès de votre proches.

For the remainder of the week, Steve was a bundle of nerves. He’d written the note as his mother asked and even went so far as to accompany her to the florist, managing to slip in a few blooms that complemented the arrangement nicely. And if his mother didn’t happen to notice the errant sprigs of blue or the lingering scent of rosemary, then so much the better.

What he didn’t anticipate was the lack of a response.

“It isn’t done,” Miss Robin Buckley reminded him on their promenade in Central Park. “Until she is out to society, her brother is no doubt keeping her under lock and key.”

“You could provide the introduction,” He points out petulantly. “You’re choosing not to in order to entertain yourself with my suffering.”

“You cad,” She swats at him with her fan. “And no, I cannot. There’s a reason I fled to France after my disastrous debut, as you well know.”

And thus, Steve resigned himself to pining for a woman who barely knew of his existence, while the eligible bachelors of New York bided their time until her debut at the ball.

“For what it’s worth,” Robin says carefully as they round a bend, “There have been many deliveries to the Fairchild House, but yours was the first.”

He warms at the thought.

“That has to count for something, I suppose.”

She grins, “It will.”

They continue to walk, grateful for the brief break in the weather and discuss the evening’s festivities: who will wear what, how many dances until Robin steps on someone’s toes, how ostentatious the new money Vanderbilts will be.

They exit the park, parting ways as their carriages await. Robin catches a curious expression on her friend’s face, both dreamy and apprehensive. She lays a gloved hand on his arm.

“À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible.”

Steve glances down and says with a playful smirk, “Qui vivra verra.”

On Friday afternoon, Marian and Marie carefully assess your gown while Louisa dashes to and fro with the pearls, no the diamonds.

“Sapphires? No, that would ruin the effect.” Marian muses and Marie agrees.

You, by the by, are seated on the bed in a chemise and loosened corset, bored stiff, as the two hem and haw over how to best display you for the ball.

Because that’s all this is really, an overblown dog and pony show in which you’ll be paraded around and shown off to great effect all to attract suitors. It was enough to make one queasy. God forbid a woman do anything on her own or without the approval of a man.

As if men ever did anything worth doing that a woman didn’t have to make right.

Having quite enough of their chatter, you shrug into a robe and pull its sash tight, toe on some slippers and make your way down the hall. At the end of the corridor, you spy the cracked door to Christopher’s study. He’s shuffling papers and muttering to himself as you slip inside.

“I think the accounts can handle themselves for the evening,” you say with a smirk, settling yourself on a chair by the window.

He chuckles, “I suppose you’re right, clever girl.” Sorting the papers into a single file, he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Had enough of Marian’s prodding, I take it?”

You sigh and dramatically cast your head back, “That’s the worst of it— they haven’t even begun!” Warming at his familiar laughter, you continue: “If I’d known that this is what I’d be subjected to, I would’ve stayed in France.”

Chris studies you at that; your weary sigh, crossed arms, and face a mask. Can’t make heads or tails of if you’re serious or not. Is it too soon? Did you still need time to mourn Maman and Papa? But then your debut had been delayed so much already…

“Is that what you want?”

It’s a question you hadn’t expected from him. But suddenly you’re reminded that he’s your brother, the only family you have left in the world. The man who dropped everything and took the first ship bound for France to be with you at your parents’ deathbed. He had insisted you stay at the house in Paris until you’d recovered your own strength and sent Marian and Gus to keep you company while he saw to business at home.

And knowing him as well as you do, Chris wouldn’t ask something idly.

So you choose your next words carefully.

“I no longer trouble myself with wants.”

The lightest dusting of snow begins to gather on the windowpane. Soon enough, all of the city would look like a snow globe. A perfect winter wonderland for the evening’s festivities, and your favorite kind of weather— snow makes everything look softer somehow, muffles the sound, and blankets the world in swaths of pure white. Your mother adored snow, had somehow convinced you and Chris that she could smell when it was about to begin. And maybe that’s why you’ve taken a shine to it now.

Turning from the window with a small smile, you rise to exit the study and get ready for the night. Leaving your elder brother puzzling over your parting phrase.

Steve could hardly forget your first meeting, but seeing you that evening nearly eclipsed the recollection. Without a cape and no longer in the purples and grays of half-mourning, you were quite a sight to behold.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Several men from the club, Hargrove, Hagan, and Byers, were scattered around the room sizing up the competition just as he was. Somehow, Edward Munson had been granted an invitation— with his railroad money and lack of pedigree. Regardless of social standing, each eligible bachelor in the room was jockeying for position; who would be the first introduction, the first dance, did her eyes fall on him or the man to his left?

Steve was well-versed in this routine, he’d been to enough debutante balls to last a veritable lifetime. Usually, he’d enter and make the necessary greetings before grabbing a refreshment and picking a wall to lean on because god help him if he was going to actually dance more than the bare minimum required.

But in this instance, things were different.

Namely, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that fateful night. Despite the lack of interest from you (which was to be expected, really), he couldn’t help but think of you fondly. Descending from your coach to check on your driver and the horses, shivering in the evening chill, voice soft and sleep-worn.

There was also the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere behind him. She’d oh so fortunately seen Mrs. Fairchild as she was making her social calls earlier in the week and had received an informal introduction to you. She’d said as much at dinner that day and ever since then, she’d been subtly laying the groundwork for a possible courtship.

And as much as Steve did not want to bow to his mother’s machinations, he also desperately wanted an introduction with you. So he sips his drink and observes the goings on around him his attention turning to the grand staircase as someone announces:

“Presenting Miss Eleanor Joséphine Fairchild, escorted by her brother Mr. Christopher Fairchild.”

The symphony starts up as you descend the stairs to polite applause on the arm of your brother, eyes demure and downcast, your subtly rouged lips pulling into a soft smile. And Steve can hardly breathe— it’s as if the world slowed and went fuzzy at the edges, everything and everyone falling by the wayside save for you.

Because you are positively incandescent; beautifully angelic in your finery and reminiscent of Venus emerging from her shell. He feels as if he’s been struck, a warmth radiating in his chest, and wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Cupid’s golden arrows lodged there. And Steve knows a little of desire, of wanton lust; he is, after all, a man of privilege in a world that caters to his whims. But while this feels reminiscent of that— the heat, the wanting— there is also, oddly, restraint.

All eyes are on you as your brother leads you across the floor, smiling politely at those assembled, eyes never staying on one person for too long. You’re playing nice, presenting an unimpeachable image of the demure lady, it wouldn’t be done to favor one gentleman this evening. In fact, it would send the wrong message entirely.

Everyone present knows this; it is a game often played in polite society, even if its ramifications are— how shall we say it?— best left behind closed doors.

“A lamb and her shepherd,” His mother says, voice pitched low for only him to hear. “Bo-Peep will soon abandon his charge, and that, Steven, is when you will make your introduction.”

It’s all he can do to school his features and recede into himself; eyes glassy and blank, face a mask. Polite and charming, affable even. And while his mother thinks she is being helpful, it’s hard not to believe she isn’t pouring poison in his ear. Half expects her to say something akin to, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

She doesn’t, and for that he is grateful. Instead, she melts away into the background and loops her arm through his father’s. And, sure enough, your brother does eventually leave your side only to be replaced by Mrs. Fairchild, who slips your wrist through a dainty loop of cream ribbon with a dance card and a small pencil attached.

The room stills, a pack of wolves lying in wait. Drinks are set aside, conversations cease; Amelia gives her son an unceremonious push forward, her gloved hand on his shoulder tipping him toward the inevitable. Steve nearly stumbles from the shock of it all.

Because in one moment he’s just another man in the crowd, an eligible bachelor at yet another ball prepared to drink the night away. And in the next, his eyes lock with yours, and he feels himself falling. It’s hopeless to fight it, this gravitational pull you seem to have over him; haven’t exchanged even two words, and he’s already in your thrall.

He can see your chest rise with your sharp intake of breath, eyes widening at his approach. Steve’s trying not to spook you, really he is. He thinks back to his favored horse, Balius, the clomping hooves and fierce breaths, tries to calm you in the same manner— a slow approach, a small smile, and soft words.

And while he would never bow to the stubborn dappled stallion, Steve does bow to you and says, “Steven Harrington, a pleasure to meet you officially Miss Fairchild.”

Your eyes light in recognition, of his name or him he cannot tell. But you curtsy all the same and offer him your hand, as etiquette dictates. He takes it gladly, marvelling at the fine fabric of gloves adorning it. His finger finds the racing pulse on the underside of your wrist, running along it slowly.

Another sharp intake of breath at the sensation, a heat skittering underneath your skin as his fingers loop around your wrist, your pulse thudding in their wake.

He opens the booklet and takes his time writing his name, well aware at the gathering of eligible suitors at his back. He’s loathe to release your hand and leave you to all of this, the wolves at the gate, but as much as he wants to whisk you away from what is sure to be an uncomfortable and tiring evening, Steve is required, as is everyone else, to play the game.

And Steven Harrington is playing to win.

Mr. Harrington—

It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this past Friday, and thank you for your presence. I do hope the evening passed pleasantly for you and my apologies for not seeing to you more frequently, but other obligations, as you well know, prohibited me from seeking your company. Furthermore, I must apologize for being remiss in not offering my sincerest gratitude for the lovely flowers and the gracious use of your equipage. You are truly a generous man, and I am grateful for your friendship.

Cordially yours,

Miss Fairchild

P.S. Merci pour le sauvetage de Monsieur C—. Je n'avais aucune idée sur sa relation avec Mademoiselle C—. J’espère que vote intercession ne reflétera pas mal sur vous. Je vous suis redevable.

_

Steve’s postscript: Please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences on the passing of your parents.

Nell’s postscript: Thank you for the rescue from Mr. C—. I had no idea about his relationship with Miss C—. I hope your intercession will not reflect poorly on you. I am in your debt.

[desertfangs]

Necessity - Marius/Pandora - 948 words

Pandora watches Marius get frustrated and leave a council meeting, and follows him out to talk. Written for the @vcmicroficmay prompt "Necessary." I just reread Pandora and I've had her on my mind lately.

Marius tries to play it cool but Pandora sees his jaw tighten and his glare harden. Fareed is speaking at the front of the room, but no one is really listening. Lestat is smirking at Armand, clearly feeling like he got the better of him somehow in some unspoken game. Armand, for his part, sits statue-still, blank as a canvas, pretending not to be bothered. But beneath the table Pandora can see his fists clenched tight. 

Beside him, Daniel clicks a pen over and over until Viktor yanks it away from him. Daniel looks abashed, swallows, and tries to focus on Fareed.

Gregory might actually be listening but Pandora sees his rigid posture and the deliberate way he does not turn to look at the rest of the conference table.

Pandora watches Marius’ anger build. He tries to contain it but then Lestat makes some gesture at Armand, and Armand finally breaks his composure, sneering back. Then Benji’s phone blares some tinny, annoying ringtone and Marius explodes like a volcano. A slow flowing one, where the lava oozes out slowly into the sea, but a volcano nonetheless. 

He stands abruptly and leaves the conference room. Fareed, consummate professional, only pauses briefly before continuing his talk about results of his recent experiments exposing vampire blood to the sun. 

Pandora stands, more gingerly than Marius, though it is impossible to do so surreptitiously. She ignores the looks of the others as she follows Marius out into the hall. He’s gone all the way down the long corridor and turned the corner, where he now stands with his back against the wall, his eyes closed. 

“You’re in a mood tonight,” she says. 

Marius opens one eye. “I’m taking a short break.” 

Pandora folds her arms over her chest. “You know, there’s a trick professors use where they clap their hands and tell the class to pay attention. Then they don’t need to storm out of the room.” 

Marius sighs heavily. “What do you know of modern academics?” 

Pandora laughs. “I audited several classes at Vassar years ago.” 

Marius opens his mouth and then closes it again. She can tell he has questions but he won’t show interest, not now. He’s too busy being grumpy. 

“Fareed is an interesting fellow and his experiments are fascinating, but not everyone signed up for science class,” Pandora says.

“It’s not too much to ask that they pay attention for the duration of a weekly meeting,” Marius says. 

Pandora has to hide her smile. He’s so irritated by the tomfoolery, and she wonders what he expected when this Court was formed. Surely he remembers their time on Night Island and how any attempt to have a large group meeting was often foiled by something or another. The fact that he regularly manages to get them to the conference room is a feat in and of itself. 

“Don’t take it so personally. It’s not like it was your talk that was boring them.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s necessary that we make this work. It’s a chance for our kind to truly be united for the first time, to remake the world together in ways we’ve never dreamt of before.” 

Pandora puts her hand on his shoulder. For a second, she thinks he’ll pull away but instead, he relaxes, his muscles unclenching. “It’s not necessary.”

Another glare. She resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“It’s good, this Court that you’ve built,” she says. “It will have enduring effects on our kind for millennia even if it doesn’t last the centuries.” Marius presses his lips together in a tight line. She hurries on before he can argue. “But you can’t always take it so seriously. People goof off in meetings. Haven’t you ever watched The Office?”  

Marius scoffs. “No. Have you?” 

She shrugs. Marius likes to pretend he’s above the mindlessness of television but she’s seen him curled up on the couch with Daniel while all sorts of inane things play on the screen. 

“I’m saying you can’t make this Court the cornerstone of your existence. It won’t last forever.” Marius opens his mouth to protest and Pandora holds up her free hand. “It can’t, because nothing does. Surely you and I can both attest to that. But that doesn’t mean every poorly received meeting is a harbinger of doom.” 

Marius is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, ”I suppose there’s some wisdom to what you’re saying.” 

She beams at him. “Only some? And here I thought it was brilliant. I was going to offer to give the next talk.” 

Marius reaches out and runs one of her loose brunette curls through his fingers. “I’m afraid the schedule is booked for the next few months.” 

Pandora holds her breath while he touches her hair and then smooths her cheek with his delicate, long fingers. She thinks of taking them in her mouth, of dragging him somewhere they can be alone for a while and forget the meeting. 

Marius drops his hand and sadness overtakes his expression, hardening over it like ice. 

“You’re not the only one who seeks reasons to continue, you know,” Pandora says. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a purpose. But you don’t need to be so severe.” 

“Severe?” A faint smile. 

She smiles back. “What’s that expression Lestat loves? If the shoe fits?” 

Marius laughs, the ice around him melting. He shakes his head and then pushes off the wall. “Come, let’s get back. Fareed deserves at least half an audience.” 

He extends his elbow. Surprised, Pandora takes his arm and lets him walk her back to the conference room, glad that he seems a little less irritable, at least for now.  

Cross-Posted to AO3

[mywifeleftme]

273: The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band // Will the Circle Be Unbroken

Will the Circle Be Unbroken The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band 1972, United Artists

Who can endure a sentimentalist music critic? Still, this morning anyway, my heart’s fit to weep over a one-hundred-and-ten minutes of exultant roots music and a beautiful idea executed to perfection. The notion behind Will the Circle Be Unbroken was to use the Dirt Band, a crew of talented longhairs from California, as a bridge between the trendy country rock of the day and the genre’s pantheon of avuncularly voiced pioneers. (And I guess in Maybelle Carter’s case ‘aunticularly voiced.’) Many of these sorts of intergenerational tribute projects give me queasy tasting notes of hapless arts council funding or the rap number from Walk Hard, but somehow this triple LP from the heart of rock’s imperial phase manages to be both reverent of traditional country and bluegrass history and present these genres as living organisms.

The Dirt Band are joined by a Field of Dreams cast of legends, plus an adjunct wing of ace players like fiddle genius Vassar Clements, and while the Dirties sneak in one original the focus is squarely on the standards. None of these takes supplant the originals, but the recording fidelity, superlative playing, and warm communal energy make for lovely alternatives. Merle Travis’s “Dark as a Dungeon,” one of the greatest folk and country songs of the century, has never sounded more lovely or doomed; Doc Watson gives Jimmie Driftwood’s “Tennessee Stud” a broad-shouldered boisterousness; Earl Scruggs and the Dirt Band’s John McEuen present the classic fiddle reel “Soldier’s Joy” as an infectious banjo duel. 

Many of the songs include snatches of studio chatter between the band and their guests: Mother Maybelle sounds like the sweetest old thing imaginable; Roy Acuff comes off like as much of a pompous Haven Hamilton-type as I’d always heard he was; Jimmy Martin gives elderly prospector cricket. The tapes are even rolling for the first meeting of guitar legends Travis and Watson, who have an adorably awkward little chat before declaring themselves “buddies.” These peeks into the process are part of Circle’s artifice, but it feels like an honest attempt to capture the historic nature of the summit. The album rounds off with nods to the deep past in the form of a number of Carter family cuts, an homage to bluegrass father “Uncle” Dave Macon, and a group singalong of the spiritual “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?” But then, right there at the end, we get 17-year-old Randy Scruggs performing a solo instrumental take on Joni Mitchell’s 1968 “Both Sides, Now.” The symbolism of the teenaged son of Earl Scruggs playing such a recent (and aptly-named) tune is clear, quietly closing the circle between past and present, a pact sealed.

273/365

[denimbex1986]

'Years before he became known as the father of the atomic bomb, J. Robert Oppenheimer worked as a physics professor at the University of California, Berkeley, when he met who became perhaps the greatest love of his life.

Her name was Jean Tatlock, and just as she captured the famed physicist’s heart, their romance has captured the imaginations of historians for nearly a century. And they aren’t the only ones. Tatlock will be portrayed by Florence Pugh, alongside Cillian Murphy’s Oppenheimer, in the upcoming film Oppenheimer, directed by Christopher Nolan.

Affiliated with the Communist Party, Tatlock is often credited with introducing Oppenheimer to radical politics, something that haunted him in his later life and career. Despite their 10-year age gap, and though they were separated by the time he led the famous Manhattan Project, Tatlock had an undeniable impact on Oppenheimer’s life, and her tragic death weighed on him as he began his work on the atomic bomb.

“A free-spirited woman with a hungry, poetic mind, she was always the one person in the room, whatever the circumstances, who remained unforgettable,” according to American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin.

Meeting Oppenheimer

Born in Ann Arbor, Michigan in 1914, Tatlock was the second child of J.S.P. Tatlock and Marjorie Fenton. Her father, who had a docorate from Harvard University, was an acclaimed English professor and literary scholar and was considered a foremost expert on the works of Geoffrey Chaucer, according to Brotherhood of the Bomb by Gregg Herken.

Jean inherited her father’s intellect. Before attending Vassar College in 1931, she took a year off to travel in Europe, staying with a friend in Switzerland who was a devoted follower of psychologist Carl Jung. After meeting a close-knit community of psychoanalysts during the trip, she decided to study psychology herself, according to Bird and Sherwin.

After graduating from Vassar in 1935, she studied at the Stanford Medical School, where her intellect and good looks intimidated the other classmates. They also caught the interest of Oppenheimer, then a physics professor at the University of California, Berkeley, where Tatlock completed her prerequisites before enrolling at Stanford.

Oppenheimer and Tatlock began a passionate and intense romance in 1936, when she was 22 and he was 32. The decade age gap didn’t seem to matter. A friend described Tatlock as Oppenheimer’s “truest love” and said he was “devoted to her,” according to Bird and Sherwin. He reportedly proposed to Tatlock twice, though she turned him down.

Tatlock was impressed with Oppenheimer’s knowledge of English literature, and she introduced him to the poetry of John Donne. It’s widely believed the Trinity test—the first detonation of the nuclear weapon in 1945—was named after a Donne poem and inspired by Tatlock, according to The First Atomic Bomb by Janet Farrell Brodie.

Communist Affiliations

Tatlock was a dues-paying member of the Communist Party of the United States of America while dating Oppenheimer, an association that would later bring a great deal of scrutiny to the famed physicist. Tatlock wrote for the Western Worker, a major West Coast communist publication, and she introduced him to several prominent members of the party, according to Robert Oppenheimer: A Life Inside the Center by Ray Monk.

“I find I am a complete Red when anything at all,” Tatlock wrote to a friend, according to American Prometheus. She also pushed Oppenheimer to move from mere theory to action, and when he commented that he would have to settle for staying on the periphery of political struggles, Tatlock remarked, “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t settle for anything.”

However, Oppenheimer denied that Tatlock was solely responsible for his political interests or affiliations, noting that he first read about Soviet communism after his father lent him a book on the subject before he met Tatlock. According to Bird and Sherwin’s American Prometheus, Oppenheimer described Tatlock’s communist involvement as “on-again, off-again affairs and never seemed to provide for her what she was seeking. I do not believe that her interests were really political.”

From 1939 onward, Oppenheimer claimed he only saw Tatlock on rare occasions, and in 1940, he wed Katherine Puening, more commonly known as Kitty Oppenheimer, to whom he was married the rest of his life. However, he and Tatlock remained “the closest of friends and occasional lovers,” according to Bird and Sherwin, and she would phone him for comfort during her occasional bouts of depression.

By 1943, Tatlock was a pediatric psychiatrist at Mount Zion Hospital in San Francisco, at the start of what seemed to be a promising career. The 29-year-old was also being treated for clinical depression, which might have worsened when Oppenheimer drastically reduced contact with her after becoming director of the Los Alamos Laboratory that year, according to Bird and Sherwin.

A Tragic Death

Tatlock was placed under surveillance by the FBI due to her relationship with Oppenheimer and past involvement with communist politics. When Tatlock and Oppenheimer had one last meeting in June 1943, she confessed that she still loved him and wanted to be with him. Unbeknownst to her, FBI agents monitored the entire visit, according to Monk’s biography.

“For reasons of love and compassion, he had become a key member of Jean’s psychological support structure—and then he had vanished, mysteriously,” Bird and Sherwin wrote in American Prometheus. “In Jean’s eyes, it may have seemed as if ambition had trumped love.”

Tatlock died by suicide on January 4, 1944, at age 29. Her father discovered her body after entering her San Francisco apartment through a window after she didn’t respond to the doorbell. He found her lying in the bathroom, her head submerged in a partially-filled bathtub, with a suicide note on the dining room table, according to Monk.

“I am disgusted with everything,” the note read, according to Bird and Sherwin. “To those who loved me and helped me, all love and courage. I wanted to live and to give and I got paralyzed somehow. I tried like hell to understand and couldn’t.”

One of the first people to learn of her death was FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, due to the agency’s surveillance, according to Monk. Oppenheimer was despondent upon hearing the news. Due to the unusual circumstances around her death and the FBI surveillance, many have speculated that Tatlock was murdered, but most of her loved ones believe the cause of death was suicide.

Tatlock’s relationship with Oppenheimer would be used as evidence against him in 1954, when the United States Atomic Energy Commission held security hearings that explored his communist associations and other past actions. Oppenheimer lost his security clearance as a result of the hearing, effectively ending his formal relationship with the U.S. government.'

[gretnavannfleet]

Wishers Star

Jake Kiszka x Reader

Slow Burn, Fluff, it gets a little corny but it's good corny…

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Slight mention of alcohol and a lot of philosophy talk.

A/N: Hi everyone this is my first written gvf fic and well uhm it's probably a little rough so if there are any ways I can improve my writing or the detail just let me know! Also let me know If you guys would like to see any other kinds of gvf fics or any specific ideas you want me to write off of! That's All. I hope You guys enjoy the story.

Summary:You grew up as a homeschooled student in Vassar Michigan. Danny and you met at a music and film summer camp and hit it off as friends. Your parents kept in touch and Danny and you hung out on occasion. One day Danny decided to text you and invite you to a party at his place to hang out. Upon arriving at the party you couldn’t find Danny but you did meet one of his close friends in his library alone, trying to get away from the party itself, much like you.

Text Log 

Danny: Hey Y/n, are you busy this friday.

Y/n: Nope! My schedule is pretty open, always is. Lol

Danny: Ok that's great, you wanna come to a party? We should definitely catch up!

Y/n: Hmmm… yeah sure I’ll go. What time and where?

Danny: My place at 8

Y/n: Alrighty I’ll see you then

End Text Log

Slowly but surely - like I was watching every second on the clock - the boring week passed and Friday finally arrived. 

I started getting ready, dressing nicer than usual but still pretty casual, just a nice black shirt and some jeans. And then I started walking over. It was only a few miles so it should be a nice casual walk.. Knowing at least one party rule I knew not to show up early or exactly on time, so I left my place around 8:45 P.M. meaning I got there at 9:15. Just in time, considering the decent amount of cars in the driveway. Walking around the groups of people and cars I made my way inside of the crowded house. 

I truly didn’t like the amount of people already. There was a lot of loud talking, and the music playing over the speakers seemed to be Have You Ever Seen The Rain By Creedence Clearwater Revival. At least the music was good. With that I decided to make my way through to the kitchen, found A nice cabernet, grabbed a wine glass, and poured myself some of the rich red liquid. Not knowing what to do next I tried to find Danny, I kept searching the rooms for a familiar face at the least but, nothing. I finally gave up and made my way down to Danny's basement, where his library was. Stepping down the stairs I could feel the room warm up and an orangish radiance growing, there was a fire going. 

Stepping off the final step and fully entering the room, a man entered my vision. He was leaned up against the wall with a beer in his hand while watching the fire. I took in every detail while I could. He was elegant, his hair slightly untamed yet falling nicely on his shoulders, he stood around 5’7, and he was adorned it beautiful jewelry, rings bracelets, and his necklaces, one necklace stood out, the one he was fiddling with in his free hand, it was graced with many charms or coins…either way it was gorgeous, he was gorgeous. And then he turned and looked at me.

I froze. I didn’t know what to do or say, I was scared I was caught staring. So I just let the words fall out of my mouth. “Oh uhm, sorry to interrupt your peace.” 

He just giggles, it was cute. I could feel my cheeks warm and my smile growing slowly. 

“So I uh.. I take your not a party person are you” I said, a little quieter than my last statement. 

“It depends on the people really, smaller get togethers are my thing. I didn’t think Danny and Sam would put together such a big party.” He said while motioning his hands outward, signaling for us to listen to all the moving and chatter above us. “I’d much rather stay down here until it dies down, but you can stay, you're not some rambunctious 20 year old like all the others upstairs.” I giggled at his comment.

 “Haha thanks, I try to keep myself together a bit more when I’m in big crowds..” There was a small silence and then you spoke again. “So you know Danny Huh?”, “Yeah I’ve known him for a while, he’s my little brother Sam's best friend. We’re in a band together too, so Danny, well he’s really grown to be more of like a brother to me.” 

“I'm Jake.” He said, extending his hand out for a handshake. Taking his hand in yours “Y/n” I said, taking note of his calloused grip, and how he was gentle with the handshake not overpowering.

“Also you mentioned you're in a band? That's really cool.” I said to Jake, both of us making our way over to the couch in front of the fire. “Thanks. We’ve been playing together for a few years now.” 

“You know you look like the guitar type.” I said, eliciting a slight giggle “That statement would be correct, you caught me” He said, lifting his hands in the air. 

“Ok wait so how long have you been playing guitar for?”

“Since I was three years old!” He said, smiling proudly. “I was very fortunate to have a musician for a father who was always excited to show me the ropes. He wanted me to grow up with a respect for the instrument so we spent a lot of time on the basic things before I was allowed to switch over to an electric.” He finished. 

“Man you’ve really got your life together, my lifes a bit messy, but I’ve gotta finish college out strong…” There's a silence again but the room doesn’t feel awkward like it normally would with a stranger, the room feels comfortable and warm, like I’ve known the guy for a while even though I met him like less than an hour ago. 

“Do you write at all?” I questioned. “Not really, I’ve always been bad with lyrics. Although my twin, Josh, he’s the wordsmith of the band. If you’re looking for meaning in our songs, it's his writing. I can’t come up with anything good except some song concepts and the occasional title or two.” Jake said. “ I mean if it’s a good concept or title and you get the depth of the song across to the listener that’s an achievement. I’m in college for film and screenwriting so I understand the struggle a little bit.”

“You know Josh wanted to pursue film, that's really interesting to meet someone else who enjoys the film and screenwriting world as well. Speaking of Josh although he and I are twins I always notice how different we are.. When he writes a song or a lyric I have to step outside of myself to understand it and when I do, it feels like magic, with Josh he already feels the magic of the lyrics when he’s writing.” Jake said, his voice calming down to a normal tone. 

“I know what you mean, every human, well we’re all so different, we all have different philosophies, different brains, none of us are alike, but we can all say we’ve felt the feeling of ascension that music brings once we take the time to understand it. Wow, I did not think I would have that much to say.” I finish with slight nervousness. 

He chuckles “ It’s all ok. I’ve got a lot to say about music too, I mean it’s like a different language that everyone knows, we just don’t talk about it so openly. Music is… ineffable.” 

“I like you Jake, you're really interesting, you’re a really down to earth and open minded person. It’s hard to find people like you.” I said, then finishing my glass of wine. “Oh well uh thank you! That's really nice to hear. Would you like to maybe go outside?” He said standing up offering me his hand.

Taking his hand, I then respond with “Of course”. Maneuvering our way through the crowd of people Jake and I finally make it outside away from the crowd.

Jake sits down on the grass, legs out and leaning back. I plop down next to Jake in the grass and then begin to glance upward at the sky taking in a deep breath,“I’ve always loved summer nights, they’re so peaceful.”. “Yeah, I think the quiet and the light … they have a certain feeling to them. Even the wind has a different sound that you can only hear on a summer night.” Jake said.

 Looking up at the sky he says “ I can see the Big Dipper. Do you see it?”. “Which one?” Scooting closer to me and taking my hand in his he guides my finger towards the Big Dipper. “That’s the one right there.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not sure if you believe in astrology or not but I like to call it the ‘Wishers Star’. It represents leaving everything behind and just being.. Free. Whatever free means to you. When you see it you’re supposed to make a wish” He finishes.

Looking at him and feeling a little confident I say “‘Wishers Star’ hmm I like that name. I guess the ‘Wishers Star’ really is lucky, I feel so free and on top of the world already…or maybe it's the person I'm around making me feel this way.” I finished looking away slightly surprised at my own confidence. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Jake said out of the blue. “Sure, shoot.” I said smiling and looking back over to him intently. 

For once Jake showed some hesitance. Fiddling with one of his rings he began “Do you.. Would you maybe…” breathing in and regaining his once lost confidence Jake finally said “Would you like to go out to lunch with me tomorrow? As a date.” 

My eyes widened, I was speechless. Wow. There was a mutual connection there. I finally stuttered out “I.. I-I would, I would love to Jake!” Jake took a sigh in relief “That would’ve been awkward if you had said no.” I chuckled “How could I say no to you, I mean I did make a wish on that star you know.”

“Oh you did, hmm?” Jake nagged slightly. “Yeah… but that wish hasn’t come true just yet..”, “Was this your wish?” Jake said. He took my chin in between his pointer finger and thumb tilting my face towards him, he looked me deeply in the eyes and began leaning closer and closer until his lips were just grazing over mine. Eager, I closed the space between us. The kiss was powerful, it was filled with pure and radiant emotions, it felt ethereal. 

I was the first to pull away.. due to loss of breath. Jake looking down at my lips again and smiling moved in for a quick peck.

 “How’d you know?” I asked him “How’d I know what?” he questioned in a playful tone. “My wish.”, “Well I was just fulfilling my wish and it just so happened to be yours to my love.” I smiled at the loving nickname. “Jakey, you’re… amazing.” “I'm Jakey now huh? I like it.”, in a mocking tone I replied “I’m your love now, huh?” We both began to laugh.

“Alright it’s getting late, want me to drive you home?” Jake asked me. “That’d be nice, considering I walked over.” He chuckled. “How far was the walk?” Jake asked, walking over to his car and opening the door for me. “Just a few miles. Here, hand me your phone.” Handing me his phone I first put my number in then I opened maps and put in my address. He got in on the drivers side and waited for me to finish up with his phone before setting it down in the cup holder. “Ok so now you’ve got my number stored, and my address”. “Ok good.” Jake responded. He then started to pull out of the driveway and reached for the radio turning it up Sunshine of Your Love By Cream playing. Jake began singing along with the music, looking at me when singing the lyrics “I’ve been waiting for so long”, “To be where I’m going”, “In the sunshine of your love”. 

The drive came to a much unwanted end as Jake pulled into my driveway. He made sure to get out and even opened the door for me, again. “Such a gentleman,” I said. He reached out to grab my hand. “What can I say? My mom taught me right.”, “She did an amazing job” I said looking at him lovingly. He began to walk me to my door and paused at my doorstep. I Unlocked my door and looked up at him once more, taking in the moment. Jake spoke “Tomorrow, lunch date, you and me. I’ll pick you up at 12:30, dress for sand…” He finished smiling. I nodded, smiling and then taking him in a tight loving hug. Pulling away he looked into my eyes, much like he did earlier. He leaned in slowly and placed a sweet kiss upon my lips. “Goodnight Y/n.” “Goodnight Jake.” I said, then entering my house. He turned away from my house, walked to his car and drove away.

 “Until tomorrow Jakey” I mumbled to myself smiling..

[austinswhitewolf]

Little Red Rodeo

A/N: So this one got away from me. I didn't plan on it being that long but yeah, this happened. This song inspired this fully and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it up.

Paring: Austin Butler x You

You sighed softly as you touched the note on the table one last time. A tear slipped past your lashes as you turned and walked out the door. Stopping at the driver side door to your car you turn and give one last wistful look at the house you had spent the last 3 years of your life in. Turning, you ducked into the car and pulled out of the drive and headed to the highway. 

You and Austin had been together for 4 years, the last three living together. You loved him with all your soul. Both of you had talked about getting married and where you wanted to go with your lives. At first both of you were wanting the same things, to settle down, get married and have a kid or two. But as the last year and a half passed, Austin's interests had seemed to slowly change. He stopped talking about the future and more often he talked about his group of friends and their bikes they all worked on. 

A month or so ago you had brought up marriage and kids once again only to have him say you would talk about it soon. In that time you dropped small hints here and there, pictures from magazines you left out. You decided to give him that month and if nothing you knew something needed to happen. So here you were, your car packed full of your clothing, personal mementos and a few photos. The sleek ‘67 Chevy that you and Austin had restored when you were first together. You pulled into the bar your sister worked at and walked in. When she saw you she walked over with a smile. “Hey girl! How are you?” It only took her a moment to know something was bothering you. So she motioned to the other girl behind the bar that she was going to take a smoke break. Walking outside and both lighting a cigarette, you start to tell her what is going on and your decision. How hard it was, broken hearted with tears falling that you were leaving and headed out of town. Needing to get away from all the memories for a while to know what you wanted to do with your life. “So are you going to head to Aunt Gi-Gi’s place?” “Yeah, I already called her and asked if I could stay there for a while. Told her I wanted to take some time by the beach and relax. Recharge in a way.” I responded softly with a nod, flicking the ashes to the ground. “Well he’s an idiot, not seeing what he has. He’ll find out very quickly sweetie. Just take the time and call me every day.” Your sister said before putting her cigarette out and then giving you a huge hug. I nodded and said I would let her know when I got there. 

Climbing back into the car and waving to your sister as you pulled out of the parking lot, you turned and took a deep breath before heading to the highway. Only three hours until you could be laying on the beach with a drink and numbing the pain. 

“What a dumb blind typical male.” Your sister shook her head and turned back to the front door of the bar. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Austin pulled into the drive of your shared house and stopped in his usual spot where he kept his bike. As he swung his long leg over the seat, Austin wondered where you were, knowing you didn’t have work today, and you didn’t mention anything about going out with any of your girlfriends. He checked his phone for a missed text from you as he walked into the house, dropping the keys into the bowl by the door, nothing from you. As he moved into the house he glanced around and saw a few of your things missing. The blanket your grandma had made you before she passed from cancer was not on the couch where it always lived, a few framed photos you had put on the mantel were gone, and a few other things. As he continued to look around he noticed a piece of paper on the table with a key on it. Walking over he recognized your beautiful scrawl. His eyes roved over the paper as he began to read.

~Austin These 4 years with you have been the best of my life. But the last year and a half something has changed, you seem to not be wanting the same things anymore. It seems like you want to have some more time before you settle down. So I am leaving and letting you have that time. I still want to settle down and have a family but I am not going to force you to want that. I hope you find what you want with your life. 

Austin felt like he had just been sucker punched in the gut. He had to read the note two or three more times to comprehend what it was actually saying. His hands went up and threaded through his hair as he quickly looked around. This couldn’t be happening, how had this happened? The thoughts were whipping through his head as he dropped onto the kitchen chair. Was that truly what had happened? Yeah his buddies were all poking fun at him for playing house with you and giving him shit for wanting to settle down. ‘You have so much time ahead of you man! Why settle down, there are so many women out there.’

Finally his mind started to gain traction and he realized he needed to go after you. He shot up out of the chair so fast it crashed to the floor by the wall, and the note went flying as his hand pushed up off the table. “Fuck!”

Austin snatched his keys back up and flew out the door back to his bike. It roared to life and he whipped the bike around, leaving a black trail. Her sister would know where she was going, so that is where he headed. The bike barely had time to stop before he was off and racing into the bar. Eyes scanning through the crowded building, he saw her making her way back to the bar with a tray of empty glasses.

Long legs ate up the distance between him and your sister quickly, mumbling sorry and excuse me as he brushed past bar goers. Austin slid to a stop in front of her at the bar, his hands clapping down slightly as he leaned towards her. Sammi looked up at the noise and the moment her eyes connected with his, she narrowed her gaze. “What do you want, Butler?” Her voice extremely sharp and cold. She wouldn’t admit out loud how much she actually enjoyed seeing the slightest of flinches coming from him. “You gotta tell me where she’s going Sammi.” Before he could get anymore out of his mouth she snapped at him. “Why should I tell you? She’s been hurt enough.” “Please Sammi, I fucked up. I know that. She’s the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m desperate!” One of his hands flew up to start tugging on his hair, his voice cracked while blue eyes blazed with distress. She watched him for a moment, eyes scanning his face very closely. The normally confident, bright and happy man was replaced with a shattered wreck of the Austin she knew. A sigh left her lips as she set her hands on the bar top and leaned just the slightest towards him. “You didn’t hear this from me, but do you remember Aunt GiGi’s place we all went to for a month?” 

It only took a second before his eyes lit up and he nodded. He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, thanked her loudly as he turned and rushed from the bar. Sammi gave a small laugh, shook her head and turned back to work mumbling ‘Men, can’t live with em, can’t live without em.’

Once again Austin was on the road, racing down the backroads to the highway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You pulled off about an hour into the drive to get gas and some beer for later. As you were checking out, the clerk noticed your red glossy eyes and glanced out to your vehicle, noticing it was packed with a few boxes and bags.

“Everything okay sweetheart?” The clerk was a slightly older man with a kind face, beard and hair gray and thick. His voice was gentle yet deep, and his eyes kind.

“Yeah, I just need to get away. New start.” You said softly with a small sniff.

“Was it a boy?” His face softened even more. His eyes looked her over to make sure she didn’t have any bruises to indicate any abuse. 

“Yeah, we were together for four years. He helped me restore her” You motioned to the Chevy. “But it turns out he didn’t really want what he said.” You said while fiddling with your keys.

“Honey you remind me of my daughter Sarah, so let me tell ya something. A lot of men, they don’t realize what they have until it’s gone. If he doesn’t then it’s his loss.” You smile softly again and hope that is true. You swipe your card and take your receipt before thanking the man and heading back to your car. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Austin needed gas and wanted cigarettes. Pulling into the gas station right off the highway, he kicked the stand down and climbed off. He rubbed his hands on his pants as he walked inside after filling up. Moving over to the counter, he asked for a pack of smokes. While the man behind the counter was pulling the pack down, he heard two guys behind him talking. It took him a moment to realize what they were talking about. “Yeah, I haven’t seen a ‘67 that nice in years man. You should have seen it, looked almost brand new. The growl of it when the young lady turned the engine over made me miss my old ‘Vette.”

Austin’s head whipped around so fast, he thought he heard his neck crack. Just as he was about to speak up, the man behind the register spoke up. “That poor girl was heartbroken. She reminded me of Sarah.” “Oh yeah, when that guy just disappeared without any reason.” The guy at the slot  machine responded, his head turning to face Austin and the cashier, along with his buddy.

“Yeah, that guy was a piece of work, Bill. Glad he never showed back up or there woulda been trouble.” Dave, the nametag of the cashier read, then turned to Austin. His eyes observing the tall thin male with eyes red rimmed and wet. It only took him a moment to realize that this was who the young girl from earlier was talking about. A quick glance outside seeing a beautifully restored bike sat just heightened his suspicions. “Nice bike man. You work on it yourself?” “Yeah, I restore bikes and old cars.” Austin’s response was automatic, his brain not fully focusing on what the man was asking him. Just as he was about to open his mouth Dave spoke up again. This time only loud enough for the young man in front of him to hear. 

“You restore a ‘67 Impala at all?” Austin turned back to Dave, his face more pale and pasty now. He nodded his head and his hand shot into his pocket to grab his phone. “I’m looking for a woman, this is her. I need to find her, I made a mistake and gotta make it right.” His fingers were shaking slightly as he swiped his phone open to show Dave his background of the two of you standing by the Impala with grease smeared on your faces and clothing. 

Without even really looking at the photo Dave started to laugh, his eyes crinkling and his hands rested on the counter. “Yeah, this sweetheart was in here about an hour ago. She was lookin quite destroyed. Good luck boy.” He spoke with a chuckle as he finished up the transaction and slid the box of cigarettes and receipt over to Austin. Austin barely grabbed the cigarettes before he was racing off. Deep laughter followed him out the door. Kicking the bike to life, he revved it and kept the front brake on to spin the bike around quickly before racing out onto the road again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had gotten to the beach house a half hour ago and headed straight to the beach in the back. The sound of the waves and gulls with the smell of salt helped your muscles loosen up slightly along with the two beers you had already had. The sun was setting, beautiful pinks, reds, oranges and purples flowing together yet you didn’t even seem to notice it. At first you thought that a boat was going by, heading to the marina for the night. The soft rumble was slowly growing louder and it wasn’t long before your eyes shot open. You knew that sound. Your stomach flipped, knotting tightly as you slowly sat up. You crushed the hope down and stood up. Your feet were on autopilot, moving you around the side of the house towards the driveway.

Just as you rounded the corner of the garage, your impala parked inside, you saw a large trail of dust flaring up coming towards you. Within what seemed like moments you saw the wild head of gold hair ripping around the final curve and into the driveway. The bike slid to a stop ten feet from you, Austin barely flicked the kickstand down before flying off the bike towards you. His long fingers were on the sides of your face into your hair and his forehead on yours before you could even think to utter a word. “I’m so sorry my love. So, so sorry. Please…” His voice broke, blue eyes swirling with anguish. 

You didn’t realize you were crying again until his thumbs softly swiped under your eyes. 

“Don’t leave me, please. I can’t do this without you. I’m yours, you have my heart in the palm of your hand. I’m so in love with you that it hurts. I do want this, I want you for life. I want little babies with your eyes and smile….. You are my everything… Be mine, only mine…..” The last was said in a whisper against your lips. 

This felt like a dream, you had to have fallen asleep on the beach. It was his last set of words that broke you from your thoughts. A sob broke free as your arms flew up and around his neck. This was the man you fell in love with, who helped you with the car. The Austin that you spent hours reading to in bed, fingers in his hair. 

“Yes Austin. Yes.” You managed to get out before pressing your lips to his.

[nov1963]

Mary and Frances were born in Los Angeles, California. When they were younger, they spent some time in France but had to quit when WWII began. Amélie, their mom, heavily misses it and enjoys being able to be there when possible. Amélie only moved to America in her early 20's, (22 or 23). So only a couple years before she had Mary. Also, it's not like she doesn't like California. But let's say she never expected to move there fully. So she likes it when she can return home.

After the end of WWII, she would take her girls for annual summer vacation trips where they'd live there the entire summer and be around family. I'm debating on in their mid teenish years if they lived their for a year or so continuously or not. I'm still unsure. Also, their dad is very much in the picture. But, he has a job in Hollywood and is busy a lot. So, he can't always make it to trips with his family. So it was most often just the mom and their Nanny. When Mary is 18, she moves to Poughkeepsie, New York, to attend Vassar College. Frances, 16, moves with her and goes to a private school there her last 2 years. Their mother visits them regularly & dad whenever he's able. But, um, the Allain parents are maybe not the most reliable parents, but that's another post. This is just showing where they have lived throughout their childhood. And idk if I ever talked abt like a timeline of where they'd lived or their vacation traditions

[cumberbatchedandproud]

Songs (tagged)

Hi everyone !!

Thanks for the several songs tagging during the summer @mctna2019 @rhaenys-queenofkhyrulzz and @pashminabitch :) (and so I'm sort of replying to all of you at once?)

I'm generally more into soundtrack/classics than songs and I don't really use spotify but make my own MP3 playlists for in the car (i'm so old), so instead of the usual spotify shuffle i'm giving you the top 5 instrumentals I listen the most to lately? -Time of JungHyuk for Seri (CLOY OST / Nam Hye Seung, Park Sang Hee) -River Flower / Garden of God / The Warrior / Kingdom / Sword of the stranger / Lost Castle / My Country / Battlefield, selfmade mix with my favourites cut bits (i prefer listening to the whole titles whenever I can, but without the quiet parts you can't really hear above the engine/traffic noises is just better suited and safer when driving without having to fumble with the volume all the time) (MCTNA OST, Rain Wolff - and then choose the tracks) -The Day and My Love and… (TKEM OST 1 2 / Lee Geon Yeong, Gaemi) -Moonlight Sonata I & III (Beethoven) -No Time for Caution aka Epic Docking Scene (Interstellar OST, Hans Zimmer)

But if you actually want to know about actual SONGS, I'd go with those 'character meta-ish' songs in my MCTNA folder (which is the one I currently listen the most to, so...) -Shake it out, Florence & The Machine -Nothing, The Vassar Devils - thanks to that perfect @nubreed73 MCTNA vid -Dynasty, MIIA (MCTNA vids https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-inZf-p1dE and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fozuKNpv8sc) -Train Wreck, James Arthur (MCTNA vid) -Believer, Imagine Dragons (MCTNA vid) (And special mention for the crackiest yet meta-ish crack vid I always come back to whenever I need a laugh (even though I cry at the end), even if I do not listen to the song in the car - again and forever, thank you so much for this golden one, always @nubreed73 :))

But to be honest again the actual SONGS i might have heard the most lately are those from our family Eurovision best of folder my kids didn't stopped asking for on repeat on our drive back home from holidays :) -Alessandra - Norway - Queen of Kings 2023 (btw we voted for Lureen this year (because she was in our opinion the best singer (there is POWER in her voice, okay) - tumblr, don't hate us, please), but this one was a huge favorite song too. third (and atypical winner of the year in our hearts indeed) was Finland Käärijä - Cha Cha Cha) -The Roop - On Fire - Lithuania 2020 -Italy - Mahmood - Soldi 2019 -Alexander Rybak - Fairytale - Norway 2009 (still such an iconic catchy tune) -Iceland - Hatari - Hatrið mun sigra 2019 (each year we give a special award out of our own - 'atypical winner of the year') (PS: any european pretending not to enjoy eurovision is a liar who lies :) (or not - anyone is free to like it or not of course i'm just joking, but in my family it is actually a year milestone tradition: that's how i grew up and that's what i passed on to my kids : gather all in front of the tv with snacks, and someone keeps the votes of everyone on a chart song by song:))

Tagging EVERYONE as usual and please tag me back so I can see it all :)

[greatunironic]

So sorry if this has already been answered, but I am so curious about the rest of the band! Who are they! How did they all come together! What’s their read on Eddie’s whole history! Who is the Ringo! Who is Eddie’s Clarence Clemons!! (I mean Steve is arguably Eddie’s Clarence depending on a few different ways of reading this but you know what I mean I hope)

so i talked a little in this post about the format of the band but i’ve been thinking more about the make-up of the shotguns for Secret Reasons this past weekend so please have some additional color on eddie’s three long-term collaborators:

wanjeri is eddie’s bassist and his musical clarence clemons. the daughter of kenyan immigrants, she was classically trained on the upright bass + graduated from vassar in ‘87; she and eddie met when he moved to seattle  — she’d moved out right after college and had immediately begun getting into the emerging grunge scene — they met at an open mic at a local bar + hit it off (he credits her as his intro to grunge).

(she has her own solo career as well, lesser known but well respected.)

when he gave her his demos of what would become the shotgun’s first EP and then later the first album, she offered to record the bass parts for him + also hook him up with studio time, because she was dating a guy at a small place who would let them in to record at night.

this was alejandro, a transplant from los angeles and a ucla drop-out, wanjeri’s then boyfriend now husband; he was really into the demos and also knows drums, so he ended up being the drummer on the first album (though engineering is his man passion). also working there was fabian, another, more senior engineer (and seattle native) who eddie says midwifed him, wanjeri, and alejandro through the recording process.

wanjeri was the person who suggested eddie name the band something other than his own name (because she could tell the idea made him uncomfortable; there’s a whole “I KNEW IT” moment from her when he finally tells the three of them that he’s kind of, sort of in WITSEC), and she’s also the only musician that has recorded on every shotguns’ album.  alejandro has been known to sub in on drums during tours occasionally but prefers to be behind the scenes with fabian.

eddie considers everyone who works on one of his albums part of the band but everyone else thinks of the shotguns as those four people.

wanjeri had, for many years, a blood feud with an unaware steve, because she was totally picking up what eddie was lyrically laying down — she met him a handful of times, thought he was nice, but also was like “i can and will fight him”. alejandro, conversely, came out of meeting steve a handful of times with the observation that homie was gone for eddie and they were both idiots; wanjeri was way too ride or die for eddie to hear it — it is the only thing they talk about in couple’s therapy. (they believe deeply in always working on one’s relationships with each other, and themselves, even if they probably actually don’t need couple’s therapy.)

fabian thinks those crazy kids will figure it out eventually if it’s meant to be, but also in the meantime? great for business.

(as for the upside down: eddie thinks about telling wanjeri + the guys pretty regularly, especially after he and steve get together, and is working up the courage to tell them with steve’s full-throated support.)

[softguarnere]

For Whatever We Lose

Lewis Nixon x OFC (slow burn, enemies to lovers) Chapter 2: Starting Places

Summary: The newly minted NCOs of Easy Company: Women's Squad find an unexpected ally A/N: The accent that the others make fun of Minerva for having is known as a "Hoi Toid"/"Carolina Brogue" accent and is found on the Outer Banks (OBX) of North Carolina! It used to be more common, but if you visit the Barrier Islands, you can still find some older folks who have it. There are several videos online if you want to hear what it sounds like :) Thanks for the positive reception of the first chapter! I hope you guys will enjoy this one as well Warnings: none Taglist: @kujofam

Far away from her parents, far away from all the good manners and ladylike responses that her mother ever taught her, far away from the woman she once was who had to keep her cool at the front of a classroom, Minerva blurts out the first thing that pops into her head.

“Private.”

A dark eyebrow quirks in question. “Pardon me?”

“Private Revels,” Minerva says. “It’s a rank I’ve had to work hard to keep.”

To her surprise, this makes the man behind the desk smile – a real smile this time. And instead of the intimidation that he’s been exuding since well before she stepped into the room, he relaxes a bit. Not what Minerva was expecting. Especially when she glances down at his name tag that reads SOBEL and is finally able to place him. The captain’s reputation precedes him, and the scoffs and rude gestures that he inspires are a trail in his wake whenever he passes by men with lower rank.

Captain Sobel gestures to the other empty seat in front of his desk, but instead of inviting her to sit, he only says, “It would appear that the rumors are true, then. You really do have a strange accent.” He glances at the file in front of him, dark brows furrowing slightly. “Tell me, where is Frisco, exactly?”

How dare he?! Minerva digs her fingernails into the soft flesh of her palms, setting her clenched fists in her lap as she sits. She draws in a deep breath and levels her voice, putting on her polite teacher voice before answering, “It’s on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, sir.”

“Hmm.” The file is flipped closed and tossed aside on the desk, like all the information within it is being dismissed. “Are you and Mi – Er, Private, excuse me, Bradham neighbors, then?”

Minerva glances at Diana in the chair next to her, the other girl’s eyes still wide. Out of all the women, she knows the least about Diana. Quiet, careful Diana, who always keeps to herself, and who Minerva honestly sometimes forgets is even there. She only knows that she’s from North Carolina because she once overheard her say something about it to Bianca. She has no clue what part of the state –

It hits her then, like a punch to the gut. Diana Bradham. North Carolina. Brad’s Drink.

“Are you from New Bern?” Minerva ventures.

Diana nods, and she knows then that she’s right: Diana Bradham, somehow or other, is related to the creator of Pepsi-Cola.

“No,” Minerva says to the captain. “No, sir. Frisco and New Bern are quite a ways apart. A whole sound between them.”

“That’s what I wondered,” Captain Sobel says. “It would have been curious for one of you to have such a strong accent, and the other not to.”

The accent again? As if she hasn’t gotten enough grief over how she sounds since arriving here, now her new captain has to lay into her about it as well. Clearly it’s never occurred to anyone else that they all sound really funny to her. God, at least in college there were a few people who sounded similar, so not everyone felt the need to comment on it.

When neither woman speaks, Captain Sobel finally gets down to business. “Well, out of all the women, you two are the only ones with college degrees. Congratulations.”

What about Lori? She mentions Vassar College at least three times a day. Shouldn’t she be here? Unless . . . No, surely she actually attended the college; her parents can afford it. But perhaps she hasn’t completed her degree yet.

“I’m sure that Colonel Sink already explained everything to you,” Captain Sobel continues. “You two are being made sergeants and will have a lot of responsibility over Easy Company: Women’s Squad until Lieutenant Lowe finishes OCS and arrives. Just to be clear – “ He clasps his hands together and leans forward on his desk, making sure he has their attention as he emphasizes his point. “ – Easy Company is the best. I have worked hard to get it that way, and Colonel Sink knows this. That is why he has entrusted me with taking you girls in. I want for you to succeed, I really do. Successfully training and integrating a division of women would be a great accomplishment. But you have to pull your weight.

“I expect you to keep the girls in line. School yard drama will not be tolerated. That applies to both them and to my men. Fraternization could tear down everything I have worked for. I will not have this venture staining Easy Company’s good name – my good name. Am I clear?” When they nod, he sits back in his seat, surveying them. He nods. “Good. Please believe me when I say that I really do want this to work out. But mistakes will not be tolerated.”

He stands, his posture relaxing, and extends a hand to each of them in turn. His smile is actually pleasant. “Tomorrow you will join Easy Company for PT and we will get the squad introduced to the men. I look forward to working with you all.”

Minerva gives the firmest handshake of her life, trying to make it as strong and as professional as her parents have taught her; no limp fish to make a bad first impression. She pumps the captain’s hand with gusto and tries to tell herself that his lingering touch, the way he holds onto her hand just a second too long afterwards, is all in her imagination.

When he dismisses them, Minerva makes the steps in her exit as clean and as orderly as possible. She’s a sergeant now, after all. If Captain Sobel wants perfection, by God, she’s going to deliver. Besides, if Minerva is good at anything, it’s that when she decides that she wants something or that when she decides to do something, she will get it and she will do it well.

They pause outside the building. In the evening sunlight, Minerva studies Diana for the first time – really studies her. The girl from New Bern hasn’t exactly made herself easy to know. And perhaps her last name is why.

What is there for Minerva to say? Before she can decide, Diana jumps right into the thick of things.

“You went to college,” she says, addressing Minerva’s own secret.

Minerva nods. She hasn’t revealed much about her background – only to Keziah, really – but now they’re being thrown into this thing together, so Diana deserves to know. “Meredith College, in Raleigh.”

Diana’s eyes widen, her pretty lips betraying a smile. “Me, too! I graduated last year.”

Last year?! Were they on campus at the same time? Minerva is only twenty-two. With the limited education available on the Barrier Islands, she finished what was accessible at sixteen, applied to the nearest women’s school, and started at seventeen with a scholarship and money from Pop that he promises she never has to pay back, despite her assertions that she will. Degree in hand, she came back to Hatteras Island and started teaching at the small school just up the road, although she’d rather be out on the boat with her dad, if she’s being honest. Or in the lighthouse with Pop. Or at the Life-Saving Station with so many of her old friends.

The classroom, her mother’s voice echoes in her head, is a fine place for a young lady.

Colonel Sink had said two of them had degrees. So this means –

“Lori hasn’t finished school?” Minerva guesses.

“Or never went,” Diana suggests, not giving the debutante the benefit of the doubt.

“She talks about it all the time though . . . Unlike us.”

Diana smiles again, but it’s shier this time. “I didn’t want anyone to think that I only made it this far because of my family. Staying in the background seemed like the safest option, but it’s been harder now that there are fewer of us.”

Because of her family. So unlike Lori, who they all know comes from money, and who never shuts up about her family and their connections. What will the redheaded heiress have to say when she learns that Diana is of her stock?

“I just thought you were shy,” Minerva admits.

“You don’t talk much yourself.” The other woman tilts her head, her brown eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s trying to puzzle through something. “Funny, you’re quiet, but you have a big presence. You don’t say much, but somehow, you keep being pushed to the forefront.”

Big presence? What does that mean? Chalk it up to being a teacher, maybe. Spending so much time standing in front of people and talking while trying to retain their undivided attention might do that to a person.

“Well, we’re both going to have to change that. NCOs, but from the looks of it, we’re about to be as good as officers until a real one gets here.”

Diana bites her lip. “Somehow, I don’t see this going over well with a lot of the women.”

“You mean Lori.”

“Obviously.”

She almost laughs. Talking to Diana is easier than she ever would have imagined. And so far, they’re on the same page. This could work out well for them – as long as the eight other women don’t decide to make themselves impossible to lead.

“At least the captain seems to be on our side,” Diana points out. It’s maybe the strangest part of this whole affair, Captain Sobel, notoriously hateful, seeming like he wants them to succeed. The man they met in that office was not so close to the one they’ve heard so many displeased whispers about.

“Well, as long as he stays there.”

Minerva isn’t sure what exactly she thought would happen when they make it back to the barracks. Surely she didn’t expect applause or congratulatory cheers the second that she and Diana stepped through the doorway. Lori’s glare and refusal to make eye contact were expected, but the rest of the women – bar Keziah – just seem . . . confused at the recent development. They don’t even get the chance to announce their own promotion, because everyone else seems to have figured out what their absence during dinner meant.

“Well, there they are,” Anna says when they return. “The new sergeants of the squad.”

“Not my pick.” Close to the door, Anita’s aggrieved mutter has no trouble reaching the two sergeants in question. A quick glance at Diana reveals her face turning pink with shame. Minerva forces her spine to stiffen, makes herself taller in response, determined to be strong enough for both of them. The surge of anger and annoyance fuels her resolve.

Lounging on her bed, Juanita’s eyes flick over them both, sizing them up. “What college did you even go to?”

“Meredith,” they both answer, though Minerva’s answer is stronger, more sure than Diana’s.

“Well it ain’t Vassar, but it’s something!” Lucy exclaims, slapping a hand on her knees and laughing heartily at her own joke. Several others join in, although Lori’s silence is deafening. You would have to be blind to miss the way that the heiress’ jaw clenches, so tightly that she could crack a few teeth.

All at once, the atmosphere of the bunkhouse is explained: Lori’s anger, her embarrassment, loom so large that everyone has been struggling under it, like the blanket of humidity that coats Georgia’s summer air. Now they all know her secret. The tension lessons, a little, at least, and the subject changes, with several women asking questions about what will be expected of them now that they’re joining Easy Company.

By the time they all go to sleep, the other women don’t like them, per se, but at least they seem open to the idea of having Minerva and Diana as sergeants. Maybe today’s changes will bring together the small, fragmented groups of women and help form them into a cohesive unit. Give them a new sense of identity.

Still, if they want to live up to Captain Sobel’s standards, to show everyone that they can be on par with the men, they’re going to have to hit the ground running. As the glares and frowns begin to thaw into somewhat warmer looks, Minerva feels the muscles in her shoulders loosen and her nails unstick from the palms of her hands. They’ve got their work cut out for them, she knows, but this is a start.

[mollyjeanne615]

I'm directing Urinetown at Vassar College and had a really stressful tech rehearsal last night so it's time for my regular rewatch of Joey's Parade story at 19:11 in this video to remind myself that things could always be worse

[edenvs3000f23]

Blog Post #7: Music and Nature: One in the same.

Prompt: Where is music in nature? Where is nature in music?

As a follow-up (focus on the above two before you takle this one), what song takes you     immediately back to a natural landscape? What is the context? Share it with us - I would imagine many of these ideas may have similar underpinnings of a campfire, roadtrip, backpacking journey, etc!

Music and nature are two things that I think people wouldn’t see as being related to one another. I feel as though nature is always around us, figuratively and literally, without us even realizing until we really pay attention and look at it from different perspectives. Music within nature is present in our everyday lives and we have just become blinded to it. One of the most prominent examples of this is the melodies of all kinds of different bird species from the songbird to the woodpecker. Each bird has a specific and unique call and when they start to overlap one another their melodies are crucial to our landscape. Birds are just one example of the simplicity of music in nature but there are so many more like, the wind blowing through the leaves in the trees, or a crackling of a campfire, or water flowing in a creek or a stream or a waterfall. The flowing of water is such a powerful sound in nature and can be heard echoing through the land but can also provide a calming symphonic sound to sit and listen to. One of my favourite sounds is waves lapping on a beach while the sunsets. These waves carry sounds from deep in the ocean to the shore where they can be heard. Nature’s music in other words. Music in nature reminds us of the interconnectedness of all different processes of nature from the liveliness of species in coexistence in a rainforest to the quiet howling of the wind on the mountain tops. 

When thinking about nature in music, this scenario is sometimes harder to identify. Only recently have I learned that composers like Vivaldi have used music to paint musical landscapes in “The Four Seasons.” This musical creation works to capture the feelings and paint a picture to reflect the changing of seasons from spring to winter. Another example is in tribal music where they use or mimic animal sounds within the music which most times paint a picture of the environment around these artists. I also think that folk music works to capture an earthy acoustic sound which can connect both music and nature. Different songs don't only provoke feelings in someone but can also remind us of different places on earth that we have physically been to or explored. Once the connection between the music and place in nature is made, it is hard to dissociate these two; you will always think of that place when you hear that song. This can be something as simple as a song that played on the radio in the car on the way somewhere, or simply a landscape you associate the melody with. With that said, there are many different songs that I associate with different places in nature. One prominent example I can share is every summer my friends and I roadtrip to my cottage in Northern Ontario and we have a specific playlist we play the entire time we are there. It literally plays on repeat for weeks straight (and somehow we never get tired of it). Some of these songs include Long Hot Summer by Keith Urban, Pontoon and Summer Fever both by Little Big Town, Wagon Wheel by Darius Rucker, Six-Pack Summer by Phil Vassar, Springsteen by Eric Church, Starting Over by Christ Stapleton and SO many more. Those songs aren’t even close to half of the playlist. These songs make me think of sitting by the lake watching the sun go down or spending the day on the boat exploring new spots on the lake. It also makes me think of the roadtrip there itself. It’s 6 hours from where I live and as the hours pass I start to realize how the landscapes change as we get closer and closer to our destination. More trees and less buildings, more wetlands and open fields, more rocky landscapes on the side of the roads, more bodies of water and so much more. I think that if we really take the time we will realize that nature is always around us, yes physically, but also in forms that we sometimes overlook. Below are the landscapes I'm referring to!

[writemarcus]

In Conversation: Keelay Gipson with Marcus Scott

Keelay Gipson, an award-winning multi-disciplinary Afro-surrealist dramatist, activist, and teaching artist, knows what it means to battle your inner demons and come out the other side.

In June 2020, during the pandemic, Gipson’s mother, Gwendolyn, passed away. From the pangs of grief, Gipson began excavating and examining his life and journey as a storyteller. Born in Oklahoma City to a young, unwed mother, the prolific writer was adopted by a Black married couple from the Deep South who relocated and raised him in the idyllic suburbs of Tulsa. It was his mother that nourished his love of theater and the performing arts. Studying acting at Pace, and after a period of being relegated to roles of drug dealers, gang bangers, and sex workers, Gipson turned his focus to writing for the stage and advocating for Black people and Black lives through his work. This would eventually lead to a passionate drive as an activist, with Gipson eventually becoming a member of “We See You, White American Theater,” an anonymously-led coalition of artists that circulated a widely read set of demands for change during a cultural reckoning that saw seismic shifts in and out of the entertainment world.

Now, the award-winning scribe is on the verge of making his off-Broadway debut with the kitchen-sink drama demons., a poetic meditation on loss and legacy. The play, produced by The Bushwick Starr in association with JAG Productions, revolves around the Daimon family who have come together to bury their patriarch and exorcise the trauma passed down to them—but is it too late?

While speaking via FaceTime from his apartment in Brooklyn’s Flatbush neighborhood, Gipson was in the midst of rehearsals for DOT DOT DOT, a TheaterworksUSA musical commission based on the Creatrilogy trio of picture books by New York Times bestselling author Peter H. Reynolds, adapted with composer Sam Salmond. Below is our conversation about the glass ceiling, gatekeeping, and demons.

Marcus Scott (Rail): Can you describe the journey of going from actor to playwright?

Keelay Gipson: The journey from actor to playwright was really just me following the path of least resistance. I was a student in the Musical Theater program at Pace University (class of 2010) and didn’t find much success in booking roles in my time there. This was way before we were having these kinds of nuanced conversations surrounding race and representation in theater. So I began writing roles for myself to act. I would get folks together in an empty studio and we’d read my plays. Soon I stopped acting in them and would just listen to them. I found my voice while trying to give me and the other brown and Black folks an opportunity to be full artists during a time and in a program where that wasn’t happening.

Rail: How many plays have you written and where does demons. stand among them?

Gipson: I’ve written seven full length plays. demons. is the most recent. I began working on it in the summer of 2019 as part of a joint residency with New York Stage and Film and the Dramatist Guild Foundation.

Rail: While I have my theories—why is the name of your show called demons.?

Gipson: I grew up in a Southern Baptist household. The idea of demons. is something that has always been a part of my consciousness. As a child, I remember my dad telling stories about seeing exorcisms, and it always fascinated me. This idea that something other could be the cause of our afflictions, both mentally and physically. I wanted to toy with that idea. Honor the faith that I grew up with while reclaiming it on some level.

Rail: In a 2020 interview with JAGFest, you said “demons. was a play I wasn’t supposed to write, so I listened to the muse; I sat down and it came out of me.” Can you explain this?

Gipson: As I said, I was in residence with NYSAF and DGF at Vassar in the summer of 2019. I was there to work on another play of mine, The Red and the Black—which is a play about the rise of New Black Conservatism. I often have multiple projects going at one time. A play I’m “supposed to” be writing and a “procrastination play” [laughs]. demons. was the latter. Honestly, it was a thought experiment. I was moving squarely into my mid-thirties and I had seen friends lose parents, and I was trying to mentally prepare myself for what that might feel like. Little did I know, the play would be the precursor for my own experience with the death of a parent during the pandemic. I say, “it wasn’t the play I was supposed to write” but it was the play I needed to write.

Rail: So, what’s it about? What was the inspiration for your play demons.? I assume the loss of your mother.

Gipson: Yeah. So, the story follows a Black family after the death of their patriarch. And what I noticed in dealing with the aftermath of a death is that a lot of stuff comes up, right? So, demons. is an exploration through an Afro-surrealist lens of what comes up after the death of a family member, mainly of a parent. The things that you have to reckon with, things that maybe aren’t yours, but that you inherit. So, there’s this idea of inherited trauma, and especially with Black folks in America, what we pass down to our family members and what we leave behind when we’re no longer here. So, demons. is an exploration of all of those good things that death sort of unearths.

Rail: I followed your journey throughout the pandemic with regards to the loss. Once again, I'm very sorry for your loss, man.

Gipson: Thank you. I appreciate it.

Rail: What was your relation like to your mother?

Gipson: My mother was my biggest cheerleader. In high school, she was the president of the parent association for the drama program. She got the pass to come do a photo-call during the dress rehearsal; she would be there with her camera in the front row taking pictures, not for promotional use but for the scrapbook. Like, my mom was the one who was like, “Go to New York.” I went to New York a couple times in high school with my drama program and my mom came as a chaperone. We went and saw the shows that we saw with the theater department and then we went and saw our own shows. My mom, she loved theater and she was the one that—when we didn’t have the money and I didn’t know if I could come to New York to go to school—she pulled me aside and was like, “I’m gonna make this happen for you.” She was… she was everything.

Rail: So, you’re working on this play about Black conservatives—I think it’s hilarious cause both of us have written about Black conservatives during the pandemic, by the way—and you’ve got so many other things going on; you’re an advocate, or an “artivist” as you call yourself, being one of the figureheads behind We See You, White American Theater and the issues revolving around that, in tandem with the multiple projects you’re cultivating. So before we get into that aspect of your life, was it hard for you to kind of mentally go from one place to another place? Are you one of those writers where you have to be working on multiple projects or are you one of those writers where you can only work on one project at a time?

Gipson: I have never worked on just one project at a time. I think for me, I need something that’s completely opposite of the thing that I’m supposed to be doing. Like, if I have a commission that’s about a historical moment, then I’m gonna write something that’s wild and fanciful over here to like, break out of that—not monotony—but break out of the sort of structure that one wouldn't give me. So yeah, I’m often working on multiple things just to keep my brain limber.

Rail: That’s interesting. I see the link between The Red and the Black in your artivism, but what about this particular play with regards to it?

Gipson: This play kind of feels like a new era of my artistry. You know, I’ve written several plays that are about race, that are about Black folks dealing with race and racism, and not like, being beat down by it, but finding a way through; and I try to be honest in all of those works, but this play feels very much not a part of that pantheon. It feels like, to quote Toni Morrison, I’m taking the white person off of my shoulder. It’s not about race. It’s about Black folks. I wanna write about Blackness and all its complexity and not in relationship to whiteness or to racism. This feels like a new era of work for me, where it’s just about these Black folks in a room trying to figure out how they move forward after this thing devastates them. In the opening of the play, it says “a Black family and extremists.” Like, that’s what the play’s about. How do we relate to each other? The world sort of doesn’t come inside of the space in this play. It’s about Black folks in a space together figuring it out and not in relationship to society or the political landscape or 2022, 2023… it’s timeless in a way because death will always be true.

Rail: Let’s talk politics. Let’s get into it. There were many incidents over the last three years and many of those incidents in the industry in some way involved We See You, White American Theater. This collective has attracted the likes of Tony Award winners, the Academy Award winners, the Broadway Elite and those on the rise… What was the intention behind that? Was there a litmus for that?

Gipson: I think that during the pandemic, we had a lot of time, right? I’ll say that a lot of people had things in the pipeline and the industry was chugging along. There was no reason for it to change. It was working. Then everything stopped and we had time to look at the way that things are going. Look at our industry for real, holistically, and I think a lot of us brown and Black folks saw that it's not working, not for us, and it hasn't been for a long time. We’ve been tokenized. So, in working alongside those organizations and those movements, I was trying to galvanize other brown and Black folks who felt similarly that the industry wasn’t working for us and we could do better. Like, especially in the theater.

The theater is different than film and television because it’s people in a room breathing the same air, there are people sharing space, right? And I’ve always wondered how we can do better at sharing spaces with one another; and I’m all about community. The theater for me has always been a community-driven space. So, I wanted this community to mean what it says! I do think that it's business as usual a little bit again, which is not concerning because I think that the theater is working the way that it was designed to work. Much like a lot of things in our society. Yes, we can push back on it, but if we don’t imagine new models—like completely new models—then the old models that we’re trying to reform are always going to try to revert back to the way they were working. Cause that’s how they were built to work. So, the momentum of some of these things, like We See You… there are several organizations, I don’t want to just point to that one… but I wonder what their role is now because things kind of feel like they’re back to normal. I mean, the seven Broadway shows that were Black-led that came right out of the pandemic, that’s a great thing. But they all closed pretty early. Even with Ain't No Mo… it’s not working. So what?

It’s not us, it’s not the Black creatives. Right? It's because we know these things that we’re trying to make it better and it’s not getting better. So, it feels like it’s the model. I don't know, I think we need to imagine bigger than we are even doing now. I think we need to think magically, we’re theatremakers, right? We deal in magical thinking. I think we need to do that more when it comes to the theater because right now we’re just trying to polish a turd a little bit, it feels like. [Laughs] Like, we know it doesn’t work. And we had all of this time to try to make it work and it’s still not working. I think of the Cleveland Play House incident that just happened. And I’m like, “How, after all of this time of listening and learning, did we come to this moment?” So, we have to think magically. We need to think bigger than I think we even know.

Rail: For our readers, what are some things that we need to really look at? You mentioned the seven shows that opened on Broadway in the fall of 2021: Pass Over by Antoinette Chinonye Nwandu, Lackawanna Blues by Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Chicken & Biscuits by Douglas Lyons, Thoughts of a Colored Man by Keenan Scott II, Trouble in Mind by Alice Childress, Clyde’s by Lynn Nottage, and Skeleton Crew by Dominique Morisseau. Since that time, shows like Jordan E. Cooper’s Ain’t No Mo’, the Broadway transfer of the Asian-led musical K-Pop, MJ: The Musical (also penned by Nottage) and Adrienne Kennedy’s Ohio State Murders opened and closed on Broadway. Not to mention, Michael R. Jackson’s A Strange Loop.

Gipson: And it won every single award it could possibly win; you know what I mean?

Rail: What are some things that we can look at in general for the field? Because this is a global issue affecting Black, Brown and BIPOC people on both sides of the pond. Using a bit of magical thinking, what are some concepts, machinations or ideas that could work?

Gipson: I think it starts with audience cultivation. Honestly. I think outreach is a huge thing that theaters don’t know how to do because they rely on their subscriber base. That's the truth. The subscriber base we know is mostly older white folks who have disposable income. Millennials don’t have disposable income. And like, I'm sorry, but to get a package at one of these off-Broadway theaters, or to go to a night at the theater and get a good seat, it’s expensive. Right? So there needs to be outreach to people who can't spend a hundred dollars or five hundred dollars or a thousand dollars on a package for a season. And we need to make it cool. Honestly, theater is not cool. It’s only cool when it’s like the hottest ticket in town, right? Right? We need to figure out a way to make theater accessible to people younger than the Boomers and to Millennials that don’t have disposable income. And it’s not gonna happen with one or two nights of Affinity Nights. It’s gonna happen by putting people on late night shows! I don't know. I’m not like a marketing person but to me, it feels like there’s a disconnect between what the theater is talking about. Because once people come see these plays and get talking, that’s where the change will happen. But you gotta get people into the theater and from what I’ve seen, it’s the same people. And yes, there’s Affinity Nights, and so you can go to a Black Theater Night or an LGBTQ Theater Night and see your community. But the truth of the matter is we’re either seeing it for the second time, or it’s because it's your community, you’re finally seeing those people, but they were gonna come to the show anyway.

Rail: Ain’t that the truth. So, you are trying to appeal to a particular audience. How would you market demons.?

Gipson: I don't know. That's interesting because I couldn’t go to churches, I don't think, and market this show in the same way that like Ain’t No Mo’ might be able to. I’m a professor, so I’m going to try and get young people to see this show. Young Black people because this show’s kind of weird. I like weird stuff. Weird Black shows can be successful too. Shows that are weird and Black… there's a place for them. A Strange Loop is weird to me. I’m like, that's cool. Passing Strange, things like that. How can we take Black surrealism, things that are a little left of center, but talk about being Black in a way that is just as valid as something that’s a little more straightforward.

Rail: You’ve grown exponentially as an artist, mostly because of just the nature of the beast. Where do you think the next stage of Keelay Gipson is going?

Gipson: I hope it is still in the theater. Actually, I know it is. I think I'm working on some musicals. I know I’m working on some musicals. I’m working on a new history play about Tulsa (because I’m from Tulsa and I haven’t written about being from Tulsa and being Black from Tulsa, and I think I should do that). So musicals, a play about Tulsa and hopefully, a film or a TV show.

Rail: And if you could bring any family member to see this show, who would you bring?

Gipson: I would bring my mother. Yeah, I would bring my mother. I kind of regret—I’ve told her to wait so many times to, you know, just wait until it’s the real thing. “Don’t come to the reading, just wait till it’s the real thing.” So, I would want her to see the real thing.

Rail: Pleasure to finally meet you, Keelay.

Gipson: No, this was lovely. Thank you. Thank you.

The Bushwick Starr and The Connolly Theater demons. May 20–June 10, 2023 Brooklyn

Contributor

Marcus Scott

Marcus Scott is a New York City-based playwright, musical writer, opera librettist, and journalist. He has contributed to Time Out New York, American Theatre Magazine, Architectural Digest, The Brooklyn Rail, Elle, Essence, Out, Uptown, Trace, Hello Beautiful, Madame Noire and Playbill, among other publications. Follow Marcus on Instagram.

[redshift-13]

-Cross Pollinations. 2021. Steel, laser cut acrylic, adhesive. 12” x 14” x 23”, by Fanni Somogyi

My journey of becoming an artist hasn’t followed a straightforward path. Growing up, my parents were always encouraging of my passion for art and they often took me to museums. Surrealist exhibits, in particular, left an indelible mark on me. While I loved crafting, painting, and making jewelry as a kid, I didn’t really see it as a viable career option and only came to the realization after several years in college.  I was also captivated by social and environmental issues and I decided to focus on those initially. I attended Vassar College in Poughkeepsie for two years and focused on sociology while taking some studio art classes. In the Sculpture I class, however, something just clicked. Working three-dimensionally resonated with me on a profound level, evoking a sense of belonging and familiarity.  It dawned upon me that making is what I wanted to do and what I had to do. I was still somewhat hesitant to fully pursue art, but in the summer of 2014, a friend’s brother asked me why I was making “being an artist” Plan B if that’s what I truly wanted to do. I realized that I decided to put art on the backburner without even giving it a shot and his comments really resonated with me. Vassar College only offered a couple of general sculpture classes so I decided to transfer to the Maryland Institute College of Art to focus on making sculptures. There I took ceramics, woodworking, and fiber classes, and I learned how to work with metal. I fell in love with the infinite possibility of sculpture and the Millermatic 252 welding machine.  -Fanni Somogyi

From: visionaryartcollective[dot]com

Advice for IT project managers. When you hire a website developer, at the same time hire an attack dog. Therefore, if the developer attempts to "improve," say, the editor of a blogging site like tumblr, the dog will scare him away from his keyboard.

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Legend of Vox Machina: The Echo Tree (2x08)

Ahhhh Percy and Vex my babiesssss.

Cons:

I've been thinking about the "Lady Vex'ahlia" moment and why I'm not 100% happy with this adaptation. I'm pretty happy, but there was something holding me back from loving it unconditionally. First of all, they changed the kicker line to: "Despite your relationship, do watch your manners towards a noble." Instead of just ending on "do watch your manners" which is stronger and cleaner. I think the point would have gotten across without adding the extra words. But more important than that, I think the atmosphere of how that happened on the stream was just so... intense, and memorable, because it was in front of a live audience, there were screams and applause, and you saw Laura's overwhelmed reaction. And Syldor was legitimately put off-balance by it. It was a blow that landed.

Here, I didn't need it to be a big huge mic-drop moment, I'm fine with it happening in only private company the way it would have from the stream version too. But I don't like the change that Syldor doesn't even hesitate before scoffing at it and saying it's just a stupid ploy. I wish he had been a little unsettled. I wish we'd seen him offended or confused or just... at all affected by the whole thing? He brushes off Percy's big grand gesture, and he brushes off Vex snapping at him, as if it doesn't matter at all. I get that there needs to be some build to something bigger, but I feel like it made the moment less fun because of it.

Also, this is fine for me as someone who's watched the stream, but the fact that Syldor lives in Syngorn, and there's also a character name Saundor all in the same episode... too many similar sounding S-names. That must have been annoying.

I had a question just logistically speaking... where exactly is Wilhand Trickfoot supposed to live? Because at the end, they're talking about how they have to go to Westruun. So he's not in Westruun? Even though the Grog backstory from the next episode seems to imply that his whole redemptive moment with Wilhand was happening where his herd had taken over? That just confused me a bit.

Pros:

To start off, I love the twin vibes on "we seek an audience with Ambassador Vassar" from Vex, and then "Ugh... we're his children" from Vax. So good. This episode appropriately shined more of a spotlight on Vex, but you still saw the solidarity between the two of them. Each has their own shit going on at the moment, but the strained awkward family vibes were exquisite. We see how Vax is willing to throw down with his dad from the jump, but Vex is still holding back yelling at him until the moment when she snaps at her dad for insulting Percy.

And yeah, while I wish there had been something to punch up the big "Lady Vex'ahlia" moment just a smidge more, I was otherwise totally 100% satisfied with the way the Percy/Vex stuff played out here. We got another one of the best shippy lines from the show, where Percy tells Vex he's known a lot of people with titles and money, "and none of them are worth you". My heart!!! And speaking of hearts, we have Vex opening up to Percy about how difficult things were for her and Vax growing up, and Percy says that she has a pure heart, that it's wonderful, and nobody can take that away. Percy, my baby! He's being so sincere and kind and gentle, and it's killing me! He also made her a cool new arrowhead, which was 100% the Percy method of flirting from the stream, so I'm glad we got a nod to it here.

A detail I have to point out because a part of me will always be Perc'ildan trash, is that Percy started defending both of the twins from their dad right from the jump, saying "your son and daughter are leading the fight." Hell yeah, Percy.

We got to meet Velora, and she was as adorable and perfect as I ever could have imagined! Vex giving her the blue feather is just the sweetest. This is a moment that really complicates and enhances the twins' drama with their shitty father. They have a cordial relationship with their step-mother, and they adore their little sister so much. It's not some one-note thing where they resent the family Syldor has built without them. There are layers here, and they (rightfully) do not blame a child for the sins of her father.

The whole Saundor encounter was amazing, everything I could have wished for and more! Saundor looks SO COOL. He's sexy and creepy and I love that he says all these awful things to Vex in this really seductive, simmering voice, but then the second she rejects him he says "you bitch!" and just starts snarling at her like any creepy incel bitter loser would. It's such a good turn, and it makes the point eloquently without spelling it out for you. Everything about the corrupted forest, the tree, the bow, the effect on Vex when her eyes go all dark and she nearly succumbs... it was so tense!

Meanwhile we get Vax, Percy, and Keyleth teaming up to defeat a couple of walking tree creatures that are trying to keep them away from helping Vex. I loved the teamwork, of Keyleth getting Vax's knife off him and Vax cutting Percy free once he was free himself. Then you've got Keyleth going into her Fire Elemental form again, and walking through the trees using her magic to defeat them. Not only was that an adaptation of one of Marisha's most brilliant Keyleth moments in the whole game, it was also a reminder/reaffirmation of this cool new ability she has to turn into a giant fire being, so we can be reminded that she has that card up her sleeve for more fights down the road.

And now, after Vex declares that her "heart is someone else's," and stabs Saundor with the arrowhead Percy gave her, she is officially in possession of Fenthras, her very own Vestige!

I heard people complaining that they've stripped away some of Vex's complexity, making her nothing more than a girl with daddy issues and an angsty anime love interest and I... I mean, okay, if Vex is your favorite character you're going to notice the shortcuts they've taken with her character for the sake of the shortened format. Same as if you love Keyleth most, or whoever else. But I personally think the final scene, where she declares that she's not going back to Syngorn because she's not ready, proves that there's so much more depth to her character than just a few cliché traits. Because you'd expect one of two things, here, right? You'd expect her to either go back and throw her victory in her father's face, or you'd expect her to declare that she's enlightened now and no longer needs his approval... but it's neither of those things. She still needs to face him, but despite the fact that she won Fenthras from Saundor and confronted the insecurities within her, she's not ready yet. It's a journey that will take longer than a single incident, much like Keyleth's self-confidence is much better now than it used to be, but she still has her moments of doubt.

I know I keep saying it over and over again, but I'm so impressed with how thoughtful they've been to every character getting their due on this show. There are seven main characters and a ton of important side characters and in a D&D campaign there are no protagonists. It's a hard sell to adapt, and I think people go too hard on it if their favorite moment didn't hit the way they wanted it to, or if a character they're less interested in got a big important moment when they felt their fave should have gotten it instead.

And so Garmelie helps our heroes out of the Fey Realm, and then transforms into a tall, imposing figure with a different voice, and universes in his eyes... I'm so excited to see where this all goes.

One thing that was so great about this episode was the parallel between meeting Syldor and meeting Wilhand. Even as Vex and Vax's father puts them down and accuses them of just coming to him because of his status, we see Wilhand emerge from his front door, give Pike a big hug and admire her cool new armor, and immediately set to work helping Grog out without really asking many questions. Casting Henry Winkler in this role was inspired, I was instantly charmed by him.

There wasn't a ton of motion here for Grog, just a pill that he had to take with some... ahem... assistance from Scanlan, and no improvement on the weak, noodle-y muscles front. The gnomes are ready to head off after the vestige they know is in Westruun, but Grog has some news for them. That Vestige is in the hands of his uncle, and he killed Grog with them. Dun dun dun....

I loved Travis's line read on: "Hi, Pop Pop. I fucked up." I also love how Grog gets the comic relief treatment but there's still a real gravity and grief to him over this situation. It's no small thing, to lose your strength when it's such a big part of how you identify yourself. I know what this is all building to, and I'm going to scream so loud when Grog tells us where his strength comes from in next week's batch of episodes...

So yeah! Say goodbye to the Fey Realm for now, and we're off to Westruun to meet some of Grog's family in the final installment of this week's drop. Man, they go by so fast, I wish the seasons were twice as long!

8/10