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toongrrl-blog · 10 months

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Not (Nawt!) Another Benvi Playlist

Awwwwww, say I wonder how this would play in 1963? 1973? 1983? 1993? 2003? Maybe telegrams with the earlier years, I dunno. Did they have internships back when my parents were kids? I know they had Model UN, I knew that from Mad Men and I don't know about Sally Draper's place on the social totem pole in school but she's cool so Model UN wasn't social suicide then again her county was really Republican and her stepdad didn't like real UN.......

Anyway with this tangent, listen to some good songs kids!

"Silhouttes (On the Shade)" The Rays (Herman's Hermits and Cliff Richard and The Ronettes did good covers, this needs to be covered, hey someone contemporary cover this song)

Rushed down to your house with wings

On my feet

Loved you like I never loved

You my sweet

Vowed that you and I would be

Two silhouettes on the shade

All of our days

Two silhouettes on the sha-ade

Silhouettes (silhouettes)

2. "You Really Got A Hold On Me" The Miracles (The Beatles also covered this song)

I don't like you, but I love you

Seems that I'm always thinking of you

Oh, oh, oh

You treat me badly, I love you madly

You've really got a hold on me (You've really got a hold on me)

3. "How Deep Is Your Love" Bee Gees

And you may not think I care for you

When you know down inside that I really do

And it's me you need to show

How deep is your love?

4. "He's Sure the Boy I Love" The Crystals

When he holds me tight

Everything's right

Crazy as it seems

I'm his, whatever he is

And I forget all of my dreams

5. "My Rose" Luca and Emma Castellino (suggested by @fishyyyyy99)

And maybe I didn't make myself clear

Or maybe you pretend, so you wouldn't hurt me (so you wouldn't hurt me)

It's probably better like this

But baby, you're pretty damn hard to forget

6. "Tomorrow is Another Day" Shelby Flint

Tomorrow is another day

How I hope you'll always stay

7. "Back to Heaven" Later.

'Cause if you don't atract my lady right

She's gonna send me back to life

You never know what's good or bad

8. "Unchained Melody" Todd Duncan, the Righteous Brothers, actually been covered several times

Woah, my love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?

I need your love

9. "You've Made Me So Very Happy" Brenda Holloway (famously covered by Blood, Sweat, and Tears)

I love you so much you see

You're even in my dreams

I can hear

Baby, I can hear you calling me

I'm so in love with you

All I ever want to do is

Thank you baby

10. "It Might As Well Rain Until September" Carole King (then covered by Bobby Vee)

The weather here has been as nice as it can be

Although it doesn't really matter much to me

For all the fun I'll have while you're so far away

It might as well rain until September

11. "Everything Has Changed" Best Coast

I used to crawl

All the way back home

I used to cry myself to sleep

Reading all the names they called me

Used to say that I was lazy

A lazy, crazy baby

Did they think

That maybe I was in on it?

Did they think?

No, of course they didn't

12. "The Way You Love Me" Faith Hill

There's nowhere else I'd rather be

Oooh, to feel the way I, feel with your arms around me

I only wish that you could see, the way you love me

The way you love me

13. "It's Your Love" Tim McGraw and Faith Hill

Oh, it's a beautiful thing

Don't think I can keep it all in (oh oh)

And if you ask me why I've changed

All I gotta do is say your sweet name

It's your love

It just does something to me

It sends a shock right through me

I can't get enough

And if you wonder

About the spell I'm under

Oh it's your love

(Woah oh baby)

(Oh, oh, oh)

14. "By My Side" INXS

In the dark of the night

Those small hours

Uncertain and anxious

I need to call you

Rooms full of strangers

Some call me friend

But I wish you were so close to me

15. "All I Have To Do Is Dream" The Everly Brothers

When I feel blue in the night

And I need you to hold me tight

Whenever I want you, all I have to do is

Dream

16. "Make It With You" Bread

Dreams, they're for those who sleep

Life is for us to keep

And if you're wondering what this all is leading to

I wanna make it with you

I really think that we could make it, girl

17. "Baby, I Need Your Loving" The Four Tops

Some say it's a sign of weakness for a man to beg

Then weak, I'd rather be

If it means having you to keep

'Cause lately I've been losing sleep

18. "Any Time At All" The Beatles

If the sun has faded away, I'll try to make it shine

There is nothing I won't do

When you need a shoulder to cry on, I hope it will be mine

Call me tonight and I'll come to you

19. "Only Love Can Break A Heart" Gene Pitney

Please let me hold you

And love you for always and always

Only love can break a heart

Only love can mend it again

20. "Don't Give Up On Us" David Soul

We're still worth one more try I know we put a last one by Just for a rainy evening When maybe stars are few Don't give up on us, I know We can still come through

21. "Where Does My Heart Beat Now" Celine Dion

Then one touch overcomes the silence Love still survives Two hearts needing one another Give me wings to fly

22. "Take Me With U" Prince and the Revolution

Come on and touch the place in me That's calling out your name We want each other, oh, so much Why must we play this game?

23. "This Girl Is A Woman Now" Gary Puckett & The Union Gap

This girl is a woman now She's learned how to give This girl is a woman now She's found out what it's all about And she's learning, learning to live

This girl tasted love As tender as the gentle dawn She cried a single tear A teardrop that was sweet and warm Our hearts told us we were right And on that sweet and velvet night A child had died A woman had been born

24. "Eres Tu" Carla Morrison

Quiero contemplarte sin contar el tiempo Dibujarte con mis puros recuerdos En mi mente marcar tus labios, tus besos Estás aquí dentro de mi mente

I want to contemplate you without counting the time that goes by To draw you with memories alone To mark your lips and your kisses in my mind To be here for another moment

25. "Help Is On The Way" Little River Band

Are you always in confusion Surrounded by illusion Sort it out You'll make out Seem to make a good beginning Someone else ends up winning Don't seem fair Don't you care

26. "Right Time of the Night" Jennifer Warnes

It's the right time of the night The stars are winking above It's the right time of the night For making love

27. "Human" The Human League

The tears I cry aren't tears of pain They're all to hide my guilt and shame I forgive you, now I ask the same of you While we were apart, I was human too

28. "I've Got You Under My Skin" Frank Sinatra (also covered by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons)

I'd tried so, not to give in I said to myself this affair never will go so well But why should I try to resist when baby I know so well I've got you under my skin

29. "Just Fall In Love Again" Anne Murray

Magic, it must be magic The way I hold you when the night just seems to fly Easy for you to take me to a star Heaven is that moment when I look into your eyes.

30. "You Needed Me" Anne Murray

You held my hand when it was cold When I was lost, you took me home You gave me hope when I was at the end And turned my lies back into truth again You even called me "friend"

You gave me strength to stand alone again To face the world out on my own again You put me high upon a pedestal So high that I could almost see eternity You needed me, you needed me

31. "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" The Rubinoos

Picture in my mind, I see you and me I, I'm telling you what I wanna be You, you're saying you're in love with me And oh, it feels so good in a dream That I know in life it's just got to be I wanna tell you......

32. "Getcha Back" Beach Boys

I'm getting tired, layin' around here at night Thinking 'bout some other guy holdin' you tight He may have money and a brand new car May even treat you like a movie star And no matter what he ever do for you He can never love you like I can do So if I leave her and you leave him Can we ever get back again?

33. "Tear In My Heart" Twenty One Pilots

My heart is my armor She's the tear in my heart, she's a carver She's a butcher with a smile, cut me farther Than I've ever been

34. "Need You Now" Lady A

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now And I said I wouldn't call, but I'm a little drunk and I need you now And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now

35. "Somebody to Love" Queen

(He works hard) everyday (Everyday) I try and I try and I try But everybody wants to put me down They say I'm going crazy They say I got a lot of water in my brain I got no common sense (He's got) I got nobody left to believe No, no, no, no

(Ooh, ooh, ooh, Lord) Ooh, somebody Ooh (Somebody) Anybody find me Somebody to love Can anybody find me Someone to love?

36. "They Don't Know" Tracey Ullman

There's no need for living in the past Now I've found good loving, gonna make it last I tell the others "don't bother me" Cause when they look at you They don't see what I see

No, I don't listen to their wasted lines Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs Cause they don't know 'bout us And they've never heard of love

37. "Linger" The Cranberries

And I'm in so deep You know I'm such a fool for you You got me wrapped around your finger Do you have to let it linger?

38. "Alone" Heart

You don't know how long I have wanted To touch your lips and hold you tight You don't know how long I have waited And I was going to tell you tonight

39. "Wherever You Will Go" The Calling

If a great wave shall fall And fall upon us all Well then I hope there's someone out there Who can bring me back to you

40. "Never Tear Us Apart" INXS

We could live For a thousand years But if I hurt you I'd make wine from your tears I told you That we could fly 'Cause we all have wings But some of us don't know why

I was standing You were there Two worlds collided And they could never ever tear us apart

41. "Tear In My Heart" Twenty-One Pilots

Songs on the radio are okay My taste in music is your face But it takes a song to come around To show you how

She's the tear in my heart I'm alive She's the tear in my heart I'm on fire She's the tear in my heart Take me higher Than I've ever been

#I love Not Another Teen Movie so kiss it #benvi #playlist #devi x ben #devi vishwakumar #ben gross #never have i ever #1950 music #1960s music #1970s music #1980s music #1990s music #2000s music #2010s music #2020s music

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lacnunga · 3 months

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am so deeply intrigued by all of the things you are working on but PLEAB tell me about 'jsamn changeling' I am V INTERESTED

Hmmm this was kind of a case of misnaming bc it is at its core a arabella x emma accidental child aquisition fic and the child in question is actually a witch, not a changeling as i was thinking of. i was thinking about the half-human, half-fairy children that were called witches in jsamn and how there'd be like a spate of them post canon with the reopening of fairy roads and how these kids would manifest their fairy sides like maliciousness and greed etc when not raised in a fairy environement. like how far does this nature extend in a human environment? also, how would a human community react to half fairy children, after centuries of no fairies at all, and all remaining people of fairy blood being so removed from their ancestry.

aNYWAY the main point is arabella finds a half fairy kid without knowing her parentage and takes her in. emma can sort of sense the fairy-ness about the kid and as she's already traumatised by her experience in fairy she has a real hard time adapting to having the girl around, but also sticks it out bc she loves arabella. it does become a little haunted story bc the girl has intrinsic fairy magic and manifests it in wild ways to protect arabella and injure emma and arabella has to navigate this weird tangle of protecting emma, dealing with her own fairy trauma, protecting the girl from herself and the superstitious folks and deciding whether the girl would be better off in fairy with her father or if she should stay in the human world.

blah blah here's an excerpt.

“Mrs Strange,” came Lady Pole’s voice, tight and choked with tension, “what is that?” Lady Pole stood at the head of the stairs, dressed in her sombre gown and with her hair cascading down in wild tangles. Evidently, she had only then woken from the restless dream she had been dragged into. The dark bags beneath her narrowed eyes stood out starkly upon her sallow skin, and she was then clutching at the banister with one hand so tightly as to draw her knuckles white. She was staring at Lucy. Lucy, for her part, had not taken her pearlescent eyes off of Andromeda and was still baring her teeth at the hissing puss in an attempt at intimidation. “It is a child, Lady Pole,” Arabella said. “I have called her Lucy – she was found at the-,” she cut herself off suddenly, remembering that she had intended to keep her trip a secret from Lady Pole. But the damage had been done, and the Lady fixed upon her with such an intensity that she could hardly lie about the matter. “I found her by a fairy road,” she reluctantly admitted, fiddling with the ends of her rough bandage. Lady Pole inhaled sharply. “…It is not safe for you to go near Faerie, Mrs Strange,” she snapped. Arabella tried not to take the tone to heart, reminding herself that it was simply Lady Pole’s way of showing her concern. “The road is still closed,” she assured her, keeping her tone low and soothing as she had often done when Jonathan was in one of his agitated states. “But the poor darling was just standing there, moaning. I think-,” she hastily crouched down and covered Lucy’s ears with her hands. “I think she was abandoned there. She cannot talk,” she whispered. She quickly yanked back her hands as Lucy tried to bite her again. “I see,” Lady Pole said, although she was clearly unhappy about it. “And you have decided to be its- her Samaritan, I assume?” Arabella shifted. “Well, I could hardly leave her there, my lady.” By her stolid stance, Arabella thought that might be precisely what Lady Pole would prefer her to have done.

#to me emma is like a little cryptid :D #emma is also a bit uncomfy bc lucy matches her traumatised freak yknow #emma is kinda low empathy untrusting unsocial but she Tries for Arabella bc she loves her <3 #wip wednesday

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 7 months

Text

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 21-22

CHAPTER XXI

IT was not only the November sleet, setting up a forbidding curtain before the mountains, turning the roadways into slipperiness on which a car would swing around and crash into poles, that kept Doremus stubbornly at home that morning, sitting on his shoulder blades before the fireplace. It was the feeling that there was no point in going to the office; no chance even of a picturesque fight. But he was not contented before the fire. He could find no authentic news even in the papers from Boston or New York, in both of which the morning papers had been combined by the government into one sheet, rich in comic strips, in syndicated gossip from Hollywood, and, indeed, lacking only any news.

He cursed, threw down the New York Daily Corporate, and tried to read a new novel about a lady whose husband was indelicate in bed and who was too absorbed by the novels he wrote about lady novelists whose husbands were too absorbed by the novels they wrote about lady novelists to appreciate the fine sensibilities of lady novelists who wrote about gentleman novelists—Anyway, he chucked the book after the newspaper. The lady's woes didn't seem very important now, in a burning world.

He could hear Emma in the kitchen discussing with Mrs. Candy the best way of making a chicken pie. They talked without relief; really, they were not so much talking as thinking aloud. Doremus admitted that the nice making of a chicken pie was a thing of consequence, but the blur of voices irritated him. Then Sissy slammed into the room, and Sissy should an hour ago have been at high school, where she was a senior—to graduate next year and possibly go to some new and horrible provincial university.

"What ho! What are you doing home? Why aren't you in school?"

"Oh. That." She squatted on the padded fender seat, chin in hands, looking up at him, not seeing him. "I don't know 's I'll ever go there any more. You have to repeat a new oath every morning: 'I pledge myself to serve the Corporate State, the Chief, all Commissioners, the Mystic Wheel, and the troops of the Republic in every thought and deed.' Now I ask you! Is that tripe!"

"How you going to get into the university?"

"Huh! Smile at Prof Staubmeyer—if it doesn't gag me!"

"Oh, well—Well—" He could not think of anything meatier to say.

The doorbell, a shuffling in the hall as of snowy feet, and Julian Falck came sheepishly in.

Sissy snapped, "Well, I'll be—What are you doing home? Why aren't you in Amherst?"

"Oh. that." He squatted beside her. He absently held her hand, and she did not seem to notice it, either. "Amherst's got hers. Corpos closing it today. I got tipped off last Saturday and beat it. (They have a cute way of rounding up the students when they close a college and arresting a few of 'em, just to cheer up the profs.)" To Doremus: "Well, sir, I think you'll have to find a place for me on the Informer, wiping presses. Could you?"

"Afraid not, boy. Give anything if I could. But I'm a prisoner there. God! Just having to say that makes me appreciate what a rotten position I have!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I understand, of course. Well, I don't just know what I am going to do. Remember back in '33 and '34 and '35 how many good eggs there were—and some of them medics and law graduates and trained engineers and so on—that simply couldn't get a job? Well, it's worse now. I looked over Amherst, and had a try at Springfield, and I've been here in town two days—I'd hoped to have something before I saw you, Sis—why, I even asked Mrs. Pike if she didn't need somebody to wash dishes at the Tavern, but so far there isn't a thing. 'Young gentleman, two years in college, ninety-nine-point-three pure and thorough knowledge Thirty-nine Articles, able drive car, teach tennis and contract, amiable disposition, desires position—digging ditches.'"

"You will get something! I'll see you do, my poppet!" insisted Sissy. She was less modernistic and cold with Julian now than Doremus had thought her.

"Thanks, Sis, but honest to God—I hope I'm not whining, but looks like I'd either have to enlist in the lousy M.M.'s, or go to a labor camp. I can't stay home and sponge on Granddad. The poor old Reverend hasn't got enough to keep a pussycat in face powder."

"Lookit! Lookit!" Sissy clinched with Julian and bussed him, unabashed. "I've got an idea—a new stunt. You know, one of these 'New Careers for Youth' things. Listen! Last summer there was a friend of Lindy Pike's staying with her and she was an interior decorator from Buffalo, and she said they have a hell of a—"

("Siss-sy!")

"—time getting real, genuine, old hand-hewn beams that everybody wants so much now in these phony-Old-English suburban living rooms. Well, look! Round here there's ten million old barns with hand-adzed beams just falling down—farmers probably be glad to have you haul 'em off. I kind of thought about it for myself—being an architect, you know—and John Pollikop said he'd sell me a swell, dirty-looking old five-ton truck for four hundred bucks—in pre-inflation real money, I mean—and on time. Let's you and me try a load of assorted fancy beams."

"Swell!" said Julian.

"Well—" said Doremus.

"Come on!" Sissy leaped up. "Let's go ask Lindy what she thinks. She's the only one in this family that's got any business sense."

"I don't seem to hanker much after going out there in this weather— nasty roads," Doremus puffed.

"Nonsense, Doremus! With Julian driving? He's a poor speller and his back-hand is fierce, but as a driver, he's better than I am! Why, it's a pleasure to skid with him! Come on! Hey, Mother! We'll be back in nour or two."

If Emma ever got beyond her distant, "Why, I thought you were in school, already," none of the three musketeers heard it. They were bundling up and crawling out into the sleet.

Lorinda Pike was in the Tavern kitchen, in a calico print with rolled sleeves, dipping doughnuts into deep fat—a picture right out of the romantic days (which Buzz Windrip was trying to restore) when a female who had brought up eleven children and been midwife to dozens of cows was regarded as too fragile to vote. She was ruddy-faced from the stove, but she cocked a lively eye at them, and her greeting was "Have a doughnut? Good!" She led them from the kitchen with its attendant and eavesdropping horde of a Canuck kitchenmaid and two cats, and they sat in the beautiful butler's- pantry, with its shelved rows of Italian majolica plates and cups and saucers—entirely unsuitable to Vermont, attesting a certain artiness in Lorinda, yet by their cleanness and order revealing her as a sound worker. Sissy sketched her plan—behind the statistics there was an agreeable picture of herself and Julian, gipsies in khaki, on the seat of a gipsy truck, peddling silvery old pine rafters.

"Nope. Not a chance," said Lorinda regretfully. "The expensive suburban-villa business—oh, it isn't gone: there's a surprising number of middlemen and professional men who are doing quite well out of having their wealth taken away and distributed to the masses. But all the building is in the hands of contractors who are in politics—good old Windrip is so consistently American that he's kept up all our traditional graft, even if he has thrown out all our traditional independence. They wouldn't leave you one cent profit."

"She's probably right," said Doremus.

"Be the first time I ever was, then!" sniffed Lorinda. "Why, I was so simple that I thought women voters knew men too well to fall for noble words on the radio!"

They sat in the sedan, outside the Tavern; Julian and Sissy in front, Doremus in the back seat, dignified and miserable in mummy swathings.

"That's that," said Sissy. "Swell period for young dreamers the Dictator's brought in. You can march to military bands—or you can sit home—or you can go to prison. Primavera di Bellezza!"

"Yes.... Well, I'll find something to do.... Sissy, are you going to marry me—soon as I get a job?"

(It was incredible, thought Doremus, how these latter-day unsentimental sentimentalists could ignore him.... Like animals.)

"Before, if you want to. Though marriage seems to me absolute rot now, Julian. They can't go and let us see that every doggone one of our old institutions is a rotten fake, the way Church and State and everything has laid down to the Corpos, and still expect us to think they're so hot! But for unformed minds like your grandfather and Doremus, I suppose we'll have to pretend to believe that the preachers who stand for Big Chief Windrip are still so sanctified that they can sell God's license to love!"

("Sis-sy!")

"(Oh. I forgot you were there, Dad!) But anyway, we're not going to have any kids. Oh, I like children! I'd like to have a dozen of the little devils around. But if people have gone so soft and turned the world over to stuffed shirts and dictators, they needn't expect any decent woman to bring children into such an insane asylum! Why, the more you really do love children, the more you'll want 'em not to be born, now!"

Julian boasted, in a manner quite as lover-like and naïve as that of any suitor a hundred years ago, "Yes. But just the same, we'll be having children."

"Hell! I suppose so!" said the golden girl.

It was the unconsidered Doremus who found a job for Julian.

Old Dr. Marcus Olmsted was trying to steel himself to carry on the work of his sometime partner, Fowler Greenhill. He was not strong enough for much winter driving, and so hotly now did he hate the murderers of his friend that he would not take on any youngster who was in the M.M.'s or who had half acknowledged their authority by going to a labor camp. So Julian was chosen to drive him, night and day, and presently to help him by giving anesthetic, bandaging hurt legs; and the Julian who had within one week "decided that he wanted to be" an aviator, a music critic, an air-conditioning engineer, an archæologist excavating in Yucatan, was dead-set on medicine and replaced for Doremus his dead doctor son-in-law. And Doremus heard Julian and Sissy boasting and squabbling and squeaking in the half-lighted parlor and from them—from them and from David and Lorinda and Buck Titus—got resolution enough to go on in the Informer office without choking Staubmeyer to death.

CHAPTER XXII

DECEMBER 10th was the birthday of Berzelius Windrip, though in his earlier days as a politician, before he fruitfully realized that lies sometimes get printed and unjustly remembered against you, he had been wont to tell the world that his birthday was on December twenty-fifth, like one whom he admitted to be an even greater leader, and to shout, with real tears in his eyes, that his complete name was Berzelius Noel Weinacht Windrip.

His birthday in 1937 he commemorated by the historical "Order of Regulation," which stated that though the Corporate government had proved both its stability and its good-will, there were still certain stupid or vicious "elements" who, in their foul envy of Corpo success, wanted to destroy everything that was good. The kind-hearted government was fed-up, and the country was informed that, from this day on, any person who by word or act sought to harm or discredit the State, would be executed or interned. Inasmuch as the prisons were already too full, both for these slanderous criminals and for the persons whom the kind-hearted State had to guard by "protective arrest," there were immediately to be opened, all over the country, concentration camps.

Doremus guessed that the reason for the concentration camps was not only the provision of extra room for victims but, even more, the provision of places where the livelier young M.M.'s could amuse themselves without interference from old-time professional policemen and prison-keepers, most of whom regarded their charges not as enemies, to be tortured, but just as cattle, to be kept safely.

On the eleventh, a concentration camp was enthusiastically opened, with band music, paper flowers, and speeches by District Commissioner Reek and Shad Ledue, at Trianon, nine miles north of Fort Beulah, in what had been a modern experimental school for girls. (The girls and their teachers, no sound material for Corpoism anyway, were simply sent about their business.)

And on that day and every day afterward, Doremus got from journalist friends all over the country secret news of Corpo terrorism and of the first bloody rebellions against the Corpos.

In Arkansas, a group of ninety-six former sharecroppers, who had always bellyached about their misfortunes yet seemed not a bit happier in well-run, hygienic labor camps with free weekly band concerts, attacked the superintendent's office at one camp and killed the superintendent and five assistants. They were rounded up by an M.M. regiment from Little Rock, stood up in a winter-ragged cornfield, told to run, and shot in the back with machine guns as they comically staggered away.

In San Francisco, dock-workers tried to start an absolutely illegal strike, and their leaders, known to be Communists, were so treasonable in their speeches against the government that an M.M. commander had three of them tied up to a bale of rattan, which was soaked with oil and set afire. The Commander gave warning to all such malcontents by shooting off the criminals' fingers and ears while they were burning, and so skilled a marksman was he, so much credit to the efficient M.M. training, that he did not kill one single man while thus trimming them up. He afterward went in search of Tom Mooney (released by the Supreme Court of the United States, early in 1936), but that notorious anti-Corpo agitator had had the fear of God put into him properly, and had escaped on a schooner for Tahiti.

In Pawtucket, a man who ought to have been free from the rotten seditious notions of such so-called labor-leaders, in fact a man who was a fashionable dentist and director in a bank, absurdly resented the attentions which half-a-dozen uniformed M.M.'s—they were all on leave, and merely full of youthful spirits, anyway— bestowed upon his wife at a café and, in the confusion, shot and killed three of them. Ordinarily, since it was none of the public's business anyway, the M.M.'s did not give out details of their disciplining of rebels, but in this case, where the fool of a dentist had shown himself to be a homicidal maniac, the local M.M. commander permitted the papers to print the fact that the dentist had been given sixty-nine lashes with a flexible steel rod, then, when he came to, left to think over his murderous idiocy in a cell in which there was two feet of water in the bottom—but, rather ironically, none to drink. Unfortunately, the fellow died before having the opportunity to seek religious consolation.

In Scranton, the Catholic pastor of a working-class church was kidnaped and beaten.

In central Kansas, a man named George W. Smith pointlessly gathered a couple of hundred farmers armed with shotguns and sporting rifles and an absurdly few automatic-pistols, and led them in burning an M.M. barracks. M.M. tanks were called out, and the hick would-be rebels were not, this time, used as warnings, but were overcome with mustard gas, then disposed of with hand grenades, which was an altogether intelligent move, since there was nothing of the scoundrels left for sentimental relatives to bury and make propaganda over.

But in New York City the case was the opposite—instead of being thus surprised, the M.M.'s rounded up all suspected Communists in the former boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx, and all persons who were reported to have been seen consorting with such Communists, and interned the lot of them in the nineteen concentration camps on Long Island.... Most of them wailed that they were not Communists at all.

For the first time in America, except during the Civil War and the World War, people were afraid to say whatever came to their tongues. On the streets, on trains, at theaters, men looked about to see who might be listening before they dared so much as say there was a drought in the West, for someone might suppose they were blaming the drought on the Chief! They were particularly skittish about waiters, who were supposed to listen from the ambush which every waiter carries about with him anyway, and to report to the M.M.'s. People who could not resist talking politics spoke of Windrip as "Colonel Robinson" or "Dr. Brown" and of Sarason as "Judge Jones" or "my cousin Kaspar," and you would hear gossips hissing "Shhh!" at the seemingly innocent statement, "My cousin doesn't seem to be as keen on playing bridge with the Doctor as he used to—I'll bet sometime they'll quit playing."

Every moment everyone felt fear, nameless and omnipresent. They were as jumpy as men in a plague district. Any sudden sound, any unexplained footstep, any unfamiliar script on an envelope, made them startle; and for months they never felt secure enough to let themselves go, in complete sleep. And with the coming of fear went out their pride.

Daily—common now as weather reports—were the rumors of people who had suddenly been carried off "under protective arrest," and daily more of them were celebrities. At first the M.M.'s had, outside of the one stroke against Congress, dared to arrest only the unknown and defenseless. Now, incredulously—for these leaders had seemed invulnerable, above the ordinary law—you heard of judges, army officers, ex-state governors, bankers who had not played in with the Corpos, Jewish lawyers who had been ambassadors, being carted off to the common stink and mud of the cells.

To the journalist Doremus and his family it was not least interesting that among these imprisoned celebrities were so many journalists: Raymond Moley, Frank Simonds, Frank Kent, Heywood Broun, Mark Sullivan, Earl Browder, Franklin P. Adams, George Seldes, Frazier Hunt, Garet Garrett, Granville Hicks, Edwin James, Robert Morss Lovett—men who differed grotesquely except in their common dislike of being little disciples of Sarason and Macgoblin.

Few writers for Hearst were arrested, however.

The plague came nearer to Doremus when unrenowned editors in Lowell and Providence and Albany, who had done nothing more than fail to be enthusiastic about the Corpos, were taken away for "questioning," and not released for weeks—months.

It came much nearer at the time of the book-burning.

All over the country, books that might threaten the Pax Romana of the Corporate State were gleefully being burned by the more scholarly Minute Men. This form of safeguarding the State—so modern that it had scarce been known prior to A.D. 1300—was instituted by Secretary of Culture Macgoblin, but in each province the crusaders were allowed to have the fun of picking out their own paper-and-ink traitors. In the Northeastern Province, Judge Effingham Swan and Dr. Owen J. Peaseley were appointed censors by Commissioner Dewey Haik, and their index was lyrically praised all through the country.

For Swan saw that it was not such obvious anarchists and soreheads as Darrow, Steffens, Norman Thomas, who were the real danger; like rattlesnakes, their noisiness betrayed their venom. The real enemies were men whose sanctification by death had appallingly permitted them to sneak even into respectable school libraries—men so perverse that they had been traitors to the Corpo State years and years before there had been any Corpo State; and Swan (with Peaseley chirping agreement) barred from all sale or possession the books of Thoreau, Emerson, Whittier, Whitman, Mark Twain, Howells, and The New Freedom, by Woodrow Wilson, for though in later life Wilson became a sound manipulative politician, he had earlier been troubled with itching ideals.

It goes without saying that Swan denounced all such atheistic foreigners, dead or alive, as Wells, Marx, Shaw, the Mann brothers, Tolstoy, and P. G. Wodehouse with his unscrupulous propaganda against the aristocratic tradition. (Who could tell? Perhaps, some day, in a corporate empire, he might be Sir Effingham Swan, Bart.)

And in one item Swan showed blinding genius—he had the foresight to see the peril of that cynical volume, The Collected Sayings of Will Rogers.

Of the book-burnings in Syracuse and Schenectady and Hartford, Doremus had heard, but they seemed improbable as ghost stories.

The Jessup family were at dinner, just after seven, when on the porch they heard the tramping they had half expected, altogether dreaded. Mrs. Candy—even the icicle, Mrs. Candy, held her breast in agitation before she stalked out to open the door. Even David sat at table, spoon suspended in air.

Shad's voice, "In the name of the Chief!" Harsh feet in the hall, and Shad waddling into the dining room, cap on, hand on pistol, but grinning, and with leering geniality bawling, "H' are yuh, folks! Search for bad books. Orders of the District Commissioner. Come on, Jessup!" He looked at the fireplace to which he had once brought so many armfuls of wood, and snickered.

"If you'll just sit down in the other room—"

"I will like hell 'just sit down in the other room'! We're burning the books tonight! Snap to it, Jessup!" Shad looked at the exasperated Emma; he looked at Sissy; he winked with heavy deliberation and chuckled, "H' are you, Mis' Jessup. Hello, Sis. How's the kid?"

But at Mary Greenhill he did not look, nor she at him.

In the hall, Doremus found Shad's entourage, four sheepish M.M.'s and a more sheepish Emil Staubmeyer, who whimpered, "Just orders— you know—just orders."

Doremus safely said nothing; led them up to his study.

Now a week before he had removed every publication that any sane Corpo could consider radical: his Das Kapital and Veblen and all the Russian novels and even Sumner's Folkways and Freud's Civilization and Its Discontents; Thoreau and the other hoary scoundrels banned by Swan; old files of the Nation and New Republic and such copies as he had been able to get of Walt Trowbridge's Lance for Democracy; had removed them and hidden them inside an old horsehair sofa in the upper hall.

"I told you there was nothing," said Staubmeyer, after the search. "Let's go."

Said Shad, "Huh! I know this house, Ensign. I used to work here— had the privilege of putting up those storm windows you can see there, and of getting bawled out right here in this room. You won't remember those times, Doc—when I used to mow your lawn, too, and you used to be so snotty!" Staubmeyer blushed. "You bet. I know my way around, and there's a lot of fool books downstairs in the sittin' room."

Indeed in that apartment variously called the drawing room, the living room, the sittin' room, the Parlor and once, even, by a spinster who thought editors were romantic, the studio, there were two or three hundred volumes, mostly in "standard sets." Shad glumly stared at them, the while he rubbed the faded Brussels carpet with his spurs. He was worried. He had to find something seditious!

He pointed at Doremus's dearest treasure, the thirty-four-volume extra-illustrated edition of Dickens which had been his father's, and his father's only insane extravagance. Shad demanded of Staubmeyer, "That guy Dickens—didn't he do a lot of complaining about conditions—about schools and the police and everything?"

Staubmeyer protested, "Yes, but Shad—but, Captain Ledue, that was a hundred years ago—"

"Makes no difference. Dead skunk stinks worse 'n a live one."

Doremus cried, "Yes, but not for a hundred years! Besides—"

The M.M.'s, obeying Shad's gesture, were already yanking the volumes of Dickens from the shelves, dropping them on the floor, covers cracking. Doremus seized an M.M.'s arm; from the door Sissy shrieked. Shad lumbered up to him, enormous red fist at Doremus's nose, growling, "Want to get the daylights beaten out of you now... instead of later?"

Doremus and Sissy, side by side on a couch, watched the books thrown in a heap. He grasped her hand, muttering to her, "Hush— hush!" Oh, Sissy was a pretty girl, and young, but a pretty girl schoolteacher had been attacked, her clothes stripped off, and been left in the snow just south of town, two nights ago.

Doremus could not have stayed away from the book-burning. It was like seeing for the last time the face of a dead friend.

Kindling, excelsior, and spruce logs had been heaped on the thin snow on the Green. (Tomorrow there would be a fine patch burned in the hundred-year-old sward.) Round the pyre danced M.M.'s schoolboys, students from the rather ratty business college on Elm Street, and unknown farm lads, seizing books from the pile guarded by the broadly cheerful Shad and skimming them into the flames. Doremus saw his Martin Chuzzlewit fly into air and land on the burning lid of an ancient commode. It lay there open to a Phiz drawing of Sairey Gamp, which withered instantly. As a small boy he had always laughed over that drawing.

He saw the old rector, Mr. Falck, squeezing his hands together. When Doremus touched his shoulder, Mr. Falck mourned, "They took away my Urn Burial, my Imitatio Christi. I don't know why, I don't know why! And they're burning them there!"

Who owned them, Doremus did not know, nor why they had been seized, but he saw Alice in Wonderland and Omar Khayyám and Shelley and The Man Who Was Thursday and A Farewell to Arms all burning together, to the greater glory of the Dictator and the greater enlightenment of his people.

The fire was almost over when Karl Pascal pushed up to Shad Ledue and shouted, "I hear you stinkers—I've been out driving a guy, and I hear you raided my room and took off my books while I was away!"

"You bet we did, Comrade!"

"And you're burning them—burning my—"

"Oh no, Comrade! Not burning 'em. Worth too blame much, Comrade." Shad laughed very much. "They're at the police station. We've just been waiting for you. It was awful nice to find all your little Communist books. Here! Take him along!"

So Karl Pascal was the first prisoner to go from Fort Beulah to the Trianon Concentration Camp—no; that's wrong; the second. The first, so inconspicuous that one almost forgets him, was an ordinary fellow, an electrician who had never so much as spoken of politics. Brayden, his name was. A Minute Man who stood well with Shad and Staubmeyer wanted Brayden's job. Brayden went to concentration camp. Brayden was flogged when he declared, under Shad's questioning, that he knew nothing about any plots against the Chief. Brayden died, alone in a dark cell, before January.

An English globe-trotter who gave up two weeks of December to a thorough study of "conditions" in America, wrote to his London paper, and later said on the wireless for the B.B.C.: "After a thorough glance at America I find that, far from there being any discontent with the Corpo administration among the people, they have never been so happy and so resolutely set on making a Brave New World. I asked a very prominent Hebrew banker about the assertions that his people were being oppressed, and he assured me, 'When we hear about such silly rumors, we are highly amused.'"

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #sinclair lewis

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child-of-hurin · 1 year

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Fascinated myself by entertaining a crossover where two of my favorite "we have the same abusive boyfriend" ships met: The Gentleman, Emma Pole and Stephen Black & Dracula, Mina and Jonathan Harker -- before realizing I was thinking of the latter in the terms of my favorite fanfic AU for them, and not canon.

Dracula and his brides, then? But I'm not sure vampires dream.

Easiest of all, and just as interesting: Jonathan Harker, during his captivity, wandering into Lost-hope in dream, meeting Emma and Stephen across the ages... If only I had the skill to write it!

(Or meeting Emma and Stephen in current time, for a lighter mood... I had a comic WIP I lost that involved an elderly Emma meeting Stephen again in Lost-hope... But ultimately I'm more interested in the darker mood)

This also made me realize a crossover is possible with minimal timeline-bending... Setting Dracula a little earlier than when it was actually published, you can have Emma Pole be an elderly but still active lady... 100% self indulgent, as the universes are so different, but one can imagine Mina reading about this reprehensible Lady Pole who gives money and consequence to the suffragette cause :) Or Lady Pole seeing this haunted-looking couple, wondering whether they are being forced to attend some hellish, secret balls themselves.

#inane post #dracula #jonathan strange & mr norrell #emma pole

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thinkanamelater · 2 years

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*if you're a man you can still choose an option with Emma but uh she'll most likely pretend you aren't there

#jonathan strange and mr norrell #arabella strange #emma wintertowne #lady pole #flora greysteel #miss redruth #poll

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anthythesis · 2 years

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Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

@emyn-arnens and @amethysttribble thanks to you both for the tag 💖

Three ships: Legolas and Gimli from LotR, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye from Fmab, Emma Pole and Arabella Strange from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

Last song: Brand New City by Mitski

Last movie: Das Leben der Anderen (is there an english release?), watched it in german class

Currently reading: Going Postal by Terry Pratchett, and The Waves by Virginia Woolf

Currently watching: Lady Oscar/The Rose of Versailles

Currently consuming: Green tea with oat milk

Currently craving: God I wish i had cookies rn.

Tagging: @armenelols, @aredhels, @theheartofthekoko, @matrose, @lesbianhaleth and @mrmalcolmslist you guys want to!

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heyclickadee · 1 month

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Nine, “Lady Pole”

-I’m way overthinking the oblique Jane Austen mention and trying to decide if it’s referring to Jane Austen alive or Jane Austen dead, and if Jane Austen was alive when the in-universe narrator started writing the book. The last chapter of the book ends in the spring of 1817; Jane Austen died in the summer of 1817. I’m mostly wondering this because there are parts of the book later on, from what I remember, that place the narrator writing parts of at least a decade after the events of the book take place. But, if the narrator started writing shortly if it directly after the events of the story took place, then the early chapters could have been sketched out in the spring of 1817, when Jane Austen was still around—assuming that the JSMN universe’s Jane Austen died in the same year. If so, that would mean that the in-universe narrator took at least a decade to put everything together, which would mirror the author’s experience of writing the book.

-Branching off of that, one thing the narrator keeps bringing up is the sort of…eh, lesser reputation novels would have had at the time. Many of the early novelists of English literature were women, and novels were looked down on as a lesser form of literature because of it. The author obliquely brings this up a few times in the early chapters (the hypothetical magician’s disgust at realizing a novel is what he’s picked up the read, Lady Wintertowne jumping up to say that her daughter isn’t like other young ladies because she doesn’t waste her time reading novels (though, funnily enough, Walter Pole does and quite likes them), etc. Anyway, I’m bringing this up because it’s really interesting that the part of the metatextual narrative Susanna Clarke has worked into this book is that the in-universe narrator is presenting this work of serious magical scholarship…as a novel. (And yes, I know that it’s because Susanna Clarke was writing for a contemporary audience and there wasn’t really another way to do it, but she still worked the idea into the in-narrative she built around the story.)

-I do kind of love that the general public has no idea what actually happened during the resurrection of Emma Wintertowne, because Lasy Wintertowne, Emma, Walter Pole, and Norrell all refuse to talk to anyone for the whole next day AND Norrell refused to let anyone in the room while the actual resurrection was happening. In fact, we weren’t allowed in the room while the actual resurrection was happening—the book cuts directly from the Gentleman agreeing to help bring her back from the dead to Norrell telling Drawlight and Lascelles that she’s alive and asking for her mom. So, the general public gets a sensationalized version that’s 95% made up from Drawlight and Lascelles.

-Lady Wintertowne is incensed that strangers have opinions on her daughter being brought back from the dead and, for once, I agree with her (on that part, at least). We have a tendency to think of anyone with even a little bit of fame as almost like public utilities belonging to their fans—and tend to forget that they’re just people with lives who probably want to be let alone at least some of the time.

-Okay but the mental image of tiny little Norrell cornering Sir Walter on a staircase at 4 am to talk to him about how he wants to use magic to defeat the French (the napoleonic wars are happening in the background of this whole book. And eventually in the foreground). Just. Yapping the man’s ear off.

-AND Sir Walter finally growing a spine and telling his almost mother in law that they should maybe just MAYBE take Emma’s health into consideration and delay the wedding, and Lady Wintertowne going, “BUT WE ALREADY MADE ALL THE FOOD!” And it all being mute anyway since Emma feels better than she has for years. Is just. Really funny.

-“It was as if Mr. Norrell had not only restored her to life, but to twice or thrice the amount of life she had had before,” she this is why, when a spooky fairy gentleman says he’s going to take half of someone’s life in exchange for raising her from the dead, you really check the fine print to figure out what half a life is.

-There’s something very depressing about the fact that Sir Walter actually isn’t just marrying Emma for the money—he likes her company, and wants to get to know her better, but hasn’t really had a chance to do so because of how sick she’s been—but Emma has the expectation that they won’t get to know each other very well even once they’re married because of how busy he’s going to be doing government work. And she’s apparently fine with that.

-If raising Emma from the dead was Norrell’s ploy to get some traction on people paying attention to magic—to his magic, specifically—it worked. Maybe not in the way Norrell expected, but it worked.

#jonathan strange and mr norrell #JSMN reread

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sevenf1ng3rs · 2 months

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His Burden: Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Let's get fucked up

Months Later - The Day Before the Wedding

"You are not ready for what we have planned for you tonight," Maddie smiles at you, the type of smile that shows that you definitely are not ready for whatever Maddie has in store.

Oh god, I didn't think I'd be so nervous for my bachelorette party. I have no idea what Maddie's going to do; I know she can be kind of crazy sometimes... actually, more like all the time. Thank god I have Tiffany and Jade here with me and my college friends Mia, Becca, Emma, and Ashley. Hopefully, they will save me if things get too wild.

"Tonight's going to be fucking crazy," Becca says with a mischievous look in her eye.

"For real," Ashley chimes in.

"We're going fucking clubbing!" Maddie says with the same crazed look in her eye.

Jesus...

You and your friends make your way down from your and Namjoon's shared apartment wearing skimpy dresses, short skirts, and high heels. You're wearing a tight white dress with a sweetheart neckline, black heels and the necklace and ring Namjoon gave you, your friends all wearing dresses in various shades of pink. Once you step outside there's a party bus waiting for you filled with alcohol. There's a strip pole and crazy loudspeakers playing some party music.

"Woo woo," Mia yells, dancing onto the bus; everyone follows, already acting fucked up.

On the bus Maddie presents you with a plastic tiara and a sash that says "Bachelorette" in pink sparkly letters.

"I love it. Thank you, Maddie," you say, hugging her.

"Alright now let's get fucked up," Emma yells, walking over to the pole immediately.

"I second that," says Jade, standing up to join her.

As Emma and Jade work the pole expertly, Tiffany starts pouring pink sparkly gray goose shots for everyone, Mia's concoction. She used to make drinks for everyone back in college, and you shudder when you remember how strong they were. The music rages on and you and your friends start to get pretty tipsy, dancing around the bus.

"First stop, the club!!"

The bus grinds to a halt and you and your friends get off, stumbling towards the VIP line.

"Why hello Maddie," says the muscular bouncer in the front of the line.

"Hello, Ethan," Maddie says, rolling her eyes.

"What, are you still mad at me or something?" Ethan says messing around, pressing closer to her.

"Shut up and let us in," Maddie says flirting with Ethan, teasingly pushing his shoulder and showcasing her best smile.

"Alright, you ladies have a good night, and hey- congratulations," Ethan says winking at you.

"Thanks!" you say drunkenly, waltzing into the club.

Everyone coming together and celebrating you makes you feel happy, but a sad feeling lingers within your chest. It feels like you won't be able to see these people for a while. After tomorrow, everyone will go back to their normal lives.

It's fine, I'm just going to cherish this moment while it lasts.

In the club you dance for hours, drinking and socializing. You even get on the bar to dance with Becca and Ashley. Guys approach you and your friends but Tiffany and Jade hold them off. Emma manages the constant stream of alcohol into our systems and Mia cheers everyone on. It's the most fun you've had in a while, that doesn't involve fucking Namjoon. However, eventually, the night begins to wind down.

"Time for everyone to go home, especially you, you've got a big day tomorrow," says Maddie, slurring her words.

The party bus takes everyone back home and you stay with Maddie at hers.

I wonder what Namjoon did tonight. I know he was with Jin, Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Zach. They probably just drank beers and hung out at a bar the whole night.

The Same Day - Namjoon's POV

"Please don't take me anywhere crazy," Namjoon says blankly.

"Bruh, of course not," Jin says.

"We're just gonna go to the bar," Jimin adds.

"Is that good with you?" Hoseok asks.

"Perfect," Namjoon says, as he sighs in relief.

He didn't want the big, wild bachelor party that everyone seemed to want. If he sees one stripper he's seriously going to throw up. He only wanted a few hours with his boys, more like a standard hangout before the big day tomorrow.

"I'm gonna miss hanging out with you," Taehyung says once they are all settled at the bar.

"What do you mean, I'm not moving away?" Namjoon says, sipping on his whiskey.

"I know, but married life changes a person," Yoongi adds, bowing his head in respect.

"Yeah, you're not gonna wanna hang out with us that much once you reach the honeymoon stage," Jungkook pouts.

"Yeah, you'll be fucking all the tim-" Jimin starts.

"Hey, that's my sister you're talking about," Zach, cuts in, sipping on his beer and trying to forget the image that was just put in his head.

"So Zach, anyone you like?" Namjoon asks, trying to bond with his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

"Yeah, there's this one person," Zach starts.

"What's her name," Taehyung asks.

"HIS name," Zach corrects, taking another sip of his beer.

"Aye, I didn't know you liked guys," Jin says, dapping Zach up.

"Yeah, I like you, Zach, and I know you're having fun, so stop pretending you're not," says Hoseok.

"Alright yeah, you guys are chill. I don't mind that you're marrying my sister Namjoon, you seem like a good guy," Zach says, suppressing a smile.

"Thanks, Zach," Namjoon says, gleeing on the inside.

"Hey that's what I wanted to hear, now let's get a round of shots," says Jin.

The rest of the night was pretty chill, and at the end of the night, Namjoon went to sleep at Jimin's. His thoughts keep him up as he tosses and turns in bed.

Everything has to be perfect.

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crowdvscritic · 8 months

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round up // NOVEMBER 23 + DECEMBER 23 + JANUARY 24: CROWD vs. CRITIC vs. CHRISTMAS!

November and December push me to the limit—how many movies can I fit in before the end of the calendar year? In 2023 (plus a few bonus days), the answer was more than 130 new releases. And who wants to skip all of their favorite Christmas movies? Because I extend my holiday viewing into January, I fit in almost 90 this year, adding a few more to my all-time must-watch list. Once the Oscar noms were announced, I was already back to my usual shenanigans and had watched my 400th unique movie on Turner Classic Movies. Whether these statistics are cool or pathetic (erm, don’t tell me), I’m grateful for the slowness of Dump-uary and the depth that comes with thinking about the same Oscar-nominated films for several weeks. (Too bad we need to revisit Melissa Villaseñor’s Oscars snub song from SNL.)

To help sum up these three packed months, I’m resurrecting Crowd vs. Critic vs. Christmas: five crowd-pleasers, five critic picks, and five Christmas treats. Who says you can’t make these holiday recommendations part of your February entertainment?

Holiday Crowd-Pleasers

youtube

1. SNL Round Up

Studio 8H is making up for lost time after those strikes:

“Question Quest” (4906 with Emma Stone)

“Beep Beep” (4907 with Adam Driver) - #SoMidwest

“Weekend Update: Chloe Fineman’s Save the Last Dance Holiday Gift” (4907)

“Tiny A** Bag” (4907)

“Christmas Awards Cold Open” (4908 with Kate McKinnon)

"North Pole News: Killer Whale Attack” (4908)

“ABBA Christmas” (4908)

“Yankee Swap” (4908)

“Please Don't Destroy - Roast” (4910 with Dakota Johnson) - As one who still has yet to understand the appeal of the PDD guys, this resonated with me

“The Barry Gibb Talk Show: 2024 Election” (4910)

“Weekend Update: A Guy Named Ethan on the 2024 Oscars Snubs” (4910) - I am...probably only a few years away from turning into Ethan?

2. Triple Feature - Big City Crime Thrillers: No Way Out (1987) + Cop Land (1997) + Widows (2018)

The stars aligned on all of these! In No Way Out (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10), Kevin Costner is assigned to investigate the murder of his secret lover (Sean Young) in Washington D.C. The twist? The person who assigned him the case was also her lover, Secretary of Defense Gene Hackman. In Cop Land (9/10 // 7.5/10), Sylvester Stallone sheriffs a New Jersey town that houses a corrupt batch of New York City cops (including Harvey Keitel, Ray Liotta, and Robert Patrick) that Robert De Niro is investigating. In Widows (8.5/10 // 8.5/10), Viola Davis, Elizabeth Debicki, Cynthia Erivo, and Michelle Rodriguez are completing the heist that killed their husbands (including Liam Neeson) in a corrupt Chicago run by Robert Duvall, Colin Farrell, Brian Tyree Henry, and Daniel Kaluuya. All are twisty, gritty, and thrilling.

3. Godzilla Minus One (2023)

Oh no, there goes Tokyo—but at least it’s going to a spectacle as fun and well-crafted as this one. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10

4. Double Feature - ‘90s Matt Damon Dramas: School Ties (1992) + The Rainmaker (1997)

Because Matt Damon has always been good! Though he’s not always been the good guy: In School Ties (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Brendan Fraser must hide his Jewish identity to survive at a prep school in the ‘50s, and bullies like Damon are who he’s most afraid of. In The Rainmaker (9/10 // 8.5/10), Damon is the good guy as a baby-faced lawyer who wants to protect Claire Danes, Teresa Wright, and Mary Kay Place from villains like slick lawyer Jon Voight. Here’s hoping Damon has another coming-of-age movie (as a teacher) and legal thriller in his future.

5. The Jerk (1979)

Not every moment of this movie would fly if made today, but Steve Martin’s episodic adventures in his first journey away from home gave me some of my biggest laughs in months. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

More Holiday Crowd-Pleasers: Three Men and a Little Lady (1990) reminds us how much fun it is to let three charismatic movie stars (Ted Danson, Steve Guttenberg, and Tom Selleck) cook // The Mrs. Doubtfire National Tour is fluffy fun // Maggie Moore(s) (2023) is a true crime story that makes me wish Tina Fey and Jon Hamm could become the new Myrna Loy and William Powell // Quiz Lady (2023) lets Will Ferrell live out his Alex Trebek dreams // John Mulaney in Concert Tour is making me count down till his next special is released to get memes about his grandfather, his bus driver, and his son // Reacher Season 2 is the perfect action show to watch with my dad // I’m not sure if Man of the Year (2006) was prescient about the future of politics or if it just understood human nature well enough to anticipate the populist movement and election fraud conversations we’re having today, but this Robin-Williams-as-Jon-Stewart comedy is underrated // The real-world implications of V for Vendetta (2005) are…confusing, but this literary-inspired adventure is still thrilling // Desperado (1995) is an over-the-top, shoot-'em-up Western

Holiday Critic Picks

1. The Best of 2023

2023: a year of products, greed, put-upon employees, and artificial intelligence—and not just in the actors’ and writers’ strikes! It was also a great year for movies, which is why I couldn’t narrow down my list to just 10. Read my top 10 picks for 2023 movies, as well as 28 honorable mentions at ZekeFilm, and then check out the accompanying list on Letterboxd.

I also dug deeper into some of the films mentioned in my Best of 2023 in these reviews:

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes - ZekeFilm review

Maestro - ZekeFilm review

Priscilla - ZekeFilm review, KMOV review, Do You Like Apples discussion, updated Letterboxd Sofia Coppola rankings

2. Double Feature - New Baseball Documentaries: It Ain’t Over (2022) + The League (2023)

I am not a Yankees fan, so who would have guessed that the Yogi Berra documentary It Ain’t Over (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) would make me cry? And my baseball history knowledge always has room for improvement, so The League (8/10 // 9/10) is a phenomenal fix to many of my blind spots. Both are now inducted in my Baseball Movie Hall of Fame.

3. Triple Billing - Come From Away + Tina: The Tina Turner Musical + Funny Girl National Tours

Looking for a true story turned into an excellent musical? Try Come From Away, which captures the chaos of flights rerouted on 9/11 with the pathos you expect (and the comedy you don’t). Or try Tina: The Tina Turner Musical, which is one of the best—if not the best—jukebox musical I’ve seen because the songs are integrated into the story instead of just as a musical revue of a a well-known career. Or catch Funny Girl, which captures comedienne Fanny Brice’s life with the help of a powerhouse singer channeling Barbra Streisand’s powers. Better yet, I recommend not skipping any of them when they come to town if you can swing it.

4. Happiness Falls by Angie Kim (2023)

What do you do when your dad goes missing in the middle of a global pandemic and the only one who was with him when he disappeared is your non-verbal brother? That’s the central mystery of Angie Kim’s latest novel. Instead of an edge-of-your-seat-thriller, it’s a story that propels us forward with the questions that plague its characters.

5. Hollywood Victory: The Movies, Stars, and Stories of World War II by Christian Blauvelt (2021)

The Turner Classic Movies Library has yet to miss. Hollywood Victory doesn’t just provide an in-depth overview of Hollywood from 1933 to 1945. It’s an exploration of Hollywood’s inextricable relationship with American politics, its contributions that helped the Allies win the war, and a unusual but informative lens of movies and the war itself. It’s also a long set of additions to my watchlist—of the 260+ films referenced, I’ve only seen a quarter. Thank goodness for TCM and a DVR with unlimited space!

More Holiday Critic Picks: American Symphony, Chevalier, Fallen Leaves, Freud’s Last Session, and Master Gardener were all films in consideration for my Best of 2023 // Wes Anderson’s Roald Dahl short film adaptations Poison, The Rat Catcher, The Swan, and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (2023) are bite-sized, beautifully manicured delights // Debbie Reynolds paves the way the way for Kathy Bates’s Titanic role with her charismatic starring piece in the musical The Unsinkable Molly Brown (1964) // Barbara Stanwyck is wonderful as always in the melodrama All I Desire (1953) // Hail the Conquering Hero (1944) is filled with some of Preston Sturges’s most fun mixups and hijinks

Holiday Treats

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1. Ken The EP by Ryan Gosling and Mark Ronson

I don’t care if these are barely Christmas songs—let’s give Ryan Gosling seasonal updates of “I’m Just Ken” for all of 2024!

2. Mixed Nuts (1994)

Hot take: Steve Martin has not been in enough rom-coms. A kookier—but nonetheless delightful—brand of Nora Ephron stars Martin and Rita Wilson as co-workers at a crisis hotline who are clearly meant for each other. If only they—and Madeline Kahn, Juliette Lewis, Adam Sandler, Liev Schreiber, and Garry Shandling— could get out of their own way. Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

3. Fitzwilly (1967)

Christmas Ocean’s Eleven! Dick Van Dyke is as charming as ever and the vibes are as ‘60s as ever as he tries to pull off a heist at Gimbels on Christmas Eve. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

4. Metropolitan (1990)

Before Chris Eigeman was Jason Stiles on Gilmore Girls, he was essentially playing the same character in Whit Stillman’s comedy riff on The Great Gatsby. A young, bougie group is attempting to survive debutante season (also the Christmas season), debating the pros and cons of wealth and falling in and out of romance. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

5. The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek (1944)

Hollywood Victory informed me I’m not the only who can’t believe this was allowed to play for audiences in 1944! Betty Hutton marries a soldier on a whim, but the next morning she can’t remember which one. Her BFF with an unrequited crush (Eddie Bracken) is the only one who can help her figure out who her husband—and the father of her child—is before the scandal gets out and destroys her reputation. Because this is a Preston Sturges feature, it’s actually a hilarious quest. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

More Christmas Treats: Klaus (2019) is a hidden gem on Netflix // Okay, the ick factor in Susan Slept Here (1954) is real, but Dick Powell and Debbie Reynolds are just so darn charming! // 8-Bit Christmas (2021) is a better-than-it-needed-to-be update of A Christmas Story featuring a Nintendo instead of a BB gun // How did I never see Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992) all the way through before this year? Once I realized I’d missed some scenes in my umpteen cable watches over the years, it shot up on my John Hughes rankings // Pocketful of Miracles (1961) is a delightful Cinderella tale that proves Bette Davis always had it

Also this Holiday Season…

I reviewed even more new movies, including Next Goal Wins (ZekeFilm), The Marvels (KMOV), and the new Mean Girls musical (ZekeFilm)

The St. Louis Film Critics Association nominated and voted on our Best of 2023 films. You can see every winner and every film we nominated on Letterboxd, and you can read my summary of how I voted here on Crowd vs. Critic. Keep scrolling if you’re on the home page to my last post, or read it here.

Photo credits: Funny Girl, Happiness Falls, Hollywood Victory. All others IMDb.com.

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thewidowstanton · 9 months

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The Widow's Best of 2023

Jane Hobson 2023: Following such a desperate year for so many in the world this quotation by Nietzsche seems pertinent. "We have art in order not to die of the truth." So, in an effort to uplift whoever might read this, here's a somewhat curtailed list of a few of our favourite things we've seen this year. It wasn't the hottest time for live shows; we walked out of five! One every few years, maybe, but five! Disappointing. However we still managed to find some wonderful things, not all of them new. Let's begin with…

MOST SPECTACULAR: Phelim McDermott's Akhnaten at the London Coliseum. We'd been asked so many times: "Have you seen Akhnaten?" No, we hadn't but now we have and, OK, it's a Philip Glass opera (pictured above and below) but really, with a set by Tom Pye and costumes by Kevin Pollard it's a full-on feast for the senses, with the ever-inventive Gandini Juggling, choreographed by Sean Gandini, doing what they do best.

Jane Hobson BEST CIRCUS SHOW: Cirque Le Roux's thrilling and ambitious Entre Chiens et Louves – staged at Le Bon Marché department store in Paris (take note Selfridges) – took our breath away even without the sublime Lolita Costet in the cast; and Circa's Humans II at the Queen Elizabeth Hall at London's Southbank Centre.

COMPANY TO WATCH: Hoops Désolé! A “crazy” six-strong troupe of artists drawn from the circus school in Quebec, Cirque du Soleil and Cirque Éloize.

Emma Kauldhar BEST DANCE: Wayne McGregor’s Woolf Works at London’s Royal Opera House, with the mesmerising Alessandra Ferri, who at 59 was the same age as Virginia Woolf when she died. Another dancer with astonishing longevity is the Spanish Lucía Lacarra, now 48, who appeared in the Ballet Icons Gala at the London Coliseum.

BEST SHOWBIZ MEMOIR: Walking Through Walls by performance artist Marina Abramović; Do It For Your Mum by Roy Wilkinson, then manager of his brothers' band British Sea Power.

MOST TERRIFYING: He's done some daring things in his time and on World Circus Day Hungarian high-wire artist Laci Simet performed a sensational walk across the River Danube – 40 metres up in the wind – with only a balance pole to keep him safe.

BEST FILM: German film Afire or Roter Himmel by Christian Petzold (he’ll never let you down); Babak Jalali’s Fremont, set in a fortune cookie factory; and the Mexican film The Empty Hours directed by Aarón Fernández.

BEST ARCHIVE PIC: Josephine Baker and Dalida at L’Olympia music hall in Paris in 1968. A legendary pair!

LONGEST-SERVING FEMALE DJ: Texan Mary McCoy, who at 85 has been on the air for almost 72 years, and entered the Guinness Book of Records.

BEST DESERT ISLAND DISCS CASTAWAY: Actor/comedian/writer and so on, Adrian Edmondson; snooker star Ronnie O’Sullivan.

MOST INSPIRING: The Maricarmen dance school in Chorrillos, south of Lima, in Peru, run by retired dancer Maria del Carmen Silva, offers free classes to girls of all abilities from low-income areas.

BEST DOCUMENTARY: Never Be a Punching Bag for Nobody by indie rock musician Naomi Yang; My Indiana Muse, in which artist Robert Townsend discovers his Kodachrome muse, Helen.

FOND FAREWELL: Actor David McCallum, who, as The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’s Illya Kuryakin was an enduring heartthrob for a certain generation of girls and women. Closer to home the UK lost its leading circus director, Phillip Gandey (above), at 67, whose shows – including Cirque Surreal, The Chinese State Circus and The Lady Boys of Bangkok – were always far and away the most creative and exciting; and The Circus of Horrors – a show I reviewed more times than any other, except perhaps Cirque du Soleil – lost its co-creator and frontman, Doktor Haze (below) at 66. Along with Gerry Cottle, they were notable as two of the nicest circus men I met during my reviewing years, and are greatly missed.

LAST WORD: It wouldn't be a Widow Stanton 'Best of' without some showgirls. This picture was taken by the Argentinian photographer Luisita Escarria, who with her sister Chela, documented all the artists appearing in revues in Buenos Aires from 1958 to 2009. Their story and wondrous archive might have been lost had it not been rescued by filmmakers Sol Miraglia and Hugo Manso. Their documentary Foto Estudio Luisita will warm your heart… and fortunately both the sisters lived long enough to see it.

Compiled by Liz Arratoon

#Best of 23 #Akhnaten #Woolf Works #Gandini Juggling #Hoops Desole #phillip gandey #Doktor Haze #circus of horrors #Foto Studio Luisita

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setaripendragon · 5 years

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Freedom to Chuse

Sorry I haven’t been posting much lately. I’ve fallen head-first into a new fandom, and most everything I’ve been writing has been such self-indulgent nonsense that I daren’t post it XD I think I’m starting to get it out of my system, though, so hopefully there might even be some other Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fics from me soon. I finished watching the series for the second time a couple of days ago, and this just sort of poured out of me at 3am. I don’t know why, but I actually really like Sir Walter? Idk, maybe it’s that bit at the end where he’s like ‘Emma has said she’d rather be dead than as she is now, so I’m going to do everything in my power to help her, even if it might kill her’, like dayum son, now that is how you respect a lady’s autonomy. (I know he kind of cocked that up, too, but, idk, so many people in that show were running around not giving two figs what anybody else wanted, it felt poignant all the same.) So, yeah, post-series (with some influence from the book which I’m currently half-way through), Walter/Emma renegotiating their marriage after everything.

Lady Emma Pole – Miss Emma Wintertowne, as she thought she might rather be from now on – sat at her vanity, waiting for her maid to come and help her begin packing for her trip to the continent. There was a tentative knock at the door, and Emma sighed, irrationally irritated by the delicate caution everyone seemed to be treating her with of late. “Yes, yes, Sarah, come in.” She called impatiently.

The door clicked open, and an entirely unfeminine voice said; “It is not Sarah.” Emma startled, and turned her head to see Walter standing in the doorway, an oddly sheepish, wry little smile curling his mouth. The tentative humour was an expression that suited him, Emma thought, but it slipped away almost as soon as she had thought it, replaced with a touch of strain about the eyes and lips pressed into a tight line. He cleared his throat softly. “May I come in?” He requested, and only then did Emma realise that he had, indeed, been staying just the other side of the threshold.

“Yes, of course.” Emma replied, feeling just a little uncertain herself, now. True, this was her room, and true, her earlier permission had been for Sarah, and not for him, but… It was Walter’s house, and she had given permission for him to enter.

Walter stepped inside, reached for the door as if to close it behind him, and then hesitated. He looked to Emma, one eyebrow raised, indicating the door in question. Asking… for permission? Emma was not quite sure, but she nodded regardless, and Walter swung the door shut gently, before proceeding a little further into the room. His expression settled, then, smoothed out, and Emma recognised it as the one he often wore in the mornings, on his way out the door to parliament. It was how he looked when he was readying himself for a fight, if only a verbal one, and it made Emma tense up in answer.

Perhaps Walter noticed, because he was half way through saying “I wanted t-” before he stopt mid-word, and closed his mouth so fast his teeth clicked, looking unsettled. He cast about for a moment, leaving Emma more tense than ever and even more bewildered, before he asked, in an unusually quiet sort of voice; “Perhaps I- That is, may I please sit?” He asked, gesturing to a neglected little chair in the corner.

Emma blinked, thrown once again entirely off-kilter, but nodded slowly. Walter retrieved the chair from its corner, and sat. There was a little less than half the room between them, still, and Emma began to realise that everything she had taken for a very strange hesitance in a man who was master of his own home was actually consideration. He had not entered her space without an explicit invitation, he had not closed the door – and sealed her only escape route – without her permission, and he was now keeping a distance between them, sitting to avoid looming over her, hesitating to speak while she was still so tense.

It was a stilted attempt at kindness, and Emma felt herself bending in the face of it, if only a little. “What is it, Walter?” She asked, trying to gentle her tone in turn, even if she wasn’t at all sure she succeeded.

Walter tried for a smile, although it sat uneasily on his face. “Ah, I have come to apologise.” He said, simple and to the point, but it still made Emma’s jaw clench. Apologies were worse than useless to her, and she did not care to hear them, but before she could say as much, Walter raised his hands, palm out, to stop her. Emma might not have, even then, except the gesture was eerily reminiscent of a surrender, and it stalled her just long enough for him to say; “Please, my d- Emma, if I may- please, hear me out.”

He was begging. Awkward as a man entirely unaccustomed to begging, but still sincere. She could tell it was sincere, because even though she didn’t speak for nearly a full minute, watching him in confusion and suspicion, he didn’t press his point. He waited, once again, for her permission. “Alright.” She agreed, slumping back in her chair and bracing herself. She could at least hear him out. His consideration for her had earned him that much in turn, she supposed.

Walter took a deep breath, and then began to speak. It had the air of a rehearsed speech, but Emma suspected it was not so much planned as simply something that he had been thinking over for a long time – perhaps all day – trying and retrying his words until he had a more solid idea of the shape of his arguments.

“I know it does you little good now, and I am not- That is to say, I have not come here in any way expecting your forgiveness. But I must at least tell you how… how desperately sorry I am for my part in all you have suffered.” He began, and then paused. He could not meet her eyes, Emma noticed. He was speaking mostly to the wall over her shoulder, hands pressed together as if in prayer between his knees, elbows braced upon his thighs.

It took another cleared throat before he could continue. “I will offer you no justifications or platitudes, I know we’re both aware that I thought I was doing the best thing I could, at the time, but-” His eyes flickered to hers for a brief moment over a rueful grimace. “But I was wrong. I could have done better, I should have been a better husband to you. I should have listened, I should not have jumped to conclusions, I should not have trusted Norrell. I should not have prevented Mrs Strange from visiting, I should not have confined you.” He paused, head tilted a little, and then tried for a smile. “I will not say I should not have sent you to Starecross, because I rather think that was one of the better choices I made, even if it was not wholly mine, nor did I have any idea how beneficial it would be in the end.”

Emma snorted, moved to humour even if it was of a dark sort, and she thought she saw Walte’s smile turn relieved before he ducked his head to hide it. “It was not as though I could have told you what was happening, even had you been listening.” She pointed out. It was not exactly forgiveness, but she could not deny that she could understand, if only begrudgingly, why had had acted as he had. “And I was…” She paused, and tried to find the right word. “…a little erratic in my behaviour.”

“You were desperate.” Walter interjected, in the tone of one dismissing a point raised by the opposition.

Emma looked at him for a long moment, long enough to have his eyebrows rising in confused surprize. It almost made her smile, although there was a sardonic twist to her lips that ruined the expression, she thought. “So were you.”

Walter laughed at that, a tiny huff of bitter amusement as he dropped his head again to stare down at his hands. “Perhaps so, but still, I- I find myself running back over the things I did and the choices I made, and seeing- seeing so many better options. I should have trusted you, should have trusted that you were not simply lost to rationality, that you knew your own mind, and if- if you were having problems, then you might know how best to fix them, not I.”

Emma found she had nothing to say to that, because he was right, and they both knew it. He caught her eye for a moment, and smiled again, bitter and knowing, and nodded. “As I said, I do not ask for your forgiveness. I do not deserve it. I only wished to tell you that I will endeavour to do better from now on.”

That made Emma frown, because she thought she had made it clear, this morning, that she would not be staying in Harley Street, that she would not be staying with him. She was free of the Gentleman with the Thistle-Down Hair, and by god, she would be free of all others, too, even her husband. “If this is your way of attempting to convince me to stay-” She began, heatedly.

“It is not.” Walter interrupted. Emma glared at him for that, but now he was meeting her stare, level and solemn. It was not a challenge, not quite, but it was a sort of defiance. It felt like he was daring her to find any hint of deceit in his countenance, and she had to admit she couldn’t.

“What is it, then?” Emma demanded, feeling frustrated and confused. “What do you want?”

Walter sighed again, and Emma glared at him impatiently. “I want you to know that I never wished for your confinement. I never desired your obedience.” Emma scoffed, and Walter shook his head in a frustration of his own. “Yes, sometimes I may have wished that you would listen to me, but do not mistake a momentary frustration for any sort of desire for your subservience!” He snapped, startling Emma. His loss of temper seemed to startle him as well, and he slumped back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. “Forgive me, Emma, I did not mean to shout.” He sighed.

Emma considered that, and then decided rather than offering forgiveness, she would ignore the loss of composure. “You locked me up when I would not do as you wished.” She pointed out.

“Because I was afraid you would do yourself harm.” Walter replied wearily. “But… Emma, before things turned- I loved you for your spiritedness, for your boldness and, yes, even your defiance.” He smiled then, such a gentle and tender expression that Emma found herself utterly struck by it. “If you wish to go to the continent, Emma, I will not stop you. If you wish to never step foot in this house again, I will not make you. If- If you wish never to see my face again, I shall not- I shall not impose upon you.” That last caused him pain just to utter, Emma could see it, could hear it in the way his voice broke, and she swallowed against her own emotions as they tried to rise to meet his. “But I could not bear the thought of you leaving while you still believed that I-” He stopt and shook his head, apparently unable to find words.

Still, Emma thought she understood what he was trying to say. “And if I wished to slit my own wrists again?” She asked him, coldly.

Walter’s head jerked up, eyes wide with very real fear, and Emma almost felt sorry for doing this to him, but she could not – she would not – let him believe that he was not her gaoler by telling himself pretty lies about how he would safeguard her free will, so long as what she willed was acceptable. “E-Emma?” He asked, voice shaking.

“If I wished, sir, to take my own life, would you stop me?” She demanded. And then she rose to her feet, unable to remain sitting, and began to pace. “If I wished to- to take up magic as a hobby, would you stop me? If I wished to bathe naked in the Thames, would you stop me?”

“I do not-” Walter began, looking thoroughly taken-aback, and Emma was suddenly furious with him for it. She strode across the room to him, stood over him, looming quite deliberately in the way he refused to do to her, and stared him down.

“What are the limits, sir? Where is the line? You’ll respect my freedom, you say, but is it truly unconditional, or is it simply a greater degree of freedom, until? Until what? Until I hurt myself again? Until I shame you? Until I harm you? Until I harm someone else? At what point will you decide, once again, that I am clearly mad and should be locked away at the mercy of men and strangers?!”

“I-” Walter began, and then stopt, looking deeply distressed. “I do take your point, Emma.” He acknowledged carefully, and Emma wanted to scream at him. “But you- No, that is not- For god’s sake, Emma, what would you have me say?”

“The truth.” Emma demanded. “Be honest with me, Walter. How far does your belief in my freedom extend?”

Walter ran his hands over his face, looking rather wild-eyed. “It is not as though it is solely up to me, Emma. At least some of the things you asked about are crimes. Good Lord, what do you expect would happen if you tried to shoot someone again?! They’d hang you!”

“I’m not asking about them!” Emma yelled, sudden and far louder than anything else they’d said so far, even when their tempers got the better of them. Walter flinched. Emma took a breath, and lowered her voice. “I’m not asking the law, Walter, I’m asking you.” Her voice shook, and she hated the weakness it betrayed. “Do you truly wish to champion my freedom to act as I chuse, or is it simply that now that you expect me to once again act within the bounds you have determined as reasonable, you feel you can offer me the illusion of it and so gain yourself some peace of mind?”

Walter did not answer straight away, only staring at her with wide, stunned eyes. Emma was content to wait. She did not want him to blurt out the first answer he wanted to be true. She wanted him to truly think about it, to question his own resolve now, and not at a moment later, when she would be depending on him to have her back, and he would falter.

In that moment, she had a revelation of her own. She wanted him to be sincere. It was a shock, because in the wake of her imprisonment and her newly regained freedom, she had forgotten a time, before the enchantment, before magic, that Walter had been… someone she had thought would be very easy to love. It was different, now, of course. Then, she would not have railed so fiercely against restrictions of any sort, she would have accepted his authority over her as her husband because that was simply how things were done. She could not accept anything of the sort, now, but she was not a different person. She was not so thoroughly changed that there wasn’t a small kernel of longing in her, for the sort of companionship and affection they had shared so briefly before the enchantment took its toll.

She was startled out of her thoughts when Walter moved. Her jaw sagged open as he shifted forwards, slid off the chair entirely, and lowered himself to one knee before her. “Emma.” He began, his voice suffused with feeling. “I cannot promise that I will not argue with you, that I will not fight you with words if ever you chuse to do something I do not agree with. But I give you my word that I’ll never again attempt to restrain you by force, no matter what you chuse to do.”

Emma’s eyes stung, but she found herself smiling regardless. She felt shaky and giddy and a little wild. She reached out and brushed her fingers over Walter’s cheek, her heart skipping a beat when he turned his face into her touch just a little. “Good. You know, I think I should enjoy arguing with you, on occasion.” She mused through a growing smile.

Walter laughed, a little shaky himself, but he was also smiling up at her with a joyful light in his eyes. “I am at your service.” He promised, half joking, and half very much not. Emma thrilled with it, biting her lip on a grin that was taking a turn towards the wicked, and then bent down to kiss him.

#Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell #Sir Walter Pole #Lady Emma Pole #Is there a ship name for them?#Walter/Emma

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