#mick rouse

[mickrouse]

Dark Kingdom by Zach Baron

GQ, April/May '24

[oldcountrybear1955]

Instinct Magazine’s 2014 Calendar - December - Mick Rouse photographed by Vincent Dilio

[shaarlslec]

birthday flowers

words: 2345

requested by anon: "every year on her birthday, someone leaves flowers and a gift on her doorstep before the clock strikes midnight"

notes: hi! there was no name for the request but i totally pictured this cute idea with mick and i hope you like it this way! <3; just pure fluff, and nothing else;

masterlist

You were in awe each time you kissed him that your stomach still twirled in twists as if your mouths never knew each other until then.

It is your 26th birthday party, and you have decided at Mick’s pleadings to host it at your favorite restaurant.

You opposed at first, all you wanted was a small casual party in your apartment, and yet your boyfriend insisted for days to bring all your friends and family there assuring you that he is going to organize every single little detail.

You never had been able to resist those big blue gentle eyes begging something from you, therefore Mick’s request could not be ignored.

Arrived there, seeing the whole place filled with all giggles, chuckles and smiles, dancing hands in the air and clicks of glasses, friends, and families all together indulging in food and drinks, you were more than satisfied with the whole idea of hosting the party in there rather than your apartment which would have been heavily crowded with even this little people. 

“You were right,” You say at Mick’s ear as you tightened the distance in between your bodies, dancing on some slow blues song playing, “This was the better choice,” You continue, hands around your boyfriend’s neck as you lose your fingers in the boy’s blonde locks, “Thank you for renting it out, no more gifts aside from this party – have I made myself understood?” You speak, trying to sound as demanding as you can, but losing it instantly as Mick locks lips with yours, smiling into the kiss. 

You chuckle too, a rush thought entering your mind as you taste the sweetest laid still on the top of your lips after Mick departs. This is everything you dreamed of. You have someone to slow dance with, giggle after a short clash of lips and for whose taste to still linger although you’ve known it for almost ten years now. You were in awe each time you kissed him that your stomach still twirled in twists as if your mouths never knew each other until then. Mick too, was stunned, as he always is, by the sound of your laughs so close to his ears sounding better than any evergreen blues tunes.  

“Yes, sure.” Mick nudge, and you can tell by the way his corners lift in a smirk that he is full-blown lying into your face, “No more gifts.” He smiles, and you amusingly shake your head knowing it is all lies. 

You cup his cheeks to kiss him again, and the song stops. The only thing surrounding you now are your friends’ murmurs, “Take your cuteness somewhere else, please.” One of them pleads, you and Mick rolling your eyes at his words. 

“Oh please,” Another one interrupts, watching you as you swirl your arm around Mick’s and lean your head against the man’s shoulder, “They’ve been like this since high school, they cannot keep their hands off each other.” She continues, eyeing Mick as he leans in to kiss the top of your head. 

“Cannot help it.” Mick says, fingers tightening into yours as another song starts playing and he beats the taps on the back of your hand, “I mean,” Your boyfriend stops and stares at you head to toes, “Who could?” He sarcastically intones, and you cannot help yourself but timidly smile like in any other times when he compliments you in front of other people. Yes, it had been years – and still.

One of Mick’s friends drags his arm around your boyfriend’s neck after you thank him in a whisper, and you both turn into their direction as he speaks, “Let me tell you something about these two love birds right here, folks.” He begins, rousing curious glares from everybody around you as the one who speaks is Mick’s best friend, one of the few people who had been witnessing your relationship from start to now, and one of yours and Mick’s biggest fans while also being the one who’s been rolling his eyes the hardest at every little corny interaction in between the two of you, “I have never knew that someone can be so smitten over a girl until Mick met our birthday girl right here.” He says, spilling a few drops of wine from his glass as he points at you, “Does everybody here know the flowers story?” He inquires in loud voice to grab the attention on your conversation, “It is one of my favorite love stories, and as a hopeless romantic – I have heard them all.” He speaks, departing from Mick to join the people in front the two of you who were unaware of the tell. 

You and Mick laugh – the story was your favorite too. You have plenty, ten years together gave you lots of stories to tell. Some romantic, some hilarious, and some hurtful. And yet, the story of the innocent twelve-years old Mick leaving flowers at your door before midnight on your birthday for the first time was your most special one. 

You’ve lived next to Mick Schumacher for the eternity of your life. Your families knew each other, and they often got invited for lunches, dinners, barbeques, birthday parties and so on. You two were the same age, thus your families always paired you two in sharing toys, watching television, or simply running after each other in the yard. You were against the idea at first as two stubborn children, and yet with time and a lot of patience from your parents, you’ve learned to share your favorite coloring books and trucks, splash each other with water balloons and talk about what shapes the clouds in the sky have. 

Mick was the first one to figure out that the girl who visited their home during the weekends was not simply his neighbor – he was falling in love without even knowing what love is or why his cheeks turned red when you kissed him goodbye. Mick started small, stealing all kind of flowers from the back yard of his house and leaving them in front of your door for your birthday, and that was only because you told him one time to not step on the flowers planted in the backyard because they might, as well as you and him, have some sort of a soul inside for them to blossom in such pretty colors. 

“So, do you think that their colors match their souls?” Little Mick asked you then, both of you carefully analyzing the flowers in his backyard.  

You nodded, “That is the only explanation.” You spoke with the strongest belief a twelve-years-old child could have into your tone, “They are all so pretty – I cannot pick one.” You added, pointing to the little field of flowers ahead of you. 

Mick pondered your theory for a while, “What color do you think our souls are, then?” He asked, looking at your face with attention now as he was analyzing all the colors on your face: your skin, your rosy cheeks, your hair, and the pink of your lips – getting all flustered as you caught him staring. 

“All of them, I think.” You replied with another nod, “I mean – I am pretty sure yours is a rainbow.” You judged for a while, taking the boys’ cheeks into your hands, “With a whole lot of blue in it, that is for sure.” You added with a smile, watching his clear blue-sky eyes searching for more shades of pink on your face. 

That was when the little boy felt the urge for the first time to kiss you, without having no idea about what that meant. Yes, Mick has seen his parents kiss, and tight their hands around each other’s bodies, and laugh at incompressible jokes. That afternoon in the garden is when Mick had decided that you were the person with whom he wanted to do all those things, having no idea that there was a learning curve in all of that. Therefore, Mick pursed the idea in the years that followed by letting you know thinly about his little crush, being too shy to confess his feelings before ever knowing what a confession was. 

Your parents were the ones to watch him struggling with silently jumping over your common fence to leave the flowers at the entrance of your house. The next day after watching you happily jumping around after receiving flowers from “a secret admirer” (as your parents' told you), they went and told Mick’s parents'. For whole years your parents were thrilled of Mick’s act in all its cuteness, and they complotted for you to never find out until you figured out for yourself that you were in love with Mick too on your own, without any interference from the adults in your life. 

That happened four years after that, four years during which the flowers never stop arriving at your door for your birthday accompanied by small gifts such as electric trucks, coloring books and all the things Mick knew you liked. 

“Mom,” You spoke with a frail voice, watching Mick helping his father water the plants in the garden across the fence, “How do you know you are in love?” You questioned, eyeing Mick’s upper body completely uncovered, feeling your knees getting weak as the boy waved at you from the garden. 

Your mother caught your glare, as well as your teeth jabbing into your upper lip waving back at your “friend”, “I think you already know, darling.” She spoke, eyebrows amusingly twitching up, “I think you should stay up tonight, and that is how you will find out for sure.” She teased, returning to her book as you pulled yours closed to your chest following the cutest boy next door with your glare who was quick in stealing your glance on him, and even quicker to throw you a cheeky smile. 

You listened to your mother that night before your birthday, hopping that your senses were right and that the one to leave flowers at your door was no one else but him. Turning off the lights, you unwearyingly watched the porch from your window with your heart up to your throat that almost erupted when you spotted the boy’s silhouette into the dim darkness of your house.   

Legs rushed almost as fast as the beats of your heart down the stairs, waking up your parents in the process. They chuckled in their bed, “Mick’s here.” Your mother spoke, agreeing to go back to sleep in a minute or so as they knew that their daughter is in safe hands, and that she will forever be in the saftest that there exist. 

You opened the door wide just to collide with Mick’s startled figure after carefully placing on the mat the most exquisite bouquet of flowers you have ever seen or received. All shapes and colors, odors, and perfumes in front of you. The one in which you wanted to engulf the most was Mick’s, still. 

“Hi.” Mick’s shaky spoke, “I –” He blocked, stumbling on each word that was on his mind. A confession – that was all Mick had to do. And yet, you were standing so beautifully there in front of him with such an inebriating smile up to your ears, “I—” Mick tried again, and now was interrupted by your hurdling arms around him, holding him the closer to you that the boy has ever been. 

“I knew that it was you.” You murmured, head buried at Mick’s chest as his hands awkwardly wrapped against your body too, “I wished for my secret admirer to be you this whole time.” You confessed, head up now to watch him staring back at you with bright flickers inside those eyes of his. 

Mick laughed, placing one of his palms against your cheek with care as if there was something to break on your face, “I am glad you liked the flowers, and the other gifts.” 

You nodded, “What you got me this year besides the flowers?” You inquired, tiptoeing close to the boy’s mouth, the rosiness of his cheeks turning bright red. 

The secret admirer shyly so tittered again, “I thought about something different this year.” He gulped leaning towards you, “May I kiss you?” Mick asked, uncaging the butterflies from your stomach through your whole being.

You nodded right away, “Please do so.” You spoke, your lips brushing against Mick’s for the first time. 

Mick never stopped kissing you since then, and you never stopped enjoying every single brush of lips that provoked twists of stomachs and tingles on tips of your fingers. Even now, as Mick’s lips rest on your shoulder in the back of the car driving you home, you feel the tingles and all the emotions that have not faded since you were sixteen. You were living your teenage dream again, and again, and again with the one who thought you love. 

“That was fun.” You speak, watching Mick unlocking the door of your apartment, “And yet, I cannot wait to just take this dress off and jump into bed – completely naked, but completely tired.” You whimper in almost a sob after a short sly wink towards him, and Mick cannot help but be swept of his feet as he hears your little complains and attempt of flirting. 

“Not yet.” He speaks, switching the light on your hall waiting for you to gasp at the sight of your apartment. 

Flowers, everywhere. 

All kind, all shapes and all colors waiting for you two to step into the living room. You cover your mouth with both of your hands, you were basically walking into a huge floor shop that has moved into the apartment, “Mick, these are –” You breathlessly try to speak as you figure out that were the exact type of flowers that Mick’s mother grew in her backyard, the ones that they boy stolen from you throughout the years you were neighbors.

Mick hugs you from behind, placing a kiss underneath your left ear into which he whispers, “You said you cannot pick one, so I bought them all.” Mick murmurs, sending tingles throughout your spine with one more kiss, “Happiest of birthdays, from your not-so-secret admirer.” 

[callivich]

A little birthday morning ficlet for Ian’s birthday! 🎉🎂🎁

——

“Hey.” Kiss. “Happy.” Kiss. “Birthday.” Kiss.

Ian is gently roused from his sleep by his husband hovering over him, pressing soft kisses to his face. He smiles, eyes still closed, and enjoys the warmth of his bed and the comforting weight of Mickey half on top of him.

“I know you’re awake, asshole.” Kiss. “Open your eyes.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to call me an asshole on my birthday.”

“Hmm, ok. Open your eyes, Gallagher.”

“Oh, last name? Too formal. Nope.”

“Fuckin’…..Ian, husband, open your eyes.”

That does it and he’s greeted with the sight of a smiling Mickey wearing a shiny party hat. “Oh. Love the hat.”

“Mmm. Knew you’d like it. This is a one day only thing and I’m not letting anyone else see me wear it.”

Ian adjusts it and strokes his hands down Mickey’s face. “You look very cute, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Thought last names were too formal. And I’m not fuckin’ cute.”

“You are. And it’s my birthday so I can say and do whatever I want.”

“I’m beginning to regret promising you that.”

“Too late. C’mere.” He drags Mickey closer for a kiss, letting his hands wander down his husband’s body.

“What do you want first - your birthday breakfast or your birthday breakfast?” A wink and the subtle grind of his hips let Ian know that the second phrase is not food related.

Ian grins and is about to choose the second when his stomach rumbles. He laughs and Mickey jumps off him. “Guess that settles it. Wait here, birthday boy.”

Shuffling up so he can rest his back against the headboard, he can’t stop smiling. He hears his phone pinging with messages that are probably all from his family but those can wait. Birthday mornings are always a husband-only event. They’ll be plenty of time for family at the dinner tonight.

Mickey returns with a tray - one that Ian has never seen before and it warms his heart that Mickey has either bought or stolen it especially for him. He places the tray on Ian’s lap and settles on the bed next to him.

Ian knows he’s being stupid but he begins to tear up a little bit at what’s on the tray. Coffee steaming hot with a splash of milk, just how he likes it, in the ‘world’s best husband’ mug, his medication for the morning, and a plate of donuts resting on top of colourful paper napkins covered in ‘happy birthday’.

“Chocolate creams. Got ‘em from that fancy place that just opened up.”

They look so good - round and fluffy, decorated with glossy chocolate and in red icing a tomato shape and the word ‘Ian ❤️’.

“The icing is strawberry and the chocolate is apparently some special stuff. Organic or whatever. If you don’t like them, I can run out to Sweet Susan’s-”

“Mick. I love them.”

“No crying.”

“I’m not. I’m just happy.”

“Ok. I’ll allow it.” He swipes a thumb under each of Ian’s eyes. “Now try one before I eat them all.”

Ian moans in delight as he takes the first bite, they’re still slightly warm which means Mickey got up early to run out and pick them up. (He tries to stop himself from tearing up again.) The donut is better than any he’s had before - the dough is light and airy, the filling creamy and rich, and the topping is just the perfect amount of sweet. He eats two and contemplates a third one but decides to save it for later.

Mickey goes and gets his own cup of coffee and comes back to nestle into Ian’s side. They talk about the family dinner later that night and what Ian wants to do for the rest of the day. After presents, of course. Mickey downplays them but Ian can tell he’s put a lot of thought into them.

“You want them now or-”

“Maybe after the rest of my birthday breakfast?”

“Oh.” Mickey grins, taking the tray and placing it on the floor. “Yeah, the donuts were just the uh…appetiser.”

“Uh-huh.” Ian’s wriggling out of his boxers. Mickey’s doing the same but then he reaches for the hat. “No. The hat stays on.”

“Why?”

“Want you to ride me wearing the party hat.”

“Of course you do.” He laughs and climbs into Ian’s lap, naked apart from the hat. “Happy Birthday lover.”

“Thank you, lover.”

[thegroovywitch]

HELLO???? JIMMY JUST RELEASED 'THE RAIN SONG' DEMO OUT OF THE BLUE????

From his website:

My original idea for the opening tracks for ‘Houses of the Holy’ was that a short overture would be a rousing instrumental introduction with layered electric guitars that would segue in to ’The Seasons’, later to be titled ‘The Rain Song’. Again there would be a contrasting acoustic guitar instrumental movement with melotron that could lead to the first vocal of the album and the first verse of the song.

‘The Seasons’ was a memo to myself as a reminder of the sequence of the song and various ideas I’d had for it in its embryonic stage. I’d worked on it over one evening at home. During the routining of the overture now titled ‘The Plumpton and Worcester Races’, the half time section was born and the overture shaped in to the song, ‘The Song Remains The Same’. These rehearsals were done in Puddle Town on the River Piddle in Dorset, UK.

The first set of recordings were done at Olympic Studios with George Chkiantz.

We then came to record at Stargroves, Sir Mick Jagger’s country home, and, like Headley Grange, with the Rolling Stones recording truck.

‘The Song Remains The Same’ was played on a Fender 12 string, the same one used on Becks Bolero, with my trusty Les Paul number 1 on overdubs in a standard turning. The ‘Rain Song’ was an unorthodox tuning on acoustic and electric guitars. On live shows, it became a work-out feature for the double neck.

[wolfblood-of-anubis]

HOA Among Us Gameplay

Seasons Greetings! Are you a House of Anubis fan? Do you find yourself wanting a chance to experience being the characters themselves? Did you play the Among Us game at some point in your life? Do you want to unite with your fellow HOA fans and accuse them of murder?

Well, this is the place for you!

Listen, as Sibuna followers we’re on top of anything spooky and creepy. Let’s put ourselves to the test and have a nice gameplay of Among Us. Maybe three rounds, maybe more depending how we’re feeling after.

We play as characters, try to be in character for as long as possible. If you’re Fabian or Nina, be super sleuthy. If you’re Patricia never stop accusing people or causing fights. If you’re Jerome… you’re probably the impostor.

When?

On December 27th, on 5PM AST (time is a default and available to change if contacted) we shall connect and play a rousing game of Among Us, dress up and name ourselves after our chosen HOA character and figure out the two imposters among us. You heard that right, folks! Two imposters.

I will be posting the game entry code 10 minutes before we begin so everyone can get settled.

Which Among Us map will we explore?

Map will be The Airship (it has a very Anubis House vibe to it). But since it’s also larger than most, I suggest practice playing it solo. For more information, please DM me and I can teach you how. If not, the map can always go back to the original setting: The Skeld.

Now, who are you going to be?

There are 15 slots for a full Among Us gameplay and if we have more than 15 people interested, I suggest to repeat the activity with the others the next day on Dec. 23rd. Anyone interested in replaying can do so as well if there are slots available for the next day.

Until then, the characters provided are listed below. Please write in the replies if you are interested and which character you would like to play as! Remember that this is a commitment for December 22nd!

characters not available will be crossed off

Nina Martin - @incorrectsibunaquotes

Fabian Rutter - @fakeosirian

Patricia Williamson

Amber Millington - @find-y0ur-j0y

Alfie Lewis - @wolfblood-of-anubis

Jerome Clarke

Joy Mercer - @katexxr

Eddie Miller

KT Rush

Mara Jaffray

Willow Jenks

Mick Campbell

Trudy Rehmann

Victor Rodenmarr Jr.

Whoever picks this spot gets to choose from the rest of the many side characters/recurring characters over the years. Examples include but not limited to:

Poppy

Piper

Rufus

Sarah

Vera

Mr. Sweet

Mrs. Andrews

Benji

Evil RFS

Caroline Denby

Harriet Denby

Letdown

Chat option ideas:

- we can stick to the Among Us chat box

- or we can make a Discord call and all chat on it during voting and emergency meetings. Another fun thing about Discord is you can just type your message rather than speak if you don’t want to.

let’s explore the chaos of anubis house, shall we?

also, big thanks to @yackers for the hoa gifs, excellent as always!

@find-y0ur-j0y @frobisher-smythe @frobitcher-smythe @incorrectsibunaquotes @thechosenanubis @fakeosirian @joysmercer @joymercerssecretgf @tess-or-no @lialovesstuff @katexxr @dreaming-of-galaxies-and-stars @whispers-of-gallifrey @inseacure-possum @thereofrin @almostlikequake @sibunaaanubis @sibunator

[0rph3u5]

The Seasons

My original idea for the opening tracks for ‘Houses of the Holy’ was that a short overture would be a rousing instrumental introduction with layered electric guitars that would segue in to ’The Seasons’, later to be titled ‘The Rain Song’. Again there would be a contrasting acoustic guitar instrumental movement with melotron that could lead to the first vocal of the album and the first verse of the song.  

‘The Seasons’ was a memo to myself as a reminder of the sequence of the song and various ideas I’d had for it in its embryonic stage. I’d worked on it over one evening at home. During the routining of the overture now titled ‘The Plumpton and Worcester Races’, the half time section was born and the overture shaped in to the song, ‘The Song Remains The Same’.  These rehearsals were done in Puddle Town on the River Piddle in Dorset, UK.

The first set of recordings were done at Olympic Studios with George Chkiantz.

We then came to record at Stargroves, Sir Mick Jagger’s country home, and, like Headley Grange, with the Rolling Stones recording truck.

‘The Song Remains The Same’ was played on a Fender 12 string, the same one used on Becks Bolero, with my trusty Les Paul number 1 on overdubs in a standard turning.  The ‘Rain Song’ was an unorthodox tuning on acoustic and electric guitars.  On live shows, it became a work-out feature for the double neck. — Jimmy Page

[bracketsandbiscuits]

On this day...

Houses of the Holy turns 50

Here's something interesting Jimmy said on his Instagram

"My original idea for the opening tracks for 'Houses of the Holy' was that a short overture would be a rousing instrumental introduction with layered electric guitars that would segue in to 'The Seasons', later to be titled 'The Rain Song'. Again there would be a contrasting acoustic guitar instrumental movement with melotron that could lead to the first vocal of the album and the first verse of the song.

'The Seasons' was a memo to myself as a reminder of the sequence of the song and various ideas I'd had for it in its embryonic stage. I'd worked on it over one evening at home. During the routining of the overture now titled 'The Plumpton and Worcester Races', the half time section was born and the overture shaped in to the song, 'The Song Remains The Same'. These rehearsals were done in Puddle Town on the River Piddle in Dorset, UK.

The first set of recordings were done at Olympic Studios with George Chkiantz.

We then came to record at Stargroves, Sir Mick Jagger's country home, and, like Headley Grange, with the Rolling Stones recording truck.

'The Song Remains The Same' was played on a Fender 12 string, the same one used on Becks Bolero, with my trusty Les Paul number 1 on overdubs in a standard tuning. The 'Rain Song' was an unorthodox tuning on acoustic and electric guitars. On live shows, it became a work-out feature for the double neck."

I personally think that this is one of the greatest Led Zeppelin album, or maybe even album in general. It has tons of classics and always makes me happy after a long day.

[ausetkmt]

Tina Turner, Queen of Rock & Roll, Dead at 83

Legendary singer "died peacefully" Wednesday after a long illness

Tina Turner, the raspy-voiced fireball who overcame domestic abuse and industry ambivalence to emerge as one of rock and soul’s brassiest, most rousing and most inspirational performers, died Wednesdayat age of 83.

“Tina Turner, the ‘Queen of Rock’n Roll’ has died peacefully today at the age of 83 after a long illness in her home in Küsnacht near Zurich, Switzerland,” her family said in a statement Wednesday. “With her, the world loses a music legend and a role model.”

Starting with her performances with her ex-husband Ike, Turner injected an uninhibited, volcanic stage presence into pop. Even with choreographed backup singers — both with Ike and during her own career — Turner never seemed reigned in. Her influence on rock, R&B and soul singing and performance was also immeasurable. Her delivery influenced everyone from Mick Jagger to Mary J. Blige, and her high-energy stage presence (topped with an array of gravity-defying wigs) was passed down to Janet Jackson and Beyoncé. Turner’s message — one that resounded with generations of women — was that she could hold her own onstage against any man. 

But Turner’s other legacy was more personal and involved a far more complex man. During her time with Ike — a demanding and often drug-addled bandleader and guitarist — Turner was often beaten and humiliated. Her subsequent rebirth, starting with her massively popular, Grammy-winning 1984 makeover Private Dancer, made her a symbol of survival and renewal.

Born Anna Mae Bullock on Nov. 26, 1939, Turner grew up in Nutbush, Tennessee, a rural and unincorporated area in Haywood County chronicled in her song “Nutbush City Limits.” According to Turner, her family were “well-to-do farmers” who lived well off the business of sharecropping. Still, Turner and her older sister Ruby Aillene dealt with abandonment issues when their parents left to work elsewhere.

“My mother and father didn’t love each other, so they were always fighting,” Turner recalled in a 1986 Rolling Stone interview. Her mother first left when Tina was 10 to live in St. Louis; her father left three years later. Turner relocated to Brownsville, Tennessee, to live with her grandmother.

Editor’s picks

After high school, she began working as a nurse’s aide in hopes of entering that profession. Frequently, Turner and her sister would head to nightclubs in St. Louis and East St. Louis, where she first saw Ike Turner perform as the bandleader of Kings of Rhythm. The 18-year-old became enamored with the guitarist eight years her senior and the group’s music, and one night, the drummer passed Turner the microphone while she was in the audience. Ike then invited Tina to be the group’s guest vocalist and instructed her on voice control and performance. As “Little Ann,” she sang alongside Carlson Oliver on Ike Turner’s “Box Top,” which was her first studio recording.

In 1958, the same year that “Box Top” was released, Turner gave birth to her first child, Raymond Craig, with Raymond Hill, the Kings of Rhythm’s saxophonist. Soon after, Tina moved in with Ike to help raise the musician’s two sons after he had broken up with their mother. A sexual relationship ensued, even though Turner told RS in 1984 that she wasn’t initially attracted to him: “I liked him as a brother,” she said. “I didn’t want a relationship. But it just sort of grew on me.” Inspired by the movie serial Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, Turner changed her stage name per Ike’s request.

In 1960, Ike and Tina Turner released their debut single, “A Fool in Love.” It was an immediate success, reaching the Top 30 on the Billboard Hot 100. The next year, they released another hit single, “It’s Gonna Work Out Fine,” which led to their first Grammy nomination for Best Rock and Roll Performance. The Ike and Tina Turner Revue maintained a rigorous touring schedule as part of the chitlin circuit in the early Sixties and became noted for the quality of their spectacle and diverse crowds they could reach in the South.

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“The success and the fear came almost hand in hand,” Turner told RS, specifically noting Ike’s fear of losing her following “A Fool in Love.” Ike continued to sleep with other women, and Tina was aware that his songs were often about his other sexual relationships. She refused to travel and sing his songs at one point; the first time she did so, he began beating her with his shoe stretcher. Yet she stayed with him: “I felt very loyal to Ike, and I didn’t want to hurt him,” she told RS in 1984. “I knew if I left there’d be no one to sing, so I was caught up in guilt. I mean, sometimes, after he beat me up, I’d end up feeling sorry for him. I’d be sitting there all bruised and torn and feeling sorry for him. I was just…brainwashed? Maybe I was brainwashed.” The two married in 1962 in Tijuana; it was Ike’s sixth marriage.

In 1966, the Turners partook in a now-legendary rock TV show, The TNT Show, whose musical director was producer Phil Spector. After signing the duo to his label, Spector produced what he considered his masterpiece, “River Deep — Mountain High,” putting Tina through countless vocal takes. The song wasn’t the blockbuster many assumed it would be, but it opened up other doors for Ike and Tina. In 1969, they opened for the Rolling Stones on the band’s U.S. tour, then went on to have a crossover hit with a cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary” that, thanks to Tina, went from smoldering to souped-up; it won a Grammy for Best R&B Vocal Performance by a Group. In 1975, Tina appeared as the Acid Queen in Ken Russell’s grandiose film version of the Who’s Tommy.

Amidst it all, though, the Turners’ marriage began to unravel as Ike grew more abusive and more addicted to cocaine. She had previously attempted to leave him multiple times, and in 1968 was so desperate to part ways with her abusive husband that she attempted suicide. After what she would call “one last bit or real violence,” Tina fled — literally, to a Ramada Inn in Dallas, where the couple was playing — and asked her friend, actress Ann-Margret, for airfare to Los Angeles. Tina stayed with her Tommy co-star as Ike went looking for her; the couple would divorce in 1976.

“I didn’t even know how to get money,” she said later. “Ike didn’t think I’d be able to find a house, but I did. He sent over the kids, and money for my first rent because he thought I’d have to come back when that ran out. We slept on the floor the first night. I rented furniture. I had some Blue Chip stamps that I had the kids bring, and I got dishes.”

Turner also credited her introduction to Buddhism for giving her the strength to leave. “I never stopped praying … that was my tool,” Turner told Rolling Stone in 1986. “Psychologically, I was protecting myself, which is why I didn’t do drugs and didn’t drink. I had to stay in control. So I just kept searching, spiritually, for the answer.”

Despite her recognizable voice and musical accomplishments with her ex-husband, Turner struggled to establish herself as a solo artist. Her first solo records, starting with 1974’s pre-breakup Tina Turns the Country On!, failed to spawn any hits, and she took to the road for eight years to help pay off the debt she incurred from the canceled tour with Ike and an IRS lien. To maintain a profile in a business that seemed to want nothing more to do with her, she played cheesy lounge gigs and appeared on TV variety shows and game shows like The Hollywood Squares. In a shocking story recounted in the Tina doc, one attempt at a new record deal in the Eighties almost collapsed when a higher-up at the company referred to her with a racial epithet.

Turner’s comeback began in 1982, when Heaven 17, the British synth-pop band, recruited her for a remake of the Temptations’ “Ball of Confusion.” The song led to a new record deal for Turner with Capitol. Turner’s manager, Roger Davies, then suggested that she and Heaven 17’s Martyn Ware cut a remake of Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together,” which hit the top 30 in the U.S. With that, and the support of her friend David Bowie, Turner began recording her Capitol debut, Private Dancer. Reflecting the way she and Davies wanted to integrate synthesizers and more contemporary production touches, they cut songs like “What’s Love Got to Do With It” by British songwriter Terry Brittan. Although Turner disliked the demo of the song, she later said she was urged to make it “a bit rougher, a bit more sharp around the edges.”

With that, she reclaimed the song, which spent three weeks at No. 1, became an MTV staple and rebooted Turner’s career in a way that rarely happened for Sixties veterans on her level. By refusing to sound retro and showcasing her voice in a way that hadn’t been done in at least a decade, Private Dancer introduced Turner (and her MTV-perfect wigs, stiletto heels, and fishnet stockings) to a new, younger audience. “What’s Love Got to Do with It” walked away with four Grammys (including two for Turner, for Pop Vocal Performance, Female and Rock Vocal Performance, Female). In another sign of her determination, Turner performed the song live during the telecast despite having the flu.

The triumph of Private Dancer was only the beginning of Turner’s relaunch into pop culture. . The following year, she starred as the villainous Auntie Entity alongside Mel Gibson in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (which included another hit, “We Don’t Need Another Hero (Thunderdome)”), partook in the all-star “We Are the World” session, and commanded the stage at Live Aid alongside Mick Jagger.. (Thanks to it all, she later wrote, she had “enough money to pay off all those debts I had.”) In 1986, her first memoir, I, Tina, cowritten with then-RS writer Kurt Loder, was published and became a best-seller. “One of the Living,” another song she cut for the Mad Max movie, won a Best Female Rock Performance Grammy in 1985.

Turner had first gone public about her troubled marriage to Ike in a People magazine interview in 1981, but I, Tina, delved deeper. The result was not just a best-selling memoir—which, arguably, set the template for other rock stars to pen theirs—but a book that gave hope to survivors of domestic abuse, and Turner herself helped ensure that domestic violence was addressed in the culture at large.

“I don’t want to depend on a man to give me money,” she told RS in 1986. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I used to think I had to get married to help me get the things I wanted in life. When I realized I could get those things for myself, by myself, I began to like that feeling. I feel if I can secure myself, I wouldn’t have to depend on a man; we would only share love.”

For Turner, the decade that followed served as an ongoing validation for her career. I, Tina was turned into a 1993 movie, What’s Love Got to Do with It, starring Angela Bassett in the title role and Laurence Fishburne as Ike. “I Don’t Wanna Fight,” a new song included on that film’s soundtrack, became Turner’s last top 10 hit. She went on to win additional Grammys, for “Better Be Good to Me,” a live album, and for her participation in Herbie Hancock’s 2007 Joni Mitchell tribute album, River: The Joni Letters, on which Turner sang Mitchell’s “Edith and the Kingpin.”  

In 1999, Turner released what would be her final album, Twenty Four Seven, partly produced by the same team who worked on Cher’s “Believe.” The album didn’t achieve the commercial success of the records that preceded it, but the accolades and recognition continued. In 2005, Turner, along with Tony Bennett, Robert Redford and others, was awarded a Kennedy Center Honor by then-president George W. Bush. Between 2008 and 2009, she embarked on a 50th anniversary tour. (The tour was preceded by a joint performance by Turner and Beyoncé at the 2008 Grammys, where they joined forces on “Proud Mary.”) Tina, a musical based on her life, premiered in London in 2018 and on Broadway the following year. Adrienne Warren, in the title role, won a Tony in 2020 for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical.

As Turner herself would later say, though, the ongoing retelling of her life story and time with Ike—in movies, musicals and documentaries—also came with a price. As much as her troubles inspired others, she constantly had to relive them and was always asked about Ike, even after his death in 2007. “He did get me started and he was good to me at the beginning,” she said in the Tina doc. “So I have some good thoughts. Maybe it was a good thing that I met him. That, I don’t know.” 

Trending

In 1986, Turner met German music executive Erwin Bach; the two became a couple soon after. The couple first lived in Germany before moving to Switzerland. In recent years, she suffered a stroke three weeks after their wedding in 2013, then developed intestinal cancer. In light of possible kidney failure, Bach donated a kidney to his wife in 2017. “I wondered if anyone would think that Erwin’s living donation was transactional in some way,” she wrote in her 2018 memoir My Love Story. “Incredibly, considering how long we had been together, there were still people who wanted to believe that Erwin married me for my money and fame.”

Reflecting on how she connected to an audience, Turner said to RS in 1986, “My songs are a little bit of everybody’s lives who are watching me. You gotta sing what they can relate to. And there are some raunchy people out there. The world is not perfect. And all of that is in my performance … That’s why I prefer acting to singing, because with acting you are forgiven for playing a certain role. When you play that same role every night, people think that you are it. They don’t think you’re acting. That is the scar of what I’ve given myself with my career. And I’ve accepted that.”

[mickrouse]

The Rebirth of Ricky Martin by Alex Frank

GQ, March '24

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch. 1/10)

June 17, 2023

Notes - You have no idea how excited I am about finally being able to share this story! Now that I have everything prepared for this and a solid plot line, I feel like I’ll have everything under control for once haha!

Chapter 1 - Send Me On My Way

It wasn’t often that Miles Murphy would willingly rise from his mattress early; typically, when it happened, his brothers would claim it was a sign of the end times. However, as he sipped tentatively at the hastily-made coffee within the styrofoam coffee cup he held, he found nobody harassing him about his early rising. In fact, the other two people who had piled into the bed of Butchy’s pickup truck were in a similar state; yawning as the sun rose higher over the land or, in Bentley’s case, sleeping against the tailgate - lucky little shit.

The only reason Miles was awake at all was because a storm had come through the house and Carrie had to pry him from the blankets. Well, technically, it wasn’t a storm so much as it was a person. A brown-haired, circle-framed glasses-wearing, professional figure skater with a smug smile who came bursting into the house like a man on a mission and basically ordered them to get out of bed at quarter after six in the morning. She had come in through Royce’s bedroom window, woken everyone in the house with a poorly-played bugle rendition of Reveille, and declared that they needed to get in the car and follow her if they wanted to live. Of course, at that hour, Miles didn’t care whether he lived or died as long as he could go back to sleep, but the excited teenager was determined and, while Carrie yanked his blankets away, Vivien had taken it upon herself to aim the bell of her bugle at his face like she was wielding a gun and blew hard into it, jolting him awake with a quick blast.

Fighting the urge to pick up the child and throw her out of the second-story window, Miles allowed Vivien to scamper off down the hall with a devious smirk and got himself dressed while Carrie buzzed around the room seemingly as at the speed of sound, hoping the girl would have a pot of coffee ready for him by the time he got downstairs. Although Miles had gotten a coffee into him before leaving the house, it wasn’t until Vivien decided to stop at the only coffee shop in her small hometown that he felt any sort of rousing as he ended up with two large coffees and a mild headache from how excessively chipper the barista had been.

Once they were done at the coffee shop and Vivien had stolen Carrie, Miles climbed into the back of Butchy’s truck along with his brothers and pounded back one of his coffees, hoping the espresso shots he’d asked for would kick in before they got wherever Vivien was leading them. Mick slid open the window leading from the cab to the truck bed and hollered over the wind for the people in the back to hold on as Butchy turned onto a dirt road. Although it was perfectly legal for them to ride in the bed of the truck, they had no seatbelts or anything to keep them inside the truck, so Miles wrapped an arm around Bentley’s slumbering form and made sure Royce had a firm grip on a ratchet strap Butchy had secured around his toolbox before grabbing onto the outside of the truck as Butchy’s truck rumbled over unpaved potholes and rocks that stuck out of the ground.

As Miles let out another yawn and took a long sip of his coffee, he leveled his gaze on his younger brother, the teenager’s curly hair blown even further out of control as they sped through the backroads. Royce had always been an earlier riser, waking with the sun more often than not, but even he let out a yawn as he watched the trees blow by. As though sensing his brother’s gaze on him, Royce met Miles’ eyes with a confused raise of his brow. Instead of answering his brother’s silent question, Miles grumbled, “I’m going to kill your girlfriend.”

Obviously not taking Miles’ threat seriously, Royce chuckled, “Oh yeah?”

Nodding, Miles confirmed, “After that wake-up call she gave me, I’ve been plotting her demise.”

Unfazed, Royce replied, “You do realize that means you’ll have to make your own shitty bean juice in the morning, right?”

Miles tipped his head back with a groan before meeting Royce’s amused, caramel eyes, “Why do you have to make sense this early in the morning?”

“To keep my girlfriend alive, apparently,” Royce smirked as he turned his gaze back to the road.

“Sadly, you’re doing a great job,” Miles sighed. 

“You love Vivien,” Royce stated factually.

“I do.” Miles wasn’t about to argue Royce’s point. He did care for Vivien as though she was his own blood, but that didn’t stop him from plotting her demise when she roused him at ungodly hours. As the truck turned onto a dirk path and bounced over a partially exposed section of tree roots, Miles tacked on, “Sometimes I wonder why.”

“Me too,” Bentley grumbled, rubbing his eye with a hand as he slowly shifted away from the tailgate and leaned against Miles.

Attempting to contain his snort of laughter at the solid lines that had formed against his younger brother’s cheek, Royce smirked yet stayed silent. He knew just as well as his brothers did that they loved Vivien and just how mutual the feeling was. Bentley made his affection for the brunette obvious through the way he always tried to spend as much time as possible with her. Miles, on the other hand, was more reserved and Royce suspected that was partially due to the attachment issues he’d gained over time. Their joint love of coffee was one thing, but Royce was observant and easily noticed the way his older brother would pay more attention to things Vivien said or did. Time went on and their bonds grew stronger, making Vivien’s transition from “family friend” to Royce’s girlfriend an easy one. She balanced them out well and fit right in with them, almost like a puzzle piece they hadn’t realized was missing from the box.

As the truck pulled to a stop in a pine-needle-laden parking lot, Miles nudged Bentley until he moved away groggily and Royce turned to look at their surroundings. A large wooden building stood before them and, in the distance, Royce could just barely make out some log structures with illegible signs above the doors. Above the main building was a large sign that welcomed them to a camp Royce remembered hearing the name of in passing - Camp Wanamaker. The sound of his girlfriend’s car doors slamming made Royce turn, locking gazes with a certain blonde as she sauntered up to the truck bed with a smile that nearly burned Royce’s retinas. 

“Welcome to summer camp, gentlemen,” Carrie spoke as she and Vivien leaned against the truck.

“Summer camp?” Bentley repeated as he gazed up at the building.

Turning an exhausted glare toward the beaming brunette on the other side of the metal tailgate, Miles questioned, “You woke us all up at six in the morning for summer camp?”

With a knowing smile, Vivien rested her arms against the truck and stated, “I made sure to ask them to brew us a fresh pot of coffee.”

Searching the girl’s eyes, Miles took in a breath and sighed, “You’re forgiven.”

As though she had read the man’s mind, Vivien said, in unison with Miles, “For now.”

Vivien thumped the truck with a fist and pulled down the tailgate with ease before chirping, “Yeah, yeah. Now, let’s get a move on. I want to claim Lakeside Lodge before anyone else gets ahold of it.”

Before saying anything more, Vivien hauled a duffel bag onto her shoulder and walked away, taking Carrie with her as Royce jumped over the side of the truck and hurried to grab the bag of clothes and essentials he’d thrown together before leaving the house. As he followed Vivien and Carrie toward the large building, a loud bark echoed from inside, giving him pause. “What was that?” he questioned.

“Ding,” Carrie replied as she and Vivien hurried up the front steps.

Sending the blonde a bewildered look, Royce hesitantly followed them and asked, “Is that supposed to make sense?”

No answer came from either girl as Vivien opened the front door and a flash of black and golden brown burst through the crack in the screen door, tackling the beaming brunette to the wooden floorboards of the porch. Royce jumped, watching with wide eyes as his girlfriend cooed at the large dog, allowing the slobbering mountain to clean her face while she and Carrie petted him. Eventually working through the shock at the sight of the huge dog, Royce inched closer to the porch just in time for Vivien to sit up and tell the dog to sit.

Finally meeting her boyfriend’s gaze with a smile, Vivien rubbed a hand between the dog’s pointed ears and spoke, “Royce, this is the camp mascot and reigning hot-dog-eating champion, Dopey Ding.”

“Dopey Ding?” Royce echoed as the others approached the porch behind him.

In response, the dog’s tongue flopped to the side of his mouth, resulting in a goofy smile Royce couldn’t help chuckling at. “He’s an idiot, but we love him,” Vivien claimed with a smile. Turning her gaze toward Royce, she held out a hand and instructed, “Give me your hand.”

Taking Vivien’s hand in his with a smile, Royce watched as Vivien rolled her eyes at him, flipping his hand palm up and positioning it in front of the dog. “What now?” Royce asked as his girlfriend released him.

Vivien gestured for him to stay where he was before turning to the pup beside her and asking, “Are you gonna say hi, Ding?”

The dog looked at Royce and examined the hand before him before placing his paw in Royce's palm and letting out a soft growl that almost sounded like, “Hello.” Royce didn’t bother fighting the smile that breached his features as he shook the dog’s paw. Bentley stepped up beside Royce and offered a hand to the colorful dog, both brothers laughing as Ding tipped his head back and howled another greeting, moving his paw from Royce’s hand to Bentley’s.

The door to the porch opened and, with a smile on her face, a woman with long, dark hair braided over her shoulder stepped onto the wooden deck. Chuckling, she knelt on the wooden floor and handed two small treats to the brothers before turning toward her granddaughter, “If you teach that dog to shake hands with everyone who comes to this camp, I’m sending him home with you at the end of the summer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind eating the vegetables Olly refuses to touch,” Vivien smirked. 

With a snort and a shake of her head, Dawn sighed, “Don’t you think your grandfather already tried that?”

As Vivien let out a laugh, Bentley asked, “You know Vivien’s grandfather?”

“I would hope so,” Dawn chuckled. “Considering we’ve been together for the last fifty years.”

With a proud smile, Vivien gestured to the woman as she spoke, “Guys, this is my Nonna, Dawn Mays. She and my Grandpa George own the camp. Nonna, these are my friends. I know you already know Mick and Carrie.”

“I do.” Looking around at the group before her, Dawn smiled, “However, there are a few familiar faces here.”

“I should hope so,” Vivien chuckled. “I send you guys enough pictures of our escapades.”

Dawn nodded, glancing at the people her granddaughter had dragged to the camp before settling her gaze on the curly-haired boy who stood on the ground in front of Vivien. “This one must be Royce.”

As Vivien nodded, Royce stretched out a hand and introduced himself, eager to make a good first impression on his girlfriend’s family, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Clasping the boy’s hand firmly, Dawn observed him for a moment before claiming, “Likewise, little opossum. I trust you’ve been keeping our eaglet out of trouble.”

Confusion filled Royce’s face as he was released from the older woman’s hold, but he tried desperately to mask it as he chuckled awkwardly, “I try, but trouble always seems to find us somehow.”

“With Vivien, I’m not surprised,” Dawn grinned, a knowing, borderline mischievous glimmer in her deep brown eyes. “She always has been a bit of a wild child. I remember, one time, when she was about eight or nine-”

“Okay, moving on!” Vivien interrupted quickly, clapping her hands together as she pushed herself to her feet. “Nonna, is Grandpa at the desk? I want to snag Lakeside before anyone else does.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” Dawn apologized as she stood. “Someone already claimed Lakeside.”

“What?” Vivien breathed. “But I put in for it back in April! Who has it?”

Instead of answering, Dawn’s gaze drifted toward the parking lot. Vivien followed her eyes and found herself staring at where a red, 1989 Miata sat, its roof rolled back into the trunk and both of its headlights popped up, taunting Vivien with their cutesy look. She knew that car anywhere. She had ridden shotgun in it on the way to band practice ever since Riven’s moped had ended up in the scrapyard a few years prior. 

“He got here about an hour ago,” Dawn stated.

Settling a glare on the old Mazda, Vivien let out a hiss, “I’m going to kill him.”

As her granddaughter breezed by, Dawn chuckled, “At least wait until after the season ends. We need as many counselors as we can get.”

“I make no promises,” Vivien said as she pushed her way into the building. 

Glancing around the main office, Vivien continued forward, scanning each area until she reached the mess hall. The familiar head of auburn hair she had been searching for stood by the back window that overlooked most of the camp. Storming across the expanse of the mess hall, Vivien made her way toward the older boy with a fiery rage in her eyes. Once she was close enough, she stepped onto the bench of a nearby table and launched herself at Riven’s back, an arm around his neck and her legs closing around his hips as Riven caught his balance on a nearby wall.

Peering over his shoulder at the enraged brunette, he exclaimed, “What the hell, Pip!”

Meeting his hazel eyes, Vivien snarled, “I’m going to dismember you and throw you in the lake.”

“What for?” 

“You stole Lakeside!” Instead of being intimidated by the younger brunette, Riven chuckled, adjusting his grasp on Vivien’s thighs as he began walking out of the room. Disappointed by his amusement, Vivien tried, “This is no laughing matter! You knew I wanted Lakeside and you took it, so I have every right to kill you. Right here, right now.”

Riven snorted as the others entered the building, “You’ve got witnesses now, so no killing.”

“Wrong,” Vivien stated, pointing toward the group. “I have Nonna who would definitely bail me out and six alibis who would stand trial because they love me. None of them are preventing your untimely demise.”

Releasing one of Vivien’s legs, Riven reached over the office desk and pulled a sign-in book over the counter, flipping it open to the first page and pointing to where he had signed in already, “Maybe not, but that does.”

Peeking curiously over Riven’s shoulder at the book, Vivien scanned the list of names that had been hastily scrawled in Riven’s chicken-scratch handwriting, finding not only his name, but also hers and the other six people she had brought with her to camp. Smiling as she let out a nervous chuckle, Vivien released Riven with a pat on his chest and sighed, “I suppose you’ll live for now.”

“Good,” came a voice from beyond the counter. “We need all of the help we can get this summer.” As per usual, Vivien’s grandfather was dressed as though he had walked out of a Woodstock photograph - unnaturally bright, tie-dye shirt and all - but the cell phone in his hand was evidence that he had somewhat upgraded to the twenty-first century. With a bright smile, he examined the group that had gathered as his wife let herself behind the desk. “I just got off the phone with Hayley.”

Vivien perked up at the mention of her birth mother, leaning on the counter as she asked, “Are they going to be here this summer?”

“From the first of July to our closing ceremony,” George nodded.

With an excited, high-pitched giggle, Vivien bounced in place before turning to Royce and Bentley with a beaming smile. “Do you know what that means?”

Bentley glanced at Royce with a raised eyebrow before offering, “Someone named Hayley is coming to camp?”

Royce allowed a soft chuckle to pass his lips, “Hayley is Viv’s birth mom, remember? She showed us the pictures from the wedding.”

“Oh yeah,” Bentley breathed. A yawn took over the fifteen-year-old and, once it had ended, he muttered, “It’s too early for me to think about anything other than my bed.”

“Speaking of beds,” Dawn began, shifting her gaze from Bentley to Riven, “did you get the beds ready down at the lodge?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riven replied, leaning on the counter with a lopsided grin. “Fresh sheets and pillowcases all around.”

Dawn nodded appreciatively before turning toward her husband, a question on the tip of her tongue as he raised a hand with a smile and said, “I already started brewing the coffee, the cabin assignments are already set up, and the rest of the counselors aren’t set to arrive for another hour or so, at the least.”

Slowly releasing the deep breath she had taken, Dawn grinned and turned to look over the group of eight before her. Clapping her hands together, she declared, “In that case, I’ll let Vivien and Riven show you all around and give you the chance to settle into your rooms. Once you’ve put your things away, meet me up at the counselors' lodge and I’ll give you the basic rules of the camp.”

Vivien turned to Riven with a smirk and the auburn-haired male stepped to the side, gesturing for Vivien to lead the way. As the others grabbed their things and followed Vivien toward the door, Carrie stopped at the doorway to give the camp’s faithful guard dog a quick scratch under the jaw, making Ding’s foot thump lazily against the wood floors. Carrie let out a soft chuckle, “Good boy.”

Before she could follow Miles out of the room, Carrie was stopped by a voice, “Oh, Carrie?”

Turning toward the voice, Carrie found Dawn watching her from her spot behind the desk, the woman’s husband already busying himself with paperwork. Smiling at the older woman, Carrie asked, “Yeah?”

With a twinkle in her eyes that Carrie wanted to attribute to the lights shining on the woman, Dawn smiled, “I’m glad you decided to come back for the summer.”

“Vivien didn’t exactly give me a choice,” Carrie laughed, “but I have to say, I missed this place.”

Dawn nodded, glancing toward the doorway where Miles was waiting for Carrie to join him. “That girl can be quite persuasive when she wants to be,” she claimed thoughtfully. Shaking her head slightly, Dawn turned her gaze back to Carrie and smiled, “Anyway, it’s good to have you back at camp, Carrie.”

“It’s nice to be back, Mrs Mays,” Carrie beamed.

“Oh, please,” the older woman began, waving Carrie’s words away with a shake of her head. “Call me Nonna. All of the campers and counselors do.”

Nodding, Carrie relented, “I’ll try to remember that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Dawn said with a smile. “Now, hop along, little fox; you don’t want to miss your tour of the camp.”

Dawn watched as the blonde joined her boyfriend and the pair scampered off to join the others as her husband spun his chair around to face her. As the door in the next room slammed shut and George lowered his glasses with a knowing smirk, Dawn perched herself on the desk and asked, “What’s that look for?”

Chuckling, George set his glasses on the table beside him and grinned up at his wife as he said, “I was just thinking about how interesting this summer should be.”

“How so?”

“Look at the motley crew we’ve got this year,” George said, gesturing toward the door. When his wife tipped her head in confusion, he stated, “We have Makana and her new husband, Vivien and her band of lunatics, her boyfriend and his brothers who look as though they could sleep until noon, and Carrie.”

“We’ve had some of them as counselors before.”

“Makana somehow handled twelve kids shooting arrows at haybales like she’d been doing it her whole life, Riven worked magic to make that little demon spawn from the Oakridge Cabin sound like an angel during their cabin’s performance of Shrek, Jade handled the singing around the campfire like a champ when the kids gave Sweet Caroline four standing ovations, and Erica managed to not allow the campers to explode pottery in the art barn kiln,” George recalled. “They’re great at what they do and, to be fair, I’m not worried about most of them.”

“Why do I feel as though I don’t want to know who you are worried about?” Dawn sighed.

George took in a long, deep breath, slowly shaking his head before meeting his wife’s eyes, “While I’m sure Vivien will be a great leader this year, are you sure that putting her in charge of the dance studio is a wise choice?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

With a deadpan stare, George asked, “Need I remind you that she couldn’t even do the macarena properly at Hayley and Charlie’s wedding?”

“She wasn’t expecting to be singled out and put on the spot like that.”

“And putting her in a room full of children will make that any better?”

“Well, who would you suggest?” Dawn questioned. “We don’t exactly have the pick of the litter. Until next month, Vivien just might be our only option.”

George sat quietly, thoughtfully, for a moment before asking, “How about we give them until next week when the campers start arriving? It would give the newcomers time to learn the area and the different positions available and it gives us the chance to learn their strengths and weaknesses.”

Impressed by the decision, Dawn smiled as her husband rose from his seat, “That could actually work.”

With a mockingly wounded tone, George leaned his forehead to his wife’s and breathed, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

A teasing glimmer shone in Dawn’s eyes as she stared into her husband’s hazel eyes, “Is there a blue moon outside? That’s the only reason you’d be able to come up with a good idea.”

“Was it a blue moon when I asked you to marry me?” George shot back with a grin.

“Actually,” Dawn drawled as she leaned away, “I distinctly remember telling you that you had no choice but to marry me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George relented, waving off Dawn’s statement with the ease of a man who had done it for years. “I still asked.”

Dawn smiled, “And I still said yes.”

With a nod, George glanced to the doorway before returning his gaze to his wife, extending a single finger as he asked, “We reconvene at the end of the week?”

Wrapping her pinky finger around her husband’s and leaning in for a quick kiss, Dawn nodded, “The end of the week.”

“This is our fitness center,” Vivien stated, gesturing to the building on her left. The tour group hadn’t gotten very far, turning left from the backside of the main office and heading up the path to some of the activity halls. “There isn’t much to see in there, but we have everything a normal gym has.”

“And these,” Riven began, motioning to four small cabins on their right, “are bunk cabins numbers ten through thirteen. They’re the typical bunks you’ve probably seen in movies - six bunk beds and a pair of single beds for the counselor and cabin lead.”

“What’s a cabin lead?” Royce asked.

“It’s a step down from a counselor,” Riven explained. “Counselors have to be over sixteen at the start of the summer, but cabin leads are usually just the oldest camper in the cabin.”

Turning to walk backward so that she could see the people behind her, Vivien smiled as she proudly declared, “I was the cabin lead for Kittery Cabin last year, so I was responsible for making sure everyone got where they needed to be every day.”

Though most everyone nodded in understanding, Miles asked, “How come some cabins have names and others don’t?”

Mick decided to answer as she ran a hand along the railing of Cabin 12, “The cabins and lodges that were built back when the camp first opened are the ones with names. The newer cabins just haven’t been named yet.”

Vivien nodded, “There are seven original cabins - Kittery, Oakridge, Lakeside Lodge, Havenwood Hall, Ondawa Cottage, Backlog Bungalow, and Wayonda Tower - but they’re mostly used by groups of siblings or small families now as they house fewer people than the new bunk cabins.”

“We’re staying in Lakeside, right?” Carrie asked.

Riven was quick to nod as Vivien led the group toward the structure at the end of the path, “Right. It’s one of the most sought-after cabins on the property.”

Stepping onto the veranda of the large wooden building before them, Vivien proclaimed, “This is the dance studio where Nonna said I might be stationed this year. Since it’s only open on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I’ll have plenty of time to do other activities and hang out with you guys.”

With a sigh, Riven leaned against the railing, “And I’ll probably be stationed in the playhouse again, making the little demon campers sound good for the end-of-year showcase.”

“They put on a play here?” Carrie asked, her eyes glimmering at the idea.

Vivien smiled as she nodded, “Every year, we do some kind of performance. Last year, we did Shrek the Musical and every cabin was involved. Most years, we have either a musical that everyone has to work together on and each cabin has a song to themselves or we do a concert for the parents. Either way, we use the playhouse for the end program.”

“That could be a lot of fun,” Bentley commented.

Not bothering to disguise the cringe that flooded his features, Riven let out a dry chuckle, “Just wait until you hear them sing; you’ll quickly change your mind.”

Following Riven away from the dance studio, Vivien pointed out the basketball courts and tennis court in the distance as they followed a different path out to the amphitheatre. The area had been cleared out years ago and built to meet the camp’s growing needs over the years. As more campers chose to stay, the seating around the fire pit grew and, at its current size, had four rows of long, wooden benches, each positioned slightly further back on the hill to accommodate everyone. The circle in the center was lined with rocks that had probably been left there since the last campfire of the summer before and the thought of roasting marshmallows for smores over the crackling fire gave many in the group a sense of serenity, but what caught their attention was the large wall set far back from the fire pit area.

“What is that?” Butchy wondered as he found himself inching closer. “A climbing wall?”

“Exactly,” Vivien chirped, sliding up beside the taller man. Nudging him with her elbow, she grinned up at Butchy as she asked, “Feel like trying it out?”

“Not particularly,” Butchy smirked.

Vivien let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes, “Killjoy.”

“I bet I’m not the first to want to keep my feet on the ground,” Butchy claimed. 

“No,” Vivien agreed, “but even Mickie’s done it before.”

Although she felt all eyes on her, Mick only smiled, nodding in confirmation that she had, in fact, climbed the skyscraper of a rock wall. Bentley was quick to step forward, asking Mick, “I thought you hated heights?”

“I do,” Mick replied. “But I promised that, if everyone in the cabin got their lines memorized for the show and kept the cabin clean for two weeks without me saying anything, I would climb the wall, so I had to keep my promise.”

“What was it like?” Royce asked.

Letting out a long breath, Mick shook her head, “I don’t remember.”

With a snicker, Vivien said, “She passed out after ringing the bell at the top.”

With wide, concerned eyes, Carrie pressed, “Were you okay?”

“My pride was mortally wounded,” Mick chuckled, “but I was alright once I was on the ground again.”

Leading the way from the amphitheatre, Vivien guided the group through the sparse treeline, under an archway of neatly-trimmed hedges to a cul-de-sac-style path that looped in a circle at the far end. With nine cabins surrounding the pathway and a grassy expanse in the center, one could imagine spending their free time with their friends, having a picnic on a hot day, watching the star-filled sky at night, or simply relaxing on the grass, listening to music. However, as they were led down the path toward the main strip of dirt that looped throughout the main areas of the camp, they were shown more of the active areas of the campground. Between the soccer field with haphazardly drawn, barely visible lines, the swimming pool with cartoon characters painted on the bottom, and the sand-filled volleyball court, they would be kept active all summer long. 

Riven brought the group through the grass just past the swimming pool to show them some more buildings, guiding them onto the back half of the path. The cooking studio, where one could go to learn how to cook some of the meals served at the camp, was a big hit with Bentley, who looked eager to get his hands on some of the cookbooks that had been collecting dust in one of the pantries. Miles took a mental note of where the medical center was as he knew just how accident-prone his younger brothers and Vivien could be. Then, the playhouse drew Carrie in like a magnet; the stage, though worn with age, was large, and the curtains that draped over it had clearly been hand-sewn in the art barn just a few minutes down the path. Royce, of course, took an interest in the library - the scent of parchment permeating the room filled with books that had been very well-loved over the years.

Then, as they turned right past the looming Havenwood Hall, a sandy beach came into view. A set of long piers stretched out over the water, a large set of buildings marked as changing rooms sat off to the left, and, to the far right, near the tree line, was a fairly new cabin overlooking the lake. The crystalline water glistened with the rising sun overhead, a sight many of the group were sure they would find very welcoming over the heat of the summer months. Before they could get too enraptured by the sight of the shimmering lake, Riven mentioned getting settled in and making their way to the counselors' lodge before Dawn came looking for them.

The Lakeside Lodge was warm and welcoming with a large living area and a staircase that split in two directions at the landing greeting them as soon as they entered. Tugging the chain to turn the ceiling fan in the living area on, Vivien said, “There are eight individual bedrooms - four downstairs and four upstairs - so pick a room to stay in for the summer. You won’t get another pick unless someone wants to swap.”

As Vivien disappeared up the staircase with her duffel bag of belongings, the others dispersed - Royce and Bentley rushing after Vivien to find a room upstairs while the others decided where they would be rooming. None of the beds downstairs would be big enough for two people unless they felt like sleeping atop the other person, so the thought of Miles and Carrie or Mick and Butchy simply sharing a bed was quickly dismissed. While the two couples decided which rooms they wanted downstairs, Riven made his way upstairs and found the bedroom he had chosen upon his arrival an hour or so prior. The larger beds upstairs were usually taken by married couples when the camp allowed people to rent the lodges, but Riven was simply pleased to have a larger bed and a bathroom to himself.

As he began tossing some of his clothes into the dresser that rested against the wall opposite his bed, Riven was surprised to hear a quick knock on his bedroom door. “Come in,” he called.

Slowly, the door pushed open to reveal Bentley who looked around the room before meeting Riven’s gaze with a small, almost hesitant grin, “Hey.”

“Hey, half-pint,” Riven greeted as he tossed a hoodie onto his mattress. “What’s up?”

“Half-pint?” Bentley muttered to himself. Grinning, he shook his head and leaned against the doorframe as he asked, “I had a couple of questions about camp.”

With a smirk, Riven slid the bottom drawer of his dresser shut and turned to Bentley, “Before you ask anything, I’m going to tell you the same thing Chief says to all the staff before the year begins.”

Bentley’s head lilted to the side as he wondered, “What’s that?”

“Don’t add to the population, don’t subtract from the population,” Riven began, counting each remark on his fingers. “Don’t end up in the hospital, newspaper, or jail.”

Before he could finish, Vivien passed the room, finishing the statement by adding, “But, if you end up in jail, establish dominance quickly and call for someone to bail you out.”

With an amused grin, Bentley watched as Vivien headed for the stairs, Royce following quickly behind. Blinking in disbelief at the phrase, Bentley turned his attention back to Riven, chuckling softly, “That sounds like something Miles would tell me and Royce if he ever went on a trip without us.”

“If that’s the case, I bet Chief will get a run for his money this year.” Smiling, Riven perched himself on the edge of his bed and said, “Now, what did you want to ask?”

Stepping further into the room, Bentley ran a hand through his hair. Though he had more than one question, he filed through a few of them before eventually choosing to ask, “What time do we have to be up every morning?”

Lifting an eyebrow as he observed the younger teen, Riven shrugged, “They play a song for us to wake up to at seven-fifty every morning apart from the weekend and holidays. We have to be down at the mess hall for eight, but we don’t technically have to get dressed or anything until around ten when we go to our first activity of the day.”

Bentley nodded understandingly, taking in a breath before asking, “Is it hard to adjust to living here?”

“Nah,” Riven said with a shake of his head and a small smile. “After a few days, you’ll know your way around and be so used to it that you’ll forget what home feels like.”

Once again, Bentley gave a nod, this one more sure than the last. “How about…” Bentley drifted off. After taking a moment to think about how he wanted to phrase his question, he took in a tentative breath and tried again, “What about-”

“Relax, Bentley,” Riven ordered gently, gaining the blond’s attention. “I’m not going to chew your head off for asking a question. Just let it out and I’ll answer as best as I can.”

Nodding more to himself than anything, Bentley kept Riven’s gaze as he asked, “Is there a reason we can’t share bedrooms?”

With a snort of laughter, Riven nodded, “Think about it, half-pint. If we let everyone bunk up with their boyfriends and girlfriends, we’d have a bus-load of pregnant teenagers by the end of the summer.”

Making a face of disgust at the concept, Bentley shook his head, “That’s not what I meant.”

Allowing his laughter to die out, Riven asked, “Well, what did you mean?”

As though he wanted nobody else to hear, Bentley glanced nervously at the door before turning back to Riven, his voice lowered as he said, “Royce and I have always shared a room.”

Slowly nodding in understanding, Riven surmised, “And you wanted to see if it’s possible for you two to share a room?”

“I know it’s weird,” Bentley sighed, looking away. “I’m more than old enough to have my own room and he’s probably sick of me clinging to him like a leech, but-”

“But you still want your brother around.” When Bentley silently nodded, Riven sent him a smile, “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Mhm,” Riven hummed, pushing himself from the mattress. Placing a hand on Bentley’s shoulder, he said, “You two aren’t the first pair of siblings to be worried about spending time in separate places, and, to be honest, I highly doubt you’ll be the last.”

“Really?” When Riven nodded, Bentley asked, “So what do I do?”

“Why don’t you give it a shot for tonight and see how well you handle it,” Riven suggested, patting Bentley on the shoulder. “If you find it easier than you thought it would be, you can stay in your own room.”

Bentley nodded slowly, taking in the idea before slowly asking, “What if it isn’t easy?”

Riven smiled and, as he headed toward the door, turned back toward the younger blond as he claimed, “You know, I don’t think there’s anything in the rules against two siblings having a sleepover.”

Bentley’s confusion swelled as Riven left the room, leaving him to decipher the older teen’s statement. He was sure Riven had seen many other families have issues with separation over his time at the camp, but what did them having a sleepover have anything to do with it? Was it some kind of secret message he was supposed to decode? As Bentley slowly left the room and headed for the stairs, the implication in Riven’s statement came to him. Smiling to himself, Bentley took in a breath of relief and made his way downstairs to join the others.

Once everyone was ready to begin the trek to the counselors' lodge, they headed out, making their way back toward the main office. At the fork in the road, they turned right and headed to a large cabin that sat far back amongst the trees. The only way to tell the building was for counselors was the small sign on the wall beside the front door and it was barely visible from the main path, but as Riven and Vivien trekked up the stairs to the door, the rest of the group followed. As the doors opened, music filled the air. A soft voice sang along to Mickey and Sylvia’s Love Is Strange and, as they ventured further into the lodge, they soon found the culprit to be none other than Vivien’s Nonna who sat by the large window on the far wall, singing along to the crackling radio beside her as she brought a blue-tipped paintbrush to the canvas before her.

Without a care in the world, Dawn sang along to the music as she allowed the scenery before her to come to life. The floorboards creaked as the group of eight entered the lodge and Dawn turned toward them with a smile, setting aside her paint and brush as she rose from her stool and danced across the room, taking her granddaughter by the hands and twirling her. Vivien giggled at the interaction as her grandmother pulled her into a dance. As the two danced and sang along to the song, Miles found himself reminded of how he and his brothers used to dance with their mother while she painted. Summer vacations were filled with music, paint, and boundless laughter as their mom would pull them into bouncing dances around the living room before settling back down at her easel to work on another masterpiece. Glancing at his brothers from the corner of his eye, Miles wondered if they even remembered those days.

As the music came to an end and Dawn released Vivien from her hold with a proud smile, their faithful audience gave them a round of applause. “Why, thank you,” Dawn said as she gave a bow. In just a few strides, Dawn crossed the room and turned the volume down on her radio before turning back to the group as they filed further into the room. “Now, as a few of you already know, this is the part where I give you camp-branded shirts for the summer. You don’t always have to wear them as we have nametags for all of our counselors to wear when they feel like dressing casual, but for the first day, last day, and any activity days where we bring kids into town, you’ll need to wear camp gear.”

Reaching into a large box on a nearby table, Dawn pulled out a white shirt with the camp’s name and logo on the front - a simplistic scene of the lake with the sun shining over it and some pine trees. Raising a hand, Mick asked, “Are we tie-dyeing them like we did last year?”

“That’s up to you, my dear turtle,” Dawn claimed. “We have all the supplies if you feel like doing some this afternoon, but we do have some new styles that you may be interested in.”

“Awesome,” Mick breathed with a smile.

Smiling at the group before her, Dawn took a step to the side and picked up a clipboard, reading off the first name on the list, “Bentley, you’re up first.”

Bentley took a hesitant step forward before pausing. With a disheartened tone in his voice, he muttered, “I’m not old enough to be a counselor or a cabin lead, yet. I can’t-”

“Who says you can’t?” Dawn pressed, placing a hand on her hip as she smiled mischievously at the young blond. “Vivien got her first camp shirt long before she was close to being a counselor or a cabin lead; as did Makana and Riven. You have just as much a right to a shirt as they did.”

Glancing at his friends, Bentley received nods of confirmation as Vivien waved him on with an encouraging smile. Turning back toward Dawn, Bentley beamed as he strode across the wood floor to the box Dawn had left on the table. Peering into the box, Bentley looked around at the colorful array that had been tossed into the box - plain white with colorful bands on the sleeves, already tie-dyed shirts, hoodies, and shirts of every color strewn about. After much scrutiny, Bentley pulled out a colorful hoodie with the camp’s emblem on the front and the name around the rim of the hood followed by a white shirt he hoped to dye later with the others before finally pulling a yellow shirt from the box.

“Yellow, hm?” Dawn spoke softly, gaining Bentley’s attention.

Nodding shyly, Bentley said, “It’s my favorite. Is that alright?”

Reaching up a hand, Dawn ran a hand over Bentley’s hair with a smile, “Of course, baby otter. Are those in your size? If not, we have a rack in the other room if you need to find one.”

Bentley quickly looked over the shirts he’d pulled from the box before nodding, “I’m all set.”

“Good,” Dawn said. Pointing to the artwork she’d been doing, she asked, “Now, why don’t you put those aside for a minute and go see what you think I should add to my painting?”

“Are you sure?” Bentley asked, his oceanic eyes illuminated at the very thought.

“Go right ahead,” she assured. “I’m always looking for another set of eyes.” Once Miles nodded to make sure it was alright, Bentley placed his new shirts on the end of a nearby bench and gravitated toward the easel as though a magnet had pulled him to it. Dawn smiled at the boy before glancing at the paper on her clipboard and saying, “Butchy, you’re next.”

Butchy was quick to choose from the available options, pulling out some red and blue T-shirts he could easily add to his wardrobe once they returned home after the summer ended. Turning to the woman, he extended a hand and said, “Thank you.”

Dawn eyed the hand before her, scanning Butchy more than once before latching onto his hand and shaking it. “A ram and a turtle,” she mused, a non sequitur that confused the man before her. “What an interesting pair.”

Butchy’s confusion grew, but as he raised an eyebrow, all he asked was, “How did you know that I’m an Aries?”

The older woman shook her head as she chuckled, “I’m not talking about zodiac signs.”

“Then what-”

“I’ll explain later,” Vivien interrupted. “Just go with it.”

Utterly confused, Butchy met Vivien’s gaze before turning back to the woman before him and slowly nodding. Gathering his shirts in one arm, Butchy made his way to the table Bentley had left his things on and sat beside the boy’s pile of shirts as Dawn called the next person to the table, “My dear fox, I believe you’re up next.”

Without hesitation, Carrie stepped forward, crossing the room with a smile and searching through the box on the table before pulling out an aqua hoodie, a dyeable T-shirt, and a shirt with a smaller version of the camp’s logo on the left side of the chest and ‘STAFF’ written across the back in glittering gold. Before Carrie took off to find a seat, she gave the older woman a quick embrace, thanking her for the shirts before allowing Mick to step forward and pull items from the box.

After making sure she took a shirt to dye later on, a T-shirt with the camp’s original emblem, and a green shirt with the camp’s logo on the back, Mick stepped aside, sitting at the table with Butchy as Miles stepped up to the plate. Miles’ choices closely resembled Bentley’s - a blue hoodie, a shirt to dye, and a tri-colored shirt he supposed was supposed to resemble the colors of the sun, sand, and water although that wasn’t the reason he had chosen it. 

Dawn looked over his selection with a small smile, nodding approvingly as she spoke, “Wise choice. I look forward to learning more about you, young gorilla.”

Though confusion was evident in Miles’ gaze, his smile never faltered as he quickly thanked the woman and joined his girlfriend at the table. Next up was Riven who made his choice quick and concise, leaning in to hug Dawn as he muttered, “Thanks, Nonna.”

“Of course, little wolf,” was the woman’s reply as Riven stalked off to join the others. Without glancing at her papers this time, Dawn raised a hand and beckoned Royce to her, “Your turn, opossum.”

Glancing at his girlfriend, Royce watched as Vivien held her hands up and shook her head. “Not me,” she declared. “I’m a proud eagle.”

“Eaglet,” Dawn corrected with a smile. 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Vivien wondered with a grin.

“Nice try,” Dawn chuckled. “You are still growing and discovering who you truly are. Until the day you decide you’re done, you will remain an eaglet.” 

Sighing dramatically at the sentiment, Vivien raised a hand to her forehead in a mock salute, “Sir, yes, sir.”

Turning her gaze onto Royce once more, Dawn grinned as she spoke, “She’s right, though; it’s your turn, Royce.”

Finally stepping up to the box, Royce peered at its contents, examining each item as he rifled through the pile. A pale orange shirt wound up draped over his arm alongside a mostly plain, white shirt, but as he searched through the box for something to pique his interest, he found nothing. Just as Royce was about to give up and pick one of the shirts at random, he found an orange and purple hoodie near the bottom of the box, the colors swirling together in a spiral of tie-dye. Smiling to himself, Royce pulled the sweatshirt from the box and draped it over the other two shirts he had pulled before thanking Dawn and stepping away to allow his girlfriend a chance to look through the box of shirts. With practiced ease, Vivien sauntered up to the table and dug through the contents of the box, quickly pulling her desired shirts from the box and stepping aside to join the others as she wrapped the sleeves of her chosen sweatshirt around her waist.

As her granddaughter sat at the table and Bentley hurried to join the group, Dawn folded her hands together and smiled, “Now that that’s settled, I have a few quick things to go over and, no, Riven, that does not include what to do if you end up behind bars.” The auburn-haired male’s mouth snapped shut at the comment, a swift smile taking its place as Dawn eyed him knowingly. “Mhm,” she hummed. “I saw that look.”

“Sorry, Nonna,” Riven apologized despite the glimmer in his eyes showing how very not sorry he was.

“You will be,” Dawn snipped with a grin. Clearing her throat, the woman took on a more serious expression as she began, “Now, I just want to go over a few things for the new counselors. This first week of pre-camp preparations will be more of an exploratory course than anything. It will give you all time to adjust to living here and get you prepared for the chaos that will occur the moment the first bus of campers arrives.”

“Where will we all be?” Mick asked.

Taking in a breath, Dawn sighed, “As of right now, we aren’t sure. Chief and I figured that this week would give all of us a chance to see what positions or buildings we thrive in most. If I know him well, Chief will most likely end up in the kitchen and I’ll end up dragging him away kicking and screaming.”

Tentatively raising a hand, Vivien asked, “So you don’t know where any of us will be?”

As truthful as she always tried to be, Dawn shook her head. “As of right now, no. Hopefully, by the end of the week, we’ll have things figured out a bit. Of course, there are a select few who I can imagine would like to keep their positions from previous years. “

Mick was quick to nod, “I want to keep teaching archery.”

Chuckling, Dawn nodded, “I understand. However, I do advise that you at least try to enjoy the other opportunities that will be available.” Agreeing, Mick relaxed in her seat, leaning against Butchy’s chest as he brought an arm around her shoulders. Returning her attention to the group as she scanned over them, Dawn started, “Another thing I should get out of the way is that, even without campers on the grounds, we ask that you begin to follow the basic outline of the schedule we’ve left in each of the cabins.”

“Wake-up call, each of the meals, and lights-out?” Riven wondered.

Giving the nineteen-year-old a nod of confirmation, Dawn agreed, “Exactly. Throughout the day, feel free to roam around and explore the camp as long as you show up to meals with everyone else and try to be on time in the mornings. With lights-out, we’re a bit more lenient toward the counselors as you’re all used to being up later than most campers, so don’t worry too much.”

Before she could continue, Dawn’s walkie-talkie crackled to life and her husband’s voice came through, “The first shuttle of staff members just pulled in. Are you on your way back or should I send them your way?”

Unclipping the device, the older woman brought the walkie-talkie toward her mouth and pressed the button on the side as she replied, “Send them on over. I just finished with the kids.” Once her husband replied, Dawn clipped the walkie-talkie back onto her belt loop and turned her attention back to the group before her with a smile. “Alright, well, you should probably get going before this place gets claustrophobic. I hope you all enjoy your summer here as much as we’ll enjoy having you all here. It will be very exciting to see how time treats you all.”

After thanking the woman and gathering their new shirts, the group made their way down from the counselors’ lodge and followed Vivien as she guided them toward the arts and crafts barn. As they walked, Vivien opened the notes app on her phone and began explaining what each of their new, given nicknames meant. “An otter is typically associated with playfulness, youth, creativity, and - as Nonna puts it - ‘sensibility without suspicion’,” Vivien claimed, using her fingers to make air quotes as she spoke with Bentley. “Basically, you’re able to understand things going on around you even when others think you don’t.”

Bentley hummed, “Is that why she let me look at her painting?”

“I don’t know,” Vivien shrugged, “maybe. Either that or it could just be that I talked about you guys so much that she assumed you’d like to talk art as much as she does.”

After thinking it over for a while, Bentley nodded and asked, “What about Royce? What does his mean?”

Sparing a glance at her boyfriend as she found the animal he had been given, Vivien smiled, “An opossum represents cleverness, sensibility, and someone who believes themselves to be fairly grounded. They’re also known to be strategic and typically adapt easily to new surroundings.”

Royce took in the information, allowing Vivien’s statement to sink in before asking, “How could she possibly know all of that just by looking at us?”

“Well, to be fair, I did tell her a lot about you guys,” Vivien chuckled. “But that’s just the way Nonna is.”

“I remember the first time I came here,” Riven piped up. “She took one look at me and instantly connected me with a wolf.”

“A wolf?” Miles questioned.

“‘A loyal and intuitive free spirit who can gain great success through the bonds he holds most dear,’” Riven recalled. Letting out a laugh, he claimed, “At first, I thought she had lost a few screws, but now I know that’s just her way of bonding with people.”

“What does mine mean?” Butchy asked Vivien as he helped her push open the doors to the art barn. “A ram?”

“Other than the fact that you’re hardheaded?” Carrie quipped with a smirk as she passed him.

Leveling a sharp stare on the blonde, Butchy looked ready to fight back, but as Mick sent him a firm, no-nonsense glare, he sucked in a slow breath and swallowed the snarky comeback on the tip of his tongue. Instead, it was Mick who spoke, “I think rams are actually known to be a symbol of sensitivity.”

“They are,” Vivien confirmed as she followed the group inside the barn. “‘Stoic, but sensitive, persevering, and imaginative,’” she added as she read. “Rams are also known to represent change and new beginnings.”

Stepping closer to Vivien with a curiously raised brow, Miles asked, “What on earth does a gorilla mean? It sounds as though I should be offended, but she said it with a smile, so I think it could be a good thing.”

Quickly scrolling up through her notes, Vivien nodded, “It’s a good thing. Look; ‘gorillas are immensely family-oriented, strong, and protective. Typically intelligent creatures, gorillas are known to be peace-keepers in times of aggression, using logic in an attempt to work others out of arguments.”

Miles hummed thoughtfully, peering down at Vivien with a smirk, “They all sound pretty accurate.”

Nudging the taller man with an elbow, Vivien grinned knowingly as she muttered, “Just wait until you hear what Carrie’s means. Hers is perfect.”

Glancing over Vivien to where his girlfriend was helping Royce and Bentley search for a specific color of dye for their shirts, Miles smiled, relieved to see them finally working together on something. It wasn’t long before the group had gathered all of the supplies they needed on a large tarp and made their way back to the lakeside cabin they would be staying in. After spending lunch in the mess hall and changing into clothing they didn’t mind getting messy, the group of eight laid the tarp out on the sand and got to work on dying their shirts in different patterns and vibrant colors. Rubber bands and bottles of dye were passed around as music played softly from the speaker Vivien had hooked her phone up to.

The warm summer air swelled as the sun hit its peak in the sky, forcing some to roll up their sleeves as they worked. Once they had deemed their shirts done, they placed them inside clear baggies and left them to dry on the tarp in the sun. By the time they were done setting everything aside, the announcement for dinner came over the camp’s speaker system, calling all workers to the mess hall. Upon their arrival, Riven and Vivien were brought into a tackle of a hug and bounced around as their fellow bandmates swarmed them. With matching smiles, Jade and Erica ushered the group to the long dinner table they’d been waiting at, the table having just enough room for the ten of them.

“I can’t believe you got the walking Barbie doll to come to camp,” Erica whispered to Vivien. “I didn’t think this would be her scene.”

Vivien shrugged, swallowing the bite she had taken of her taco before saying, “So far, she seems to be enjoying herself. I think she’s just eager to try new things.”

“Maybe she wants to take notes for a future show,” Jade offered. “You said she’s an actress, right?”

Vivien nodded, but it was Royce who responded from his seat beside her, “I doubt she’ll last long once the campers arrive and she has to do actual work.”

Lightly kicking Royce’s shin under the table, Vivien sent him a disbelieving stare as she said, “I thought Miles asked you to try to get along this summer.”

“He did,” Royce sighed, glancing over at the blonde as she talked animatedly with his brothers and Mick at the other end of the table, “but she’s not exactly making it easy.” 

“It hasn’t even been a full day yet,” Erica snickered.

“Give her a chance,” Jade agreed. “She might just surprise you.”

As Royce gave a noncommittal hum and returned to his food, Vivien looked across the table at her bandmates and mouthed a quick, “Thank you,” before taking another bite of her taco. The couple nodded in understanding, sending the brunette a hopeful smile as they returned to their food. Once the meal was over, they walked Erica and Jade back to Oakridge, the cabin they were residing in for the time being, and headed back toward the lake to watch the sunset over the water. Before venturing out onto the wooden piers that stretched over the water, Vivien took a handful of rocks from the shoreline, hoping to perfect her stone-skipping skills.

At the end of the piers where the two connected into one, Vivien handed Carrie some of the rocks she’d taken and attempted to show the blonde how to skim the rocks across the lake’s surface. Despite her best efforts, Vivien could only manage one or two skips whereas Carrie had somehow managed to achieve four or five before her stone sank to the bottom of the river. Carrie and Vivien shared a laugh as Vivien’s stone hit hers, the two bouncing off of each other before sinking. However, as their laughter distracted them from their surroundings, neither the brunette nor the blonde noticed the tall shadow that passed behind them until it was too late. With a swift, calculated shove to Carrie’s back, Butchy nudged her over the edge of the wooden pier. What he didn’t account for, however, was Vivien’s instinct to pull Carrie back, resulting in both girls falling off the pier with matching shrieks. 

Even Butchy appeared taken aback as the pair plunged into the lake with a stupendous splash, but Royce and Miles were quick to weave their way to where their girlfriends had fallen in, waiting for them to come up for air. Carrie was the first to surface, swiping her hair out of her face with a look of rage-filled disbelief as Butchy stared down at her with a smirk. Vivien bobbed up a moment after, her soaked braids clinging to her skin as she wiped the water from her eyes.

“Are you two okay?” Miles asked, reaching a hand out for Carrie to take if she wanted help

“Peachy,” Carrie grumbled. 

“I can’t see,” Vivien claimed, looking around blindly. “My glasses are gone.”

“Shit,” Butchy mumbled, kneeling on the edge of the pier beside Royce and stretching out a hand to the brunette. “I’m sorry, piccola. Let’s get you out of there and start looking.”

Leaning over the water, Royce followed Butchy’s lead, reaching out for his girlfriend as he offered, “Here.”

Stretching out a hand, Vivien gripped the first hand she was offered before finding another. Instead of allowing them to pull her from the water, however, she found one of the pier’s underwater anchor poles with her shoe and pressed against it, using what leverage she had to push off from the pole, yanking the two men into the water with her and Carrie. Watching with wide eyes and a shocked smile as Butchy and Royce were catapulted into the water as she latched onto Miles’ awaiting hand, Carrie let out a bark of laughter before slowly turning her mischievously glimmering azure gaze onto Miles.

Catching on a moment too late, Miles let out a soft, “No,” before the blonde followed her friend’s lead and yanked Miles into the water, shoving off from the underside of the pier as he tumbled into the lake. Soon, the others who had gathered on the pier joined in, jumping off the edge of the pier to join those already swimming around. Bentley joined Royce and Butchy in the search for Vivien’s glasses as Vivien hovered close to the pier. Not long after the search began, Royce surfaced with a smile and placed the round-framed glasses on the bridge of Vivien’s nose. After giving her boyfriend a grateful kiss on the cheek, Vivien swam away just enough to send a wave of water his way, resulting in a returning splash from the curly-haired boy.

After a few hours of swimming and splashing around, the group headed for the shore, ready to wash the lake water from their clothes and prepare for a no-doubt restful night. Sodden clothes were hung on a rope they secured on the deck outside and, by the time everyone had showered and changed for the night, it was almost time for lights-out. While most everyone had returned to their rooms for the night, Vivien sat on the living room floor in front of Miles as he wove her hair into a loose French braid, the pair softly conversing about the day they’d had. An exhausted Bentley piped in here and there from his spot on the far end of the couch, relaxing against Royce as the middle Murphy brother ran a hand through his younger brother’s hair. After watching the group interact as she worked on cleaning Vivien’s glasses in the light of the downstairs bathroom, Carrie entered the room as quietly as possible, lowering herself to the floor before handing Vivien her glasses with a smile.

“Tired?” she asked as Vivien let out a lengthy yawn.

“Mhm,” Vivien hummed. “Swimming always puts me to sleep.”

“Me too,” Bentley muttered, looking as though he could fall asleep at any moment.

“Well,” Miles began as he tied off Vivien’s braid and draped it over her shoulder, “I guess it’s a good thing it’s time for you three to go to bed.”

Peering over at his older brother, Royce smirked, “I’m not tired yet.”

Flinging Vivien’s soaked scrunchie at Royce with a grin, Miles chuckled, “Get tired, then. You guys need sleep.”

“Says the one who’s going to need four people to drag him out of bed tomorrow,” Carrie snickered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles sighed, pushing himself from the couch as Vivien stood and stretched. “The sooner they get to sleep, the sooner I get to sleep and the sooner I wake up.”

“Bullshit,” Vivien pretended to cough.

“He could do it,” Bentley claimed, earning him a few incredulous stares. Then, he added, “If someone throws a bucket of ice water at him when the alarm goes off.”

As the rest of the group dissolved into giggles, Miles put his hands on his hips and scoffed, “I can wake up whenever I want to.”

Royce chuckled as he and Bentley rose from the couch, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Miles asked as Bentley gave him a hug goodnight.

“He’s definitely not calling you a truther,” Vivien quipped as she headed up the stairs to her room.

With a shake of his head, Miles smiled as Royce stepped forward, giving him a hug before following his girlfriend and younger brother upstairs. Turning to Carrie once the kids had left the room, he asked, “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Carrie acknowledged. “I enjoyed getting to spend the day away from the norm, you know. I’m looking forward to spending the summer here.”

“I am too,” Miles claimed, looping an arm around her shoulders as he guided her toward her room. “It could be a chance for all of us to really get to know each other.”

Nodding, Carrie hummed, “That would be nice. Maybe, by the end of the summer, I won’t be getting pushed into the lake anymore.”

The two locked gazes, amused smiles gracing their faces as they both said, “Wishful thinking.”

Cupping Carrie’s cheek in his hand, Miles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before whispering, “Good night, mon renard.”

Blinking up at him in confusion, Carrie muttered, “That’s a new one.”

“My fox,” Miles explained with a chuckle.

“Hm,” Carrie hummed with a grin. “I like it.”

“Good.”

After saying goodnight, the pair split for the night, retiring to their own rooms to get some sleep for the night. The moon outside shone softly through the lodge’s windows, casting faint shadows on the walls and on some of the slumbering figures that had bundled themselves under the covers of their temporary beds. Although most of the other residents of the house were either drifting off or fast asleep, Bentley was wide awake, staring out the window next to his bed at the darkened campground. He had tried everything in his power to get some sleep - music, those sleep videos Vivien always watched, even going as far as trying to slow his breathing to get some semblance of exhaustion to seep through his muscles, but nothing seemed to work. Taking in a deep breath and sighing it out, Bentley pushed himself to sit up, giving up on the idea of sleep for the time being. Scanning his room for something to do, Bentley stilled as he watched a shadowy figure poke its head around the frame of his door. Slowly, the person leaned further into view and Bentley caught the faintest glimpse of curls under the person’s hood, making a small grin appear on the blond’s face.

“Hey, Ben,” Royce spoke softly. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bentley replied.

Watching his brother step further into the room, Bentley took notice of the pillow tucked under Royce’s arm as his older brother sighed, “I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Same,” Bentley nodded. After a pause of silence, Bentley scooted closer to the wall and offered, “Care to join me?”

“Are you sure?”

“If we both can’t sleep, we might as well stay awake together, right?” Bentley chuckled in a breath.

Letting out a soft laugh, Royce nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

Crossing the room in a few short strides, Royce tossed his pillow into place next to Bentley’s and slid under the cover beside him, sending his younger brother a smile and Bentley relaxed on his side. Taking in a deep breath, Bentley confessed, “It felt weird not having you in the room.”

Nodding against his pillow, Royce softly claimed, “I didn’t like that I couldn’t just look over and make sure you were alright.” After taking another breath, Royce thoughtfully added, “I think that’s one of the reasons why I came to check on you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bentley smiled and shifted closer to Royce as Royce slid an arm around his shoulders, bringing his right arm around Royce’s middle in return. The two brothers talked for a while about the day before attempting to find a comfortable spot under the covers. However, as they both tried to relax into the mattress, a soft tapping on the doorframe caught their attention. Peering over at the doorway, Bentley smirked as Vivien crept into the room, perching herself on the side of the bed. 

Royce took Vivien’s hand in his as he and Bentley sat up, asking her, “Are you alright?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted with a yawn. “I always find it hard to sleep the first couple of nights, so I was going to see if we could read or something if you were up, but you weren’t in your room, so I came here.”

“You found me,” Royce stated.

“I did,” Vivien agreed. “I found both of you.”

“You did,” Bentley concurred. “Care to join us?”

Vivien chuckled, “I don’t think that’s allowed, Beemer.”

Before Royce could think of something to get Vivien to stay, Bentley spoke again, “There’s nothing in the rules against us having a sleepover.”

“I think that only applies to family members, Ben,” Royce said. “Where Viv and I are dating…”

“We can still have a sleepover,” Bentley claimed. When Vivien sent him a raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “Royce, you and I are brothers, and, Viv, you’re practically my sister. Technically, we’re all family.”

With a soft chuckle, Vivien nodded, “I guess, in a roundabout sort of way, you’re right.”

“It’s settled then,” Bentley stated, sliding closer to the wall in order to make more room on the bed, “you’re staying with us tonight.”

As Royce and Vivien shared a smile, Bentley laid back against his pillows, waiting for Royce to shift closer and make room for Vivien to join them. Once they all had made themselves comfortable and Royce had become a human pillow for both Vivien and Bentley, they relaxed into the mattress, staring up at the wooden ceiling with tired eyes and serene smiles. Then, as Royce allowed himself to unwind, a thought came to mind that had his eyes peeling open once again as he stared up at the ceiling in confusion.

“Wait, a second,” he began slowly. “If Bentley and I are brothers and Vivien is Bentley’s sister, does that mean I’m dating my sister?”

As Bentley muffled his bark of laughter in Royce’s hoodie, Vivien reached up and placed a hand over Royce’s face with a tired grin, “Shut your brain off and go to sleep before I knock you out myself.”

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Both are unlikely political sensations who were long consigned to the fringes: Bernie Sanders, an octogenarian US Senator who inspired an army of voters far younger than himself; and Mick Lynch, a former blacklisted construction worker and child of Irish immigrants who, as the leader of the Rail, Maritime and Transport Workers Union (RMT), shot to national prominence when he humbled hostile but underinformed broadcast journalists. “I think Lynch is touching a nerve,” Sanders says.

The de facto leader of the US left has swung his considerable political heft behind a new campaign – Enough Is Enough – launched to fight Britain’s mounting cost of living crisis, which was founded in part by Lynch and the RMT. It has certainly touched a nerve: at a recent rally in Clapham, south London, many of those who had queued around the block were turned away for lack of space. “‘Enough is enough’, funnily enough, is an expression we use a lot here,” Sanders says. “People are sick and tired of often working longer hours for low wages; sick and tired of their kids having a lower standard of living than them; and they’re sick and tired of billionaires getting richer and richer while they fall behind.

“Why, with all this new tech out there, are they not seeing an improved standard of living? Why not more equality, rather than less equality? Why are living standards deteriorating, not improving? Lynch is asking that, Enough Is Enough is asking that – and it’s hitting a nerve, because people are tired of being ignored while the rich get richer.”

Political cut-through is something Sanders knows a lot about, but it was only something he really achieved in his 70s. Born into a working-class Jewish family in New York, he became the mayor of Burlington, Vermont, at 40, later becoming a House Representative and a Senator. A longstanding independent, albeit one who has frequently allied with the Democratic party, Sanders championed causes long eschewed by mainstream Democrats, such as universal healthcare, the abolition of student fees, workers’ rights and the anti-war movement. But his dramatic rise – when he was transformed from a marginalised figure to a frontrunner for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2016 – was driven by two major factors.

One was the financial crash, which exposed inequalities and insecurities that disproportionately fell on the backs of younger Americans. The other was the expectations raised by the election of Barack Obama in 2008, which, for millions of Americans with stagnating living standards, ultimately felt dashed. Although neither his 2016 or 2020 bids succeeded, they mobilised a movement that revitalised the US left and transformed it into a major political force in the Democratic party and beyond.

This brings his attention back to a perennial passion – and what he wants to talk to me about: the prospects of the US labour movement. We speak over the phone, but he hits all his rousing lines with the zest of a platform rally. The thread that runs through all his answers is class politics. This is less of a novelty in progressive politics on the British side of the Atlantic – to rousing cheers at a recent Enough Is Enough rally, Lynch proclaimed: “The working class is back” – but it was long considered alien in a US that peddled a myth of classlessness. This was a politically convenient myth in a country where, Sanders notes, three rich men have more wealth than the poorest half.

But the Brooklyn-born Vermont senator has a new mission: to deploy his political weight behind efforts to unite the struggles of the US and British labour movements. On Wednesday, Sanders will bring his trademark oratory to an RMT rally in central London.

Sanders as mayor of Burlington in 1981.

The labour movements in the US and Britain are significantly weaker than most of their western counterparts. In the US, trade unions had been long hobbled by “red scares” and anti-union so-called “right to work” laws, but they were severely weakened under Ronald Reagan, whose administration, in 1981, fired more than 11,000 striking air traffic controllers to send a salutory lesson to other workers. Today, little more than one in 10 US workers are unionised. British trade unionism did not suffer such a comprehensive rout, but the number of organised workers – about a quarter of the workforce – is half the level of the peak in 1979.

Does Sanders believe both labour movements are learning lessons? “I think what we’re beginning to see here in the US is a significant acceleration of trade union organising,” he says. “We are seeing more workers organising in unions, filing with the National Labour Relations Board [NLRB] to get certification – more than for a very long time.”

What has made him particularly optimistic is workers’ struggles in the union deserts of Starbucks and Amazon. Sanders recently joined striking Starbucks workers on a picket line in Boston. After more than 85 union organisers were fired by the coffee chain in recent months – the NLRB has filed multiple complaints against the firm – his support has boosted the national profile of the fight. “In Starbucks and Amazon, hundreds are joining unions – in Amazon, they’re taking on Jeff Bezos, the second wealthiest person in the world. We’re seeing struggles in university campuses, hospitals, nurses – we’re seeing unprecedented organising compared to what we’ve seen in recent years.”

But he touches on an apparent contradiction: “While the middle classes decline while the rich become richer and richer, there’s more support for the trade union movement in the US – people feel much stronger about unions than previously.” And he is right: last year, 68% of Americans told pollsters they approved of unions, the highest level since 1965, while polling in the UK has shown that most working-age Britons back the current wave of strikes. Yet that hasn’t translated into most joining a union. Why?

“In the US, corporations make it very hard for workers to exercise their constitutional rights to form a union,” Sanders says. “[Last Wednesday], the NLRB found Starbucks had fired workers and rescheduled those shop workers who were forming unions – which is illegal. We are seeing companies threatening workers that they’ll go to China. There’s massive corporate opposition to workers forming unions in the country.”

He highlights another formidable barrier: “We’ve got a media in the country which is certainly not sympathetic to unions, which will very rarely discuss the benefits of unions, like better working conditions, wages, pensions, et cetera, et cetera. The media is obviously owned by a handful of large corporations who don’t talk about class issues, economic issues. All of that contributes to making it harder for workers to become organised.”

But there is a tradition of militancy among US workers, despite attempts to scrub it out, not least in the 1950s under McCarthyism. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, waves of strikes rippled across US society. Does Sanders see a parallel? “Yes, I do. In the 1930s, there was a massive increase in organising and membership, and workers fought valiantly – they did sit-ins, took on powerful interests. What we are seeing now is real frustration in terms of inflation accounting for wages, with the average US worker earning less than almost 50 years ago – taking into account productivity gains, slightly worse than then. That’s insane!”

Given the likes of Starbucks have so long succeeded in suppressing labour organising, why has there been a blaze of activity? “I’ll tell you why, in my view: a lot of Starbucks workers are younger people. Many of them have college degrees and they’re looking around them: their wages aren’t keeping up with inflation, they can’t afford housing or healthcare or student debt, they’re falling further and further behind compared to their parents, and they’re standing up to the owner of Starbucks – Howard Schultz – saying: ‘You’re worth $4bn! What’s your problem with allowing us to organise workers?’ And his response is simply to try and fire workers and intimidate them. To some degree, this is a multiracial generational fight – primarily of younger people, but not exclusively – standing up to a billionaire.”

Starbucks has denied all allegations of retaliation. A spokesperson told The Guardian previously that “these individuals are no longer with Starbucks for store policy violations. A partner’s interest in a union does not exempt them from the standards we have always held. We will continue enforcing our policies consistently for all partners.”

A pro-Vietnam war protest in May 1970 that descended into the Hard Hat Riot.

But the relationship between the US labour movement and younger progressives has not always been harmonious, to say the least. In the 1960s and 1970s, US labour was led by the gruff former plumber George Meany, a zealous supporter of the Vietnam war, who relished denouncing student protesters as “kookies”. The nadir came in the form of the so-called Hard Hat Riot of 1970, when hundreds of construction and office workers physically attacked student protesters in New York. Is there hope this time for solidarity between trade unionists and the rising US younger left?

“That kind of unity is something we are working on very hard,” says Sanders. “I’ve now held three rallies with progressive union leaderships – with Sean O’Brien, the new president of the Teamsters, and Sarah Nelson, the president of the Association of Flight Attendants – in Chicago, Philadelphia and Boston. What we see at these rallies is unionists coming together with younger progressives – and the unity of those forces, young people fighting for economic and racial justice with a union movement, has incredible potential. To answer the question: it’s absolutely imperative we bring them together – and we are trying to do that.”

When US workers fought bosses in the 1930s, they enjoyed the advantage of the sympathy and political muscle of the president, Franklin D Roosevelt. Joe Biden has repeatedly vowed to be “the most pro-union President ever”, but his career has long been wedded to establishment and “centrist” factions in the Democratic party. Sanders says he knows the President “reasonably well” and points to the 110-page policy platform his team hammered out with Biden’s campaign team in 2020, with taskforces covering areas ranging from healthcare to the environment.

“What the President recognised is that there was, and is, a movement of working people, of young people, who are sick and tired of the status quo, and I think, when we did the American Rescue Plan [to help the US through the pandemic], it was one of the most consequential pieces of legislation for working people in modern history. When we did the Build Back Better legislation [a huge package of measures related to social policy and the climate crisis], it had the support of the President for a multibillion-dollar transformational programme, and it was sabotaged by a couple of conservative Senators, but he said: ‘I will stand by the working people of the country and take on the big monied interests.’”

This differs from some of the more pessimistic narratives about Biden from the US left, which is still reeling from Sanders’ two presidential-nomination defeats. But his optimism springs not so much from naivety about Biden as from a firm belief in the ability of struggles from below to bend the powerful to act in workers’ interests. “You’re seeing a progressive movement of people in every state of this country which is beginning to go beyond incremental politics, asking: ‘How does it happen that every rich country on Earth – including the UK – has universal healthcare, while we have a dysfunctional system? Why in other countries is university education free, when in this country it’s outrageously expensive?”

I put it to him that his campaigns tapped into discontent, but magnified it and gave it direction. “What my campaign did was to raise issues, and the establishment suddenly discovered millions of people not happy with the status quo who wanted transformational change,” he says. Sanders gives the example of the President last week committing to cancel up to $10,000 (£8,500) of student debt. “Did it go as far as I wanted? No, but is it a significant step forward to alleviate the terrible burden that young people are suffering? Yes, it will help a lot.”

Another example is the recently passed Inflation Reduction Act, which, among other things, lowers prescription drug prices and promotes clean energy. “Again, it didn’t go as far as we campaigned on, but, on many of those issues, part of what we demanded has been implemented.”

What next for the US left? The youthful optimism of this 80-year-old senator appears limitless. Next, he says, they will grow the labour movement and tie it to the progressive movement. “You may or may not know, but, come January, in terms of politics, there will be a stronger underlying progressive presence in the House than at any time in modern history. We are seeing accomplishments at the political level, at the organising level, so we are making progress.”

Yet all of this relies on forcing a president to go beyond his comfort zone. Sanders remains one of the most popular politicians in the US, and his campaigns encouraged a galvanised US left to dare to dream of achieving outright political power. What lessons would a future campaign learn from his attempts, which transformed political debate in the US, but failed to secure him the presidency?

Sanders does a laugh anyone will recognise – the “I do not want to talk about this now” laugh. “That’s a long question – a very long question!” Again, he highlights his campaigns’ signature accomplishments – underlining that “a significant part of society is not happy with the status quo, that they’re sick and tired of income and wealth inequality and they want fundamental changes in our economic and political system”. But he clearly believes he was hobbled by establishment hostility. “When you take on the political establishment and the media establishment and the corporate establishment … it’s not an easy thing to do. We need time and we certainly didn’t have that luxury.”

I wonder, too, if he recognises that Enough Is Enough has emerged in large part because of a vacuum left by a Labour leadership that has abandoned any pretence of transformative change. Sanders is diplomatic. “I think it’s not dissimilar to what we’re seeing in the Democratic party here – I’m not commenting on the Labour party; I don’t know enough,” he says. Referring to traditional left-of-centre parties struggling in the global north, he adds: “Because working-class people are increasingly alienated from the political process, those parties are not delivering for them. That’s why the Democrats have a choice to make: are they the party of the working class or the elite?”

The legacy of Sanders, surely, is that he brought together otherwise fragmented and disillusioned pockets of discontent into a highly visible and articulate movement with confident demands. Maybe – just maybe – he can help pull off the same trick by helping to unite the increasingly assertive labour movements on both sides of the Atlantic.

[vincess-princess]

in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 7

Word count: 3048 Warnings: mild unconsensual touching A\N: you thought this fic is dead? well i did too, but my depression said otherwise

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

This night Vince managed to get a couple hours of deep, dreamless sleep - out of sheer exhaustion, but it was better than feverish turmoil of the last night. This time he was too tired to finish what he started then, but Mick still locked the door of the galley and hung the key on a chain over his neck. Retrieving it from there was practically impossible - Mick was a very light sleeper.

Vince was roused early in the morning to help prepare breakfast for the crew. They were soon to reach Port Royal, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. He itched to set foot on a solid land: all the rocking that made him put so much more effort into the simplest actions like walking and carrying things was driving him insane. And, of course, getting off the ship could offer him a chance to escape. He had no idea where to go were his escape successful, but those were bridges to cross when – if – he would come to them. The pirates could as well just tie him up and throw him in the hold again, after all, and all his plans would go up in smoke.

Mick mercifully snatched the tray out of his hands when he was fumbling about with Nikki’s breakfast, probably because of the misery written all over Vince’s face. But that didn’t defer the inevitable for long: soon after breakfast Nikki went out of his cabin, red-eyed and pale like a corpse but in relatively good spirits, and joined the crew on deck. Vince, his guts twisting into a knot at the mere sight of the pirate captain, attempted to flee to the safety of the galley, but Tommy caught him by the arm and forcefully pulled back onto the bench where they had been sitting.

Slash and Duff, the most contrasting yet somehow inseparable duo Vince had ever laid his eyes upon, rose from their bench when Nikki approached them. Hardly had Vince begun to wonder why - there was enough place on it to fit a third person just fine – when Nikki climbed onto it instead and turned to the crew, looking all ready to take the floor.

“Mornin’, lads,” he said loudly and was greeted by a choir of hoarse voices. “We’re gonna reach Port Royal in three hours or so.”

Everyone knew that already, but cheered nevertheless.

“I know how much y’all miss the pubs and the whores, but we’ve gotta do the job first, y’know. So don’t wander off until all the slaves are gathered and sold. After that – go wild for the rest of the day, but only one day. I want everyone on board tomorrow morning, and whoever comes in late will be scrubbing the deck until it glows for the next week.”

The excitement dampened considerably, pirates’ faces darkened. Only one evening to let loose was definitely not enough to ease the stress of the long journey. Still, not a single soul protested, either out of great love or great fear for their captain. Vince still couldn’t determine which one it was.

“Now enjoy your breakfast and get ready to dock. Start planning how to spend your silver while you’re at it – we all have quite a bit of it now, I believe, and more will come when I close the deal on the slaves. Half a dozen more lucrative raids like these, and we might be able to give it all up for good and give our darling lady a comfortable dock to settle down until her time comes. Think of that, lads.”

A murmur of approval ran through the crew as it dispersed in different angles, and for a second Vince couldn’t help but wonder: did Nikki really held this bunch of cutthroats together solely on promises of comfortable retirement?

He didn’t get to ponder over this much, though. Nikki hopped off the bench, turning his head around, searching the deck with his eyes – and then his gaze locked on Vince and Tommy, and he confidently headed towards them. Vince couldn’t do anything but helplessly watch him approach: Tommy’s iron grip didn’t let him move away for so much as an inch. The first mate’s words said in the galley yesterday untimely came to mind. Would Nikki seek revenge for Vince not giving him what he wanted (unintentionally, but still) and painting him in the bad light in the eyes of the crew?

“Mornin’, T-bone,” he ruffled Tommy’s hair. The first mate closed his eyes and smiled; were he a cat, he would be purring. Then Nikki turned his attention to Vince. He didn’t look angry at first sight, but that didn’t mean anything. “And you, Vinnie the princess. How’d you sleep?”

The new diminutive stung even more than his other nicknames. Of course, Tommy told him Vince’s name, and of course, he immediately weaponized that knowledge, knowing full well how humiliated it made Vince feel.

“Don’t call me that,” Vince said through gritted teeth.

“Be thankful I even bothered to use your name, slave,” Nikki’s smile instantly shifted into a frown, the last word so sharp Vince flinched; next to it all the other nicknames were like wasp bites to a gunshot. Blood rushed to his cheeks, the warmth of anger in his chest so comforting, so easy to slip into Vince had to bite his lip to ground himself with pain. That was exactly what Nikki sought from him, he reminded himself, and no way in hell was he getting that. “Don’t you see your master has no place to sit? Get your ass off the bench.”

Relieved, Vince jumped at the opportunity to leave and was just about to walk away when Nikki’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back. He didn’t manage to keep his balance, tripped and landed right onto a timely extended lap.

“What are you-“ he tried to push Nikki away, spurred by the sniggering and whispers coming from the crew, but the bastard dug his nails into the skin of Vince’s hips and held tight. Vince looked around helplessly, but saw only smirks and leers: the pirates openly enjoyed the show. Nikki’s eyes glinted triumphantly.

“I haven’t given you my permission to leave, have I? You will sit with us.”

“I could just sit on the deck,” Vince murmured, caving in amid the growing laughter. That was damn fine retaliation if he’d ever seen one: with one swift, artful movement Nikki sealed Vince’s status of the captain’s bitch on the ship. Protesting any longer would just prompt more mocking from the crew that already didn’t hold him in high esteem. He almost wished Nikki had violated him again instead, as long as it happened in the privacy of his cabin.

“What?” Nikki pinched his thigh. “Nah, my whores ain’t sitting on the deck as long as my lap is available. I don’t want that lovely ass to flatten out.”

“Whores get paid,” Vince said grimly. “I don’t.”

“Oh, is it so?” Nikki tilted his head. “Well, hate to break it to Your Highness, but food and water you get here don’t come for free. Neither does the sleeping place we so kindly provided you with. And if that’s not enough, there’s also the money we are going to lose on not selling you together with your crew, and believe me, that’s a debt you’ll be paying for a real long time.”

Vince figured what could an average slave cost, and the calculation filled him with resentment, spilled bitterness on the tongue. If Nikki really valued his contribution, unwilling as it was, no higher than a bowl of watery porridge and a bundle of rags, then he was really in for a long time here.

“Careful, Nik,” Tommy snickered. “He looks like he’s gonna gouge your eyes out.”

“Really?” Nikki tugged at Vince’s hair, forcing to face him, and leaned in so close their noses almost touched. “Are you, Vinnie?”

“Don’t want to get my hands dirty,” Vince replied, looking past him deliberately. “You can’t even get a proper soaking here.”

Tommy burst into laughter first, and it was so contagious that even Nikki let out a snort. Vince watched them from under half-closed eyelids. If they couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of his intentions, it was their problem, not his.

“Damn, you’ve got sharp tongue,” Nikki said when Tommy’s laughter subsided. His hand, meanwhile, was slowly but surely making its way up Vince’s leg, and it took Vince’s entire reserves of willpower to pretend it wasn’t there. “We appreciate a good joke, but you gotta be careful. Sometimes the border between a joke and an insult is incredibly thin.”

Nikki’s other hand slithered down Vince’s side until it reached the hem of his shirt, hiked it up and crawled underneath, his cold fingers stroking the skin just above the waistband of his trousers. Vince froze, heart racing, but the fingers didn’t try to advance past that. Thank God, Nikki wasn’t that perverted.

Fortunately, the captain didn’t stay on deck for much longer and soon dismissed Vince to the galley, where he spent the remaining three hours laboring over dirty dishes. The sea water relentlessly burned his fingers covered in cuts and scratches, and Mick didn’t let him use precious drinking water to wash the salt out. Vince now understood why the hands of scullery maids at the Wharton mansion were always so dry and flaky. How did they manage to do it for a pittance all day, every day, for the majority of their lives, and not go insane?

“Hey, you’re a learned man, right?” Mick asked him while rummaging in the cabinets at the corner of the galley.

“Uh,” Vince stuttered, “depends on what you mean by that. I was… let’s say, not very diligent in my studies.”

“Well damn, I’m not asking you for a philosopher’s stone or anything. Just to write some stuff down – Nikki always forgets what supplies we need.”

“That I can do.” Vince wiped his hands on a towel, grateful for a distraction. “Just give me something to write on. Wait, isn’t that a piece of my shirt?”

“Sorry, we don’t have stamped paper here, Your Highness,” Mick huffed. “Just make it legible.” He then dictated the foods they needed to stock up on. None of them sounded particularly delicious, but at least there would be some variety.   

“So Nikki can read?” Vince asked halfway through the list.

“No, I’m making you write this just for shits and giggles.” Mick huffed. “Of course, he can. He eats up every book he lays his hands on.”

“Where’d he learn it?”

“Well, aren’t you nosey,” Mick’s lips twitched. “Curiosity killed the cat, y’know. You might get off with just a broken nose, though. But don’t count on it.”

“Lord! Are any of you capable of holding a conversation without threats of violence? A ‘fuck off’ would suffice,” Vince threw his hands up. “I am not even curious, mind you. It’s just… there’s more to him than meets the eye. Has he ever told you about his past? A classic street beggar to ship captain story?”

“What are you driving at?” Mick turned his head abruptly, his piercing gaze sending shivers down Vince’s spine, but he pressed on.

“Don’t take it personally. I’m not trying to offend you or him. I just find it hard to believe he’s of the same sort as the rest of you. Sorry, man, but none of you are even remotely close to him in swordsmanship. I for sure am not, and I’ve been training with a true master of the craft since I was seven. His technique is mind-blowing; you can’t just pick that up in street fights, only through prolonged formal training. Just a detail I noticed.”

Mick tilted his head and gave Vince a long, unreadable look. Heavy silence hung over the galley like a storm cloud, driving Vince more and more uneasy, but he refused to back down and drop the topic. Mick was on a losing end here in any case – it was not what he would say that mattered to Vince, but how he would say it.

Finally, the pirate spoke. “You’re more observant than you seem.”

“It doesn’t take much to see that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Jesus, learn to take a compliment at last.” Mick finally turned his attention to the cabinet, letting Vince breathe with his whole chest again. “That’s a good trait to have. People never hide something unimportant. They also usually desperately want that something to stay hidden, no matter the cost. This might help you survive in this world, but only on one condition.”

“That being?”

“You gotta keep your mouth shut,” Mick replied sharply and slammed the doors of the cabinet.

Vince sighed. “Once again, could’ve just told me to get lost.”

“You could just as well take it literally. And I still need you to write the list.”

They had barely finished the list when Vince heard steps on the other side of the door, and his stomach sank. There was nothing particularly distinctive about them, but Vince’s sense of danger only spiked like this near one person. Nikki rapped on the door, just for the sake of it, because he barged in without waiting for a response.

“You done with the list, Mick?” he asked, picking up the piece of cloth and stretching it before his eyes. Then he frowned, brought it closer, then moved it farther from his face. It didn’t seem to help: his expression seemed just as perplexed. “Man, what the hell? I can’t make heads or tails out of this. Who wrote it?”

“Vince,” Mick pointed at him, and Vince shrank under Nikki’s vexed gaze. Why did the eyes of this man always make him feel like a butterfly on a pin in his sister’s bug collection? “Figured his writing would be better than my pothooks and hangers.”

“Not at all.” Nikki tossed the cloth back onto the counter. “It’s so ornate I can hardly make out words. Why are y’all blue bloods always trying to show off?” He shoved the cloth in Vince’s direction. “I ain’t reading that shit. Rewrite this in normal writing.”

Vince slowly exhaled through clenched teeth. His handwriting wasn’t perfect, but he liked to think of it as quite decent. Yet Nikki couldn’t leave even such a trifle untainted.

“Alright,” he said as indifferently as he could. “Let me just get my pencil.“

Then he raised it to Nikki’s eye level and pointedly broke it in half.

“Oh no!” He dropped the pieces, and they scattered across the floor. “What a pity! I don’t have any more pencils!”

Nikki’s eyes narrowed, and Mick clicked his tongue warningly somewhere behind Vince’s back. Vince belatedly realized that his spontaneous comeback, while undoubtedly effective, should have been played in public, mostly because then Nikki would be less likely to kill him on the spot, but the deed has already been done. Vince looked over him, detecting a gun on one hip and a saber on another, and wondered which one Nikki would choose to crack his skull open.

But seconds passed, and he wasn’t reaching for either. And the more he lingered, the less probable it seemed – Nikki could only grant him such a merciful death in a burst of mind-blinding rage.

“Huh. You’re getting bolder every day.” Nikki finally spoke. He sounded so unexpectedly, even unnaturally collected it was genuinely unsettling. Knowing Nikki, this lack of emotion was far more ominous than the ugliest form his rage could ever take. “We’ll have to talk about that. Not now, though. Since you just broke the only pencil on this ship, and I can’t read your scribbles, you’re going with me to Port Royal.”

Vince blinked, taken aback. Really? That was all it took to get Nikki to bring him to the shore? No elaborate plan centered around bearing humiliation through bitten tongue and gritted teeth needed-

“In a collar and leash, of course,” Nikki added with a devilish grin, ruthlessly crushing Vince’s barely rekindled hope. Getting groped in front of thirty people suddenly seemed not that bad now. Certainly no worse than being paraded around on a leash like a thoroughbred dog in front of ten times as many.

He couldn’t – wouldn’t – do it. His dignity might have been shattered and trampled and spit upon, but it was the only thing still giving him strength to resist, the iron rod that didn’t let the pirates fully bend him to their will. This move, cunning and cruel, aimed to pull it out, turn him into a doormat, meek, docile, submissive. Vince couldn’t let that happen, even with an opportunity to escape at stake.

…or could he? Could he play it out his way, pretend to succumb to bide his time, and then, when they let up on him, break free once and for all? Open resistance only invigorated Nikki’s efforts to break him, and Vince wasn’t sure how much more pressure the iron rod that was already showing cracks could still take. He had to try. Otherwise, there would be only one outcome, and he wasn’t going to like it.

Even not taking into account an opportunity to escape, a chance to leave the ship already sounded damn alluring. Vince couldn’t wait to get away from all the nauseating rocking, greasy piles of dishes, stuffiness of the galley and scorns and giggles of the crew. Granted, the main source of his misery would remain in close proximity, but it would still be a much-awaited breath of fresh air, in every sense of the word.

And Nikki was but a human. Vile and wicked, but a human nonetheless, who could get tired, sick or drunk and, as a result, loosen his guard. Besides, all humans have to relieve themselves from time to time - surely he wouldn’t drag Vince into a washroom with him? That wouldn’t be too out of character, but Vince wanted to believe he still had some shreds of decency left. Then Vince would prop the door up with a chair, and adieu!

“This wasn’t a question, by the way,” Nikki unwittingly solved Vince’s dilemma, and not in his own favor. “Get ready, we’re leaving shortly.”

[heymacy]

Macy💗💗💗💗

How's your day going? any headcanons on your mind lately ?

hello my darling anon xx!! love love love seeing you 'round these parts 💛🥰 my day's been alright, thank you! i'm in recovery mode from a very exhausting weekend so i've been planted on the couch for about 5 hours now, my favorite place to be!

lately i've been thinking about their morning routine. ian's the early riser in their household, no doubt about it. mickey prefers to sleep in but the promise of early morning sex is usually enough to rouse him. those heightened sensations are inimitable in the nighttime, so he's learned to love it despite the sacrifice. once they disentangle themselves from one another, they head to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for the day. most days they shower together but they're often pushing their luck time-wise so it's not always as slow and sexy as they'd like it to be. soap in the eyes, elbows in the ribs, lots of mick knock it off i'm just trying to wash your ha--mick! stop! let me do it!! once they're clean and dressed, ian makes them breakfast while mickey handles the pre-workday checklist. he might be a little obsessive about it, triple-checking their route for maximum efficiency, but then again, ian's a little obsessive about learning how to make puffy eggs. we've all got our Thing™️ y'know? regardless of how the morning pans out, it always ends with a sweet little peck á la 11x11 as they stumble out the door, in those goofy little uniforms no less. don't mess with these white guys 😉

[joeyjoeylee]

I loved BSOTL! I think about Gretchen saying "Super Best Tiger" on the daily and giggle to myself. My cat side eyes me.

I wanted to know if you had plans to write more Brio or write anything in general?

Anon, you've made me Grinch Smile thinking of Gretchen and her never-ending exasperation with her Boss slash Little Brother-Cousin she will always partially see as a 5-year-old trailing after her annoying her 🤣 🤣  Putting answer under a cut b/c I may word vomit:

I've written a bunch and it's funny you mention Gretchen, b/c I just checked and I'm up over 5K words into her POV companion to the series. (4K into Annie's, 3K into Courtney's, etc.)

I had also started imagining a canon-jumpoff AU where everything is the same except for Beth/Rio meeting a couple years down the road instead when she is shiny newly-minted Super Go-getter City Councilwoman Trying to Do "Local Business Outreach" For the Community (and her public profile/own benefit natch) and he is Local [Crime] Business Owner wanting to work this situation [her, the connections, her, more money, her] to his benefit now that Nick is in jail and Rio no longer has that previous protection on the City Council. I wrote one chapter there and it is 2K words of basically Beth/Rio's first meeting, staring fixedly and obsessively at each other across his desk trying to figure each other out (this means "manipulate each other") while Mick stands silently behind Rio totally ignored by both, desperately thinking, please. stop this immediately. I can already see this is the worst idea ever. please. I'm so tired already. please.

My actual finishing/posting problems with all this are both micro and macro tho:

Experiencing plotting issues with the other POV structures that I can't quite figure out how to fix. Should they all go together, chronologically, weaving back and forth from like Gretchen to Annie to Gardner, etc. (which means something could be revealed in like, the Annie one covering the summer between 1L/2L that would be picked up in a Gretchen one later) or each one standalone covering the entire time period of watching the Brio trainwreck? How realistic are some of scenes given they would only have information they had personally witnessed or been told about by two unreliable narrators? Too much detail and backstory into the own POVs making them too OC (original character AND out-of-character) and not enough focus on Brio? Making each a standalone "arc" (I know I'm not using the right words here as I'm not enough of a creative writer to articulate it) with beginning, tension, resolution, to stand in their own rights given how long they are or just break them into vignettes?

Lingering never-leaving thought that I need to break off from my one "story" and do something new, so I pick up the outside POVs, then tell myself "stop! be more creative!" and drop them again.

The other POV thing has been done so much better by much better authors. I'm thinking of femalegothic's On the Outside Looking In and mego42's listening through the air shaft (and tooshyforthis’s AITA for wanting to stop paying my wife’s ‘business partner’ and yelling at her? Dean POV literally the most original hysterically perfect format that I’ve ever seen with these two eyes and I think about it at least weekly and laugh) all the time and the others I've read over the years and not sure it's even worth it to try to make a pale copy of those.

Pandemic/quarantine being "over" means I'm back in my thousands of people public office full-time which is a nonstop chaotic energy drag on this lifelong Introvert such that I come home every night and just want to mindlessly scroll Reddit/Tumblr and look at pretty pictures and read brilliant other writers, not actually ROUSING myself to concentrate and contribute anything myself (my default state tbh). During quarantine, I could block off hours at a time to try to immerse myself into writing uninterrupted and now I just don't have that. I wish I could be like other people who can furiously write during like, the 5 interminable minutes before the latest Zoom call starts, but I really can't. I need it to be uninterrupted blocks of time with no other distractions or it ain't happening.

Continual (inexplicable) internal pressure that if I start something, I must finish it such that I don't really want to post a WIP and have it hanging over my head unfinished. It's funny, I was scrolling back through my late summer 2020 Tumblr the other day trying to find something and saw that I had estimated early on that I would post BSOTL a chapter every two weeks. That is HI-larious in hindsight given the gap between the later chapters. But I had the spirit back then and thought I could get it done quickly. Now with the series no longer active and the fandom much quieter such that I'm not being reminded of this hyperfixation at all times, I'd fear I'd let things lag even more, and ya girl would be eaten alive by the "unfinished" aspect of the whole shebang such that it's better not to post at all.

Feeling that the fandom has "moved on" so to speak, which obviously is totally understandable given the passage of time, but makes me think I should "move on" as well into some new obsession and focus energy there (have not found this yet, open to all suggestions as to what to fixate on now instead!)

This is more than you wanted to know, Anon, so I am sorry as per usual. If I do get anything polished up enough tho, I will either post promptly I promise or ask you for a burner email and just send it to you so I can feel like I accomplished something lol.

Thanks again for the note, I'm really glad something I wrote gives you a regular giggle - makes me happy!

[fleetwood-mac-news]

REVIEW: As the ocean breeze fluttered the scarves and chains dangling from her microphone stand, #StevieNicks gazed out over the immense crowd — some 30,000 strong stretched a quarter-mile down the beach, a vision of late-summer Jersey Shore serenity — and described the scene as only she might: “a fairytale.” “Is this the world of Bruce Springsteen?” Nicks asked early in her 90-minute performance, egging on the crowd. While The Boss did not appear, no shine was lost from Nicks’ emphatic set, which echoed effortlessly over the waterfront expanse and beyond the waves painted green, pink and blue by filtered lights. Attend enough festivals and you’ll learn some artists’ voices just don’t carry well in such monstrous settings. But Nicks, 74, was in full command, unloading a mix of solo classics and Fleetwood Mac staples, twirling in place and traipsing around the stage as her eight-piece band played on. The night’s single-most affecting moment came, perhaps unsurprisingly, during “Landslide,” which Nicks tearfully dedicated to Tessa Fleetwood, Mick Fleetwood’s granddaughter and her goddaughter, who was in attendance. The crowd belted along, many eyes similarly dampened. More explosive were the crashing renditions of “Gold Dust Woman” (with flecks of golden dust swirling on the big screen), and her synth-laden solo cut “Stand Back.” And of course, “Edge of Seventeen” ignited the audience once more. Nicks sang “Free Fallin’” as a tribute to her close friend Tom Petty, who died in 2017, with happy images of Petty and Nicks on the screen. She also unloaded a sharp cover of Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth,” preceded by a funny quip: “I hope you all like it, whatever, I love it.” I’ll take Stevie’s attitude eight days a week. And the set finished with a rousing take on Led Zeppelin’s “Rock N’ Roll,” sending the audience off on a high. It was a propulsive performance, noticeably more high-octane than her solo tour I covered a few years back, and surely the most memorable headlining set in Sea Hear Now’s young history. Pure joy and power. - Matt Smith NJ Advance Media https://www.instagram.com/p/CiqW1U_ughc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=