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FIRST VICTORY (PART 1) | Sebastian Vettel

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summary: sebastian gets his first pole position, while diana realizes that perhaps the world of motorsport she had idealized was not as wonderful as she had imagined. except for seb, of course, who was the one who, in part, made her continue in formula 1.

word count: 7060

warnings: curse words, bad language, mentions and act of sexism. mentions of sickness and medical terms. seb and di getting closer. just nico rosberg doing nico rosberg things (friendly reminder that whatever you read here is fiction, and nothing that happens here or how characters act is real)

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

¡! you can read the fanfic as diana or y/n, but the faceclaim will always be my girl emma stone :)

feedback is truly appreciated!

2008

Italian Grand Prix Autodromo Nazionale Monza

September 11 th Thursday

Monza had not welcomed them as they had hoped.

The sun had barely risen on that Thursday, marking the beginning of the Italian Grand Prix, hiding behind multiple dark gray clouds loaded with water that threatened to unleash upon the circuit at the most unexpected moment.

Diana, with her umbrella in one hand, backpack hanging from her back, and her accreditation hanging from her neck, entered the paddock with a downcast look. She had been with the Toro Rosso team for six months already, and although she knew she was living her dream of being part of the sport she loved so much and was aware from the moment she set foot in that world that it wouldn't be a bed of roses, nothing was turning out as she had initially imagined.

The first three or four Grand Prix had gone well, and they had even strengthened her bond with Sebastian due to his DNF situations. However, as the weeks passed and, with them, the months, everything started to go downhill. While initially the team seemed happy to have a girl among them, derogatory comments, an abundance of sexist jokes, and daily attitudes of the same kind became Wagner's burden. She couldn't help but feel undervalued and, above all, useless.

"I'm sure that when Diana gets promoted and becomes my engineer everyone will want her," Vettel said on one occasion when he heard a sexual proposition from one of his mechanics to another. "Trust me, Diana Wagner is going to win championships with me."

No matter how much the dyed-blonde had tried to prevent Seb from defending her to avoid drawing more attention, he didn't mind; on the contrary, he did it willingly.

"I have four amazing women in my life, and I wouldn't want them to be treated like that," the driver explained, showing a photo of his sisters and mother. "Despite being a ladies' man I know there are limits, and respect is above everything for me."

That didn't help at all as Diana ended up being relegated to minor, unimportant tasks. Suddenly, she found herself going back and forth in the paddock carrying coffees, preparing some meals and running errands for anyone, as if her only function was to be a decoration. She didn't know, but she was sure she had worked too hard to show that she deserved that opportunity more than anyone else who had applied for the scholarship. And not only that: she also tried to gain the trust and, especially, the respect of Toro Rosso members, although it seemed to have worked only with the blue-eyed blonde.

Despite proving her worth in every free practice, qualifying and race, and regardless of learning a little more every day, her senior engineer completely ignored her.

As she crossed paths with people on her way to the team's box, she reminded herself that she had arrived there on her own merits; that she had worked for years and that, if this moment was not the right one for her to shine, she would do so in the future. Patience, and especially attitude, along with luck, were the keys to success, and her father had ingrained it in her over her twenty years of life.

A group of Ferrari engineers accompanied by Felipe Massa passed by her arguing heatedly about possible strategies for Sunday's race and some configuration for the race car. As they almost always mistook her for a grid girl, Diana always took advantage of that. This time was no exception. Carefully, she began to follow them, pretending to attend a phone call to listen to as much of the conversation as possible and mentally note everything they said down. Sebastian's performance had improved since the race in Monaco thanks to some contributions she had made to Alex, the driver's engineer, who obviously took credit for it. She knew that no matter how much information she shared, it would not be acknowledged as her own, but the fact that she could help secure at least a podium for Vettel was all that mattered to her.

"Now, apart from being an aspiring intern, are you also a spy?"

Nico's voice made her come to a sudden halt, realizing she had been caught. A blush started to spread across her cheeks, accompanied by an unpleasant nervousness in her stomach.

"I was just snooping around a bit," the girl explained, growing more nervous as she saw the blonde approaching her. "I wanted to find out what's being discussed around here, that's all."

"About Ferrari's strategies, am I right?"

Diana didn't say anything, confirming Rosberg's assumption.

"That's what I like most about you, that you're determined."

"But you've barely seen me," Diana responded a bit curtly. "I just want to learn from the best to be the best, and I would do anything for it," she commented sincerely.

"Would you come with me now for a coffee?"

The young woman began to feel a shiver running down her spine, feeling uncomfortable with the German's suggestion. Every time she had had a chance to talk to the driver it had been in the same way. That had only made him gradually gain more confidence with her, and the hints became more and more direct.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I'm more of a tea girl," the girl said ironically, trying to maintain composure. "Besides, I don't know if you know, but I came to work and prove my worth, not to boost anyone's ego."

Before the Williams driver could reply, a familiar voice joined the conversation. Sometimes, Sebastian Vettel seemed like Spider-Man and appeared just when the Austrian needed him most.

"What are my eyes seeing? Nico Rosberg flirting, again, with our amazing intern?" he questioned, wrapping his arms around Diana. "Come on, lower yourself to that... I didn't expect that from you, Rosberg."

"I was just being friendly with her," the other guy tried to pretend with a smile. "Right, Di?"

Diana nodded, agreeing with him even though she knew it wasn't true. Vettel noticed how the girl's body tensed a bit due to discomfort, something that bothered him a little.

"Di?" Seb replied. "Now you're close to her?"

"Sebastian," she said, interrupting him because she was aware that if she didn't, things would escalate. "I just wanted to go for coffee, really, but I don't feel like it because I have work to do," she approached him, placing her hand on his chest, and said something in a low voice. "There's no need to make a scene."

Sebastian took a deep breath and calmed down a bit. He didn't like the intentions that many guys had with what he considered his friend, and Rosberg was no exception. He had heard many insinuations with that girl coming from many mouths, and every time someone said something he wanted to start a fight no matter how much he tried to control himself.

"Well, Nico, why don't you let Di and I go back to our garage? We need to discuss some private matters."

Nico accepted, with a mocking smile on his lips.

"Of course, I wouldn't want to interrupt whatever private thing you're going to do."

"Don't make things up, you bastard!" Wagner shouted at him as Rosberg winked at them and began to walk away briskly.

The girl thanked Sebastian mentally. Sometimes Nico could be not just a little but too heavy. It's not that she found him ugly, far from it, but she liked to get to know people before throwing herself into their arms and acting as if they had known each other their whole lives.

"Thanks for that, Seb, but I had it all under control," Diana thanked.

"Sure," the driver replied nonchalantly. "Rosberg can be a bit... let's say persistent," he explained as they walked, seemingly aimlessly. "But that doesn't mean he's not a good guy!"

"I haven't said otherwise."

Vettel stopped and looked at the girl. He barely knew her, and although it was true that in the last few weekends they had become closer, he still didn't have enough confidence to talk about certain topics...

She wasn't his close friend.

Even so, there was something she didn't know about her, but that attracted him immensely.

"Do you like Nico?" he asked without hesitation.

"What? No!" Diana shouted, attracting the attention of those around them. "How could I like him? All he does is ask me out, come up to me every time he sees me alone and invite me to his room in the Williams box! I don't want to hook up with him or whatever he has in mind!"

Sebastian started to mock her. Despite being a good girl, sometimes she seemed so innocent that it made the German feel sorry for her. He decided not to continue the conversation because he knew his temper was strong enough to tell him to fuck off.

"Will you join me for the press conference? It's in like half an hour," he commented, looking at his wristwatch.

"I thought Alex needed me to talk to him or something," the girl deflected the proposal. "Anyway, I can't even get in. I'm not a journalist."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to pretend to be one."

Diana didn't have time to accept the invitation as the German had already gently taken her by the wrist and started walking briskly towards the room where the press conference would be held.

As soon as they arrived and entered, still holding hands and attracting some curious looks, the Austrian was amazed at the immense proportions of the place. From the outside, it seemed much smaller, but she had before her a spacious and well-lit room, with a long table and five chairs arranged on a platform in the center, where Diana supposed the drivers would sit. Behind it was the Formula 1 logo, followed by a Monza Grand Prix 2008 sign.

The driver and the intern continued walking together, still admiring the last completely stunned at the journalists, cameras and other professionals from around the world present.

"Sit wherever you want, newbie," Vettel pointed to the seats where some reporters were already sitting. "I have to pretend that I love answering questions, and you have to pretend you're the best journalist in the room. Let's get to work and then I'll invite you to whatever you want, okay?"

They both parted with a smile. Wagner proceeded to settle in one of the back rows so as not to attract too much attention. She greeted people around her with a fake smile, trying not to let them discover that she was just an intern that no one wanted.

She watched as the drivers who would attend the press, besides Seb, took their respective seats. Kimi Räikkönen appeared with a serious face, something normal for him; Fernando Alonso exuded confidence, and Lewis Hamilton was relaxed, although alert to what they might ask him: it was only his second year competing, and he had already become one of the candidates to be the world champion of the season.

Vettel, as he seemed to do in any situation, was making jokes and chatting very animatedly with some reporters, receiving reprimands from what the intern knew as his public relations, Britta Roeske.

The event's moderator introduced himself, starting the press conference. Despite already knowing them, he presented each of the drivers present, mentioning their team and asking some unimportant questions.

Sebastian, who was the last in line, seemed visibly bored and acted as such, despite the multiple glances Roeske was sending him from her seat, until it was his turn.

"Now let's move on to one of the youngest on the grid: Sebastian, what do you expect from this weekend?" the curious presenter asked. "And, most importantly, are you worried about the rain?"

The young man regained his composure and approached the microphone.

"I have no expectations: I just want to do my best and not die of boredom until I get my first victory," he commented with his characteristic humor. "Regarding the rain, it's like a surprise visit from your mother-in-law, you know? It can show up at any time, hurt you a lot, and even be uncomfortable and challenging, but you can't deny that it adds excitement," the guy got a bit more serious. "Jokes aside, I think all of us would prefer it to be dry and sunny on Sunday, but rain is also part of the show, and if it comes, I'll welcome it with open arms."

The man, after thanking Sebastian with a look, turned to the audience and opened a brief round of questions to the journalists. Surprisingly, almost all of them were directed at Sebastian, who had become a sensation after his announcement as Mark Webber's future teammate at Red Bull Racing next season.

It was normal for everyone to want to know more about that guy from Heppenheim who showed promise.

"Sebastian, do you think you could outperform any of the Ferraris and achieve a good result for Toro Rosso?"

"I don't know, it could be. What do you think, Kimi?" he laughed, looking at the Finn with humor. "Ferrari is incredible, and Monza is one of their homes. I'm here to compete and try to do my best, so I'll strive for that."

Vettel nodded slightly, thanking in a whisper and giving the floor to a blonde reporter, with light eyes, whose name he thought he remembered being Sally.

"Vettel, next year you'll join Red Bull Racing. Anything you can tell us?"

"The best is yet to come," he replied, winking at her. "I hope to see you then. You know I'm always ready to answer your questions, Sal."

The questions continued, and they were even directed at the other three men accompanying Seb. Some were more technical, and others focused on the driver's mentality or the team's strategies, but that didn't prevent Wagner from getting bored. Throughout the forty-five minutes it lasted, she paid attention and took notes in a notebook she always carried with her because any information, no matter how minimal It was, would help her learn more about that extensive sport. Being there was a privilege she never thought of, so she couldn't waste anything because she didn't know when she would have the chance again.

Time passed faster than she initially thought. When the one who had directed the whole event, named Carlo, declared the session over, Diana remained somewhat mesmerized watching the journalists and photographers begin to gather their belongings and leave the press room, in an orderly manner for security reasons. She thought about staying a little longer, but she ended up succumbing to the pressure, getting up and heading towards the exit while keeping her gaze on Sebastian, who was saying goodbye to his colleagues.

Diana decided to wait for the driver at the entrance, but seeing that everyone, except him, had left, she went to the Toro Rosso box hoping he would be waiting for her there. The girl didn't know what to expect from the blonde, but being stood up after waiting for an hour and a half wasn't among her possibilities.

Although she didn't expect much from the German either. [...]

September 13th Saturday

Even though the pain Diana felt in her stomach was still quite noticeable, she had to put on a brave face and act as if everything was perfectly fine. She knew there were sick leave allowances even for interns, but the girl didn't want nor could she afford to risk losing it all over a simple stomachache.

The day before, Friday, she didn't take part in the two free practice sessions because a noticeable discomfort in her stomach began to manifest in the early hours. Initially, she attributed it to the disappointment she had felt after being stood up by the German; when vomiting started and diarrhea set in, she didn't hesitate to go down to the hotel lobby, ask for the nearest hospital, and call a taxi.

"I'm afraid to say that it might be gastroenteritis, Miss Wagner," the emergency room doctor informed her after running some tests. "Refrain from your work for a few days and stick to a bland diet."

The cake that Amelie had made for her birthday and that her father had insisted on keeping in the refrigerator for five days, despite being quite poorly made, seemed to be the culprit of her indigestion.

There was barely half an hour left for the qualifying session to begin. Quickly, she passed her accreditation through the scanner as fast as she could, holding onto her belongings tightly, and ran to the Toro Rosso garage as fast as she could, trying to stave off the urge to vomit. She had a terrible night, battling constant stabbing pains and nausea, making her feel like a pregnant woman. If it hadn't been for a pill that had been prescribed to her after insisting a lot, her diarrhea would probably still be continuing at that moment. She clenched her teeth tightly to avoid vomiting right there, and she was grateful that it was raining because her umbrella made her less noticeable.

The moment she saw her workspace, she hurried even more, closing the umbrella and placing it in a stand at the entrance. The looks were already starting to intimidate her, but she didn't feel panic until she reached the area where Alex, Seb's track engineer and, let's say... her boss was.

"Where the hell were you yesterday, Wagner?"

Fiori quickly took off his headphones, leaving them around his neck, and turned to look at Diana sternly. His expression showed a mix of anger and annoyance, and the girl knew that nothing good was coming because this forty-year-old was not particularly known for his empathy and kindness.

"I informed a public relations girl you have around here, I think her name is Martha or something like that," the girl explained, trying to justify herself, "and I also brought the medical certificate. I've had gastroenteritis since Friday morning, and I went to the emergency room. The doctor advised me to take a few days off, but I decided to come today."

The man reluctantly took the paper and examined it thoroughly, looking for any sign that this information might be false. He couldn't believe that a young girl was there; let alone, that he had to endure her.

Although what Alex Fiori hated most about her was that Sebastian praised her so much.

"Are you feeling better now?" the Italian inquired, still absorbed in the medical lines.

"Yes, a little, thank you," the blonde sincerely thanked. "Really, Mr. Fiori, I'm so sorry I couldn't attend yesterday, and I'm even more sorry they didn't inform you. I didn't have anyone else's contact."

The man took the paper grudgingly and examined it thoroughly, looking for any reflection that this information might be false. He couldn't believe that a girl was there; let alone that he had to endure her.

"Let's hope you don't miss again for nonsense like this," he replied indifferently, tearing the paper aggressively. "I need you to be here and fulfill your responsibilities. That's why we tolerate you and pay you every month."

Diana just nodded, threatening tears to escape from her eyes.

"Of course," the girl tried to declare. "I promise I won't miss a day again, Mr. Fiori."

"Don't make promises you won't keep, Wagner," he bluntly replied as he headed towards Vettel. "Now just sit down and stay quiet during qualifying. I don't want to hear you."

The girl felt a knot forming in her throat as she watched her boss approach her pilot. She tried to maintain composure, but it was impossible: she shed a tear easily and wiped them away as quickly as she could to avoid drawing even more attention. She felt frustrated and powerless because she couldn't defend herself or express what she felt in those moments.

She did what his engineer instructed him. She grabbed her headphones, sat a bit farther away than usual, and started watching Q1 on the screen in front of him. It had only been about five minutes, and Alex's comments to Vettel were already resonating in his ears.

"Come on, Seb, you have to try to nail a perfect lap on the first try. We need to secure a spot in Q2."

"Copy," the German replied.

From her seat, Diana could see Sebastian's engineer gesturing wildly with his hands every now and then, upset with any maneuver the driver made. She observed from her monitor the laps he was doing: gradually, his times were improving, and although his performance was not the best, combined with the ineffective car, it was surprising to the Austrian.

"Seb, you're improving," Alex informed him as optimistically as possible. "We just have one chance to complete a lap, so try to concentrate as much as possible."

"Copy."

Sebastian pushed the car to its maximum, hugging every inch of the track without exceeding the track limits. Wagner was amazed, and she could hardly look away.

Fiori informed Seb that, for now, they were through to Q2, although it was still necessary for the German to extract a bit more speed from the car to ensure participation in the next qualifying round by a few milliseconds.

Every second that passed felt eternal for Wagner, who was holding her breath with excitement. Finally, when Vettel moved on to Q2, she could breathe easy. In the garage, cheers of excitement echoed, something that made her laugh because, in reality, he had only advanced about five positions on the grid, not a significant achievement, but a good merit given the ineffective car they had.

After a quick analysis of data and preparation for the Q2 strategy, of which Diana had not been a part but had listened attentively, as if she didn't care, it began.

The girl had heard that they had decided to stick with the wet tires they had used in the previous session. It seemed like a mistake to her because a majority of the other drivers would be using new pairs. Therefore, when they saw Sebastian's times, despite being good, starting to slow down compared to others, they hurried to call him to pit stop. Diana couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't the most qualified to judge, as she wasn't an expert, but if they paid more attention to her, such things wouldn't happen so often.

The girl still had a long way to go, but let's say Wagner saw a few DNFs coming and despite sending direct messages warning, they ignored her.

Maybe that's why her boss disliked her so much.

"We can't afford mistakes, Seb!" Alex shouted over the headset as the German went out on the track again. "You have only one damn chance, so I hope you make the most of it."

Sebastian sighed, possibly a little tired of the man's comments.

"Alex, I know. I'm trying my best."

Diana felt the tension escalating in the box. Bourdais had been eliminated from Q1, and Seb was their only hope. In those moments, every lap was crucial because telemetry warned them that there were only tenths of a second between drivers, making the competition even more fierce.

The shouts continued exchanging between the engineer and the driver, and the girl began to sympathize with Vettel. While she understood the position Alex had to maintain, at the same time, she was aware that he was risking his performance, annoying him and adding even more pressure to the equation.

"You can't just make rookie mistakes at this stage, Vettel! I need you to perform a fast lap. Take advantage now that there's no traffic."

The guy just accepted the order, frustrated with the behavior he was getting from his engineer. It wasn't the first time he had spoken to him like that, but it definitely seemed like his typical qualifying anger was exacerbated by the absence of a certain girl the day before.

Sebastian continued pressing as much as he could, cutting every corner and straightening every turn, trying not to make too many corrections due to the rain, and even overtaking those who were in his way on his lap, even when they were at high speeds and he could risk losing control of the vehicle.

Diana began to feel panic at that moment. He shouldn't risk so much because he could crash or go off the track at any moment.

But we're talking about Sebastian Vettel. Of course, he would try to be the best.

When the session timer hit zero, and the guy crossed the checkered flag, he immediately found himself in the third position. Diana felt immense relief and also a subdued excitement, seeing that Seb had advanced to the final qualifying session.

The path to the pole position was close, and everyone at Toro Rosso was aware of it. Now, more than ever, the Austrian could sense how tense her boss was. The good thing was that his nerves seemed to be under control, as all he did was send encouragement and opponent data to the German.

"Come on, Seb, the pole is yours! Just concentrate and don't think about anything or anyone else."

"Thanks for reminding me, Alex. I was already starting to think about what I would do tomorrow when I won the race," Vettel replied sarcastically.

Diana couldn't help but silently laugh at Sebastian's comment. She didn't understand how, despite the pressure, he always found a way to maintain his sense of humor.

"Sebastian, don't say or do stupid things," Alex scolded him. "We need a bit more time to secure P1 for tomorrow. Hamilton is getting closer to your times quite rapidly."

"I'm trying my fucking best, okay?"

The tension increased with each passing second, and Diana couldn't take her eyes off the screen, following every move the German made on the track. The girl silently prayed, hoping that everything would finally go well for both the guy and her team.

"Seb, the pole position is yours!" the engineer shouted, gripping the microphone tightly as he stood up. "You're the best, you've done incredible!"

The girl felt a wave of joy and, why not say it, relief, upon hearing that Vettel had secured the first position on the grid for tomorrow's race. She was impressed by the guy's skills: it was undeniable that the Toro Rosso didn't measure up to other cars, so this was an impressive achievement and, especially, a reason to celebrate for the whole team.

All team members started celebrating immediately, leaving all their belongings on any surface they found on their way to parc fermé. Everyone was ecstatic, and Diana was no exception. With a smile that covered her entire face, the girl made a motion to get up to join her colleagues and, above all, congratulate the driver on his first major achievement in Formula 1.

Before she could even get up from her seat, Fiori was already in front of her, arms crossed, giving her a cold and disdainful look.

"Where do you think you're going, Wagner? I hope it's not where I think it is. You better stay here. You have no place in the celebration."

Diana felt a bit confused and, above all, hurt by the man's comment. She was aware that she wasn't a favorite among some staff members, including Alex, but the way he belittled her made her feel like garbage.

"Mr. Fiori, I'm also part of the team," the blonde commented. "I would like to congratulate Sebastian on his achievement."

"You don't need to congratulate him, that's the business of the team members, not interns like you. Just stay here and clean everything up. I don't care what time you finish, I want everything to look perfect tomorrow."

The intern nodded with a lump in her throat. She wanted to shout a thousand things at that Italian man who made her feel worse and was, in part, the main reason she wanted to give up on everything she had ever dreamed of. It was clear that all kinds of sexist comments bothered her. The treatment she received, and that she had just received, as if she were a mere servant, made her feel like she was living in Cinderella's story, except that she didn't have evil stepmothers or stepsisters, and of course not a prince charming to save her or, at least, help her.

Hours passed and the rain continued to fall vigorously. Despite this, the party for Toro Rosso did not stop and, as she heard from some people who approached to take their personal belongings, it would move to a nearby bar.

Diana felt a little more at ease when everyone left. Slowly, she went from picking up tools, office supplies and even some pieces of the cars, to sweeping and mopping the floor, ending up cleaning the bathrooms, which seemed not to have received bleach since they were created. It might seem a bit strange, but that was serving the girl to clear her mind and forget everything she had been told and done over six arduous months.

Feeling displaced was an understatement, and she knew she had to do something about it. Her stubbornness and, especially, the fear of losing everything made the Austrian not dare to challenge Alex's authority. She feared that if she didn't comply with what was asked of her, she would be kicked out of her position in the internship program, and an opportunity like that would be hard to come by again.

In those moments, surrounded by the noise of falling drops and the hum of the air carrying a fallen leaf from the trees, she realized she was alone and always would be.

She was the only thing she had in her life, and she had to protect it; breaking down or giving up at the slightest thing was an unviable option.

She had to fulfill a dream and couldn't afford to believe the comments she received every day because, in the end, each and every one of them was a lie.

"Hey, are you here?"

The young woman turned towards the garage entrance and saw Sebastian dressed in a gray team-logo T-shirt, jeans, and a completely wet umbrella in his right hand. His gaze seemed sad, and he appeared concerned for the girl in front of him.

"You shouldn't stay alone here, especially with this shity weather," the driver declared entering the place.

Wagner tried to force a smile, although she couldn't pretend in front of the only person she didn't consider a threat there. Her tears threatened to escape, but she controlled herself enough not to break down.

"I'm fine, Sebastian," the blonde tried to disguise. "Don't worry about me. I just have a couple of things left to pick up, and then I'll head back to the hotel."

"I know you're very smart, that's why I know you know, as much as I do, that you shouldn't be doing this," the guy spat out seriously. "It's not your responsibility: there are people from the cleaning department who take care of it." He approached the girl and embraced her. "You should be at the dive bar we were at, drinking tequila shots and celebrating with the rest of the team that I got a pole position."

"And the first one, by the way," Diana received an unfriendly look from the German, hinting that she should stop making excuses. "Fiori told me to stay here, and I didn't want to intrude on that celebration that seems so important to keep exclusively for team members."

Sebastian felt even worse for the girl. He had heard through his radio everything Alex had said to her before the start of the qualifying, and, even though he was aware that she had been mistreated and belittled by her engineer for a few months now, he now felt very guilty about it. Also, leaving her hanging because he got caught up in a phone conversation didn't help his mood.

"You don't have to listen to Alex. You're part of the team no matter what they tell you, and you have the right to come with us."

"Sebastian," the girl lowered her gaze, trying to calm herself, "I don't want to cause trouble or bother anyone. I'm here to learn and be useful."

"You are useful, Di," Vettel put a hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin to make her look at him, "it's just that no one, apart from me, has seen what you're capable of yet."

The Austrian could see sincerity in Sebastian Vettel's eyes. She was still a little hurt because she had been waiting for him for hours, excited because finally, she could do something different than just going to the hotel, but she knew that there was finally someone who supported her, and, above all, that she wasn't alone.

Perhaps, Wagner thought, she finally had a friend.

"Thank you, Seb... Sebastian, I mean," she expressed with gratitude, correcting herself quickly.

"You can call me Seb. My inner circle calls me like that," the driver explained, "all thanks to my sister Lara. She's ten, but if you saw her with Mick... They seem like two completely different people despite being born just a year apart."

Diana didn't understand much but she just nodded, confirming what the driver had said. She was almost finished mopping the floor, and that meant it was time to take her belongings and go back to her hotel. Tomorrow was race day, and they had to be ready early in the morning.

Both of them made sure everything was perfect and headed toward the exit of the paddock at a calmer pace than they should have. The night was colder than usual, bothering Diana a bit, who was surprised at Sebastian's ability to endure such low temperatures.

Without a doubt, that guy surprised her quite a bit.

"Are you leaving now?"

Vettel stopped a few meters from the girl, looking at her intently. He was heading to the parking lot, and he thought Wagner would too. It was not just a matter of weather conditions, but also the late hours of the night.

"Yes," Diana objected. "My hotel is about half an hour from here. If I hurry, I'm sure I'll be there by ten-something."

"No way you're going to go alone so late," the German replied. "There are a lot of crazy people out there and I don't want anything to happen to my favorite paddock girl before I win my first race."

"Seb, I'm serious," she thanked him, "but I can do it for myself. I do this every weekend, and nothing has happened to me."

Sebastian tilted his head, imperceptible at the words coming out of the girl's mouth.

"No, nothing has happened to you yet," he insisted. "From now on, I don't care what you say or any excuse you come up with, you're going to have a chauffeur and a bodyguard."

Wagner reluctantly accepted her companion's offer, knowing that arguing with him made no sense.

The car journey was enjoyable, and deep down, Diana was thankful that Sebastian had insisted on taking her to the hotel. The night was darker than usual, and the rain had left many streams and puddles of water that were hard to avoid walking. The temperature had dropped noticeably, something she could feel from the cold air seeping through the windows of the BMW that Vettel was driving.

"Thanks for bringing me, Seb," the girl said from the passenger seat. "I have to admit you were right. It would have taken me much longer if I had walked."

The blonde didn't say anything. Instead, he turned on the radio, and a soft melody, the first chords of Viva la Vida by Coldplay, began to resonate throughout the vehicle. Diana, who declared herself an absolute fan of the band, just started humming the song quietly, feeling embarrassed about her own voice.

The driver, glancing at the girl but keeping his eyes on the road, couldn't help but be moved by the scene he was witnessing. He didn't know Wagner well, but he knew she was a girl worth getting to know, and over time, they would become good friends.

"Do you like this song?" Sebastian asked Diana.

The girl just nodded and said it was one of her favorites. Vettel, on the other hand, turned up the volume of the song, which was now at the chorus.

"Come on, sing!" Seb encouraged her. "No need to be shy. It's just you and me."

Diana began to let herself be carried away by the confidence that Sebastian had inspired in her and started singing softly, letting the music fill her. Gradually, her singing voice became louder and more confident, leaving her shyness behind.

"See? I told you, you have an incredible voice!" Sebastian affirmed, utterly captivated by the girl's voice.

Blondie blushed at her companion's comment, but she continued singing enthusiastically. Soon enough, Seb joined the impromptu concert, which, along with the sound of rain hitting the metal roof, mixed with the music and their laughter, created an atmosphere they had never experienced before. They had only known each other for a few months, but at that moment, they felt like they had known each other their whole lives.

The car finally stopped in front of the hotel entrance. Quickly, they were greeted by a valet to whom Sebastian handed over the keys and a tip, which was greatly appreciated. Before Diana could get out of the vehicle, the driver rushed to go and open her door, a gesture that surprised the girl quite a bit. She knew about Vettel's flirtatious side, but the romantic side, not so much.

"Well, thanks for bringing me, Seb. It's time for me to go to sleep because, in case you forgot, I have to be well-rested to see you win your first race."

The German laughed at the clarification, although a bit sad to have to say goodbye to Diana already.

"None of that," he shook his head, "I want to make sure my Cinderella gets safely to her quarters."

The young woman nodded, and both started walking toward the hotel entrance. Throughout the walk to Wagner's room, silence settled between them, and neither seemed to want to break it. They hadn't spent the whole day together, but the hours they had shared had been incredible, and now neither wanted to say goodbye to the other.

As soon as they reached room 374, both knew that the farewell was imminent. Diana, who refused to accept that, opened the door and let the boy in, who accepted without any hesitation.

"Hey, Seb, about yesterday..."

Sebastian felt embarrassed. He knew he shouldn't have left her hanging, but the call lasted longer than expected, no matter how much he insisted that he already had plans with someone.

"Don't worry, Di," Vettel interrupted. "It's entirely my fault, and I apologize. An old friend called me, and I lost track of time."

Wagner took off her shoes and sat on her bed while continuing to listen to the blonde. Maybe it affected him that she had stood him up, but in the end, being so absent-minded, the same would have happened to her if she had gotten caught up in a conversation with her father and her sister.

"What's your friend's name?," Diana wanted to know.

"Hanna."

"Well, Hanna is a lucky girl," the blonde said candidly, ignoring the discomfort the guy was showing. "I bet we all would all like to have a friend like you: you can drive a car at around 300 kilometers per hour, you endure the cold perfectly, and you know more than one language, I wish I could!"

Sebastian laughed, although the guilt of hiding Hanna's true identity was eating at him. He wanted to be honest with Diana, and at the same time, he wanted to continue respecting his girlfriend's wish that no one knew about them, for now.

"But didn't you know more than one language?," Seb wanted to know.

"Yes: German, English, Spanish, and, if you consider it a language, Catalan."

"You're a catch, and I'm tremendously grateful to have you on my team, Di," Vettel asserted. "Fiori and everyone else may be jerks to you, but rest assured that next year, when I move to Red Bull, I'll fight to have you come with me," Diana looked at him in amazement. "No kidding, okay? I've talked to Britta and we've set in my pre-contract that one of the requirements is your transfer next year, with me. I have to talk to Horner about it," he declared, "but I know he'll be more than happy to agree."

Diana paled at that. Sometimes she forgot that her path in the next season was a bit uncertain, but she tried not to think about it and ruin moments like the one she was experiencing now.

She didn't know if she should ask, but Wagner decided to take the risk:

"Would you like to stay here, with me, for a while? We can keep talking or watch something on TV, but if you're too tired I understand if you want to go back to your hotel."

"Are you sure of what you're saying, Diana Wagner?"

"Absolutely, Sebastian Vettel."

Both young people spent almost until the early hours of the morning talking mainly about the race the next day, exchanging some strategies that, undoubtedly, couldn't be taken into account due to Diana's position as an intern. Seb, who had discovered that his new friend was more than just a pretty face in the first days of her arrival, realized that she knew more than she seemed, and many of her ideas were a thousand times better than Alex's.

They continued chatting until, around one thirty in the morning, exhaustion made Sebastian fall asleep on Diana's bed, who followed suit shortly after.

Maybe Hanna Prater would never find out that, the night before Sebastian's first victory, he spent it with the love of his life. His true love. They didn't do anything beyond talking, but they did get to know each other a little more, and maybe they began to develop feelings for each other. Although it was still early to know for sure.

However, there is a very famous saying that is often said, and that both young people in that hotel room had overlooked: never say never.

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fictionadventurer · 5 months

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Fortnight of Books: Day 1

Overall - best books read in 2023?

Of new-to-me books, the standouts of my year include (in rough chronological order of when I read them):

Endurance by Alfred Lansing: Thrilling and harrowing account of Shackleton's South Pole expedition. It made me very grateful as I went through my day-to-day life--no matter how bad things were, at least I had eaten things that weren't seal meat.

Daisy Miller and Washington Square by Henry James: Short, sad little novellas that drew me in with their compassionate realism and added a new name to my list of favorite classic authors.

A Field Guide to Mermaids by Emily B. Martin: Beautifully illustrated book that provides a detailed world of mermaid species and provides lots of interesting facts about the natural world. Child me would have loved this.

Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell: I hated the ending, and the structure was very weird, but this was a look at a side of Victorian London I rarely see in literature, with some great characters and a really interesting dive into the issues in the background of North and South.

Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin: It gave me an obsession with Lincoln's Cabinet. I still sometimes stop and think, "I need to read about some Seward shenanigans."

Destiny of the Republic by Candice Millard: Extremely readable history book that provided a lot of food for my obsession with James Garfield's and Chester Arthur's presidencies.

The Q by Beth Brower: Victorian Ruritanian fiction about a female newspaper tycoon that has a murky plot but also one of my favorite romantic couples of the year, one of the best tributes to autumn I've read, and most importantly (the real reason it's on this list), introduced me to the author of my favorite series of the year (more below).

Desire and The Good Comrade by Una L. Silsberrad: Forgotten turn-of-the-century women's fiction with some great female leads trying to find a place in society. Desire is a bit more literary while The Good Comrade is a bit more fun, but both were just the type of story that tends to make my list of favorites.

The Romance of a Shop by Amy Levy: Fun sister story with some fun romances. Very easy to read and provided a fascinating look at the world of Victorian photography.

The Law and the Lady by Wilkie Collins: I was so invested in the main character, a woman who would overcome anything that tried to stop her from helping her husband.

The Heir of Redclyffe by Charlotte Mary Yonge: The prose is dense and the author's too preachy, but this had some of my favorite characters of the year (Charles Edmonstone my beloved).

Best series you discovered in 2023?

The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion. If it weren't for this question, it would be at the top spot in the last list. They hit so many sweet spots for my perfect comfort read--Victorian England, memorable characters, lightly fantastical setting, fun narrative voice, friendships and comedy and heartbreak and literature and just so much fun.

Best reread of the year?

Definitely The Lord of the Rings. I had liked the series after my first read, but my appreciation was mostly bolstered by the fact that I'm surrounded by a huge fandom for it. This year's reread made me truly appreciate it for the masterwork it is and made it a cornerstone of my interior life.

If it weren't for that, this spot would go to A Christmas Carol, because I was shocked to find that it really is good enough to earn its dominant place in pop culture. The descriptions of Christmas are some of the best things in literature.

#fortnight of books 2023 #books #i wanted to start on the first but alas #i think i'll try to catch up over the next few days

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toongrrl-blog · 6 months

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Not (Nawt!) Another Benvi Playlist

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

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

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

Rushed down to your house with wings

On my feet

Loved you like I never loved

You my sweet

Vowed that you and I would be

Two silhouettes on the shade

All of our days

Two silhouettes on the sha-ade

Silhouettes (silhouettes)

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

I don't like you, but I love you

Seems that I'm always thinking of you

Oh, oh, oh

You treat me badly, I love you madly

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

3. "How Deep Is Your Love" Bee Gees

And you may not think I care for you

When you know down inside that I really do

And it's me you need to show

How deep is your love?

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

When he holds me tight

Everything's right

Crazy as it seems

I'm his, whatever he is

And I forget all of my dreams

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

And maybe I didn't make myself clear

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

It's probably better like this

But baby, you're pretty damn hard to forget

6. "Tomorrow is Another Day" Shelby Flint

Tomorrow is another day

How I hope you'll always stay

7. "Back to Heaven" Later.

'Cause if you don't atract my lady right

She's gonna send me back to life

You never know what's good or bad

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

Woah, my love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?

I need your love

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

I love you so much you see

You're even in my dreams

I can hear

Baby, I can hear you calling me

I'm so in love with you

All I ever want to do is

Thank you baby

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

The weather here has been as nice as it can be

Although it doesn't really matter much to me

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

It might as well rain until September

11. "Everything Has Changed" Best Coast

I used to crawl

All the way back home

I used to cry myself to sleep

Reading all the names they called me

Used to say that I was lazy

A lazy, crazy baby

Did they think

That maybe I was in on it?

Did they think?

No, of course they didn't

12. "The Way You Love Me" Faith Hill

There's nowhere else I'd rather be

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

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

The way you love me

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

Oh, it's a beautiful thing

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

And if you ask me why I've changed

All I gotta do is say your sweet name

It's your love

It just does something to me

It sends a shock right through me

I can't get enough

And if you wonder

About the spell I'm under

Oh it's your love

(Woah oh baby)

(Oh, oh, oh)

14. "By My Side" INXS

In the dark of the night

Those small hours

Uncertain and anxious

I need to call you

Rooms full of strangers

Some call me friend

But I wish you were so close to me

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

When I feel blue in the night

And I need you to hold me tight

Whenever I want you, all I have to do is

Dream

16. "Make It With You" Bread

Dreams, they're for those who sleep

Life is for us to keep

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

I wanna make it with you

I really think that we could make it, girl

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

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

Then weak, I'd rather be

If it means having you to keep

'Cause lately I've been losing sleep

18. "Any Time At All" The Beatles

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

There is nothing I won't do

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

Call me tonight and I'll come to you

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

Please let me hold you

And love you for always and always

Only love can break a heart

Only love can mend it again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

24. "Eres Tu" Carla Morrison

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

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

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

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

26. "Right Time of the Night" Jennifer Warnes

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

27. "Human" The Human League

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

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

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

29. "Just Fall In Love Again" Anne Murray

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

30. "You Needed Me" Anne Murray

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

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

31. "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" The Rubinoos

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

32. "Getcha Back" Beach Boys

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

33. "Tear In My Heart" Twenty One Pilots

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

34. "Need You Now" Lady A

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

35. "Somebody to Love" Queen

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

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

36. "They Don't Know" Tracey Ullman

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

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

37. "Linger" The Cranberries

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

38. "Alone" Heart

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

39. "Wherever You Will Go" The Calling

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

40. "Never Tear Us Apart" INXS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 3 months

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It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 21-22

CHAPTER XXI

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

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

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

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

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

"How you going to get into the university?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

("Siss-sy!")

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

"Swell!" said Julian.

"Well—" said Doremus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's probably right," said Doremus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

("Sis-sy!")

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Few writers for Hearst were arrested, however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You bet we did, Comrade!"

"And you're burning them—burning my—"

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

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

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

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #sinclair lewis

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child-of-hurin · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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thinkanamelater · 1 year

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

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

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cosplayinamerica · 2 years

Photo

Columbia Pictures Torch Lady Cosplayer @maskjesticdesigns Cosplay assistant @emmdart Photographer @Felixwongphotography

HARMONY : I was watching a movie and the idea sparked if you will. I wanted something more commonly known something anybody would have come across and it was perfect.

EMMA : Harmony always had on imaginative mind. She told me about her idea all the way back in 2019 and jokingly said I should hold a banner with the letters behind her, and well, she took me seriously. I don't regret it tho, it was epic!

HARMONY : Seeing peoples delighted and shocked faces, hearing their enthusiasm as they begged their friends to look our direction or straight up bolted to us to ask for a picture made all the hours and needles poking my fingers worth it.

A little cinematic magic in person shared with a crowd of like-minded people.

EMMA : For my part, the hardest part was figuring out a way to be able to hold it by myself while still making it easy to move around since we were going to be in a convention after all. The rope used to hold all up with wooden poles did break the first time I put the banner up which was really unfortunate but thankfully the cosplay lounge had some rope could use to fix it

HARMONY : I studied a lot of different Greek styles before I bought the material needed. It is only the second garment I’ve mode with my sewing machine so I’m quite proud of it. A friend 3D printed the the torch and painted gold. The torch is powered by a portable battery pack hidden of the back of the dress.

EMMA : I learned that my arm strength is actually not as bad as I thought did cover the that maybe I’m not a big fan of having my picture taken but I do enjoy being part of something that seems to have reach so many people, sorta makes me feel wholesome to see that something we mode mode so many people happy and lough. Maybe I'll start cosplaying more now.

HARMONY : I’ve come to love to sew a lot. It’s a creative outlet I never knew needed not wanted. Cosplay brings people together and l’ve made new friends and connections throughout these experiences I would not have otherwise

#cosplay #columbia pictures #cosplay interview

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evelynendar · 2 years

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Hydrus contact names

Inspired by @loreoflemons hope ya don’t mind me jumping in!

———

Raiden: Mr.Electric ⚡️

Fujin: Airhead /lh 🌬

Liu Kang: The Chosen One 🙄

Kung Lao: Bwananananananana Hat Man!

Bo Rai Cho: Uncle Bo 🍻

———

Hanzo: 360 no Scope-ion 🔥

Razor: Baby bro ⚡️🔥

———

Kuai: Grandmaster Blueberry Ice 🧊

Bi-Han: Edge Lord 💔 ⛓🖤☠️

Smoke: Tomas the tank engine 💨

Sektor: 🖕

Cyrax: Nothin but Net

Hydro: Hydro homie

———

Sonya: General Blade

Johnny: Hollywood 😎

Jax: Stronk 💪

Kenshi: Mr. Takahashi

Stryker: Call if arrested

———

Kano: Kanoroo 🇦🇺

Kabal: He’s a runner he’s a track star 🏃‍♂️

Kira: Kiki

Kobra: Simp

No Face: Scary Arson Man

Tremor: Rock n Roll

———

Kotal: KK IN A WEELCHAIR

D’vorah: Bug Babe 🐛

Ermac: Big Mac

Reptile: Sy 👑

Erron: Salsa Man 🤠

Ferra/Torr: Chaos Duo

———

Cassie: Commander Cool

Jacqui: Qween 💕

Kung Jin: ugh This Bitch /lh

Takeda: a- 💕

Spike: Pokémon

Karma: Mini Mac

Perice: snek boi 🐍

Eris: Nagin 🐍

Frost: Elsa ❄️

———

Kitana: One True Kahn 💙

Jade: Sassy pole lady 💚

Mileena: Nom💗

Skarlet: scary blood lady🩸

Nitara: Vampire lady 🩸

Rain: Umbrella hater ☔️

Baraka: TEKATAN

Sheeva: Grapple me mommy /p

Shang Tsung: yOuR sOuL iS mInE🐍

———

Nightwolf: Kiba’s Dad 🐺

Teimu: Dad 🕰

Jaz: Mum 🖕

Certion: Aunty 🌱

Shinnok: Uncle edge lord 👹

Quan Chi: Shinnok‘s Bitch

Geras: sand gramps 🏖⏳

Kronika: new era oooooh⏳

——————————————————————

Milo: Flower power 🌸🌻 - @loreoflemons

Ombra: Death Metal 🤟 - @theelderhazelnut

Lady Xuna: Galactic Mommy /p - @bisexualjohnnycage

Emma: One eye buddy 👁 - @ever-moonlit

#mortal kombat #hydrus mortal kombat #Hydrus (OC)#ombra the ironhead #lady xuna #milo #emma #friends ocs

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himemiyaaah · 1 year

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Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

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

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

Last song: Brand New City by Mitski

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

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

Currently watching: Lady Oscar/The Rose of Versailles

Currently consuming: Green tea with oat milk

Currently craving: God I wish i had cookies rn.

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

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slow-burn-sally · 2 years

Note

Time to get SALTY! #22 Popular character you hate? #9 Most disliked character(s)? Why?

#22 - I don't hate this character, but the Raven King? I just don't get the hubbub. He's a writing device for me, and I sometimes use him to create mystery or as a point for the plot to pivot on, but like, I don't see him as a real person. He's more a minor, side character to me. I don't enjoy him shipped with anyone either. I enjoyed mentions of him and the few times he shows up in the book, but found his presence in the show mostly just an irritation.

#9 - I'm so sorry, but Lady Pole is just meh to me. I enjoy reading about her, and even writing her, but her in the book and show was either very ill or angry, and I couldn't quite connect to her. Again, that doesn't translate over into fic. I love reading my friends' takes on her.

Outside of Emma being meh and me not really caring about RK, I love everyone else to pieces.

#ask meme #salty asks

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crowdvscritic · 4 months

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

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

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

Holiday Crowd-Pleasers

youtube

1. SNL Round Up

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

“Question Quest” (4906 with Emma Stone)

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

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

“Tiny A** Bag” (4907)

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

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

“ABBA Christmas” (4908)

“Yankee Swap” (4908)

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

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

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

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

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

3. Godzilla Minus One (2023)

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

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

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

5. The Jerk (1979)

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

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

Holiday Critic Picks

1. The Best of 2023

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

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

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

Maestro - ZekeFilm review

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

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

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

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

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

4. Happiness Falls by Angie Kim (2023)

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

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

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

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

Holiday Treats

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1. Ken The EP by Ryan Gosling and Mark Ronson

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

2. Mixed Nuts (1994)

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

3. Fitzwilly (1967)

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

4. Metropolitan (1990)

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

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

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

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

Also this Holiday Season…

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

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

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

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thewidowstanton · 5 months

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The Widow's Best of 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Compiled by Liz Arratoon

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

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setaripendragon · 5 years

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Freedom to Chuse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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