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sweetdreamsjeff · 5 months

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The poetry that inspired Jeff Buckley

Aimee Ferrier

Sun 1 October 2023 21:15, UK

Voices as incredible as the one belonging to Jeff Buckley don’t come around too often. Unfortunately, after releasing one record, Grace, Buckley, with all his potential, was taken away too soon. At the age of 30, the singer went for a swim from which he never returned, drowning in the Mississippi River.

Yet, his legacy lives on as one of the most influential artists to emerge from the 1990s, and his music is widely celebrated today for its emotional and lyrical complexity. Not only did Buckley possess an otherworldly voice, but he was also an extremely gifted guitar player and writer, with all his talents combining to create a masterful body of work.

Even when Buckley was covering other artists’ songs, such as ‘Lilac Wine’, ‘The Other Woman’ and ‘Hallelujah’, he imbued the pieces with his own distinctive style. Yet, his penchant for covers wasn’t a reflection of an aversion to writing. Buckley knew how to pen a stunningly poetic track, with songs like ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’ and ‘Morning Theft’ suggesting that even if Buckley didn’t have the vocal pipes he was gifted with, he’d get by just fine as a writer.

Buckley took inspiration from many different writers and musicians when writing his own songs. Musically, Buckley looked back to folk artists like Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan and, of course, his own father, Tim Buckley, from whom he was estranged. Elsewhere, he loved the work of Pakistani singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the rich tones of Nina Simone, and Led Zeppelin, calling Robert Plant “my man”.

However, when it came to his literary inspirations, Buckley had an extensive book collection, which he no doubt looked to for ideas when writing his lyrics. He owned a lot of poetry, with Rainer Maria Rilke proving to be a particular favourite. Not only did Buckley own Dunio Elegies, Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties: Translations and Considerations Poems from the Book of Hours, but he also owned his epistolary collection Letters to a Young Poet.

Buckley was also a fan of the classic American poet Walt Whitman, owning Leaves of Grass and From the Soil. Of course, no poetry collection is complete without copies of Arthur Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell and Illuminations, alongside some Charles Baudelaire – Buckley-owned Paris Spleen. The singer also owned the Selected Poems of confessional poet Anne Sexton and modernist writer T.S Eliot.

Check out Buckley’s complete poetry collection below.

The poetry that inspired Jeff Buckley:

Dunio Elegies – Rainer Maria Rilke

Poems from the Book of Hours – Rilke

Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties: Translations and Considerations – Rilke

Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman

From This Soil – Whitman

The Odyssey – Homer

Early Work, 1970-1979 �� Patti Smith

You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense – Charles Bukowski

Selected Poems of Ezra Pound

The Complete Lyrics – Hank Williams

A Haiku Journey: Basho’s Narrow Road to a Far Province – Matsuo Basho

Paris Spleen – Charles Baudelaire

The Captain’s Verses – Pablo Neruda

Selected Poems – T.S. Eliot

A Season in Hell and Illuminations – Arthur Rimbaud

Writing and Drawings – Bob Dylan

Ode to Walt Whitman – Federico Garcia Lorca

New Poems: 1962 – Robert Graves

Fear of Dreaming: The Selected Poems – Jim Carroll

Selected Poems of Anne Sexton – Anne Sexton

Selected Poems – John Shaw Neilson

Selected Poems: Summer Knowledge – Demore Schwartz

The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara – Frank O’Hara

Poems – Pier Paolo Pasolini

Space: And Other Poems – Eliot Katz

Tim Buckley Lyrics

#jeff buckley #jeffbuckley #The poetry that inspired Jeff Buckley #Amiee Ferrier #Dunio Elegies – Rainer Maria Rilke #Poems from the Book of Hours – Rilke #Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties: Translations and Considerations – Rilke #Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman #From This Soil – Whitman #The Odyssey – Homer #Early Work #1970-1979 – Patti Smith #You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense – Charles Bukowski #Selected Poems of Ezra Pound #The Complete Lyrics – Hank Williams #A Haiku Journey: Basho’s Narrow Road to a Far Province – Matsuo Basho #Paris Spleen – Charles Baudelaire #The Captain’s Verses – Pablo Neruda #Selected Poems – T.S. Eliot #A Season in Hell and Illuminations – Arthur Rimbaud #Writing and Drawings – Bob Dylan #Ode to Walt Whitman – Federico Garcia Lorca #New Poems: 1962 – Robert Graves #Fear of Dreaming: The Selected Poems – Jim Carroll #Selected Poems of Anne Sexton – Anne Sexton #Selected Poems – John Shaw Neilson #Selected Poems: Summer Knowledge – Demore Schwartz #The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara – Frank O’Hara #Poems – Pier Paolo Pasolini #Space: And Other Poems – Eliot Katz

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nirbanox · 2 years

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A Man Called Otto (2023)

Directed by Marc Forster

#a man called otto #marc forster #tom hanks #manuel garcia rulfo #rachel keller #mariana treviño #movie screenshots #caps #movie screencaps #movie suggestions

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koopadumpling · 2 years

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In which Patsy feels the same way about Beast that I do.

(From Patsy Walker - Hellcat (2008) #1 by Kathryn Immonen, David Lafuente Garcia, John Rauch, and Dave & Natalie Lanphear)

#comicedit #patsy walker #hellcat #beast #hank mccoy #x men #marvel comics #mine #kathryn immonen #david lafuente garcia #john rauch #dave lanphear #natalie lanphear

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abirdie · 3 months

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Gael Garcia Bernal: The Dear Heart Of 'Diaries'

Article from the Washington Post, 25 September 2004 (x)

By Hank Stuever

Gael Garcia Bernal: the Mexican actor, who is so very right now and here in town for, you know, just a day -- the whole thing with the big hotel suite and the half-eaten plate of fruit and dos publicistas tappa-tapping en los BlackBerrys over there. (Mujeres! Silencio!) He's promoting his new Che Guevara movie, The Motorcycle Diaries, and everyone who has seen it is going on and on about how saintly his portrayal of young Ernesto Guevara de la Serna is and how sumptuously the movie's 8,000-mile trek across South America unfurls onscreen and oh, btw, critics agree: Bernal's got Che's iconic, serious stare down pretty good.

Green eyes, we write in the notebook. (Big duh.)

Also can testify that Bernal is about 5 feet 7, though it long ago ceased to be news that the hotties of film are pocket-size. More notes: He turns 26 in November. He has a proud, long nose that sometimes blushes red when he laughs. He's wearing one of those Salvation Army-seeming plaid western-cut shirts that often turn out to be designer-label, a pair of deep blue vintagesque jeans and some scuffed lace-up boots the color of old asphalt. His hair is cut bubblegum-mishap short.

Awright, already, he's de-lish. Did we need to bring that dogeared copy of 501 Spanish Verbs with us? Of course not: Dude went to drama school for a while in London when he was a teenager; not long after he starred for six months in a Mexican soap opera called El Abuelo y Yo (Grandfather and Me), and this particular fact has dogged him in every interview. ("People think I did all these soap operas," he shrugs. "I did only that one. And it taught me a lot — it taught me I never wanted to do another soap opera.") When it comes to Spanish, he can bend it to his will, the way Nicole Kidman can do in English, with whatever accent directors like Walter Salles and Pedro Almodovar need him to speak in — Mexican, Argentine, Castilian.

During our interview, he spends an hour dissecting, in English, the current state of Pan-American politics, extolling his sensible, leftist-tinged childhood, and at one point he quotes from foreign-policy magazines.

We hold up our end of the conversation with such questions as:

"So, um, like, what do you do when you're not working?"

"When I'm not doing this?" Bernal asks, motioning around at the movie-star-with-movie-to-sell air particles of feature story nonsense. "I like to do all the things I cannot do as much. My common days are very different now. I would, if I could, I would be home" — Cuernavaca, just south of Mexico City — "and I would sleep until whatever time. Swim, play futbol. Read and go to lunches and the lunches become dinners. Visit family, organize a party for that night."

Halfway through the image of Bernal swaddled in high-thread-count sheets until whatever time, a half-theory privately knocks around in our pea brain:

Gael Garcia Bernal, or someone very much like him, is exactly why so many of us faithful, independent-minded filmgoers still cram ourselves into the creaky seats of dumpy art house cinemas, even as the years tick by and things like Netflix, the Sundance Channel and the nicer stadium-seating art houses came along to replace them. No, you want to see Bernal's movie surrounded by drabness, because you get a better transport to the happy, imaginative place that way. The stale popcorn, the Fandango.com ads, the bathroom with only two toilets. (Cineplex Odeon Dupont Circle 5, we mean you.)

We do it because we're always waiting for that next small-time heartthrob — male, female, or sometimes just the foreign scenery itself. It's the subtitles and the eyes. It's whatever we can't get from those American goofballs who do those blech movies that tend to be about guys who go on canoe trips where a horny bear in the woods tries to hump them. Or whatever.

Bernal would never do that to us.

Hollywood beckons and he rolls his eyes because it offers him roles like, uh, okay, here's the pitch: He's an undocumented leaf-blower yardman caught up in a caper that only Jackie Chan can make right, if only they could understand each other's Engrish, ha ha.

"I'm open," he says. "I am, I am. But so far in the U.S. what they have offered doesn't even get close to the kind of things that excite me. Nothing is quite right, so I think I'll just stick with what I'm doing. I have to stay … hmmm … congruent to myself."

And so that's why certain filmgoers are inclined to sneak off to his "small little movies" (as he calls them) in the middle of the afternoon, get the large Diet Coke and consider the combustion in contemporary Spanish-language cinema that the rare actor like Bernal can harness. You feel like you've just gone somewhere, talked fast, smoked cigarettes. They call him the Marcello Mastroianni of Latino film when they're not busy calling him the Marlon Brando of it.

All that smoldering, the aching of youth! One, please, for the 2:50 showing of Y Tu Mama, Tambien. (That hormonal breakout hit, a coming-of-age road trip from 2001 starring Bernal and his childhood friend Diego Luna — people mix them up, still.) Or the 4:45 showing of Amores Perros (from 2000, translating as wordplay for "Love Is a Bitch," a chronologically scattered tale of how one car wreck in Mexico City changes three lives). Or the 3:10 showing of El Crimen del Padre Amaro, from 2002, about the sinful lapse of a young priest (Bernal, natch) caught up in a small-town mess of church corruption. Its release in Mexico naturally put hard-line Catholics there in a state of non compos mentis, which both baffled and delighted Bernal.

Some of his key appearances have been as himself. Fresh from Y Tu Mama, he and Luna graced the Oscar ceremony last year, cleaned up in their tuxes, to present a small award, and Hollywood swooned. He was seen dancing all night at parties at Cannes. For a while he dated Natalie Portman (well, that's what the tabs reported) and you almost can't stand the fleeting idea of how gorgeous their children would have been. (Cancel that. They broke up.)

His movies are always in exotic, crumbly locations, and we are there, because Bernal is there: the back roads of the Mexican interior, or ascending to Machu Picchu as a soul-searching Guevara or click-clacking around the cobblestone streets of Spanish villas in transvestite stilettos seeking revenge against priestly pedophilia at a boarding school, as he does expertly in Pedro Almodovar's next surrealistic offering, Bad Education, which will open this year in New York. (It's scheduled to open in Washington in January. Sorry, kids. Delayed for possible Oscar-sensitive reasons of timeliness, and to not get in the way of Diaries. He's one of those stars: Two big projects colliding in the art houses of the world.)

If Salles' Motorcycle Diaries, which opens Friday, doesn't make you feel like an earnest college sophomore with a crush on the Marxist professor who teaches your Latin American history class, then we don't know what will. Predating the muss and fuss of the Cuban revolution, the film is an epic, richly hued journey into the formative years of Che, back in 1952 when he was Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, an Argentinean med student in his early twenties.

Ernesto takes a year off school to travel on a 1939 Norton 500 motorcycle with his best pal, Alberto Granado (played by Rodrigo de la Serna), across and up the South American continent.

Guevara, a devoted diarist as a young man, took notes about the people and places he saw, and the gulf between rich and poor (it helps to open his eyes when his rich girlfriend dumps him). The further Guevara and Granado go, the more Che becomes Che, seeing native people and their lives transcending the bourgeois notions of government and ownership and greed. By the time Che's working with lepers in the Amazon, Salles' movie (and Bernal) have reached a subtly beatific realm. In case you're not quite feeling it, Salles ups the noble-people quotient with black-and-white still portraits of the working-class people the young men encounter along the way.

"We prepared for four months," Bernal says of the research phase, and the crew shot the film more or less chronologically, following Guevara and Granado's original itinerary. "I read 1,001 books about the land and biographies [of Guevara]. We traveled. We practiced on the motorcycle three times a week. We asked permission from the gods, and also the local political and cultural centers…. When finally we started shooting, I wondered if we were prepared enough for this daunting task. We got on the bike and the road started to appear and things started to happen the right way, without you even noticing."

Bernal was born in Guadalajara and raised in Mexico City. Both his parents are stage actors. He has been thinking about Che Guevara for half his life — and even played the revolutionary in a two-part miniseries on Showtime about Fidel Castro, which he would appreciate it if everyone forgot. It goes back, for him, like most kids, to middle-school social studies class.

"It happens when you are about 12 or 13," he says. "When you grow up in Mexico you have a very strong connection to Cuba. As a kid you listen to this story, it's incredibly, incredibly exciting to hear. [The revolutionaries] changed Latin America forever and they changed the world. So you start early, identifying with where [Guevara] comes from, and identifying with his ideas in a way, and identifying with the struggle, and therefore you're able to agree with it or criticize it. Leftist ideas redefine themselves constantly. I think my generation is much more critical of what works in Latin American socialist movements and what didn't. There used to be a stigma that any leftist revolution had to come with violence. I don't think we believe that anymore," he says, mentioning Zapatistas in jungles who carry wood carvings of rifles instead of actual guns, just for the symbolism.

You think this sounds a little pinko coming from the mouth of a movie star? Well, you try embodying Che Guevara and see what you feel like talking about when it's over. When Bernal speaks of politics and the world, it's not with fire. He leans back. He almost whispers. It's seductive, in a way.

Early in the shooting, Alberto Granado, now 82, was visiting the set, Bernal says. And he offered this advice to the actor: "He told me, don't try to copy Ernesto's voice, or his mannerisms. He said, 'Use your own voice. All Ernesto was was a 23-year-old Latin American like you. Traveling around. Seeing things.' And I realized that what the movie needs is that universal experience. Granado was right. I have a right as does any person to tell the story of Che."

When it was over, months later, having lost weight to play the asthmatic Guevara as the trip takes its toll, Bernal found himself still wanting to travel.

When the film was finished, "I felt serenely confused, like in a serene state of almost understanding something bigger, and then not quite understanding it. All the time I felt like that," he says. "It redefined my priorities. I have moments where I understand what has happened to me, and then moments where I don't. I wanted to just get back on the road and travel to anywhere." (He sort of does that now, subletting apartments in New York and London, spending four months in Spain working with Almodovar on Bad Education, spending a little time back home in Mexico. He recently spent a month in Austin, shooting an independent film called The King in which he plays a character named Elvis — "the bastard child of an evangelist preacher," he says.)

He says he can't believe how hamstrung American actors arewhen it comes to saying anything political. He wonders if the United States has forgotten how to hold a real election, with real debates. He shows up in gossip columns lamenting the lumbering, impervious quality of American imperialism.

"The U.S. is a great nation that's becoming a war machine. But it is a great people, which can save it," he says. "Some of us fall into traps where we can't say what we think. But it shouldn't be this way. Actors are free. That's the nature of being an actor, to do anything you want to do, to say anything. It's why we're here. And if I were an American, I could be pigeonholed for what I just said."

He'd go on, but our lecture has to end here, for it is time to throw us out and escort in another reporter. It happens to be a student journalist from American University, and she seems excited to meet the Mexican Marcello Mastroianni, but trying to keep it all in check, remain cool.

She shakes his hand, ready and willing for her revolutionary inculcation in the hotel suite of Gael Garcia Bernal. She's exactly the age where a young woman's thoughts turn to putting that Che poster on the wall, and we envy her.

#gael garcía bernal #hank stuever #ggb interview #the interviewer's writing style is a bit arch but gael says some interesting stuff #i keep finding these old interviews down internet rabbit holes when looking for something else #gael garcia bernal

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ficfatale8 · 3 months

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𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕀 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣

I am taking suggestions so put them in my Fic Request box and I'll consider writing for that character!

Marvel:

Loki

Mobius (Only with Lokius)

Criminal Minds:

Emily Prentiss

Alex Blake

Aaron Hotchner

Luke Alvez

Penelope Garcia

SVU:

Olivia Benson

Chicago PD:

Jay Halstead

Other:

Original characters (M/F/N) in different scenarios

Jonathan Pine

Hank Williams

Will Ransome

#criminal minds #law and order svu #marvel #fanfiction #chicago pd #jay halstead #jonathan pine #hank williams #will ransome #olivia benson #penelope garcia #luke alvez #aaron hotchner #alex blake #emily prentiss #loki laufeyson

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snailsandpuppy-dogtails · 1 year

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How You Say It

This CM Garvez fic was also published a year ago today and never shared on here. Kind of angsty, kind of funny. Rossi hosts a Solstice party at Penelope's insistence, Hank Morgan unknowingly uncovers a secret. WC: 2,169 Ao3

It was a blissfully warm summer day at Rossi’s house, a rare day not marred down by the typical mugginess of the east coast. Emily, Penelope, Kristy, and JJ sat on the back patio enjoying the afternoon sun, drinks in hand. Smaller groups of agents and family dotted the expanse of his property; Spencer, Tara, and Savannah standing in the shade of a tree on the lawn, Matt and Rossi congregating around a grill, Will and Luke busily setting up a game of flag football for the kids, who were off playing with bubble wands and the horseshoe pit. Derek, naturally, was flitting from cluster to cluster catching up with all his family, and Krystall was inside mixing up more of the deliciously citrusy Sangria everyone was sipping on. Penelope thought it was a perfect way to enjoy Summer, her family all together, sun shining, and happy feelings all around. She felt rather proud of herself for having convinced Rossi to host it, and for arranging things so that everyone she loved would be there.

Hank Morgan, adorable, funny, and straight forward, A perfect miniature of her favorite person, was sitting on her lap snuggling in to his favorite gift giver, taking a break before the kids vs. adults game started. "Auntie, what’s charade?” he asked turning to her.

"Ooo! my little muffin,” she said, shimmying him, "it’s one of my favorite games! Have you played?”

Emily leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to Hank, teasing, “It may be your aunt Penelope’s favorite game, but she’s not always the best.”

Penelope mocked shock, howling out “oooh!”

He smiled at Emily and shook his head in a sign of no to his aunt. His face, growing pensive, finger coming to the small ‘o’ of his mouth, he asked, "Does Luke like it too?”

JJ and Kristy seemingly knowing where this was going shot each other looks, eyebrows raising and small smiles forming before going back to watching the two.

She laughed leaning her face to his, tickling him. “I don’t know, you’d have to ask him. And seeing as how you’re full of questions today that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

He shrieked with laughter and twisted in her hold. When she stopped he sucked in a few lung-fulls of air catching his breath and relaxed against her chest, her chin resting on his head and hand across his stomach. Morgan, from his place with Spencer, caught her eye and gave a warm smile that she returned, his baby girl holding his baby boy.

After a moment of silence Hank turned in her lap to look back up at her again, continuing his probe, "But, I don’t understand. Why would mommy want you to stop playing your favorite game? Do you play it too late?”

There was a chorus of “OOooooo!” as the trio of women around her covered their mouths to hide smiles and laugh.

“Auntie P. plays a lot of things too late for mommy’s liking.” JJ winked at the boy.

The suggestive comment going over his head, Hank only went on, "Does Luke play too though? Why won’t you play with him Auntie?”

Penelope's body flamed red from her chest to the tips of her ears at the barrage, mind suddenly blank of any clever response. Emily nearly slipped out of her chair at the physiological reaction from Penelope, JJ and Kristy cackled with laughter at the terribly kept secret that was the tension between the two agents.

“Yeah, Penelope, why don’t you play with Lu-“ Kristy joined in teasing, but was cut off.

“O-KAY! We are stopping right there.” she said just a little louder and more panicked than she’d intended, shooting a evil look at the three.

Luke and Derek both turned to face the noise, questioning, as did Savannah, who might have looked the slightest bit guilty through her amused grin. Where the couple turned back to their conversations, Luke watched on. Penelope Garcia seemed to always exuded joy and happiness, except for right now where she was clearly flustered. He found it incredibly adorable, the attention made her glow, cheeks and nose coloring, and filled her with nervous energy.

"She looks nice today…then I expect you always feel that way.” Came the slow southern drawl.

“Yeah…” was his immediate distracted reply, then squinting back at Will, “Who?”

Will smiled lightly seeing through his bullshit easily, “You know who. Sometimes we say things with words, and other times with a look. People say things different, but it all has the same meaning.”

Luke eyed him and shook his head, “Right. Well, we should go get the kids, cones are all set up.”

Will took one last look over at the group, then back to Luke, “Yeah, why don’t you get Hank, while I round up the bubble crew.”

Penelope turned her attention to the boy on her lap ignoring the titters and giggles around her. "My delectable little candy bar, what has mommy been saying?"

Hank looked very self-assured, reciting, "Mommy told daddy she want’s to know when you and Luke will 'give up this whole charade and get together’ so I wanted to know what charade was and why you won’t hang out with Luke. Is he mean? Does he cheat? Daddy cheats at games sometimes.”

Again she was encased in a cacophony of laughter and howls from her friends around her. Penelope’s head came crashing into his back trying her best to hide her face, bury her shame, and cover her reddening cheeks, muttering to herself against his shirt. Hank wiggled a little against her, trying to get free.

“Oh, little man, we all want to know the answer to that.” Said a getting-more-tipsy-by-the-moment Emily through the noise.

At that moment Luke walked up.

“I came to collect this one for the game, but you all appear to be having a great time here…” Penelope looked to Luke with culpable embarrassment. He knit his eyebrows together, mouth hanging open in an amused grin, wondering what they’d all been talking about to make her blush five shades darker.

“LUKE!” The boy’s eyes widened in excitement, nearly shooting up and out of Penelope's lap. "Do you like charades? Do you cheat at games? Are you mean? Why won’t Auntie Penelop-“

Penelope’s hand flew out and over his mouth muffling what she knew was next. She tucked him back against her into a hug, eyes never straying from Luke’s, as she death-whispered into his ear “Hank Spencer Morgan, you finish that question and we will never play that video game again.” and released her hand.

His aunt once again had his full attention, turning on her with imploring eyes, “But Auntie P, you said to ask him!”

“What’s going on here, Baby Girl?” Derek had been watching with interest and decided to join in.

Penelope’s face showed every emotion tumbling inside of her, rage, embarrassment, mortification, rage. She fought the urge to snap at the people around her and stalk off. She wanted to kill Derek, but that would only lead to confirmation of the complicated feelings she was having for her teammate, she wanted to strangle the women around her who were intent on teasing her, and she wanted to melt into the cement at the sight of Luke, who had no business looking as fine as he did today in a regular old t-shirt and shorts.

Luke took in the faces of the women around her, hands and drinks covering mouths, eyes looking at anything but him. A devious smile graced his face as he worked out what might have been the topic. Holding out his hand to the Morgan in her lap, he said, “Hey, Hank, we’re gonna get the game started, why don’t you help me round up everyone else and you can ask me that question faaar away from Auntie Meanie.” and winked.

Hank jumped up grabbing his hand, glancing back tentatively over his shoulder at Penelope, who was burying her face in her hands, as they walked in the direction of the horseshoe pit.

Once the pair were out of range she reeled on Derek, voice dark and dangerous, “Derek Morgan, charade ? A CHARADE?!” she shrieked, and the tittering trio broke into fits of laughter again. Awareness hit Derek and his hands shot up as he started to explain, walking slowly towards her like he would a suspect, tone placating. “Look, Mama, that wasn’t me, and he wasn’t supposed to hear it-“

Penelope got up wanting to finish the conversation away from the prying ears of her co-workers, Derek following behind.

A wave of “Ahh, Penelope!”s and “Come on, we were just playing!”s falling flat in her wake.

Penelope stalked into the house, echoes of her shoes all around before picking a door and entering. Safely tucked away in a study off the main room, she turned, hot tears filling her eyes and hushed out “The things I tell you, I tell you in confidence!” How he could betray her like this, how he could allow hesitant confessions between them to become gossip…

“Baby Girl-“ he started again. Her finger shot out, “No! Don’t you 'Baby Girl' me right now, Derek!”

He continued, “I didn’t tell her anything, Savannah’s just being Savannah. But when I told you to be friendlier to Alvez, I didn’t mean fall in love with the man!

Penelope jerked back, reflexively gagging at the word “I am not-“ her knees slipped from under her and she swooped holding on to the mantle next to her for support. He chuckled lightly coming over to wrap her in an embrace.

“Sweetness, there’s no shame in that.” She held him back, leaning into him, insisting whisper tickling his ear “I’m not.” He laughed again, “Ok, hotshot, but know, if you were, you’d have the full support of everyone out there, and he absolutely wouldn’t deserve you.”

She laughed pulling away and wiped at the unshed tears, emotional crisis mostly averted “I am pretty great.” Derek straightened, fixing her with a look, “Damn straight, woman. Now let’s get out there before someone suspects we're in love.” Penelope pouted, “Oh, Sugar, you saying we’re not?” He just winked and led her back out into the sunny backyard.

While Penelope occupied herself with one Morgan, Luke was having a very entertaining and eyeopening conversation with another. He looked down at Hank with a smile as they walked, “So you gonna ask me that question?”

The boy looked up, apprehension apparent on his face, and squinted, “Auntie Penelope said if I do, we can’t play the video game any more.”

Luke laughed at her cleverness, bartering game time for secrets, he wouldn’t push it. “Ok, well, I never did answer your other questions. "I do like Charades, and I do not cheat. Even if i’m losing….and I’m only mean to bad guys.”

Hank was pleased he wouldn’t be losing out on video game time with auntie P, and nodded, doubly satisfied with Luke’s answers. "Auntie Penelope said she loves Charades. Do you ever play with her?”

Luke’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, “I don’t think we’ve ever played Charades together, but your auntie and I have definitely played games.” he said, chuckling.

Hank’s brow furrowed in confusion at the response “Why does mommy think you do then? She said-“ He froze, remembering what happened the last time he repeated the phrase. “Uhh, never mind."

Luke watched the kid who’d now stopped in his tracks, wheels of his own turning. He had nieces and nephews, he knew how this went. “Hank, how about I guess? Then you aren’t telling me, not really…” he tempted. “And if Auntie P gets mad, we say it’s my fault. She can be mad at me.”

A massive toothy smile broke out across the boy’s face and he eagerly shook his head. "Ok."

Luke took his time playing at solving the puzzle, “I think it has something to do… with Charades…” He glanced down checking in, Hank again nodded eagerly.

“And Auntie Penelope?” Another nod.

“And me?” Another look down confirming he was on the right track.

“Hmmm" he mused, hamming it up. “...Mommy said me and auntie Penelope play Charades together?” he finally guessed.

Hanks head jerked up and down so hard he was making himself dizzy. Luke, however, was very confused by the incorrect revelation and even more so about why Penelope wouldn’t want him to know about it.

Hank, unable to stop his curiosity, went on to deliver the missing piece, “Luke, whys everyone keep saying CharadeS mommy called it Charade.”

And then it hit him.

Luke smiled a small private smile at the realization that perhaps, perhaps, it wasn’t just him, if other people saw it too... He wrapped a large hand on the boy's small shoulder as they got to the pit. “Sometimes people just say things differently, little man, don’t worry about it.” Now if only he knew how to make Penelope hear what he was saying...