#never seen any ST actors in real life yet

[grey-lark]

My coworkers today were talking about seeing Stranger Things cast members in different coffee shops or walking on the beltline and I was just sitting there thinking "when is it my turn"

[hawkinslibrary]

anon !!! this is hours later than i meant for it to be, but here's my rambling essay-length response to your ask from earlier !!!!!!!! fair warning, i am just... so stupid and don't know how to properly get my thoughts across so it's a whole Mess 😬

your last text post is so real!! i really don't get the main character death obssesion either. it's honestly funny in a way because st is pretty much the only show that doesn't kill protagonists, and if they do they're brought back, yet there's more main character death talk in this fandom than anyone can take. it's like people just can't accept the duffers ain't about that life??!  

first, i want to clarify that, to me, the main characters have always been joyce, hopper, nancy, jonathan, steve, mike, el, lucas, will, and dustin, with the addition of max in s2 and robin in s3. this is the main group that we follow, these are our protagonists, and everyone else is just secondary, regardless of whether the actor appears in the main credits or not  

now, my post was definitely more aimed at all the talk i've seen about how there has to be a main character death before the show is over. people acting like it’s a given. i personally just really really don't want any of them to die and hate thinking about the possibility lmao

we don’t know how it’s going to end, or what the final season will be like, how dire things will be. they could absolutely switch gears and start killing mains left and right. i feel like waiting until the final season is exactly what so many other shows do anyway, right? so i get the concern, and it makes me a little wary, too. but that’s exactly it – so many other shows do it. it's weird, it’s tired, it’s unnecessary. and, really, the duffers are out here right now saying how much they regret killing chrissy off and she was only in the one episode. so like... imagine them actually trying to kill off one of the mains  

they can’t please everyone, but i do think ultimately they’ll want to try to do right by as many fans of the show as possible, you know? the wrong kind of ending can ruin a show forever. people love these characters and at the end of it all, i think most of us just want to see them thriving  

(and it’s not like will or el or hopper (or brenner) were ever actually dead. they just made the other characters believe they were, and each time there’s been pretty immediate hints that they weren’t gone for good -- the whole situation with will’s body + him talking to joyce through the lights, hopper leaving the eggos for el, no body for hopper + ‘the american’ in the russian prison, no body for brenner – and this show doesn’t shy away from showing bodies. when a character is dead, they want us to know it and feel it) 

even the cast, millie and noah talking about how it's so big someone *has* to die, right? THEY LITERALLY DON'T. yes, it's a big battle and there should be losses but there is no reason for that to be main characters. like you said, is that unrealistic (and maybe a little ridiculous)?? well, yeah, but so is the show. realism has never been a priority in st. the show is literally a sappy sci-fi horror. and not killing protagonists is part of their formula, just like separating everyone into groups and then bringing them together in the finale is  

i think millie and noah were just joking when they said to start killing everyone, even their own characters, off. like, yeah, the cast is pretty big right now and a ton of characters were added for this season specifically, but they’ve all had their own roles to play and barely exist outside of those parts. chrissy, fred, patrick, they were all brought on just to be killed off – probably the same to be said for more new characters by the end of this season. and i think millie even said something about the duffers being afraid of or even just refusing to kill main characters. but why is killing main characters such a normal thing now? why do we have to expect for characters we love to die horribly for like... no reason?  

i've said it before, but this show absolutely is unrealistic and ridiculous AND cheesy. but it’s rooted in inspiration and references to 80s media, which is also something that i tend to think of as unrealistic and ridiculous and cheesy, so i mean it in the best way possible. it does its job. it's sappy and nostalgic, has an intense focus on love and family and friendship, while also playing on like... every major genre and trope from the era that they can fit into however many episodes and however many hours. i think some people take pieces of it way more seriously than the creators ever intended. they want it to be good, obviously, but also they’re huge nerds and they just want to have fun with it 

i'm absolutely worried about some of the more side characters this season, and i know losing any of them is going to hurt, too. they're very good at making you care about a secondary character only to rip them away from you. but if this was just any other show, we would’ve probably already seriously lost a main character or two  

i've seen people actually criticize this a lot because "it takes away from scenes like the end of dear billy because i know max won't die" and i guess that's valid criticism in some ways but i think people forget that that's literally just NOT the point of that scene. like, if they wanted you to be afraid max would actually like die, you would be. they've had every chance to kill main characters before. they could have killed nancy at the end of ep7 but they didn't. they're not even TRYING to get people scared for her, actually. that's why she's in the teaser and a bunch of bts and why they're not being suspenseful about her fate at all. st doesn't kill main characters. because they. don't. want. to. and they don't want people to be scared of that either, otherwise they'd be a lot more hush hush about stuff. this is something that has been true since s01.

again, why does it even matter? if you know that she isn’t going to die? death isn’t the only possible ending, and it’s not the only consequence, and she’s still very much in danger. there are still so many things that can happen, things that can go wrong, without having to make things so Final. i'm sorry if it starts feeling repetitive that main characters Aren’t being killed off ? but again, why are we just so accepting that that’s a normal response lol  

people around these characters have been dying since s1. like directly or indirectly, because of their involvement with the main characters, because of something the main characters have done. that's messed up enough ! we should be worried about everyone who isn’t listed above that’s ever interacted with one of the mains before even thinking to worry about them. it's a part of that endless suffering i mentioned. guilt, trauma, angst, suffering, only to die in the end anyway... it's just miserable 

they "kill" el and immediately add a scene of hopper taking eggos to the woods. they "kill" hopper and immediately add "the american". st makes fans suffer by putting their main characters through hell, but they don't kill them. that's actually something i love about the show. and some people may find that ridiculous or an error (and yeah, dead loved ones coming back again and again is anything but realistic) but it's very much intentional and has been since day 1 and changing that at the last second would be a huge mistake. one i don't think they'd ever make. (and that's not even talking about how death would ruin most character arcs and make their whole story pointless). anyway, i'm with you with hating the death obssesion around here!! they're so not going there, though, i'm fairly certain we're right 💙 

again, we're talking about the people who have said they immediately regretted killing characters who've only appeared in one episode. people who said they would leave the show if certain characters were killed off. people who write lines like: "she saves your life because of friendship", which, yes, was said incredulously, but should actually be considered a blueprint of the show. one memory of her mother saying she loved her was enough for el to beat henry in that first fight. it's a show literally about underdogs persevering against all odds ("chances of success..." "never tell me the odds")

and just...

killing certain characters would make other seasons of the show completely pointless, others would cause major major major backlash, others have already 'died' AND done the 'sacrifice themselves for everyone else' thing so doing it again but actually dying this time would be stupid, others would completely kill the nostalgia/rewatchability factor, and some would just be cruel. this covers the entire major cast

this is just my thought process on it anyway haha. like, they still could definitely kill someone, but i just think it’d be a bad idea. there's many more interesting and less final ways to go about it idk 

[mst3kproject]

The Neanderthal Man

Since I'm taking a break from fishmen, I might as well let Bigfoot catch up a bit.  The Neanderthal Man isn't exactly a Bigfoot movie, but it’s along the same lines and its entire starring cast has MST3K pedigrees.  Robert Shayne was in Indestructible Man and Teenage Caveman. Richard Crane was Rocky Jones, Space Ranger! Beverly Garland was in Swamp Diamonds and Gunslinger. Even the composer, Albert Glasser, wrote music for Invasion USA, Last of the Wild Horses, and almost all of MST3K’s Bert I. Gordon movies.

Some little mountain town in the middle of the Sierras (which the Portentous 50's Narrator takes some trouble to tell us is a primeval place where 'the defacing hand of civilization has fallen but lightly') is having a rash of saber-toothed tiger sightings!  At first these are laughed off, but when the game warden himself sees one cross the road in the middle of the night, it's time to do something about it.  The warden shows a cast pawprint to Dr. Ross Harkness in Los Angeles, who is interested enough to come up and see for himself. Local Mad Scientist Dr. Groves pooh-poohs the whole thing, which is enough to tell me that we're not dealing with a local cryptid here.  Somebody is making prehistoric monsters.

So... I may not have actually run out of movies, but I seem to be running out of plots, because this is a remarkably similar movie to Monster on the Campus. The major difference between the two films is that Dr. Blake turned himself into a caveman by accident, while Dr. Groves here is doing it on purpose.

Another difference is that Monster on the Campus' story, while silly, was linear – events escalated in a way that felt logical, and there were reasons why things happened when and where they did.  By contrast, The Neanderthal Man feels like a first draft.  At the beginning of the film, we're dealing with the saber-toothed tigers that Groves has been creating by injecting cats with his de-evolution serum.  We hear about these slaughtering game and livestock, and it seems like only a matter of time before they move on to human beings.  The beginning of the film is quite upfront about the fact that Groves is responsible, too, as it is only mildly mysterious in its depiction of one of the creatures escaping his lab.

Sometimes the saber-tooths are represented by an actual tiger, usually filmed from behind or at a great distance so nobody has to put the prosthetic teeth on it.  They do have prosthetic teeth, but they're only visible in a couple of shots. Imagine being at a bar and some guy tells you his job is sticking fake fangs on real tigers for a caveman movie!  For close-ups, there's a hilarious puppet head that looks like the sort of thing you'd see mounted on a frat house wall as a joke.  The director had the sense not to linger on this in motion shots, but later we see still photographs Groves has supposedly taken of his experimental subjects and they're even stupider-looking than we imagined.

Anyway, this goes on for a while with rising action, as the game warden goes to get Harkness and they manage to shoot one of the animals, only to have it vanish from the kill site when they try to show it to Groves (the movie never bothers to explain how that happened, incidentally. The ending suggests that the creatures change back when they die, but there's definitely no dead kitty cat at the scene, either).  The whole movie could easily have just had the cats and their creator as the antagonists, perhaps even ending the same way as Dr. Groves proves his work to the other characters by injecting himself. That's not what happens, though.  Instead, the story mostly forgets about the cats one we find out Groves has also been carrying on human experiments.

(Before himself, Groves' first experimental subject was his disabled Latina housekeeper.  Another series of photos show her half-transformed into a cavewoman who for some reason is wearing drag queen false eyelashes.  And as long as I'm talking about the movie being gross and bigoted, there's a bit where a woman is violently raped.  This happens off camera, but the audience is not allowed to entertain any illusions about it.)

The problem is that before we see him give himself an injection in the arm, we have had absolutely no indication that Groves has been giving his serum to anything besides the cats! Cats are stealthy, cryptic creatures and if one of those has been seen wandering around killing things, then surely a full-on caveman beating people to death would not be able to stay out of sight!  If what we were seeing were the first time Groves had tried the formula on himself then that would be an explanation, but his notes reveal that he's been doing it for so long that he's on the verge of losing control of the transformation and permanently reverting to a pre-human status, as indeed he does for the climax.  Much like the stupid dinosaur in The Beast of Hollow Mountain, the movie's main monster is given no build-up whatsoever!

There's worse yet, though.  The main characters, Dr. Harkness and Groves' daughter Jan, are barely involved in the 'caveman' part of the plot. They get phone calls about the various murders that Groves is committing in caveman form, and they snoop around the lab to figure out things the audience already knows.  The same story could have been told without them, perhaps with the game warden and the hunter as protagonists, and it would probably have been more interesting. The script also repeatedly has Dr. Groves wander in and bluster about how the tiger sightings are hallucinations and tall tales, which seems a little unnecessary when we already know he's responsible. The film-makers can't seem to decide whether they want us to know that or not.

Dr. Groves wears glasses.  Maybe the reason his primitive alter-ego is angry and breaking shit (although it does politely open and close the window it climbs out of, which made me laugh) is because it can't see. This is also my theory about why the Hulk smashes, and what do you know?  In Avengers Endgame he's got Hulk-sized spectacles and only smashes when he's told!

The direction of The Neanderthal Man can probably best be described as 'serviceable'.  It shows us what's going on, but doesn't particularly add anything to the proceedings.  The 'Neanderthal' mask is immobile and uninteresting, not much better than somebody's Party City Sasquatch costume.  Even the eyes are just painted on, meaning the poor guy in the costume can’t do much because he can’t see where he’s going.

The dialogue is often very strange, with characters talking like they're in a Jules Verne novel. If only one person did this, it might seem like a character quirk – it works for Dr. Groves, for example – but it's everybody. Seeing the cat carcass is gone, Harkness declares, “I refuse to believe in the supernatural!  There must be some logical cause and effect to this unholy adventure!”  Groves' fiancee Ruth berates him for ignoring her, saying, “I want you, the man I once knew!  The good companion, the cheerful friend.  I want the happiness we once found in each other.”  It's bizarre to listen to, and often audibly awkward for the actors.

Monster on the Campus was kind of trying to be about how humanity must choose to evolve away from our inner savage, although the finale didn't bear that out.  There's a scene in The Neanderthal Man in which this movie seems to be trying to go in the opposite direction, saying that we were never savage to begin with.  Dr. Groves is speaking to a panel of scientists about the size of the brain in various 'primitive' species of human.  He points out that by the time we reached Homo erectus we were already working with four times the cerebral jelly of a chimpanzee, and argues that our ancestors would have been recognizably human in their behaviour and problem-solving capacity.

(Amusingly, his chart of human evolution includes Piltdown Man, which was proven to be a hoax literally a few months after this movie's release.  What makes this even more tragic for the writers is that their list of primitive humans seems to be the only place where they actually did any research.)

The problem with Dr. Groves' theory is that he already knows it's wrong. We soon learn that he's been experimenting on himself with his serum for a while already, and his notes show that he knows very well he regresses into a near-mindless animal.  The movie does not even try to reconcile these ideas.  If Groves were continuing his experiments in the hope that perfecting his serum would give him a more accurate reconstruction of ancient man, that would be one thing, but the script never goes there.

So now that we've had two 'man turns into caveman by injecting science juice' movies, of course I have to ask which one is better.  Monster on the Campus wasn't a good movie but it was definitely an improvement on The Neanderthal Man in several respects, and although I don't have any way to find out for certain, I suspect it was an intentional remake.  It's definitely more entertaining and gets bonus points for including the Meganeura dragonfly, but nothing in it is nearly as funny as The Neanderthal Man's fake tiger head.  I guess if you're gonna watch one or the other, stick to Monster on the Campus, but if you're gonna watch both, start with The Neanderthal Man and do them in chronological order, the better to spot the inspirations and references.

Before I go, a fun paleontology fact: current thinking is that the saber-toothed cat's eponymous fangs actually didn't show when it had its mouth closed!  There are zero cave paintings or ancient sculptures of a saber-tooth cat with teeth visible, and when scientists looked at the structure of the enamel in the canines, it suggested that in life the teeth were hidden by big, fleshy, St Bernard jowls.  Google 'smilodon lips' and behold how this looks fully three hundred percent more ridiculous than you're imagining.  I love nature.

[a-sirens-melody]

i can’t believe it’s true, i get to love you

It’s finally here!! I’m so excited to share my first drakepad fic. Get ready for 5k words of absolute sap kjskhdg (I’ll reblog with the link to my ao3)

This is part of a series I’m developing too, Let’s Get Engaged! so there will be more of this au.

Enjoy!

***

“Uh, DW? Why are we parked across the street from Mr. McDee’s movie studio?” He heard Launchpad ask behind him. “I don't think W.A.N.D.A said there was any crime here.”

“I, um.” His hands were shaking. “I have something I want to show you.” He double checked the brakes of the Ratcatcher; he didn't need to crash his only ride into the wall as the Thunderquack was already in need of repairs. That sounded like something that would happen to Drake Mallard, not Darkwing Duck. He needed to be Darkwing Duck for just a little longer.

Patrol had been busy tonight, to the surprise of both partners. They'd had to foil seven house break ins, five robberies downtown (three of which had been at the mall), and even got dragged into breaking up a bar fight on the other side of St. Canard. That last one was an unexpected surprise, but at least the stench of alcohol and yelling about… sports? Mothers? Darkwing had no clue what it was even about. He wasn’t sure what higher power he had pleased, but he was grateful for the distraction from the precious cargo he had safely tucked away in his jacket pocket.

He had been planning this for one month, two weeks, and three days. Not that he's been counting or anything. The big moment was almost here, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Because tonight, Drake was going to propose to Launchpad.

They had talked about this before. Actually, Launchpad was the one to bring up marriage. A year ago, two years into their relationship, the pilot had very bluntly asked him, “so what do you think about marriage?” In that moment, Drake thought that all his head injuries acquired from three years of crime fighting had caught up to him and his brain was truly not working.

After recovering from his mini heart attack, the two discussed and came to the conclusion that both of them really liked the idea of becoming husbands. Loved it, actually. But neither was ready to handle all the planning and stress of a wedding yet. Hell, Launchpad had only been living with Drake and Gosalyn for a couple of months.

Still, that didn't stop Drake from imagining the scenario at least once a month. Launchpad kneeling down with a ring in a pretty box and scooping up Drake to kiss him. Drake getting on one knee instead and offering a golden or silver ring (he hadn't been sure, at first, what color would suit his beloved best) after an incredibly sappy speech. 

What was that he said before about planning for a month? Scratch that out. He'd been dreaming of the moment for a year, but started considering for real three months ago. He asked Launchpad again for his opinion on the matter, just to check that they were still on the same page, and almost died on the spot when his answer was now a confident “yes.” If they lived in a cartoon, Drake surely would have floated off the ground surrounded by tiny pink hearts.

He thought about any and all locations that marked a special milestone in their relationship. The movie studio where they first met, the tower where they constantly met on hero business, the McDuck Enterprises building where they found their first supervillains together and met his future daughter. In the end, the former won because it felt like that was the true start of them. Because of their meeting there, the events of the past three years occurred. That point in time marked the beginning of many changes in Drake's life.

He hadn't spent one month, two weeks, and three days scrambling for a location. That sounded utterly unromantic and incredibly unprepared. No, that was the amount of time he had spent finding the courage to actually ask.

Now the moment had finally arrived. And he was not backing down.

After making sure the motorcycle was properly parked, he hopped out and strode to Launchpad, offering a hand. His boyfriend still looked confused but smiled at the gesture and took it, getting out of the seat. “Such a gentleman.”

“I try.” Darkwing flashed a grin back. Thankfully, his hands had stopped shaking and his voice betrayed none of the frayed nerves within the valiant vigilante.

They continued to hold hands as they crossed the street. Once on the sidewalk, they looked up at the building. It had been closed for the night already, the lights dimmed and the only soul seen was a lone security guard on patrol.

“Man.” Darkwing was drawn out of his daydreams and looked over to Launchpad. “It's been a long time since I've seen this place. Brings back memories, huh?”

Darkwing hummed in agreement. For a while after the failure of Darkwing: First Darkness, the only memories he had of this place were bitter. It was here that his big break as an actor had literally gone up in flames before his very eyes. It was here that his idol Jim Starling, a man he had looked up to the moment he laid eyes on the first episode of Darkwing Duck, had tried to kill him only to be buried in the remains of the set in a sick sense of karma.

But after spending more time with Launchpad, he had grown to see it as a landmark of new beginnings in his life. He hadn't met the pilot here, but they really began to bond when Launchpad broke into his trailer. After trying not to damage several previous pieces of merch, they quit fighting each other and started playing with Drake’s action figures, of all things. As odd as the circumstances were, it was nice. Somewhere along the way, he told the other duck about what he personally called his origin story (yes, he knew it was nerdy, but it felt right and no one was going to make him stop).

And Launchpad didn't make fun of him or call him ridiculous for keeping a beat up lunchbox after all those years. No, he nodded his head and looked on in… admiration. Then he yelled out something about getting Jim to stop fighting Drake and talk together about how they could both fix the movie and. Well. They both knew how that went.

Demise of Darkwing aside, it was the first time in Drake’s life that he had felt completely understood. He didn't have to hide his love of Darkwing for fear of rejection, instead he was encouraged to geek out as much as he wished.

And when the rain machine stopped and the ashes of set pieces and the dream of a starry-eyed boy were all that remained, when Drake thought all hope was lost, what did Launchpad do? He told him to get back up. He convinced Drake that he could become Darkwing Duck for real. He even let Drake autograph his poster, an action which he'd dreamed of doing the moment he started acting.

Three years of what he would call his best (and first) romantic relationship, one alien invasion, one spirited little girl, and another found family full of feisty adventurers later, Drake wouldn't change the events of his life for anything. He’s tried so many times to tell Launchpad how much he appreciates him and the warmth and the love he’s brought, but it always feels like words are never enough. That doesn't mean he won't stop trying, though, as he said, “I knew coming here would change my life all those years ago. I'm so glad I was wrong.”

He snuck a peek at Launchpad and was pleasantly surprised to see his boyfriend blushing. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Never thought the worst movie I'd ever seen could open the doors to the best years of my life.”

Darkwing choked and looked away again, cheek feathers turning pink. “I-I, uh. Yeah. Me too.” He squeezed his boyfriend's hand as he tried to regain his composure. When he succeeded, he began again the speech he had spent hours practicing and pacing in his room over. “I thought all I needed to make my life complete was a starring role in a big movie. That I could inspire other kids like me as a solo hero.” 

He faced Launchpad again, softly smiling. “But you. You crashed into my life,” he raised his hands here at Launchpad’s smirk, “pun not intended. You showed me that I could have a good family, I could surround myself with people that really loved me for who I was. Adopting Gosalyn, meeting the Ducks- I never would've done that if you hadn't pushed me to. Hell, I wouldn't even be Darkwing Duck without you.” He stepped closer and cupped the pilot’s cheek. “And, of course, you will always have a special place in my heart.”

Launchpad’s eyes widened and there was a faint hitch in his breath. “Drake, what are you saying?”

“Launchpad, I-” Just as he was about to reach in his pocket for the ring, Drake stopped.

He still had the mask on. He was still Darkwing Duck.

No, no, he couldn't propose like this. Sure, Launchpad knew Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard were one and the same and that it was still his boyfriend under the mask and ego but- but it was the principle of the thing, okay!?

He wanted to ask the love of his life to marry him in honesty and vulnerability. And to do that, he had to be Drake Mallard. He had to find somewhere more private.

“Wait.” Darkwing grabbed Launchpad's hand and began to run to the nearest alleyway. “I need to do this with no risk of being spotted.”

“Um. What are you doing now?” His partner asked as he shoved themselves into the dark, quiet alley between what looked like a jewelry store and a hair salon. Launchpad looked confused and- wait, were those tears?

Shit, shit, shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen! That wasn't part of the plan! “Honey! No no no, don't cry, I just wanted-” Scolding himself, he tore off his hat and mask. There. Now Drake Mallard could take out his ring and propose and hopefully calm his partner down. “I wanted to ask if-”

He reached his hand into his pocket and froze.

There was nothing there.

Frantically, he searched his other pocket and checked both of them again. His heart sank as he came up empty handed, and he remembered where the ring was.

He hid the box in one of the boxes of smoke bombs earlier that day. In his panic to get out onto the streets and running through his plan and his words ninety nine times, he must've forgotten to take it with him.

Which meant that his fool-proof proposal plan was no longer fool-proof.

“Dammit!” Drake hissed, angry tears forming. He could've kicked the wall, but he didn't want to scare LP. He tried to ignore the hot shame simmering inside him as he covered his face with his hand. “God, I'm sorry, sunshine, I left something-”

“Drake?” Launchpad's voice was hushed and gentle, the complete opposite of Drake's current mental state.

Drake shushed the voices in his head and looked up.

Launchpad was giving him a soft, knowing smile and his eyes were still watery but he didn't look sad. Actually, he looked thrilled. “Are you... asking me to marry you?”

Even if his original plans were ruined, Drake was still going to see this through. So he took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, met his boyfriend's gaze, and said, “yeah. Yeah, I am. At least, I tried to.” He pinched his fingers in between his eyes and huffed a sigh. “Would've helped if I hadn't forgotten the ring. You deserve a romantic proposal, and I somehow failed at the bare minimum.” He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“Hey. You didn't fail at the bare minimum.” Launchpad was standing closer now, determination in his gaze. “You took me to the place that marks the beginning of our friendship and gave a really sweet speech about how I've made your life better. The fact that you don't have a ring to give me doesn't make that any less meaningful.”

“God.” Drake shuddered, relief flooding his body. He'd been so caught up in his setback that his actions earlier had completely slipped his mind. Launchpad was right. The ring wasn't the most important part; the proposal itself was. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, overwhelmed with emotion. “I love you so much.”

Launchpad pressed his beak to the top of his head in a kiss, and Drake soon felt a familiar pair of warm arms snake around him. “I love you too, babe.”

For a few minutes, neither spoke and simply basked in the presence of their lover. Drake found himself processing the past few minutes more and discovered another realization.

He hadn't gotten a clear answer yet.

He was strongly tempted to bury his head further into Launchpad's chest, but he had another important question. Plus, if he had to ask more than once, he would run the risk of dying on the spot from sheer suspense. “Um, so. I didn't screw up my proposal to you.” Launchpad gave a comforting hum as Drake lifted his face to make eye contact once again. “And it made you happy, but. You didn't really answer my question. So. Launchpad, will you marry me?”

His smile was brighter than the sun. “Yes!” His hands drifted up to Drake's side and picked him up. His fiancé- fiancé, oh god, it's real now, not just a dream- threw him three inches into the air, laughing. Drake smiled and joined in, then cupped his hands around Launchpad's face and pulled him into a kiss once he was safe again in his arms.

Drake heard Launchpad sigh and felt his partner tighten his arms around his waist. Drake opened his beak, deepening the kiss. Launchpad made a pleased hum before doing the same, and Drake's mind went pleasantly blank.

It felt like hours had passed by the time Launchpad pulled away. Drake bit back a whine and lowered his hands to wrap around his fiancé’s neck.

“Okay, as much as I want to keep kissing you, we should probably go back to the tower. I don't think either of us is gonna be able to focus on patrol anyways.” Launchpad flashed a small smirk, but his eyes were still sparkling. “Also, you need to put your mask back on. It would be really unromantic if someone found your secret identity out,” he added, as fleeting as an afterthought.

Drake let out a small laugh. “You're right, that would totally kill the mood. Could you let me down, please?” He was gently lowered to the ground at that and took Launchpad's hand again. “Oh! Also!” He had gotten carried away in the moment, but there was another good reason to go back to the tower. “Your ring is there.”

“Did you hide it and then forget to get it back out when you were getting ready to go on patrol?” Launchpad guessed.

“Yup.” They started walking back to the Ratcatcher, swinging their clasped hands back and forth. Drake felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. He did it! And Launchpad said yes! Even if it wasn't exactly perfect, he would remember tonight as one of the best nights of his life.

His fiancé suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Wait. I forgot to tell you something.”

Drake turned to face him. Something about that statement made him wary. “What?”

His figurative feathers were smoothed over when Launchpad smiled again. “You're not the only one who was planning to propose.”

Drake's entire face went red, and as he could faintly hear the other duck say, “I'll show you when we get back”, amidst his stuttering.

“You're gonna be the death of me someday, LP, did you know that?” Drake sighed when he had stopped bi panicking. He scrubbed his face with his hand and walked over to the motorcycle, hopping on.

“Better me than a supervillain.” He heard Launchpad walk over and get on behind him, felt strong arms wrap around him in anticipation. “Besides, you love me,” was whispered in his ear.

“Okay, we're going now,” Drake choked out. He was definitely blushing again. He turned on the motorcycle and pulled out onto the road. 

With that, they sped off into the night.

***

Once he parked the Ratcatcher, Drake practically scrambled off and sprinted to the pile of boxes in the far right corner labeled Smoke Bombs! Do NOT Touch!! Launchpad was right behind him, chuckling under his breath.

“Which one, which one…” He muttered under his breath, looking for the one with the marker he had put on it. A minute later, he found a box with a large black X on its side. “Ah ha!”

He stuck his hand in the box…

And immediately set off a few smoke bombs.

“Okay, note to self,” Drake said, coughing, “don’t hide your engagement ring with little delicate spheres full of smoke.” He waved one hand around to clear the air and used the other to very gently pry the ring box out.

“Tada!” He opened it to show Launchpad the dark purple ring he had chosen. “Your ring.”

“No way!”

“Um. What?” Okay, definitely not the reaction he was expecting. He tried not to let his nerves get the best of him again. “Is it the wrong shade? Or would you rather have a normal ring?”

“Huh? Oh, no! It’s beautiful!” Launchpad rushed to reassure him. “I just think it’s kinda funny.”

What? How was this funny? “Launchpad, you’re not making any sense.”

“Here, I’ll show you!” Launchpad pulled a similar back velvet box out of the pocket on his left sleeve. He flipped it open to reveal a ring small enough to fit Drake’s ring finger.

A ring that was the exact same purple as Launchpad’s.

“We got the same ring!” They exclaimed at the same time, meeting each other’s gaze and giggling.

“Oh my god. What kind of soulmate magic is this?” Drake couldn’t believe it. This felt like the sort of thing that only happened in fairy tales or really cheesy rom coms. “Hold on a second. Is this what you were doing that one time you said you were picking up lunch?”

“Yeah.” Launchpad said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure how to explain a trip to the jewelry store without giving it away. Plus, it was a pretty spur of the moment thing. You know how bad I am at lying.”

Drake chuckled. “You said you were on your way to Hamburger Hippo at ten am. I was definitely confused. Why purple, though?”

“Gold and silver didn’t feel like they fit you, and I wanted a ring that would represent something special to both of us. So, the first thing that came to mind was Darkwing Duck! ‘Cause you love it as much as I do, maybe even more, and it’s what we bonded over first and you’re Darkwing Duck, so. It felt right.”

Drake could relate to that. As fun as ring shopping had been, it hadn't started out as the easiest task on his list. Launchpad didn't strike Drake as much of a jewelry person. He had never seen Launchpad wear any jewelry casually, and the fanciest thing his work uniform required was a tie. Even on the few occasions his partner wore a suit, the cufflinks had been provided.

There was a slight blush on his fiancé's cheeks and his hands flapped as he rambled, and Drake felt positively smitten. Again, what kind of soulmate magic was this? It had to be magic; what other explanation could there possibly be for the way they seemed to think as one? “That’s so sweet of you, LP. Actually, I got your ring for the exact same reason. Except for you being Darkwing, ‘cause. You know. You’re my partner.”

“And you’re my Darkwing.” Launchpad whispered, gazing with the softest eyes and his words pulled Drake under a tidal wave of emotions. His Darkwing, his Darkwing, his Darkwing-

“You sap.” Just as he thought he was done crying. He wiped away tears. His face hurt from smiling so wide and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Launchpad grinned just as widely. “Neither can I. Before we go back home, though, can I ask you one more thing? Two, actually.”

Drake took a deep breath and nodded, fanning his face.

“I know you asked me first, but I really wanted to ask you and I’ve got my ring so-” Launchpad was bouncing up and down on his tiptoes, running his hands over the zipper of his jacket. He looked like a puppy, all frantic energy and big hopeful eyes. “Can I ask too? Please?”

Drake laughed and nodded. “Of course, sunshine.”

“Yes!” With that, Launchpad cleared his throat and got down on one knee. “Drake, you’re so special to me. You’re the first partner I’ve had that really understood me. That loves my favorite show as much as I do, and knows what it’s like to build your personality around it. You’ve been there for me in the best and worst times, and you’ve given me the best adventure I could’ve asked for: living my childhood dream with someone I love and that loves me in the same way. You already know my answer, but I need to know-

“Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Launchpad. Yes.” His heart felt like it was going to burst. God, it was really happening. This was better than any lovestruck dream he had conjured in the past year. Drake ran over to the other duck and flung his arms around his waist. He was once again surrounded by strong warm arms and sighed happily.

“We did it. We’re gonna get married.” He could hear Launchpad’s voice rumble low in his chest. “Can we have a Darkwing Duck themed wedding?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Drake pulled his head back up, eyes sparkling. “We could totally coordinate our suits and the decorations and the cake, oh my god, we’re gonna get to eat wedding cake together, and-” He paused his rambling as a realization struck him. “Hold on. Is it gonna look weird if I have a wedding themed after myself?”

“I mean.” Launchpad blinked. “We’re both talking about the TV show Darkwing Duck, right?” Drake nodded. “Then, I think it’s fine. If anyone comes that doesn’t know you’re also Darkwing Duck, they’ll probably think of it as an obsessed fanboy thing. And everyone that does know, will probably understand.” He squeezed Drake’s hand with a grin. “It’s our wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Drake echoed. Oh my god. They were having a wedding. Together! Because they were getting married to each other! He started flapping his hands to try to let out some of his pent up joy. “Our wedding! Oh my gosh, we need to tell people! And send invitations and start writing our vows but I don’t know if that’s something you have to do separately or you can coordinate somehow and-”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get all that sorted out,” Launchpad responded, taking a hold of Drake’s beak and tilting his head up to look at him. His eyes were warm. “But, sweetheart, it’s almost three am and I don’t know if anything’s even open. I’m excited too, but you gotta take a deep breath.”

Drake did just that. “Right, right. Don’t need to pass out before we get home. That would also kill the mood.”

Launchpad chuckled. “Shall we?” He gestured to the open foyer.

“Wait, wait, one last thing!” Drake’s gaze had caught Launchpad’s hand and there was still a certain something missing. Something he had already forgotten once, and he was not going to make that same mistake again. His partner jumped a bit at his sudden outburst, and smiled in apology. “Sorry, this really is the last thing, I promise. Do you want me to put on your ring for you?”

Launchpad’s eyes widened. “Right, rings. We should be wearing them.” He smiled back, gaze drifting to Drake’s left hand. “Can I put yours on, too?”

“Of course.”

And finally, after months of dreaming and pacing and purchasing, Drake took the hand of the love of his life and slipped on his ring. Launchpad did the same, and Drake could hardly breathe. They held their hands up to the light, admiring the way the rings sparkled.

“So why is it that you’re supposed to put your engagement ring on your left hand?” Launchpad tilted his head to view his ring from a different angle. “Is it for protection?”

“I’ve heard it’s because your left hand is closer to your heart.” Drake explained. He saw Launchpad compare the distance from his hands and his chest, brow furrowed.

“But. How’d they figure it out? I can’t tell which one is closer!”

“Maybe they made it up to sound sappy. I don’t really get it, either.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Anyways,” Launchpad shook his head and offered his hand out. “Shall we go, then?”

Drake giggled and took his hand. “Yes, we shall.”

***

When they arrived at home, the stars were still shining. Drake would always be thankful for the shortcut built into their house in Duckburg. When he and Launchpad had decided to move in together, the most difficult decision had been choosing where exactly they wanted to live. Drake didn't want to leave St. Canard without a hero to protect it, and Launchpad didn't want to move away from his job and his family.

Fortunately, his pilot worked for the richest man alive who had no intentions of letting Launchpad leave if he didn't want to. With Scrooge’s money, they had a secret tunnel constructed that led from their house to Darkwing Tower accessible via two blue chairs in the living room. Travel was instantaneous, so Drake didn't have to give up his city and Launchpad didn't have to give up his job (it also meant he could come on patrols without sacrificing so much sleep. In the early days, Launchpad barely got any sleep driving for six hours total back and forth every night. It was scary to Drake how dedicated his partner was sometimes. Endearing, yes, but scary all the same).

He was going to try to stay quiet as he entered the house, he really was since he was expecting to find Gosalyn asleep in her room. It was a school night, so she should have been asleep.

Sleeping, however, was not what she was doing when he found his fourteen year old daughter awake on the couch in the living room. She was spread out, feet kicked up on one of the arms and scrolling through her phone. The second she heard the chairs activate, however, her eyes darted over to her fathers and dropped the device and scrambled over.

“Dad! Papa! How was patrol tonight?” Her eyes glittered with excitement. She always loved to hear about their patrols whenever she couldn't go. Which was often because she had school on weekdays and needed her sleep. Sleep that she was currently not getting for reasons possibly not unknown to Drake.

He arched an eyebrow. “It was fine. Only had a few robberies to stop, but you probably knew it was a quiet night. Speaking of which,” he crossed his arms. “It's three am on a Thursday. What are you doing out of bed and still awake?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd wait for you guys. And I can see,” her eyes landed on his ring, grin growing wider, “that tonight wasn't as uneventful as you said. Not in the sense of crime fighting, anyway.”

She turned to Launchpad and asked, “so how mad was he that you beat him to it?” He started to explain but Drake cut in with some squawking of his own.

“What do you mean, ‘beat him to it’!? How did you even know he was planning to propose too?” He finally asked, pointing a finger at Gos.

“Oh, I asked her if I could marry you.” Launchpad answered. “‘Cause, she's your family and I wanted her to know.” He seemed shy all of a sudden, blushing slightly and twisting his own ring.

Somehow, Drake felt his heart swell with even more love as his breath caught in his throat. “Oh. That. Makes sense. And that's. That's really sweet of you, LP. Oh my god, I'm so happy I'm gonna marry you.”

His fiancé grinned back, silly and sweet. “Me too, babe.”

The moment was interrupted by their daughter gagging and rolling her eyes. She still had a slight smile on her face, though. “God, go get a room. Anyways!” She clapped her hands and turned back to Launchpad. “You didn't answer my question. Did he fling a smoke bomb at you or something?”

“Hey!”

“No, but he did set some off on accident…”

As they explained the events of earlier that night, Gosalyn listened with rapt attention. She only interjected twice, both times, “I told you so,” and both directed at Drake (she had caught him pacing in the kitchen one day and demanded an explanation, to which he told her everything. She told him he had nothing to worry about as “you guys are so in love, it's sickening sometimes”). When they were done, she asked if they had any ideas for the wedding yet. Ignoring their clear choice for overall theme, the answer was no, so they brainstormed possible locations and the beginning of what was sure to be a very long guest list. By the time Gos brought up food, it was four thirty.

At that point, Drake declared that it was too early for this and said they should all go to bed. Gosalyn didn't argue, as the wedding talk had finally tired her out.

They tucked her into bed, kissed her cheek, and said goodnight. Launchpad was already in their bedroom and Drake was following him when Gosalyn spoke up.

“Dad?”

He turned around. “Yeah, sweetie?”

She met his eyes and gave him a soft smile. “I'm really happy for you.”

He smiled back. “Thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Gosalyn.”

He and his fiancé didn't get much sleep. They spent the rest of the night talking in hushed whispers, showering each other in soft kisses, or simply holding one another.

Because they said yes.

And that small word opened a new door, one they were both thrilled to walk through.

Together.

[weirdsideblog]

Hello! How would it play out (in the same timeline as your three part story) if Tony had to eat Peter again, but this time, had to act like it was dangerous in order to protect him?

Oh what an angsty idea!  Thank you for this!  The greatest struggle of a vore writer is figuring out “when the heck would they even need to do that?” but I think I have a decent explanation, hopefully this is what you meant.

Naturally this is still safe vore, but as the ask says, there’s a lot of talk about unsafe vore, as well as an evil character threatening it, so if you’re very squeamish about that, take care.  As always, not St*rker

Tony’s head ached. That was the first thing he registered. The second thing was that he was lying on a cold concrete floor, surrounded by concrete walls and a concrete ceiling, a cell of some kind. The third was that he was alone.

He couldn’t remember what had happened or how he’d gotten here, but he knew he’d been with Peter. At least he was fairly sure. Now Peter was nowhere to be seen. Tony flexed his stomach, just to check if he’d tucked him away without remembering it, but there was no Peter there either.

That could mean a number of things, and he told himself not to panic yet.  It was possible that his memory was wrong and Peter hadn’t actually been with him at all.  Or he could have escaped and might be planning a rescue. There was a good possibility that whoever had kidnapped them didn’t want them scheming together about how to escape, and was simply holding them separately, too.

Or Peter could be dead, but Tony instructed himself strictly not to go there.

He looked up quickly when the door opened, and his heart lurched. Two men, armed with guns, flanking a taller man with graying blond hair came into the room.  He recognized them.  It would be hard not to, after the narrow escape he and Peter had had before.

The blond man held a jar, with a tiny figure huddled inside.   They were still all the way across the room, but there was only one person it could be.

“Hello Stark,” said the man with the jar, and he came close, close enough for Tony to see Peter, who had scrambled up and pressed against the glass like he could force his way through. “I believe I have something of yours.”

He had to be careful now. Show too much attachment, and they would surely use Peter against him even more. Show too little, and they might decide he was useless to their cause and get rid of him. Tony said nothing, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Peter’s scared face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen the boy with you before. I know you work together.”

“We do,” Tony agreed. They could have that for free; it was no great secret anyway.

“I’m sure you remember when you escaped from us last month?”

Tony certainly did. They’d used a shrink ray on Peter then, too, and Tony had been so desperate not to allow him to be captured like that that he’d swallowed the kid whole. And now he had been captured like that anyway, just as Tony had feared.

“You’re lucky you got off so easily,” he said, forcing himself to look up from Peter. “People who try to kidnap me have a history of getting much worse.”

“I’m sure.” The blond man laughed. “But surely you won’t blow us up when I have this?” He gave the jar in his hand a little shake, and Peter lost his footing and stumbled.

“Ideally, no.” Tony watched Peter again, so tiny and vulnerable, and out of his reach. The kid had made it clear he had not enjoyed being eaten, despite knowing he was safe, but Tony wondered if he might want to be hidden now. Tony himself certainly did. “What’s the idea with having him so small,” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“I thought this little intern could serve as a visual aid,” said the man. “You see, there you are. Tony Stark, Iron Man, top of the world, and people like me—we look like this to you, don’t we?”

Tony knew to let him have his monologue, watching Peter in the jar he held up, trying to think.

“You eat up dreams, you eat up lives, and they’re nothing to you. Why should they be, when you’re the man at the top? One might say you’re top of the food chain.”

Under different circumstances, Tony would definitely have laughed at that choice of imagery, but when the person talking about eating people was a possibly-unhinged stranger holding a tiny Peter, dread settled into his heart.

“People like me, we’re just like him to you, aren’t we?” The man gave the jar another little shake. “Bite size.”

Tony stopped breathing.

“I’d certainly love to take the illustration one step further.”

He started to unscrew the jar, and Peter scrambled against the side.

“No!” Tony started forward—the only thing keeping him in place before had been he unspoken threat of harm to Peter if he moved, but now—

“Come any closer and I drop him.”

There it was. Tony froze.

“As I was saying...” the man tipped the opening of the jar over his hand, and Peter only just managed to stay inside.

“I get your point.” Tony clenched his hands at his sides to keep them from shaking. “No visual aid needed.”

“Just to be sure.” The man tried to get Peter out of the jar again.

“Stop!”

“Hmm.” Mercifully, the jar was turned upright again and the lid screwed back on. Peter curled up at the bottom, arms wrapped around his head like he could shield himself. “I’d hate for such a perfect snack to go to waste. Maybe you could help me prove my point instead.”

“I-“

“Catch.”

Tony reacted just in time to catch the jar and its tiny occupant, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He withdrew against the wall, holding the glass with shaking hands.

“It’s me or you, Stark.”

Did he mean... Tony couldn’t believe their good fortune, but he made himself look horrified anyway.

“You would be more fitting, but I’d be happy to assist if for some reason you’re not willing.”

“What the hell do you think I am,” he snarled, practically vibrating with the need to do exactly what was asked of him.

“It’s nothing you haven’t done before. Just more literal this time.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll take him back, then.”

“No!” Tony clutched the jar to his chest, flinching when one of the other men pointed a gun at his head.

“I don’t think I made myself clear,” said the blond man. “You have three options. Eat the boy, give him to me, or die, and then I can eat him anyway.”

Tony was still. He had never wanted to swallow anyone more than he did right now, but he had a role to play. He was conflicted, after all, he was scared, there was no good option (ha!) and he needed to sell this more than he’d ever sold anything in his life, and he’d sold a lot of things. He looked at Peter in the jar and his scared face, and could only hope the kid was just playing along, too.

“Well?”

“He’s just a kid. Whatever you have against me, he’s got nothing to do with it.”

“That doesn’t sound like one of the choices I gave you.”

Tony made a great show of swallowing hard. “I can’t...”

“Then I’ll do it,” said the blond man, almost cheerfully, and now Tony really did feel sick. “Say your goodbyes.” He chuckled. “I doubt you’ll be one to mourn him for long.”

Peter’s mouth moved, saying what Tony guessed to be “Mr. Stark?”

“Wait.” He wrapped his hands around the jar as fully as possible. “Wait, I- he stays with me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a very great comfort while you’re killing him.”

Tony said nothing. He wanted to get Peter out of the jar and gulp him down immediately, safe from anyone who wanted to hurt him, but the version of himself he was playing at the moment wouldn’t do that. He did tip Peter carefully out of the jar (he went readily) and hold him securely in his hands instead.

“You’re going to swallow him alive,” said the man. “More fun that way. If you try to put him out of his misery first, my man will shoot.”

If this was different...Tony tried not to think about that. Peter would be safe, so there was no need to think about what he’d do if he wasn’t.

“Don’t make me do this.” Please, please, hurry up and ‘make’ me do this.

“If you waste another ten seconds, he’ll be mine.”

“Kid…”

Peter was shaking in his hands. Surely he knew. He’d done this before, he had to know. Tony prayed his terrified expression was just him playing his own role. Playing it very well, too.

“Ten,” said the man, starting to count down.

“Mr. Stark?”

What would he say? What would he ever say, if this was real? Peter was staring at him, holding on tightly to his finger, his little chest heaving. (Please be acting, please be acting, please be acting.) Then he burst into tears. Tony’s heart sank.

...

Tony was a good actor. At least Peter hoped he was. Otherwise, he was so screwed.

It wasn’t hard to play along. Peter felt too small and helpless anyway, and he’d just had a complete stranger threaten to eat him multiple times. Unless there was something he didn’t know, he was about to be safe, but he was also about to be eaten anyway, and a little reassurance that the two weren’t mutually exclusive would be nice.

Experience told him he’d be fine. (Experience telling him he’d survive getting eaten, who’d have imagined it?) He’d done this before, after all, and been completely fine. He would have liked to hear it from Tony’s mouth himself, but surely, surely he’d be fine.

“Ten.” The blond man started counting down to when he’d take Peter away and then he wouldn’t be fine, and Tony just looked at him.

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter didn’t know what he wanted, besides Tony in general. He certainly didn’t want to be eaten by him, safe or not, but he definitely didn’t want the other man to get him, and he just—just—just started to cry, apparently. Great.

Tony smoothed his hair with the lightest fingertip, and that was good, that was nice, and then the blond man reached the end of his countdown and Peter shrieked as the world swooped and he was shut quickly inside Tony’s mouth.

That was gross. He’d forgotten how gross it was. It was even grosser when Tony’s tongue (dear God, he’d forgotten about that, too) moved under him, nudging gently at his chest, and maybe it was supposed to calm him down, but he just tried to hold it off. Tony thankfully got the hint and stopped.

Outside, they were demanding Tony swallow him, or they would shoot. His breath whooshed in the back of his throat, sometimes catching like he was going to cry, and he really was great at this acting stuff. Hopefully. Ninety-five percent certain. Maybe ninety.

Peter guessed he’d find out soon enough. At any rate, it was probably polite to make sure he went down (he shuddered) as easily as possible. He uncurled himself and stretched out, with his legs pointing toward Tony’s throat, and waited with his heart pounding fit to burst.

It happened all in a flash. He was squeezed against the roof of Tony’s mouth, a muscular ripple rolled over him, and his heart dropped into his toes. He twitched once, starting to fight, but he forced himself still again. It was Tony, and he was eighty-five percent sure that meant it was okay. And struggling wouldn’t save him anyway.

Everything around him lurched when Tony coughed, probably only slightly, but it was a massive sound to Peter. Before he had time to wonder if he’d hurt him somehow, an especially tight ring of muscle rolled over him and he tumbled into Tony’s stomach.

He’d forgotten just how gross this was, too, how slimy. He scrambled, completely disoriented in the pitch darkness and the slippery slime and the soft, yielding walls, fighting panic. (It was Tony, it was Tony, he was supposed to be safe here. Hopefully.)

“No!” Tony cried out, and Peter was thrown to the side with a sickening squelch. “No, you can’t!”

“Mr. Stark!”

He was struggling with someone, pleading with them, what were they doing to him? Peter was helpless.

Whatever was going on ended quickly, for better or for worse, and Peter tried to get his bearings again. Tony was coughing like he was going to throw up, but Peter stayed put. He hoped that was by design. Still, it sounded pretty painful, and he ventured to touch the wall of the stomach and just… pet it lightly. He couldn’t explain it, but it seemed like the thing to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked as soon as it was done.

Tony didn’t answer, probably still being watched.

“Mr. Stark? Cough once if you’re okay.”

Tony coughed, very deliberately, and Peter breathed again.

“I’m like, mostly sure, but I’m okay, too, right?”

Tony coughed again.

“Okay. That’s- that’s good.” Peter leaned against him. “I thought so, but I wanted to make sure, cause, you know.” 

He shivered a little. If this was different... well, it wasn’t.  Peter tried to put the thought out of his mind. He was safe. Tony wasn’t going to kill him, or have to know that was going on and be powerless to stop it, and-- Peter squished himself against the wall. It was Tony, and he was keeping him safe.

It felt strangely familiar. Tony’s heartbeat, his breathing, the warm softness that almost seemed to cradle him, slimy and disgusting as it was. Peter found himself relaxing slowly. It was scary to be this small, and it was nice to be held by someone he could trust, even in such a weird way.

Just like the first time he’d been here, it was almost nice, once he got over the fact that he’d been eaten alive. Everything around him was Tony, and in addition to being just… really weirdly awesome, it was a very safe feeling, being kept securely inside his mentor like this. He was also very much trapped here until Tony chose to release him, but that added to the feeling of safety too.

He smiled. No way was blond guy getting him now.

…

Peter knew. Thank God, he knew he was safe.

Tony curled up on his side, difficult now that they had tied his arms behind his back, but he was harder to observe this way. They were probably going to leave him alone for a while now, to think on his guilt and…well. Best not to think about what this could be.

Peter snuggled up to him, quite safe, and so trusting, too. Tony curled around him, even though he was already around him anyway, and held perfectly still to feel his every tiny movement. After some time, Peter went very still and relaxed, and Tony suspected with no small amount of awe that he might be asleep.

He made a point of breathing more slowly so as not to disturb him. All the while, his mind raced with half-formed plans of how they might escape again.

Eventually, Peter stirred, and squirmed a bit. “Mr. Stark?”

“Right here,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone who might be spying on them to hear.

“Just making sure.”

They both jumped when War Machine crashed through the ceiling.

[jadelotusflower]

April 2021 Roundup

Welp - a few days late on this, but I’ve had a busy week, including finding a blue-tongue lizard in my house. I have no idea how or why the poor thing got in or where it thought it was going, but it gave me quite the shock. After some trial and error I was able to herd it into a box and release it in the backyard, where I suspect it’s made a home in my compost bin.

Other than that, this month I was lucky enough to live see my first live musical in over a year - The Wedding Singer. I love the movie and have listened to songs from the Broadway cast album, but this is the first time a professional production has been staged here. It was enormously fun, with an exuberant cast and tongue firmly in cheek. It was so nice to be back in a theatre (with social distanced seating) after everything was cancelled last year.

Reading

David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) - I’ve never really read much Dickens outside of A Christmas Carol, but I enjoyed the Iannucci film so much last year I decided to go back to the source material. I was surprised at how much that adaptation retained from a novel so large, at least in terms of important plot points, but then there’s a great deal of characters sitting in rooms and talking about things only tangentially related to the plot. It was an enjoyable read and of course Dickens is a witty writer, even if I found some parts a bit tedious - anytime Mr Micawber or Mr Peggotty shows up my eyes tended to glaze over. But the novel is dense with so many intersecting characters and plots that  I can certainly see why it’s been well read and much studied. 

A Column of Fire (Ken Follett) - the last (chronologically) novel of the Kingsbridge series, this time set in the 16th Century amid the Catholic/Protestant conflicts in England and France, but also touching on Spain, Switzerland, the Netherlands - even the Caribbean. Follett’s favourite tropes are all here; lovers kept apart by circumstance, despicable villains with too much pov page time, rape as a plot device, the apathy/self serving nature of kings and queens. Ned Willard is a typical Follett male (self insert) hero, and as usual it’s the female characters who are far more interesting - Margery the devout but conflicted English Catholic, and Sylvie the enterprising and determined French Protestant. Both are the object of Ned’s affection, which I suppose is telling, and Follett desperately needs to learn how to write some other kind of romantic plot.

Of course it packs in the historical events for them to witness and/or participate in, from the end of Mary I’s reign all the way to the Gunpowder Plot - but it does feel that the latter is rushed in at the end and the novel probably could have ended at the Armada. While I did enjoy the broadened scope, a part of me missed the locality of Kingsbridge as a microcosm of England - this book was more concerned with the macro perspective where the other books (particularly Pillars) was effective in telling the story through Kingsbridge-as-a-character. On the other hand, I did enjoy the France side of the plot (mostly for Sylvie) that covered the machinations of the Guise family, the struggles of French Protestants, and events such as the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre (a rather harrowing section).

Watching

Shadow and Bone (season 1) - I went into this show completely cold (other than the trailer and general excitement on my dash), and really enjoyed it. Alina was a bit generic spunky heroine at first, but she grew on me by the end although I can’t say I really cared much about any of the romantic plots (and want to stay faaaaar away from the discourse). It was the Crows were the real draw for me, and while I was aware that their material came from later books, for me (not knowing any better) their integration into the Grisha plot was seamless. 

While I was impressed by the worldbuilding I could have done with a bit more exposition - I still don’t know who the Shu and Suli are, where Fjerda is in relation to Ravka and what the basis of the conflict between them is. On the other hand, I can appreciate they resisted the urge to do too much “as you know”-ing and assume the rest of the world will be revealed as it becomes relevant. Still, I think if shows can learn one thing from Game of Thrones, it’s the value of finding some way of presenting a map to the audience to give some geographic perspective - a few times I did find myself needing to think about which side of the Fold the characters were on at any given time, and have no idea where Nina and Matthias were meant to be at the end. But then I’m the person who constantly flips to consult the map at the front of a book while reading - I need to see it.

I’ll add my disappointment to the RH fans at the chance of seeing Lucy Griffiths again, only for her role as Luda to be a brief flashback that saw her promptly stabbed to death (her entire demo reel could be made up of death scenes at this point). It’s a real shame, because she is perfect for a series like this (in a role like Genya perhaps), and it seems like such a waste.

Mighty Ducks: Game Changers (episodes 1-6) - The new strategy for family entertainment: taking a property that was popular with young Gen X-ers and/or Elder Millennials in their childhoods, and rebooting/reviving it as a show they can now watch with their own kids. The premise is simple enough - the Ducks are now a corporate juggernaut of the live long enough to see yourself become the villain variety, cue a new rag tag underdog hockey team, training at the run down ice rink owned by a disillusioned Gordon Bombay.

It’s mildly entertaining, the child actors are all very good and I’m always here for Emilio Estevez, although I can do without the inevitable romance with Lauren Graham (the team’s coach and mother of one of the kids). But the most recent episode, where a bunch of the og Ducks (sans Charlie) appear, coupled with liberal use of the Ducks Theme, hit me right in the childhood. They got me! They got me with the nostalgia! Because I am a sucker.

The Handmaid’s Tale (season 4, episodes 1-3) - I was very frustrated with this show last season, because it seemed more concerned with endless extreme close ups of Elizabeth Moss emoting rather than telling a coherent story. June is a character with the thickest plot armour I’ve ever seen, while almost every person she comes into contact with meets a bitter end. Rather than the slow domino effect to topple the regime depicted in the original novel and its sequel The Testaments, the show is moving at a breakneck pace, while somehow little actually happens except rinse repeat torture/endurance porn.

More interesting is the Canada side of the story with Moira and Emily (the excellent Samira Wiley and Alexis Bledel), and the difficulties for refugees adapting to life outside of Gilead, which wasn’t explored in either novel and could use more focus in the show. Ann Dowd is absolutely compelling as Aunt Lydia, and a far more interesting villain than the Waterfords (whose scenes have become interminable) yet funnily enough doesn’t get the devoted close-ups, long speeches, or writer interest they do. I’m still watching, if only to see if the show follows her story in The Testaments or not. 

Writing

Not a very productive month on the writing front at all, I can’t even bring myself to look at the meagre word counts, so I’m going to let them roll over into May.

[commander-yinello]

Guardian (Jumin x Zen)

Happy Birthday @maniart1o9​!!! For you, I wrote some JuminZen with one of your favorite themes (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I hope you will enjoy it! Read more under the cut ♥♥ ~_^

Word Count: 1945 Warnings: Mild swearing, smoking, references to a car accident

Jumin knows he’s seen him.

Even upside down, with the airbag so closely pressed to his chest that he couldn’t move, his vision spinning, and the overwhelming scent of gasoline making him dizzy, he sees Zen outside the front window. And he’s glowing, so bright his eyes water. Then, as someone pulls him out of the car, he’s gone.

That’s not possible, assistant Kang insists next to the hospital bed he’s sitting in, both waiting for the doctor to come back. Zen was nowhere near C&R International, and she only just warned the RFA 5 seconds ago of the crash. He could not have possibly arrived here that fast.

Ah. The crash. The car crash. The one Jumin was in because Driver Kim had his day off, and Jumin saw no issue driving to the client himself. The one where Jumin had to swerve to dodge another car cutting off his lane, and caused his own car to topple over and crash against a tree.

She’s right, Jumin thinks, there’s no way Zen could have been at the crash. Most likely stress from the crash, a concussion, his panicked imagination going in overdrive.

Yet, not a minute later, the doctor tells him he doesn’t even have a bruise. As if he never was in a car accident. That should not be possible, the doctor says, and assistant Kang is equally confused. Jumin however, is not.

He is certain now, he’s seen Zen.

And he has a suspicion why.

~~~~

Jumin Han:

Do you sometimes find yourself in places you weren’t before when you travel?

ZEN: Dude it’s 1 AM why are you messaging me

Also wtf are you going on about

Are you high???

Jumin Han: You still replied.

ZEN: Go to sleep and leave me alone, asshole

~~~~

He’s always wondered what was up about Zen. He knows about albinos, they often took great care of themselves when going outside, and sometimes had other health issues. Not Zen, who is so handsome, not that Jumin would admit it out loud. Who is so fit, he jogged daily. Who has no problem taking selfies in broad daylight with no sunscreen or sunglasses in sight. It had been only after Jumin made the last comment, a year ago, that Zen suddenly mentioned jogging at night, or an extensive skincare routine.

Back then, he stopped caring very quickly. It wasn’t any of his business, of course, what the narcissistic man did.

Now he cares again. He remembers how Zen had gotten into an accident, and V told him in full detail how Zen had healed insanely fast.

A handsome albino with super fast healing skills. How very strange, he tells Elizabeth, and she meows in agreement. He pets her while leaning an elbow on his mahogany desk, laptop showing a website of occult creatures.

Maybe he is a vampire. The ones in that one teenage movie sparkle. Which is not a glow, his brain reminds him. Plus the whole sun thing would still be an issue.

He entertains the sexy albino vampire idea a bit too long, before he realizes and cuts his thoughts off on purpose.

Maybe he is too paranoid. Maybe Zen is human. Zen’s allergy for cats seems real, at least. Even though Zen is an actor, Jumin thinks, he hides his emotions poorly.

And then Zen mentions that, sometimes, he has prophetic dreams.

Strange. Very, very strange.

Too many things don't add up for Zen to be human. And Jumin wants to know who he truly is - very much so.

~~~~

Jumin Han: Do you often glow?

ZEN: Of course I do, my beauty is radiant Blessed by the Gods themselves

Jumin Han: Gods. Interesting. Tell me all about them.

ZEN: What? What do you mean? You’re creeping me out Also why are you messaging me again what the hell

Jumin Han: You always reply to me.

ZEN: No I don’t, stupid jerk

Jumin Han: And yet you did it again.

ZEN: Argh! I can’t with you! Screw you!

~~~~ 

Zen is calling him a weirdo in the chat again. Jerk. Freak. The words have never mattered to him, but now Jumin wonders if it’s a smokescreen. He’s paid very close attention to all of the chatrooms with Zen in it, to the point it felt like stalking. It’s interesting how often Zen brings him up as a topic, even when it’s completely unnecessary.

He starts to understand why Luciel thinks Zen is obsessed with him. Perhaps because there is more than Zen shows.

But Zen denies everything he asks. He denies whatever screenshots Jumin sends him. He insults and denies and rants, and Jumin doesn't get any closer to the truth. At some point, Zen mentions that his behavior is akin to his older brother, but it comes over as an excuse to make Jumin shut up.

To the outside world, it seems that Zen truly despises him. Jumin is just not convinced.

There’s only a few things Jumin knows for sure. Zen was there when he crashed. And it had to be connected to the fact that Jumin came out of the crash completely unharmed. That’s it.

It drives him mad that he is denied more knowledge.

So he makes a decision. He tells assistant Kang to watch over Elizabeth. Heads down to the garage. Opens the car door. Takes a deep breath and wonders if he’s gone insane.

He gets behind the wheel again.

~~~~ Yoosung☆: Hi Zen!!

Jaehee Kang: Hello Zen, good to see you!

ZEN: Hey guys Where’s Jerkmin?

707: Lololol why do you ask~ Could it be.... You miss him??! (~˘▾˘)~

ZEN: What?! Of course not Why would you say that I’m glad he’s not around to spoil the mood! I just find it suspicious he’s not here

Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han said he had something important to do Now I have c-fur on my suit again T_T

Yoosung☆: Poor Jaehee, hopefully you’ll be free soon - Zen has left the chatroom -

Yoosung☆: Ehhhh????

707: Zen suddenly leaving? Now that’s suspicious ರ_ರ

Jaehee Kang: I hope nothing happened to him. ~~~~

Jumin never crashes. The moment he turns on the engine, Zen is there, in front of the car lights, scaring the hell out of him. In a split second, the lamps in the garage flicker, and Jumin swears he sees a faint glowing outline of feathers behind Zen. 

Zen is wearing his trademark turtleneck and holds a cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag and blows out the smoke, looking bored, as if he had been waiting.

“You're such a jerk, you know that?” Zen’s voice echoes in the large garage. They are alone. He hears nothing in the background, as if time stands still.

Jumin is too stunned to reply. Zen sighs, and walks to the side of the car, opens the door and takes his place in the passenger seat. He grabs the key from Jumin’s fingers and turns the engine off. The smell of tobacco and cologne fill Jumin’s nose, yet he doesn’t find the will to tell Zen not to smoke in his car.

“If me sitting here will stop you from killing yourself, then so be it,” Zen says, and takes another drag after closing the door.

Jumin realizes his hands still grip the wheel, and he slowly lowers them to his lap.

“What… what are you?” he asks.

“I can’t answer that. You already know way too much because I fucked up. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you,” Zen replies, and the smoke surrounding him makes him look more human.

“And to you?”

Zen looks out the open window instead. “It’s fine,” he finally replies.

That isn’t what he wants to hear. But if nothing would happen to him, then possibly Zen’s punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

Zen’s words do confirm other things - there is some higher power at work keeping Zen in check. And Zen did protect him, he’s sure of it now, from dying. So much so that Zen is in trouble for it.

“You protected me… too much. I should have had some damage,” Jumin says, inadvertently licking his lips. He’s nervous, because the bratty vain actor had been the one standing between life and death for him.

Zen runs a hand through his hair. Maybe Jumin is projecting, but he feels Zen is nervous too.

"I know that, trust fund. I just… couldn’t deal with… that." Zen waves his cigarette-free hand at the air in front of them, trying to stay as cryptic as possible.

He cares too much, Jumin instantly realizes. He watches Zen cross his legs - a defensive stance, Jumin notes - and wonders how much Zen has said in the chatroom is real.

“For someone like you, you aren’t exactly good at keeping it a secret.”

Zen chuckles. “You’d be surprised how much people accept. In fact, the stranger you seem, the less likely they suspect.”

Jumin hates to admit that it made sense. “Are you always fighting me because you have to distance yourself from me on purpose?”

“I can't answer that.”

Can't or shouldn't? Either way, Jumin is content with the answer. Yet, he can’t stop asking questions.

“Does everyone have… someone like you?”

“Not me specifically.”

Jumin makes a mental note to check all sun-loving albinos in the country. “Do you know who else is like you?”

Zen shook his head. “I know there are others. No idea who.”

“Sounds… lonely.”

“...It is.”

Jumin knows all about loneliness. He imagines Elizabeth on his lap, and sees the photo of V, Rika and him on his desk, and hears his father’s voicemail on his phone. So many days he’s convinced only Elizabeth would be there to catch him, when he comes home tired from work and falls down the abyss in his mind. Awful, lonely thoughts.

He wants to ask more. Menial questions like is Zen truly allergic, or deeper ones asking about the forces unknown. Jumin decides that he doesn’t want to push it.

“So… what now?”

“You,” Zen points at Jumin’s chest, “Will stop trying to drive, you menace. I actually like it here, so don’t make it worse.”

Jumin grins. “You like it here? Even with me?”

“Yeah, I know, must suck being guarded by someone you hate.” Zen rolls his eyes.

“I never hated you.”

Zen whips his head towards Jumin, eyes wide. 

“Never. Not even when you tried your worst. And now, knowing it is you watching over me… It is a blessing. Thank you, Zen.”

He means it. There is a happy light feeling in his chest, knowing there’s a very logical reason for Zen to act so irrationally towards him. And he knows that he’ll have to act irrational back in order to keep up the facade, so Zen can stay.

He wants Zen to stay.

Zen blushes, and tries to hide it poorly by looking out of the window again. Jumin can’t help but find it endearing. “When you say things like that, people will think you’ve gone crazy.”

Jumin smirks. He doesn’t care what people think of him. Wasn’t there still that rumor of him floating around?

Zen flicks his cigarette stub away and sighs. “Well, I need to go. Take care.”

“Should I, when I have you?” Jumin sasses. It’s too close to flirting to be misconstrued otherwise.

“Wh- N- Whatever, just don’t drive!” he yells. His cheeks are redder, and Jumin notices before the car is filled with a bright light.

Once again, Zen is gone. A very typically Zen to do. Jumin smiles, and sits in the car for a while.

He still has no good excuse when Assistant Kang finally finds him there.

[saddiedotdk]

Tony Goldwyn admits that after seven seasons playing Scandal‘s Byronically romantic President Fitzgerald Grant, a one-episode guest stint on HBO’s horror series Lovecraft Country, as the menacing, aristocratic white supremacist/occultist Samuel Braithwhite, offered an opportunity to tap some less frequently summoned acting skills.

“It was very operatic, that character, so you don’t often get to do that on television, or in front of a camera,” Goldwyn recalls, noting a key scene in which he had to shout a mystic incantation in an invented dialect at the top of his lungs. “I had to learn, phonetically, this runic language, this whole long chunk of this spell that I was casting. And that was fun and interesting, and a muscle I had not flexed for some time.”

Goldwyn, who since Scandal wrapped has appeared in multiple Broadway productions and next headlines National Geographic’s miniseries The Hot Zone: Anthrax, joined THR to reflect on flexing those new muscles after Fitz, Lovecraft‘s unexpected immediacy, and his earliest TV acting guest stints on a string of now-classic series.

What kind of permission did the unusual genre-bending nature of the show give you as an actor?

Playing a to-the-manner-born white supremacist, who’s this sort of Gothic figure … you had to lean into the camp of it, the genre. But the way that guy’s mind works is representing something profoundly real and disturbing in our culture and human nature.

When you meet my character, he’s un-anesthetized, getting a piece of his liver cut out on a table in his lab, screaming bloody murder. And then Jonathan Majors enters the room, and [Braithwhite] says, “Oh, he’s darker than I [expected]” … That kind of a statement is shocking, and yet also camp, if you know what I’m saying. It’s larger than life, but tragically all too close to life, as we have seen this year, really. And that’s what’s so weird: Not that racism wasn’t a familiar concept in American culture, but we shot that in 2019, and the events of 2020 sort of exposed how close to the surface all that still is.

To see it come out at such a charged moment, immediately following the Black Lives Matter protests, when it achieved even greater degrees of relevance and immediacy, must have been a unique experience.

Slightly surreal, honestly. It was very disturbing. It’s very discomforting … When I read it, it felt dangerous and relevant and provocative, but also fun. When I saw it, it was still entertaining, but there was a much darker sensibility to the fun aspect of it, if you know what I mean. And honestly, for me personally, now that I’m reflecting on it … embodying a white supremacist was a very different experience in 2020 than it was in 2019. There was something where I could feel that I was at an arm’s length from it. Whereas now, there’s been a seismic shift, and it would be, frankly, much harder to do — which makes me feel a bit silly, because of course that’s my reality, and I think the reality for African Americans is not that different. People are like, “Yeah, wake up!” Which is what Misha [Green] was writing about, but the world has a very different lens on it now.

ELI JOSHUA ADE/HBO

After several seasons on a hit TV show in a regular role, what have you enjoyed about these briefer excursions? Fitz was such a complex character — he could be dark, he could be someone you rooted for — that the role doesn’t saddle you, the actor, with a lot of typecasting baggage.

I really loved playing Fitz, for the reasons you said … He was so complicated and had so many light and dark shades that made him just endlessly fun to play. And I’d never had the experience of living in a character for that long.

But that said, since Scandal ended, I’ve played five, six, seven different roles, all so different, from Samuel Braithwhite to the shows I did on Broadway … And the project I’m doing now for Nat Geo, The Hot Zone ­— the character I’m playing could not be more different from Fitz. It’s wonderful [after] going to work every day and playing the same character and literally wearing the same suit every day for seven years to just go to completely different places.

When you were starting out, you took the jobs that came your way, as actors do, and a lot of those were guest spots on future TV classics. What do you remember about those years? And what it was like to step onto a series as a young, up-and-coming actor?

First of all, I was just grateful to have a job! I mean, I still am, but when you’re starting out, just any work you can get is good work. And also, it was a way to learn about acting in front of a camera, because I started working in the theater, and the camera was very foreign to me.

I did a bunch of those guest star things in shows in the ’80s, from sitcoms to dramas and cop shows and whatever: Matlock and Designing Women and the pilot of Murphy Brown, and I did — oh God — a show called Hunter, do you remember that? And then a couple of things that had more meat. St. Elsewhere was actually where I got my SAG card … I did L.A. Law, too. I had a pretty good part in that.

I imagine this is true for people today still: It’s a rather difficult thing, because you’re coming onto a show, where everybody knows the show and everybody does this thing every day, and you’re kind of parachuting in to give your performance and play this character. And you don’t know anybody in it. It can be very challenging. And eventually, after you’re more experienced, you learn to relax, but that I found very difficult.

Interview edited for length and clarity.

This story first appeared in a June stand-alone issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.

[sparklywaistcoat]

I find the online version of the 1967 TV Times interview with Diana Rigg unreadable online, so I’m reproducing it here for anyone else who has difficulty with accessibility due to the web page’s design.

The Girl Behind Emma Peel, TV Times, 12/10/1967 (reprinted here from http://deadline.theavengers.tv/tvt1067a.htm)

...the two worlds of actress Rigg... above, as Emma Peel of THE AVENGERS; a series seen in 40 countries; men feast their eyes on her while muttering endearments in 22 languages.  Right, Diana as she is to herself...

Diana Rigg has returned to Shakespearean acting - she is the female lead in a film version of "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

As far as she was concerned, it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to her in years.

She had been Emma Peel's alter ego so long she had to get away - - or else.

"I had become paranoid," she assured me, "with an underlying urge to pack and run.  It is a curious thing.   People who have never been subjected to it can never really understand what it means.

"I can only describe it as a sense of panic that seizes you when you are Diana to yourself and you are walking down the street.   An instant later, you are somebody else to a lot of people who behave as if you belong to them.

"If you are quite a private person, which I am, this seems an intrusion on my privacy.  I just have to run.

"Mind you," she adds, with an apologetic smile, "I am not ungrateful.  I will be the last to minimise what television has done for me.  It is a phenomenon, a miracle medium, that can accomplish in six months what takes years on the stage.  Suddenly, you are famous.  Suddenly, everybody knows you.

"The point is, though, that you are not yourself.  Only the other person you portray in the series.  That person is, of necessity, imposed by television, one-dimensional.  You ask yourself - - is it worth it?

It should be.  In the three years that Diana Rigg has spent in THE AVENGERS she has been catapulted into a position of bargaining power.

Hollywood producers have offered £100,000 to work in one film.  It seem they would go higher, if that is what she wants.  But she has turned them down.

"So far I have not been offered anything I want," she says.  "I don't want a long-term contract.  As an actress I will work where and for whom I want, if the script is exciting enough.

"If a script is good and they have a director I can trust, then I will do it."

Really it is a matter of time.  The big, international film-makers are confident they will have lassoed this high-spirited long-legged English girl long before Emma Peel loses her hold on the masses - if she ever does.

THE AVENGERS is eagerly watched each week in 40 countries, and Emma Peel (Mrs.) is the series' irrepressible whimsical Amazon of the jet set.  Men feast their eyes on her while muttering endearments in 22 languages, and their women try to emulate her - - but they never will, of course.

Consumption of champagne the world over has been increasing ever since John Steed and Emma Peel began toasting each other in bubbly stuff, from the television tube.

"Avengerwear" - - Emma's fancy "cat" suits and things - - is reaching the shelves and racks of department stores all over the world.

"Emma Peel's" international fan mail, still growing by leaps and bounds, promises to assume astronomical figures before the winter is out.

Diana never touches this mail and has enlisted mother, in Leeds, to head the Emma Peel fan mail operation.

Says Diana: "We have this room at home, measuring 20ft. by 15ft., and it is full of letters.  More are delivered each day - all addressed to me.

"I am supposed to answer them.  But I can't, and that worries me deeply.  I get persecuted by the mere thought that there's an obligation which I am not willing to fulfil.

"That is where mother comes in.  She reads, and she answers.  And I feel ashamed.  But I can't help it.

"People have made up their minds to identify me with a fantasy of theirs on television.  In their minds they want to have a relationship with me based on fantasy which can take any form.

"I have heard from my mother that there have been letters from children saying: "You look like my dead mother and so I write to you."  I think that is terrifying."

The story of Diana Rigg is, in a way, the story of two women - the real one and the imaginary one.  They are identical twins.

The conflict within this beautiful and intelligent young woman, who is just a little older than 29, reminds me of the case of Sean Connery, alias James Bond.

In Connery's case, though, there was resentment.  Connery, the man, gradually developing such a passionate hatred for the image he had created that he refused to continue as Bond even at a million dollars a throw.

He made his last two Bond films under protest.  Bond made him a multi-millionaire, but you cannot escape the feeling that he would settle for half this amount if his identity remained - that of himself and not that of the slick, women-loving, superb and deadly Secret Agent 007.

Emma Peel has some of the same qualities as 007, well-screened and suppressed, to fit into a family-watching hour on television.

The innuendo, contained in the name has been a source of Rigg's unconcealed unhappiness.

Asked what innuendo, she blushes and confides in a conspiratorial whisper: "Believe it or not, Emma Peel is a phonetical transposition of "M Appeal", the M in this case standing for Men.  In other words, "Men Appeal."  Isn't it a scream?  Sorry that I blush."

She adds wistfully: "I wanted to be Lady Peel, not for any grandiose reasons, but simply because it seemed to get some rather good comments over on the English aristocracy.  Of course they wouldn't do it."

"They" being the producers who have been running the show like a tightly-run ship.

Not unlike Sean Connery after "Goldfinger", Diana Rigg said goodbye to THE AVENGERS on the last day of a contractual stay at an ITV studio in Borehamwood, Hertfordshire, last August 31st.

"They" were highly hopeful that she would be back, if not immediately, then later.

The production schedule could be stretched to accommodate her, she was reminded.  A new regime was taking command of the series, and this, it was felt, would offer Diana an incentive.

She was not sure.  But on the last day of the last batch at the close of shooting at 5.20pm she produced a bottle of champagne to toast her co-star and co-workers.

They had become a closely-knit family, and she would miss them if she were not to come back.

"I am devoted to Patrick," she says, referring to co-star Patrick Macnee, who plays John Steed.  "I'm frightened of minimising him by talking about him, because it always sounds so glib, but he's an extremely generous and gentle and marvellous man."

They are comrades-in-arms on television.   Off screen they are the best of friends, but that is all.  Macnee married a second time during the series.  Again to quote her, she is "totally committed" to another man.

Diana is simply devoted to a number of other people on the series, including her stand-in, Diana Enright, and her double, stunt-woman, Cyd Child, who resembles her so much that all three directors of the series have dared to have Cyd perform her stunts in full-face and semi-close-up.

Viewers have yet to write to complain that the girl hurling herself through the air at an adversary is not Diana Rigg.

And then, there's Diana's studio chauffeur, John Taylor, who is also her "Man Friday".

"I wouldn't know what to do without him," she says.  A confidante, he also does her shopping while she is working, and has the ability to always be there when needed.

Diana didn't join the series under duress.   She was tested for the role, as were others after John Steed's leading lady Cathy Gale (actress Honor Blackman) left the series - - ironically for a Bond flick, "Goldfinger".

Why did a promising young Shakespearean actress offer her services to a television series Shakespearean actors have looked down on with patronising dismay?  To quote the lovely Diana: "I did it because I had left the Royal Shakespeare Company knowing that if I renewed my contract and stayed on for three or four years, I would have progressed and played good parts, but I was yearning for additional scope.

"To accomplish this I would have to plunge into the deep end, and nothing seemed deeper than this.  I was right.  Nothing is deeper."

Before dawn in a delightfully feminine bedroom the phone jangles.  The young woman sleepily answers.  Then struggles out of bed, just like a scene from THE AVENGERS.

But the call was from the telephone service Diana Rigg instructed to wake her.  It is still only 6.30 a.m.  She gropes through the house, takes her luke-warm bath, drinks a glass of lemon juice.  Into the street by 6.50 a.m. - without a touch of make-up.  "I've got no vanity at that time of the morning."

North London's suburb of St. John's Wood is still fast asleep and there's no one to catch sight of Diana Rigg below her perfectly-groomed best.  Except John Taylor, her chauffeur.  He arrives a few minutes earlier, but his instructions are to wait .... about two lines are incoherent here...

"I'm never late," she shudders, "comatose that I still am, and I hate that sound of the bell - at this ghastly hour."

Off to the studios in Borehamwood, Herts.   She reads the morning paper on the way.

"It isn't my paper," she says, "It's John'.  I don't like it but it's the only paper there, so I read it.  Every morning."  Apparently it had never occurred to her to ask John to bring her a paper.  And so... another day in the life of Emma Peel.

This has been her routine since she became a television star.  Diana moved to this house, a lot more compatible with her status, from an old mews cottage she has lived in for five years.  Not that she was so concerned with status symbols.  Diana Rigg couldn't care less about such things.

She simply fell in love with the old house in St. John's Wood.  And her accountant approved of the move.

At her new address previously lived the artist Augustus John; and once Dame Laura Knight.

There, Diana Rigg now lives in the style and comfort of her private world revolving around a specially designed kitchen and window boxes sprouting home-grown herbs.

The house is out of bounds.  Except close friends.  Not that she is a recluse.  She feels that her life is her "own ruddy business".  But when in the mood, she will readily explain that she is every jealous of preserving her own privacy.

She insists on leading a life she considers right for her; not concerned with what she defines as "other people's social consciousness.  I like to do because I wish to, not because I ought to."

Diana was born in Doncaster, in Yorkshire, on July 20th, 1938.  She had spent the early part of her life at Jodhpur in Rajputna.  Her family was in the Indian Government Service.  Later, she was sent home to school at Great Missenden in Bucks.  Eventually, her parents returned to Yorkshire to settle in Leeds, where they now live.

There, Diana finished her education at Fulneck Girls' School, enrolled at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (The RADA) and two years later graduated to an acting career.  Was she withdrawn as a child?  "No, I don't think so.  I had the ability to withdraw and I still have it.  But above all I always has a strong sense of personal identity.

"One thing that I never did was dream.  I was always very practical.  I grew interested in the theatre when I was small but not because it offered me an entrance to a world of fantasy, but because it gave me a chance to assert myself.  And I loved its freedom.  I thought of it as a challenge."

Diana reflects: "I can still remember the first time I met an audience on these terms.  I was an understudy at Stratford-on-Avon, when I was called on to replace the principal in 'Alls Well That Ends Well'.  Her name was Priscilla Morgan.

"They gave me maybe an hour's rehearsal.  By a coincidence my parents were out front that night.  I didn't tell them that I was going on, so that when I came out and started shaking, they thought I was just walking on.  Then they realised, and sort of clutched each other in absolute fear.

"My fear was of a different kind.  I was simply not sufficiently prepared and so I was annoyed with myself.  Still, the audience was very kind as it always is when an understudy takes over and doesn't want to make a complete mess of the play, and I was led forward and allowed to take a solo bow.

"I played it for about a week, I guess.  And it was about the end of the week only that I began to enjoy it."

Then Diana was 20 years old and earning £7 10 shillings a week.  "To make ends meet, I was living on faggots, scraps of meat put inside intestines you still get at the butchers in the provinces.  Poor people's food.  They cost fourpence each.

"Four times a week, my dinner would consist of two faggots and maybe some potatoes and another vegetable, and fruit.  And you know what?  I was very healthy.  And very happy."

Diana had an old second-hand bicycle for transport around Stratford.  "And not only did I make the £7 10s stretch, but I could never do without perfume.  I guess I was so very young and this particular perfume was very heavy and musky and made me feel extremely sensual ... I never changed my perfume in all these years!"

Her faggot-eating period came to an end when she moved to London to appear in the London productions of the Royal Shakespeare Company.

The bicycle went.  Now she drives a green Mini.  She lived in the mews cottage, all this still modestly.  No more faggots, but all the perfume that she felt was required, by a young actress, not too bad-looking.

She took a small bottle when she travelled to the United States, appearing in 'King Lear' and 'The Comedy of Errors' on alternate nights.

The company also toured the Continent, as far as Moscow.  From her experience on this tour comes Diana's boundless admiration for actor Paul Scofield.

"He's been my ideal since I first saw him on the stage.  I was working with him in 'King Lear' when I became aware of his sense of identity, a strong totally compromising identity."

She says: "The beauty of it is that here is a man who has just won an Oscar in an Oscar-winning film and Hollywood is after him.  What does he do?  He's gone back to Stratford.  Obviously, he doesn't care for the money.  And he's right.  Of course, it's your beliefs that matter.

"In a way I followed his example when I agreed to film "A Midsummer Night's Dream".  Peter Brook was doing it and I believe in him and I grew up with him, so I had to answer his call.  Professionally speaking, I am part of his troupe.

"Even though I think I'm too bad for the part.  The pay?  Obviously a pittance by comparison with what I'm making, but then, money is so transitory ...  I will not forget that I could, when forced to, live on £7 and 10 Shillings.

Tourists at Athens airport could swear that the young woman killing time in the long drab waiting room  by stopping at souvenir counters to inspect, for the umpteenth time, the pseudo-Grecian vases for sale was... Emma Peel.

She wore her auburn hair loose, letting it flow to her shoulders in the manner of the star of THE AVENGERS.  And her mini-skirt revealed a pair of very feminine, familiar and beautiful legs.

"It was not easy to say I was not Mrs. Peel," Diana Rigg recalls, "because I dislike lies.  But I would have had to explain why and what I was doing there, and it was a long story."

Actually, she was changing planes, going from London to a little-known place in Western Greece.

Eventually a shaky little plane which flies up into the mountains over some breathtakingly lovely countryside delivered her there, to make the trip worth her while.

Two days later, she took the same route back to London and Borehamwood, Herts., to resume where Emma Peel had left off.

It was an unconventional way to spend two days off the series.  "I go to the craziest places for the weekend," she said, dismissing all attempts to explain herself.

In the case of the Greek place, a British film unit was there shooting "Oedipus, The King", and lots of friends were there.

One weekend last winter she flew to Zurich, rented a car at the airport and set out, a map in her lap, for Klosters, the Swiss ski resort.

"I drove through the night, with the craziest Swiss drivers whizzing past me over the ice-covered road," she said.   "It twisted its way through the mountains, and I just hung on the wheel and prayed.  I could have turned back, but I didn't.  Too proud."

Until this experience, she had never motored on the Continent before, much less had snow-covered mountains by herself.

All of which seems to indicate that, not unlike Emma Peel, Diana Rigg is a rather unusual person.

It was she - and not Emma Peel - who helped to launch the mini-skirt, in an attempt to be different.

"The designer and the other men were horrified," she said, chuckling at memories of production executives looking aghast at the abbreviated skirt she was wearing and which she wanted Emma to wear.

"They pulled their hair ... said you can't do that, it's impossible ... I argued that one must look forward and not back and by wearing these brief skirts, one was looking forward.

"In fact, one was creating fashion very avant-garde, rather than remaining at the tail end of last year's styles.  And it turned out that I couldn't have been more right."

Not that she has profited financially from the so-called "Avenger-wear" that mirrors her ideas.  After all, she's an actress!

Nor does she care to identify with an image.  "I never wear the clothes in the series outside," she said.

"But there's a style there that I think is common to both of us, and I have no intention of changing my appearance after Emma Peel is no more.  After all, it was I who affected her."

She has no intention either of abandoning the mini-skirt, which, as far as she is concerned, was from the beginning Diana Rigg expressing herself.

Where the tastes of Emma Peel and Diana Rigg meet is champagne.  Emma loves it, Diana loves it.  And, for the record, she loved it before she became Emma Peel.

"I'm always very well stocked," she said, "but I never drink it at the studio.

"The stuff Patrick Macnee and I drink on camera is bubbly lemonade, very harmless.  I don't touch the stuff then.  You mustn't when you work.  At home, well, that's another story ..."

Diana's secret passion is to cook, and to have friends come to her house in London's St. John's Wood to enjoy her meals, without much ceremony, exquisitely prepared with the help of her home-grown herbs.

"I'm not joking," she proudly expounded on the subject of her herbs.  "They are all mine, and they all grow in window boxes outside my kitchen.  Every window has its own herbs.

"Left to right, I have sage, thyme, marjoram, rosemary, which is very beautiful, chervil, and two kinds of mint, sorrel and my bay trees.

"Bay tree leaves are marvellous for fish ... true mine are more like baby trees.  And basil, and fennel, and chives.  And that's it.  Except that they all live and prosper, outside my kitchen windows in London."  The secret passion of Diana Rigg ...

"I had always wanted to grow my own herbs," she said.  "This was my obsession.  So I got the address of a herb farm 95 miles out of town, and one morning I went there.

"A little old lady took me around and she muttered under her breath and said they would never grow in the London smoke.  I said I'd like to try anyway.  So, she shook her head and gave me what I wanted.

"They came in little pots, as I brought them back to London they were all looking sad and sick.

"So I put them in larger pots and stuck them in my window boxes and every day I watered them out of a jug.  And the miracle came to pass."

Diana Rigg has become enriched as an actress in the years at Stratford-on-Avon; on tours and the three years that she has played Emma Peel in THE AVENGERS.

She tells about the director she met at a party who told her he had a marvellous script for her.  She had it sent over.

"Well, if I wasn't the girl who comes tearing through the door with a gun in one hand and a flame-thrower in the other," she reported in mock despair, "I was the sexy siren sneaking through the door in Veronica Lake style.  I lost my temper, for the first time.

"I sent them a message saying that I couldn't do it."

[mrchalamet-mrstyles]

*A MUST READ:*

Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart never broke up. Indeed, their split was merely a distraction for the press that would guarantee the former Twilight stars privacy. In the interim period, where Pattinson got engaged to FKA Twigs and Stewart dated a series of women, including St. Vincent, the pair were actually living in wedded bliss. Their PR game was so effective that it helped to hide no fewer than two pregnancies for Stewart. Now, the Pattinson-Stewart family are happy together, laughing at the ignorance of the press and public who believe they broke up years ago and moved onto fulfilling and happy relationships with other people.

Of all the weird celebrity conspiracies that pollute the internet, the Robsten fandom may be my favourite one. It has everything: Press conspiracies, outlandish theories that would put Moon landing truthers to shame, the inability to tell reality from fiction, and of course, bad photoshops. Every now and then, when I see Pattinson and Stewart in the headlines, I go and visit the tin-hatters’ sites for that potent combination of entertainment and fear for my life. It’s astounding that they’re still keeping up this façade. 

As time passes, I wonder more and more if they truly believe it or if they’re going full My Immortal with the scam. It’s too outlandish to be real, yet the emotions behind it clearly are.

Sadly, this is nothing new for the world of shippers, nor is it limited to the breeding pair of Twilight. Name a prominent pop culture property and the chances are there are hardcore shippers whose interest goes beyond a fizzy hobby. Some fans truly believe that Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson are a real couple, which is hysterical because their chemistry levels in the Fifty Shades series are sub-zero. The stars of Outlander face the same shippers. Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss are secret lesbian lovers, according to a subset of their fandom. Cate Blanchett will eventually leave her husband and children for Carol co-star Rooney Mara, thus freeing her from an exploitative bearding relationship with Joaquin Phoenix. The Larry fandom have yet to admit defeat, even as both Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson admit the fan delusions over their supposed secret romance hurt their real-life friendship. The Supernatural guys may never shake those conspiracies.

It isn’t all romance related either. Spare a thought for poor Benedict Cumberbatch, whose already overzealous fan-base includes a portion of people who think he was trapped into marriage and fatherhood by his wife, who they paint as the modern-day iteration of Medea. They don’t even think his kids are real. Apparently, one of them is clearly a doll.

I could go on, listing the many other fandoms I’ve come across with these near identical conspiracies of secret relationships, hidden children, public relations bullying, and so on. From Scandal to Orange is the New Black to The Hunger Games, it’s as big a part of fandom as cosplay and dirty fanfiction. A lot of the time, the celebrities being obsessed over don’t even know it’s happening. 

If they call it out, as Robert Pattinson did, or mock it, like Armie Hammer recently did on Instagram after someone DM-d him to claim he should be gay like his character in Call Me By Your Name, then they write that off as simply proving their point. The majority of fans deride and condemn this behaviour, partly because it reflects badly on everyone else but mostly because it’s blatant bullshit that should be treated as such. What is most striking about these myriad conspiracies is how eerily similar they all are in terms of tone and content.

The basic set-up for a tin-hatter shipping conspiracy is thus: The pair are in love, the pair are in a serious relationship, but they have to hide it from the world because of ‘evil PR’. The nature of this shadowy public relations organization is never made clear. It’s mostly rooted in conjecture and a hazy understanding of how the entertainment industry has worked over the decades. 

Historically, publicists and studios have operated with a certain degree of shadiness. In the Golden Era of Hollywood, where studios reigned supreme, a star’s image could be kept on a tight leash and their indiscretions hidden from the public. Fixers like Eddie Mannix (made famous in the Coen Brothers’ movie Hail, Caesar!) could clear up all manner of problems if the occasion called for it. Pregnancies could be hidden, illegal abortions procured, marriages annulled or concealed, and even the occasional murder dealt with (allegedly). We know this stuff happened, and we know that today, publicists do a lot of work to keep their clients happy. That probably doesn’t extend so far as to covering up marriages and multiple pregnancies and fake babies.

The psychologies behind these tin-hatter conspiracies tend to be remarkably similar too. There’s always massive amounts of paranoia at the heart of their delusions. Arrogance is key as well. You need infallible ego to maintain repeatedly debunked fantasies. They talk of their conspiracies as if they’re the most obvious truths in the world, deriding the ‘ignorant masses’ who refuse to see the reality in front of them, which they’ve kindly circled in MS Paint. The mentality is frequently rooted in a strong brand of self-victimization: They tie their theories to social issues like homophobia and claim anyone who opposes their belief that the One Direction guys are in love are clearly bigots. Even when the people in question call out this nonsense, they’re written off as poor closeted prisoners of invincible publicists. The game of tin-hating shippers is designed so that they never lose.

That’s the sad part of this all. They won’t be proven wrong simply because they’ve invested too much of themselves into this fantasy. They run around in circles, desperately claiming everything is against them and only they are smart enough to know the truth. 

If Caitriona Balfe and Sam Heughan insist they’re just friends, it’s only to throw everyone off the scent. When Tony Goldwyn talks of his love for his wife, it’s just to distract everyone from his romance with Kerry Washington. If Robert Pattinson is smiling in public, it’s because he’s thinking of Kristen; if he’s looking a bit down, it’s because he’s thinking of Kristen.

When the fantasy does begin to crumble, the tin-hatters get violent in their rhetoric. Taylor Schilling’s rumoured boyfriend briefly deleted his social media after receiving harassment from her fans who think she’s with Laura Prepon (who just had a baby with Ben Foster). Rooney Mara’s so-called fans called her a disgrace for dating a man and claimed she was letting down LGBTQ+ kids everywhere because of it. Robert Pattinson’s then-girlfriend FKA Twigs faced all manner of horrific racist and sexist abuse for simply existing. It can be easy to laugh people like this off, but we’ve also seen what happens to celebrities when their obsessive fans decide to invade their lives. A 19-year-old fan of Lana Del Rey drove cross-country to her house, broke into her garage and tweeted about it. An obsessive fan of Paula Abdul committed suicide outside her house. Rebecca Schaeffer’s stalker shot her on her own doorstep.

Real person shipping (or RPF) doesn’t bother me in theory. If you just treat it like any other fandom hobby - safe, private, clearly fiction - then go for it. There’s a major difference between liking two actors and writing silly fanfiction about them and going to extremes to prove they’re actually married. 

The people who cross that line are a minority, but they’re a loud and insidious minority who shouldn’t be written off as mere ‘crazies’.

This phenomenon is undoubtedly fascinating and reveals a lot about various intersections of celebrity, media, the internet, fandom, and so on. It’s worth keeping an eye on, if only to ensure nobody gets hurt, because it’s not unique to internet culture. This stuff breeds, and that should concern us all.

Now, when do I get my shadowy PR conspiracy cheque?

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: On Golden Girls

Blanche’s rebellious grandson visits, and the Girls help straighten him out. Also, we get more information about St. Olaf.

Picture it...

Blanche is upset and a wreck -- and not, as Dorothy initially assumes, because she has cellulite. Her daughter Janet is attempting to fix her ailing marriage with a second honeymoon to Hawaii, and Blanche will have to look after 14-year-old grandson, David, for two weeks. Dorothy initially grouses about having a teenager in the house while she’s studying for a French exam, but they all agree to help Blanche look after David, including taking him to see Rambo.

SOPHIA: I sat through it twice, you’ll love it. He sweats like a pig and doesn’t put his shirt on.

The next day, the girls prepare for David’s arrival, while Sophia complains about having to put up with Dorothy snoring. Blanche comes home in a panic, saying David never got off the plane. A police officer arrives with David moments later and says he stowed away on the plane while it went onto the Bahamas. David talks to the girls for a grand total of two minutes before skipping out to go hang out a burger joint, despite Blanche’s pleas for him to stay. Sophia says Blanche should have smacked him for his disrespect, but Dorothy thinks the St. Olaf story Rose was about to tell would be punishment enough.

At night, Dorothy is trying to study while Sophia goes about her very noisy toilette (which for some reason involves patting Nivea onto the backs of her hands and immediately scrubbing it off with tissues). Dorothy can’t study with the noise, so both of them turn in for the night. They argue over the amount of topical ointments Sophia’s wearing, and the hacking sounds she makes as she’s sleeping. Dorothy reminisces about how she would crawl into bed with Sophia when she was a kid and had a nightmare. They bid a fond goodnight and finally settle down.

Suddenly, loud music booms through the house, waking everyone up. They run to the living room, where David and a few other teenagers are listening to rock music on a stereo. Dorothy sends the strangers on their way and tells David to clean up. David starts to throw what can best be described as a hissy fit over not being able to have his new friends over, and starts to mouth off to all of the girls. As soon as he gets into Sophia’s face, she lands his with a resounding slap. This quickly shuts him up and sends him running from the room.

Blanche goes to check on David, who’s still reeling from Sophia’s smack. He says he wants to go home, and when Blanche tells them he can’t because his parents aren’t there, David says it’s no different from when his parents are there. He breaks down and tells Blanche how his parents neglect him because they’re always fighting, and angrily rebuffs Blanche’s attempts to comfort him.

The next day, the girls give Blanche a collected list of chores David can start doing. Blanche isn’t sure how it’ll help, but Rose and Dorothy talk about how the chores they did growing up gave them a sense of responsibility. Blanche realizes the way she raised Janet -- not having to do anything, just as she was raised -- may have contributed to David’s current behavior, and decides she’s going to make up for these mistakes by doing what’s best for him.

ROSE: Did they have chores in Sicily? SOPHIA: Are you kidding? They invented chores in Sicily. Crossing the street without getting pregnant was a chore in Sicily. DOROTHY: Rose, never mention Sicily.

One night, Dorothy catches David trying to sneak out and asks him where he intends to go and what he’s going to do. David doesn’t have an answer, but protests all the work he has to do. Dorothy accuses him of wimping out and says life is going to get a lot tougher than some chores at his grandmother’s house. David finally opens up and talks about how upset he is. Dorothy reminds him that he’s surrounded by people who care about him and he’ll always be welcome, good-naturedly negotiating a chore exchange and cheering him up.

Some time later, the girls are having dinner with David, celebrating Dorothy passing her French exam. They also toast David’s improved attitude. He says that it “hasn’t been half-bad” and earnestly asks the girls to let him live with them permanently. Sophia hustles him out for ice cream and tells Blanche to call his mother. Blanche gets Janet on the phone and says David’s so happy at her home that she’s going to keep him. While we can’t hear Janet, she naturally protests. Blanche acknowledges she can’t keep him against his parents’ will, but gives Janet a stern warning about the consequences of neglecting him further.

BLANCHE: If you and Michael don’t straighten up and given that boy the love and attention he deserves, I will kick your uppity butt ‘til Hell won’t have it again!

The girls say goodbye to David, who’s going to join his parents in Hawaii. Blanche tells him to give his parents a chance, and Dorothy reassures him that he’ll always have a place with them. After he’s gone, the girls hope he’ll be okay. Sophia, meanwhile, will be happy not having to live with Dorothy’s infamous snores anymore.

“What are you trying to do, pickle yourself so you’ll live to be 100?”

I’m swiftly going to run out of ways to say “this is the first time the girls do X” but it’s the first season, so there are a lot of first times. While this isn’t the first time we’ve seen the girls with one of their offspring, this is the first time we’ve seen them do some parenting and discuss parenting.

ROSE: I just fixed a special treat for David. It’s the same little afterschool snack I used to make for my own son: A triple-decker BLT, a hearty helping of homemade potato salad, and a great, big slice of double chocolate fudge cake. DOROTHY: Oh, where was he going after school? The electric chair?

It’s actually kind of heartbreaking that it’s in a case of child abuse that we get to see them show off their parenting skills -- but I do appreciate that they cut David some slack and get to the root of his issues. I think a lesser show would just have the rebellious teenager “learn something” from his grandma and her friends and shape up, but Blanche instead gets him to open up about the real problem, which is that his parents are too wrapped up in their own problems to take care of him -- not to mention, as Blanche keeps mentioning, his father’s a Yankee.

I mean, this poor kid is so emotionally starved he thinks his parents would be thrilled to get rid of him -- and that’s unambiguously shown to be their fault, not his. Dorothy’s little speech challenging him not to give up on the people who’re actually making an effort to help him is a believable exchange between a teenager and a teacher. Fun fact: Billy Jacoby, the actor who plays David, was 16 when this episode aired.)

While I know it couldn’t happen within the confines of the show, part of me wishes he really could live with Blanche and the girls. I’m not sure if it was not as common for kids to be raised by their grandparents in the late 80s, but it certainly wouldn’t be unusual today. Still, if anything, this is the first time we get an idea of how hands-off a parent Blanche was, and how much she’d like to make up for that -- that’s definitely something that’ll come up again later in the show. 

For what it’s worth, she strikes me as one of those people who’s a better grandparent than parent, but she does do some parenting in this episode: namely, her harsh correction of Janet, who’s too wrapped up in her own problems to take care of David. Blanche may not approve of Sophia’s more brutal forms of correction, but her going off on her daughter was no less impressive than that slap.

Now I’m gonna go on record to say I disapprove of hitting children. While I don’t have any of my own yet, I don’t believe children should be hit on the face or anywhere else as a punishment or preventative measure -- nor should anyone, if I’m being honest. However, I will say that I don’t think that’s what Sophia was doing. Her smack was more akin to when you slap someone who’s hysterical -- David was clearly whipping himself into a froth and any attempts to talk him down or intimidate him weren’t working, so Sophia administered a little… percussive intervention to bring him back down to earth.

Like Dorothy says later, it comes from a place of caring, and I think Sophia of all characters knows when something like that will help rather than hurt... melon baller notwithstanding. I do appreciate that Dorothy and Sophia’s interactions, both when they’re arguing and when they’re sharing fond memories, shows a healthy dynamic between parent and child to contrast what poor David is going through. There’s not much of a B-plot to this episode aside from Dorothy’s French exam, and much of it centers around the single scene of the two arguing in bed, but it’s by far the funniest scene in the whole episode.

Having watched all of the episodes up to this point -- and spending roughly a week over-analyzing each episode -- I think this is the first time we’ve ever gotten some true St. Olaf stories. Given that Blanche, Dorothy, and Sophia have their assigned “tasks” in the episode, the writers decided to give Rose the job of adding a little color and humor to the episode.

They do this by having Rose describe some stories from her home life on the farm, including Alice, the cow you had to milk while sitting on a stool -- as in, she sits on the stool. It’s our first indication that something isn’t quite right about the place where Rose comes from, though we only have her responsibilities as a child to go by. It’s not going to be the last time we hear about it, by a longshot, but it’s a great teaser of the sort of bizarro logic that St. Olaf runs on. And I really want to hear now what the heck happened to Alice that she had to sit on a stool.

By the way, the title is a reference to On Golden Pond, a film which also features a teenage boy bonding with grandparents -- and part of me wonders if this whole plot happened because they just couldn’t resist the reference to another well-known “Golden” thing.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Best part of the episode:

BLANCHE: Is that all you Italians know how to do -- scream and hit? SOPHIA: No, we also know how to make love and sing opera.

[lsbaird]

The Devil’s Luck - Chapter Two Preview!

It’s a nice long one today, folks! Maybe snug up with a cup of coffee. If you’re just now joining in, the prologue is here, and chapter one is here! Today’s installment tells us more about Chancelion, the unfortunate Evern, the maybe more unfortunate Frey, why squirrels are bastards, and why you should lock up your books when Etienne comes to visit.

 Etienne woke up late the next morning feeling almost cheery.  It had been too rainy the night before to do a thorough scouting of the rooftops, and he had retired early.  His garish bed made up in feather ticking what it lacked in subtlety, and none of it could be seen in the dark anyway. He had slept like the sainted dead, though he still had to suppress a yelp when he woke and saw the room by daylight.  It was that damn cherub.  

He opened his curtains onto the gardens—the view was as lovely as promised, if still somewhat waterlogged—and took a deep breath. All would go well. A rocky start did not predict a rocky end, after all, and if he was going to make some flubs on his mission, it was better to make them at the beginning rather than at a more critical moment. He repeated these things to himself until he started to believe them, and turned away from the window to face his first morning at Chancelion.

The tea and soup from the night before had not yet been cleared away. Frey's servants had heeded his order not to disturb Lady Elsa, and even if they had tried, the chair Etienne had put under the door handle would have prevented it. He was pleased to see it had not shifted an inch. Trustworthy staff, Etienne thought, adding the tidbit to his growing list of household details.

His dress was still unpleasantly damp, even after spending the night spread over two chairs by the fire. Etienne had three gowns with him, which was enough for his deception, but any real noblewoman would feel destitute with so little.  Etienne padded across the bright carpets to the wardrobe lurking in the far corner.  Wearing a frock of his fiancé's choosing was a sure way to his heart, and as Lady Elsa's lady-maid and trunks of clothing were all fictitious, it seemed a shame not to have a look, at least.  It couldn’t be as awful as the rest of the room, could it?

Etienne tugged on the brass handles of the wardrobe doors, instinctively braced for whatever horror might await him.  But here, once again, Chancelion—or at least Chancelion’s master—surprised him.  

Shades of cool green and black washed over Etienne like a refreshing waterfall.  In the letters to Frey, which had been concocted by Ephaseus and written by Etienne, ‘Elsa’ had mentioned her preferences when it came to such things: an emphasis on clothes that would be best suited for the concealment of weapons, and for activities where accidents could happen.  Every least detail had been taken into account, even her (Etienne’s) antipathy to lavender. All the linens smelled of mint leaves, instead.

She would not be used to the cold, and as a result, there were three handsome wraps as well as a fine wool dressing-gown in Lady Elsa's favorite emerald hue.  Pearls were her favorite gem, and the embroidered bodices were stiff with them, no matter the outrageous price they commanded in Easting.  She enjoyed riding and hunting with birds, and so a green damask riding habit hung in the nearest corner, along with fine hawking gloves decorated with gold silk tassels.  A lady's riding boots occupied the bottom of the wardrobe, along with several different pairs of slippers.  An evening dress, suitable for a royal ball, was downright crunchy with its yards of thick gold lace; Etienne mourned that the neckline was far too low for his disguise.  Jewel boxes nestled on the shelves contained ropes of pearls, gold chain, and actual emeralds.  Etienne at once lost his vain little heart to a particular pair of pearl drop earrings, thinking they would look elegant on Elsa and rakish when worn with his usual black leathers.  

Perplexed by his findings, he looked at the room again, as though to make sure its hideous state had not been some fevered imagining on his part, but it was as outlandish as ever.  The wardrobe and its contents seemed to have come from some other chamber, possibly one in a different house.  

Etienne fingered the soft velvet of a split sleeve. The gown was a simple one for day wear, easy enough to get into on his own, and the already demure neckline could be made even more modest with a fichu hanging nearby.  After a moment's consideration, he pulled the dress from its hook and his mostly-dry corset from the windowsill, where he’d thrown it the night before.  

Dressing took him time and care; it was, after all, as much his arsenal as his disguise. The pins in his wig could pierce a man's heart, the flutter of lace at his throat concealed a fine length of garroting wire.  Poisons he had as well, of various sorts, but one in particular—the powder of the humble grensel blossom, concealed beneath the ruby on his forefinger—was for Etienne alone.

Etienne carefully measured out a tiny portion of the deadly nitoxis powder from the compartment on his ring, swirled it in his half-finished cup of tea from the night before, and drank it down.  It tasted like nothing but cold chamomile tea and orange peel, but he couldn't repress a faint shudder.  Playing dice with his own mortality was a dangerous business, but his immunity had saved his life six times so far.  Of course, the time he failed to keep up his doses the withdrawal almost killed him, but that was a hazard of the job.  It was a price he paid for being careless, and he'd learned, very quickly, to never be careless.

His weapons and dress secured, Etienne smoothed the sleeve of his gown to be sure the crimson brand on his wrist was well-covered, and swept out the door for breakfast.  

Once again, however, the actors had failed to assemble for the performance.  This time, it was the leading man that was missing, and Etienne was in the dining room before he found any of the other players at all.  

“Out at the cattle barn, miss,” Tobias whispered, as the maid dished up oat porridge and poached eggs on toast for Etienne, alongside fat sausages and potted chicken liver and fried apples and all the other morning delicacies of the country.  “One of the yearlings took ill in the night, and suffers naught but the Master to nurse it.”  

“He is good with animals, then?”  Etienne asked, napkin balanced on one hand to eat with a young lady's poise.  It would not do to give in to his own peculiar habits, such as pouring massive globs of honey on his sausages.  

“They take to him, aye,” the butler went on, in his creaky voice.  “But the stableman hopes that some of the Master's good fortune will rub off.  None he's nursed yet has fared poorly after.”

“Oh, how curious.  Is he so very lucky?”  Etienne sipped his at his tea like a bird tasting the air of a winter morning.  It had been put out for milady’s breakfast on ormolu trays, served in cups of a fine porcelain as fragile as frozen milk, but was weak enough to read a gospel through.  Coffee, to Etienne’s abiding regret, had not yet caught on in Easting. With a flash of longing he thought of Ephaseus' comfortable, parchment-scented study, a battered silver pot of black coffee laced with cacao powder at his elbow, and a thick book in his lap, leather armchair pulled up to the fire.  Resigned, Etienne contemplated swift murder, and dutifully drank his impotent tea.  

“Luck is what the unfaithful call the will of God,” Tobias wheezed, and it was lucky he had his back turned as he attended to the sugar tongs, so he missed the expression that crossed Etienne's face.  It was as much for the sanctimony as the weak tea.  “But it would seem heaven has seen fit for Lord Reichwyn to be uncommonly blessed in that regard.”

Etienne lifted his eyebrows, and wondered how quickly the uncommonly blessed Lord Reichwyn would sink in a swollen Easting stream after his lungs were punctured with a knife.  “When might you expect him back?”  

“He asked me to proffer his apologies, my lady, and inquire if you would do him the honor of going for a ride with him this afternoon.”  

Etienne's smile was winning, and genuine.  There were so many ways one could die, out on horseback in the country.  “I should be delighted.”  

“In the meantime, he bids you feel free to look around the house and grounds, and hopes you find them to your liking.”  

Etienne remembered that Elsa was supposed to have every intention of making Chancelion her future home, and as a result should take an active interest in things like the main hall carpet and the gutters. For himself, Etienne wondered if there was a decent library.  He finished his breakfast in spite of Tobias hanging off his elbow like a dried-up dungball, and went off to get a better grasp of the manor's layout.  

 Excepting the dearth of coffee, Chancelion was a well-appointed estate.  Frey, in his two years of holding the title of Lord Reichwyn, had devoted considerable time and effort to converting the neglected property into one of the finest holdings in the north.  Etienne spent the morning wandering the halls, not only checking to see which doors and windows were regularly unlocked but, more and more, with a genuine interest in the house.  It would have taken all day and some of the evening for a complete survey of the rambling manor, which he fully intended to do, until he was distracted in his reconnaissance by the scent of books.  

He was not prepared for the library.  Country manors were rarely outposts of learning, and at best one could expect to find an old volume of St. Justicia’s teachings, or an archaic treatise on mushrooms, or doggerel poetry about cows.  Or so Etienne supposed, and he was delighted to be proven wrong.   It was not expansive, that was certain, only a simple square room with one window. But it was quality.  Etienne knew that by the smell of old leather and quality parchment, as well as beeswax, which meant the room actually saw use.  Within a minute he had vanished into the library’s inviting shadows, and the rest of the morning slipped by with astonishing speed.

He had just persuaded himself to resume his work, and was heading for the other wing of the house to do so, when there was a commotion from the entrance below him.  Etienne gathered up the weight of his green velvet skirts (which had been made heavier with the weight of one or two rare editions that he was sure no one would miss) and peered over the balustrade into the stone-flagged entryway below.  

Freyton Reichwyn Landry had just returned from the stables, as muddy and strawy as any cattle-hand, beaming in spite of the state of his boots and coat.  His hair was falling out of his queue again, and his good spirits gave him the appearance of a boy returning from some successful caper.  He was wholesome enough to make Etienne shiver, as would any explorer in a foreign land when confronted with some strange and innocent animal.  Etienne didn’t think they even made them like that anymore.  Or ever.

“I think she'll pull through, Tobias,” Frey announced with triumph, shucking out of his waistcoat.  Etienne bit his lip and leaned slightly over the railing, watching closely, but Frey kept his shirt on. Even going out to the stables he had it buttoned to the wrists.  His neckerchief was modest in terms of ruffle, but he wore it wound up to his jaw like an old-fashioned city lawyer.  Etienne let out his breath in frustration as Frey put on his more gentlemanly boots.  “But it's coming up another rain, I'm afraid.  Touring the grounds with Lady Elsa will have to wait.  Have you seen her?”

“Lady Elsa is inspecting the house, sir,” Tobias answered.  

“Ah, well, I hope she hasn't gotten herself lost!” Frey pulled on the coat Tobias offered, a somber thing of brown velvet and gilt buttons, more suited for his role as manor lord, trading it for the threadbare tweed he had worn for nursing cattle.  

Etienne pondered the advantages of making an entrance just then, but chose instead to retreat backstage to his rooms for the moment. For one thing, he wanted to dispose of his stolen books in his traveling bag, and for another, there was a trap to be laid.  

Etienne paused by his dressing-table for a brief dose of powder and perfume, and then went out in the corridor and proceeded to get lost.  Not terribly lost, of course, only a little bit lost, just a short way inside the unexplored wing of Chancelion and out of sight.  He knew his perfume would do the rest.  He also knew, from the sound of boots on the carpet down the hall, that a splendid, fated rendezvous was imminent.  

Etienne positioned himself at a cross-corridor, between a suit of archaic tilting armor and a large ceramic urn, and put on his very best winsome and bewildered expression.  

For once, the leading man knew his cue.  Frey appeared around the corner with impeccable timing, redoing his ribbon and whistling a country jig.  His eyes lit up at the sight of his betrothed in the corridor, and he quickened his pace along the landing.  

“Here you are!  I hope you haven't been too dreadfully bored, have you?”  

“Oh!”  Etienne said, wringing his hands and turning in surprise, as though he had not in fact been counting Frey's boot-falls, and had not known full well just when to look up to best effect.  “Lord Freyton!  I'm ever so glad to see you.  I'm afraid I've gotten turned around entirely.  Is this the way back to the east wing?”  

Frey shook his head.  “I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Elsa.  I have been terribly rude to abandon you this morning, without even a guide around the house!  I should have sent Tobias with you to show you the lay of the manor.”  

“We'd still be in the foyer,” Etienne muttered, and then caught himself with an internal curse as Frey’s eyebrows shot upwards. Elsa would never say that!  Not about such a dear, kind old soul!  “I mean,” he hastened to add, “He is elderly, and I fear it would be too much strain for me to drag him all over at my pace, and…” Etienne hit on it all at once, and it was so obvious, he was ashamed it had taken him so long.  “Well, the truth of it is, I was searching for a room.”  

“A room?”  Frey echoed, with a careless smile.  “Well, there are dozens of them, Lady, you may have your pick.  Is your chamber not to your liking?”  

Etienne's laugh was a little thin. That had been a close call.  “Not for me, My lord.  One room in particular has caught my fancy,” he continued.  “I have heard a legend told of this place: the great ghost story of Chancelion.  In Ivanis City, they say that your great-uncle Evern Reichwyn played a hand of cards with the devil, and lost, and was dragged down to hell for payment.  Is it true that the room where they gambled is still locked up, untouched?”  

All of the good humor had fled Frey's face.  For a moment Etienne thought he had gone too far, and some fast back-stepping would be required, but Frey shook himself and dredged up a smile from somewhere.  It was a thin ghost of the previous one, however, and did not reach his eyes.  

“Ah, I should have known you would be curious,” he said, sadly.  “I suppose even in the south, the misfortune of Chancelion is known?”  

Etienne clutched his hands in his skirts, consternated. “Forgive my inconsiderate curiosity, my lord.  Of course, it is a family matter here, and a serious thing, not some scandalous fireside rumor told in a salon in the city...”  

“Frey,” Frey said, with a touch of his old humor. “Call me by name, lady, and I will grant your desire, any desire.”  

Etienne felt his pulse quicken, in spite of himself. He told himself it was only the hot blood of the chase.  “So he did play a hand with the devil?  There is such a room?”  

Frey shrugged.  “I wasn't there at the time, so I don't know about the devil or not. But there is such a room, yes, and it is indeed untouched, as far as I know.  It's a morbid curiosity, really, and in my eyes it is the sad remnant of a man who went mad and nothing more.  But I cannot deny the air of the place, and I've no heart to disturb it. The servants refuse to speak of the room at all, so one can hardly expect them to go in and tidy it up. There is only one key, and it is mine. I am not sure if such a place is suitable for you, even if it is only a legend.”  

Etienne's curiosity was now well and truly piqued. So Freyton Reichwyn Landry—who if Etienne’s information was true, was the Devil's Heir apparent himself—doubted the legend of Chancelion, and his own great-uncle's fate?   “I assure you, Lord Freyton, I am not prone to histrionics or fainting.  I can endure the sight of a dusty chamber with a tall tale tacked onto it.”  

“Then I will show it to you,” Frey said, and reached for the ring of keys at his belt.  “Provided, of course, that you meet my condition.”  

“Your condition?”  Etienne echoed, and then remembered.  “Ah yes.”  He paused to taste the name a little before letting it out.  “...Frey.”  

His suitor smiled once again, and it was as though the sun had come out, though rain still hammered down like musket-fire on the leaded glass windows.  “That is much better,” he said, and swept his arm towards the left-hand corridor.  “This way, my Lady.”  

Frey knew the passages of his rambling house as though they were the contours of his own bedchamber.  Even though he had only lived there for two years, he could recite the date of every tapestry, the tournaments won or lost in every suit of armor, the artist of every portrait.  Knowledge of his ancestral home was a matter of some pride for the young landholder, and as he had been unaware of his birthright for most of his life, he took it as both his duty and his pleasure.

Etienne did not have to feign interest on Elsa's behalf; he had a weak spot for history and the halls of Chancelion had their wealth spread out in a tasteful sheen, instead of the overcrowded luxuries of his room.  Frey led Etienne across a landing and through a side-passage, then down a staircase of coiled squares, the railing-posts mounted with exquisitely carved hawks.  

“They were an addition of his,” Frey said, patting one of the birds on its shiny head.  “He liked it a great deal, I've heard.  Hawking.  You enjoy it as well, don't you?  Perhaps tomorrow it will be dry enough to go out.”  

“His?”  Etienne repeated.  

“Uncle Evern,” Frey said.  “I never met the man, but Tobias was here at the time, you know. Much younger, of course. He knows everything about the place.  I'm a mere amateur by comparison.”  Frey had paused at the landing, under an ornate window with stained glass in the pattern of the Reichwyn arms, emblazoned on a shield held by a pair of rampant cats.  On a sunny day, it would have splashed them both with blues and golds, but in the rainstorm, it was darkened as though in mourning.  The device featured crowns and stars and moons and suns—-the same as Evern's ill-fated round of card suits.  Etienne wondered if Frey had picked those motifs when he came to inherit, or if his Great-Uncle had chosen them when he won Chancelion.  Etienne shuddered as he turned his back to the window. Perhaps it was only that the Archdemon had a wretched sense of humor.  

“This way,” Frey said, once he had finished adjusting a bit of the stair-carpet that had buckled up under its rod.  “Bloody thing is always coming up.  Someone's going to trip on it and break his neck, honestly.”  

Would it were that easy, Etienne thought, but he took note of the step, just in case.  Maybe on the way back.

They soon left the refurbished parts of the house, plunging back into older, dusty passages. Bits of plaster had fallen from the walls to reveal bare stone.  Crates were stacked against the walls, and moth-eaten hunting trophies glared down at them from the high walls, their glass eyes disturbingly lifelike in their gaunt heads.  Frey and his guest had encountered no servants in their journey, and there seemed to be little chance of doing so now.  

“I must apologize for the state of this wing,” Frey said, shoving aside an old oak table to allow more room in the passage for his lady's copious skirts.  “My predecessors in the title were an unscrupulous lot, though I pray Saint Justicia had mercy at their souls' trial. They ransacked the house and sold most things of value.  I've only just gotten the present rooms in a fit state to live in.  It's something of an ongoing project—oh, damn.”  A suit of armor had collapsed on itself, scattering pauldrons and greaves across the hallway like the wreckage of an upset carriage. Frey reached back a hand to help his lady across the mess.  “Mind that spur, it can't be at all nice to step on.  In truth, when I took the house, it all looked like this, and there wasn't much left in the coffers.”  

“You've done splendidly with the manor,” Etienne murmured.  “I had no idea it was in such a state when you came to your title.”

“Well, to be honest, it was worse than this.  They were keeping pigs in the great hall, and had burned most of the furniture and banisters for firewood.  I'm only glad they didn't touch the library.  For one, I doubt they could read, and for another, Tobias locked the doors and claimed to have misplaced the key.  Lucky thing he did.  You enjoy reading, my lady?”  

“A great deal,” Etienne answered, with honest enthusiasm.  

Frey was delighted in turn by his bride's delight.  “Then you must see our library.  Do you know we have an ancient account of the binding of the Archdemon, in the very hand of the scholar D'Grassa?”  

“Do you really?”  Etienne said, his eyes wide, showing no sign that the leather-bound original D'Grassa was in his traveling case at that very moment.  “That's extraordinary.”  

“I can't read it, of course,” Frey said, apologetically.  “But you mentioned—in your second letter, I believe—that you dabbled in the pre-Justician letters?  I'd be honored if perhaps you could go over some of it with me. Some night after supper perhaps?”  

“I shall do my best,” Etienne said, hoping his smile wasn't too fixed.  He either needed to find a way to smuggle those stolen books back into the library, or to brain his fiancée before the subject could come up again.  Though it was a pity, he thought.  So few people want to learn the old letters in this day and age. I finally find one who wants to, and I have to kill him instead.

Frey was counting tapestries.  “Seven, six...  ah. Here it is.  The one with the hunt on it.”  Faded figures writhed across the wall-hanging, racing their dogs and horses pell-mell into the yawning holes made by age and vermin, all in the determined pursuit of a stained-looking stag.

“Was it always a hidden room?”  Etienne asked, as Frey shoved up the tapestry with his elbow, and jangled through his ring of keys in search of the right one.  “I mean, doesn't it strike you as a bit odd, that Evern would be playing cards in some hidden room?”

“Oh, no. It wasn't always hidden.  This is the old armory.  Evern had it converted into a games room, and Tobias tells me he always came here after dinner to play cards or dice with his friends.  There were no guests the night of the last hand, but he would dice on his own.”  Frey had found the key he wanted, a rather elegant one for such a room.  Etienne had been expecting a slab of iron with a rough tooth, the sort for locking manacles.  “The room was shut up and covered afterwards, by some superstitious second cousins of mine who inherited next.  They weren't here long; the lady of the house went mad and wound up drowning herself in the duck pond.  The staff insists her ghost’s been sighted regularly around the grounds ever since, not that I've run into her myself, but we did just have a scullery maid quit a fortnight ago after supposedly seeing her.”  The lock gave a surprisingly well-oiled click. “There. Mind the tapestry.”  

Etienne held up one arm to ward off the moldering folds of the hunt scene, and followed Frey's gesture into the fabled chamber.  The overwhelming impression was one of dust, but that was only to the eyes. There were other senses to be assailed, other messages to heed, and they presented themselves at once, to the detriment of all others.  

The moment Etienne crossed the threshold, the crimson tattoo on his wrist burst into pain, burning as though freshly inscribed.  Etienne could feel every needle-stroke of the protective seal upon his skin.  He put one hand to his wrist, grasping the mark hidden by his sleeve, and struggled to think past the agonizing warning.  For Etienne was far more than a common-garden villain and garrotter.  He was a sworn and bloodied member of the Order of the Crimson Seal, founded by Vynae himself after the defeat of the Archdemon centuries ago.  Etienne was an elite soldier standing against a tide of black magic and foul sorceries. His was a sword of brilliant reason in the darkness, and he was branded and oathed to Ephaseus and his cause.  

Frey left the door open behind him, though the tapestry tumbled down after and a few of the hounds lost their snouts in the crumbling threads.  “You see, it is truly not much to—” He broke off, in alarm. “Elsa!  You've gone white!  Are you ill?”

With effort, Etienne pried his fingers off his wrist, and his teeth apart.  The air of lingering evil was so palpable in the room, he marveled that Frey could stand there oblivious to it.  “It’s—it’s nothing,” he said.  “Only some dust in my lungs, it made me quite giddy.”  He pulled a kerchief from his artfully constructed bosom, and held it delicately over his mouth as he forced his mind to clear, to focus past the pain.  “I should be fine in just a moment.”  

“I should not have brought you here,” Frey said, scowling.  He had one hand on the small of Etienne's back, to catch his bride-to-be should she faint.  “Your bravery is commendable, but there's no need to go further—”

“I'm quite all right now,” Etienne said, tucking his kerchief away, and making a grand show of fussing with his cuffs.  “Now, we've come all this way to see this place, I should like to see it! Don't frown so, it was only a spot of stale air.”  Etienne put a finger to Frey's lips, teasing, and it was enough to startle a smile out of his betrothed.  

Etienne's head was clearing at last, even though the mark of the Order still buzzed like the stings of an entire beehive. The room was small, even cozy, though the air of neglect made it seem that much more empty and echoing.  He had always pictured the famous duel taking place in a bare chamber with a splintery wood table and two chairs, like in some hidden dungeon.  But this had been a delightful room years ago, one designed for leisure and pleasant pursuits.  The high, narrow windows had all been boarded over, but several of the planks had fallen in, letting in a watery light.  Dust lay thick and undisturbed on elegant tables and chairs; a settee sat decomposing in the corner, tapestry cushions lumpy grey in the colorless light.  The beams of the ceiling had once been painted in bright, lively patterns, now they only looked like faded graffiti.  A shadowy portrait peered down over the mantelpiece.  Logs still waited in a neat bundle by the hearth, where black ash was scattered around the gnawed rug in tiny trails.  

“Squirrels,” Frey said, following Etienne's eyes.  “They'll have the whole room nibbled to floorboards in another year or so.  I was going to have a grate put over the fireplace to keep them out, but I haven't found any workmen willing to do it.”

“Ah.” Etienne took a few steps forward, his skirts sweeping a clean spot through the dust.  “This is the man himself, I assume?”  He tilted his head far back to get a better look at the painting, but in the gloomy room—and under the dirt on the paint varnish—Lord Evern Reichwyn was a yellowed ghost, dark-eyed and fair-haired and elusive, sitting at ease with his hand on the head of a hunting dog at his knee.  He was handsome, even in shadows, and wore his shirt open.  Etienne could see an echo of Frey there, somewhere in his slightly-arrogant face, a whisper of familiarity beyond just coloring.  

“I wanted to put him in the great hall,” Frey said, with a little sigh.  “But one of the chambermaids swooned at the very idea of it, so I'll have to wait a bit longer to dine with my uncle, I suppose. I can't really blame the servants. They've all become superstitious. I only hope the painting's not ruined by the time I can have it brought out.”  

Etienne took a step backwards to see the painting better, but his skirts bumped into something behind him.  “Ah!  I didn't even see...  oh.”  The something was a chair lying on its side, on the floor.  Etienne knelt to right it again, and noticed the dust heaped up against the toppled legs.  The chair had fallen decades ago, knocked aside from the delicate little table behind it. The matching chair on the other side was scooted a short distance from the table, as though someone had pushed it back to rise, maybe to refill his glass.  But it was the table that drew Etienne's attention.  Almost invisible under a thin film of dust, there were cards scattered on its surface.  They had curled with age and one—the ace of crowns—lay on the floor.  One corner had been chewed by a rodent.  Frey was on the other side of the table, looking down at the three crowns and seven suns that lay there, just to the side of a grimy crystal glass.  A bottle was on the table, empty save for some flakes of brown dirt, and the other cup was overturned, cracked and empty.  Its contents had made a darker patch, long ago, on the table and the carpet below.  

Etienne stood up without moving the chair from its resting place.  “This is it, isn't it?”  

“It is,” Frey said, heavily.  “Sad, is it not?  He even laid out another hand of cards and a glass.  I suppose the loneliness of the place in winter must have driven him mad.”

“So you don't believe the Devil sat here, and answered Lord Evern's challenge for an opponent?”  Etienne's fingertips hovered over the stack of undealt cards in the middle of the table. They had slipped sideways into a heap.

“Don't mistake me, Elsa.  Every Sabbath I've a grateful hymn on my lips for Saint Justicia.  But this speaks to me more of madness than of a curse. Though I suppose that's devilry enough, is it not?”  

“So why the tales?”  Etienne said, moving to the other side of the table and trying not to flinch as his tattoo went to pinpricks again.  

“Tobias found Evern in this room the next day.  Just like this.  The wine for two, the cards laid out so, and Evern out of his wits with his hair gone snow white.  Of course it went round to the servants in a flash that Evern was yammering nonsense about the Devil and a curse and payment due, and if someone asked him directly what happened, he would only gesture to the cards.  He wandered off into the moors the next night.  He's never been seen since.  All the servants except for Tobias left Easting right after.”  

“How awful,” Etienne said sadly, as Elsa would have.  “So the curse—”

“Is a myth, of course.”  Frey looked up at him, intently.  “I know my cousins had hard luck at Chancelion, but they made their own misfortune. I've been here six years now, and it has been nothing but blessed for me.  Surely, if there was a curse, I would have been victim to it?  No.  I show you this to put your mind at ease, Elsa.  It is a sad room, but nothing more.  No split-hoof prints burned into the carpet, no eternal ring of fire, no ghosts showing up on the anniversary of the game to replay it again in transparent pantomime.  You need have no fear of it.”  

“I'm not afraid,” Etienne said, though that did not mean he agreed.  If there was no curse, then Etienne would not be standing there, tricked out in green velvet, with murder on his mind.  If Evern had not gambled away his soul in that room, then why were there no coins on the card table?  Even a madman playing himself would know a bet had to be laid as well as cards.  

“I'm glad to see you are as brave as you are intelligent,” Frey said, and smiled at his bride-to-be.  “And as lovely.”  

Etienne turned away, wishing he’d thought to bring a fan with him to hide behind.  “You do me to much honor, sir.  I am only too curious for my own good, as my Aunt would say. But I thank you for being so honest about the room.  Another man would not even have permitted his bride to see it, for fear of making her hysterical or overwrought or some nonsense.”  

Frey's hands tightened on the back of the Devil's chair.  “Honest?” he asked, as though to himself.  “Hardly.  In truth, Elsa, I only agreed to bring you here so that for a moment we could be most assuredly alone, and unobserved.”  

Etienne's pulse tripped with warning.  What was this, then?  Surely Frey was not about to make an attack on his lady's chastity?  “Oh?”  He forced out a laugh, but it rang as hollow as a specter's in the room.  “You choose a strange place for courtship, Frey.”  

Frey did not warm to the teasing; if anything, he looked more grim.  Etienne wondered for a split second if there was a beast under his veneer, one who would prey on an unsuspecting female, but dismissed the idea at once.  If anything, it was Frey who should be worried about his bride's intentions.  

“Elsa,” Frey said, and his handsome face twisted a moment with dismay.  “I have...  there is something I must tell you.  Tobias suggested I wait until the wedding night, but that is dishonorable, and no lady deserves to be so willingly misled.  I would give you the chance to refuse me.  I don't think a sensible lady would reject my suit on such grounds, but you deserve the chance to do so.”  

Etienne took a step away.  For an assassin it was practical: he wanted some distance, something solid behind him if need be, and room in which to fight.  But in his gown and wig and paints, it looked perfectly authentic as trepidation.  “What are you talking about?”  

Frey pushed himself off the chair, and raked back the hair that was always slipping out of its ribbon.  “Elsa. Darling.  You know I think this curse business is nonsense, correct?  I'm a man of faith, believe me, but I will not be dogged by imaginary devils.  Nor would I see you live here in fear, when my only wish is for you to bring warmth to this place...  and... and children.”  His face was flushed with crimson, and to Etienne it was the only color in the entire room.  “For the two of us to give Chancelion life again.  I never dreamed of achieving such things when I was a fatherless boy growing up in a tavern, playing cards to earn my mother's bread, without even a home to call my own.”  He looked at Etienne in something like desperation.  “But the moment I came here I have loved this house from cellar to spire.  Yes, even this wretched room.  It grieves me to see it so.  All I have ever wanted was for fortune to shine on this place once more.  And for two years, it has.  Never have I been more convinced that there was no curse than I was the moment you accepted me as your future husband.  It was the most wonderful day of my life, even more so than the day I was informed of my inheritance.”  

Etienne felt his heart sinking, oozing down into his belly like the drowning wick of a tallow candle.  Frey continued on, as though his confession was being dragged out of him with an inquisitor's red-hot hooks.  

“But there is a reason—a trifling coincidence and one I give no credence to—that you might think such a curse exists.  I speak not of Evern's madness, or the foolishness of my late relatives. It is something about me, specifically.”

Etienne wished he could loosen his corset.  It felt like he couldn't breathe, and his one consolation was that his anxiety must be convincing.  “...What is it?”  

Frey looked at him, a long, searching glance, and then he took off his velvet coat. He flung it on the back of the Devil's chair, and sent his waistcoat after it.

“My Lord!” Etienne began, forgetting to call him Frey.  

Frey did not answer, but his silk cravat unraveled to the floor like a serpent's ghost, and then, with only the barest moment of hesitation, he pulled his shirt off over his head.  

Even the dim light of the room was not kind.  Etienne's wrist burst into flames of pain, and he put a hand over his mouth, knowing his noise of horror would not be a woman's cry.  From throat to wrists, and shoulder to belly, all over the smooth muscles of Frey's torso, tiny red lines writhed across his skin. They twisted and bent and curled like live insects held above a candle flame, and Etienne's stomach clenched with revulsion at the sight of them.  He struggled to hang on to his ruse, and in no small amount, to his sanity as well. Elsa would only be shocked at the marks, surely.  She would be aghast, but would think them only lines, blemishes.  

But Etienne could read them.  He knew the horrors inscribed across Frey's skin, and understood the terrible doom they foretold as they burrowed down Frey's ribcage.  Death and chaos had been dragged over Frey's body like corpses behind a charnel wagon, leaving bloody paths behind.  The letters screamed with rage inside Etienne's mind, the rage of a demon from the depths as he wrenched at the splintering bars of his cage. Those splinters made those awful letters, scribed in the highest tongue of hell.  When Etienne could tear his eyes back to Frey's, he found them shining with grief.  

“You refuse, then,” he said softly.  “Lady. I do not blame you.”  

Etienne gulped past the taste of bile in his mouth.  “No!”  he gasped, but he looked away and could not bring himself to look back again.  “I am not so shallow, Frey.  But they—what are they?”  It was all Etienne could do to feign ignorance.  He was possessed with a wild urge to take a blade to Frey's skin, to peel away the marks as one would a rotten spot on an otherwise perfect and luscious peach.

“Birthmarks, I assume.”  Frey answered, subdued.  “I've had them my whole life, though when I was a child they were mere mottling.  My mother told me I looked as though I had been born flayed, they were so thick on my skin.  But as I have aged they have thinned, sharpened.  It's my hope that some day they will fade away entirely.  But save for my head, my hands, and my feet, no part of me is unmarked by them.  I believe them to be mere lines, like the strain of a vein broken beneath the skin, but—-tied to Chancelion as I am, they easily seem to take on a more evil meaning.” Frey had pulled his shirt back on, and though the demonic scribbling was still visible at his neck and wrists, Etienne felt a good deal saner without them shouting their horrific threats at him.

Etienne forced himself away from the side table, tearing his hands away from its marble top.  His fingers had left damp, sweaty patches in the dust.  “I am your betrothed, am I not?  I fail to see how that should change.  You do me little honor, Frey, to think such a small thing would sway me.”

The gratitude and adoration in Frey's eyes was heartbreaking, even to so small and shriveled a heart as Etienne's.  “When you asked to keep our engagement quiet, out of respect to your aunt's endeavors to find you a suitor on her own, I admit, I was grateful.  I knew then you could refuse me without bringing undue shame on yourself.”  

Etienne drew himself up straight.  “Shame? My shame, Frey, would be to refuse the heart of so worthy a suitor.”  

Frey took a step forward, arms outstretched, and Etienne knew he must do the same.  If he was to continue his role, then he would have to submit to being kissed, and kissed he was.  Earnestly, and as chaste as a blushing milkmaid's dream.  Etienne’s thoughts, however, were elsewhere.  Frey had the marks, and only that confirmation made Etienne realize how desperately he had hoped otherwise.  But it was so.  Frey was the Heir, his doom was sealed by Ephaseus' decree, and Etienne was sorry. More sorry than he'd ever been for any blackguard nobleman seeking black powers, or for heartless beauties who cursed the lovers who spurned them.  Those he had snuffed without a thought, serene in his duty.  But once, just this once, Etienne had been beginning to hope Ephaseus was mistaken.  

He should have known better.  Ephaseus was never mistaken.  

Etienne's duty was clear.  Frey must die, and quickly, before the fate inscribed on his flesh could be allowed to manifest.  And really, what better place to do that than in the hidden chamber?  Frey was the only one with a key to the room, in a distant and unused part of the house.  No one had seen them pass this way.  Etienne could dispose of Frey here, lock the room, and then Elsa could protest that she had not seen her beloved all day.  Who would look for him here?  In the chaos it would be easy enough for Elsa to take her leave of Chancelion, for good. With any luck, by the time Frey's body was found, he wouldn't be in a fit state to show how he had met his untimely end.  He would be another victim of Chancelion's curse, and would follow Evern into legend.

Etienne leaned harder into Frey's kiss, trying not to think about the state that warm mouth would be in, in a few days’ time.  He'd sent enough men to the worms, there was no reason to go getting squeamish about it now.  He was doing Frey a mercy, though the man didn't know it.  The only question was how best to go about it.  Poor bastard, Etienne thought.  Probably it was best to be quick and painless, so he wouldn't know what had happened.  He could go straight to Saint Justicia's arms with his true love's kiss still on his lips, dreaming of all the sons that would not be born.  

Etienne put a hand back to the table, as though to steady himself.  The other he tangled up in Frey's hair.  To Frey, it must have seemed quite an ardent gesture. Etienne, however, was only looking for the best place to clonk him.  Evern's empty wine bottle on the table was dusty and cold against Etienne's other hand, and he grasped it.  Sometimes the best weapons were already provided.  One blow to the head, and then if Frey was still breathing, the gentle pressure of his lady's hand over his mouth and nose would end that.  It was perfect, really.  As sweet a setup as Etienne had ever dreamed of.  Etienne felt his belly tighten, and he brought the bottle up in an arc that would end at the back of Frey's skull.  

Death was an eventuality for everyone, Etienne thought.  It was only his job to speed things along.  

It was at that moment, just when the murder was shaping up so splendidly, that it happened.  Actually, it was several things, happening all at once.  The first of them was only a tickle, a little tug on the strap of Etienne's ladylike shoe.  It was not worth note until it was followed, alarmingly, by the unmistakable sensation of something large and alive wriggling under lace-edged linen drawers and crawling up Etienne's leg.

It was instinct; it was involuntary.  Etienne shrieked and the bottle flew out of his hand before it was even a third of the way through its course.  It crashed into the fireplace and exploded; the overturned table scattered cards up into the air.  Frey started back with an oath on his lips, still quite alive, and Etienne was forced into a frantic kicking jig, at last flinging a bewildered and very much offended squirrel out of his undergarments.  It shot beneath the settee and up the chimney, leaving Etienne swearing at it in words that Lady Elsa should by no means have even known, much less dreamed of using.  

Etienne caught himself halfway through a tirade involving fornication, the nine fires of hell, and leeks, and whirled to face Frey.  Surely, what with that and murder and misfortune and squirrels for the love of reason, Etienne's mission and his ruse were both lost.  

But Frey, honest, guileless Frey, was only hanging off the Devil's chair, laughing until he couldn't breathe.  For a moment Etienne hoped he might laugh himself into the grave and spare Etienne the trouble, but there was no such luck.  

Actually, there was plenty of luck, and all the wrong sorts.  

It was not a pleasant evening for Etienne.  Not only did Frey tell the story of the squirrel to Tobias as he served the couple dinner, but Frey was only more enamored of his bride for their adventure, and for her presumed acceptance of him.  He spent the meal gazing at Etienne in pure, unashamed adoration, and that evening kissed him again before saying good night: a frustrating experience for Etienne as there was no good opportunity for death in it.  At nine thirty, he was left in his garish bedchamber with no company but his own frustration and that hideous cherub.

And then, of course, to top it all off, Etienne had to sneak out in the middle of the night and put the D'Grassa volume back in the library.  

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 4: 1x13 The Conscience of the King

Past midnight and I’m tired but!! The Conscience of the King!

This was a wild ep. A lot to untangle about it.

Dramatic Shakespeare! Jim’s very invested in the performance.

I legit thought that the guy next to him was McCoy the first time I watched this. I hadn’t seen much ST at the time and that’s my excuse but also in my defense he has a similar facial structure and it’s dark.

“What do I do about my log???” New hydration game: drink whenever someone mentions their logs.

So Tarsus had only 8,000 people--that’s not very many. They must have been very isolated and new. And Kodos killed 4,000.

The Karidian players are part of the “Galactic Cultural Exchange Project.”

One of my problems with believing this Kirk/Lenore romance outside the usual honeypot aspects is that she is a little young for him perhaps??? I say as if I didn’t know couples with a bigger age gap but--she’s only 19 so it’s different.

So Kodos faked his death, fairly immediately had a daughter, and then changed his identity. Her age being exactly 19 is probably just about keeping math simple but I would like to read more into it than that.

Major plot hole that there’s a PICTURE of Kodos in the database. Like???? Then everyone knows what he looks like? The idea that only 9 people have the secret knowledge to bring him to justice and yet also everyone with an internet connection can see his photo is just nonsense.

Kirk, being charming at a party. I feel like his flirt game isn’t so strong at first (here, have this glass I’ve already sipped from?) but it gets stronger as their conversation goes on. He doesn’t have the greatest lines but his attitude is so charming and attractive it legit does not matter what he’s saying.

I used to feel, at least, that Lenore was one of his real, legit love interests, probably because of the ending and because it was one of the first eps I saw so I took it as more face value, but on a rewatch... not really sure. At any rate this initial flirting is all about the Strategy.

I find it somewhat disturbing that Lenore played her father’s wife.

The Astral Queen??

Lenore is really bad at judging Kirk, like from beginning to end. If this were airing now and I were in the fandom, I’d be getting into internet fights with people about how her analyses of him are biased and shouldn’t be taken at face value because they clearly have no connection to how he actually is. “Where’s the brash young man from the party?” Was there ever a brash young man? Is he in any way different on their walk versus inside??

A dead body, what a mood killer.

I like the aesthetic of this planet, though.

Wow, wtf, Kirk, your friend’s widow is crying and you give her a five-second hug and then literally push her off screen? Gotta hurry it up ma’am!

So he just has to say ‘over and out’ and the communicator cuts the transmission and he can call someone else. Very high-tech.

Spock is displeased. A little suspicious. A little jealous.

How did you know she was coming on the ship? “I’m the Captain.”

Spock should appreciate how sneaky Kirk is being with all his schemes. It’s not Menagerie level but still.

Riley! I wish he were in more eps. He’s one of my favorite minor characters. I realize he’s only in this one because they accidentally cast the same actor twice but still--he had potential. I see he’s been taken out of Navigation. And given a backstory in Engineering, and then moved to Communications. But he keeps the gold shirt. Busy fellow.

“Star Service.”

So he transferred Riley to protect him because he figured... no one knows where Engineering is?

I love this Spock and McCoy scene. McCoy being so laid back and Spock being like “I am suspicious of this suspicious situation.”

Vulcan was never conquered though??

“Your personal chemistry wouldn’t allow you to see that” sounds an awful lot like a veiled “you’re gay” reference.

Someone finally comments on the romantic lighting that follows Kirk around.

Wow, how did all this “surging and throbbing” talk get past the censors? Tone it down, Lenore.

Kirk claims he eventually really liked her, but this is like the last positive scene they have and he’s still CLEARLY fishing for information.

Love that cut from Lenore and Kirk making out to Spock alone on the bridge at night, brooding. (No one needs to steer the ship at night I guess?)

Poor Riley, stuck by himself in Engineering during the late shift. “You’ve been a bad boy.” I love when the crew gets to just hang out and be friends. Also interesting that Uhura has borrowed Spock’s harp.

Spock: “Riley can’t die because KIRK.”

This is a great triumvirate scene. I love how they play off each other, and how they simultaneously care about each other and about their jobs and doing the right thing.

I do find it weird that McCoy is so anti this whole investigating Kodos thing. Like, this isn’t some crazy vengeful path that Jim’s on or whatever he’s implying. Jim’s actually being pretty careful and slow in his actions? And there is someone actively killing people, like--the threat is imminent? It’s just a weird side to represent. I get the balance they’re trying to portray with the three sides but McCoy just doesn’t have a good argument and Jim doesn’t really need to be pulled back--if anything, he needs to be pushed, as Spock is pushing him.

“Logic isn’t enough. I’ve got to feel my way.”

 Double red alert sounds like double secret probation.

Spock shushing the Captain.

Throw the phaser out the window.

Lol after all this hullabaloo about being extra sure and all this scheming to get people on his ship--Kirk just comes out and asks Karidian if he’s Kodos. Well that’s one way about it!

Kodos, like his daughter, fundamentally misunderstands Jim. I know he seems very ‘starship captain with his technological tests’ or whatever but--to call him not human?? He is the MOST human!!

Kirk does understand life or death decisions but he would never have made the decision Kodos made.

I’m with Spock, this is not ambiguous. This man is clearly Kodos. I’m glad there was a character actively saying that the alleged tension in this “who is he really?” plot line is not actually real.

This guy is such a manipulative drama queen oml.

I feel like the morality of this situation is not as gray as some characters are trying to make it. Like, no, Lenore, no one’s crying a river for Kodos lol.

The Kodoses again are either not good at reading Kirk or are deliberately trying to gaslight him into incorrect beliefs about himself because he has literally been nothing but human and merciful this entire time!!! An inhuman person would be like “logically he has to be Kodos” and an unmerciful person would be like “and he needs to die” and just like killed him 10 minutes into the ep.

This is the downside of audio logs--private things don’t stay very private.

Riley’s on the loose! Very IC of him.

I love that the ship has a theater, btw.

Riley must have been very young on Tarsus. No more than maybe 6, 7 years old. Knowing what I know about people’s inability to actually remember things or identify people with any accuracy at all, I don’t actually believe he recognizes Kodos’s voice. But what were we saying about how Kirk is unmerciful and in human?

Riley sure backs down fast when Kirk says so.

This Lenore and Kodos scene is probably the best in the whole ep. Really laying bare their fucked up relationship and how absolutely, tragically, irredeemably mad she is. The drama! I love a true wild woman.

The irony! The Shakespearean over-the-top-ness of it all!

You know at least one person in the audience thinks this is just a really weird play.

Leave it to McCoy to ask all the wrong questions lol. He wants to know if Jim liked the girl--who the fuck cares? He knew her for one day. Maybe he was briefly legit interested in her for a few minutes there, but she’s certifiable AND she tried to kill him, so that’s that on that.

The real important thing we should be talking about here is how Jim feels about the death of a man who killed 4,000 people and traumatized him for life.

And Spock stays away entirely, instead of walking over the chair as he usually does. Giving Kirk space to sort out his feelings, perhaps?

So yeah there’s a lot to unpack in this ep.

I think I once ran across a tumblr post that said this ep implied Kirk was slated to be on the to kill list but honestly it’s pretty clearly the opposite--Kodos killed exactly who he wanted to kill, so if Kirk’s alive, Kirk was supposed to live. (I guess they thought the implication came from Kirk being one of the people to see him? But we have no idea what the circumstances of that were, or why the people to see him included a couple of teenagers and a small child.) Also I think I heard once that there was a deleted line about Kirk saying he was one of the people considered worth saving.

This ep is really wild because introducing Tarsus into Jim’s background really changes a lot and introduces a lot into his character and yet it’s basically just done for plot purposes, to make sure the main character stays at the center of the story. But truly it must have transformed him to witness that at ~15.

Overall we hear very little from Kirk directly here. We know he wants to be sure Karidian is Kodos, and he goes to a lot of trouble to be sure, even though it’s quite obvious there’s no mystery to these massive coincidences. We know from his actions--bringing the players aboard, using Lenore, transferring Riley--that he’s deeply affected by this. And sometimes people (who don’t know him well) talk about him, mostly incorrectly (though in a way where I wonder if the writer was trying to get us to think this stuff is true of him? for the dramatic effect?) But for all that, he doesn’t talk about his feelings much at all.

Another take on this ep that I also saw on tumblr and liked a lot was that Kirk is so optimistic and hopeful in part because of Tarsus, because he saw that Kodos rushed to kill people when he really didn't need to, when he didn't think the supply ship would come in time--but then it came early. So the lesson to take from that is, to always be hopeful, to always believe in the last minute save, to always prioritize people's lives and safety first because anything could happen.

I feel like we're supposed to feel bad for Kodos in some way because he left all the mass murdering behind ages ago BUT it doesn't work so well because we're also supposed to believe, imo, that he was the killer, not Lenore. Like, Spock wants Kirk to act as if this man is Kodos and be proactive, but he's not doing it because he's a vengeful person--he's doing it because Kodos, he thinks, is threatening Kirk. Spock never goes beyond that to advocate, for example, a vengeance killing versus giving him to the authorities versus idk just yelling at him or something. So this idea that interfering with Kodos in any way is just being mean is sort of bizarre--there's an active threat here.

Plus sorry but committing genocide 20 years ago isn’t something we just sweep under the rug. He was the mastermind of something truly horrendous and he got away with it! I’m not going to feel bad for him!

And on top of that the idea that he was just killing people to save other people is one thing--at least morally gray I GUESS lol. But he was targeting people for his own eugenics purposes!! He even says this is part of "the Revolution." The famine was an excuse. He wanted to kill them.

Like I realize most of the people getting on Kirk's back for literally everything are the Kodoses, who are nuts and evil, but I feel like he took a lot of shit for doing nothing wrong.

My mom was wondering how Lenore knew her father was Kodos. I’m not entirely sure but I will say I love her and how just unrepetentedly mad she is. I prefer Lenore to most TOS women because I often feel like the show doesn't......really know how to write women. With Lenore there was no attempt to make her anything but off her rocker nuts. And the twist that she was the killer was effective.

She has that very classic insanity, which is the person who has only one thought and it consumes them. Only one purpose. I think she must have been raised separate from literally everyone but her father--he's been a traveling actor her whole life, so she never socialized, she never went to school, she had no other family. He's very private so she never had, like, a social circle. So he's her WHOLE WORLD. And then maybe she got suspicious as to why that was, and discovered his past. And then she felt that this past threatened him, and anything that threatened him threatened EVERYTHING. So she became...this person we see here.

And, as my mom also pointed out, the ‘body burned beyond recognition’ story is so suspect. With all their future tech? There was no way to id it? Also, what was the official explanation as to how that happened? We know 4,000 people were killed; we know a supply/rescue ship came early, and we know Kodos died and his body wasn’t identified. But what’s the rest of the sequence of events? Was there a riot or revolt and he was killed? Did he kill himself? It’s unlikely he burned to death on accident. The point is that he did not fake his death by himself.

One downfall of this ep is that it is very complicated for only 50 minutes. So much stuff is cut short or cut out--a lot of the backstory, most of Kirk’s feelings, but even stuff like Riley backing down so fast, or Tom’s widow getting literally pushed off screen while she’s grieving. The idea that Lenore and Kirk were supposed to have a real romance somehow? And, the eugenics angle is obviously a huge part of the story but it’s barely touched upon.

According to the trivia on amazon, the original script explained Kirk's presence on Tarsus as being related to Starfleet--he was just out of the Academy and stationed there. That would make him older than other episodes assume him to be--about 42, versus 34-36. But I like it better having him be a teen bc then we don't expect him to know all the stuff that went down later, the aftermath etc. My mom suggested he might have been doing the high school version of a study abroad year, since he’s so smart. This would also explain why his family doesn’t seem to have been on Tarsus, even though if we take his age from other episodes, he was not an adult.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think AOS Kirk was on Tarsus, if in fact Tarsus happened at all in the alternate universe. I just see no evidence in his character that would make me think he’d had that experience.

Next up is Balance of Terror, yet another favorite episode. I mean Mark Lenard?? Romulans?? Can’t go wrong with that.

[letterboxd]

Life in Film: Kris Rey.

As her new comedy I Used to Go Here opens, Chicago-based writer and director Kris Rey talks to Letterboxd editor-in-chief Gemma Gracewood about turning 40, divorce, female friendships, why nobody but Jemaine Clement could pull off a scene making tea, and what we can all learn from Generation Z.

If Kris Rey’s new comedy I Used to Go Here were a typical Hollywood rom-com, it would finish just before Rey’s film starts: with Kate Conklin (Gillian Jacobs) as a newly published author, engaged to be married to a handsome guy. Instead, we meet Kate in a Bushwick apartment she can no longer afford, as her publishing company breaks the news that her debut novel (Seasons Passed; terrible cover art, purple prose) is a failure and the publicity tour is off. That’s on top of the insult that her fiancé has recently ended their engagement.

Kate is given a faint ray of optimism when her creative writing professor (Jemaine Clement) invites her back to the liberal arts college she graduated from a decade earlier, to give a talk to his Gen Z students. Leaving Brooklyn and her pregnant bestie behind, Kate dives into the nostalgia of her old Illinois stomping ground, and I Used to Go Here turns into a low-key, pot-fuelled, intergenerational romp through ideas of success, friendship, creativity, authenticity and idolization.

The film’s fans on Letterboxd include Matt Neglia, who writes: “Gillian Jacobs brings charismatic charm and restraint to her role as a writer longing for a time when we were filled with endless potential without the fear of failure.” Matt DeTurck identifies with this theme: “Relatable for anyone wrestling with fitting the pieces of their life together in ways that feel truthful.”

On the contemporary representation of university life, Alex Billington remarks that “it’s got all the college movie tropes… but it repackages all of these in a smart adult-looking-back indie film package”. Max notes that “the college kids are an invaluable addition and feel like people rather than college or Gen Z stereotypes”.

Kate (Gillian Jacobs) and David (Jemaine Clement) in a scene from ‘I Used to Go Here’.

Your film starts just after the point at which a mainstream comedy about a single white woman in her thirties would end: with Kate’s book being published to no acclaim, her engagement being broken off, everybody else pregnant except her. It runs in opposition to the happy endings Hollywood has made us expect. Kris Rey: Oh god, [that’s] so astute. No-one has said that before and I have never thought of it before, but that’s so true! I think what’s so interesting about the whole journey that she goes on, and all of our own personal journeys, is that you’re used to, like, at the end of the movie, they get married! She gets her book published! And then everything is perfect! And then you realize: ‘Oh. Oh god, okay. How do I move on from this?’ So, you’re right, that is what’s so different about this.

The other thing—and I’m sure this can be said about most films this year—is how the set-up feels weirdly right for these times, which is to say: the widespread derailment of plans that the pandemic has wrought. It’s like we’re in a strange global coming-of-age. Several Letterboxd reviews observe how, for women in their late twenties to early thirties, there’s a second coming-of-age where everything suddenly feels extremely nostalgic. The film dives into that longing feeling by literally returning Kate to her old college. It’s funny, you know, a lot of people have pointed out how this doesn’t quite fit into a category. It’s not a rom-com, it’s not a true coming-of-age film in a sense of what we know that to be. I think that part of it is exactly what you’ve just pointed out, which is that it’s about a unique period of time for women, where you do reach this precipice. Mostly, it comes out of this big ever-pressing question which is “Am I going to have a family or not?”. Not every woman, but most women, have that question in their head until they either have a baby or they reach the age where they can’t have a baby anymore. “Am I going to have this? Am I going to follow this path of domesticity? Am I going to find a relationship that works long enough to have a family with them? Am I going to have to make sacrifices in my career to make room to have a family? Am I going to find them all at once?” Men just don’t have that point, to no fault of their own, but the fault of the patriarchy in general, which is that it has to be a conscious decision for women in a way that everything revolves around that, as we go about our lives at that age.

And you’ve explored that idea in more than just this film. I loved the awkward-yet-sincere moment at the baby shower, when the friends make her hold her book alongside their third-trimester bumps for a group photo. A book is a baby, and its publication should also be celebrated! Scenes like that emphasize how well Gillian Jacobs embraced the role of Kate. What did she bring to it that wasn’t on the page? There’s such a special thing that happens when you cast anyone for anything. It certainly happened with Gillian, but also with everyone. Definitely Jemaine was a big one, which is that I don’t typically write for specific actors. I write a character, I write the dialog, and then when I cast them I think ‘oh, Jemaine Clement is going to be in this role’, so then I go back through and read the whole thing in his voice and think ‘maybe he’d say it like this instead’ and maybe after [a scene we don’t wish to spoil], he would make tea for everyone. Very few, if any, American actors would be able to pull that moment off. That is kind of what I’m looking for: who are they? Are they able to feel like real people? Because so often they feel performative.

Like versions of a person. Right. Like they’re acting like a person! Gillian is very authentic. If you were to talk to her, she would just seem like her real self, and that was what was so appealing about her for me. Gillian just really brought herself, and I learned about her as a person.

As well as great comics like Kate Micucci and Jorma Taccone, there’s a lovely assortment of inclusive young characters who live in Kate’s old student house. Where did you find them? I just flushed them out and gathered them and held them close! There’s a couple of them that I didn’t know but I had seen in other stuff. Josh Wiggins, who plays Hugo, I’d seen him act in a movie called Hellion. Forrest Goodluck I saw in The Miseducation of Cameron Post. He’s incredible in that and I knew I wanted him to play Animal. Hannah Marks was someone that was sent to me, and we talked on the phone and I just knew she would be perfect. She’s such a brilliant go-getter and filmmaker and so ambitious in her own life. Khloe Janel, who plays Emma, auditioned for me here in Chicago and she’s so good. I adore her. I was taking a walk yesterday through the neighborhood and I saw her name on a little sign—she was making these poetry zines! I bought one.

Hugo (Josh Wiggins), Animal (Forrest Goodluck) and Tall Brandon (Brandon Daley) in ‘I Used to Go Here’.

The person we need to know about is whoever the guy is who plays Tall Brandon! Brandon Daley, who plays tall Brandon, is a person that I just knew. He is on the periphery of my social circle and he had come to a few parties at my house. His buddies called him ‘Tall Brandon’, in this very demeaning way! They were of course all good friends. I thought he was such a funny character that I wrote the character based on him. But I didn’t know him. Then he heard that I had written a part called Tall Brandon and he asked if he could play the part. I was like, “I don’t think so, Brandon!”

Was he an actor? Kind of. He’s a filmmaker but he’s much younger than me and he hadn’t done anything besides his own work. But I made him audition for the role based on him! [Laughs] I don’t know, I was just like, it’s a huge role, you know? The last thing you want is someone who can’t act like themselves, which everyone struggles to do. Anyway, he was so good in the audition, so funny, and he just nailed it. He steals the whole movie! He’s just so good.

I Used to Go Here is a long way from problematic college fare like Revenge of the Nerds or the angst of St Elmo’s Fire. It feels thoroughly 21st-century, especially in how the Gen Z housemates take an inclusive, ‘sure, why not’ approach to having Kate tag along with them. What inspired the way you wrote the intergenerational aspects of the film? There weren’t necessarily college films that I was using for inspiration. I wanted the place to feel the same that she left, but I wanted the people to feel different. This is what I’m finding in my life. I’m gonna turn 40 this year, and when I interact with people in their twenties, I’m blown away by the way that they view the world and the way that they view themselves and each other. I’m so impressed by it. And I am on board with a lot of these cultural changes that we’re seeing happen before our eyes, like, the idea of gender identity has changed so much, and so quickly. I’ve never seen anything change like that in my life. The idea of consent. When I first heard it I was like, “What? You have to ask if you wanna touch someone or kiss someone? It seems so lame!” Now, I can’t believe that we ever did that! I’m learning so much. They seem so clear-headed about it all. I just think that we have a lot to learn from that generation.

The movie’s not about that, necessarily, but it’s infused into it and I wanted that to influence Kate, in her life. Some of it is specific to this generation, but some of it is also just specific to being in your twenties. The character April, the way that she thinks about the [publishing] industry and her art, and the way that Kate, who is jaded, is like, “Okay, whatever, you’re naïve, make your little magazine, but you’ll have to follow the rules.” We’ve all been faced with that before.

Kris Rey with her son Jude Swanberg on the set of ‘I Used to Go Here’. / Photo by Blair Todd

So it’s a watershed year for you, turning 40. What would you define success and happiness as now, compared to when you were in your twenties and the ideas you had about the industry then? Oh, god. Okay so I’ve also had a lot of personal growth because I got divorced this last year, which was crazy. I’ve got two kids, a four year old and a nine year old. So I’ve been through so much; it’s been such a huge change for me. I have learned a lot, but one of the things that I have learned so much is that the relationships that matter the most in my life are my female friendships. I’ve always known that, but I’ve never seen it so much as I have in the last two years, both personally throughout my divorce, and professionally through making a film without a romantic partner to lean on. Of course I have male friends that are wonderful and supportive, but my female friends, those relationships are where I’m realizing I wanna put my effort into more than any other part of my life.

Okay, it’s time for a few questions about movies that are important to you. Thinking back, what is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? Boogie Nights was the first film that I watched when I was in high school that I thought ‘oh, this is a job, and I’m seeing someone make stylistic choices that are interesting and unique’. You can see the behind the scenes in that movie a little bit. I remember watching it and thinking ‘that would be a cool job’. I also really loved the movie Bottle Rocket in high school. I began my filmmaking career thinking that I wanted to make documentaries, and so there’s also a lot of docs that I loved. But those were the early films that made me realize that it was even a job. Unfortunately not any female filmmakers, because I think that was just so rare [then].

What is your all-time comfort favorite film? Sleepless in Seattle, no question.

There’s your female filmmaker! Yes, but with a movie like Sleepless in Seattle, it’s such a mainstream movie that I never thought of it as ‘a job’. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I saw more independent and auteurish works. But Nora Ephron is a genius. That movie is perfect in my opinion.

What’s a film that, as a teenager, felt like a mirror into your soul? That movie with Chris O’Donnell, an Irish film, Circle of Friends. With Minnie Driver! Who is also in Good Will Hunting, another film I saw in high school. I haven’t seen Circle of Friends since it came out, but it felt very real to me, that movie. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that movie to anyone!

Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Fiennes in ‘Shakespeare in Love’ (1998).

What is the sexiest film you’ve ever seen? Shakespeare in Love! [Laughs.] There’s two movies. One was Legends of the Fall. It was literally the sexiest movie I’d ever seen up till that point. I was very young when it came out and there was this lovemaking scene by candlelight and I was like, ‘oh, that’s what sex is!’. And then Shakespeare in Love. That scene where he’s unwrapping her? So hot.

Who is another director you’d die for? I’m such a huge fan of Nicole Holofcener. I love her films so much. I have never met her. I do know some people that know her and I am honestly so scared to meet her because I like her work so much. She’s probably my favorite filmmaker. I just vibe with everything she makes. I love the tone. I just love all of her movies.

What’s a film that we should watch after we watch yours? You should watch She Dies Tomorrow. It’s so good, and Amy Seimetz is my very, very close and dear friend. We started making movies at the same time. Our movies were supposed to premiere at SXSW on the same day, and now they are being released on the same day, and we’re just in love with each other. Amy and I are— the movies are so wildly different from each other, but her movie is so good. It is really funny, it’s really weird and it’s really appropriate for the times right now.

I feel like some reviews are missing the comedy in it. I laughed so much throughout that film. I agree: people don’t get it! Can I shout out another movie that I watched recently? Crossing Delancey. I had never seen it before and my sister-in-law texted me and she was like, “you should watch this film like right now—this seems like something you would love”. I couldn’t believe how good it was. It’s so great. It feels like it could be shot right now in Brooklyn. All the cool kids in Brooklyn are dressing exactly the same way that all the cool kids in Brooklyn dressed in 1988, or whenever it came out. She’s having a dialog with a friend and the friend is like openly breastfeeding. And the way that they’re talking about romance and all this stuff is so on point. That movie’s great.

And another female director! Joan Micklin Silver. Yeah!

Related content

Dana Danger’s chronological list of films directed by women

Appropriate Behavior: the Letterboxd Showdown of indie, slacker and mumblecore films

Quarter Life Crisis: a list by Mary, and another by Michelle

Follow Gemma on Letterboxd

‘I Used to Go Here’ is now in select theaters and on demand. All press images are courtesy of Gravitas Ventures.

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Series One - Episode Seven

One thing that seasoned Downton viewers will know is that either the plot moves so fast that you get whiplash moving from point to point and have to perform a fair amount of mental gymnastics to recall single lines that were (canonically speaking) made months and sometimes years ago, or it’s so slow that you think you’ve slipped into a coma and are having a strange dream about the coming of electricity. This instalment is a whopping 65 minutes long and  defiantly falls into the former category of episode. Don’t be fooled by the slow start of dusting chandeliers, every single plot point that King Julian has ever thought of is about to be covered in rapid succession whilst the July 1914 stamped ominously at the bottom of the screen indicates that the shit is about to get real. The main topic of conversation in Downton Village is apparently the murder of the Austrian Arch-duke. Who knew that rural Yorkshire with its still broadly illiterate population during this time period was so switched on to international relations? 

William’s mother has (predictably) died and Anna has made an armband which is utterly indistinguishable from his livery in her honour. Another soul unable to appreciate this is Mrs Patmore who is now so blind that it has been brought to the attention of those who dwell upstairs. Mrs Patmore is summoned to the library where she collapses into the nearest available chair after chewing off Robert’s ear and he arranges to send her up to London. I doubt this was quite the reaction he was expecting but there we go. In Beryl’s absence, Mrs Bird comes to hold the fort and test Daisy’s loyalties to provide a bit of light relief in what is, when you think about it, quite a grim episode. 

Despite being slow on the uptake, Daisy soon gets into the swing of launching the Downton scullery equivalent of chemical warfare whilst Mrs Bird makes disparaging comments about the kitchen and staff. But Daisy soon falls foul of a bit of bait and switch and only succeeds in almost giving Thomas’ colon a thorough clean out. 

Whilst Mrs Patmore sits in Moorfields reeling at the fact that cataracts can’t be removed by whatever the 1914 equivalent of homeopathy is, Anna is determined to get to the bottom of why Bates was in prison. Thomas and O’Brien’s written confirmation of Bates’ previous misdeeds have only served to light a fire under her and with a confidence to which I can only aspire, she marches into Greenwich. Or is it Chelsea? My knowledge of barracks isn’t what it used to be despite the fact that I am typing this a stones throw away from one now. My superiors are weeping somewhere. In true British Army fashion, a man with an impressive hat brings out a massive book which he never refers to for any information that he could not hold in his head. He then gives out Mrs Bates Senior’s address 104 years before GDPR kicks in. 

A meeting with Ma Bates confirms that it was Vera who stole the regimental silver rather than John but he took the fall, apparently feeling that he had ruined her life. However I can’t be the only person who is still a little unclear as to why he did go to prison for Vera as there doesn’t seem to be much evidence that he had ruined her life unless I’ve missed something, which is entirely possible. Anna returns to Downton and appeals to Robert to keep Bates on. Because he is a useful character for pivoting plot points around, Robert agrees, and our favourite self-sabotaging valet lives to survive another series. 

Considerably less eager to stay at Downton is Thomas who has a right old time of it this episode, roaring through all of his typical behaviours: smoking in archways, leaving tables with entire plates of food in-front of him to go and perch on a crate and plot with O’Brien, stealing from Carson in an inept manner, having at least two other characters discuss just how awful he is and finally take shots at William. Except this time, they aren’t snide remarks. These are actual shots involving pre-German sniper mangled fists. Having volunteered for the Army medical corps with Dr Clarkson, Thomas is riding high on his way out the door and makes inappropriate marks about a combination of dead mothers and babies. William takes him on and the two roll around a bit on a table then the floor. Carson calls for a halt but doesn’t actually intervene: its up to the Irish Radical to bring about peace. Some irony there one feels. 

But perhaps Carson’s inaction is connected to the emotional upheaval that of course comes with owning a telephone. I should know; mine has been on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for at least a year now. Presumably seeing the phone as an affront to his skills as a butler, there are a fair number amount of him looking perplexed at the new arrival. But with a bit of practice under his belt, he is ready to reluctantly shuffle into the twentieth century. Oh I do love him. 

The coming of the telephone is good news for Gwen through who manages to bag herself an interview out of its installation in the Abbey. However she neglects to say that she was a housemaid on her application form. The manager of the company scoffs at this upon learning she works at Downton “you thought that would put me off!”. Well yes, because less then twenty minutes ago you were bemoaning the fact that you couldn’t find any secretaries with experience which is what you needed. King Julian is now struggling to maintain continuity within an episode never mind between. Lord. 

After 18 years, and presumably a lot of hormonal shifting, Cora is pregnant. Robert sounds incredulous and frankly, we all are. Robert doesn’t understand what’s been done differently to bring about this major shift in plot, but Cora brings him to an abrupt halt before he can pick along any further down that particular line of enquiry and an entire nation, nay the world, exhales. However Foetus C’s appearance on the scene coincides with the departure of Simmons and through a convoluted chain of events, their fates are inextricably linked. O’Brein overhears that a new lady’s maid is required and immediately jumps head first into the wrong end of the stick. But to be fair to her, Violet and Cora seem to only talk about their quest when either Thomas or O’Brien are in earshot which is asking for trouble really. But that does not excuse O’Brien committing infanticide by proxy via the medium of Imperial Leather. With a bar of poor quality soap that breaks alarmingly easily and an off-screen yelp, it’s all over and another massive plot point that has a whole lifecycle within less than an episode. 

Although Foetus C didn’t hang around long, he made quite the impact and along with the influence of Aunt Rosamund manages to unsettle the romance that Matthew and Mary have been carefully cultivating since Episode One. St James Park provides a backdrop for Rosamund, following the tradition of all Aunts worldwide, to winkle out the truth about their nieces and nephew’s love lives. As they glide through London, and pass two men sat on a bench trying to divert the apocalypse, Rosamund plants the seeds of doubt that will eventually blossom into a full blown crisis in about thirty minutes time with the mere suggestion that Mary might have to live in a cottage. 

With the prospect of another male heir on the horizon, Matthew considers moving back to Manchester but not before he can have the first of two emotionally charged conversations under a tree. Matthew witters on about ‘prospects’ whilst Mary looks increasingly desperate. That tree and the accompanying bench have seen an awful lot of drama: people have sobbed under it, plotted beside it and stared artfully into the middle distance beneath its shadow and its only series one. 

But even when it’s clear that Matthew’s inheritance is not in danger, he returns to the tree with Mary to assert the fact that he is leaving Downton for reasons that I can’t entirely fathom but are mainly based around the fact that he doesn’t want to be socially engineered and that he can’t be sure of anything. Wearing the world’s most pointless gloves, Mary covers her face and weeps in what is fast becoming a signature move. The ‘tree’ scenes between her and Matthew have been a real chance for both actors to get their teeth into a bit of decent uninterrupted dialogue. I have loved Michelle Dockery since she stole my twelve year old heart as Susan in Hogfather and she has not failed me yet. 

Carson comes to comforts Mary under the ’tree of emotional conflict’ and in one shot we have captured the charm of Downton. Ahh. Now, back onto the nonsense. 

The garden party is suddenly upon us and with it, the tying up of as many loose ends as possible just incase the series isn’t renewed. Hold onto your hats folks! Mrs Patmore returns in a cracking pair of sunglasses, Clarkson gives Thomas his papers who then promptly resigns, William and Daisy reconcile, Mrs Hughes warns Branson off Sybil whilst Sir Anthony pegs it out of Downton before Edith is allowed any measure of happiness, O’Brein attends to Cora’s every need and then learns that she was never in the firing line anyway, Branson plucks up the courage to answer a telephone, Gwen gets the job and proceeds to hug Branson and Sybil hug in a manner that you would think would be enough to cause a scandal, we learn of Ma Bates’ approval of Anna but Bates is still a stubborn idiot , Mr Moseley wants to crack on with Anna and if you squint a bit Downton Abbey briefly looks like The Villa. Oh and WW1 breaks out.  

Romantic declaration of the moment 

“I’d say he’s keen. Very keen indeed” Well then TeLl HeR JohN! Anna and Bates must be up there for slow-burn romance of the millennia and for my money is a better love story than Mary and Matthew but that could just be my gritty scots and northern heritage rooting for the little guy. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

Robert won last episode but nevertheless his face during the menopause chat with the accompanying “please” wins this one. THIS is why Fleabag Season 2 Episode 3 had to happen. 

Wait, what? 

“Is there anything worse than losing one’s maid” Erm…maybe the oncoming death of 17 million people with 11.5% of the British Army told by the upper echelons of society to walk slowly towards the guns? 

“Oy” is Mrs Patmore Jewish? 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to sit in your presence my lord” That is a surprising amount of respect from someone who only two episodes fed him a chicken that had both been on the floor and nibbled by a cat…. 

“Try not to miss me, it will be good practice” Bates is a lovely man but ultimately he is a masochistic twat. 

“First electricity, now telephones. Sometimes I feel as if I were living in a H.G. Wells novel” Julian really does reserve his best for Maggie. 

“I’m not much good at building my life on shifting sands”  Calm down, Matthew. 

“He had a right to know how his countryman died, in the arms of a slut” Calm down, Edith. 

[ollyarchive]

My son the global pop star? Olly Alexander's mum Vicki Thornton talks about growing up gay in Gloucestershire, Gogglebox and Glastonbury

Olly Alexander's mum speaks candidly about being mother of the flamboyant Years and Years frontman

Watching Vicki Thornton on the Celebrity Gogglebox sofa it would be easy to imagine that having a famous child is an easy passport to the good life.

Every Friday night for weeks the Forest of Dean mum-of-two has been on TV  sipping Prosecco while commenting on TV programmes with son Olly Alexander, the flamboyant frontman with the chart-topping band Years & Years.

On the face of it it’s been a charmed motherhood. First she watched the talented young man leave college to succeed as an actor, treading the boards as Peter Pan in a play with Judi Dench and appearing in movies such as Gulliver’s Travels, The Riot Club and Great Expectations.

Within a few years he appeared to seamlessly achieve global musical success with a chart-topping band and which led to a much applauded appearance on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury Festival 2019. This weekend he is appearing on the same stage as Ariana Grande at Manchester Pride.

Yet anybody who follows Olly knows it’s not all been red carpet premieres,  backstage passes and Gogglebox for Vicky, it’s also been about hearing uncomfortable truths about a son who has used his growing success as a platform to publicly campaign for LGBT rights.

Growing Up Gay

Not only has she had to listen to how he secretly self-harmed and developed bulimia as a closet gay teenager growing up in the Forest of Dean, but in 2017 she also bravely agreed to appear in an an emotional BBC Three documentary about how it can lead to mental health issues.

In Growing Up Gay Olly admitted that just driving home back to sleepy Coleford with the film crew stirred up such painful memories that it made him feel physically sick.

If that wasn’t difficult enough to hear, Vicki learned that Olly, who attended St  John’s Cof E Primary School in Coleford and Monmouth Comprehensive, had been unable to tell anyone that he was being bullied from a young age because he had long hair and seemed gay.

“When he asked if I would do the documentary, it was a bit of a decision to make because I knew it would mean digging up the past and going further into the reasons for the problem,”  said community artist Vicki.

“ I knew that having to face up to issues  I was not aware of at the time was going to be a very difficult process, but if it was going to help Olly and other people in similar situations I had to do it.

“I had to be  open and honest about everything which meant confronting my own feelings of guilt. You have to openly accept that you may have made some bad choices and decisions but you are human. It’s not about making excuses, it’s about learning from your mistakes.”

The documentary was so painful that the producers had Vicki assessed psychologically to make sure she could deal with the deeply personal issues it raised and arranged for her to have counselling beforehand.

Still a much watched video on iPlayer, it shows them sifting through photographs and videos of what his mum thought was a happy, innocent childhood on a beautiful part of the world.

“Going through the family history you see all these little happy, innocent little faces” said Vicky who also has an older son who has aspergers syndrome. “It’s terrible to think somebody could be hurting them.

“I think the bullying was mostly mental but when someone is full of joy and happiness and somebody else comes along and closes that down, it is the saddest thing.

“As parents you think you know what’s going on, you think that they are safe, they are happy, they are fed, all the boxes are ticked. But you don’t know the half of it.

“The  little things I heard about what happened to Olly that he and his brother have talked about, are awful.”

Everyone thinks their child is amazing but I knew Olly was special

Community artist Vicki said she knew “in her bones” even before Olly, 29, was born that he would go on do great things.

“Every mother thinks that, and every child is amazing, but I knew that this child was different, there was something there,” she said.

“Olly was always a bright, funny, happy child, full of life. He was such a bouncy, lovely little cherub  that I could never get cross with him,  ever.

“On the rare occasion that he would throw a tantrum I would find it funny and just laugh at him. He would just stand and scream blue murder and it was just hilarious.”

Life in the Forest of Dean

Their early days were spent living near theme parks that his father promoted but in 1997 the family moved to the Forest of Dean where his parents set about creating a model village tourist attraction.

It was a musical, creative, left leaning household and although he loves Rihanna, and famously met the singer on the Graham Norton show,  Olly, credits much of his influences to listening to his mother’s tapes of Nina Simone, Joni Mitchell and Stevie Wonder. She was one of the founders of the local music festival where Olly cut his teeth.

“I used to be a puppeteer actor in an education travelling theatre company in the late 1980s," said Vicky when asked about her bohemian background.

“When I was younger I was also a backing singer in a band called Innamanna. We played the Marquee in London and did some recording but when we had to decide ‘do we stick with this or carry on with our careers?’ it folded.

"But I couldn’t stand on a stage in front of thousands of people like Olly does. I would die.”

Olly as a boy

It was clear that Olly had inherited her artistic streak and although a talented gymnast and able academic, he concentrated on music and drama, later saying it was because he felt at home with the weird kids.

Vicki remembers him being very driven, open minded and very focussed.

“Olly taught himself to play the piano and to sing and there was always a healthy competition with his best friend Joe to get the best parts in the school plays,” recalled Vicki

“He was always singing all over the house.  He loved Disney and he would get old song books full of the classics and teach himself on the piano.

“He did not want to be in musicals but loved the singing and performance side of it.”

I did not realise there was so much pain going on inside.

In the documentary the talented singer songwriter says that  he did not have the vocabulary to put how he was feeling into words and  felt too ashamed to admit it anybody he was gay. Even his mother. He desperately wanted to be straight so he never admitted it.

“On the surface he was a real high achiever so I  had no idea there was so much starting to bubble up as a young teenager,” said Vicki.

“I thought the sky was the limit for him. I thought he could do anything he could put his mind to but I did not realise there was so much pain going on inside.”

“Because he was always fun happy, smiley,  lovely child achieving lots of things at school, I thought things were fine.

“Probably my eye was  off the ball because I was going through a lot of life changes at the time and maybe I was in denial that there was something going wrong.”

Marriage split

In an interview last year with the former Labour spin doctor Alastair Campbell, Olly says his diaries show a clear link between his father leaving and creating a “family implosion” and his mental health health issues developing around he age of 13.

They are estranged but met up when his father contacted Olly through Twitter and in subsequent interviews it’s clear the singer was less than impressed with the reality as opposed to the imagined version of an aspiring musician father who he had always wanted to impress.

“Splitting up with their dad made life a lot harder, definitely financially, and so life was a big struggle,” said Vicki.

“That’s probably part of the reason why I had my eye off the ball. I was distracted doing other things, so we were a bit dysfunctional or a while, which I feel guilty about.

“But I don’t feel guilty about that relationship ending at all, both for the boys and myself.”

Coming out

She says although from the outside it looked like Olly was enjoying a glittering lifestyle after leaving sixth form college to travel abroad filming the movie Summerhill, he was often penniless and had to take jobs such as selling hot dogs on the South Bank in between the contracts. She wasn’t in a position to help pay the rent either.

He was 18 or 19 and involved in the gay party scene in London when he plucked up the courage to pick up the phone and tell her outright that he was gay.

Vicki said: “He had said to me once ‘I don’t think you are going to have any grandchildren’. Not taking the hint, I said ‘well never say never’.

“He obviously got to the point where he thought ‘I’d better actually say it to mum because she doesn’t get it’.

“He phoned me up and said ‘you do know I am gay don’t you?’ . I said ‘Are you? OK’ and that was it really. I suppose I had a feeling he might be but maybe I didn’t want to confirm that because of fear about what his life might become because of all the homophobia out there.”

Vicky told told her elderly mother,  who sang on Broadway with the D’ Oyly opera company before cutting her career short to get married and have a family.

“Her immediate reaction was ‘but he will not be able to go to Africa, it’s illegal in Africa’, laughed Vicky about her 89-year-old mother who follows her grandson avidly on social media and has even seen Years & Years in concert.

“Like me, she doesn’t want to see him marginalised because marginalised sections of society can  attract a lot of negative behaviour. Nobody wants to see their nearest and dearest suffer from that.”

I just hope kids today aren’t going through the same thing

From that moment on Vicky has worried about her son being the victim of homophobia and although she is intensely proud, she still fears that being a figurehead for equality could make him a target.

“I wish he felt he could have talked  to me and maybe I could have prevented all of that, but I understand that is very difficult for young people,” she said.

“I remember that feeling of not being able to talk to my parents  and I just hope kids today aren’t going through the same thing. They get more support at school than they did 15 years ago but bullying and social media trolling still happens.

“I do worry about him being exposed to bigotry and homophobia. it’s not nice to think about your child living in fear.”

In an interview last year Olly was asked if he ever wanted to confront the bullies who made his life miserable growing up but he said he doesn’t think about it much any more because his life had changed so much.

He said he still takes anti-depressants, has weekly therapy sessions and works out a lot to keep his mental and physical health on track.

While campaigning for more to be done to prevent male suicide after being named as GQ Man of the Year,  he admitted he still has occasional days when he doesn’t want to get out of bed because his life does not feel worth living and can be too frightened to go on stage, or cries when he comes off. He hides behind outlandish costumes and make up.

The fun side of having a famous son

It's clear that there is a close bond between mother and son and Olly likes her to share in his successes.

For instance in the early days the pop star  arranged for her to wear an expensive diamond necklace to the red carpet premiere of Great Expectations in which he played Herbert Pocket.

“It was insane,” said Vicki. “ We had taxi from where he lived to the red carpet and there was all these people at the barriers.

“I thought they are going to be so disappointed when I get out because I’m no-one. Somebody took me to one side while Olly went off to meet the paparazzi and because it was raining they put a brolly over my head.

“Then we went in and watched the film which was mind-blowing because I was sat next to some of the actor’s. When it was finished we went to the after-party which was all very very glam.”

Naturally shy, Vicky was overawed to meet the likes of Jeremy Irvine, who starred in War Horse.

“I was quite overwhelmed by it all at first but I have got more relaxed about being in that kind of environment,” she said.

“The whole thing is a bit surreal really. It’s a bit  like a film in itself. Once I was this close to Helen Bonham Carter who I think is fantastic, but you don’t want to go up to people saying ‘I love you’.

“Olly told me once, that when they started filming he actually said to her ‘I love you Helen Bonham Carter’ and and she said ‘I would love you too if I knew who you were’, but she later came to the stage door to congratulate him after Alice and Peter.”

More recently Vicky was overwhelmed when she was introduced the men from one of her favourite TV programmes, the Netflix series Queer Eye, at Radio One’s Big Weekend in Swansea.

“I love watching them but when Olly introduced me I didn’t know what to say and was stuck for words because I get so tongue tied,” she admitted.

Gogglebox

The star is protective of Vickyi who does not even like speaking on the stage at Coleford Music Festival but told her it was time for her to come out of her shell for Gogglebox.

“It’s different because there isn’t anybody else in the room and it’s all about Olly because that’s who they are interested in,” she said of the TV show.

“It feels really nice sitting there together eating snacks, drinking Prosecco and enjoying each other’s company, but I don’t think I have anything really  interesting to say.

“You are thinking ‘should I be on my best behaviour because I’m on tele or should I be like I am at home?’. There is a little conflict going on in your head but it’s really good fun.

“It’s weird watching yourself back,  seeing what you do, what you sound like and the faces you pull. I didn’t realise I pulled so many weird faces.”

Every week she has to decide on a comfortable top for sitting on the  sofa and says they did initially consider getting matching onesies and really mad slippers but decided against it.

She shares TV tastes with her son who loves programmes such as Killing Eve and Stranger Things and Fleabag. They also love Gogglebox, especially Rylan Clark Neal and his mother and Chris Eubank and his son. She was delighted when Rylan sent a lovely message to Olly about her.

“If Olly likes something I will give it a go because I know I will probably like it,” she says. “I would never have watched Love Island if Olly hadn’t watched it. “

Staying true to yourself

Before the Years and Years single Communion catapulted the band into into the charts, Vicky had another important phone call from the Shine singer.

“He said they didn’t want him to say he was gay and he was really cross about it because didn’t want to pretend to be something he wasn’t” she said.

“I told him to stick to his guns, that you have to be true to yourself for anything to be real. I have taught them that if they are kind, truthful and respectful to other people, everything else will follow.”

Olly took her advice and when she first went to Glastonbury to see him burst onto the John Peel stage in 2015 wearing a rainbow, Pride suit he was involved in a very public relationship with Neil Milan from Clean Bandit who were playing the Pyramid stage.

Although in  pop star mode he is happy to speak openly about his own sexuality and  ongoing struggles with anxiety, Olly also admits that the fairytale of fame and fortune has not proved the antidote to depression and he remains a leading advocate for mental health issues.

In fact Gay Times described him as one of the most influential gay pop stars of this generation and added: "All hail the King!”

Glastonbury 2019

Vicky was astounded by how big it has become since the days she used to go and got lost for hours on the first night after deciding to camp for the weekend.

On Sunday Olly arranged for Vicky, her partner Kev and Coleford Mayor Nick Penny to go backstage and then watch from the Pyramid Stage balcony as he gave a widely-applauded, eloquent moving speech marking the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots.

Many say the speech appealing for compassion and a society that does not leave anybody behind was the highlight of the festival.

“It’s not the best view because you cannot see what’s happening from the front, but just to be there looking  out from the stage and seeing all those thousands and thousands of people who are all there to see Years and Years and Olly, well it was just mesmerising,” she said.

“That whole feeling of emotion, the pride, It’s like when you see your child in a nativity play but  a million times over.

“I knew he was going to make a speech and I knew that knowing Olly it was going to be special, but I did not  did not know the content or when he was going to say it.

“I was just so proud and when I got home I had to watch it over and over again.”

“I cannot believe how brave and strong Olly is about what he believes in. I admire that in him so much and have so much respect for him to be able to do that.”

The feeling is mutual and Olly has repeatedly spoken about how proud he was of his mum to speak so openly about his childhood in the documentary even though she is not to blame for his troubles.

Olly takes care of his family

Although he spends long periods touring with the band, when he is in London Olly has a small set of friends from home who he has known since primary school which Vickis believes it is good for his sanity.

He recently spoke about how good it has been going from being too skint to go out to be able to help his family out financially and pay for the drinks on a night out.

Thanks to Olly buying her a new house Vicky has moved from the small cottage in the centre of Coleford where she would get the odd knock on the door from Years and Years fans pretending to be looking for a non existent neighbour.

Speaking to her it’s clear that have a famous child is not too much different than having any other. You always feel guilty, you are very proud of their achievements, you want them to happy, you worry about them being safe and you lose your name. At one festival she spotted a flag saying “Olly’s Mum”, something parents all over the world can identify with.

“As a parent I think you always feel guilty, but  I’m proud that Olly has grown into this amazing human being,” says Vicki who has been on a journey alongside her famous son.

“It’s such an amazing thing to have happened that to try and get your head around it all is impossible, so you don’t bother.

“Lots of people ask about him and say things like  – ‘your boy’s doing well’ and I think ‘just a bit’. On the whole though, life just carries on as normal.”