In celebration of the upcoming season of HBOâs The Gilded Age, we extend to you an invitation to a small fan event, seven prompts over seven days - write, draw, gif, design, bake, sew, sing!
In celebration of the upcoming season of HBOâs The Gilded Age, we extend to you an invitation to a small fan event, seven prompts over seven days - write, draw, gif, design, bake, sew, sing!
20 July: The Gardens of Newport
21 July: Secret Affair
22 July: Aboard the Yacht
23 July: âMy Mind is Made Upâ
24 July: A Night at the Metropolitan
25 July: I Didn't Expect To See You HereÂ
26 July: A Journey Out West
The Cotillion will run from 20 July to 26 July, so you have plenty of time to find inspiration - remember to tag #gildedagecreatorscotillion during the week of the Cotillion so that we can share your creation!
Any questions? Check out our FAQ post or drop us an ask here!
In celebration of the upcoming season of HBOâs The Gilded Age, we extend to you an invitation to a small fan event, seven prompts over seven days - write, draw, gif, design, bake, sew, sing!
20 July: The Gardens of Newport
21 July: Secret Affair
22 July: Aboard the Yacht
23 July: âMy Mind is Made Upâ
24 July: A Night at the Metropolitan
25 July: I Didn't Expect To See You HereÂ
26 July: A Journey Out West
The Cotillion will run from 20 July to 26 July, so you have plenty of time to find inspiration - remember to tag #gildedagecreatorscotillion during the week of the Cotillion so that we can share your creation!
Any questions? Check out our FAQ post or drop us an ask here!
In celebration of the upcoming season of HBOâs The Gilded Age, we extend to you an invitation to a small fan event, seven prompts over seven days - write, draw, gif, design, bake, sew, sing!
20 July: The Gardens of Newport
21 July: Secret Affair
22 July: Aboard the Yacht
23 July: âMy Mind is Made Upâ
24 July: A Night at the Metropolitan
25 July: I Didn't Expect To See You HereÂ
26 July: A Journey Out West
The Cotillion will run from 20 July to 26 July, so you have plenty of time to find inspiration - remember to tag #gildedagecreatorscotillion during the week of the Cotillion so that we can share your creation!
Any questions? Check out our FAQ post or drop us an ask here!
Hello again fellow Gilded Age people! This is the last call for prompts for our Gilded Age Creatorâs Cotillion! Submit as many or as few as youâd like! Submissions will be accepted from now until Monday 22 June 2026 via the form HERE.
The actual event will run from Monday 20 July - Sunday 26 July 2026, ahead of season 4 and all it will bring.
For any questions, pop on by our tumblr, where weâll also be posting the final prompt list and sharing everyone wonderful works.
Hello again fellow Gilded Age people! We are still calling for prompts for our Gilded Age Creatorâs Cotillion! Submit as many or as few as youâd like! Submissions will be accepted from now until Monday 22 June via the form HERE.
The actual event will run from Monday 20 July - Sunday 26 July 2026, ahead of season 4 and all it will bring.
For any questions, pop on by our tumblr, where weâll also be posting the final prompt list and sharing everyone wonderful works.
Hello fellow gilded age people! This year we will be having a little the Gilded Age Creatorâs Cotillion, in celebration of the upcoming Gilded Age season! The actual event will run from Monday 20 July - Sunday 26 July, ahead of season 4 and all it will bring.
BUT first we need prompts! Submit as many or as few as youâd like! Submissions will be accepted from now until Monday 22 June via the form HERE.
For any questions, pop on by our tumblr, where weâll also be posting the final prompt list and sharing everyone wonderful works. You can see examples of last years creations there too!
Summary: One of their bitterest fights had been over Charlotte's headstone - back when there still had been hope she might one day return. Now that she's buried beneath it, it doesn't seem to matter much. Nothing does anymore.
Day Three: Eight Hours for What You Will
Word Count: 560
Author's Note: This was written for the @gildedagecreatorscotillion, but real life kinda got in the way of my intention to write the whole thing in advance... It's what I'll call an 'off-shoot' of my fic Save Some Forgiveness for Me - basically, I'm going to keep writing the original following the path of the show, this will be sort of an alternate universe which breaks off following S2.
Gladys awoke in the middle of the night with the distinct sensation of being watched.
She pushed herself to sit up and, in the dark of night, she thought she saw a small shadowy figure creep across her room. Telling herself it was merely a figment of her imagination, she reached for the candle beside her bed, lit it, and very nearly screamed when the flame illuminated a pair of owlish blue eyes staring at her from the foot of the bed.
âOh, Charlotte, you scared me...â she said, attempted a reassuring smile. âWhereâs your nanny?â
Charlotte mumbled something, gaze fixed firmly on the floor to avoid Gladysâ stare.
Gladys couldnât quite make out the words, but could guess easily enough, given her own penchant for making escapes from the nursery, that sheâd waited for the nanny to fall asleep and slipped away. âDid you have a nightmare?â
Charlotte nodded. She chanced meeting Gladysâ gaze â if only for a second â but when she did, her eyes were swimming with tears.
Something in the fear in her eyes brought Gladys right back to having nightmares as a child, to being afraid and having no one to turn to for comfort. She shifted over in the bed and pushed aside the covers in a silent invitation to settle in bedside her.
Charlotte considered the situation â and her trust in this stranger sheâd been told was her sister â and debated whether she was safe. Gladys could understand that; sheâd been ripped from her home, her family...everything sheâd ever known. Sheâd been dragged across the country to a new home, a new family, and told this was her life now.
Gladys didnât think she could do it, not with half the grace and poise with which Charlotte had handled herself. Sheâd been âhomeâ all of eight hours and been bombarded by a thousand new sights and sounds that would surely overwhelm anyone, let alone a small child, but sheâd been the perfect picture of composure the entire time. (Gladys couldnât help but think Charlotte to have taken after their mother in more ways than one, as it was surely Berthaâs influence that she was able to maintain her perfect child facade under duress.)
After a lengthy internal debate, Charlotte seemed to ultimately decide Gladys trustworthy and wordlessly toddled âround the bed and hoisted herself to sit beside her. Once again, she mumbled something, but being closer now, Gladys was able to discern the words. My name isnât Charlotte.
âWhat should I call you, then?â she asked, wondered whether her parents had stopped to ask, whether they cared...or whether they were so entranced with the idea of bringing Charlotte home that it no longer mattered.
âLucy,â the girl whispered. For the first time, Gladys thought maybe sheâd seen a ghost of a smile.
Gladys extended a hand towards the girl, then waited to see whether she would accept it. At first, she wasnât sure she would, skittish as she was, but after a few long moments of distrustfully staring at her hand, Charlotteâs little fingers wrapped around Gladysâ.
âIâm scared...â
Gladys didnât say that she was afraid too, though for very different reasons, not the least of which being the ever growing weight of the ring on her finger. Instead, she said the one thing she wished someone would say to her, âIâll protect you.â
Summary: They've been playing chicken with 'enough is enough' for far too long - since the night of the opera, perhaps longer. Sooner or later, they will have to make a decision.
Day 2: Eight Hours for What You Will
Word Count: 758
Author's Note: This was also written for the @gildedagecreatorscotillion, but real life kinda got in the way of my intention to write the whole thing in advance... It's what I'll call an 'off-shoot' of my fic Save Some Forgiveness for Me - basically, I'm going to keep writing the original following the path of the show, this will be sort of an alternate universe which breaks off following S2.
AN2: I don't know whether the Imperial Ballet toured at this point, but that's a rabbit-hole for future me to burrow into. If YOU know, please share.
When Bertha awoke, she couldnât quite remember where she was and it took her a few moments upon opening her eyes to recognize her surroundings. âG-George?â she stammered, propping herself up on her elbows.
She couldnât quite remember the night before, but she found it very difficult to believe that she and George had patched things up enough that theyâd fallen into bed together over the course of a few hours.
Immediately, he was at her side and his appearance was just dishevelled enough for her to discern that heâd spent the night on the chaise lounge. That, in addition to the fact that she remained in her nightgown, suggested that her assumptions were correct. Which then begged the question: why?
Before she can begin to vocalize the thought, though, her stomach lurched and she knew she was going to be sick. Immediately, George was at her side, holding back her hair as she vomited the meagre contents of her stomach.
âIâve never felt this ill in my life,â she groaned as he helped her settle back in bed. He couldnât help but think that she looked alarmingly pale against the rich red of his sheets. She seemed to read his mind in that moment because heâd no sooner had the thought than she was scolding, âDonât even think about calling Dr. Miller.â
âBertha...â he started to argue, âI donât think it overly cautious of me to want you to seek medical attention after you fainted.â
She was quick to argue, âFainted is putting it rather dramatically. I merely swooned.â He seemed like he would have liked to argue the matter, but ultimately decided not to. âI suppose Larry and Gladys are both in a tizzy over the matter as well?â she asked, set to be cross about something else.
âI wouldnât know,â he said. When she raised a brow in question, he explained, âI gently suggested they both get out of the house for the day. I imagine right now theyâre enjoying the Imperial Balletâs performance of La Bayadère.â
Raising a brow, she said dryly, âI suppose you mean Larry has found yet another excuse for him to whisk Miss Brook away from prying eyes.â
He couldnât help but grin, just a little, given the very real veracity of her words. âYou remember what itâs like to be young and in love, donât you?â
âWhich are you suggesting I no longer am?â she asked and it was almost a joke. Almost. But just as quickly as the ghost of a smile crossed her lips, it had vanished. Things between them were still so raw...
He doesnât answer that, not that she was really expecting him to.
âI will concede,â she said at length, âThat if I donât feel entirely well tomorrow, then you may call the doctor.â It was more a concession borne of a desire to placate him than any actual giving in to him â and they both knew it â but they both pretended like it wasnât.
âIâll give you eight hours,â he bargained, though it came off significantly gruffer than heâd intended.
Several moments of brittle silence followed. It wasnât in either of their nature to stay silent, but they were in uncharted waters here. Ultimately, though, she didnât disagree, which could have meant everything and nothing.
When the silence stretched on to the point of discomfort and she could no longer stand the blistering cold that had settled between them, she turned away from his gaze. âPerhaps it would be best if I returned to my room...â
A beat.
Then, in a small voice, âStay.â She looked up at him, unsure what it was sheâd find in his eyes, but seeking something...reassurance or, perhaps, some sign that he still loved her.
In the next moment â and she couldnât have said with perfect confidence how exactly â she found herself in a crushing embrace. She could scarcely breathe for the strength of it, but she certainly wasnât going to complain when it was the most affection heâd shown her in weeks.
âGeorge...â she managed to whisper and it was almost a plea, though neither of them was entirely certain for what.
âI know,â he replied, in spite of that. âI know.â Even now, further apart than theyâve ever been, he canât help but love her â fully and completely, maddeningly so â even if he thinks sometimes it would be easier if he didnât...but he didnât have the heart to wish that on himself.
Summary: They've been playing chicken with 'enough is enough' for far too long - since the night of the opera, perhaps longer. Sooner or later, they will have to make a decision.
Day 2: Portrait
Word Count: 638
Author's Note: This was also written for the @gildedagecreatorscotillion, but real life kinda got in the way of my intention to write the whole thing in advance... It's what I'll call an 'off-shoot' of my fic Save Some Forgiveness for Me - basically, I'm going to keep writing the original following the path of the show, this will be sort of an alternate universe which breaks off following S2.
George waited patiently â albeit terribly anxiously â for Dr. Miller to exit Berthaâs bedchambers upon having finished his examination. He wasnât entirely certain what he was hoping to hear from the doctor â good news, of course, though he was unsure what exactly he would qualify as âgoodâ.
He checked his pocket watch, felt the familiar twinge in his chest that came each and every time he needed to check the time and was confronted by Charlotteâs portrait. He could just as easily have saved himself the pain and switched it out for one that didnât cut quite so deeply, but it had been taken on Charlotteâs last birthday...the last day he could remember being truly happy.
âWell?â he prompted when the doctor emerged, checking his own pocket watch, then scrawling something in his notebook, then putting both away. âIs she...â
âCongratulations, Mr. Russell,â Dr. Miller announced. âNow, I really must be on my way â busy schedule, you know.â And with that, he was out the door, leaving George flustered in his wake.
He remained rooted to the spot for several long moments, struggling to make his mind comprehend the situation. He truly had no idea how this had happened. When theyâd began their family, both he and Bertha had agreed that two children was the perfect number. However, following Gladysâ birth, something in Bertha had changed.
An almost overwhelming maternal desire had gripped her and all she ever seemed to think about was a third baby. Maybe it was because of the melancholy that had prevented her from bonding properly with Gladys as an infant. Maybe it was that neither Larry nor Gladys seemed to truly take after her in the way that she could point to and show that, yes, this was her child.
Whatever the reason, sheâd been rather insistent. And, whatever his reason, George had been easily convinced. (Not that heâd ever been all that good at denying her to begin with.)
Reality, though, wasnât quite that simple.
For the next four years, they tried to conceive another child, but to no avail. Theyâd all but given up on ever growing their family by the time Charlotte came along.
Which made this development particularly perplexing.
He was still deeply entrenched in his internal dialogue when Bertha came down the stairs to see him standing in the foyer looking lost and confused. She waved a hand in front of his face in an effort to coax some kind of reaction from him. âGeorge?â she prompted, âAre you in there?â
He shook himself back to awareness and plastered on a small smile. âItâs good news, Iâve been told?â he said. Anyone not deeply familiar with the pair would have missed the slight flicker of expression that crossed her face.
âIs it?â she prompted, curious as to what his thoughts were on the matter. She studied his expression, watching for the slightest giveaway as to what he was truly thinking. Afterall, they were still mourning Charlotteâs loss, Gladys was newly engaged, and theyâd barely spoken since the night of the opera. âThings are so very different now â weâre different now...â
âIt wonât be easy,â he said eventually, which wasnât an answer.
Her self-restraint broke then and she asked the one question that she could no longer wait to have answered. âDo you plan to leave?â
He wished he could answer that. Truly, he did.
âDo you still love me?â she asked in spite of herself.
He didnât hesitate but a moment in answering, âAlways.â
There was a brief moment where uncertainty flickered across her face while she decided whether she truly believed him. Ultimately, though, his conviction seemed to settle the fear-beast fluttering frantically in her chest. She wrapped him in an embrace, resting her head on his chest and letting the steady beat of his heart soothe her.
Summary: One of their bitterest fights had been over Charlotte's headstone - back when there still had been hope she might one day return. Now that she's buried beneath it, it doesn't seem to matter much. Nothing does anymore.
Day 2: Portrait
Word Count: 755
Author's Note: This was written for the @gildedagecreatorscotillion, but real life kinda got in the way of my intention to write the whole thing in advance... It's what I'll call an 'off-shoot' of my fic Save Some Forgiveness for Me - basically, I'm going to keep writing the original following the path of the show, this will be sort of an alternate universe which breaks off following S2.
The story, as the Pinkerton agent had pieced it together, was that after Charlotte was plucked from her cradle, she was sold to the highest bidder: a wealthy couple from New Orleans. Sheâd been treated well, wanted for nothing, and was safe and sound in Louisiana waiting for them to rescue her.
_____
Bertha couldnât have even begun to name the emotions churning in the pit of her stomach just then.
She was fairly certain sheâd know immediately whether the child presented to her was truly Charlotte. Or, she would have been, had she not been fairly certain theyâd just buried Charlotte...
The more pressing issue on her mind was rather whether Charlotte would know her. Whether any trace of her remained in Charlotteâs memory after all this time. Sheâd spent a lot of time over the past months trying not to ruminate endlessly on the kinds of conditions Charlotte was enduring â whether she was safe, whether she was fed...whether she was loved. If there was one thing Bertha refused to abide, it was thinking that she was living without love.
She felt Georgeâs presence as he approached behind her, his hands landing on her shoulders. She waited for him to speak, but it seemed that words failed him in that moment as well. Afterall, what was there to say? Heâd already said it all â trying to keep her hopes from being dashed if this was only someone trying to pull the wool over their eyes. She knew it might not be Charlotte, but if there was even the slightest chance it was her... Well, it was a nice change to have something to believe in.
She took a steadying inhale and there was something about the warmth of his cologne that was comforting and, in spite of the gravity of the situation, she felt the ghost of a smile cross her lips. She realized it was the closest theyâd been since the night of the opera and the smile was gone as quickly as it had arrived, replaced with sadness.
Before she could begin to pluck at that tenuous thread, though, the door before them opened.
_____
Somehow â and, looking back, she couldnât have said with confidence how exactly â theyâd managed to talk their way into the Melanconsâ palatial mansion and were now seated in their sitting room while a maid scuttled about with iced tea for everyone.
The Melancons were seated below a stately family portrait, clearly done recently and with a great deal of talent behind the brush, and Bertha might normally have thought to ask after the artist, but all her attention was devoted solely to the little girl in the portrait. Even on canvas, she looked like a Russell.
âIâm sorry you came all this way,â William drawled with his Cajun accent, âI donât know what you were told, but I can assure you Lucille most certainly is not your daughter.â
George had come prepared, expecting to be met with stiff resistance, and he was quick to launch into the legal arguments. Bertha was only half listening. Sheâd been desperately eager for them to produce Charlotte, but â whether deliberately or not â they seemed less than willing to present the child. It seemed, though, that Charlotte â or Lucille, it would seem she answered to â had other thoughts on the matter.
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement on the elegant staircase leading into the foyer and knew immediately how appealing this conversation must have been to a small child.
The girl locked eyes with Bertha for a moment and immediately froze, anticipating a scold. When none ensued, an impish smile crossed her lips, and she crept forwards so that she remained just out of sight of her âparentsâ.
Bertha wasnât so naive as to believe that Charlotte would immediately know her, but sheâd been optimistic enough to hope that there might be a flicker of recognition somewhere deep inside her. Some small sign that she still remained somewhere in her daughterâs heart â thatâs all she asked for...
And perhaps there was, but it remained hidden as Charlotte was far more concerned with eavesdropping. Bertha couldnât help but smile, if only to herself, as Charlotte had always been precocious, right from birth. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the very same child who had grown in her womb, whoâd suckled at her breast, whoâd slept night after night in her bed, steadfastly refusing to be soothed by anyone other than her mother.
Last week was Gilded Age Cotillion Week, but I was not in any shape to play along. So we're doing this late. I probably won't update every time I finish a bit, since most of my mutuals aren't GA people (or maybe I will? Who knows? Not me), but it's absolutely a thing I'm doing.
Last chapter of the Cotillion!! Oh I hope you enjoy it, there is zero chance of it happening but I like to have imagination! DID YOU SEE THE TRAILER? What do you think? Oh, I need fanfics to survive until the premiere!
The night in Newport shone more intensely than usual. The Langworthy mansion was adorned with crystal lanterns, string music, and glasses that never stopped being refilled. Bertha Russell wore a golden dress that sparkled as if the sun itself had surrendered to her silhouette. She was dazzling. And she knew it.
close the door on us, but the room still exists (7258 words) by cassi0pei4
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: The Gilded Age (TV 2022)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Bertha Russell/George Russell
Characters: George Russell (The Gilded Age), Bertha Russell, Richard Clay
Additional Tags: Angst, Gilded Age Creator's Cotillion
Summary:
Three one-shots inspired by the Creator's Cotillion, each with versions of S3 speculation.
