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thewales · 1 year

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“It is like living through a soap opera where everyone else views you as entertainment,” the Duke of Sussex said about life in the royal family, during six hours of prime-time, “Kardashian-style” Netflix access into Harry and Meghan’s world of “truth”.

It is now clear that theirs is a soap opera the royal family want no part in.

Last year, in the aftermath of the couple’s interview with Oprah Winfrey, or “Soap Oprah” as the Palace dubbed it, Queen Elizabeth issued her masterstroke statement that “some recollections may vary” when the royal family stood accused of racism and callous disregard for the couple’s mental health. This time, the silence from Buckingham Palace and Kensington Palace is deafening.

The royal family’s actions speak for themselves. The King danced the afternoon away on Friday at a Jewish community centre in north London. On Thursday, hours after the Sussexes’ second round of hand grenades, the Windsor clan was out in force at Westminster Abbey for the Princess of Wales’s carol service, dedicated to the values and legacy of the late Queen. Prince William read an extract from their grandmother’s 2012 Christmas message on “the spirit of togetherness”. Need he say more?

But Harry and Meghan do want more. It can be revealed today that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex want to “sit down with the royal family” for a meeting to address their “issues” after their damning six-hour Netflix series, which involved relentless criticism of the monarchy.

The couple feel the royal family has shown double standards by instigating a reconciliation meeting between Ngozi Fulani, the charity boss, and Lady Susan Hussey, a former lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth. The latter made “unacceptable and deeply regrettable” comments about Fulani’s heritage last month, and Hussey offered her “sincere apologies” at last week’s meetings.

A source close to the Sussexes said: “Nothing like that was ever done when Harry and Meghan raised various concerns — no meeting, formal apology or taking responsibility or accountability. That is hard to swallow — 100 per cent yes they’d like to have a meeting.”

Meanwhile:

• The Sunday Times also understands that Harry’s autobiography, Spare, which will be published on January 10, includes claims about the monarchy that are more incendiary than those made in the Netflix series.

• They are keen for a meeting and reconciliation with the royal family before King Charles’s Coronation next May, which they are expected to attend. A senior palace source said: “If they want to get in touch with the King, they know where he lives.”

• Friends of the Prince of Wales, who came under heavy fire in the Netflix series, said he had no plans to speak to his brother: “Things have been very strained for a while,” said a friend. “There is sadness at where things currently are with his brother . . . and there’s a memoir coming.” Another close friend of Prince William said: “The whole thing is mad.”

• It is understood the royal family and Buckingham Palace have no plans to respond to the Sussexes’ claims in the Netflix series or to arrange a meeting with the couple. A courtier said of Harry’s criticism of the monarchy in the series and his forthcoming book: “That is Harry’s decision – he’s taking one decision, we’re taking another.”

Asked why the royal family stayed silent last week, a courtier says: “We are deliberately keen to send a message by being voiceless. Our duty is to get on with the job. It isn’t to respond.”

The strategy of silence has been heard loud and clear around the world. Even the American TV news anchor, Gayle King, a close friend of the Sussexes, agrees with the approach: “That would seem the right tack to take from the Palace, just have no comment,” she said on her morning show last week.

A friend of the royal family adds: “They are right to rise above it and concentrate on demonstrating that service and duty matter. Let the trivialities, pettiness and contradictions speak for themselves.”

Harry’s childhood agony of growing up inside the royal goldfish bowl after his mother died, and Meghan’s suicidal thoughts and mental health issues as she struggled to cope with royal life are painful to watch. But during three more episodes of rage and revenge, Harry, still so raw, seems not to have come to terms with where he has ended up. Maybe he never will. Maybe that’s why the Netflix narrative needed massaging to support the Sussexes’ version of events.

Harry said it was “terrifying” to have William “scream and shout” during the Sandringham summit, a meeting called by the late Queen in January 2020 to determine the Sussexes’ future. The King said things “that simply weren’t true” and Her Majesty sat “quietly” taking it all in. “You have to understand,” Harry told us, “that from a family’s perspective, especially from hers, there are ways of doing things and her ultimate mission, goal, slash responsibility is the institution. People around her are telling her that proposal or these two doing x, y or z is going to be seen as an attack on the institution, then she’s going to go on the advice she’s been given.” Here, then, is Harry’s new version of the Queen — a pushover monarch, guided more by courtiers than her own razor-sharp instinct honed over a 70-year reign.

The problem is, his version doesn’t tally with anyone else’s experience of the Queen, who was “sharp as a tack” and calling the shots until the day she died. “It’s outrageous,” says a courtier. “Harry never wanted to admit to himself that it was the Queen who said, ‘no, you’re out’. He couldn’t fathom that he wasn’t the cheeky chappy who was going to sweet-talk grandma into getting what he wanted.”

Another seasoned courtier who watched the Sussex storm become a hurricane observes: “The narrative has shifted from Prince Harry on the Queen. It was always ‘my commander-in-chief, the Boss’. But when he was not getting the support from her he wanted, she is represented as a diminutive figure sat in the corner.

“That is another manipulation of the narrative to suit the outcome as felt by Harry. Advisers made recommendations to Her Majesty, but there was only one person making the decisions. To look the truth squarely in the eye, to realise your relationship has been damaged and to know it was his commander-in-chief who decided he couldn’t have the half-in, half-out role he wanted, is probably too painful for him to accept.”

Nor does Harry seem able to accept anyone else’s point of view. When he returned for Prince Philip’s funeral last April, a year after ditching royal life, he said “chats with my brother and my father” frustrated him, because they were “very much focused on the same misinterpretation of the whole situation”. But the late Queen, the King and the Prince of Wales were always clear — part-time royals don’t work, never have, never will. Harry can’t forgive them: “I have had to make peace with the fact we’re probably never going to get genuine accountability or a genuine apology.”

A friend of the royal family says: “Harry is convinced his view is correct. He’s a man on a mission to change things in a way he thinks they need to be changed. It’s a true quest he’s on. The rest of the family think what he’s doing is hugely damaging. It’s two ideologies clashing in the quadrangle where neither can cede ground.”

A friend of Harry’s agrees: “People ask ‘why air your dirty laundry?’ Everything Harry does and says is rooted in wanting to try and change things for the better, even if not everyone agrees with that. If the outcome of all of this is an institution and a family that operates in a more modern way, then so much the better . . . if there is a chance to improve things for the next generation, that’s a positive.”

Of course, there was more media-bashing and claims that the British press is the Palace’s “partner”, working hand in glove to thwart the Sussexes at every turn. Harry spoke of “institutional gaslighting”, which sent royal insiders’ eyebrows skywards: “Gaslighting? You are gaslighting the family via global television,” says a former courtier. A friend of the King says: “It’s a disgraceful betrayal of trust, an unwelcome distraction in the short term and very hurtful to the family. But it’s not as damaging to the monarchy as we feared. Most sensible people will see it for what it is — self-indulgent, one-sided and exploitative. With every passing month and year, it will be seen as the tawdry, shameful exercise it was. I’m sure Harry will come to regret it unless he’s lost to the world. William must be furious and the King will be devastated, but they will crack on, showing on a weekly basis what the job entails and the value it brings — Harry and Meghan’s can’t. Any chance of reconciliation is much harder now.”

Harry spoke last week of new chapters: “As sad as it is, in order for change to happen sometimes a lot of pain has to come to the surface — in order to move to the next chapter you’ve got to finish the first chapter.” Next month, he is primed to give us many more chapters — 416 pages’ worth — when his memoir Spare is published.

But royal sources believe that the couple have “overplayed their hand quite badly” with so much deeply personal content, much of it scathing of the monarchy and how it treated them. A source says: “They’ve fired all their ammunition and keep shooting the same bullets. Their business model must rely on them making money from something, what will it be if not to rely on this narrative of victimhood?”

A source close to the Sussexes says that after Harry’s book, the couple will “focus on their service work” rather than “anything personal — they’re looking forward to people being interested in what they’re doing beyond all the drama.”

An increasingly weary monarchy and public will hope Harry will be true to his word after he said in the final Netflix episode: “My wife and I, we are moving on. We are focused on what’s coming next.” It’s a funny way to describe six hours of looking back at years of family strife, which has alienated him from most of his family and some of his friends: “I miss my friends. I’ve lost a few friends in this process as well.” By her own admission, spilling the beans has not given Meghan “peace” after all: “I can’t have peace without truth. We got some truth out there but it hasn’t given us peace.”

A YouGov poll last week showed the Sussexes’ popularity has fallen to new depths with Britons. Only Prince Andrew is now less popular. The audience, it seems, has decided.

#the suxs #BRF

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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fuck me so the migration bill passed in Commons yesterday.

still gotta go through Lords so it MIGHT get slightly defanged but let's look at how well that worked for the Police, Crime and Sentencing Bill last year which passed into law despite native public outrcy with most of its anti-protest and all of its anti-Traveller clauses intact. and there's not been nearly the same degree of concerted protest against this one yet.

in a bid to """""""stop the small boats"""""", the bill will:

Override the rights enshrined in international law to seek asylum, instead prioritising the Home Office's new legal duty to deport any undocumented migrant to concentration camps in Rwanda. yes I said concentration camps they are mass internment camps for a specific group of people to be incarcerated indefinitely without trial. that is what a concentration camp is. here's home secretary Suella Braverman laughing in front of the "estate" built in Rwanda to house deported asylum seekers

allow for indefinite detention of children suspected of being undocumented until they can be removed to the Rwanda camps. Tory rebels said 'could we not have to review that after 3 days to justify their detention?' and the Tory government said 'no but if we pass the bill we pinky promise that we'll think about maybe adding in an indefinite review period at some point' so it passed.

remove temporary protections allowing people claiming they've been trafficked as slaves to stay in the UK while their case is reviewed, and to recieve some support and leniency if it's found that they are Literally Here As Slaves. that's off the table in this bill, if you get trafficked to Britain as a slave who give a shit it's off to Rwanda with you buddy. even former PM Theresa "We Have To Create A Really Hostile Environment For Immigrants" May was like hey steady on there lads. that is incredibly specifically going to make preventing modern slavery way harder because who the fuck is going to come forward and say "help I'm being enslaved and trapped against my will in bad conditions in an unfamiliar country" when the thing that the government will do with that information is trap you against your will in bad conditions in a different unfamiliar country? NOBODY IS GOING TO DO THAT meaning that victims will be penalised in law for being victimised and traffickers will face even fewer consequences. which to be fair is the Tory playbook.

it's fucked. it's fucked and I feel so sick about it and so afraid of how overtly fascistic and genocidal this government continues to get.

meanwhile their new voter ID laws are in place and they've already been caught lying to voters in high-opposition areas by sending out flyers from party HQ claiming you don't need ID to vote. which you now do.

it's very bad lads. it's very very very very bad.

in the past 24 months we've seen a constant flow of legislation targeting Gypsy/Roma/Traveler communities, migrants, LGBTQ+ people (particularly trans people), disabled and chronically ill people, and protesters and dissidents. meanwhile we're in our biggest cost of living crisis in 45+ years, protections for the poor are being stripped and national services are being privatised.

the best case interpretation as far as I can see is that they expect to be ousted in the next General Election (but that isn't until 2025) and are getting everything they want to do in terms of attacking human rights and wellbeing as far as possible so that the next government will struggle to roll them all the way back

the thing is though that Labour are just nodding along with all these policies and are in the process of aggressively removing the remainder of open leftists from the party's core power structure, having already removed the ordinary membership's ability to guide party leadership or policy, and the SNP, which has often lately been the only meaningful opposition party in Westminster, is in freefall and on fire over an embezzlement and corruption scandal. that plus the voter suppression laws and control over media that the government are wielding FEELS A LOT LIKE even if we make it to the 2025 election we might still get another Tory term.

Winter of Discontent...2!!!! has been something of a damp squib - there have been widespread strikes but little obvious impact. this winter felt like the time things were gonna snap but I'm just not sure we're ever gonna snap hard enough.

Idk I feel sick as a fucking dog. I don't know what to do. If anyone knows of any ways to help (in Edinburgh, I can't travel easily out of the city) with the Migration Bill situation or with stuff more broadly, hmu. I'm pretty well tuned in on trans rights and abortion rights protests but I don't have connects for most other stuff.

#red said #uk politics #rainy fascist island

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carewyncromwell · 11 months

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“Hey, Dad, look at me: Think back, and talk to me -- Did I grow up according to plan?”

~“Perfect (cover)” by At Sunset

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animation made with EZGif // my other accompaniment while drawing this

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Um... “happy” Father’s Day, everybody? 😅 Here’s some Jacob Cromwell content to mark the occasion -- specifically Jacob content that also features his estranged father, Evan Bach!

Those of you who are familiar with Jacob and Carewyn’s backstory are probably already aware that Evan was a pretty poor father. He tried continuously to shape Jacob in his image and only vindicated the opinions of others labeling him as a “delinquent”; he actively plugged out of his daughter Carewyn’s life from an emotional perspective, leaving her to be raised solely by her mother and brother; and worst of all, he abandoned his wife Lane and their children after the arrival of Jacob’s Hogwarts letter, unable to accept that his wife had lied to him about her and their children’s magic for so long and not wanting any part of the Wizarding World he’d have to join to be part of their lives. But at the same time, I never saw Evan as an inherently bad person, so I wanted to explore the generational trauma that both Evan and Jacob suffered through, and how it ultimately shaped them as people.

Evan Bach was the only son of Josef Bach, the son of a German immigrant raised largely by his uncle Jakob after the death of his father in the first World War. Josef learned from an early age how to lie to stay out of trouble with both his uncle and the authorities, and coupled with his chronic alcoholism, this led to him getting involved with a lot of petty crime. Josef’s childhood sweetheart Margie thought that having a family might help coax Josef to stay at home with her more, rather than spend his nights at speakeasies and pool halls, and at first, it seemed to work -- Josef wanted to put on a good face for his wife and newborn son, so he tried to hide his more illicit behaviors from them. Then Britain entered World War II, and Margie was forced to take one-year-old Evan out of Westminster and into the countryside to safety, leaving her husband behind. Soon Josef fell head-over-heels into organized crime, which actually flourished during the Second World War in Britain with most legal authorities having to focus on the war effort, and he soon became very rich working as an “enforcer” for a prominent London gang who participated in dozens of protection rackets. All the while, Josef wrote letters to his wife and son claiming he’d used that Ivy League education he’d convinced Margie he’d gotten somehow to land a job for the British government, and that with the profits he was making as part of the war effort, he’d bought them a huge house on an acre of land that they’d be able to enjoy together once the War was over. For Evan, who had next to no memories of his father aside from what his mother told him, he clung to these written lies enthusiastically, endlessly proud of the man he thought his father was and looking forward to the day that he and his mother would finally get to return home and meet him.

Sadly, while in the country, Margie became very sick and died in the winter of 1943, just before the end of the War. Following his wife’s death, Josef became all the more devoted to his gang life, and soon extortion, arson, and murder became everyday occurrences. Even so, on those few occasions when Josef would speak to his young son Evan on the phone, he’d lie about the weird noises and explosions the boy would hear in the background, saying that he’d be there to pick the boy up when he returned to Westminster and he’d take them home to their beautiful (and completely fictional) house outside the city. When the War was over, though, Evan did not find his father waiting for him at the train station, but instead his great-uncle Jakob -- for Josef, it turned out, had been lying to a lot more people than just his wife and son: he’d also lied to his bosses that he had no wife and children. And in order to keep up that charade, he couldn’t have Evan live with him -- so Josef asked "Uncle Jakob” to pick Evan up and take him in instead. The revelation of Josef’s lies and subsequent abandonment shattered Evan in a way he had trouble articulating to anyone, though he tried to once, when confiding in his future wife, Lane --

“I know what you mean. About your father, I mean. ...My father...wasn’t like yours, really. He was a crook, a liar...a petty criminal, in every way. ...But I know what it’s like, seeing the love other people seem to have for their kids and just wondering, ‘...Why? Why didn’t I have that, why couldn’t I have that? Why does my father have to put himself, and his wants, and his vices, first, instead of his family? Why isn’t he like those parents who, when faced with a tough choice, always choose their kid? ...Why didn’t he choose me...?’”

Not long after, Josef’s lies and crimes finally caught up with him, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment for all of the violent crimes he’d gotten wrapped up in. And so Evan was raised by his great-uncle, who desperately tried to take advantage of his “second chance,” raising the orphaned son of the boy the old man had raised as a son himself, and teach Evan to live an upstanding, honest life. Evan was so haunted by the corruption of his father through his addiction to alcohol, his proclivity toward violence, and his pathological lying that he was determined to be a man who would provide for his family the right way -- one who would be a proper role model for them, who would model the correct way to behave and instruct them about how to do the same. A man who wouldn’t let his son throw his whole life and potential away the way his father did.

Unfortunately Evan’s rosy view of fatherhood was complicated when his son -- named “Jacob” for the man who had largely raised him and had passed away five years previously -- ended up being both a wizard and a completely different person than Evan himself was. For as conventional and people-pleasing as Evan was, Jacob was opinionated and eccentric. For as rule-abiding and respectful of authority as Evan was, Jacob was rebellious and irreverent. For as uptight and conservative as Evan was, Jacob was wild and sometimes even violent, when provoked. Add to this Jacob’s distinct disinterest in any of the classic “father-son” activities Evan had envisioned them doing like fishing, playing catch, and going to sports games, as well as the boy’s frequent “misbehavior” (in truth outbursts of underage magic) that would get him into trouble at school, and Evan honestly didn’t know what to do to alter his son’s course. And because of his departure, Evan never saw just how hard his son worked to get top grades at Hogwarts, only to have his life upended by Lane’s father Charles and his criminal organization R and get locked in a magical portrait for seven years. Evan also never saw Jacob pull off the best, “underdog”-style comeback imaginable and graduate the school he’d been expelled from with honors so as to become a world-renown freelance cursebreaker and magical researcher. Nor did Evan ever see just how loyal, heroic, brilliant and loving of a man Jacob ended up becoming, even without his father there to mold him into what he thought he should be.

But perhaps, in a sad way, that’s the way things had to be. Evan had no desire to be part of the Wizarding World, the place where Jacob felt more complete and “himself” than anywhere else. He had no desire to lie to the people around him or to live a life outside of the straight and narrow path that had helped him move past his father’s tarnished legacy. He’d wanted to give his wife and children what he hadn’t had -- a stable, peaceful, middle-class life in Westminster, where they could just live normal, modest lives and grow into normal, upstanding people with normal, respectable careers. He’d failed in that...and ultimately, Lane -- the woman he loved, who chose him over her abusive family, who he cherished so much for having chosen him, over any other man in the world -- had chosen their son over him. Just as Jacob chose Lane over him...just like how their daughter would’ve chosen Jacob and Lane over him, if she’d had the choice. It’s not like Evan could’ve molded her any better than Jacob, even if he’d tried -- Lane said she was just as “normal” as she and Jacob were. And if Evan had stayed, it no doubt would’ve been out of duress, rather than out of sincere loyalty -- for how could he not resent a woman who he bared his heart and soul to and worked day and night to provide for, only to find out she had lied to him from the very beginning? Would he then only be a pocketbook for his family -- someone to write the bills every month, rather than someone to lead, protect, and guide them in being upstanding members of society? Someone for them to respect, love, and be devoted to, the way upstanding families were supposed to? Was he just meant to accept this life he’d never chosen for himself -- a life where he had to bow to the whims of the rest of his family, just because they had these bizarre, mysterious powers he didn’t have anyway to curb or restrain?

So perhaps Evan leaving ended up being the best outcome for all parties, however cowardly and cruel it was. If nothing else, the Obliviators assigned to keep tabs on Evan after his departure never found any evidence that he tried to expose Lane’s magic or the Wizarding World to any of his friends, associates, or remaining family, or even to the Muggle authorities. He never even made up any stories explaining away his departure to cast Lane in a bad light or absolve himself of blame -- not of her having an affair, nor of her being involved in any criminal activity, impropriety, or abuse. On the contrary, Evan always shut down any accusations of that nature, whenever anyone would suggest them.

“Lane lied to me,” was all he’d ever say. “That’s all it was, and that’s the last I’ll say about it.”

It seemed that, no matter how much Lane’s betrayal had hurt him and how much he resented how their children had chosen to follow her down a path far removed from the upstanding society he’d so wanted them to contribute to, as he did, Evan was an honorable enough man that he refused to tarnish his ex-wife’s name with lies and false accusations. For however poor of a father he was to Jacob, and however justified Jacob might be to hate the man, that honor at least can be respected.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #jacob cromwell #evan bach #lane cromwell #carewyn cromwell #josef bach #evan honestly mostly knew carewyn as 'the baby' or 'their(our) daughter' for most of her life #he was very detached from her upbringing as he had been so badly hurt by how much he'd screwed up with jacob #so in an attempt to not make things worse he tried to just let lane take the wheel in raising carewyn #and so kind of removed himself from her as much as possible not wanting to get 'burned twice' so to speak #evan was kind of surprised seeing how much jacob latched onto his little sister honestly #it made him all the more aware of just how out-of-sync he and jacob were though since evan was clueless about raising a daughter #and yet jacob -- who was so terrible with people -- seemed to just instantly 'get' carewyn #(yay legilimency potential)#but yeah for however bad a father evan is I stand by the thought he wasn't a bad person #unlike charles and the rest of the cromwell clan :I #yes blaise pearl and claire have shades of gray but they're still bad people #definitely worse morality-wise than evan however s****y of a father he was to jacob and carewyn

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skippyv20 · 1 year

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Coronation talk .news.com.au

news.com.au — Australia’s leading news site Entertainment Celebrity Life Royals King Charles’ massive Prince Harry and Meghan Markle coronation gamble The King has blinked and wants to “broker” a deal with his renegade son but it could come at a high cost.

Daniela Elser Daniela Elser @DanielaElser 6 min read January 30, 2023 - 5:07PM

04:08 King Charles ‘in talks’ for interview to respond to Prince Harry’s explosive claims King Charles III may sit down with the BBC to respond to Prince Harry’s explosive … more View more related videos COMMENT

Being the Archbishop of Canterbury used to look like quite the cushy gig. Sure, the mitre is a bit ridiculous and overseeing royal weddings, with live global TV audiences in the billions, would be a tad nerve wracking.

Still, it still looked like a relatively plum appointment, what with getting the keys to Lambeth Palace and never having to run a parish bake sale ever again.

So let’s just pity Justin Welby who got the posting in 2013.

Welby will go down in history as the first leader of the Church of England to become embroiled in controversy after an Oprah Winfrey TV special and the first leader of a world religion to be called in to stymie a possible Netflix story arc.

(Hard to see Pope Francis taking a break from his day job to have to deal with the cardinals wanting to make a reality show …)

Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby sparked headlines when he asked Oprah Winfrey what she did for a living at Harry and Meghan’s wedding. Picture: Bethany Clarke/Getty Images Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby sparked headlines when he asked Oprah Winfrey what she did for a living at Harry and Meghan’s wedding. Picture: Bethany Clarke/Getty Images Over the weekend, Welby was back in the headlines with the Mail on Sunday reporting that King Charles has decided it is better to have royal refuseniks the Duke and Duchess of Sussex attend his May 6 coronation than to leave them to their own devices back in the US, and to that end has asked the Archbishop to “broker a deal” with the couple.

According to the Mail, His Majesty is of the view that if the Sussexes stayed away from London it could end up being a “greater distraction” than having the duo in the royal family’s midst, which is why Charles “is prepared to make concessions to persuade them to attend.

On the table for Harry is “a high-profile seating position in the Abbey or an informal assurance that he will be able to keep his titles as an inducement to attend”.

The big hitch to the King’s plan comes in the form of heir to the throne and the Bane of Necklaces Everywhere, Prince William, who reportedly has qualms over his dear old Dad’s scheme. The Mail has reported that Willy “fears that unless Harry’s visit is tightly scripted, he could steal the limelight by, for example, going on a walkabout in a deprived London borough with Meghan”.

(A quick side note: If two people can “steal the limelight” away from a once-in-a-generation event by doing nothing more grandiose than wandering about Dagenham while people make TikToks then it does not say much about the robustness of the new King’s reign.)

Willy is said to be worried Harold could pull a stunt if he and Meghan come to King Charles’ coronation. Picture: Mark Kerrison/In Pictures via Getty Images Willy is said to be worried Harold could pull a stunt if he and Meghan come to King Charles’ coronation. Picture: Mark Kerrison/In Pictures via Getty Images Anywho, bottom line: Charles wants Harry and Meghan inside Westminster Abbey for his big day and is willing to give the Sussexes decent seats and not stick them behind a convenient pillar or random German cousin who is unusually tall, all in the name of a PR-crisis-free coronation.

Which is to not say that the Duke and Duchess of Netflix are keen as mustard to play ball and are currently teaching their children Archie and Lili how to bow and curtsy or the best way to get a regal Jack Russell off your leg.

That Tony Robbins assertiveness podcast that Harry has been listening to (I’m guessing) would seem to have worked, because, per the Mail’s sources, the Duke wants certain “terms and conditions” to be met in return for their presence.

A source has told the Mail: “All the indications are that Harry is being advised to agree to nothing at this stage and ‘play it long’ right up to the last minute, which is making negotiations with him very difficult.

“Harry’s camp made clear that the idea that he would just attend the coronation and behave himself but then be stripped of his titles was a total non-starter.

“While he might decide at some point to discard his titles of his own volition, he objects to the idea of being forcibly stripped of them.”

(Well, of course he might ‘object’ to them possibly losing their Sussex titles given it is not in their interest to find out if Netflix is quite so generous if the cheques suddenly have to be made out to Mr and Mrs Mountbatten-Windsor.)

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle don’t want to be shunted to the second row at King Charles’ coronation. Picture: Arthur Edwards/WPA Pool/Getty Images. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle don’t want to be shunted to the second row at King Charles’ coronation. Picture: Arthur Edwards/WPA Pool/Getty Images. So let’s zoom out here, bigger picture time and all that.

For Charles, this looks like he is pursuing a containment strategy, some way of minimising the chances of the Sussexess staging some sort of TV tantrum right at exactly the moment Justin is anointing him with oil or he is reciting the coronation oath.

His calculation would seem to be that it is safer to make a few “concessions” and keep the Sussexes’ sweet rather than having to worry about what they might be getting up to in Montecito.

But can or will this appeasement of sorts work? If the King decides to go down this road, would it ultimately work in his favour or could it go down about as well as that time the Archbishop’s chaplain Cardinal Thomas Wolsey failed to help Henry VIII get that divorce he wanted from wife number one?

Is King Charles playing a dangerous game by trying to appease Prince Harry. Picture: Jack Hill/AFP Is King Charles playing a dangerous game by trying to appease Prince Harry. Picture: Jack Hill/AFP Recent history would suggest that Charles is taking quite the gamble here.

In the last 12 months we have had two major royal events – the late Queen’s Platinum Jubilee four-day celebration and then her funeral in September – both of which Harry and Meghan not only attended but were on their best behaviour.

They did not stage any rogue walkabouts in Brixton or give any interviews to roving breakfast presenters or do anything so controversial as blink at an inopportune moment. Gold stars all around!

And yet, looking back at both of these historic outings and Harry and Meghan’s very presence hovered, blimp-like, over proceedings. Their very presence back behind Palace gates and The Firm’s handling of their return were huge stories.

After all, what would you prefer to read about? A septuagenarian taking part in a lengthy (well, hour-long) religious ceremony or the latest glamorous instalment in this royal soapie? In getting to watch as the Prince and Princess of Wales clap eyes on the Sussexes for the first time since Spare and all of its juicy, often gossipy, family revelations landed?

Harry and Meghan were on their best behaviour at the Queen’s funeral in September 2022. Picture: Nariman El-Mofty/WPA Pool/Getty Images. Harry and Meghan were on their best behaviour at the Queen’s funeral in September 2022. Picture: Nariman El-Mofty/WPA Pool/Getty Images. The more I think about it, the more I wonder, can Charles win the fight for public and media interest if they go?

Let’s imagine that, come May, Harry and Meghan jet into London and things go swimmingly. We would end up with photos of the Duke and Duchess within lipgloss-sharing distance of the Waleses and no one throwing a punch or bursting into histrionic tears.

Headline writers the length and breadth of Fleet Street would start to busily work on their ‘brothers united’ puns and have to shelve that old favourite, ‘Splitting heirs.’ It would be the biggest – or at least the most clicked, read and shared – story of the day.

Or, let’s imagine that things go the other way and that having the Waleses and the Sussexes sharing a pew would trigger a repeat of Commonwealth Day 2020 when the froideur between the two couples was so obvious they could have triggered a new Ice Age. It would be the biggest – or at least the most clicked, read and shared – story of the day.

A rather frosty Commonwealth Day service on March 9, 2020. Picture: Phil Harris/AFP A rather frosty Commonwealth Day service on March 9, 2020. Picture: Phil Harris/AFP However, the other option for Charles – putting his foot down and issuing a coronation invitation with like it or lump it terms – is hardly likely to work in his favour. It is not as if Harry and Meghan are shy about popping up on TV screens and sharing their feelings about his family.

Harry and Meghan have the King over something of a barrel. (Only the very best sort of barrel of course for His Majesty though.) Spare would seem to have hit its mark and the way things stand now, with just over three months to go, is that Charles is willing to capitulate in order to avoid further dramahhhhh.

More Coverage ‘Out of control’: Charles facing disaster Charles in talks for tell-all interview Lucky Justin Welby, left to “broker” this deal. Here’s hoping that UN Peacekeepers might be able to lend him one of their signature blue berets because he is going to need it.

Daniela Elser is a writer and a royal commentator with more than 15 years’ experience working with a number of Australia’s leading media titles

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rachelkaser · 11 months

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Masonry Monday: The Case of the Substitute Face

A former bank employee quits his job and takes his wife and daughter on a cruise. His wife consults fellow passenger Perry Mason about the suspicious amount of money he has on him, only to become the prime suspect (and her daughter the star witness) when her husband is apparently pushed overboard.

Who’s Who

Perry Mason’s client: Anna Houser, a housewife who believes her husband got involved in something shady -- and she’s more right than she knows

The victim: Carl Houser, a bank employee with an unexplained influx of cash who doesn’t appear to be making any future plans involving his family

Suspects: Laura Houser, Carl and Anna’s teenage daughter, who’s caught in the middle when her mother is accused of her father’s murder Roland Carter, the Housers’ shipboard neighbor, who spends most of the trip half in the bag, but sees more than anyone realizes Daniel James, Carter’s beleaguered secretary, who’s not as eager as his employer to get involved in shipboard shenanigans Evelyn Whiting, a nurse onboard the ship who tends to a wheelchair-bound passenger with a face covered in bandages Roger P. Cartman, Evelyn’s patient, who apparently broke his neck and can’t speak or move at all Morgan Shreves, a gambling don almost convicted of tax evasion in Chicago, who mysteriously got off when a juror flipped

The Setup

It’s midday at the State National Saving and Loan, and bank president Andrew Dale asks his best bookkeeper, Carl Houser, if he can talk him out of quitting. Houser thanks Dale for his consideration, but says he needs rest time and plans to take his wife and daughter on a cruise. Dale shakes his hand and sends him off. Houser goes into a storeroom and, after a secretary leaves, locks the door and retrieves an envelope with several stacks of cash in it. He quickly stuffs the cash in a money belt concealed under his shirt.

Later, aboard the cruise ship Westminster, Perry Mason and Della Street are returning from a case in British Columbia in style, enjoying the breeze on deck. Della greets a young woman who’s staying in the cabin next to hers: Laura Houser, who also introduces her parents, Carl and Anna Houser. Laura goes to a date, while Carl and Anna invite Perry and Della to join them for drinks shortly. After they go, Della also greets nurse Evelyn Whiting, who is passing by with her patient, a wheelchair-bound, bandage-covered man with a broken neck. Perry signs an autograph for Evelyn’s nephew. Later, in the ship’s lounge, Anna Houser introduces Perry and Della to Roland Carter, her jolly shipboard neighbor. Carter also introduces his secretary, the sedate Mr. James.

Shortly after, Anna approaches Perry and Della, much less cheerful than before, and asks if she can speak with them. Before she can, however, all three notice Carl giving her a stern glare from the other side of the room, and Anna says she’ll speak with them later, in private. Sometime later, Perry and Della meet Anna in the Houser’s cabin, where she shows them Carl’s keepsake picture of her and Laura in a frame next to his bed. Perry asks why she’s distressed. She says that Carl has stolen a lot of money -- $100,000, to be exact.

Perry asks if she’s sure. Anna says that Carl claimed to have won the money in a sweepstakes, but his name wasn’t announced in any of the papers. She can’t think of another explanation for his having it, and explains Carl’s previous job. He worked at State National in Los Angeles for a year, ever since their family moved from Chicago. She also shows them a gun that Carl bought for protection, adding that he’s carrying all the money on him in a belt. She wants him to return the money to State National in the hopes they won’t charge him.

Perry asks how much of the money is left: Over $90,000, says Anna. Perry says he’s not just going to assume Carl embezzled the money and wants to hear his side, but Anna says he won’t talk to the lawyer. Perry says he’ll investigate and will send word to the Drake Detective Agency. If Carl has embezzled the money, they’ll have to make restitution to the bank and Anna will have to give the remaining money to Perry. In Los Angeles the next morning, Drake speaks with State National’s president, Andrew Dale, about Houser. An accountant enters and says there’s nothing wrong with Houser’s books -- they’re balanced to the penny.

The Murder

That night, the Westminster is rocking in a storm, icy rain pouring down. Perry spots Anna and Carl having an argument in a passageway, and Carl asks his wife to come with him out on the deck. Carter and James ask Perry to go for a drink, and dissuade him from his proposal to go on deck by saying he could get washed overboard. He agrees and they head to the bar. As Perry’s explaining to a tipsy Carter that he doesn’t only deal in murders, a loud horn sounds and ship Captain Walters says over the loudspeaker that a man has been reported overboard and the ship is stopping to investigate.

Everyone is ordered to their staterooms so that the ship’s staff can take a roll call, and Perry rushes to the Houser cabin. On the way, he passes Laura Houser coming in off the deck. Anna is in the cabin and shrieks when Perry tells her someone’s been reported overboard. Perry notices that the beloved picture of Anna and Laura on the table has been substituted with a picture of Carl. Anna is baffled. The captain arrives with the ship’s purser and tells Anna that her husband might be the man washed overboard. He also asks Anna to identify a revolver -- it’s her husband’s.

As Anna is sobbing, the captain asks to see the black dress Anna was wearing at dinner -- she’s in a nightdress now. Perry tries to intervene, but the Captain says he’s the law aboard the ship and must ensure his passengers’ safety. When Anna refuses to show him the dress, Cpt. Walters enters the passageway and asks Carter and James, who are just returning to their stateroom, to act as witnesses. He asks the purser to search for the dress, and Perry can’t stop them, but he asks the captain to get to the point. The purser finds the dress, soaked, in the shower, along with the money belt. The captain asks for James and Carter to observe the purser’s count of the money: It’s $91,500.

As they’ve docked in Los Angeles, Carter and James bid farewell to Mason, while Della checks up on Laura. The shellshocked girl doesn’t want to go back home under the circumstances, so they volunteer to get her a hotel room. After she leaves, Perry says he’s curious about who could have reported a man overboard last night. Evelyn Whiting passes by with her patient, who’s still covered in bandages. Later, Perry visits Anna at the jail and asks her to tell him everything. She says Carl asked her to go out on deck so they could be alone, where he gave her his money belt. He was upset, so Anna followed him up to the boat deck and tried to speak to him. He got angry, told her to leave and kissed her.

Anna’s convinced that he committed suicide out of guilt for stealing the money, but Perry says there’s no discrepancy on the bank’s books. Perry asks why the family moved from Chicago. Anna says Carl served on a jury the previous winter, where he believed the defendant was innocent. At the time, there’d been a big blizzard, and Carl wanted to live in a warmer climate. Perry proposes that Carl might still be alive, but Anna doesn’t know why he’d fake his death. Perry says there was no reason to substitute the picture -- unless Laura took it. She asks Perry to arrange for her to see Laura.

Back in Perry’s office, Della has bad news: Laura never checked in at the hotel they arranged for her and no one knows where she is. The phone rings: It’s Hamilton Burger. After some awkward small talk, Burger asks Perry if he’d be wiling to take a deposition, as the captain and purser of the Westminster are on a tight schedule and need to leave town. Perry refuses, saying Anna has the right to face her accusers, and Burger says he’ll move the preliminary hearing up the calendar so they can rejoin their ship later. Perry urges Paul to find Laura.

The Investigation

In court, Mason requests to approach the bench. He tries to argue the court has no jurisdiction over the case, but Burger says the Westminster was in California’s territorial waters. Burger calls the purser, Frank Buchanan, to the stand. Buchanan testifies about his discovery of the dress and Carter and James’s attendance. He also testifies about the money belt and its contents. On cross, Mason asks the purser when he last saw Houser alive. It was at dinner -- Buchanan didn’t speak to Carl, but he gave him a note from Evelyn Whiting. Perry tells Della to get Paul to check on Evelyn.

Later, Perry and Paul arrive at an empty cabin. Evelyn’s address on the ship’s book was phony, but her ride brought her to this cabin. They get closer to take a look. The wheelchair is inside, visible through the window. The house is owned by Morgan Shreves, a name that tickles Perry’s memory: Shreves was a big name in the Chicago gambling scene who was almost convicted in a tax evasion bust, only to get off. Perry says he wants to enter the cabin -- Paul protests that’s a felony, but Perry says it would only be a felony if he planned to do something unlawful. He only wants to leave his fingerprints, which is still a misdemeanor.

That night, Paul makes an anonymous call to Burger’s office and tells him that Evelyn Whiting and her patient saw the murder. He also gives him the address of the cabin and says Perry Mason found them there. Burger assumes Mason bribed them to go, and Paul doesn’t disillusion him of that notion, telling him to check for Mason’s fingerprints. After hanging up. Paul asks what Perry’s game is -- Perry says that they need the police looking for Evelyn, as they can find her faster than anyone. He also hopes it’ll keep them from discovering that Laura’s disappeared, as Perry wants Paul to find her.

The Trial

Back in court, there’s still no word about Laura. Mason again asks to approach the bench. He says the prosecution hasn’t produced sufficient evidence to prove that a murder has been committed -- not only is there no body, there’s no evidence of a body. Burger says he’ll produce just such necessary evidence with his next witness: He calls Laura Houser to the stand. Mason, Drake, and Anna are all shocked. Laura enters the court and briefly makes eye contact with her mother before taking the stand.

Mason is furious, saying that the prosecution concealed Laura from the defense. Burger says sotto voce to Mason that they didn’t know where Laura was either -- they only picked her up an hour ago getting off a flight from San Francisco. Burger proceeds with Laura’s testimony. On the night in question, she was on the A-deck, which is right below the boat deck. She said she wanted time alone to think. He asks her if her parents quarreled, and she says yes, over money. Laura was alone on the A-deck, but she heard what she thought was a gunshot above on the boat deck.

Laura says she went to the rail and looked up. She protests it was hard to see in the rain and wind, but she saw a man hanging from the rail of the boat deck. There was a woman with him. Burger asks if it was Anna, and Laura says she only saw the woman’s arms and back. Laura saw two bracelets on her left arm, just like her mother was wearing. The next thing Laura saw was the man go over the rail and fall past her into the sea. She called the operator from A-deck and reported a man overboard. She checked the boat deck and didn’t see anyone, then returned to her stateroom. Burger clarifies -- she told the operator she saw a man pushed overboard.

On cross, Mason gently asks where Laura went after leaving the boat. She went to San Francisco to get away, because she didn’t want to testify. He suggests that her father is still alive -- the judge is curious, but Burger doesn’t object. Mason asks if she saw her parents leave the dining room for the decks -- she did. He pushes that, because the decks were deserted, she assumed that the man and woman on the deck above were her parents. He asks about her words to the operator -- she said she saw a man go overboard, but didn’t identify him as her father. He suggests that she only concluded it was her father after the event, not during. And if he hadn’t been her father, then there’s nothing to suggest the woman on the deck was her mother.

Laura starts sobbing, realizing that her identification of her mother and father was just jumping to conclusions after the fact. Mason concludes his cross-examination. Burger, however, doesn’t appear at all disturbed at his star witness’s flip. He tells the court that he hasn’t objected because he didn’t want to interfere with Mason’s inference that Houser is still alive. Now Burger’s prepared to furnish proof of death: The body of Carl Houser has been found. Anna screams and falls into Mason’s arms.

The Investigation, Part Two

Paul arrives with the skinny from the autopsy: Houser’s body was found about a mile offshore. He was killed by a gunshot, but the fatal bullet was not from the gun found aboard ship. Also, Carl Houser was one of the members of the jury that got Morgan Shreves acquitted of tax evasion in Chicago. Della proposes that Carl could have gotten the $100k from Shreves bribing him. Paul asks how Perry thinks Evelyn fits in -- he says Shreves could have been her mysterious, bandaged patient. Perry says Paul’s forgetting one thing, but won’t say what that thing is.

Back in court, Burger says he knows of two other eyewitnesses, and wishes to have them testify. He found a lead on one, but the other has disappeared, and he believes Perry Mason is responsible. Mason repudiates the charges, and Burger admits he can’t substantiate them. He puts forward a motion for a 48-hour continuance, and Mason argues he should hear the evidence for the motion and be allowed to argue against it. Burger calls criminologist Christopher Walsh to the stand.

Walsh testifies taking fingerprints at the abandoned house after the DA’s office received a tip. In the house, he found the prints of Evelyn Whiting, a set of prints on the wheelchair presumed to be Roger Cartman’s, house owner Morgan Shreves’ prints, and sets belonging to Perry Mason and Paul Drake. Burger submits the prints into evidence. On cross, Mason asks how many people Walsh has fingerprinted -- Walsh says thousands. Who was the last one? Carl Houser, at the morgue. Mason picks up the fingerprints in evidence and asks for a copy of Houser’s fingerprints. He asks Walsh to identify them, but stops when he notes Walsh is going off of the names on the photographs of the prints.

Walsh says he could identify them without the names, but it would take him a few moments and a magnifying glass. Mason asks that he do so and folds the names down. Walsh produces a small glass and looks the prints over. Two sets of prints are identical -- they’re both Cartman’s, he testifies. Mason has him mark the identical prints so there can be no mistake. Then he drops the bomb: Walsh identified Carl Houser’s prints as Cartman’s. Mason contends that Houser left his prints in the house a full day after his alleged murder. Burger asks for a recess, but Mason says there’s one more witness he’d like to examine before he lets anyone leave the court . . .

In Summation

Twisty-turny Perry Mason cases are my favorite kind, and this is one of the twistier ones I’ve seen so far this season. We start with an apparently mild-mannered accountant having an amount of money he really shouldn’t have, and by the end of the episode we’ve involved a Chicago crime lord, a faked death, and a very elaborate case of mistaken identity. And one small clue everyone else overlooks is the key to Mason’s unraveling of the whole case.

This is one of those cases where, if you’re familiar with due process of law, you’d probably be tempted to call out the explosiveness of the finale, in which the guilty party shouts out from the gallery. And there are certainly Perry Mason episodes where that’s warranted, but in this one, I actually appreciate better how it unfolds. Perry cross-examines the last witness, and slowly coaxes them through (admittedly somewhat leading) questions into a damning admission, and the whole court is more stunned by it than anything. There’s even a shot of the judge staring sternly at the witness when they look to him to interrupt.

Also, the truth of the matter is that this big finale was not necessary in-universe, either. Mason actually uses evidence to prove his client’s innocence: Namely, the fingerprints that the bonafide expert identifies as belonging to Carl Houser, and which only could have been left after the time he was supposedly murdered. The bullet that killed him also didn’t come from the only gun to which Anna had access. The judge appears to be on the verge of dismissing the case or at least giving Burger a continuance to evaluate the new information. Perry just needles out the confession to prove Anna’s innocence beyond a reasonable doubt -- not the first or last time he’s used this tactic.

I don’t think Houser faking his death is a spoiler for this episode, given the dubious circumstances under which it happens, but I’m not going to spoil how exactly it happens. The main reason I want to talk about that is because I want to talk about the One Small Clue point -- and this might one of the only chances I get to do it in this series without spoiling the ending of the case. Because the One Small Clue in this case reveals that Houser faked his death: The picture of Laura and Anna that’s swapped out in their stateroom.

As Perry points out at the very end of the episode, this was the point that had him so convinced that Houser wasn’t simply flung off the side of the ship. No one but Houser had any reason to take the picture -- except possibly Laura, but she’d be more likely to keep a picture of her father than one of herself and her mother -- and even then he’d only take it if he believed he wasn’t going to see his wife and daughter again. So from this Perry concluded that he was likely alive but couldn’t return to them … in other words, he’d faked his overboard suicide.

Though speaking of the suicide, I’m baffled by how haphazardly it was pulled off. It’s staged in an area and at a time when it was least likely to be witnessed by a third party, and yet in such a way that they plainly wanted there to be such a person. I find the same holes in the prosecution’s case, because as Mason points out, there was no evidence of corpus delicti until Laura Houser testified, and the police only detained her an hour before she appeared on the stand. That means the prosecution went to the preliminary hearing with next-to-no evidence that a crime had been committed at all. I find that very sloppy of Mr. Burger.

Actually, that makes me think: Why did they figure Anna for the murderer? Her dress was wet, yes, but all that proves is that she was on the deck when it rained -- she could have been out there all of two minutes, for all they know. And no one in the episode suggests a solid motive, as Anna and her husband appear to be happily married and she had almost as much access to his money when he was alive as she does when he’s dead. Again, it’s Laura’s testimony that puts her mother at the scene and the police don’t even find her until well into the trial.

I don’t know if I’ve properly articulated it in this recap, but Anna Houser’s defining characteristic among Perry Mason clients appears to be histrionics. She’s nervy and prone to shrieking when she’s taken by surprise. Not that I can blame her given the amount of stress she’s under, but part of me wonders: If she can believe the worst of her husband, thinking he’d steal from his own employers (which can be easily traced) to the point of approaching a well-known lawyer with her suspicions, then why doesn’t she seem to suspect that Carl, the one holdout juror on the trial of a notorious gambling don, might have been bribed?

By the way, this episode produces one inference I found interesting: Perry and Della are returning via ship from a case in British Columbia (which was evidently not a murder). That means that Perry Mason is licensed to practice law in Canada. Raymond Burr himself was from British Columbia, so perhaps he’s the one who suggested that as the point of departure -- in the original Gardner novel, Perry and Della are actually sailing back from Japan. A Canadian trip would explain how Carl Houser managed to spend almost $10,000 of his money before his faked death.

The Verdict

Judgement: ⚖⚖⚖ (three scales out of four) A seemingly innocuous case of a middle-class person mysteriously having a lot of money takes several turns before we get to the end, all of them entertaining. The holes in the prosecutions case do knock off a few points, though the One Small Clue that exposes the truth is always a fun trope.

#perry mason #masonry monday #paramount plus #raymond burr #s01e32 #paul drake #della street #the case of the substitute face

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mariacallous · 1 year

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There is no mystery about Suella Braverman’s views on the European convention on human rights. The home secretary wants Britain to withdraw from it. And she doesn’t care who knows it, even if that means ignoring the evidence, trashing cabinet collective responsibility and breaching the ministerial code once again.

Withdrawal is what Braverman advocated when she ran to be leader of the Conservative party in the summer contest won by Liz Truss. It’s what she advocated “personally” as home secretary at a Tory party conference fringe meeting in October, before she was forced to resign two weeks later for a separate breach of the ministerial code. And it’s what she came super-close to repeating this week when, home secretary once more, she endorsed a Centre for Policy Studies (CPS) report on Channel migration crossings that calls for withdrawal as an option.

There is, though, a major political problem with Braverman’s idée fixe, in and out of government, of withdrawal from the convention. Withdrawal from the European human rights process, of which Britain was a founder under the postwar premierships of Clement Attlee and Winston Churchill, is not actually UK government policy – and Braverman is a senior member of that government.

Nor was withdrawal part of the Conservatives’ 2019 election manifesto, which Rishi Sunak says he regards as his government’s mandate. It was not part of the remit of the human rights review – which had been promised in the manifesto – that was established by the Johnson government in 2020 under Sir Peter Gross. It formed no part of the 520-page report published by Gross the following year, which concluded that Britain’s human rights laws were “generally working well”.

Withdrawal is not part of the bill of rights that was launched by Dominic Raab during his first stint as justice secretary in June either. Under this far-reaching piece of human rights law reform – which flies in the face of the Gross review – Britain would nevertheless remain a party to the European convention and British citizens would retain the right, which they have had since 1966, to take cases to the Strasbourg court.

Raab’s plan remains paused in the Westminster legislative process. It was halted by Liz Truss in September amid reports that officials considered it “a complete mess”. It has not yet had its second reading in the Commons and it has yet to be considered by the House of Lords. But it is due to come back to parliament soon. As recently as 22 November, Raab told MPs that, when it does, “we are staying as a party to the ECHR”.

Not if Braverman gets her way, however. Raab’s commitment is now the subject of an internal Tory party tug of war, in which the home secretary, under pressure over Channel migrant crossings, wants to break with the human rights convention altogether in order to fast-track plans to deport Channel migrants to Rwanda. Withdrawal has long been a goal of the Tory party’s most rightwing nationalists. Braverman is therefore placing herself at the head of a revolt with plenty of potential supporters.

Already this week, Sunak has backed down in the face of backbench attacks on housing policy and onshore wind turbines. Braverman’s decision to write a supportive introduction to the new CPS report, co-written by Theresa May’s former aide Nick Timothy, is thus a high-stakes move on another front. If she loses, it may be a resignation issue, which may cement her claims to be the leader of the party’s nationalist wing.

If she wins, Raab’s future would be the one in doubt. But there are bigger issues at stake in this argument than ministerial personalities. There are at least three of these.

The first is Sunak’s diminishing authority over his government. Braverman has clearly interpreted her reappointment in October as proof of the new prime minister’s weakness. He has to balance the Tory party’s many factions. She is driven by faction. He therefore needs her more than she needs him. So she breaks the rules and conventions of office – something Braverman did as attorney general too – to suit herself and her faction. So far, she has been able to get away with it.

This does not merely emphasise Sunak’s weakness as a party manager. It also underlines how the Conservative party is struggling to stem the decline in political trust. Sunak has not yet tried to put his personal stamp on the ministerial code, and he has not appointed an ethics adviser. He badly needs to do both. Otherwise he is at risk of presiding over a period of sleaze scandals such as the PPE inquiry and resignation honours lists. The final months of Tory government will not improve the party’s election chances if it is seen to be a factional free-for-all taking place in an ethical desert.

The second is the way an often chimerical argument about human rights laws encapsulates and stimulates the Tory party’s haphazard retreat into a bubble of English exceptionalism. Whether it is expressed by Braverman or by Raab, the common threads of this are a bogus sense of British victimhood (exemplified by the delusion that Britain is uniquely affected by migration), a belief in greatness frustrated (exemplified by the lies of Brexit), and an impatience with conventional wisdom in favour of reckless contrarianism (exemplified both by Dominic Cummings and Liz Truss).

Frustratingly for the Conservatives who think this way, their doctrinaire belief in the nation as the sole arena of effective governance has developed at the same time as their own party has been consciously reducing the resources of the nation state over the past half-century. It means they long to create a country they have themselves done so much to destroy.

The weakening of the Conservative party’s commitment to the rule of law is the final example. Margaret Thatcher used to invoke the rule of law at every turn. If she did that today, many in her party might be tempted to view her with suspicion. The former attorney general Dominic Grieve pointed out this week that today’s ministers, unlike their forebears, display “a persistent, almost endemic frustration with legal constraints”. The government, said Grieve, was evolving “a novel constitutional principle: that governments enjoying the confidence of a parliamentary majority have essentially a popular mandate to do whatever they like and that obstruction of this is unacceptable”.

This is where the crisis in the Channel meets the pathological victimhood of so much of the modern Tory party. The compulsion to deport migrants to Rwanda is the latest case in which ministers see the law as a hostile opponent. Braverman’s attitude is indicative of a party at ease with the judges cast as “enemies of the people” and with human rights dismissed as the plaything of lefty lawyers. Raab’s bill of rights, for which there is negligible demand outside earnest Tory thinktanks, embodies the same approach. A generation and more after Thatcher, it is now the Conservatives who chafe against the rule of law and Labour who seems more comfortable with it.

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theoptimisticpatriot · 2 years

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English democracy, electoral reform and the future of the UK

England is the most centralised and unequal nation in Europe. Power is hoarded at the centre in Westminster and Whitehall, creating a huge barrier to any government wanting to deliver radical social and economic change. The strains inside the union are obvious. A government elected by a minority of English voters imposes its will across the whole of the UK. Our parliament has only a thin claim to represent opinion across the union. But neither democracy campaigners, nor constitutional reformers, nor those who want the union to continue in the 21st century, have taken much interest in how England is governed or its impact on the future of the UK.

Yet the three are intimately linked. The first-past-the-post electoral system enables a Tory Party elected on a minority of England’s votes to impose its assertive anglo-centric British nationalism across all the other nations. Johnson’s government has a majority that lies entirely in England and is seen in the rest of the UK as imposing an ‘English’ government on the entire union. Yet at the same time it sustains a centralised state that has left England without even the most basic machinery of government, political leadership or democratic structures that can coordinate policy across the nation. The settled majority of England’s voters who want England’s laws made by England’s MPs have been ignored and the limited and bureaucratic form of English votes for English laws have now been abolished. ‘English devolution’ has offered little more than localised ‘deals’ controlled by Whitehall.

The first-past-the-post electoral system also exacerbates tensions within the union by exaggerating the polarisation of politics across the UK. ‘British’ politics is without a doubt steadily becoming the politics of four separate nations, but our first-past-the-post system exaggerates the differences in the Commons – making Scotland look too nationalist, England too Tory and Wales too Labour. It drives the adversarial mentality that has left relationships between the devolved administrations and the UK government at an all-time low.

These links between electoral reform, the future of the union and the governance of England are rarely drawn. Electoral reformers demand change to the first-past-the-post system for electing MPs to the House of Commons, but have largely ducked the democratic deficit represented by the absence of any national democracy for England. Unionists try to persuade Scotland to stay, but rarely ask about England’s position in the union. Many want more devolution inside England but don’t address England’s national government.

These issues are intertwined, and must be tackled together. A reformed electoral system would better reflect the true range of political views across the union. The establishment of a discrete machinery of government from England, delineated for genuinely UK wide policy, would enable relationships between the UK government and its nations to be placed on a new and more respectful basis. And a more democratic Commons would allow English-only laws to be made by MPs properly reflecting England voters.

Of course, any incoming Labour government will be impatient to begin tackling the economic and social legacy of a dozen years of Conservatism. It won’t want to have an extended period of constitutional introspection. Instead, as I outline in a new report for Compass and Unlock Democracy, Labour should initiate a series of strategic, incremental changes. Some can be put into place immediately after an election while others will, over time, move the union from a unitary state towards something more like a union of nations. As we do, New Labour’s devolution of 20 years ago will be understood as one stage in this process, rather than the one-off reform that was imagined at the time.

Firstly, the rights of the devolved nations to exercise their own powers need to be defined in statute and mechanisms for cooperation across the union, and their rights to shape union policy, must be put on a legal basis. Second, the machinery of government for England must be delineated from that of the union, with a Cabinet Committee and civil service structure focused solely on England and answerable to a Secretary of State for England. Third, a coherent system of national government for England must facilitate radical devolution within England. Fourth, a consultative senate of all the nations (including England), the UK government and local government from across the union should be created.

Crucially, the subsequent general election would be fought on a reformed electoral system, bringing the politics of Westminster into line with the pluralist politics that are already commonplace in the devolved nations. Free from the fear that a first-past-the-post England would always be dominated by a minority of Conservative voters, reform would also enable Westminster to operate as a dual-mandate parliament in which English-only affairs were determined by England’s MPs alone. In the longer term, as a pluralist politics becomes the norm, we might see the UK Cabinet excluding ‘England-only’ ministers but including representatives of the national governments.

With tensions manifest across the UK – from the demand for a second Scottish independence referendum to the debacle over the Northern Ireland Protocol – a union can only prosper if it can find shared purpose and aspirations. These shared ambitions might include the transition to zero carbon, building a post Brexit economy, creating social and economic inclusion and ensuring positive relationships with our neighbours in the British Isles and in Europe – and would need to be based on a 21st century union in which each nation’s rights are guaranteed and shared institutions reflect common interests.

It is time to bring these separate debates – exercise of state power, electoral reform, the future of the union and English democracy – together. They must be tackled as one if Labour hopes to implement its aspirations for radical social, economic and democratic reform, and if the union itself is to be given a future purpose.

For the past 20 years, Labour has lost every battle about what is to be British or English or Scottish in the 21st century – consistently failing to frame Labour politics within a clear vision of nation and nations: their people, what they stood for and what their future would be. (Only Welsh Labour seem to have got it right, but are roundly ignored by the rest of the party.) The electoral consequences in Scotland, and in England where Labour lags massively amongst English identifying voters, are all too clear.

Labour may be waking up to the need for democratic renewal and constitutional reform. The party’s Commission on the Future of the UK led by former Prime Minister Gordon Brown is awaited, although it is not clear how well it will grasp these issues. At its 2021 conference, 80% of Constituency Labour Party delegates supported electoral reform for the House of Commons, a powerful indicator of the mood among grassroots activists. Subsequent decisions by trade union Unite suggest a re-run of the vote would now win the conference.

But these questions are now pressing. An incoming government will face huge resistance from Whitehall to radical change. The temptation to defer, delay and ultimately abandon reform will be strong. If Labour doesn’t commit to action now, it is unlikely to find the will later.

First posted on LabourList. Contains a link to the original report for Compass and Unlock Democracy.

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undertaker1827 · 4 years

Note

¿What about William getting jealous over his S/O?

Love your work darling! ( ˘ ³˘)/♥

Hope you are staying healthy and having enough rest♥️

Ooo absolutely!! Sorry this took so long and thank you so much! I am and hope you are too. Enjoy!

Masterlist

William tapped his fingertips against the takeaway coffee cup he was holding for the third time in a row. The reaper had managed to secure himself an hour’s break from work at exactly 8pm, given that his higher ups had decided leaving him an office all day then expecting him to go out in the field for half the night because they were ‘understaffed’ was a good idea. He was annoyed by the whole affair in any event, and the only thing set to sweeten the deal was that he intended to spend his break with you. Or he would have done, at least.

You were already in your pyjamas and in front of the television when he called up from his office to tell you what had happened, but there was no way you would let that stop you seeing him. You had lost track of how many days it had been since you’d been up when he came home and left again in the morning, so your would be movie night was throw aside in a flash. They had only given him half an hour’s notice as well leaving you barely any time to get ready, but you were determined.

William didn’t really have time to go home then get back to work, so you told him to meet you on the North side of Westminster Bridge, claiming you knew exactly what to do. As it turned out, you had decided that consisted of going to the nearest Costa you could think of, acquiring coffee then just walking around together until he had to leave again. The pair of you had already wasted twenty minutes in the shop waiting for the young man behind the counter. He very clearly liked you and was being as slow as possible to get in the maximum amount of conversation with you. As if by magic, William’s drink had appeared some time ago, but the one you wanted was taking longer. Much longer.

You glanced down at your phone once again as the man disappeared into the kitchens once more, then looked back over your shoulder at your partner.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, “I have no idea what’s taking him so long.” The reaper gave a short sigh then narrowed his eyes at the door the employee had just walked through.

“I do,” he muttered disapprovingly, stepping just a little closer to you and seeming to stand even taller than he had a moment ago.

“Will!” You retaliated quietly, realising immediately what he was getting at. He remained unmoved though, looking quite sternly past you when the man came out once more, still without your drink. A cheeky grin across his lips, he leaned forwards against the counter and ran a hand back through his hair, practically radiating boyish charm. William held back a scoff.

“Sorry about all this, love,” he told you, acting as if your partner was non-existent. Either he was so focused on you that he missed the icy glare the reaper sent him at the name, one that had raised the hairs on the back of your neck without even having seen it, or he didn’t think anything would come of it. Either way you were beginning to feel concerned as to what might happen if this continued any longer. You hadn’t heard what he said next but all of a sudden, William was very solid and very real as he took one last step to close the distance between you, now standing with his chest barely an inch from your back and having to strongly resist the urge to take your hand. A little electricity ran down the length of your spine as you could practically smell the tension rising and you failed to answer the employee.

Unbeknownst to you, William wasn’t jealous so much as fuming. This mortal dared to make advances on you while he was standing right there? Utterly unacceptable. And the man was so far below you that the joke was not funny at all.

“Perhaps you would like some help?” The reaper cut straight through whatever the other man was saying, voice ringing loud and clear through the empty shop. At the raised eyebrow, William continued. “Forgive me, but I can only assume you’re grinding the coffee beans by hand given how long we’ve been waiting. Either that or we can just go to a different coffee shop, namely one which stores grounds rather than the plants themselves.” The other man straightened, still standing considerably shorter than William, and sneered.

“You do have your drink, you know, there’s nothing stopping you from leaving.” The reaper’s chartreuse eyes were burning with green fire and you too had more than had enough.

“How dare you!”

Both gazes flew to you immediately and you took a step closer to the counter.

“Who do you think you are, to presume to say something like that? We came in here, at my suggestion no less, to buy coffee, not to deal with lip from the likes of you.” You gave him the most demeaning, withering sate you could muster before grabbing the takeaway cup from William’s hand and dropping it down on the counter. You then spun on your heel to face your partner once more. “Shall we?” Not sparing the employee a glance, he held out a hand to you, gaze softening almost imperceptibly when you took it.

“Glady,” he muttered in return.

You both strode confidently out of the shop, shoes hitting the polished tile flooring in unison. You were glad to find the reaper didn’t drop your hand, not even once you were far away from the shop and walking along the opposite side of the river. You went to apologise once again for the whole mess and the fact that there was now barely any time before he had to go back to work, but he stopped abruptly before you had time to finish. Still holding your hand, William used your momentum and his lack of it to turn you to face him. His other hand moved to rest lightly against your lower back when your stumbled into his chest. You went to say his name, cut off when he pressed the briefest of kisses to your lips.

“Never apologise for the ignorance of others,” he murmured, gaze trained solely on you. Your heartbeat picked up at the intensity of it and you nodded, offering him a small smile. You squeezed his hand once and then the two of you carried on walking as if nothing had happened, shoulders occasionally brushing and breath leaving white clouds hanging in the frigid air.

#william t spears x reader #william t spears #black butler william x reader #black butler william #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler reader inserts #william #william x reader #kuroshitsuji william x reader #kuroshitsuji william

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scotianostra · 3 years

Photo

On January 22nd 1732, Rachel Chiesley, Lady Grange was taken from her Edinburgh lodgings, ending up being "imprisoned" on the remote Scottish archipelago of St Kilda.

This is quite an extraordinary tale, of a privileged strong woman being spirited away from her home in Niddry Street in the Old Town, Cassells Old and New has a wee bit about it stating she was "seized her with violence, knocking out some of her teeth, and, tying a cloth over her head, bore her forth, as if she had been a corpse."

The bit about the corpse relates to the fact that later a funeral, attended by her children, was faked by her husband with Lady Grange dispatched first to Polmaise and eventually on to the Western Isles, where she lived in a primitive stone cleit, a stone storage hut or bothy, uniquely found on the remote isles. A bit of background on the Lady herself, she was born the child of John Chiesley of Dalry (Edinburgh, not Ayrshire) who was convicted of murder and publicly hanged for his crime in the city when she was just ten years old.

Raised as one of many children, Rachel Chiesley met her future husband James Erskine – just six months her junior – in the early 1700s, marrying him in 1707 as the Act of Union formally bound Scotland and England, becoming Lord and Lady Grange. I covered Lord Erskine on the anniversary of his death in a post Here

The marriage was not a happy one, the term “unlikely bedfellows" has been used, and that she allegedly keeping a razor blade under her pillow to remind him of her volatile nature and that she was the daughter of a murderer; he was apparently forced to marry her at the point of a gun owing to a pregnancy out of wedlock, your actual shotgun wedding!

The household was a hotbed of intrigue, Erskine may have been at the beck and call of the Westminster Government, but his brother was a more complex creature who became known as "Bobbin John" a man of contraries, he voted for the Union of the countries, but The Earl of Mar, to call him by his title, by 1715, was at the head of the Jacobite Uprising of that year.

Lord Grange was in favour of the Jacobite rebellion, but kept it quiet in public circles due to his esteemed public position. As his marriage descended into trouble due in no small part to his infidelity, he became convinced that Lady Grange would expose his traitorous views.

As manager of his affairs, Lady Grange was regularly privy to secrets relating to her husband’s affairs, including the reality that Preston House was being used as a meeting place for those interested in Jacobitism.

Although her husband frequently wrote her flattering letters from London, as her frustration grew over his infidelity and political activity, suspicion mounted she would try to put a stop to one by blowing the whistle on the other.

Lord Grange roped in colleagues to deal with his wife, enraging her further by making sure the lock to his study was changed to prevent her gaining access to his papers – and she wasn’t the sort of woman to give in quietly.

In a daring and elaborate plan, Lord Grange and his co-conspirators planned a ruthless attack, kidnapping Lady Grange from her home in the middle of the night and whisking her away to North Uist.

Here she stayed for a few days before making the journey to Hirta in St Kilda - over 40 miles away from the Western Isles.

She would never see him or her children again, with friends and neighbours left mystified by her disappearance.

Lady Grange was firstly taken to the island of Heskeir, then to St Kilda and later to Skye where she would eventually die in 1745 – although her husband had previously held a “funeral” at the city’s Greyfriars Kirk for her many years before. On the islands she lived in virtual solitude, except for the company of at least one of her husband’s colleagues, instructed to watch her at all times, and a Gaelic-speaking maid from whom she learned to speak the language of the islands.

Despite the bafflement caused by island life and the Gaelic language, Lady Grange lived amongst the fishermen and local tradespeople of the island. She spent nearly ten years in exile before dying in Skye in 1745 - and all the while still married to her husband of 25 years.

Despite her being "dead" there are letters held by Edinburgh University, describes in brutal detail how she was beaten and seized from her home by a group of men including Roderick McLeod, writer to the signet and several servants of another leading Jacobite. Lord Lovat, aye The Old Fox himself!

One letter, written on January 20th 1738 and marked St Kilda, said: “They threw me down upon the floor in a barbarous manner. I cried murther, murther (murder), they stopped my mouth. I pulled out the cloth and told Rod McLeod I knew him.”

Lady Grange claimed in the letter that her hair and her teeth were “torn out” by the mob.

She lived in isolation for two years on the Monach Isles before being moved in June 1734 to St Kilda. Here she lived in a tiny stone cleit, now recorded as Cleit 85, on Hirta. Lady Grange, in a further letter, described Hirta as a “vile, neasty (sic), stinking poor isle" where she was unable to communicate, given she did not know Gaelic.

Later, she she was moved to Skye in 1742 where she died four years later, aged 64.

She was “decently interred” shortly after her death at a churchyard at Waternish but for some unknown reason, a second funeral was held at Duirnish some time thereafter, where a crowd gathered the watch a coffin filled with turf and stones put to rest in the ground.

Nobody knows why three funerals for Lady Grange were found to be necessary. The story of Lady Grange is a complex tale and if you want to find out more their is a full book about it The Unreliable Death of Lady Grange is available on Amazon, only £2.89 on kindle or £7.13 in paperback, it has many great reviews and 4 and half stars over 37 reviews, one stating it is "A must for Outlander fans"

#Scotland #scottish #political intrigue #Jacobites #strong woman #history

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ginnympotter · 4 years

Note

uhm this is kind of a vague prompt but harry and ginny going on a date in the muggle world doing the things he always wanted to do as a kid but wasn't allowed? x

LOVE ITTT. OK anyone who actually lives in London reading this, I apologize. I know nothing and admit to this. Also this ended up much longer than intended I’m sorry lol. Hope you like it!

“Ginny, I already told you-”

She groaned, closing the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place behind them. “And I’ve already told you that I don’t give a damn.” She took the invisibility cloak from the crook of his arm and threw it over them. “Now, I’m going to need you to apparate us so please concentrate and stop being a humble git.”

Harry sighed, recognizing defeat. “Where to, then?”

“Westminster Bridge Road,” she informed him.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Muggle London? What for?”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed on to his hand. “If you would exert some patience, please, you will find out shortly.”

He conceded, securing her hand in his. “Hold tight.”

He spun on the spot, and Ginny felt herself being squeezed into nothing, suffocating, and then suddenly her feet landed firmly on pavement, the rush of traffic ringing in her ears. Her hand still firmly locked in Harry’s, she dragged them into an ally and took off the cloak, handing it back to its owner. “Put it in your pocket.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, doing just so. They both put their wands in their pockets as well, and then Ginny dragged them back to the sidewalk.

People walked around them in haste, and Ginny looked at the street signs on both sides of them. “This way,” she determined, tugging Harry’s hand and navigating them to the right. Ginny strode down the street excitedly, Harry by her side, chuckling.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing now?”

She chanced a glance at him, and his face held both suspicion and amusement. “Listen,” she began. “I know you don’t care much about making a deal of your birthday, but you should. I mean, need I remind you, it was only about 3 months ago that you almost died.”

“I remember,” he mumbled.

“And so the fact that you made it to 18 is something to be celebrated! And I wanted to do something special, since all I gave you last year for your birthday was an interrupted snog and an overbearing brother,” she smiled.

He laughed at that, squeezing her hand. “Fair enough.”

“But I knew going out in any Wizarding areas would be too stressful. We don’t need anyone hounding you, and I suppose we could’ve taken Polyjuice Potion but I’d prefer to see your handsome face.”

“Not sick of it yet?”

“Never.” She stopped abruptly, pulled him to her, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Then remembered herself and kept them moving as to not cause any further pedestrian traffic. Harry had a lopsided smirk on his face as she resumed to steer them towards their destination. “Anyway,” she continued, “we should be pretty safe here. It’s crowded and not many wizards come roaming about Muggle London, except my dad, maybe.”

“I hope you’re right, but I wouldn’t underestimate Rita Skeeter’s determination.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of beetles,” she quipped back, shooting him a smile. “So now that you’re of age in both the Wizarding and Muggle world, I thought we’d exercise those freedoms in the most optimal way possible- aha!” She spotted the place and made a sharp turn down the block, Harry still holding her hand but tailing her, and stopped short at the entrance. “Ta-da!”

Harry took a moment to catch his breath, then looked up at the sign above the door. Namco Funscape.

“No...way...” Harry gaped breathlessly. “No way.”

Ginny felt triumph beating in her chest. “Last month, you told me about all the things your aunt and uncle would take Dudley to do, or allow him to do at the house, all of which you were deprived...and I wanted to make that up to you and take you myself. But as an adult, it’s all up to you what we do. And you can even have a Muggle drink now that you got an ID last week.”

Harry continued to stare at the building front, then turned his shocked expression to Ginny, which quickly melted into the kind of warm smile that left Ginny immobile, like the one he had given her when they first exchanged ‘I love you’s, or when they played one-on-one Quidditch two weeks ago and she caught the Snitch right under his nose. He let go of her hand and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her, fitting her snugly into his chest. She closed her eyes, content to just stay like that for the rest of the day if he wanted. But she was a good gift-giver, and she knew how eager he was to go in. “I will always be grateful for gifted snogs, interrupted or otherwise, but this is...really...” He released her from his grip and kissed her once hard, the second time more softly. “You’re the best. The best.”

“I am pretty amazing, aren’t I,” she joked, the look on his face making her heart flutter even more rapidly.

“You are,” he confirmed, his smile widening. “Now c’mon, let me introduce you to all the fun Muggle activities I wish I could do as a kid that you will surely kick my arse in.”

She could hardly contain her own excitement seeing Harry display his own so openly, swinging the door open and striding through into the massive arcade and entertainment center. Harry explained to her the concept of tokens, and before he could pay for them to have any Ginny took out the stash of Muggle money she brought. She handed the clerk the bills before Harry could get a full objection out. “Ginny, let me-”

“It’s your birthday,” she stated simply. “Stop. Let me take care of it. You can waste all the money you’d like to pamper me in eleven days.”

“Fine,” he replied resentfully but seemed to get over it quick enough as the clerk handed him the cup of tokens. He took her through the rows of video games, and it was some of the most fun she ever had, having Harry teach her how to play and, as predicted, quickly dominating him in almost every game he taught her. The only one Harry continued to beat her in (though only marginally) was Pacman, but she demolished him in Skee-Ball on the first round, and the four others that followed. “Should’ve seen that one coming,” he snorted, trying and failing to hide the gleam in his eye he’d get when turned on by Ginny’s unexpected prowess as she successfully sunk her final ball into the top goal. “Bloody Chasers.”

“How could you forget, when my Quidditch Captain badge arrived just yesterday?” she beamed at him, bending down to collect her plethora of tickets.

“You’re a usurper, is what you are,” Harry shook his head.

Ginny gasped dramatically as she pulled the last of her tickets up and shoved them into Harry’s hand. “Not usurper, rightful successor!” Harry laughed as he took the tickets and put them in their bucket. “You know, jealousy doesn’t look so good on you.”

Harry pulled her toward him and put both hands on her cheeks. “I’m only jealous of everyone who’s going to be there to watch you shine.”

Ginny felt her heart sink slightly. She knew it was a difficult decision for Harry to forgo the rest of his education, to not return to the Quidditch team for one final season, and most of all, to spend the better part of ten months apart from her after finally getting back together. But they both knew it was what made the most sense, and that they would be okay. He offered her a small smile before leaning in to kiss her.

She sighed, his lips gone too quick. He chuckled, throwing an arm around her and leading them to another area of the arcade. They tried the jackpot machine game multiple times, and on the sixth attempt, Ginny hit the jackpot, which was 550 tickets. Harry and Ginny decided they had enough accumulated to go claim a prize, and Harry convinced Ginny to get something called a skateboard, which she was able to pick up rather quickly before they were reprimanded for riding it inside. Then Harry taught her ping-pong, which took her a bit longer to pick up, but by the end of it won two matches. All the playing left them famished, and so they went to the bar and got pizza, and Ginny convinced him to try Muggle beer. He eyed it skeptically, took a sip, swallowed, and made a face of disgust.

Ginny laughed heartily. “That bad?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, pushing it away. “I can’t believe anyone would drink this when butterbeer tastes so much better.”

She tugged at his collar and pulled his face close to hers. “Let me have a taste.”

“You’re not of age,” he said, looking at her curiously.

“Not that way,” she informed him, the suggestive grin forming on his lips stunted by Ginny’s crushing against them, prodding his mouth open, sweeping her tongue over his. She pulled away briefly, told him, “I can bear it,” then continued to kiss him.

She only got to have her fun for about thirty seconds, however, as they were interrupted by a loud and recognizable “Oi! You’re in public!”

They broke apart, and Ginny could see the blush spreading across Harry’s cheeks. “I thought interrupted snogs and overbearing brothers were gifts of the past,” he whispered quickly.

“I thought you were grateful for them, anyway?”

“The snog bit, yeah-”

Hermione’s voice cut in. “Sorry,” she winced, then glared at Ron. “Somebody still needs to learn manners.”

“Yeah, them!” he retorted, gesturing towards his sister and best friend.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then walked forward to hug Harry. “Happy birthday, Harry! We didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry told her as she let go. “I didn’t know you two were coming!”

“I meant to mention it,” said Ginny. “But I lost track of time. I wanted to try that bowling thing, and I thought it’d be fun to have them join us for a bit before we head back home for dinner with everyone.”

“We’re bowling?” Harry shouted in excitement. “Oh, man is this going to be fun. I’ve always wanted to bowl. I got to watch Dudley once but wasn’t allowed to play.”

Ron threw his arm around Hermione, pulling her to his side. “Alright, Hermione, we’re ready to learn.”

After three matches, the first as individuals (Harry just winning, all scores rather close), the second as boys versus girls (girls demolishing), and the third as a couple match-up (Harry and Ginny victorious), their arms were sore and they were ready to apparate back to Ottery St. Catchpole for Harry’s birthday.

Ginny’s mother made an elaborate dinner and cake that, seeing Fred’s empty seat, Ginny could tell he did not quite feel he deserved but expressed his gratitude all the same. Most everyone he loved was there, including little Teddy, whose hair and eyes matched Harry’s throughout most of the meal, which made Ginny’s heart swell. As her mother insisted Harry stay the night, she helped him bring up all his presents to Ron’s room before turning in for the night herself, although not before making sure Ginny was in her own room with Hermione. And although Ron still could not hold back his disgust, he knew there was something to be gained for himself in having Harry and Hermione swap places once they were sure it was safe. Hermione quietly left, and a minute later, there was a light rap of knuckles against her door.

She flicked her wand and the door opened. Harry, his face lit in his own wand light, wearing his pajamas, stepped in quietly and closed the door behind him, clicking the lock. He walked over to Ginny’s bed, whispered ‘Nox,’ put his wand and glasses on her bedside table, and crawled into her small bed.

“Hello,” he whispered, and she could see his smile in the dark as she pulled him closer to her.

“Mm,” she sighed happily, intertwining her legs with his, firmly planting her face in the crook of his neck. “Good birthday?”

He wrapped his arms around her. “The best, I think. Today was...” he paused, and Ginny knew he struggled to verbalize his feelings sometimes, so when he uttered out a loving, “thank you,” and kissed the top of her head, she knew he was happy, and so her goal was achieved.

“So it surpasses last year’s gift, then?” she asked playfully.

“Well, I did receive the same gift this year too, earlier before bowling, didn’t I?”

“I suppose.”

Harry readjusted them and put a hand on her face, causing her to look up at him. “And as incredible as today was, I was hoping for that present in an uninterrupted format if you’d be so willing.”

Ginny laughed, melting at his touch, feeling pierced by the sparkle in his eyes, made brighter by the contrast of the dark. “How could I deny you such a gift?”

Harry grinned widely as Ginny drew her face closer to his. Their lips impossibly close, she whispered against his, “Happy birthday, Harry.”

#i'll proof-read this tomorrow i apologize rdbfuensdm #this took way too long #also should i put a read more on this? it's so long lmao #harry potter #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ron weasly imagine #harry potter x ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #im too tired and sweaty idk what else to tag this #post-war #hp fanfic

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years

Text

'Countdown': New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out!

"Countdown"

"I maybe got one eye but I'll kill you, Sarah!"

Chapter Summary: Time's running out for Yirina & Park as London is in danger of getting destroyed with the Greenlight asset by Sarah...

Link of the Picrew here!

To read it on AO3, click here!

Words : +4300

Taglist : @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

London is in big danger now...Perseus...Bellamy & Sarah...their whole presence here was to find the Greenlight nuke that was hidden under the British parliament while the whole government is in town to blow it up, killing millions of civilians & bringing the United Kingdom to its knees in the Cold War. A project that I thought to be out since 1981, coming from the CIA, was still active despite the events surrounding it 3 years ago, a project that I & Zasha inadvertently brought out to Perseus and allowed him to try to blow up Europe with it...and now, I'm trying to get it down again...avoiding him to destroy London...

The only thing that was in me at the moment while Park was leading me to one of a car before getting in it and leave the sector rapidly with Price's quickly formed team...the only thing was just the anger of...having been mistreated, tortured by Bellamy & Sarah, my thoughts about the latter changing to be less friendly with her after the stab in the back she did to all of us. No words were coming out of my mouth as we were going away to join the British Parliament at the Palace of Westminster, Park focused on driving the car and following Price's team van in the streets of London.

She...Park wanted to know more about what happened to me down there in that cell but I stayed silent, away in my thoughts of getting Sarah, Bellamy, and anyone that's with them...what they deserve. I could see the distress in Park's eyes just by looking at her, she was worried, calmer than me despite the situation and I was understanding her on that part. She must have been deadly worried when she learned that I & Zasha got captured but now, I needed to stay focus, my eyes drifting around...

As we were driving to reach the parliament, my gaze fell on the mirror in front of me between me & Park, and by curiosity, I put the mirror in my direction to take a look at my left eye and...and just by looking at it...

"Fuck..." I muttered, discovering how much my eye was looking more like a mess and Zasha was right, my eyes weren't having the same color patterns. The right one was still blue while the left one...it became more very light blue going more into a white color, the vision of it still blurred. "Shouldn't have look at it," I thought to myself, putting my back against the seat.

"You'll be fine, Yiri," Park assured in a normal voice, her eyes staying on the road.

"I'm not sure of it," I said.

"Don't worry," She added, her voice taking a better tone, still sounding to reassure me at the moment.

"My eye is a mess, can't be sure that I don't need to worry about it," I told her, turning my head slightly to the right to look at her. "They injected me with their damn needle in the eye and they kept me awake with the product in the eye," I declared, sounding a bit angry in my voice. "Instead of letting me sleep, they put music in my ears to make sure that I suffer worse,"

"They...they did that?" She demanded.

"Yes," I whispered, my word causing her to clench her fists while having them on the steering wheel, holding it firmly.

"The same music?"

"No," I replied, having guessed that she was referring to a memory of me during our time in Verdansk. "It was different...Only You," I articulated, those two words staying in my mind and as if I could hear it in my ears.

"Only You?" She repeated.

"Can make...all this world...seem right," I started to say, remembering the song in my head before I stops myself by shaking my head. "Sorry, it's just that...I got it in my mind since...since..." I apologized but I cut myself up, the hours have passed since that happened. "A long time," I resumed.

"I'm sorry," Park whispered.

"It's not your fault...it's mine," I claimed in a clear voice, still feeling the blame for the event in the metro and that crash. "It's my fault if I got me & Zasha captured and...someone wounded...and another killed,"

"It's not..."

"No, just...don't, ain't helping," I cut her gently in her words even if she was trying to do her best to make me think of something else as I was looking outside, seeming to soon arrive at our destination. "I know that you want me to think of something else but not here," I told her straight about this. "Now, we just need to stop Sarah & Bellamy to destroy London," I muttered, my head going back into looking in front of me as Park was still looking confused about Sarah's name been mentioned despite after my revelations about it.

"Sarah Stone...I never thought that he got a sister," Park thought to herself, slightly turning her head around for a bit on her right.

"She's crazy, she's dressing in her brother's clothes for his legacy," I exclaimed, a vision of seeing her in that blue outfit with a green hood was disgusting to me. "She played everyone in here, she faked to be friends with us...just to get us in a better way,"

"I thought that she was a friend," Park remarked, me shaking my head at this.

"She played it," I repeated. "Manipulating the files to make sure that we believe that Harry was back from the dead and we bought it," I passed my hands through my face, avoiding touching my left eye at the moment. "She wants to avenge her brother by killing millions of citizens with the very thing that me...you, we swore to stop 3 years ago," I said clearly, Park turning her head with a little smile on it at me.

"We did," She grinned before she looked back at the front of her. "Here...the parliament," She pointed outside with her left hand towards the building at our right, seeing Big Ben's tower from afar. "And the government is here, looking at the security," She commented, seeing outside a lot of policemen and policewomen standing near the building.

"Price and his men are pulling over there," I said, seeing their blue van going to park itself on the right side of the road.

"We should join them, then," Park said before she decides to get the car behind the van a few meters from it.

We stopped the car right behind the van and just by looking at the palace and its surroundings from the car's inside, I was wondering how the CIA could have implemented a nuclear bomb right under the place that the British government is reuniting but that thought went away as Park was taking out from her pocket, an MI6 identification card on a necklace, putting it around her neck before we could go out of the car, going to join Price and his men near the van as some cops were coming to them.

"Excuse me but who are you?" A policeman with a bulletproof vest asked Price as we were arriving near the group. "You have some identifications?"

"We're with the SAS, sir," Price replied to him but the policeman was looking unconvinced with his colleagues behind him.

"Sure, sure, we believe you," The policeman scoffed, thinking that we were joking with him. "Get serious, let me see you all your papers," He demanded, sounding less funny of a sudden.

"Excuse me," Park finally stepped inside the group, going to face the policemen with me. "You don't think that's serious but it's bloody hell right," She affirmed, not happy that we were thought like that. "I'm with the MI6, there's a threat inside a building," She showed the policeman the palace behind him through the gates, her face getting along with her voice.

"How's that?" The policeman suddenly got his voice changed, worried, to be honest.

"A terrorist group entered the building & intend to blow up a nuclear bomb under it," I revealed directly, speaking up and going straight into the subject with the police, seeing in a second their eyes going wide at this.

"We need to enter that building and stop that threat, you have to let us in," Price declared, sounding assertive to the policeman that was looking terrified.

"Uhm...Uhm...sure, sure," He stuttered, his hand going to stretch a bit the collar of his vest. "What should we do? Alert the houses?" He suggested.

"No," I said clearly. "If the government is alerted of that threat, the terrorists could be aware of it & detonate the bomb," I suggested, knowing that it was a big risk to take if the government was aware that a nuke was beneath their feet.

"Good point," Price noted, nodding at me before he looked at Park. "If they're under the building, we should take them on two sides," He proposed.

"There's an entrance near a pier on the Thames, get your men with you to that entrance, it will surely cut them off in the case of an escape from them," Park ordered, pointing towards a direction as we start walking in a group to the portal separating us from entering the palace. "I'm going with Yirina inside the palace," She told them.

"Understood, let's go, everyone," Price agreed before he gestures to his men to follow him inside as the portal got opened by the cops, letting us enter and parting ways with Price's team.

"Uhm, miss, what should we do now?" The policeman's voice came behind us as we were directing ourselves towards the entrance of the palace.

"Alert the security about the threat but they can't alert the government," Park slightly turned around to face him, making her voice clear for him. "Stay here, we're taking care of this," She affirmed before we resumes our walk inside.

"Let's hope that we don't arrive too late," I confided to Park, taking a deep breath as we were arriving near the building, a bit of stress of going inside coming in me. "Not even changed," I commented in a low voice, looking at the state of my outfit that was filled with dirt.

"Let's hope," Park repeated in a low voice before we got in front of the door, some policeman guarding it.

It didn't take a few seconds to let the policemen open the door for us, even after Park showed them her MI6 credentials around her neck before we could step inside the building that was holding a very important reunion of the British government at the moment and it was sure that the stress was coming inside of me just to think of it and that the bomb under our feet could blow up at any moment if Sarah and her team already left the place to be doomed.

Since that Park was the one to know the place perfectly, I followed her around as my thoughts were overwhelming me during my walk behind Park...are we going to stop Sarah in time? That was the main question that came to my mind but...but...we need to stop her, we have to. She's going to nuke London for her revenge...just for her terrorist brother...just for someone...her brother...we have to stop her, everyone knows that and just by looking at Park's walk, she was thinking the same thing.

Then, after only a minute to walk through the building, we managed to arrive at a door that was leading to the underground of the building but we were surprised that the door was kept by two policemen that were very-well armed and protected than the others cops that we crossed paths with, the two looking rather...normal...

"Sorry, miss but this area is restricted to the public," One of the policemen addressed us, putting himself in front of the door as we were arriving near it.

"We're with the MI6, we need to get down, there's a security threat," Park announced, showing off her card to them.

"Sorry, but we can't let you here, it's a private zone," The other policeman in front of me said to her as I was getting suspicious of these guys, now looking different...and not British. "Besides, we got nothing of that sort from a security threat," He explained.

"Hey guys, the bomb is going to be on soon, you should get out," Suddenly, a voice over the radio that was belonging to the guy in front of me went on, a feeling of confusion taking over the two 'cops'...those guys were posing as cops...

"Cops...just fuckers..." I taunted them before I start to give the guy in front of me the first move by hitting him right in the teeth.

Park immediately reacted by also throwing a punch to the other guy face, launching ourselves to take care of these two 'cops' and thankfully, those two weren't in fact a big deal to neutralize, taking only at least 10 seconds to get them out and putting them on the ground before we decide to check them in quickly, seeing that they were Perseus agents undercover...that operation must have been prepared for days...and it's only the beginning for the moment...

"And now?" I demanded to Park after I got up from the guy I was checking.

"Now, it's time to get down but..." She started as her eyes were looking at the two 'cops' on the ground, and then, looking around. "We can't take the risk to let those two escape, there's no cop in here," She said as we were in a part of the building that wasn't having a lot of cops around.

"Meaning?" I narrowed my right eye at her.

"One of us goes down while...while the other stays here to get the two under control before the security gets them," She explained, chuckling for a bit as she put her hands on her pistol. "You stay here," She ordered, cocking her pistol.

"No," I stopped her, shaking my head at her. "I'm the one going down," I volunteered, getting in front of Park to stop her from going down and passing that door.

"Yiri, no...you...you're not..." Park tried to defend herself but I shook my head at this.

"Maybe that I can see with half of my vision, maybe that I should be healed but no...I'm going down," I claimed, taking out my M1911 from my jacket.

"I don't want to lose you," Park whispered in a low voice.

"Me too," I assured her with the same tone, checking up the mag of my M1911, 5 bullets remaining in it. "That's why I'm the one taking the risks,"

"You don't have to do that," Park asserted, putting her hands over my right shoulder to make me change my mind.

"It's my fault that Perseus is going to use Greenlight and..." I snorted, putting the mag back into the gun to load it, moving to face the door and open it. "I'm going," I announced before I start to walk away, not feeling Park's hand on my shoulder as she was seeming helpless to stop me to do what I needed to do.

The stairs that I was using to reach the underground was pretty old, looking like it was never fully maintained to a good shape and it's with cautiousness that I start to go down the stairs, taking care to not miss any steps and going slow in my moves, thinking that at any moments, I could be surprised by a Perseus agent right now and it made me keep my M1911 pointed right in front of me, a look of determination coming on my face.

Once that I reach the underground level, it was at this moment that I needed to be careful, extremely careful since that I can only see right with one eye and...no, it was too late to back down, Sarah needed to stop to detonate that nuke and destroying London. I started to walk in the only direction that was getting offered by me to take, staying aware of any noises that could come around me: the sounds of water flowing through some pipes, a little buzzing getting heard from afar...I stayed careful.

But the more I was advancing, the more the underground wasn't looking old enough, seeing some spotlight and crates around...getting soon accompanied by some noises that were certainly people speaking and it caused me to be silent in my footsteps as I was getting closer to those talks, and then, I put myself behind a crate, arriving near a big room looking like some sewers with in the middle of it...the bomb...and Sarah...only her...in the same clothes as her brother...

"How much time?" There was also a hooded soldier near her, standing up as she was sitting, doing something with the bomb.

"Not so long, we'll be away when it will explode," She replied in a sort of reassuring voice.

"Good to know," The hooded soldier affirmed, passing his hand through his face as Sarah got up but then, some clouds noises came from another hallway at their right. "What's that?" He asked.

"Must be the SAS, good," Sarah presumed as I was thinking the same thing, maybe that Price and his men had to fight to get here. "More useless people to die tonight," She remarked, and that...I don't know why but it provoked something that I couldn't control...rage...causing me to go out of cover, pointing my gun at the two.

"Not in my watch," I spoke up clearly to the two, taking the risk to do this like that.

"What the fuck?" The soldier cursed as he turns around, seeing me arrive in the middle of the room.

"Don't try anything," I ordered, staying at a safe distance from them and keeping the two under my control. "Hands up," I gestured with my M1911 up, seeing that the soldier complied first as Sarah was looking unimpressed.

"Grigoriev..." She smirked at my sight. "A pleasure to see you here, came to admire the show?" She questioned, not ready to get her hands up at my command

"I'm here to stop you," I affirmed.

"Not sure that it will happen," She told me, staying stubborn and not complying as she got next to the soldier, his hands staying up. "I see...weak," She muttered by looking at the soldier before of a sudden, she got a blade out of her left sleeve...and start to stab to the neck, the soldier.

I could see that she was emotionless to the man that she was stabbing now, not stopping in her move as I was looking terrified at the scene I was watching in front of me...Sarah...literally stabbing one of her own men in front of me and continuing even if the guy was dead, making his blood flow like a fountain as she put him down on the ground before her eyes went to look at me, her face filled with the blood of the soldier.

"You're crazy," I said, lowering my gun at seeing her like that, a pool of blood forming on the ground.

"You don't know me well, Grigoriev," She stated, smirking at me with the blood on her face, passing her right hand on it. "Harry wasn't showing his full potential to the cause, I did what he couldn't do,"

"By destroying London?" I presumed.

"He was a bad man but never, he wanted to burn that city down to the ground," She told me, checking her hands full of blood. "Now, this city will burn...by me...Sarah Stone!" She claimed loudly to me, getting her head up to form a disturbing smile with her lips.

"No, not with me," I admitted, my hands letting my M1911 go off on the ground.

"The pathetic little lost girl with one fewer eye...against me...in a fistfight?" She lamented my choices before breaking a laugh about this. "Going to be a pleasure to break each of your bones before I let you die here with that bomb,"

"I maybe got one eye but..." I started before I clench my fists, ready to stop her from doing her plans. "But I'll kill you,"

"Let's see that!" She said in a clear voice before we both starts to move in each other direction to get it done.

She was the first one to try a punch at me, throwing her right hand at me at full speed but I managed to avoid it at the last moment by moving myself back behind before she starts to get serious to put me down for good, causing me to stay on the defense for the moment by trying to block at my best the punches and kicks that she was giving me, either succeeding or failing to do so, slowly getting the advantage over me as I found myself blocked with my back against the wall behind me.

The blocks that I was doing to counter her wasn't working anymore as she started to get dirty on me, punching me faster and making me impossible to counter everything from her and hitting me in the chest and my left knee but by chance, I took a moment that she was taking a breath to get away from the wall, avoiding a punch directed to my face and causing her to hit the brick wall with her fist.

"Fuck, you bitch!" She shouted, holding her right wrist with her left hand before she turns her head around to look at me with rage. "You're hard to kill but not impossible," She commented, me catching my breath and trying to keep an eye on her.

"You messed up with me, you're deserving it," I taunted her, what she did to me was enough to make me reach my limit.

"Says the bitch who worked with my stupid brother for years," She exclaimed before she starts to turn around me in a circle at my left, she was trying to get out of my sight. "Man is so manipulative, remember?" She demanded in a normal voice as she was walking on her side faster to get away from me.

"What do you mean?" I asked her, confused as I was trying to keep her insight. "You...you manipulated your own..." I couldn't finish that I received a kick behind my right knee, causing me to fall for a bit on the ground.

"Yes," She replied behind me directly without having finished my question. "He wasn't...very sure...before her little sister came to see him straight," She commented, moving in front of me as I was trying to get up. "Helped him to kill some...useless people...including...a brother from...someone," She smirked at me as I start to think about...Park's brother, William.

"You didn't..." I tried to say before she put me down again on my knees, her hands over my shoulders.

"Oh yes, I did," She told me with a smile before she got at my level. "Made him believe that her pathetic brother hated him, made him murder people...bang, bang, boom," She mimicked before breaking out a laugh from her mouth. "So easy to break, Harry's mind was so easy to break," She taunted as I realizes with her words that... for a long time, she was the one who orchestrated William's death...and put the blame on Harry. "Since that, he thought that he was the boss...until you kill him and got me to get into his boots to make his legacy live,"

"No, you created a monster...and I'll kill you!" I then got myself into a rage and managing to get her hands off my shoulder before I decide to throw myself on her, right into her chest and getting her on the ground, and finding myself on top of her. "That's for Peter...for me...for Park...for everyone you killed!" I shouted loudly, at each punch I was giving to her face, mixing her blood with the soldier's one on her face.

I was giving all of my strength inside of these punches, doing all of my best to make sure that she wasn't going to get out of here alive before she got some nerves to hit me in the chest, stopping me to give her more pain than she deserves before moving her feet to kick me & push me away from her far behind her, making me land at a few meters from her, and then...I saw my M1911 near me...and...I had no choice to take it...

"AAAHH!" Sarah screamed, going to charge me over before I took the M1911 in my hands, and then, I pulled off the trigger, shooting two bullets at her, hitting right in the chest and in the right shoulder. The bullets caused her to stop in her run to look at the bullet holes in her body before falling on her knees as I got up from the ground, gun in my hand.

"That's for everyone," I muttered as I looked at her with desperation.

"You weren't pathetic after all," She said, still sounding stubborn. "Just...stupid...and lost," She proclaimed as I hold my M1911 by the cannon of it. "If not dying by that not-working nuke, the numbers will," She exclaimed before she spits some blood on my clothes, giving me nothing but disgust towards her.

"Just...fucking...die," I declared before I took a deep breath, and then, I decided to hold her by her hair to expose her throat before using my M1911 to throat chop her with a strength more powerful than my punches from before.

The strike made her cough out some blood from her mouth, trying to speak to me but it was mostly inaudible sounds coming out of her mouth as her eyes went wide at looking at me before she shut them down and I let her down, throwing her on the ground...it's like the...first time that...I'm using...to be violent like this to kill someone...I never did this but now...I felt...bad for doing this but also...I don't know, Sarah was a monster, she deserved a worse death but...why I'm violent...I'm not the monster that Perseus tried to create.

My eyes then went on the bomb that she was working on, leaving her to die painfully on the ground to take a look at the bomb that was in fact, not even armed...not working at all and a smile came on my face about it, seeming a bit happy before I start to fall on my knee, some tears coming out of my eyes, and then, falling on the ground on my back, completely exhausted by this day...seeing now only the light above the ceiling...as I could hear some people approaching...

It's with a smile that I closed my eyes, thinking about my friends...about my love...

#call of duty cold war #black ops cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cold war #cod cw #cod bocw #call of duty #cod #fem!bell #helen park #yirina grigoriev #bell x park

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 1 | Change Of Plans

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

Tamra was not sure how she got turned around, but somehow she ended up back at her terminal gate.

“How the fuck…” she whispered to herself as she huffed back the way she came.

She hit something hard and immovable with her shoulder.

“Ow!”

“So sorry. My apologies.” a male British voice cut through the din of Heathrow Airport. Tamra stared in front of her to find a tall man smiling back at her. His reddish blond hair hung loose around his face. “Um, apology accepted.”

He reached his arms out as if to steady her. “Everything in one piece?”

Tamra took a quick inventory and other than a dull ache in the offending shoulder, everything seemed as they should be. She nodded back to the man, whose smiled widened at her affirmation, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

“Baggage claim is that way.” He gestured down the corridor. “And Merry Christmas.”

He turned and left Tamra in the busy terminal. Whatever goodwill Tamra had for the handsome stranger dissipated with his parting words.

“Bah humbug.” she scowled as she hitched her purse back onto her shoulder.

She pushed through the holiday travelers, making her way to baggage claim. If Tamra saw the festive Christmas decor in the corridor, she did not acknowledge them with a smile or glance. She only cared to retrieve her luggage and head to her accommodations with minimal fuss and muss.

She located the right carousel where the man gestured, only adding to her irritation with him. After what seemed like an eternity, the belt started moving and bag popped out. Tamra shouldered to the front of the gathering crowd. With the skill of an experienced traveler, she plucked her suitcase and pulled the handle up. She headed out to the taxi stand.

Her frown deepened when she spied a line snaking in front of the terminal. With at least three switchbacks, Tamra huffed as she took her place at the end of the line.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

By the Tom got outside, his PA already retrieved his luggage and parked the car right out front. While Tom would not pull the “I’m a Celebrity” card regularly, he would always take advantage of the perk of not having to wait at the airport for a taxi. He appreciated the perk even more now, two weeks before Christmas. The driver put his bags into the boot of the car as Tom climbed into the back.

Tom let loose a sigh as he scanned the London cityscape in the window. It’s good to be home, he reflected. His latest project kept him away from several months filming in the States. Now with Christmas fast approaching, Tom relished the idea of relaxing and spending time with family over the holidays.

His head fell back onto the headrest and Tom closed his eyes as the car moved through traffic. He didn’t sleep well on the flight as turbulence kept him awake. He foresaw a nap once he got home and retrieved Bobby from the kennel. The car came to stop far too soon for Tom’s liking and he groaned as he unfolded himself to head up the stairs of his home. His phone rang as the door clicked behind him.

“Hello?”

“Tom, it’s Sarah.”

“Hey!” Tom’s voice softened at the sound of his older sister’s voice.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I just got home. How are the boys?” Tom smiled at the thought of seeing his nephews in the next few days.

“A handful. About Christmas…” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

“What? You’re still coming, right? Mom has a whole thing planned.” His voice sounded more whiney than he expected, he blamed the lack of sleep.

“Yes we are still coming but it might be later than we planned. Yakov can’t get away until Christmas Day.”

Tom’s face fell. A big part of his Christmas plans included spending time at his mother’s house with his sisters and nieces and nephews.

“Really? But Mom has everything planned out.”

“I know that’s why I called her first to explain.” Tom felt Sarah wincing through the phone.

“And?” He pushed her.

“She agreed to put off the festivities until Boxing Day. Sorry little brother, but you are going to have hold off your preening like a big Hollywood star for a few more weeks.”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious, Sarah. You missed your calling as a comedian.”

“And you missed yours as a good actor.”

“My Golden Globe says otherwise.”

“If you say so. Are you disappointed?”

“Yes but I understand. Besides it will give me more time to return your present.”

“Whatever, Tom. See you in two weeks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Tom ended the call and dialed his mother. The two discussed the change in plans. After an intense back and forth, Dianna won out and Tom agreed to stay put until Boxing Day. Now he just needed to figure out how to pass the time.

Tamra arrived at her Airbnb exhausted. The line for a taxi took forever and the ride to her flat took even longer. Her flight from Orlando must have hit every bit of turbulence along the way. And that screaming child did not help matters.

She opened the door to the small Westminster flat just as her phone rang. She answered as she closed the door with her hip.

“Madeline, you traitor.”

“Please stop with the guilt trip. Not everyone is a Scrooge like you, Tams.”

“Not everyone also deserts their best friend to hang out with their new boyfriend’s family.” Tamra rolled her eyes.

“At Christmas.”

“Bah—”

“Don’t even start with that Bah Humbug bullshit. Most people actually enjoy Christmas.”

“Most people are saps.”

“Tamra, I just called to see if you got in safe and sound.”

“Rough and I got lost in Heathrow, some guy bumped into my shoulder, the taxi line moved at a snail’s pace.”

“So par for the course for you. You always find the worst in every situation. What about London? At Christmas?”

“What about it? It’s crowded and cold. The best part about this town is the history.”

“Says the museum curator.”

“Whole purpose of the trip.”

“Happy Holidays, Tamra.”

“Enjoy the boyfriend’s family, Mad.”

Tamra hung up the phone in an even worse mood than she started. There was not much that could make this day worse. Her phone rang again. The screen flashed her mother’s number. Tamra contemplated letting it go to voicemail but she would have to face the conversation on a different day and she did not want her mother to dampen her time in London.

“Hi, Mom!” Tamra feigned excitement.

“Tamra! How is London? Have you gone to Harrod’s? What about the Tower Bridge? How is Christmas over there?”

She held the phone away from her ear to shield herself from her mother’s shrill voice. “Mom I only landed two hours ago. I just got to my place. I have seen nothing and been nowhere.”

“But I bet it is magical there.”

“It’s London, Mom. Not Neverland.”

“But Christmas — “

“— is a sentimental tradition used for an excuse to support capitalism and Christianity.”

“Wow, way to suck the fun out of everything.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well I just called to see how was your flight, sweetie. I’m sure you are exhausted.”

“Thanks for calling, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Her mother hung up and Tamra laid the phone down on the kitchen counter. 0 for 2, Tamra. Nice going, you just pissed off your best friend and your mother in the span of twenty minutes. She spent the next several minutes unpacking and taking a long shower to wash away the grime of travel. As she prepared to grab some groceries from down the street, she pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. Her itinerary.

“Tomorrow the National Gallery and Afternoon Tea.” she commented as she smoothed the piece of paper as she placed it on the nightstand before heading out to the store.

After his morning run and espresso, Tom set out to the stores around Trafalgar Square for some shopping. He didn’t want to face the holidays crowds at the shops but his list only seem to grow with each passing moment. He said a silent prayer that if anyone recognized him they didn’t say a word. Before he realized, he skipped lunch and his stomach growled in protest. He spied a sign for Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery. He ducked into the building hoping they would have a table available.

Tamra made a quick breakfast at her flat before plotting out her route to get down to the National Gallery. She made sure she booked a place near a Tube Station and before long she found herself in front of the museum. Tamra spent all the morning and through lunch, losing herself in the galleries and anterooms. Her phone dinged; a reminder for Afternoon Tea at the Gallery. She made the reservation for her and Madeline but when Mads canceled last week, she called up the restaurant. They assured her they could accommodate the request.

Her stomach growled as she walked up to the entrance. The attendant sat Tamra at a table for two right by the window. Her seat gave a perfect view of Trafalgar Square. The Christmas tree dominated the view and Tamra huffed.

“Madam.” the attendant had returned.

“Yes?”

“There is a last minute seating request for one, do you mind if we seat them with you? We are booked.”

Tamra gazed across the packed room; not another empty seat anywhere to be seen. She nodded, and the girl hustled off to bring the stranger to the table. Tamra looked at the window again.

“It is a beautiful view.” a vaguely familiar voice rang out.

“I don’t ca…” Tamra turned to see the man from the airport. “You!”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” she hissed as Tom took the seat opposite from her. “You’re the guy from the airport who hit my shoulder!” her voice raised.

“How’s the war wound?”

“Sore, but thank you for asking. What are you doing here?”

Tom smiled. “Afternoon tea and enjoying the view of that lovely Christmas tree out the window.”

“Bah humbug.” Tamra muttered at the mention of Christmas.

“I beg your pardon?” Tom exclaimed, looking at Tamra with a look somewhere between disgust and shock.

Tamra looked him dead in the eye and leaned forward on her elbows. “You heard me. Bah. Humbug.” She popped the last syllable as she smirked at Tom, whose mouth dropped open.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

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fletchhargrave · 3 years

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➵ BASICS

NAME: Fletcher Hargrave GOES BY: Fletcher, Fletch AGE / D.O.B: 29th September, 1991. [33 yo] FACECLAIM: Max Thieriot GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cis-m, hetero. HOMETOWN: Westminster, London, England. CURRENTLY: NYC. AFFILIATION: None. JOB POSITION: Mercenary / Gun for Hire / Private Sector. EDUCATION: Secondary Education, Military. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. CHILDREN: None.

[ TRIGGERS: DEATH, PTSD, WAR. ]

➵ TRAITS

POSITIVE: Resilient, Humourful, Patient and Endearing. NEGATIVE: Unethical, Volatile, Vitriolic and Promiscuous.

➵ BIOGRAPHY

Oblivion; the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening around one.

If Fletcher Hargrave ever whispered the word, show gratitude; be thankful to the sweet abyss when it comes knocking; stay ignorant to the darkness for it likely meant death would be kind, maybe even painless.

If he didn’t, better beg he does.

Westminster, London, birthplace of the youngest Hargrave and for almost two decades; also home. Coddled by parents who couldn’t do enough for him and his three siblings, Fletcher had it easy; a pleasant ride through childhood, they say. Everything provided on a lavish silver platter and yet, nothing they did could satisfy a young man’s growing hunger for more.

He was not the philanthropist like his eldest brother, nor was he a flourishing artist like his sister. Fletcher’s always been the one coming home each day with a new scar on his face; a new story of barbarianism to tell; a mischievous grin that scared his family just that little bit too much.

What suited a boy who wanted adventures outside the renowned walls of the Hargrave Manor, was war, and Fletcher learned very quickly upon enrolling in the British Military that he was good at it, it suited him.

The frontlines became his new home and touring was something he could claim as his own above his family - if he ever wanted to. There was no heroism in it for him; no seal of approval for serving his country, Hargrave was just that little bit volatile; if it were permitted, it’d say on his discharge forms that perhaps from birth he’d been afflicted with such virulence.

After seven years of service - lucky number seven, he calls it. Numerous bloody and brutal stories captured beneath his belt; array of new scars for his collection, Fletcher Hargrave was medically discharged from the Special Forces. An undercover operation in Iraq had become merciless - fatal for all the other four members of his team, none of which were recovered from the op. Fletch was the only man to return and upon debrief, he was arrested.

The circumstances of the deaths of Special Ops team remain unknown on any Military paperwork, much like the name of the soldier that played spy that day; if Fletcher ever found them, he’d be sure to introduce them to oblivion, if they were lucky. Without solid proof, documents, or evidence that Hargrave was responsible for any calamities, they could not incarcerate him. His discharge was the consequence; under medically unfit for deployment.

That spurred another kind of unpredictable rage to boil underneath his skin. Civilian life seemed a new impossibility for a man so good at breaking bones.

Coming home to Westminster, he found his home in a state of disrepair; his family suffering some major financial ruin. Fletcher only served to fuel their distress; the state of him and what he’d become over the last seven years was not a recognisable man. It was found that his siblings had moved on to other places, his brother to New York and his sister travelling Europe for her art.

He wasn’t welcome to even a broken shell of a family.

Where he was favoured was away from the place that seemed more enemy territory to him now than home. That was how he ended up on the phone to his brother, Lawrence, for information on independent contracting. It was only reluctantly that Fletcher found a temporary reprise in New York playing Mercenary with some assistance from some of his contacts from the Army.

That paid for necessities, everything else that came with swift, precise hits was Hargrave’s thirst for being in his element; he relished in spilt blood and lived for the contracts he was given. Lawrie soon learned his brother was long past able to play civilian on the long term and before long, Hargrave had earned the wrong king of attention; the kind that Fletch would thrive in.

New York, as it turned out was a monopoly for a reason; his brother was trying to make a business; being a benefactor amongst the high players, and Fletcher was a mercenary in a city that already had streets red with blood. It was an accident really, Lawrence had pointed in the direction, muttered a few things to certain individuals; some dangerous clientele that he’d been in the thick of dealings with and before long, Fletcher Hargrave was a name carried through the winds of NYC.

Lawrence was the only reason Fletcher’s name wasn’t in the mouths of those who couldn’t be paid off. And during that time, the jobs he picked up; he made sure to be more adaptable to the less familiar city - became that ghost once again. Given purpose; an outlet for the skills he’d mastered over the years, he maimed, mutilated and murdered in cold blood without attachment. He didn’t half mind reaping the benefits NYC offered either, the status, the towns high life; the women and above all, the freedom to let his desires run reckless.

Fletch doesn’t necessarily have a method; is more virulent of late; more aggressive in all the ways since being a civ has him a little at a loose end; but he’s always known how to conduct chaos and bring blood to the streets - he’ll clean it up before any living eyes catch sight of it; like a ghost; death is his game; the angel of oblivion.

➵ HEADCANONS

Fletch joined the Army at seventeen and was dishonourably discharged at twenty-six.

Enjoys literature, usually something dark and gritty to get himself out of his own head for a few hours (ironically); it’s a twisted place no book may compare.

Book Club is VIP only.

He is not in the best standing with his parents and does not contribute to helping their financial situation - his brother, Lawrence does.

On good terms-ish, with his brother since his discharge and over the years they’ve been in New York together, Fletch considers him an ally and usually is the one keeping the guy out of trouble/afloat in some cases. Though, Fletcher will deny that.

Hasn’t spoken to his sister in over a decade; they text once in a blue moon; mutually uninterested.

Has been in New York City for six years and utilities his military contacts to pick up merc jobs and works the role as hitman in the city.

Served two tours, ‘nam and Iraq. Then, further operations as special forces.

Hargrave is combat trained and well equipped for confrontation; likes it a little too much, those bar rights? He’s there. Weapons adept and utilises this for his work.

Likes knives and hand-to-hand combat.

Will stab you. Will shoot you. Will probably fuck you too. Order varies.

Is remarkably unforgiving in his manner and with people, he doesn’t often do second chances - the dead can’t be redeemed, or speak.

Definitely denies the mountains of PTSD he has and will ignore it with every fibre of his being.

He’s a terrible person. Truly. He is.

Has a little bit of a masochist complex.

Will drink you under the table.

Oh yes, he does as of 2021 now wear an eyepatch over his left eye because there’s definitely not an ongoing vendetta with a certain someone.

He has a crassly carved M on the left side of his throat where a psycho got one-up on him in a fight. Fletcher will say he didn’t lose, but he definitely did.

Hates the cops. No surprise. Sort-of had a best friend of a cop once.

➵ CONNECTIONS

RUTH HARGRAVE | Mother, Westiminster. England. ETHAN HARGRAVE | Father, Westminster, England. LAWRENCE HARGRAVE | Older Brother, NYC. FLORENCE HARGRAVE | Older Sister, Normandy, France. LEE MALKOVICH | Nemesis, Eyeball Eater Taker, NYC. MATHIAS MALKOVICH | The guy Fletch will kill for leaving an M scar on his throat, NYC.

#ꜰɪʀᴇ / * ꜰʟᴇᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

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harry-leroy · 4 years

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OK. I've got to ask--Henry VI? I think you're the first person I've met who claims those as their favorite Shakespeare. I'll admit that I've read and seen a fair bit of Shakespeare, but I'm not familiar with them at all. What's the appeal? Why do you love them? Sell them to me. ;)

Oh boy, here we go :))))) (Thank you for giving me permission to scream - I also think I’m the only person I’ve ever met who has those as their favorite Shakespeare plays). Also, as we’ve talked opera - I think these plays could make a great Wagnerian style opera cycle.

First off, little disclaimer: I’m not a medievalist, so I can’t say that I’ve definitely got the best interpretation of the Wars of the Roses and the history that the H6 cycle covers. I know I do not - so you may read these plays and have totally different interpretations, and that’s great! This will kind of be how I came to love the plays and why they were (and still are) exciting for me to read.

I will admit, these plays are a bit of a minefield (as my Shakespeare professor said during a lecture on the histories and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that descriptor). Some of these scenes are not as well written, and many of them are almost irrelevant to telling a tight-knit story, so things get cut. Sometimes 1H6 is just cut entirely from productions, and I might venture to say that it is probably the least performed Shakespeare play. We get lines like “O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn’d, / That I in a rage might shoot them at your faces” (1H6.4.4.79-80), which I might say is nearly on par with “a little touch of Harry in the night” from Henry V. But despite the unevenness, there is so much from these plays that are meaningful, heartbreaking, and that continue to fascinate me. There’s so much about power and leadership that we can learn from these plays - and perhaps that’s why I took an interest in 1990s British politics because there are actually some very interesting similarities happening - but also a lot we can learn about empathy, hope, and love.

These plays have a lot of fascinating key players - it would honestly be a privilege to play any of them - and most (if not all) of these key players have some claim to power, just in the family lines they were born into. And this conflict is one that’s been building up since Richard II. With the Wars of the Roses we have a man who is unwilling, and sometimes unable to lead because of various circumstances, some of which having to do with his mental health, which was generally poor, and some of which have to do with the various times he was dethroned, captured, etc. - and I say unable for lack of a better word. Essentially, politics in these plays are caving in, and at a very rapid pace. There’s a hole at the center of government and people are ambitious to fill it. We also have a lot of people who could potentially fill that role, people who on principle, have a lot of political enemies. The nobles in these plays are having to assure that they themselves are in power or that their ally is in power, otherwise it is their livelihood at stake.

We have Henry VI, who was made king at nine months old after the untimely death of his father, the famous Henry V, and basically has people swarming him since birth claiming that they’re working in his best interest. He’s a bit of a self-preservationist to start, but by the end we see a man completely transformed by the horrors of war and ruthless politics. I also think he might be the only Shakespeare character who gets his entire life played out on stage. We see him at every stage of his life, which makes his descent all the more bitter. (One cannot help but see the broken man he is at forty-nine and be forced to remember the spritely, kind boy he was at ten). He’s a man who clings closely to God in an environment where God seems to be absent. He desires peace, if nothing else, and he wants to achieve this by talking things through. He’s an excellent orator (one only needs to look at the “Ay Margaret; my heart is drown’d with grief” monologue from 2H6, but there are countless other examples), but there’s a point where even he realizes that his talking will achieve nothing, and his alternative is heartbreaking.

We have his wife, Queen Margaret, otherwise known as Margaret of Anjou, or the “she-wolf of France”. I advertise her as “if you like Lady Macbeth, you’ll love Margaret of Anjou”. Sometimes Shakespeare can portray her as wanting power for herself, but I genuinely think she wanted a good life for her husband and her child, otherwise the alternative is begging at her uncle’s feet for protection in France (her uncle was Charles VII of France) while separated from her husband, having her or a member of her immediate family be killed, or worse. I think it’s important to remember with Margaret that historically she came from a family where women took power if their husbands were unable to. Her assumption of power in these plays is something that’s natural to her, even if it’s not reflected very well in Shakespeare’s language. You also see some fantastically thrilling monologues from Margaret as well, especially her molehill speech (one of two molehill speeches in 3H6, totally different in nature - the other one is from a heartbroken and forlorn Henry after the Battle of Towton) - Margaret’s monologue has got the energy of a hungry cat holding a mouse by the tail.

Also Henry and Margaret have a fascinating relationship. Because they’re so different in how they resolve conflicts, they grow somewhat disenchanted with each other at times, and can actually be mean to one another, despite their love. My favorite scene might be at the start of 3H6, where Margaret has come in with their seven year old son, Edward, and starts berating Henry for giving the line of succession to the Yorkists. What strikes me there is that we have a little boy having to choose between staying with his mom, or going with his dad - it’s something very domestic, and I think the emotional accessibility of that scene is what makes it memorable. It’s not about politics for me at that moment, it’s about a boy having to choose between his very estranged parents. Here’s a little taste from 1.1. in 3H6 - lines 255-261:

QUEEN MARGARET: Come son, let’s away. / Our army is ready; come, we’ll after them.

KING HENRY: Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hast spoke too much already. Get thee gone.

KING HENRY: Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, to be murdered by his enemies.

We also have Richard, Duke of York, who is Henry’s cousin and leader of the Yorkist faction. If you’re at all familiar with 1990s British politics, as I have grown close to over the past month, York reminds me very much of Michael Heseltine (filthy rich and constantly vying for power) - and I would love to stage some kind of modern H6 cycle production just so I could make that connection. York’s father is one of the three traitors executed by Henry V at the start of H5, leaving him an orphan at four years old (historically). He is also Aumerle’s (from R2) nephew, and so when Aumerle dies at the Battle of Agincourt, little four year old Richard inherits both his father’s money and titles, and his uncle’s money and titles, making him the second richest nobleman in England behind the King. All this information is historical and doesn’t really show up in the play, but I think that kind of background would give a man some entitlement. He’s also next in line for the throne if something were to happen to Henry (until Henry has a son), so he feels it is his duty as heir to the throne to protect Henry (or in better words, he feels that he should be running the show) - Margaret feels that it is her duty to protect Henry as she is his wife and mother of Edward of Westminster, the Lancastrian heir, and so you can see where these two are going to disagree.

More fascinating are York’s sons, Edward, George, and Richard. Edward is this (for lack of better words) “hip” eighteen year old who comes and shreds things up at the Battle of Towton - becoming Edward IV in the process and chasing Henry off the throne. He is incredibly problematic, but I might venture to say that he’s the least problematic of the trio of York brothers. George of Clarence is (also for lack of better words) “a hot mess” and feels entitled to power, even though he may not readily give his motivations for it. I think he just wants it, and so he actually ends up switching sides mid-3H6 because he would actually be in a better position in government with those new allies. And finally, we have Richard of Gloucester (future Richard III), and in 3H6, you just get to see him sparkle. It puzzles me a bit how people can just jump into Richard III without getting any of the lead up that Shakespeare gave in the H6 cycle, and I think 3H6 is the perfect play to see that. I think it clears up a lot of his motivation, which Shakespeare didn’t get perfectly either, because there are some ableist things going on with these plays. He’s just as bloodthirsty, just as cynical, but in this play, he wins out the day.

These are just a few of the main characters. We’ve also got Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick (known to history as “The Kingmaker”), who is this incredibly powerful nobleman who is wicked skilled in battle and seems to have a lot of luck in that area (until he doesn’t). We’ve got Clifford, who is just as bloodthirsty as Richard III (if not more so). We’ve also got Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester - Henry’s uncle and quite unpopular with his fellow noblemen, and Eleanor Cobham, his wife who gets caught in the act of witchcraft. (Talk to my lovely friend @nuingiliath if you want to hear about Humphrey or Eleanor). Joan of Arc also makes an appearance in 1H6, and often she’s the only reason that 1H6 gets performed.

There are so many ways to latch onto this cycle, and it can be for the huge arcs that these characters go on, or it can be for the very small reasons, like in the first scene of 3H6, like I mentioned earlier. It’s very much akin to Titus Andronicus in the language (I did a bit of research a while ago about the use of animal-focused language in Shakespeare’s plays, and the H6 cycle and Titus Andronicus lead the charts just in terms of frequency of people being referred to metaphorically as animals- they’re also chronological neighbors, all written very early in Shakespeare’s career). Also, these plays held a huge amount of weight at the time they were written - the effects of the Wars of the Roses were still pressing over the political climate of the 1590s.

I think these plays are great to read just in being able to contextualize the histories as a whole - you get to know how things fared after Henry V (spoiler: not well), and you also get the lead up to Richard III. The ghosts in Richard’s dream make sense after reading the H6 cycle - because those ghosts lived in the H6 cycle, and (spoiler: Richard wronged them in the H6 cycle). They were also the first of Shakespeare’s history plays, so you read subsequent histories plays that make subtle references to the H6 cycle, and I think you can take so much more out of the rest of the histories plays once you’ve read these.

I hope this was a little informative, and perhaps persuaded you to check them out!

Productions I recommend (you can click on the bold titles and it’ll take you to where you can access these productions):

Shakespeare’s Globe at Barnet (2013) // Graham Butler (Henry VI), Mary Doherty (Margaret of Anjou), Brendan O’Hea (Richard, Duke of York), Simon Harrison (Richard of Gloucester) - filmed at Barnet, location of the Battle of Barnet, where Warwick was killed in 1471.

ESC Production (1990) // Paul Brennen (Henry VI), June Watson (Margaret of Anjou), Barry Stanton (Richard, Duke of York), Andrew Jarvis (Richard of Gloucester) - a more modern production, one cast put together all seven major Plantagenet history plays (1H6 and 2H6 are combined into one play - a normal practice). Sometimes this footage can be a bit fuzzy, but I loved this production.

The Hollow Crown Season 2 // Tom Sturridge (Henry VI), Sophie Okonedo (Margaret of Anjou), Adrian Dunbar (Richard, Duke of York), Benedict Cumberbatch (Richard of Gloucester) - done in a film-like style, also with some pretty big name actors as you can see. Season 1 stars Ben Whishaw as Richard II, Jeremy Irons as Henry IV, Simon Russell Beale as Falstaff, and Tom Hiddleston as Hal/Henry V. (also available on iTunes)

RSC Wars of the Roses (1965) // David Warner (Henry VI), Peggy Ashcroft (Margaret of Anjou), Donald Sinden (Richard, Duke of York), Ian Holm (Richard of Gloucester) - black and white film, done in parts on YouTube.

BBC Henry VI Plays (1983) // Peter Benson (Henry VI), Julia Foster (Margaret of Anjou), Bernard Hill (Richard, Duke of York), Ron Cook (Richard of Gloucester) - features my favorite filmed performance of Edward IV (played by Brian Protheroe), and my favorite filmed performance of Warwick (played by Mark Wing-Davey).

Also if you ever get to see Rosa Joshi’s production of an all female H6 cycle... *like every time I see photos my immediate reaction is *heart eyes* I haven’t seen it yet, but my amazing friend and fellow Shakespearean @princess-of-france has - I’m sure she’d love to talk more about it sometime! I’ll leave a picture I found on the internet...

Also tagging @suits-of-woe because we could cry about these plays all day.

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years

Text

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Alfie put off the favor that he owed his cousin. It wasn’t so much a favor as he felt it was an obligation. She asked and he seldom turned her down. It still wasn’t an ideal situation. He had to ask Julia for a favor. And it was a favor this time around because he was sure Elizabeth wouldn’t stop asking until he gave her a definitive answer. Either Julia said absolutely, unequivocally no. Or she’d caved in and agreed which Alfie thought was highly unlikely.

Still, Elizabeth would call his bluff if he said he asked when he never did. So he made the very short trip over to the office. The secretary in the front recognized the gangster just as everyone in Camden did.

“Mrs. Ellner in?” Alfie asked without pleasantries.

“She is. Could you take a seat to wait for her? She’ll be out in a minute.” There was always the brief hesitation in someone’s voice when they knew who he was. The hint of worry that his reputation would explode and he’d become violent. Rumors spread fast. Most people knew that Alfie only had issues with people who gave him a good enough reason. Sure, he could be unreasonable at times but not a bone in his body was about to get upset at a secretary who asked him to wait a moment.

He nodded and sat down in one of the love seats that had been set up in the small front room. He rested his cane by his knee and folded his hands on his lap. Every so often the secretary, a young woman who looked no older than twenty-five, glanced nervously at him. But there wasn’t anything he could do to reassure her that he was calm. Even his idle stance was intimidating, he knew that. It was carefully crafted.

After just a few minutes of waiting, the door behind the secretary’s desk opened. Julia stepped out and frowned when her eyes fell on Alfie.

“Mr. Solomons, we don’t have a meeting scheduled.”

“Yeah, well, thought you liked dropping in unannounced.” He stood up with a grunt.

The older woman raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t argue. “Why don’t you come in?” She held out an arm towards her office.

“Nah, I’ll be quick.” He promised. “My cousin stopped by the other day asking ‘bout Caroline.”

Julia’s expression soured even more. “Alfie, I told you…”

“I know what you said. This ain’t about me.” He held up a hand as he clarified. “She’s looking for someone to help with her husband’s charity work.”

Julia knew about Elizabeth and knew her husband was a very popular politician in London. The young man who was taking Parliament by storm. Attractive to the elite of London and the working class. “I’d be more than happy to help with that. If you’d give me her information, I’ll get in touch with her as soon as I’m able to.”

“She requested Caroline’s help personally.”

The two stood in silence for a moment. Julia’s eyes never leaving Alfie. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she considered the pros and cons to the agreement. “This isn’t one of your ploys.”

“I don’t do business with my cousin or her husband. Politics really isn’t my forte, now is it? Prefer to stay out of all that muck.”

Julia studied every inch of his face, trying to spot a tell of his deception. But as far as she knew, the man was being honest. “If I find out that you’re taking advantage of the situation…”

“Far too busy.” He interrupted. “I’ll give you my cousin’s information for you to pass ‘long to Caroline. That way, I’m not involved in any sort of the matter.” He reached into his coat to pull out a slip of paper with Elizabeth’s number and address.

Julia took it, suspicion still clouding her face. “Very well. I’ll give this to Caroline.” She agreed and placed the paper on her secretary’s desk. The young woman doing everything she could to pretend that she wasn’t hanging off their every word.

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Mrs. Ellner.” Alfie sighed and turned to leave. Yes, he would do what he could to stay away from Caroline. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Elizabeth would make that very difficult for him. She had a habit of sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong.

~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Levi, I just wanted to thank you again for allowing me this opportunity.” Robert led Caroline into his office. “I must say I don’t know much about politics.”

He smiled. “That’s quite alright. My wife can answer any questions you may have. I’m afraid she’s a bit of a social butterfly and enjoys talking.” He chuckled. Of course, Richard absolutely loved this about his dear Elizabeth. She was nothing like the women his parents had intended for him to be betrothed to. Her intellect was unmatched and sometimes he felt a little taken aback by her level of problem-solving and critical thinking. They often had animated discussions about whatever crossed their minds. Politics, current events, history, technology, and science. Sometimes they disagreed and became a little heated. But they never went to bed angry with one another.

Richard felt like he could gloat a bit. He had by far, the best marriage out of any of his old mates from university. Seldom did he go very long without complimenting his wife. The woman he claimed was smarter than half of the Commons.

“That’s alright. We come from a very similar background so I imagine we’d have much to talk about.” Caroline smiled and instructed Pilot to lie down after Richard pulled out a chair for her.

“I can imagine it’s difficult, navigating the world full of people who don’t quite understand what it’s like for you. My Lizzie always calls me daft,” The young man chuckled and sat behind his desk. “But I often feel guilty because I don’t truly know the obstacles she faces.”

“I assure you that she’s probably just grateful you’re aware,” Caroline said gently. It was refreshing to hear a man so concerned over his wife’s welfare.

He smiled and carefully adjusted a framed photograph of his wedding day. Richard’s family was Jewish, but they were far wealthier and less orthodox than Elizabeth’s side. His smile faded a bit when he spotted Alfie towards the back of the wedding party. He stood solemnly, his hands laced together in front of him, rings visible.

Elizabeth had informed her husband of her coy plot. She mentioned Alfie’s adoration for Caroline, although Richard thought she might’ve been exaggerating. Since Alfie and he didn’t see eye to eye on many things, Richard was uneasy with the idea. Caroline seemed sweet and although he knew blindness didn’t define a person, he worried Alfie might use her or her aunt’s wealth.

“I do apologize for my wife’s tardiness.” Richard checked his pocket watch. “She’s keen on speaking to everyone on her way here.”

“Are you speaking about your wife behind her back?” Elizabeth strolled in with Buck by her side. “For your information, zeeskeit, I’m only five minutes late.”

“Which is a miracle.” He grinned and stood up to kiss her cheek. “I’ve just been speaking to Miss Ellner a bit.”

Elizabeth found a seat beside Caroline and rested her cane against her husband’s desk. “As we discussed over the phone, Richard would love to fund the creation of another chapter of your aunt’s charity. And I’m sure your aunt would be pleased if you took control of this chapter.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That is very generous. I’m not sure if I’m…well I don’t think I’d be so perfect for that role. A woman like me…”

“Knows exactly what she’s doing,” Elizabeth assured her and reached out to touch her arm. “Who could possibly be better? Your aunt must have taught you a lot. Aside from her, you must be the most knowledgeable.”

“Wow, well I-I’m not sure what to say.”

Richard opened a folder of plans. “We’ve several prospective properties, all very well kept and in good areas. There are people who would be willing to donate to such a cause, as well as wealthier families who would be willing to pay for your services. That way, you’d have resources to donate more dogs to those who can’t afford it.” He laid out a few papers in front of him. “There’s a lovely place in Belgravia. There’s a location in Kensington or one in Westminster that are both suitable.”

Caroline’s lips moved slightly but she couldn’t get the words out. The names of such prestigious areas of London were alarming. “I uh, well, they must be very nice but I don’t think I can afford to relocate to those areas.”

Elizabeth brushed off her concern. “Nonsense, we’ll make sure to make accommodations for you. No need to worry about money. Construction would begin as soon as we’ve the permits. Meanwhile, Richard and I will start to spread the news. If you’d like, it would be lovely to have a charity event to raise funds. That way, people may meet you and see how lovely you are.”

The woman spoke with such intense passion that it was a bit difficult to hold the same optimism. Caroline had never attempted such a feat before. She wasn’t even sure she could run the chapter in Camden Town. But she was sure her aunt wouldn’t want to move. She loved Camden too much and would turn up her nose at somewhere like Kensington. It didn’t mean that Caroline would fit any better.

She relied so much on Julia. “I’ve never lived on my own before.” She admitted. Of course, what was the shame in that? She was a blind woman. Society would always keep her boxed in with relatives.

“Well, maybe we could make arrangements. Or, oh Richard, we’ve got the extra bedroom on the third floor.” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I know it’s much better to have your own space but I’ve got a lovely young woman who helps me ‘round the house. That way, you wouldn’t be on your own.”

Her tone was so affectionate and caring, Caroline had a hard time turning her down. “I suppose we could try it out, although I wouldn’t want to intrude on your life.”

Richard chuckled. “It would be nice to have someone else around the house to take sides in our debates. And Misty is very kind, she takes wonderful care of Lizzie when she needs it.”

Caroline instinctually reached out for Pilot. The Newfoundland’s heavy fur calming her down. The prospect was so thrilling and yet so frightening. She’d never made such a leap before. But did she really want to stay in Camden? Under her aunt’s strong wing. Being so close to a man she actually adored. The man who had rejected her.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aerated Bread Company of Camden Town,” Alfie muttered, the phone receiver balanced between his shoulder and ear.

“Alfie, kuzin, you’ve yet to contact me. It’s been nearly three months!” Elizabeth’s incredulous voice came from the other line.

“Right, Liz, been busy.” It wasn’t a bad thing to hear from his cousin, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. And he knew exactly what she was calling to talk about.

“Well, have you even received my invitation?” She demanded.

Alfie eyed the cream-colored invitation muddled in the mix of paperwork on his desk. “Erm, no.”

“Bullshit!” She replied sourly. “You did and you didn’t respond.”

“Liz, to be fucking honest m’not gonna crash some fucking charity event.”

“You’re not crashing it ‘cause I’ve fucking invited you, moron.”

He grumbled and grabbed the invitation, shaking off loose papers that covered it. “I ain’t goin’. Julia’ll have my bollocks.”

“She’s not going.”

“Eh?”

“I said she’s not going. A friend of hers passed away so she’ll be attending the funeral. However, she gave permission for Caroline to go. Frankly, I’m not sure she needs permission. She’s lived with us for nearly two months now.”

Alfie’s thoughts came to a full stop. Perhaps it was the independence that she’d been craving. A bit of leeway from her aunt. A position in the charity that those around her had to acknowledge. It was everything Alfie expected her to be able to do. Damned if he wanted to congratulate her. But he didn’t think he had a place in her life anymore. Not after he’d turned away even if it was at the request of Julia.

“I can hear it in her voice, Alf, she wants to see you again.” Elizabeth’s voice softened. “When I said I’d invited you, she asked if I would tell her the moment you replied.”

Alfie forced himself to read the details of the event.

Sunday, nine-thirty, the Ritz, Palm Court.

It sounded exhausting already. But the chance to see Caroline was enough to get him to cave in. “I’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Social events such as the ones Elizabeth loved, Alfie absolutely abhorred. Men and women who were richer than ninety-nine percent of the population. Most of those hadn’t ever had to work a day in their life for said money. They simply won the lottery of life and were born to a family with riches spilling out of their pockets.

Alfie had half a mind to extort all of them for a piece of the pie. Certainly they all had some skeletons in the many closets of their grand estates. But that would be exhausting work as well. And it was enough that he actually agreed to attend the damned thing. He knew that once he said yes to going, he’d have to go. If he didn’t, Elizabeth would be furious and pout when she inevitably showed up at the bakery the next day to pester him.

It was easier just to get it over with. Go for half an hour, mingle, be seen by Richard, speak to Elizabeth, congratulate Caroline, and then he could leave.

Dressed well, Alfie cleaned up a little and wore a derby hat instead of his usual wide-brimmed cap. He wasn’t opposed to wearing nice things; in fact, it was entertaining to show off his wealth sometimes. Even if he didn’t exactly fit the standard of men there. Didn’t fucking matter.

The lavish Palm Court was filled with all of Richard and Elizabeth’s friends, colleagues, and even distant acquaintances. The more the merrier. The French style created a golden, cream hue. Lighting up the atmosphere as champagne was poured and laughter reflected off the many mirrors and chandeliers.

Alfie moved through the crowd of socialites, using his stature to move the chattering heirs. He eventually found his cousin donned in an emerald green dress, a necklace of complementary gemstones, and elbow-length gloves. Buck was not by her side, perhaps having a night off, Richard taking his place. Elizabeth linked arms with her husband, chattering away. Richard smiling and laughing along with her, enamored by his wife’s charm and wit.

“Richard, Liz.” Alfie cleared his throat and swallowed his enormous pride to greet them politely.

“Alfie, so glad you could come.” Richard thanked him for pleasantries with a firm handshake.

“Alfie, I knew you wouldn’t stand us up!” Elizabeth exclaimed happily. “Richard, where is Caroline? Is she nearby?”

“I believe she’s speaking with Mrs. Montgomery. Should I get her?”

“No, no, don’t worry ‘bout it, mate.” Alfie balked and took the excuse not to see the woman. “Might not want to see me here.”

“Pft, nonsense. Misty said she looks a dream and you must congratulate her on her success.” Elizabeth insisted firmly. “Go find her.”

Alfie glanced at Richard who shrugged and pointed to the left of them. “Fine.” He muttered and went to follow his direction. A few feet away, past a few tipsy people was Caroline standing with Pilot by her side. Misty was absolutely correct. The woman looked a sight to behold. No doubt his cousin had insisted she wear something eye-catching. She wore a cream-colored gown that grazed the floor and looked like it was made of pure silk, gleaming in the soft light. Her ash-brown hair was done up in elaborate braids and curls. A gold barrette adorning her hair. A necklace of gold and diamonds rested comfortably against her collarbone.

It was like he’d never seen her before. She was beautiful, there was no doubt, but he wondered what she truly felt about the pomp that his cousin had surrounded her in.

Alfie stopped about a foot away, waiting for her to finish up her conversation with an older woman who looked like she wouldn’t care if she dropped a hundred pounds down the drain.

Pilot glanced up at Alfie, a hint of recognition in his brown eyes, but he remained by Caroline.

Eventually, the woman touched Caroline’s arm and wished her luck. Alfie stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Lot of congratulations are in order, ain’t they?”

Caroline’s face lit up. “Alfie?”

“Surprised I showed up?” He asked sheepishly.

She smiled and turned towards the direction of his voice. “I didn’t think it would be your cup of tea but I hoped you would come.”

It was much more difficult than Alfie anticipated. To hear the breathless excitement in her gentle voice. The hope in her gray eyes. To see her dressed to the nines. He was far too weak. “Well, had to see the woman behind all the buzz.”

She blushed and shrugged. “I think Elizabeth is the buzz, not me.”

“Nah, it’s you.” He smiled.

She bit her painted lip and tilted her head to the side. “Would you escort me outside? I’d like to bring Pilot out and I want to get a breath of air.”

Too weak. “Sure, love.”

She took his arm and he led her out of the room vibrating with voices and music. The lobby was a bit quieter, albeit still lavish and stuffy. It wasn’t until they walked outside were they both able to breathe.

~~~~~~~~~`

They walked across the street to Green Park. The smaller park framed with trees that were just starting to bud in the young spring months. Caroline let Pilot’s lead a little looser so he could sniff at the grass. His massive paws dragging through the damp grass while Alfie and she walked slowly along the path. Lamps cast a dim glow over the empty park. The stars were dulled but some were visible through the intertwining tree branches.

“Caroline I-”

Alfie began to speak but she interrupted. “Is this park prettier than Camden Gardens?” She asked curiously.

“I uh…” He glanced around the dark park. “Bit plain I s’pose.”

“It’s nearly spring though.”

“Don’t make it pretty.”

She stopped and reached out for his hand. “What makes it pretty?”

He swallowed and stared at her made-up face. Cautiously, he ran his thumb over her smooth cheek. “Its character. Don’t matter how many flowers are out or what the fucking trees look like. S’bout the heart and soul of it. I love Camden ‘cause of the people there. Sure, may not look as good as a place like this, but the people are all snakes, ain’t they?”

“I think you see the worst in the world.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist so he wouldn’t move his hand from her face. “You see the worst in yourself. You’re blind, Alfie.”

He couldn’t breathe properly. “Can see you.” He mumbled.

“Can you?”

He grunted a confirmation.

“What do you see?” She asked, refusing to drop the issue.

He studied her face as if he didn’t already know what it looked like. As if he were expecting to see something else or something new. But she was as beautiful as he remembered. Tender eyes, clouded over but still receptive. Still full of emotion. Her delicate lips and soft jawline. “I see a woman I would kill to be in love with. A woman who would be the fucking light of my life. The woman I would never fucking tire of. But she’s the woman I can’t have.”

Her lips set firmly and she found his cheek. “Are you looking at me?” She felt the nod of his head. “Then you’re looking at the woman that you already have. You are so much more than the man you think you are. So much better than this awful world we’ve been born into.”

Alfie closed his eyes and leaned into her hand resting on his cheek. “You can’t forgive me sins.”

“No, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still care for you. And it doesn’t mean you won’t care for me.”

He forced himself to open his eyes. So weak. “I would protect you to the ends of the fucking Earth.”

A smile formed on her face and she stepped closer to him. “And I’d love you all the way there.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers. “Your aunt’s going to fucking kill me.”

“Not with me standing in front of you.” She murmured and tilted her head to kiss him.

~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth wouldn’t stop rejoicing after he told her what had happened. In fact, it took Alfie a few times to get her to calm down and stop making such a scene.

“Oh, it won’t take long to arrange a wedding. Somewhere outside, the gardens. We’ll make a beautiful chuppah!”

“Hey, now,” He pointed at his cousin when the startling mention of a wedding left her mouth. “’Nough of that nonsense. We ain’t getting married.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips for a second but she couldn’t hold back her excitement. “Oh, but Alfie it’s clear how much you love her!” She gushed. “I can hear it in your voice every time you talk about her.”

Love. Oh boy, if that didn’t send Alfie reeling in a panic. He had spoken about love to her the night before. The night they kissed for the first time. But it was just a word. Elizabeth spoke the word like it was an everlasting commitment. A commitment before the eyes of God. Hardly anything scared Alfie. He’d looked down the barrel of a gun countless times before without fear. Death was merely an old friend that he was waiting to meet up with again. But love. Love made his stomach twist into knots with worry. How terrifying it would be to be in love. The possibility of letting her down. Of never being everything she needed. The inevitable. The day that he simply wasn’t enough and she withdrew. Or God forbid something happened to her because of his foolishness.

“Hush now.” Alfie scolded Elizabeth. “I shoulda never fucking told you anything.”

His cousin pouted and sighed. “Why do you try to fight with every emotion you have?” She asked from her seat by his desk.

“I don’t.” He muttered and tried to busy himself by the filing cabinet. But he wasn’t really doing anything productive. Just picking up some papers, shuffling them around, glancing at the words, and putting them away again.

“Well, you fight every good emotion. You’ve no issue when it comes to anger.” She agreed with a shrug. “But when you have a chance to be happy, you shy away from it. Why are you so afraid of love?”

Alfie sometimes wondered whether Elizabeth’s blindness gave her a higher level of perception. Some sort of energy she picked up from every word he spoke. Maybe that’s why she was such a good socialite. She could read people without even being able to see their face. “Why d’you feel like you can worm your way into me personal life?” He retorted childishly.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Be like that. Just don’t ask me about how Caroline talks about you.”

He scoffed. “You’re such a little yenta. Don’t you have friends to gossip with?”

She looked a little disappointed that her ploy didn’t pan out. “She speaks of you so fondly, Alfie.” Ignoring his comment, she continued on to try and crack him open and get to the soft spot that she knew he had.

But he simply grunted in response.

“Sometimes I ask if we’re talking about the same Alfie because apparently you’re a whole lot nicer to her than you are to me. Says you’re the kindest man she’s ever met and the only person to really treat her so gently without making her feel useless.”

Alfie paused and stared ahead at the clock on the wall. “Well…” He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Liz, it ain’t right.”

“What?” She demanded. “What isn’t right? That you’ve treated a woman with respect? That you’ve developed feelings for her? You’re not heartless, Alfred, even if you’ve tried to convince the world that you are.” Caroline stood up and wrapped her hand around Buck’s lead. “I think you should step away from who you are when you step inside this bakery. Put yourself back in that moment last night with her. You didn’t walk away, you kissed her. There had to have been some reason and I think you can’t keep running from that reason.” She passed by him and walked out of his office. Leaving him to think.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie left work early. Abandoning Ollie without explanation. Ishmael drove him to Kensington. Since Caroline still lived with Richard and Elizabeth, he’d known her address for months. But he’d kept his distance.

Their building was a multi-leveled apartment with a polished, white exterior. A balcony fixed over the stairs held up by Tuscan orders. When he traveled up the front steps, he noticed a large bouquet left at the door.

Alfie stooped down to pick it up and knocked on the door.

Misty opened the door. The young woman who cared after the house and Elizabeth was familiar with him. And like most of London, she was cautious whenever he stopped by.

“Mr. Solomons, good afternoon.” She smiled politely. “Mrs. Levi isn’t in now, I’m afraid she’s gone on a walk.”

“Hello, Misty. I’m actually after Caroline if she’s in.” He explained feeling very out of place on the front step of the lavish building.

Misty’s eyes went from his face to the bouquet in his hands. “Oh…yes, I believe she’s in the parlor. I’ll fetch her.”

Alfie realized the implications and handed the flowers to her. “Erm, these were left on the porch. Just wanted to bring them in for you.”

“Oh.” A hint of relief passed over her face. “Yes, thank you.” She took the bouquet and went inside, opening the door wider for him. “Come in.”

He stepped inside and waited by the door. He could hear Misty explaining that Alfie had come calling. A few moments later, Caroline came out of the parlor. She was without the aid of her cane or Pilot. Instead, she walked with slight caution, reaching out to touch the doorframe and other guiding points. After months at Richard and Elizabeth’s, she had become familiar with the layout and could find her way around without much issue.

She smiled. “Elizabeth said you’d be around soon.”

Of course, she did. Although Alfie hadn’t specified ever visiting, his cousin knew him well enough to see through his weaknesses. And he had a severe weakness for Caroline. “Can we speak privately?”

“Of course.”

Caroline held his arm, letting him lead her back to the parlor. Pilot was curled up on the rug and lifted his head when he saw the familiar man enter. His tail wagged but he remained still and alert.

Alfie sat beside her on the sofa. A book sat on the coffee table in front of where she’d been sitting before. Grateful for a distraction, he picked up the book and opened it to the marked page.

The pages were lined with braille. He grazed his fingers over the indentations that were unrecognizable to him. When she was younger, Elizabeth had shown how her name and his name felt written in braille. But he hadn’t learned any further.

Misty entered the room with the bouquet of flowers that she had placed in a crystal vase with fresh water. “Miss Ellner, someone left you flowers.” She explained and set the vase down on the coffee table.

The scent of freesia and rose bloomed in the parlor. Caroline reached out to feel the fragile petals between her fingers. “Who sent them?” She asked.

Misty read the card that had been left among the flowers. “A Mr. Thompson.” She answered. “He wrote how he wishes to see you again and hopes you’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, yes.” Caroline nodded. “We spoke at the gala. He was a very nice man. Could you write a thank you note for him?”

“Yes, miss.” Misty nodded and left the parlor again, shutting the door behind her.

Alfie was seeing red. A man had sent her flowers? A rich man? A man who had tried to woo her at the gala? The outright nerve of such a stuck up, entitled, snake.

Caroline didn’t sense the jealousy positively radiating from Alfie beside her. She simply sighed and plucked the petal from the rose. “How utterly pointless.” She mumbled.

That piqued his interest and he glanced over. “Eh?”

“Oh, I just…I don’t really like receiving flowers as a gift.” She admitted sheepishly. “I understand it was a good gesture. I just…I’d much rather they were left to grow instead of being cut down. I feel like I can’t truly appreciate them when they’re wasting away in a vase.”

“What sorta gifts do you like?” Alfie set down her book. He was mildly pleased to see that she appeared uninterested by Mr. Thompson’s gesture.

“Oh, I don’t necessarily need anything.” She shrugged. “I much prefer spending time with people.”

Since Caroline didn’t explicitly name him as a person she liked to hang out with, Alfie wouldn’t make any assumptions. Instead, he just nodded and scratched his beard. “So…were thinking about that night.”

A small played on her face. “Were you now? Second-guessing kissing the blind girl.”

Even though she spoke with a teasing lilt, his face went a little pink. “No, no…I don’t go ‘round kissing people and then ignore them.” He tried to defend himself.

She laughed and touched his knee. “Alfie, I’m playing with you. Although I was a little worried that you’d maybe-oh I dunno. Maybe you were caught up in the moment and now you’ve got cold feet.”

He touched her cheek and gently guided her so she was facing him. Elizabeth was right. Damn it, she was always right and it drove Alfie fucking insane. But she was. And she was right about Caroline. Alfie tried too hard to push away all the feelings he was told were weak. Love, affection, humility, tenderness. All the things that took away from the steel exterior he’d worked so hard to craft.

But Caroline walked right through that barrier. Passing through as if it were nothing but a thin mist in the air. A simple sheet of silk separating them. She grabbed a hold of his heart and refused to let go.

Alfie sighed and leaned forward to kiss her.

She immediately smiled when she felt the tickle of his beard against her cheek. Their lips molding perfectly together, fostering the warmth between them. Her hand lifting from his neck and rested on the back of his neck. Her light, airy touch caused goosebumps to run down his arms.

When they parted, both of them had been rendered breathless. Caroline laughed softly and pressed her forehead to his. “I guess that answers my questions.”

“Ain’t ever felt the way I feel ‘bout you.” He murmured. “And m’fucking terrified of these feelings. But I can’t stay away from you.”

“Then don’t.” She pressed a few more kisses to his lips. “Stay with me, Alfie.

He swallowed and felt every self-destructive urge bubbling in his throat. Telling him to get up and walk away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“Alfie?” When he had been silent for quite some time, Caroline worried a little. She wasn’t sure whether she had pressed him too much or came on too strong.

“So that Thompson, fella. You weren’t kissing him too, aye?” He teased.

She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t even remember what he said to me. I was too busy hoping someone else would show up.”

He grinned and felt his anxieties fade away. “Oh yeah? Who would that be then?”

“Just kiss me, you silly man.”

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