#Entertainers in New Westminster

[teenagefeeling]

searched for humor in my school's library catalog and there's a lot of shit like this and im a little obsessed

[world-of-wales]

✦ UPCOMING ENGAGEMENTS (+ NEWS)

80TH ANNIVERSARY COMMEMORATIONS OF VE DAY :

The King will be joined by Prince and Princess of Wales in marking the 80th anniversary of VE Day at a series of events in May to honour our war heroes.

Charles and senior members of the royal family will pay tribute to the fallen at a special Service of Thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey, as part of a special programme of commemorations.

Queen Camilla, the Prince and Princess of Wales, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, are expected to join the Prime Minister, and hundreds of veterans and their families at the service.

At the Cenotaph on May 8, the King will also lead the royals as they attend commemorations marking 80 years since the end of WWII in 1945.

The government is due to release a series of details on events that Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer said will offer a moment for the nation to come together and “do that generation proud”.

They include a music and entertainment concert at Horse Guards Parade and a stunning flypast of aircraft from the RAF’s historic Battle of Britain Memorial Flight and the Red Arrows to pay tribute to the veterans.

As part of commemorations, military and civilian services will join organisations and associations representing those who fought in the Second World War in Europe for a parade from Westminster Abbey and up to Whitehall.

The parade will pass the famous balcony where Winston Churchill appeared before the crowds on VE Day after his famous speech to mark Victory in Europe. As the parade enters Horse Guards Parade the flypast will take place.

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After finding his debts you decide to take matters into your own hands...what a terrible decision...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Historical Typical Sexism, Debts, Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Blackmail.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes:

★For those of you possibly turning around and saying “£290 is nothing for all of what Sherlock has bought”

...I’ll remind you this is set in 1890 and so since then inflation has risen greatly...

★So for the modern reader I must insist to explain that £290 in England is now worth £30,671...

★And for my American readers that would be $38,948

★And for my Australian readers that would be $58,490

★Basically...Sherlock Holmes is a material gorl 💅

Inspiring Song: "Ghiribizzi" by Paganini

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7:35am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You wobbled onto your feet as Mrs Hudson entered the apartment with a scowl... probably because of something Sherlock said to her in passing the stairs.

The old crow’s frown spirited away when she noticed you were awake and outside of your bedroom.

She smiled warmly in fact and bid you a good morning. You returned the expression as she came and collected the breakfast plates.

Your fingers trailed over the countless of papers on the table and the sleek wood of his violin.

Shuffling through each parchment and a sigh drawled from your lips.

“Mrs Hudson,” you hummed as she passed you, “I request you show me the expenses of the household purse.”

It was a common duty of a wife nowadays to keep track of all home expenses.

She paused and her eyes widened, her mouth flapped open and closed quickly again. Her teeth grimaced and her bony finger wagged, “I am afraid my dear, they are in Mr Holmes bedroom, and as I said yesterday, he can be an incredibly private person.”

His bedroom? Oh yes...he kept it locked. But by god you needed to get to the bottom of this theory you were building in your mind. You were married and a married couple shouldn’t withhold secrets.

“I am his wife, I am the second close thing to the holy trinity in his life now,” you snorted softly as you collected all the papers on the table and made a neat single pile, “I will see the documents and understand his predicament.”

“And which predicament may that be?” the housekeeper inquired as she laid down a fresh virgin cup to pour scolding tea from the hot teapot.

“Enola mentioned something about debts,” You clutched the front of your dressing gown to contain some decorum while you sat back down and gestured to the chair beside you for her to sit in as well, “his foul dismissal of my presence suggests not only disdain of our union but in addition a set of a secrecy and disfavour I will not permit in my marriage.”

You needed to know exactly how much debt he was in. You were willing to part some of your dowry to pay for it if you could. His aggression was surely caused by the stress of these debt...if you could lift them off his shoulders, mayhaps he would be kinder, gentle and respectful.

She passed you the cup and saucer while she took to pouring herself a cup. The elder woman smiled giddily.

You were pleased that there was no judgement of your modesty before her. It was a fine change compared to your strictly grandmother who would berate you if you dared leave your bedroom under dressed.

The elder cradled her cup and lowered it carefully, clearing her throat, “Mrs Holmes...”

You blinked...you believed you had asked her to not call you by your new name, out of friendliness.

“Mrs Hudson?” you queerly answered.

“Before your marriage,” her lip curled inward and her fingers lightly tapped her cup, she looked to the tea and quickly glanced up at you, “The detective entertained himself in some...appalling activities. I think it best not to open those locked pasts for your own sake.”

Appalling activities...in a world of proprietary that could mean anything...you did have your thoughts...you were only surprised that the notorious detective would risk tainting his reputation with some illicit practice.

You swallowed dryly before sipping lightly at the tea. You licked your lips and sighed shaking your head, “Speak plainly Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh please,” She prayed mortifyingly, “I daren’t repeat it.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the pink rising in the pale wrinkled face of Mrs Hudson.

You leant over the table and used small tongs to pick up a sugar cube and clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t play in another game of riddles, especially not with a elder woman with a privacy for embarrassing details. The sugar fell into the cup with a soft plop in the awkward silence, a ticking of the clock caught in your ear.

“Tell me or leave Mrs Hudson,” you pinched the papers on the desk , “I have documents to find and unless your words hold any meaning, do not bore me with unheard gossip.”

Her beady blue eyes under her spectacles fluttered, her lips parted at your stern tone. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room before leaning in closer to you.

She said in a hushed whisper, “My dear girl, your husband is a whore mongering, drug addicted gambler.”

Now that was a surprise to hear fall from her wrinkled lips. You pinched your forehead and rubbed thoughtfully. How would you handle this type of man?

You glanced at her with a small grin.

“Was- Mrs Hudson,” You corrected, tapping the table with your knuckle, “I will not allow such boyish whims into my marriage,” you wagged your finger at her and flashed her a devious smile, “He shall need to divorce me if he wishes to continue such behaviours, it might be harder for me to remarry but I trust not a single woman would last longer than me as his wife.”

A small laugh came out of the woman who gave you a dramatic military salute, she grinned and chortled, “Well, I admire your determination, but however will you enter his chambers? He has the only key.”

Your chest deflated, she was right. How would you? You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over your shoulder to look at the closed bedroom door on the far side of the wall beside your own.

You slowly pushed up to your feet again and trapesed back to your bedroom, “Mrs Hudson, wherever did you put my hat box?”

The elderly woman put down her cup and swayed inside to follow you, she pointed to above the wardrobe. Standing on your toes you palmed the box down and laid it on your unmade bed.

Mrs Hudson was opening up your wardrobe and peeling through your hanging hooks of dresses and coats.

“My dear, surely you’re not intending to go outside in your frail condition?” she muttered as she trailed a fresh chemise over her arm.

Shaking your head you jerked you chin, “No Mrs Hudson, indoors I will remain.” Your hand clenched your lower belly with a hiss as a nasty cramp prevailed, “I don’t recall entirely but I believe a doctor was here last night, said I have begun my menses for this month.”

“I can see dearest,” Mrs Hudson hummed, pinching at your dressing gown...you had bled through it. A wet crimson patch stained the white cotton. You balked and flushed.

“Best get it off now,” Mrs Hudson winked, pulling it back and off your naked shoulders, “I’ll make you some packing.”

You shuddered and gasped at how forward your housekeeper was presenting. Respectfully speaking, you wondered if Mrs Hudson had been a ladies maid in her earlier years before her own marriage.

You tiptoed to the water basin on the vanity and squeezed the clean cloth inside of it. You cleaned the red and burgundy chunks and stream between your thighs. Your washed your hands back in the water and faced Mrs Hudson sheepishly. She smiled and pulled the chemise over your head.

“Let me roll some packing,” she said, pulling a bandage from the top drawer of the vanity and folded it into a flat palm of thickened fabric.

You shoved it up against your intimate flesh and squeezed your thighs together tightly.

Mrs Hudson then found a sanitary apron in the same drawer and helped tie it behind your back.

“Mrs Hudson you are a fine woman of elegance and saintly kindness,” you exhaled, “Thank you.”

“I remember when I was a freshly married girl,” She clucked happily, “My dear friend was a constant visitor and helped me with these things. Mr Hudson grew very jealous of our time together,” she sighed, “Now, do you require a corset my dear?”

You shook your head and plucked your fingers, “I shan’t accept any visitors, and in my sickly state it would be kinder to leave it be if I should make a mess of my inconvenience.”

If your stomach threw up from the stress of your internal curse, you didn’t want to wash through the delicate fabrics of your whale bone undergarments.

You found a loose blouse and black skirt to pull and button onto your body. You pulled up a pair of stockings.

You sat on the bed as Mrs Hudson buttoned your shoes up with a hook. As the kind older woman did this gradually with her small fingers and greying eyes, you pulled the lid of your hat box away.

You pulled out a long metal stick...

A sharp hat pin.

“There we are, all done and ready for the day!” the housekeeper announced, rising to her feet.

You rose up with her and smiled, “Please Mrs Hudson, might I burden you with making another pot of tea?”

She beamed and nodded.

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08:45am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You were grunting on your knees before Sherlock’s locked door. Your hat pin jammed into the key hole. The tip of your tongue stuck out the corner of your lips as you shuffled the metal and tried to carefully listen to the locking of the inner gears.

Little did anyone know...this little talent you learnt on your own... Breaking into your grandfathers wine cellar was not a overexerting task when you were fifteen. It wasn’t a desire to rebel, rather a desire to educate yourself...you wanted to be seen as intelligent and knew your wines.

It wasn’t too long before you came to hate the bitter taste...and then found your grandfather’s rum drum.

When he found you, he didn’t not strike you and decided the headache you received in the morning was punishment enough for your sinful deed. And for a whole week he made you drink a cup of the stuff every night, to teach you why alcoholism was not befitting for a lady...

You smirked at the memory. Perhaps it was unorthodox. But it was kinder than a lashing or earful from your grandmother.

It was just one of many secrets between the both of you.

The loud click and sliding of the last inner lock made your eyes sparkle. As you twisted the handle the door peeled open with a awful squeak.

“My lord, what a mess!” you gasped.

The room was in a disarray. A smell of mould and death hit your nose. You gagged and felt your belly churn.

There was cigar burns in the rug, papers, news papers and books thrown about. There were plates that were piled up in the corner on a desk and there was a dirt dried mud trails...

The curtains were stained and the dust was unbelievable. When your finger ran along a small stand beside the door your finger came back looking pitch black with the soot.

You sat back and stood up. Piece by piece you picked up all the papers and went to his filing cabinet drawer, it was empty! Of course it was empty, all the contents had been tossed about, decorating the room messily.

You fingered the massive haul of papers and sighed, you would need to organise them all...

Taking them back out to the dining table you started to arrange piles of parchment stacks. Receipts, paid and unpaid, by date and purchases. Your eyes catered to the numbers, you fetched a notebook to tally the expenses and sighed, cupping your mouth every so often at his choices of spending.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and game of pounds, shillings and pence, you hadn’t heard the return of Mrs Hudson with a fresh pot and tea set.

“Dear me,” she said clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out! Now what’s all this?” She asked picking up a receipt off a pile.

Rolling your shoulders back she smiled proudly at the organisation of affairs. You gestured to the individual sheet stacks.

“Ah sings Den, Cocaine Tooth Drops, Black Shag Tobacco, gambling...prostitutes,” you chewed your lip worriedly as you glance back at the small note book you write on with a blunt pencil, “He has wracked up a wicked sum...”

The housekeeper put the receipt back and sat beside you after pouring you another warm tea, this time she added the sugar cube for you and stirred.

“How much?” She whispered looking over the thick almost book like mountains of papers.

Since the new year began...Sherlock had designed quite the irresponsible money expenses and debts...

£5.65 for the Opium Den experience.

£3.25 for the Cocaine drops

£10.41 for the tobacco.

£120.78 for the overall gambling.

£150.33 for his Mayfair Row whores to Madam Adler.

Total: £290.42....

You felt your lips tighten, your belly squeezed. You paled and frailly held the cup to your lips, softly blowing and softly stating, “Perhaps that number I will keep to myself Mrs Hudson,” you pushed a pile close to her and tapped at the top, “Be not alarmed however, he seems to dedicate his rent responsibly to you.”

She chortled and shook her head, “Oh I don’t mind that, I trust him to,” her eyes narrowed at the

Mayfair receipts, “I just never liked the company he brought home.”

Your eyes widened and it was like air had been stolen and kicked from your lungs, “He brought...” you choked, shutting your eyes, “Those...those women back here?”

She grit her teeth and finished her tea, “Yes, they leave like newborn foals with wobbly legs.”

When Mrs Hudson caught your worrisome eyes she gasped and tapped your hand softly, “Forgive me, I needn’t provide details.”

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before conceiting, “As much as it is wounding to hear, it is unavoidable,” you sighed and poured yourself another tea, “As his wife it is best I know everything about my husband and if he is to keep secrets from me,” you shrugged, “However shall I be a decent partner?”

Mrs Hudson put her cup aside demurely and leant closer to you. Still in her hushed tones, ashamed of the secrets she was sharing...but her eyes were full of excitement, perhaps this gossip was something she needed off her conscious.

“I would hear them in the night, screaming...I thought he was killing them,” more colour was flushing back into her face. A rosy hue dusted her nose and cheeks, “I am thankful every time when I would see them leave with smiles on their faces.”

You sat back in your chair abruptly and looked at her curiously, “Screaming and smiles?” You whispered under your breath, “How peculiar.”

It wasn’t possible. Did he hurt those prostitutes like how he had done to you? How did they walk away with smiles? Was it because he paid them? Not even you could think how to muster a smile after experiencing such awful tortures.

“I thought perhaps, he did what he had done onto you my dear...but when I saw the blood and your lack of pleasantry, well, I can confidently say-”

You slapped your cup on the saucers hard enough for a loud clatter, you said tightly, “Mrs Hudson I’d very much prefer to forget yesterdays events, if you don’t mind...please do not refer back to them.”

The mention caused a spike of pain inside you, reminding you where he stuck his hot selfish poker.

The elder woman grew quiet for a moment. She looked off at the window in the distance and then down at her cup.

She nodded and tried to share a soft smile, “Apologies for any offence.”

A stab of guilt panged in your chest, you hadn’t mean to be so rude to her. Your nerves were in a terrible mood. In a moment you would be happy and then the next you would feel worrisome and hungry. Perhaps you might’ve grown to be afflicted by the disease of Hysteria?

Oh Hysteria, what a terrible condition...you dreaded the thought of need to go for a medical massage. One of your female cousins had been to one and her description made it sound both enlightening and frightful. In fact she said it felt like she had died and gone to heaven and returned.

All of which made you scared beyond belief.

“None received,” you pat her hand and brought her palm to your lips, “You are a kind Christian and for that I say god bless you Mrs Hudson.”

She smiled warmly and stole a soft kiss to your cheek, all was forgiven between your temper.

“Oh my dear, I must additionally confess,” she stunningly proclaimed, “Sherlock doesn’t attend church.”

Your brows rose, “What?” You snorted through a laugh, unable to comprehend her truth, “Don’t be ridiculous, what upstanding gentleman doesn’t attend church?”

You giggled and cheerfully wiped a tear away, your sanity returned when her face had remained stone solid. She did not find it funny and you realised finally it was because in fact not a joke...

You glanced over the papers...back to the number on your notebook...ah of course...no god fearing man could sin so easily...waste away fortune so carelessly and spend it on unnecessary frivolous activities.

“I think that might be the answer to your own question. The Doctor Watson wrote his newspaper articles and depicted him London’s hero. He can be truly a godless man. Frankly I believe he’s a sadist.”

You tilted your head at her and drank some of your tea.

You hummed and held a finger to your lip in thought, “Yet you said those women had smiles on their faces when they left?”

Mrs Hudson shook her head curtly and smirked, “Well I think I’d smile too with the amount he probably pays them.”

Laying your elbow on the table with your chin on your head you looked at the brothel papers, “You are right...they are over priced...Mayfair Row...they’re quality...but nonetheless still he pays them far too much.”

Your husband was an exuberant tipper when it wasn’t his money. Mayfair Row...you hadn’t been inside the Dove club where Sherlock spent most the wealth...but you knew the average price of a whore...it took you back to a time...many, many years ago...back when you believed you had a mother that loved you...back when seeing a naked man behave like an animal writhing on-top of her was your normal life. Where you mimicked the actions with your cloth doll that you carried everywhere. You tried to remember the name of that doll....Susie? Harriet? God only remembers now.

They weren’t pleasant memories...the stench of mud, the screaming of women, the yelling if men, the bite of hunger and the itch of lice in your hair and fleas covering your clothes.

You shuddered. Thank god you still did not live with her anymore. It was the only life you knew in those days but suffering is suffering and you amazed you how long you survived in such conditions.

The elderly woman looked into the pot and sighed at the low level of tea.

“I am surprised you know so much about them,” she casually noted, glancing back at you.

You realised how strange you must’ve sounded...you heart began to race. You grimaced, annoyed at yourself for being so relaxed you lost thought of your own words.

“Call it a terrible interest Mrs Hudson,” you licked your bottom lip and lied, “I was a reader of Josephine Butler’s work on her dismantlement of child sex work.”

She nodded slowly, clearly Mrs Hudson had no idea who Mrs Butler was...you felt a twinge of agitation for the uneducated.

You tapped your fingers nervously on your cup again and off handedly asked “Do you know if there are anymore receipts I might find Mrs Hudson?”

“No idea I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said as she noticed your cup was finally empty. She collected the tea set items and placed them on the tray. You turned in your seat and looked back at Sherlocks open door, there was still so much mess. You shook your head.

Before the housekeeper left you touched her arm.

“Please fetch me a broom and cloth and clean water.”

She followed your gaze at his room and warmly cupped your face, “Dear, perhaps you should lay in bed for a while, you shouldn’t be working so perilously in this physical state.”

You smiled and held her hand, rising out of the chair. You walked back to his room and called over your shoulder, “I would rather clean my husband’s hovel. No wonder he’s a beast considering he lives like one.”

You could hear Mrs Hudson cackling behind you as she went back down stairs only to return with your requested items after a while.

A clean room might clear his head, calm his woes.

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12:23pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

After hours of sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing and organising Sherlock’s room you tiredly flopped back on his mattress and yawn.

At this rate you considered a small nap was required. Except you knew yourself, you knew if you stopped your progress you’d be discouraged to finish.

There was one last thing to organise after folding and hanging all his clothes. At the foot of Sherlock’s bed was a large chest. It could be easily mistaken for an ottoman. Maybe they’re would be more debt documents or clothing in there.

You crawled down and climbed off his bed to crouch beside the chest. You clicked the latches open and lifted the lid slowly.

Inside were sinister objects...you gasped...too shocked to even close the chest. Rope, shackles, knives, long thin sticks, a riding crop, a whip, a bridle you knew deep down was too small for a horse and meant for a human...smaller boxes with printed words....rectal dilators and hysterical paroxysm vibrating aid. And the illustrations...

There was a book you were reading...you weren’t really thinking, you were just curious of the horrid that might follow within...

Men and women, all nude, illustrations and photos of them performing elaborate sexual deviancy. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. Between your legs the buzz of arousal enlightened to your belly.

There was a woman who was tied up in ropes in star like patterns being mounted by a man who held a riding crop in his hand. You paled thinking he was beating this poor woman...and as you read the words, it was discovered she enjoyed this...took pleasure in the agony??

It was very confusing for you to read such hypocrisy.

Who would enjoy being hurt like this?

And as you read more and more, the deeper into this strange arousal you sunk into.

There was a illustration on a woman holding her lover’s intimate member in her mouth. And another where the same lover was licking with a long snake like tongue at her clitoris.

Your thighs squeezed tight and you groaned as a cramp rippled through your body down to your knees.

Hearing your name on your housekeepers lips tore you away from the novel. You threw the book back inside the chest and shut it hard. You felt short of breath and grasped the wood of his canopy to stay stable before leaving his chambers.

You told yourself that it was wrong to be looking at such art and imagery of lust. A part of you however desired to peak back inside...curiosity was your master and chastity your mistress. So who would you listen to first?

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You met the elderly woman out in the sitting room where she was dusting at the unlit fireplace mantle... She was moving little trinkets and photos.

Within the centre of the mantle stand was a frame containing your own portrait. You had the image taken at a tintype shop over a year ago. You stood beside Mrs Hudson as you took in the reflection of yourself. You smiled at how brilliant it captured your likeness. You were still confused how it worked, something about sand and light...your grandfather stood aside that day and said he would be sending the image to his son to remind him of you, his daughter...you were embarrassed to say the least but dared not argue with his wisdom.

Well it seems your father didn’t get the photo...or perhaps he send it back. Now Sherlock had it in his ownership.

She smiled at you and ran a hand softly down your back and said, “I just wanted to ask if you liked mutton dear, I hope to cook some this evening for dinner.”

You smiled with relief, you told her, “I am ever grateful for any food you provide my husband and I, thankyou Mrs Holmes.”

The elderly woman eyes widened with joy. She turned on her heel, taking the bucket and cloth with her.

You looked over at the table covered in receipts she had kindly left untouched.

“Mrs Hudson,” You called after her as you stepped hastily over to a side board bureau and began to write up a cheque, “is there any chance you will be attending the bank today?”

Facing you she pat the door handle and exclaimed, “No, however I can stop by if you need me to, I am officially in need to buy some fresh mutton from the butcher.”

You smiled at her cheery attitude. You filled out the numbers and printed the expenses. You tore it away from the book and held it out to her.

“Fantastic...here. Take this.”

The housekeeper stepped closer and raced her eyes over the cheque. Her eyes blew up wide at the price you had written out.

“I don’t quite understand...” she shakily stated.

You sighed and clapped your hands as you went to finally sit down on the lounging chaise. It wasn’t hard to admit you needed the rest with how your head spun. You were dizzy and it was possibly from all the cleaning you had conducted and dust you had inhaled.

“Sherlock needs to be rid of these debts and I need to rid of his temper...my dowry Mrs Hudson I pray brings me peace.”

Yes, you were sure of it. Your very expensive dowry...you were going to pay the debt off and help your husband become less of an animal. Perhaps you might convince him to attend church.

“Mrs Holmes,” your housekeeper stammered, “I would advise you hold onto this...please...you cannot just-”

You cut her off dignifiedly, “Mrs Hudson, this cheque card will enter the bank whether by your hand or mine. And before you have insisted I rest. So please if you care enough for me, you shall hand it in on my behalf.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes shut tight. She shook her head disapprovingly while muttering

“Very well dear girl, I hope you know what you are doing.”

Out Mrs Hudson went, and down you went. Your face pressed into a cushion. With your eyes fluttering shut, you feel back into the darkness and peacefully slept, listening to the wafting sounds of Baker Street flow from Sherlock’s bedroom window.

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6:00pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock still had not returned home from his morning flee. As Mrs Hudson laid out a plate of roast and potatoes with gravy she assured you that Sherlock had a habit of staying out for hours. Whether for a case or his own pleasures and addiction.

On the table in front of you was the paper bank statement, it accounted that the cheque had been entered and applied to the debts.

Now the Sherlock Holmes was a debt free man...

After you finished your dinner, Mrs Hudson kindly helped remove your shoes and change your bedding. You were redressed in a night gown and over your shoulders a warm dressing gown.

You now only wore a sanitary apron to protect yourself from your blood.

All his paid debt receipts were in a folder, you stared at that manilla folder smugly. Your left it on the table as you went to inspect the book shelves on the far wall near the entrance of the home.

You looked at the many novels on the shelves, now some of them being the ones brought over from your grandparents estate. On quick flicking through pages you found most of them being related to science, language and anatomy. Glancing back at Sherlocks open door, you thought about the book in the chest. That was more than just an anatomy book...

You squeezed your side, you were feeling a spike in temperature and a shortness in breath reimagining those images...those words.

It wasn’t the smut novella Fanny Hill, but it stoked fires inside you much like it. You knew it was something you probably shouldn’t have come across, because you shouldn’t have been inside his room, touching his belongings.

You had to. It smelt like something had died.

You prayed this would sort him out. You could only hope that the years ahead would not be so testing.

You had a list of mental rules. You may be his wife and beneath his status, however you would not just stand back and watch him act a fool and fall victim to further ridicule in society. You would not sink in the same boat again. You were excluded from many balls as a teen when some wicked foul mouth girl had revealed the secrecy of your parentage.

Your step mother was only eleven years older than you, so really...there was no possibility of pretending to be her child. Everyone in high society of they knew you, knew what you were. And because they knew you were treated like a unspeakable burden and unwanted pet at parties.

It wasn’t a mystery to you why you started playing the role of a wallflower at only fifteen.

You refused to allow Sherlock to bring you to such shame in society.

The heavy foot steps outside the close door alerted you to an approach made by someone other than Mrs Hudson.

With the loud snap of the handle and click of the lock, in entered a breathless giant. Sherlock.

He tore off his hat and coat and only after hanging the items on the rack by the door did he acknowledge you with a small nod, “Mrs Holmes,” he bid. Under his arm you noticed was a paper wrapped package.

You heard him march through the house towards the middle room and heard him swear under his breath, follows by a repetitive “no no no.”

You heard him frantically skid around the carpets and floor boards of his own room. He was tearing open and slamming drawers and wardrobe doors.

“What the hell have you done! What have you-?”

Storming out of his room, you gasped at how his face reddened and he continued shouting, but thankfully not at you. He raced to the front door and tore it open screaming down the stairwell,

“Where are you woman!? Mrs Hudson! You shrivelled cow!”

You slapped the book in your hands shut, regarding him disdainfully, “Our housekeeper is not to be rewarded by your insults.”

The turn around he made was slow as realisation came to his heated face. The snarl was replaced by a begrudged sneer as he scoffed, pointing his finger sharply back in the direction of the bedrooms, “...You did this destruction?”

“Destruction?” You whispered. What destruction had you done?

As he approached, you unconsciously took a step back and nervously licked your bottom lip. You felt air being pulled from you as he towered above and stabbed you beneath a invasive gaze.

His darkened eyes looked across the light material of your nightwear. His fingers tugged the book out of hands and pushed it back into the shelving where it belonged.

You decided you needed to stand firmer against him, You craned your head back and stared up at him.

“H-hardly...I have organised. Cleaned.” You took another step back and felt the wood of the display cabinet behind you dig into your waist.

“By subject,” you felt his body press up against you, what the hell was he doing? Trying to intimidate you? You were hardly dressed compared to his full clad attire. It scared you. He looked formidable, like he was going to tear you limb from limb, his nostrils flared. Your insides jumped and that buzzing feeling ran through your lower half. God...why did this of all things arouse you?

Your throat felt shaky, “then- then ah numerical dated followed by alphabetically.”

You glance him over and blinked at the red spot on his chest, was it ink? No, ink isn’t so dark....under Sherlock’s jaw was a scratch, a slight discolouration to his skin and under his hair curl on his forehead as another mark.

He leant down and pressed his mouth to your ear, “Do not ever enter my chambers or touch my belongings without my permission again.” It was a mix between a whisper, an disciplining snarl, and a lusty moan.

It left your knees feeling bloodless. Your own eyes shut closed at the hot breath that breathed into your lobe and hair.

As he pulled back, he stood away and for the first few moments you needed to remember how to control your breathing.

He looked over the dining room table and slid the thick folder closer to himself.

“And what is this?” he asked you.

“Your debts,” You swallowed and wiped your palm across your forehead, a trail of sweat drenched your hand, “Paid for.”

He smirked and shook his head, “Mycroft.”

“No,” you bluntly said, smoothing your hands down your dress to rid of the wrinkles that rose up. Seeing how your nipples had hardened beneath your nightgown you pulled the dressing gown tighter around you and crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

You looked at his body hunched over the table and blinked at the white marks over the edges of his dark navy suit jacket. It looked like flour...except flour had a tendency to clump. His nails were also clean of any baking incredibly. But his finger pads on the wooden table left little faint prints...

“You?” he chuckled condescendingly.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His laughter quickly fell away, his head snapped up fully to look at you, his brows knitted together,

“Why?”

His lips settled into a frown.

He put his hands on his hips, a power play...he was trying to show confidence, dominance...perhaps in response to your arms folded over your chest.

It would’ve been good to just tell him the truth, but to explain it to him would be impossible. You chose to simplify the answer...

“Easement on your consciousness?” You offered dryly. It wasn’t a total like, the less stress, the more relaxing and kindness....right?

His mouth twisted into a snarl, “Why you insufferable little-”

“Where did you go today?,” you pondered, cutting him off from finishing his insult, “A school?”

He jerked back slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, he took a deep breath and cupped his hands behind his back, “Excuse me?”

Good, he was calmer now.

This time you took to action...you stepped forward and sighed solemnly pinching one of his vest buttons.

“Chalk, on your cuffs. You smell like sweat in a teenage boy rather than a man. You’ve also had a scuffle with someone much shorter than you from the marks on your neck. Your shirt has a speck of what I believe is blood and the button is loosen,” you pinched and ripped it from the shirt and it’s faint loose thread.

“Fret not...” you smirked and pat his chest, “I will mend it should you ask.”

His hands came around and squeezed your forearms, his head moved back a little. He was perplexed...a light upturn in his lips revealed his sudden amusement.

He lifted a hand up and gently touched your face. He was breathing in a controlled state. You felt the intimacy of his closeness without fear of his wrath.

“No...” he drawled, “I was at Scotland yard. A poor deduction...” his thumb ran across your chin, “dear wife.”

You felt your heart pick up as his soft hand touched your face, you tried looking away from his staring eyes. Sherlock’s edged closer to your lips.

“Poor deduction but I am not stupid,” you consoled.

His lips broke into a wider smile revealing his teeth, he chuckled, “...I beg to differ.”

He moved abruptly back and fled to escape to his rooms. You knew his intention perfectly and chased after him, emphasising, “You had almost three hundred pounds in debt Sherlock. I at least know how to wisely spend my money.”

He spun on his heel and snapped at you, pointing harshly at your chest, “oh ho! Playing this game then are we? With your dowry gone, you have nothing left. I’d hardly call paying off my debts which were none of your concern, wise spending.”

You grabbed his finger and announced softer, serious and less aggressive, “Indeed, which is why I implore you to cease all further transactions in regards to your addictions.”

“Do not patronise me wife,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes tried tearing his hand away but your grip on his index finger tightened and the both of your grunted.

You grit your teeth at him, “Do not patronise me husband.”

He sighed and wiggled his finger from out of your hand.

He dusted his hands on his waist coat and huffed. He peered at you with a mischievous gaze.

“My debts...they included my friends...yes? From Mayfair?”

Oh that was cruel indeed. Mentioning those women when you were married to him. You wouldn’t dare let him threaten you over them.

You fought the urge to hit him and stomp your foot. You turned away from him and quickly composed yourself. Hastily you plucked some matches from the small box ontop of the fireplace mantel. You struck a small flame and tossed it into the fire place where you discarded some old newspapers as kindling.

“Yes,” you admitted tightly, “I know about your scandalous behaviours and forbid you from consorting in that demonstration again.”

He pushed passed you and unbuttoned his jacket and vest fully. He draped them over the back of one of the lounges, he pulled up his trousers slightly as he sat down.

He chuckled, “You forbid me?”

You glared at him and shot back up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you firmly dictated, “I am the only woman to ever receive you carnally from now on.”

He smirked and spread his legs wide, folding his arms on his chest. He jerked his chin up at you and clicked his tongue, “I don’t believe you know what that means. Believe me little lamb, my fidelity is that last thing you’ll desire...or did you not learn from yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I stand by what I mean Sherlock. You will not commit adultery while married to me,” you snapped. You wanted control, this would not be taken from you if you could help it.

“Or what?” He laughed, he then condescendingly moaned, “You’ll tell my big brother?”

As he went back to his smug chuckling you clenched your fists and stood over him. You weren’t thinking straight. Only a red shade cast in your eyes. You grabbed his collar and tugged him hard, spitting down at him with full anger as you threatened, “...Or I will kill you.”

He stopped laughing but didn’t stop his smug smiling. His hands came up and grabbed yours, prying them from his shirt.

“Barely been forty eight hours of wedded bliss and you desire to murder me. Ha! I now owe John five pounds,” he looked down at your chest which you realised was hanging in a uncompromising position. He could see right down your chest practically to your third rib with your lack of supporting chemise. Sherlock tongued the inside of his cheek and hummed, “My word.”

You gasped with horror and attempted to rip away from his hold, you grunted gruffly, “You are a pig Sherlock Holmes!”

He pulled you forcefully downwards and made your knees buckle. Your chest fell into his and you both hissed at the impact of crushing into each other.

Lewdly his hot wet tongue licked its way from your neck up to your earlobe while his hands pushed your thighs up to straddle over him, his fingers sharply stabbed into your backside under the night gown.

“You have absolutely no clue to what I am little Lamb.”

You tried pushing off him immediately, and felt his arm wrap around your waist and trap you against him.

Your legs so wildly spread and pressed against his trousers made you feel like you were riding on a horse.

Despite the plethora of farm animals you could compare in his and your name, you had both your wrists this caught in his one hand.

“Go on,” he chuckled as you struggled against him, “Tell me how you would do it...,” he taunted,

“How would you kill the great Sherlock Holmes, London’s finest Detective?”

You shrieked as you felt crushed under his baring arm, “I can think of many ways!”

“Well go on,” he smugly waited with raised brows, “Tell me.”

Your eyes rolled and you whined when he dug his nails into your wrists.

“I’ll push you down the stairs!”

He barked with laughter and shook his head, “You cannot be sure the fall would kill me, perhaps I might be paralysed, with many broken bones, but no no, I also don’t think you have the strength to push me around anywhere, look at you right now.”

“Fine!” you yelled, “Ill stab you with a knife!”

“Ah a violent approach, but what of the blood?” He grabbed your hip and moved you to grind your centre down on a lump in his trousers, “Why, even those idiots in Scotland Yard would figure out it was you; blood staining the clothes, carpet and blood beneath your nails, and where would you ever be able to hide the weapon?”

“Sherlock! Let me go or I’ll poison your tea!” you whined terribly.

He bit his lip and shook his head at you, “Oh dear Mrs Holmes, it’s possibly the most common death among an unhappy married couple. Wives are known to favour poison greatly.”

You heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You fell forward a little. Your sweaty forehead touched his.

“Please,” you whined, “let me go. All I want is you to be a civilised man and honour our marriage bed.”

He looked down at your parted lips. He looked back at your chest and shut his eyes.

“You want me to give up my whores Mrs Holmes?”

You gulped and nodded, “Of course.”

When he opened those blue orbs with the brown flecks, he whispered, “I promise to forsake them...if...”

“If?” you stammered and narrowed your eyes.

“Hush!” He reprimanded, “I promise to forsake my whores on Mayfair Row...If I can have my whore of Baker Street.”

Before you and time to reply and question what he even meant, he stood up and tossed you onto the floor. Sherlock crawled over you and pinned your flailing hands above your hand.

“You want to please me, please your husband, Mrs Holmes?” he gasped as his other hand went groping and squeezing around your soft body.

You weakly nodded, your head rested on the floor trying to get back the breath he knocked from you when he pushed you down.

You hissed softly, “Please, you’re hurting me.”

His hands loosened but held you trapped to the floor.

His lips danced over your cheek, “Then you will need to perform like a whore for me.”

A sobbing cry ripped front our chest, unsure of his real intention you quickly jumped to the conclusion of his implications.

You choked and shook your head, “No! I am not going to become a prostitute!”

He cackled at your fearful cry.

“No, this body belongs to me,” he said as he pinched the strings of your night gown and pushed the material away to show off your bare breasts.

His lips wrapped around your right nipples and sucked hard, tickling you with his tongue tip. Tears started to well in your face. You didn’t understand what he was implying to do to you. It tickled and felt so warm.

You were scared. You knew some men of the world were evil. Evil husband’s that pimped out the women they married. You couldn’t imagine being so intimate with another person. You couldn’t imagine succumbing to the agony you received the night before by Sherlock’s hand.

Kicking your feet across the rug and tried pushing your body from under him. He grunted as your nipple left his lips. He pressed the hand hard on your hip and affirmed, “Keep still, little lamb.”

“Sherlock,” you started to beg on a whimper, “Please, stop! You are frightening me, you’re h-hurting me!”

He looked down at you, his hair falling slightly on your head. His smile wavered as he took note of your tears and wobbling lips.

His gaze softened along with his voice, “...be completely honest with me.”

You nodded desperately, “I will, I will!”

“Did you look in the trunk at the foot of my bed?”

The chest full of explicit items and torture devices.

Your eyes squeezed tight and you exhaled, “I did.”

He smirked and let you go completely, standing up and held his hand to assist you too. When you were finally upright, he pinched your exposed nipple. You shrieked.

“I am a man Y/N, I have needs. I expect you to fulfil them earnestly if you desire I abandon my charity to Mayfair.”

You tried pushing his hand back and covering your breasts with the dressing gown. He smirked and shook his head at you, “No, no, let me see them.”

The silence was vile. The crackling of the fire place was the only ambience that showed attendance.

You couldn’t do it. It was wrong to be so exposed beyond the bedroom.

He waited and when you showed no sign of showing him, he sighed and nodded, “Very well, good night Mrs Holmes, I will call upon my friend Irene.”

He walked around you and journeyed to his open bedroom door.

As if all colour drained from your face you feverishly held out a hand and quickly called, “Wait, please! Look!”

You all but chased him into his own bedroom. He snapped his head in your direction. You stood in the centre space between his bed and the door.

He raised a brow and watched almost unimpressed as your trembling fingers shed your dressing gown and pulled the neckline of your night gown open...there he could finally observe your luscious breasts.

“Why Mrs Holmes,” he mused, sitting on his bed and peeling his cravat off his neck, “Your teats are exposed, careful,” he sarcastically warned, “One might mistake you for a slut.” You felt breathless and curled your lips inside.

You couldn’t believe it, you were letting him hurt you in a new way. You were letting him bully you. It wasn’t right and you desperately hated it, but what else was there except to let him defile and destroy your holy vows?

“Is that a sanitary apron on your waist?” he question, pointing at the lump under your gown.

You nodded, “I am still bleeding husband...”

“Do you know what that means?” Sherlock said unbuttoning his shirt.

Your licked your lips, folding your arms behind your back you tried hard to not cover yourself,

“My body is extinguishing my mental illnesses.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes, “Your medical knowledge is dated, but that is not what I implied...I meant that you should come to your knees and perform fellatio.”

Your eyes widened...fellatio was such a naughty word to hear let alone say. It was the type of practise in the book in his chest. Oral sex. Seeing the woman hold her male companions member appeared lewd and distasteful.

You hadn’t thought of ever doing it yourself, it served no purpose in procreation with god.

Flustered and shy, you cupped your hands over your face to think.

Sherlock’s voice was softer this time. He wasn’t mocking you as he explained, “I will not force you to do this Y/N, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

You shook your head and scowled at him from your hands, “But I do! I don’t want you to ever lay with a woman other than me! I am-“ you choked on some on coming tears, “I am your wife Sherlock, please...promise me if I do this you won’t lay with another woman.”

He unbuckled his trousers and sighed, “Then get on your knees,” he pulled out his semi hard rod, “and kiss your husbands cock.”

You looked over your shoulder at his door and then back at him.

Would you do this? Humiliate yourself in promise of keeping his vows loyally to you?

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[scotianostra]

Gordon Trueman Riviere Waller, singer/songwriter/Guitarist, best known as “Gordon” of 1960s duo Peter and Gordon was born on June 4th 1945 at Braemar.

Waller, the son of a surgeon, was born in Braemar, and went to Westminster school, in London, where he met Peter Asher in 1959. Asher was already something of a jazz and blues fan, but Waller persuaded him to broaden his horizons to include pop and rock'n'roll. Both were keen guitarists and soon they were entertaining their fellow students. By 1963, they were playing (initially as Gordon and Peter) in pubs and small clubs at lunchtimes and evenings for small fees or for a meal, often singing their own compositions in the close harmony style of the Everly Brothers. Early in 1964, they were booked for a two-week engagement at the Pickwick nightclub. One of the diners was Norman Newell, an EMI record producer. Newell was charmed enough by Peter and Gordon’s rendition of their song If I Were You to offer them a recording contract.

At this time, McCartney was dating Jane, and Peter and Gordon badgered McCartney to provide them with a song. He obliged with A World Without Love, which he had written six years earlier in Liverpool. McCartney told his biographer Barry Miles: “Gordon was a lot of fun – he was slightly less academic than Peter. It was he who persuaded Peter to jump school to do lunchtime sessions.”

By the end of March 1964, A World Without Love had displaced the Beatles’ own Can’t Buy Me Love at the top of the charts. In May, just before Waller’s 19th birthday and Asher’s 20th, it was the biggest selling record in the US. The instant stardom created by A World Without Love was the beginning of two years of frantic activity for Peter and Gordon.

For the American media, they combined the cachet of a Beatles connection (McCartney wrote several more of their hits and fans discerned in Waller a slight resemblance to John Lennon) There were numerous television appearances, occasional tours of Japan and Australia as well as North America and dozens of recordings. In the next 12 months, Nobody I Know and I Don’t Want to See You Again (both by McCartney) were transatlantic hits, as were I Go To Pieces, written by Del Shannon, and True Love Ways, a Buddy Holly song the duo had performed in their early days in London.

By now, Peter and Gordon were competing in North America with numerous other British imports, including another middle-class duo, Chad and Jeremy. Their star began to wane in 1966, when their only hits were Woman, another McCartney composition credited pseudonymously to “Bernard Webb”, and Lady Godiva, a novelty number that was denounced as obscene by the mayor of Coventry, which helped it reach the Top 20 in Britain and the American Top 10. By 1967, Peter and Gordon’s British career was over and in America they were reduced to peddling olde English material such as the minor hit The Knight in Rusty Armour and the album Sunday for Tea. They split up the next year, with Asher joining the Beatles’ Apple project as an A&R man and Waller launching a career as a solo singer.

Despite the fact that he had been the stronger vocalist of the pair, this career was stillborn. A handful of singles were issued, plus a 1970 album of his own compositions called Gordon. He left showbusiness to run a landscape gardening business in Northamptonshire until, in 1971, he took the part of Pharaoh in the stage show of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, a year later he played in the show at The Edinburgh International Festival.

In the 1980s and 90s Waller ran a music publishing business in America. In the last few years of his life, he reunited with Asher to play a few shows in Los Angeles, the Philippines and New York.

Gordon Waller died of a heart attack on 17th July 2009 in Ledyard, Connecticut, at the age of 64.

[ratherembarrassing]

2025: week 5

with a bonus monday to make this london week because what the hell else happened this week besides that? uh, nothing.

perth to london, qf9. it's a coin toss on whether this was actually better overall than going via singapore or the middle east. between the flight to flight to perth, the layover, and the delay to departure, all up it took 29 hours from leaving my house to arriving at heathrow, and only 18 of those hours were the long flight. on the other hand, having 17+ hours to sit, eat a food, watch an entire tv season, and then sleep (albeit badly) for 10 hours? is really nice? at the very least it made me pumped for when they launch the melbourne to london and new york direct flights. 21 hours and it's done and dusted? yes. please.

big mood, season 1 (qantas' in flight entertainment thing / channel 4, 2024). it's tradition now to find the dark british comedy on the long haul flight entertainment system and holy heck, this is dark. nicola coughlan is an actual treasure.

theatah: the devil wears prada: the musical (dominion theatre, west end). what i was trying to get at in my exhausted delirium is that when a movie is bad and then turned into a musical, musicals make all that bad worse. anyway, it was fine, i'm glad i went, no one will remember this happened three years from now.

theatah: elektra (duke of york's theatre, west end). every review of this hated it for a different reason, but whatever, i really enjoyed it. a special shout out to the american sitting behind me who said out loud my exact thought: this staging is exactly like the jessica chastain a doll's house. which was true, but also entirely irrelevant for reasons that will become apparent. brie larson is polarizing in the best of circumstances, and these were not the best of circumstances, but the take seems to be that this production was ultimately impenetrable. i think reviewers need to harden the fuck up, if i was fine while almost unconscious from exhaustion. also: stockard channing!

theatah: much ado about nothing (theatre royal drury lane, west end). aaaaaaaaarguably the reason i detoured into london in the first place. it was cute! people love to hate jamie lloyd, and i don't think the crux of those complaints will be overcome with this one. my issue was mostly just that it felt like it was set in a season of love island, which is a comparison i am now equipped to make, and that's just not how i like my art to feel. this was an especially odd vibe because the staging deployed the apparently very on trend empty warehouse thing.a real mixed bag of approaches. as for the celebrities of it all, it was opening night and the people were there for tom hiddleston. it was irritating. it's always irritating. can we bully these people a bit more to get this screaming for the actors thing to stop? and i didn't die from being in the same room as hayley atwell, so that's nice.

jolene, redchurch street. i would be here every day if this was my local. every bakery should do a mean lemon meringue pie.

the dusty knuckle, dalston. i did not let the disgusting laneway put me off: the food was fucking incredible. grilled cheese with an onioniny jam was the best grilled cheese i've eaten in years, pip and nut turnover i will dream about. if you go, get their lemonade.

regency cafe, westminster. sometimes hipsters are right about things, and they are right about this. you should be a little afraid while you try to get some food. it's good for the blood or something. they sold me like a pint of orange juice for £2.70, which is a bar against which i will measure every restaurant forever now.

tate britain. i'd never been before, and that was a mistake! for years i have been thwarted in seeing turners whenever i am in a place that ordinarily has turners on display. why had i then never been to the tate britain? because i did not know! they have an entire wing of turners! as well as an entire wing of all the other things! @notabuddhist is a great art museum buddy, which is the best trait a person can possess. she even hurried through the last two rooms with me when i needed to leave to get a donut halfway across london.

something that did not happen: me getting my donut halfway across london. and it's all the fault of jeremy clarkson and his tory farmers, as the cab driver put it. fuck that guy, i wanted my donut.

barbican: including this feels like a lie, but i did wander through and feel awe and wonder. but i did not get very much time, because see next item.

something that did happen: so there i am going on a casual wander from shoreditch to bask in the brutalist glory that is the barbican. a song in my heart, a coffee in my hand, and a vague idea of where i'm going, but not much more than that. a great time for my phone to die. a perfect time for my power bank to be completely flat. first time since 2008 when iphones were first released in australia that i was abandoned in this way. thank you curry's, for taking me for an absolute ride while selling me a new power bank.

shout outs: the lizzy line (so nice, so clean, always got my back (because i am always going to and from an airport)), the afternoon lost to getting from stratford to dalston on a rail replacement bus through what i'm pretty sure was a crime scene, m&s salt and balsamic vinegar crisps (why are you the most delicious salt and vinegar chips i've ever eaten and why did i only buy one bag), love island and morley's.

[charlotte-of-wales]

NEWS: the Prince and Princess of Wales will be joining the King, the Queen and the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh in a series of events marking the 80th anniversary of VE Day, per Russell Myers.

The events include a special Service of Thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey, an event at the Cenotaph on May 8, and a music and entertainment concert at Horse Guards Parade with a flypast of aircrafts from the RAF’s historic Battle of Britain Memorial Flight and the Red Arrows.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

This is also British nobility: wear blue suede platform heels under your wedding dress like Olivia the new Duchess of Westminster. This is what Meghan lacks; originality style and humour. That's (partly) why she couldn't hack it and wanted to leave. She couldn't 'compete and win' and she knew it. by u/Ill_Independence_698

This is also British nobility: wear blue suede platform heels under your wedding dress like Olivia, the new Duchess of Westminster. This is what Meghan lacks; originality, style and humour. That's (partly) why she couldn't hack it and wanted to leave. She couldn't 'compete and win', and she knew it. https://ift.tt/RXq6lp9 post link: https://ift.tt/UVJqw75 author: Ill_Independence_698 submitted: June 07, 2024 at 01:19PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[fantasma69]

Dell task

Sonic or knuckles

Red one blue tango

Hood rat

[fideidefenswhore]

God-granted supremacy makes its presence felt in Anne’s procession through frequent invocation of the imperial crown, both in the pageant scenes and the poetry. As has been noted, the bearing of a crown from heaven in coronation pageantry is not new, but it is expressly identified in descriptions of Anne’s pageants and in the poetry that it is an imperial crown. Just two months after the assertion of England as an ‘Empire’ and as part of the conscious evocation of imperial kingship, the presence of the imperial crown is symbolically potent. The Act in Restraint of Appeals links the supremacy to the symbol of the imperial crown. England is ‘governed by one supreme head and king having the dignity and royal estate of the imperial crown’. As suggested in this formula, ownership of the imperial crown is synonymous with the truth of the supremacy. Dale Hoak has shown how the imperial crown acquired imperial meaning through the middle ages, from Henry V and into the sixteenth century, and how representations of the monarchy placed increasing emphasis on the imperial crown. It was in the reign of Henry VII, for example, that coins began to represent the monarch wearing an imperial crown. Unlike St Edward’s crown, the crown with which monarchs (and Anne) were crowned during their coronations, the imperial crown is a ‘closed’ crown because of its closed arches. Monarchs traditionally wore the imperial crown for the coronation recession and the following banquet, dressed in the purple imperial robes. In 1509, Edward Hall described how an imperial crown topped the castle pageant in Westminster Palace as part of Henry’s coronation entertainments: ‘and in thesaied Palaice, was made a curious Fountain, and over it a Castle: on the toppe therof, a great Croune Emperiall’. The imperial theme, therefore, was already associated with English kingship and coronation and, as this legacy suggests, is not to be conflated with religious reformation. In 1533, at Anne Boleyn’s procession, however, the imperial crown enjoys its first extended association with coronation, and with a woman.

Hunt, Alice. The Drama of Coronation: Medieval Ceremony in Early Modern England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

1 January 2024

By Doug Faulkner, BBC News

The UK marked the beginning of 2024 with fireworks, street parties, and a message of inclusivity as people celebrated across Britain.

As Big Ben struck, midnight drones lit up the London sky with the message "London, a place for everyone," before a vibrant firework display began.

About 100,000 people gathered to watch the 15-minute spectacular in the city.

In Scotland, Britpop band Pulp performed as thousands braved the cold to mark Hogmanay.

There was also a fireworks display as Edinburgh marked its 30th year of the celebrations, while there was a mass ceilidh staged in Inverness.

London's display included more than 12,000 fireworks, 600 drones, and 430 lights.

It quoted Shakespeare heard from the King and also paid homage to the NHS, which celebrated 75 years in 2023.

A quote from King Charles III was used to mark the 75th anniversary of the Windrush crossing in which he said new arrivals "collectively enrich the fabric of our national life."

Further messages throughout the show were heard from Mayor of London Sadiq Khan, Dame Helen Mirren, Bella Ramsey, Stephen Fry, Joanna Lumley, George the Poet, and Baroness Floella Benjamin, who read a poem by the late Benjamin Zephaniah.

The celebration continued with a New Year's Day parade, which started in Piccadilly at midday before making its way towards Westminster's Parliament Square.

Several days of weather warnings did not put off revellers in Scotland with tens of thousands watching Edinburgh's firework display.

Visitors from more than 80 countries gathered in the city, while Pulp headlined a concert in Princes Street Gardens.

Following the fireworks, thousands continued to celebrate, singing Auld Lang Syne, and dancing.

Inverness was host to the Red Hot Highland Fling, described by organisers as "one of the biggest ceilidhs on the planet," where folk singer Siobhan Miller entertained partygoers up to midnight.

Later, hundreds of hardy swimmers are expected to brave the waters of the Firth of Forth as part of the annual Loony Dook — dook being a Scots word for dip or bathe.

People are encouraged to don fancy dress for the charity swim.

In Allendale, Northumberland, the annual Allendale Tar Bar'l ceremony was held.

The centuries-old tradition sees 45 local men carry burning whiskey barrels through the town.

Before the celebrations, King Charles III and Queen Camilla waved to onlookers as they attended the New Year's Eve service at a church in Sandringham, Norfolk.

Ahead of giving his New Year message, the Archbishop of Canterbury urged politicians not to treat their opponents as enemies but as fellow human beings.

He told the BBC:

"Our capacity to disagree deeply and not destructively is cause for hope."

His message will be broadcast on BBC1 and iPlayer at 12:55 GMT.

In his New Year message, Prime Minister Rishi Sunak hinted at tax cuts in an election year and said the UK should "look forward with pride and optimism."

He said his resolution would be to "keep driving forward."

Labour leader Sir Keir Starmer used his message to say that while it had been "another tough year economically for millions of people, hope was the fuel of change."

Meanwhile, Sir Ed Davey, leader of the Liberal Democrats, renewed his party's call for electoral reform and appealed to "transform the nature of British politics for good."

[makotoscoffee]

The theaters screening GREAT PRETENDER razbliuto are now published!

Participating Theaters: Alphabetical by city.

Cinemark Pflugerville 20 and XD (Austin, TX)

Cinemark Egyptian 24 and XD (Baltimore, MD)

AMC Boston Common 19 (Boston, MA)

AMC River East 21 (Chicago, IL)

AMC Northpark 15 (Dallas, TX)

AMC Westminster Promenade 24 & IMAX (Denver, CO)

Consolidated Ward Theaters with TITAN LUXE (Honolulu, HI)

Regal Edwards Houston Marq’E (Houston, TX)

AMC Town Square 18 (Las Vegas, NV)

AMC Burbank 16 (Los Angeles, CA)

Regal LA Live (Los Angeles CA)

AMC Tysons Corner 16 (McLean, CA)

AMC Sunset Place 24 (Miami, FL)

AMC Garden State 16 (Newark, NJ)

AMC Empire 25 (New York, NY)

Harkins Theatres Arizona Mills 18 w/ IMAX (Phoenix, AZ)

AMC DINE-IN Ontario Mills 30 (Riverside, CA)

Cinemark Century Arden 14 and XD (Sacramento, CA)

Cinemark Jordan Landing 24 and XD (Salt Lake City, UT)

Santikos Entertainment Casa Blanca (San Antonio, TX)

AMC Mission Valley 20 (San Diego, CA)

Regal Stonestown Galleria (San Francisco, CA)

Cinemark Century Great Mall 20 XD and ScreenX (San Jose, CA)

AMC Orange 30 (Santa Ana, CA)

Regal Meridian (Seattle, WA)

[oddlysentientvagrant]

Exploring the London Daily News: A Window into the Capital’s Pulse

Introduction to London Daily News

london daily news In a bustling metropolis like London, staying informed about current events is not merely a preference—it is a necessity. As one of the world's most dynamic cities, London is a hub of political, economic, cultural, and social activities. The London Daily News has emerged as a key source of information for Londoners and international readers alike. Serving as a trusted platform that reflects the city's heartbeat, the London Daily News offers a comprehensive view of the latest developments across various sectors. In this article, we will explore the history, content, impact, and significance of the London Daily News, highlighting how it plays an essential role in shaping public opinion and ensuring citizens stay well-informed.

Historical Background and Evolution

The concept of the London Daily News is rooted in the city's rich journalistic history. London has long been home to a vibrant media landscape, with newspapers dating back to the 17th century. While many traditional publications have undergone significant transformations, the London Daily News represents a modern iteration of this legacy. It was initially launched with the intention of providing quick, reliable, and easily accessible news to the residents of London. Over the years, it has adapted to technological advancements and changing reader expectations by transitioning from print to a strong digital presence. This evolution has allowed the publication to cater to a wider audience and maintain relevance in an era where news is consumed on the go.

Comprehensive Coverage of Local and Global Issues

One of the defining characteristics of the London Daily News is its wide-ranging coverage. The publication is known for reporting not only on local events within Greater London but also on national and global news that affects the city’s residents. From traffic disruptions on the Tube to debates in Parliament, and from local business developments to international diplomacy, the London Daily News provides well-rounded reporting. Special attention is given to issues that directly affect Londoners—such as housing, public transportation, healthcare, education, and environmental initiatives. This local focus ensures that the news remains highly relevant to its core readership, while its broader coverage keeps readers informed about the global context in which London operates.

Politics and Public Affairs

Political reporting is a cornerstone of the London Daily News. Given London’s status as the political epicenter of the UK, the publication extensively covers Westminster politics, policy changes, and public opinion. Whether it’s a mayoral election, changes in council tax, or significant national debates like Brexit or immigration reform, the London Daily News provides timely updates and in-depth analysis. The publication also features interviews with politicians, thought leaders, and community organizers to present multiple perspectives. Its commitment to impartial reporting has helped build trust among readers who rely on it to understand how political decisions impact their everyday lives.

Spotlight on Business and Economy

The London Daily News also provides robust coverage of the business world, particularly in relation to London’s role as a global financial center. From updates on the London Stock Exchange to profiles of local startups and economic forecasts, the publication helps its readers stay ahead in the fast-paced world of business. Key industries such as finance, technology, real estate, and retail are regularly featured. This not only aids professionals in making informed decisions but also helps the general public understand the economic forces shaping their city. Moreover, special reports on employment trends and job markets make it an essential resource for job seekers and employers alike.

Arts, Culture, and Entertainment

London is world-renowned for its rich cultural scene, and the London Daily News captures this vibrancy with dedicated coverage of the arts and entertainment sectors. Whether it’s a West End premiere, a new museum exhibit, or local music festivals, the publication keeps its readers updated on the latest happenings. It also includes reviews, artist interviews, and feature stories that highlight the city’s creative spirit. During events like the London Film Festival or London Fashion Week, the London Daily News often produces special editions that provide deeper insights and behind-the-scenes coverage. This focus on culture enriches the reading experience and supports the local creative community.

Public Interest and Human Stories

Beyond hard news and event coverage, the London Daily News excels in bringing human stories to the forefront. Feature articles often spotlight ordinary Londoners doing extraordinary things—community volunteers, small business owners, teachers, or innovators. These stories serve not only to inform but also to inspire, reflecting the diverse and dynamic nature of London’s population. In times of crisis, such as the COVID-19 pandemic or local tragedies, the publication has played a crucial role in highlighting stories of resilience and solidarity. These narratives deepen the emotional connection between the news outlet and its audience.

Embracing Digital Innovation

In today’s digital age, the London Daily News has harnessed the power of technology to enhance its reach and engagement. Its website is optimized for mobile and desktop platforms, offering real-time news updates, multimedia content, and interactive features. The publication has also built a strong presence on social media platforms, where it shares headlines, conducts live coverage, and interacts with its audience. Podcasts, newsletters, and video reports further expand its multimedia offerings. This digital transformation ensures that the London Daily News remains accessible to all demographics, from young professionals to older readers.

The Role in Civic Engagement and Democracy

Perhaps one of the most significant contributions of the London Daily News is its role in fostering civic engagement and strengthening democracy. By providing accurate, timely, and unbiased information, the publication empowers citizens to make informed decisions. It encourages public discourse, holds authorities accountable, and promotes transparency. Through investigative journalism and community-focused reporting, the London Daily News acts as a watchdog and a platform for public voices. In an age of misinformation, its commitment to journalistic integrity is more vital than ever.

Conclusion: A Trusted Companion for Londoners

london daily news The London Daily News stands as more than just a newspaper—it is a vital public service, a mirror to the city’s soul, and a bridge connecting people to the world around them. As London continues to evolve, facing both challenges and opportunities, the role of the London Daily News becomes increasingly important. Whether you are a lifelong Londoner, a new resident, or a curious global reader, the publication offers an invaluable resource for understanding the city's pulse. In a rapidly changing media environment, its dedication to high-quality journalism ensures that it will remain a cornerstone of London's information ecosystem for years to come.

[scotianostra]

On July 17th 2009 the singer/songwriter Gordon Waller and one half of the duo Peter & Gordon passed away.

Waller, the son of a surgeon, was born in Braemar, and went to Westminster school, in London, where he met Peter Asher in 1959. Asher was already something of a jazz and blues fan, but Waller persuaded him to broaden his horizons to include pop and rock'n'roll. Both were keen guitarists and soon they were entertaining their fellow students. By 1963, they were playing (initially as Gordon and Peter) in pubs and small clubs at lunchtimes and evenings for small fees or for a meal, often singing their own compositions in the close harmony style of the Everly Brothers. Early in 1964, they were booked for a two-week engagement at the Pickwick nightclub. One of the diners was Norman Newell, an EMI record producer. Newell was charmed enough by Peter and Gordon's rendition of their song If I Were You to offer them a recording contract.

At this time, McCartney was dating Jane, and Peter and Gordon badgered McCartney to provide them with a song. He obliged with A World Without Love, which he had written six years earlier in Liverpool. McCartney told his biographer Barry Miles: "Gordon was a lot of fun – he was slightly less academic than Peter. It was he who persuaded Peter to jump school to do lunchtime sessions."

By the end of March 1964, A World Without Love had displaced the Beatles' own Can't Buy Me Love at the top of the charts. In May, just before Waller's 19th birthday and Asher's 20th, it was the biggest selling record in the US. The instant stardom created by A World Without Love was the beginning of two years of frantic activity for Peter and Gordon.

For the American media, they combined the cachet of a Beatles connection (McCartney wrote several more of their hits and fans discerned in Waller a slight resemblance to John Lennon) There were numerous television appearances, occasional tours of Japan and Australia as well as North America and dozens of recordings. In the next 12 months, Nobody I Know and I Don't Want to See You Again (both by McCartney) were transatlantic hits, as were I Go To Pieces, written by Del Shannon, and True Love Ways, a Buddy Holly song the duo had performed in their early days in London.

By now, Peter and Gordon were competing in North America with numerous other British imports, including another middle-class duo, Chad and Jeremy. Their star began to wane in 1966, when their only hits were Woman, another McCartney composition credited pseudonymously to "Bernard Webb", and Lady Godiva, a novelty number that was denounced as obscene by the mayor of Coventry, which helped it reach the Top 20 in Britain and the American Top 10. By 1967, Peter and Gordon's British career was over and in America they were reduced to peddling olde English material such as the minor hit The Knight in Rusty Armour and the album Sunday for Tea. They split up the next year, with Asher joining the Beatles' Apple project as an A&R man and Waller launching a career as a solo singer.

Despite the fact that he had been the stronger vocalist of the pair, this career was stillborn. A handful of singles were issued, plus a 1970 album of his own compositions called Gordon. He left showbusiness to run a landscape gardening business in Northamptonshire until, in 1971, he took the part of Pharaoh in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice.

In the 1980s and 90s Waller ran a music publishing business in America. In the last few years of his life, he reunited with Asher to play a few shows in Los Angeles, the Philippines and New York

[absolutelandscapeturfmd]

How a New Deck Installation in Carroll County, Howard County, Ellicott City, Eldersburg, Olney, Mt. Airy, and Clarksville, MD and Pool Can Boost the Home’s Value

In today’s competitive real estate market, homeowners in Carroll County and Howard County, Maryland, are always on the lookout for home improvements that enhance lifestyle and add long-term value. Among the most sought-after outdoor upgrades are deck installations in Carroll County, Howard County, Ellicott City, Eldersburg, Olney, Mt. Airy, Clarksville, MD, and swimming pools. These features do more than elevate the aesthetics of a backyard—they offer real financial benefits when it comes time to sell.   Let’s explore how a professionally built deck and pool can significantly boost the home’s curb appeal, meet buyer expectations, and deliver a solid return on investment (ROI).   1. First Impressions Matter: Boosting Curb Appeal   A beautifully designed outdoor space has immediate visual impact. In Carroll and Howard Counties—where many homes sit on generous lots—buyers often envision entertaining, relaxing, and enjoying Maryland’s warm seasons in their backyards. A well-constructed deck, especially one that complements the home’s architecture and includes details like lighting, railings, or built-in seating, makes a strong first impression. Pair that with a clean, stylish swimming pool; the property becomes an entertainer’s dream.   From family barbecues to pool parties, the outdoor space tells a story—and that story can be the difference between an average showing and a top-dollar offer.   2. ROI That Pays Off   Home improvement projects often come down to numbers. According to national remodeling reports, a wooden deck installation can yield an ROI of 65%–75%, while a composite deck might return slightly more due to its low-maintenance appeal.   When it comes to pools, the ROI can vary based on location and quality, but in higher-income areas like Clarksville, Ellicott City, and Mount Airy, a professionally installed in-ground pool can increase home value by 5–8%—sometimes more if the property is already in a premium price range.   The key to maximizing ROI is quality construction, thoughtful design, and the use of durable, weather-resistant materials that perform well in Maryland’s four-season climate.   3. Meeting Modern Buyer Preferences   Today’s homebuyers—especially in family-focused neighborhoods like Olney, Eldersburg, and Ellicott City—are increasingly looking for move-in-ready outdoor living spaces. With more people spending time at home, especially post-pandemic, a functional backyard is no longer a luxury; it’s an expectation.   Here’s what buyers in Carroll and Howard Counties love to see:   l Low-maintenance composite decking with long-lasting beauty.   l Covered or partially shaded deck areas for entertaining.   l Energy-efficient pool pumps and saltwater systems.   l Kid-safe fencing and non-slip deck surfaces around pools.   l Integrated landscaping and lighting enhance the overall design.   Homes that check these boxes tend to stand out in listings and may spend less time on the market.   4. Enjoy Now, Profit Later   Beyond resale benefits, a new deck and swimming pool construction in Fulton, Howard County, Carroll County, MD, Glenelg, Dayton, and Westminster, MD, offer immediate enjoyment. Host summer cookouts, unwind in the evening breeze, or create a backyard vacation spot outside one’s door. When one is ready to move, that investment transforms into real buyer interest and a higher asking price.   Homeowners investing in a new deck and swimming pool are making a smart move that enhances their lifestyle and the property’s market value. With the right design, materials, and professional installation, the backyard can become a standout feature that attracts buyers and adds real financial return.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Does any sinner know more about Tom Quinn? by u/Nervous-Spinach2046

Does any sinner know more about Tom Quinn? Tom Quinn is the new Scooobie, that much we know. But what makes a 68-year-old published author so desperate for money that he would willingly blow up his reputation and shill for TOW and the ginger whinger? Is he a sugar all along?I’ve never heard of him before. After a bit of googling, and here’s what I’ve found:He’s published six books on the BRF, and one is in the pipeline:Backstairs Billy (2015) – about the Queen Mum’s most trusted pageMrs Keppel (2016) – about King Edward VII’s mistress Alice Keppel, who is also Queen Camilla’s great grandmotherThe Reluctant Billionaire (2018) - about Gerald Grosvenor, Sixth Duke of Westminster (father of the current duke, Hugh)Kensington Palace: An Intimate Memoir from Queen Mary to Meghan Markle (2020)Scandals of the Royal Palaces: An Intimate Memoir of Royals Behaving Badly (2021)Gilded Youth: An Intimate History of Growing Up in the Royal Family (2023)Upcoming: Yes Ma'am: Upstairs Downstairs in the British Royal Family (August 2024)He is very prolific, and writes a lot about behind-the-scenes of the RF. I must say, if he weren’t such a sugar now, I would very much like to read some of his books, especially 1, 6, 7.From a bio I found on him on publisher Hachette’s website, he has spent 20 years talking to people in domestic service to learn about their lives. He’s also written a few bios of people who worked as servants. This is very interesting to me.Before he started writing about the RF, he’s written about a wide range of topics:fishing, eccentrics, long walks, railways, early aviation and the First World War, as well as the children’s author and illustrator Denys Watkins-Pitchford (better known as BB).(Source) He was the author of the “Strangest” series of books, and the editor of two magazines: The Countryman and Country Landowner’s Magazine. He also regularly appeared on British TV to talk about eccentrics, London history, and the RF.He had a blog, which only has three entries, all from 2021. From one of the entries we can see he has at least one son, who was studying to become a lawyer.What gives an inkling of his Markle sympathies is the cover of the Kensington Palace book: the most famous inhabitant of KP in the 20th century was undoubtedly Diana, Princess of Wales; the most famous in the century before that, was Queen Victoria before she came to the throne. Her mother has even named the set of rules governing Victoria’s upbringing The Kensington System. For the 21st century, I would say it would be William and Catherine, the current PPOW. But Quinn had this on the cover of his KP book:https://ift.tt/Slhq8y1 lived in Nott Cott in the KP grounds for, what, 5 minutes? Complaining the whole time, about the size, low ceiling, the name etc, of a piece of prime real estate in Central London? For free? (I assume H’s rent was paid by Charles). Not at all representative of such an illustrious palace.And then his last book, Gilded Youth, has this cover:https://ift.tt/VBAfq7J? Why not use either of these?Getty ImagesGetty ImagesI think it must be his solid background that made him a prime choice for the new UK PR “guru” to hire as the new Scooobie. Seemed less biased. But the shilling is so transparent. It’s rather sad to see him become a mouthpiece for the Harkles, although the bias was already there.Does anyone know more about him? post link: https://ift.tt/ZEbRmid author: Nervous-Spinach2046 submitted: May 30, 2024 at 12:38PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[techutcanada]

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