#The Women's Royal Army Corps

[valiantarcher]

When 481 Battery was deployed in Hyde Park (many will remember seeing it there, bulled to the nines with gleaming steel and brass work and immaculate paint) and Mary Churchill was the ATS junior commander, a message from the Prime Minister's office to the battery commander asked if he may look in and visit it en route from the Commons to Downing Street, which gave much pleasure. It was after dark, and the unbriefed male sentry on guard, his wits momentarily paralysed by the august apparition revealed by a dim light inside the large car demanded its identity guard, which was produced after some terrifying rumbles. Then: 'You did quite right, my boy'.

Shelford Bidwell, The Women’s Royal Army Corps. Mary Churchill was the daughter of the then Prime Minister Winston Churchill and was serving in the Anti-Aircraft Command.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Déjeuner à bord du "Québec"," La Presse. August 10, 1943. Page 4. ---- La Canada Steamship Lines rendait hommage aux trois divisions féminines de l'armée canadienne, par un déjeuner offert hier midi à bord d'un de ses navires, le "Québec", et qui réunissent dans une cordiale intimité les représentantes des journaux montréalais et aussi celles de l'armée, de l'aviation et de la marine. On voit ici, causant avec le capitaine C.-H. Burch du "Québec", de gauche à droite, le capitaine Cécile Bouchard, du C.W.A.C., l'officier de section, Hilda Sparrow, du C.A.R.C., division féminine, le lieutenant-colonel Joan-B. Kennedy, des quartiers généraux de la Défense nationale à Ottawa, et le sous-lieutenant Suzanne Royal Gagnen, de la Marine royale canadienne. (Photo de la Canada Steamship Lines.)

[blurredcolour]

You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Two

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

Dick's mandated dose of civilization puts him, quite literally, on a collision course with someone he had not expected to see again.

Warnings: Discussion of Injuries and Death, Hints of PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes [handjob, fingering, vaginal sex, condoms] - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 6723

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Paris – December 10, 1944

Seeing your roommate off on her train to Arnhem was not exactly how you’d pictured spending your first day off in months. But Lucy had become a close friend to you over the past several weeks you’d shared the relatively luxurious accommodations, and she was all nerves as she headed even closer to the German border. Dressed in your Canadian Women’s Army Corp uniform with Lucy, or Luus in her native Dutch, in her Women’s Royal Navy Service uniform, you had helped her cart her belongings to Gare du Nord to catch her train.

Neither of you had technically trained in the respective uniforms you wore, instead coming to the service by way of the Strategic Operations Executive, due to your language abilities and other skills. Lucy’s family had only very recently moved to England from the Netherlands and her mastery of the Dutch language would be an asset to the Allied headquarters being established in Arnhem. Similarly, you were expecting to spend the rest of the war working in Paris. Exchanging knives and explosives for typewriter ribbon and file folders. Your feelings on the matter oscillated between relief and impotence on a daily basis, but you had little say in the matter.

Waiting until her train was pulling its way out of the station, you began making your way through the flood of passengers disembarking from another train that had pulled in across the platform. Several people bumped into you but only one apologized.

“Sorry –” Spoke a voice you’d probably recognize just about anywhere before he repeated. “Excusez-moi.”

You spun around quickly, eyes going wide as the Lieutenant from Normandy stood before you, sending your thoughts hurtling back to early June. You had been gasping for breath – the proximity of the detonation had driven the air from your lungs, compounded by the now dead weight of the German solider on top of you. An obnoxious ringing had taken up residence in your ears, obscuring any and all other sound as you had futilely pushed at the burden above you, shock weakening your muscles. The ground had begun to tremble then, an immediately recognizable sign that tanks were approaching, increasing the beat of your heart to a frantic rate as you lay essentially incapacitated in the road.

Suddenly the pressure above you had eased and you had frozen, holding your breath and closing your eyes, unable to determine just who exactly was intervening in your situation. When a pair of fingers found the pulse in your neck and two sets of hands lifted you from the road, you had risked cracking your eyelids only to be greeted by the sight of the Lieutenant carrying you by your knees. His face had been wreathed in sunlight, sea-glass green eyes striking in the shadow cast beneath his helmet, looking practically ethereal as he had moved you to safety.

Brought back to the present by the realization that you were gaping at him like a startled rabbit, lost in your memories, your eyes flicked to the cap on his head and confidently noted his promotion. “A captain now.”

“A Canadian now.” He replied as his own eyes settled on the patch embroidered on your shoulder. “Or were you always, Charlotte?” The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes met yours.

Your throat clenched at the name, and you swallowed hard to clear it before smiling even wider than before. “I’m sorry you’ve got me confused with my good friend Charlotte Roussel. She’s told me all about you.” You offered your hand to shake as you introduced yourself properly, no pseudonym this time, only your real name.

Taking your gloved hand in his, he shook it firmly with a bemused expression playing on his face. “Dick Winters. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Captain. If you are in need of a place to stay, I happen to have a recently vacated room in my apartment I would be happy to loan to you, free of charge. The hotels in Paris would love nothing more than to liberate you of your American dollars.” You hazarded a guess that he was on a short leave based on the small bag he carried at his side.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” His denial was half-hearted, leaving you with an opening to convince him.

“Not at all. Besides, Charlotte would not forgive me if I did not repay you for saving her life.” You insisted with a nod, not missing the way his eyes slid to your forehead. You flexed your fingers at your sides, willing them to remain there rather than nervously checking that your hair was covering the still-healing scar.

“If I remember it correctly, she saved mine first.”

“Please it’s just a short subway ride.” You gestured down the significantly emptier platform and he nodded his assent, turning to follow you.

You helped him purchase his fare, his unfamiliarity with the local currency somehow charming, before guiding him underground. Securing a pair of seats by the door, he had barely slid into place before someone was calling your name from further down the carriage.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.” You apologized before hurrying over to greet one of your colleagues, a staff assistant to one of the officers at headquarters.

He asked you all about your plans for your days off while not-so-subtly trying to find out more about the American soldier you had boarded the subway with. It was an easy topic to skirt around by encouraging him to talk about his recent promotion and his new French girlfriend, but you found your eyes glancing at Captain Winters as his posture seemed to grow more and more rigid.

“Sorry to cut you off, First Sergeant Danvers, but I’ll see you in the office on Tuesday.” You excused yourself as politely but as firmly as possible before returning to stand beside the Captain, very carefully setting your hand on his shoulder.

“Captain?” You asked softly, swallowing as he looked to you sharply before slowly exhaling. “Next stop is ours.”

He nodded and gathered his things, following you off the train at the station and up the stairs back into the light of day. Your apartment lay in a building that had been requestioned by the British army, not two blocks from the station, on the second floor. The previous owners had fled in the face of German occupation and left some furnishings which you were using, though more beds were slated for delivery in January with the arrival of further CWACs. Unlocking the door, you led Captain Winters into the foyer, carefully removing your uniform cap to hang by the door.

“Kitchen is on the left, living room overlooks the street, bedrooms and the bathroom are this way.” You led him down a corridor to the room that Lucy had just vacated, retrieving her apartment key from the nightstand. “So you can come-and-go as you please.”

He took it carefully after tucking his garrison cap into his belt, setting his bag on the freshly made bed. “This is extremely kind of you, thank you again.”

Now that you were no longer in public, you licked your lips, feeling as though you owed him a proper explanation. “I considered our accounts balance, Captain, once you helped me retrieve my men. Therefore, I owe you for saving my life.”

Captain Winters eyed you intensely as he registered your use of ‘I’ and ‘my.’

“I’ve seen you wear many different costumes…how close to your real persona is this one?” He asked, looking over your CWAC uniform curiously.

“The closest, honestly, though I don’t feel like I’ve really earned the Sergeant’s stripes, they are necessary to explain my presence so far forward. The war is over for Charlotte, France all-but liberated, yet I still have skills to contribute. And my British accent is sh – shameful.” You corrected yourself with a smirk, recalling his distaste for coarse language, enjoying the twitch of his lips in response. “I’m assisting with translation in the Allied offices here. The delay in relaying them to England is no longer necessary.”

“So, really a Canadian.” He confirmed.

“Yes, and you know my real name, too.” You nodded reassuringly. “But I’m assuming you’d like to see more of Paris than just this apartment?” You laughed and he nodded quickly. “Would you like a guide or –”

The ‘yes’ was out of his mouth before you even had the chance to give him an out and you bowed your head lest he see the smile that pulled from you.

“That is, if you’re free and willing…” He amended, tone sheepish.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who saved me from being crushed by a tank.” You smirked and he chuckled before his eyes widened.

“I still have your knife, back at the base.” He frowned.

You grinned a little, shaking your head. “Good. That’s good.” Echoing his words to you when he realized your hearing had returned. “Keep it. It saw me through a lot of things. I hope it does the same for you.”

He eyed you a moment. “Thank you…for your honesty, and the knife.” He clarified.

“I apologize that I cannot always be honest with you, but I will endeavour to do so as circumstances permit. Now, I’m assuming you haven’t had lunch?”

“Not yet, no.”

“There’s an excellent café not far from here, shall we?” You led him back out through the foyer, snagging your cap on the way by, the pair of you taking a moment on the threshold to secure your uniform cover before you locked the door and headed back outside.

The streets were filled with soldiers on leave, but with his height and bright red hair, it was difficult to lose him in the crowd. Securing a table outside, you walked him through the menu before ordering on his behalf in French.

“Where did you learn to speak it so well?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Oxford.” You swallowed hesitantly as not many men appreciated the fact that you had studied at university, let alone a prestigious school in England. To your great relief he titled his head back and simply laughed.

“Nix would be so jealous to hear you say that…” He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee as it was delivered.

“Lieutenant Nixon?” You clarified, taking the time to add the packet of Saccharin that you had requested to sweeten the bitter liquid.

“He’s a captain now, but yes. A Yale man, but not an Oxford man.”

You laughed in relief, sipping your own beverage once it was slightly more palatable.

“What took you there?”

“Scholarship, and my uncle, my mother’s brother, lived there. The opportunity to go to Europe was difficult to pass up. I began my undergraduate degree in 1938.”

He shook his head, presumably at the timing. “Did you manage to finish?”

You nodded quickly. “Graduated with a major in French, minor in German in the spring of 1942.”

He hummed thoughtfully, the strategic value of those two languages going unspoken in such a crowded space.

“How about yourself?” You prompted as your food arrived, laying your napkin across your lap.

“I went to Franklin & Marshall College in Pennsylvania – definitely not Oxford or Yale. Graduated with an Economics degree in ’41. Tried to get my military service out of the way early but then Pearl Harbor happened and well, here I am…” He shrugged, tucking into his food.

The pair of you spent a good hour, trading questions back and forth between bites of your food, learning about your families, where you had grown up, why you had joined the war effort.

“My uncle was killed during an air raid in London in May of 1941. He’d gone to visit a friend and stayed the night – apparently, they had tried to drink the pub dry.” You shook your head fondly in memory. “The Luftwaffe decided to bomb the neighborhood that night, neither of them even made it into the shelter. I almost quit my studies the next day to join FANY or become a Land Girl or just…do something useful.” You sighed leaning back in your chair as the waitstaff came to collect your empty plates, avoiding Captain Winters’ gaze, though you could feel his eyes on your cheek. “Friend of mine convinced me I could do more good if I finished what I started – that my language skills would be put to good use once I honed them.”

“Sounds like a wise friend.” He replied softly and you turned to him.

“They are. Helped me get where I am today.” You nodded meaningfully, a movement which he mirrored in unspoken understanding. “Anyway, I’m meant to be showing you around.” You forced a smile and summoned the bill, though Captain Winters beat you to punch by laying a large number of francs on the table, not allowing you to pay for your own meal. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He replied, pulling out your chair once he’d received his change.

Leading him along the historic streets you showed him some of the more famous sites, waiting patiently as he picked up a pack of postcards to send home as the sun began to set.

“There’s a popular restaurant just up the street, did you want to try and get a table for dinner?” You offered once he rejoined you, tucking his purchase into his pocket.

“That would be nice, yes.” He nodded, his hand hovering just above your lower back as you navigated your way along the crowded sidewalk to the restaurant.

Placing your name on the waitlist, the pair of you were idling patiently in the foyer when your direct report Major Wilkes stepped out of the dining room, making you stand up straighter. “Good evening, sir.”

He looked over to you and the American Captain standing tall at your side, greeting you in kind. “Enjoying your well-earned rest, Sergeant?” He asked warmly.

“Yes sir, thank you again.”

“You’ve earned it.” He reminded you with a laugh.

“Major Wilkes, may I present Captain Winters of the 101st Airborne.” You introduced the men to one another properly as you recalled your manners.

The two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before Major Wilkes turned back to the maître d,’ murmuring something neither of you could hear. “See you on Tuesday, Sergeant. Enjoy your time in Paris, Captain.”

“Good night, sir.” You smiled, glancing at the Captain before the maître d’ was calling your name to seat you, ahead of several other groups who had been waiting longer.

“Your CO seems to like you.” Captain Winters murmured once you were settled at a table a few rows back from the dancefloor, not too close to the bandstand.

“Major Wilkes is a good man, easy to work for.” You nodded, setting your cap on the empty chair beside you.

“I’m glad. And grateful.” He lifted the menu, and you leaned in once more to walk him through the options, swallowing as he smelled of Brylcreem and aftershave.

Conversation didn’t flow as easily once the band started playing, couples crowding the dancefloor as you enjoyed some delicious yet overpriced food. The Captain seemed to be watching you closely, glancing between you and the dancefloor, until a slow song began to play, and he leaned in. “Would you like to dance?”

Dabbing at the corner of your mouth with your napkin you nodded quickly, heart leaping into your throat as he pulled out your chair to help you stand. You set your hand in his, following him onto the crowded dancefloor as he set one hand on your waist, the other held out to the side in his as he swayed with you to the music. Neither of you were particularly talented dancers, but you could not deny how lovely it felt to be held this close by him. You glanced at him with a shy smile, certain the tips of his ears were pink, though it may have been the dim lighting, before you looked to the side as you nibbled your lip, trying to even out your breathing.

Belatedly you realized that Captain Winters was speaking to you, into your right ear, which had never fully recovered from your roadside escapade in Normandy. It had a habit of being particularly uncooperative in crowded, noisy places such as this. Registering the vibrations of his voice you turned your head quickly to look up at him. “I’m so sorry could you repeat that please?” You asked before offering him your left ear.

After a moment or two of nothing but music you turned back to see him frowning deeply.

“Oh, Captain, please, it’s the only thing, and then only sometimes, not always.” You tried to reassure him, reaching out to smooth the furrow of his brow with your fingertips.

“Please call me Dick.” He replied, leaning towards your left ear as he spoke.

“Alright, Dick.” You exhaled, your heart fluttering erratically as you turned your head to press your lips against his softy.

His feet stopped moving altogether, hand clasping yours tighter as you felt the fingers of his other hand curling into the back of your uniform jacket. His lips pressed closer to yours, drawing a barely audible sigh through your nose, until another couple carelessly bumped into you, jolting you apart. Dick carefully steadied you and you squeezed his hand, leading him back to the table to grab you cap. He flagged down a waiter and, infuriatingly, paid yet again before leading you out in the dim streets out black-out Paris.

“I was trying to save you money, not make you spend it all.” You gently chastised him, almost stepping off the curb in front of a cyclist you did not hear approaching from the right.

His arm quickly slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest just before they zoomed by spewing curses in their wake. “Careful. I already told you it’s my pleasure.” He assured you before offering his arm.

“Thanks, Dick.” You took it slowly, trying not to let your frustration show. You had previously excelled at navigating dark places and now you were forced to rely on the guidance of others. Taking a fortifying breath, you began leading him along the sidewalk. “I thought we’d walk home, the subway didn’t seem to agree with you?” You asked carefully.

“I’d appreciate that.” He replied, keeping an eye out for further obstacles hidden by the shadows of the black out as the pair of you made your way back to the apartment in companionable silence.

“I just need to close the curtains before we turn on the lights, one moment.” You left Dick in the foyer, setting your cap on the hook by the door before tugging the black out curtains closed in each room, turning the lights on as you made your way back to him. “Sorry about that I wasn’t thinking when we left.”

He shook his head softly, watching you quietly from right where you’d asked him to wait. “Do you think it would be all right if I were to take a hot bath tonight?"

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely alright, I’ll get you set up.”

Leading him to the bathroom you set out some towels and the bar of soap, turning to him. “There should be plenty of hot water at this time of night, the boiler will have had time to refill. Anything else you need before I leave you to it?”

His lips quirked into a tentative smile. “Yes, might I kiss you goodnight?”

Your pulse quickened as you tried not to smile like a buffoon. “Please.” Your voice waivered slightly, much to your annoyance, but mercifully it did not seem to deter Dick.

He stepped forward, hands cupping the sides of your face tenderly as he angled your lips to meet his. Gripping his forearms to steady yourself, you came to realize that Dick was a different man when he set his mind to something. You had simply taken him by surprise on the dancefloor. This kiss was altogether more assertive and left you breathless as he pulled back.

“Goodnight.” He smiled gently, nose brushing the hair from your forehead to press his lips to the scar there softly.

“Night.” You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the surge of emotions that unleashed within you, taking a steady breath before you were able to smile dreamily and slip out.

Retiring to your room, you unpinned your hair carefully before sliding into your cotton nightgown, pulling your quilted housecoat overtop and settling onto the double bed left by the apartments previous owners to do some reading while you waited your turn to use the washroom. Fully absorbed in the novel that Lucy had left for you, you were surprised when you noted that over an hour had passed since you had opened your book. Frowning, you slid your bookmark into place before cracking the door open slightly and peering down the hall, startled to see the bathroom door still closed while the door to the other bedroom remained open.

Gnawing on your lower lip you walked to the end of hall, knocking gently on the door. “Dick?” You waited, frown deepening as there was no response. Your main concern that he had fallen asleep in the deep claw-footed tub, at great risk of drowning. Knocking more firmly, you called his name again. “I’m coming in if you don’t answer.” You warned, giving it a slow count to ten before stepping into the humid washroom, careful to keep your eyes well above the waterline.

True to your concern, the man was sound asleep, thankfully with his head bent back over the edge of the tub, a washcloth cushioning his neck. Impressed by the level of comfort he must be feeling to sleep through all the noise you were making, you took a step closer, calling his name yet again. Kneeling beside the tub with your back to his lower body, you focused on his peacefully sleeping face, shaking your head in awe before reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He jolted awake, sending now-tepid water sloshing over the side of the tub and down your housecoat onto the backs of your calves. You let out an involuntary gasp at the temperature shock.

“Aw heck, I’m so sorry I…” His hands quickly dove under the water to cover himself.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you’re ok.” You smiled, waving off his concern and leaned in to kiss his cheek before moving to stand.

“Before you leave uh, could you uh pass the soap?” He’d gone red to the tips of his ears.

You bit the inside of your cheek to smother your grin and fetched it from atop the towel behind you. As you turned back to him, your eyes accidentally fell on the length of his body beneath the water, hands still firmly cupping between his legs. Unable to look away, to think, to move, Dick’s voice brought you back to reality.

“You alright, honey?” He asked softly and your eyes snapped to his face as the term of endearment dripped from his lips.

“More than alright.” You breathed in reply, seized by the need to lay your hands on his pearly white skin smattered in a constellation of freckles. Shrugging out of your housecoat you were left in your ankle-length nightgown with frills of lace at the shoulders. “May I help?” You tilted your head, kneeling at the edge of the tub once more.

He watched you with wide eyes, seeming unable to avert his gaze this time before his adam’s apple bobbed violently at your question. You waited patiently until he gave you one sharp nod, dipping the bar of soap into the water before you began to drag it along his neck and chest, sliding it beneath his dog tags. Their metallic jangle was the loudest sound in the washroom. You took a moment to rinse his skin clean with your other hand before repeating the pattern with his upper arms and abdomen, shifting to the bottom of the tub to do the same with his calves and feet. You did not miss the way his breaths grew heavier, lips parting slightly, his eyes never once leaving your face.

“Can I wash your hands?” You ask, biting your lip as he only offered one as the other tried and failed to hide his erection.

Swallowing thickly, you focused on washing it thoroughly – between each finger and up to his elbow, rinsing the suds from his skin before holding your hand out for the other.  He set it in yours boldly, meeting your eyes, no longer feeling the need to hide from you as his clean hand gripped the edge of the tub. Once his second hand was clean you leaned in to press your lips to his, trailing the soap down his abdomen once more before dipping it to his left hip then sweeping it back up to before repeating the motion to his right. His breath shuddered against your lips, and you pulled back to look over his face.

“Ok?” You breathed, throat constricting at his blown pupils, and he nodded violently before sliding a hand to the back of your neck to pull you closer, kissing you hungrily. You traced your fingers along the length of him, reveling in the shiver that wracked his body. Abandoning the bar of soap, you wrapped your hand around him fully, running your tongue along his bottom lip as his mouth fell open with a soft gasp.

It was a noise you soon echoed as his tongue slid forward to meet yours, licking into your mouth teasingly at first before he was confidently dominating the kiss. Bracing your free hand against his shoulder, you began to move your first along his length in earnest, lips curling against his as his knees bent before falling open, sloshing still more water from the tub. You could feel the cotton of your nightgown wicking the water higher along the material, surely become more and more translucent with each bit of moisture, yet you remained undeterred.

Forced to part from his lips to suck in a greedy breath to soothe the ache in your lungs, you experimentally swiped your thumb across the tip of his cock, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as his head fell back with a moan, hips nudging towards your hand needily. Encouraged, you made a point of repeating that motion, paying special attention to the head as you reached the apex of each pull. You watched the way his eyebrows knit together, listened to the pants and breathy grunts, felt further onslaughts of water as his hips bucked to your touch. Your thighs pressed together as you felt your panties grow damp in response, desperate for some friction of your own, but nonetheless thoroughly enjoying the act of pleasuring him.

“Honey, I’m…” He lifted his head to look at you quickly, voice tense, jaw muscles ticking.

You nodded eagerly and his fingers, which had been clinging to the back of your neck this entire time, hauled you in to plant his lips against yours fiercely. You happily swallowed his hoarse shout as his hips surged up into your grip, cock twitching as you felt him release into the now-cold bathwater. Stroking him through his release, you placed gentle kisses across his cheeks before shifting your hand to stroke his side.

“That was…” He sighed, speechless before brushing his lips against yours gratefully, cheeks still flushed.

“I’m glad.” You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against his. “Now come on that water is cold.” You murmured, standing and holding open a towel for him.

He gave you a crooked grin before pulling the plug from the drain and leveraging himself to his feet, stepping onto the rather wet bathmat and taking the towel to wrap around his waist. It was only then he properly noticed how much of your skin he could see through the damp patches of your nightgown. “I splashed you quite a bit, didn’t I. Sorry about that.” He murmured.

“I have another nightgown I can change into, don’t worry about it.” You assured him, reaching for your housecoat, but his arms slid around your waist, pulling you against his still-wet torso, drawing a gasp from your chest.

“Don’t bother.” He muttered before kissing you deeply.

Fingers digging into his biceps you squeaked against his lips as he began to shuffle you backwards, shocked that he was confidently leading you through your own apartment nearly blind. Reaching your bedroom, he looked to you softly, gathering the fabric of your nightgown in his hands. “May I?”

You nodded, licking your kiss-swollen lips, before the flurry of sodden cotton obscured your view. He lay it over your desk chair, turning back to you and exhaling reverently.

“You are so beautiful, honey.”

“Dick…” You whispered shyly in protest, but he shook his head, long fingers cradling your face tenderly to force your eyes to meet his.

“So beautiful.” He repeated, guiding you to lay on the bed.

Sliding on the mattress next to you, his lips began to map the skin on your jaw, body braced on his left arm while his right slid along your collarbone. Delving your fingers into his short ginger locks, you sighed warmly, tilting your head to offer more skin to his exploring mouth. Touch featherlight, his fingertips traced down the swell of your breast, making you arch towards his hand in invitation as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. You rewarded him with a soft moan as he cupped your tender flesh fully, gently kneading the weight of it in his warm palm, your nails brushing against his scalp.

As he reached the hollow of your throat, he darted his tongue out to lap at the skin there, making you writhe sightly beneath him. The contrast of his warm skin and the rough metal of his dog tags pressing against you was making your head swim. The addition of his tongue as he lapped at the supple flesh of your breast had you mewling breathlessly, once again pressing your thighs together to try and assuage the sheer need you felt. His hand slid along your side, progress slowing as his fingertips encountered the long, jagged scar there. It was well-healed by now, but still raised to the touch. He swiped his thumb along it tenderly before his hand moved to your hip, giving a gentle squeeze before skirting down your thigh. Exhaling shakily, you parted your legs for him, the pair of you gasping as his fingers cupped between your thighs.

“Dick.” You whimpered.

“Ok?” He looked to your face quickly and you nodded rapidly, lifting your hips to help him slid your panties down and off your legs.

 Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers returned to trace your folds before carefully parting them. His thumb came to circle your clit, the callous on the edge of his digit working wonders as his index finger dipped into the entrance to your warmth, teasing you.

“Oh my god..sh…” You belatedly caught your curse, not missing the way he chuckled against your shoulder before pressing his lips to your skin fondly. You forced your eyes open to look at him, if a bit blearily, but the smug bastard only replied by sinking his finger fully into you. “Christ!” You moaned richly, completely losing control of your manners, and your volume, as he stroked it along your silken walls before adding another.

Graciously, he pressed his lips to yours to smother any further curses his actions might have drawn from you, and you moaned richly against his tongue as you clung to his shoulders. You barely even noticed the way his dog tags were knocking into your chin, but he insisted on pulling back for a moment to swing them behind his neck before sliding a second finger into you. Your thighs began to tremble as you bucked wildly towards his hand, panting against his lips.

“P..please…” You pleaded, so very close, not wanting him to lose interest in your pleasure as your only other partner had seemed want to do.

“I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you.” He reassured you, the pace of his fingers increasing until your thighs clamped down around his hand. Hastily, he covered your mouth with his as he felt your walls begin to flutter, smothering your wail as your nails dug into his skin slightly.

Chest heaving, you pulled back from his lips to try and catch your breath, body still trembling with small aftershocks of pleasure. Dick gently slid his fingers from your body, your breath hitching in your throat before you smiled at him fondly.

“Good?” He asked softly, smoothing the hair from your face tenderly.

“Very good.” You reassured him, pecking his lips warmly.

They curled against yours in a soft grin before he whispered your name as you tugged the very loose towel from his lips to find his cock fully erect once more.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking to you.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked and he paused a moment before nodding.

“I’ll be right back.” He quickly secured the towel around his waist again, making you chew your lip fondly as he dashed out of the room. He was not gone a full minute before he returned with several individually wrapped paper packets, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Optimistic man.”

He laughed under his breath. “It’s cold tonight, I didn’t want to have to leave this room again.” He explained, shutting the door behind him before shedding the towel and climbing into bed with you.

Working together, you secured the latex sheath over his length before Dick settled between your thighs. He rested his weight on his right forearm beside your head, fingertips stroking your hair as he took his cock in hand. “Ok, honey?”

He checked one last time and your hearth clenched warmly as you reached out to cup his cheek. “Yes.” You reassured him, running your thumb along his lower lip.

He pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb before rolling his hips forward, carefully sinking into your warmth, his fingers, now free of their burden, lacing with yours and pining your hand to the pillow. His jaw hung open as your body welcomed him inch by inch, stretching to envelope him completely until his pelvis nestled snuggly against yours.

“Mhmm!” You keened, rocking up against him eager for him to move as he brought a feeling of completion that you’d never felt before.

His fingers flexed in your grip before he began the push and pull to build another orgasm within you, his grunts and breathy moans blended with words of adoration, all directed into your left ear. The mixture of it all – the pleasure, the care, the emotions – brought tears to your eyes and praise tumbled from your own lips in return.

“So good, Dick.”

“Like an angel, honey.”

“Just like that, yes!”

“Only you can make me feel this good.”

“Oh, Dick I’m…I’m gonna…”

“Yes honey, let go.”

You pressed your face tightly to his neck, your knees hugging his hips tightly as your back bowed with the force your release, an anguished cry of pleasure wrenched from your throat as you clamped down tightly around him. His rich groan followed shortly after as he rocked tightly against you in the throes of his own climax. Pulling from you slowly, he carefully rolled to lay beside you, the pair of you grinning up at the ceiling stupidly for a moment before you rolled onto your side to kiss his cheek.

Collecting the used condom, despite his protests, you padded to the washroom to run through your night routine at last, gratefully sliding into the housecoat to turn out the lights before returning to find him waiting for you beneath the quilt. Dick immediately pulled you into his chest as you slid into the bed and kissed your forehead.

As his fingers pulled at the tie of your housecoat, however, you could not help but laugh. “Really?”

He chuckled in return, pressing a kiss to your jaw before his fingers darted beneath the warm fabric to find the scar on your side. “What happened?” He asked softly and your throat clenched at the concern in his voice.

“Bayonet.” You replied quietly, frowning as his eyes jerked up to meet yours in the low light of the bedside lamp you’d left on. “I was lucky, really.” You smiled fondly at his incredulous look. “He tried firing on me first, but his weapon jammed, and then he got so flustered he barely stuck me.” You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly as you spoke.

 “This looks like a little more than barely.” He countered flatly and you kissed him softly.

“I was furious. First mission and I made it all of four days before I got hurt.” You shook your head. “A sympathetic doctor stitched me up and then it was a long way back to England to heal.”

“So, I met you on your…” He prompted, thumb sweeping along your scarred flesh as though he might erase the mark with his touch.

“Second.” You nodded. “And last in a way. I’ll never be able to do those things again with my right ear the way it is…” You grimaced and it was his turn to kiss you reassuringly.

“You’ve done more than enough, honey, more than should have ever been asked of you. And yet you’re still here, in a uniform, helping all the same.”

Pressing your forehead to his you sighed fondly. “Thank you.”

“We should get some sleep.” He murmured, pulling you close into his chest so he could reach with a long arm to turn off the lamp behind you.

It proved difficult to leave his arms for the rest of his time in Paris, though you managed to see to it that you remained fed despite Dick’s efforts to tire you out completely. Not a single condom went to waste. As he lay sleeping in the late afternoon, you took the opportunity to write a letter for him to carry with him – not knowing where he would find himself next, nor when you’d have the chance to see him again. Seized by the radical idea to package it up with some small token, you pried the badge from your cap, hoping the three silver maple leaves would make him think of you. Folding the badge within the letter, you tucked it into the front pocket of his luggage, fully prepared to feign complete astonishment when its absence was noted by Major Wilkes, or whomever noticed first.

Early Tuesday morning, you delivered Dick to Gare du Nord to catch the first train back to Mourmelon-le-Grand, unable to ignore the way he crossed his arms against the chilly north wind that seemed to herald to arrival of winter. Glancing at the drab olive wool scarf dangling around your neck you bit your lip as you reached the platform before sliding it off. Grasping each end, as Dick turned to say goodbye, you carefully slung it over his shoulders.

“Keep warm, Dick.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t take this from you, you’ll freeze.”

“I can get a new one easily.” With your hands still on the ends of the scarf you pulled him in to kiss him softly. “Good luck out there.” You repeated your parting words from Normandy.

His hands rose to cup your cheeks one last time as his eyes traced over the features of your face as if to commit it to memory. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

You nodded quickly, all possible responses congealing into a lump in your throat that made it impossible to speak. The rumble of the approaching train shattered the intensity of the moment and he quickly pressed one final kiss to your forehead before reluctantly stepping back, turning only at the last moment to step into the carriage. You stood rooted to the spot, only able to inhale tiny sips of air lest you shatter into tears, until it disappeared out of sight.

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

Read Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Notes on historical context

A huge part of fic writing in the HBO War fandom lies in historical research - I'm sure my writer friends can all attest to this - and it's personally one of my favourite parts of the whole process! As a result, I've decided to compile a few notes on the history used in my two current MoTA fics; I'm Your Man and Better Off

I'm aware this probably isn't interesting to a lot of people, but to any kindred spirits I hope you enjoy 😂

I'm Your Man

Frankie's hometown - Stratford-upon-Avon

Stratford-upon-Avon is a market town in the county of Warwickshire in the English West Midlands, which has existed as a settlements since the Roman occupation, but is particularly notable for being the birthplace of famous playwright William Shakespeare. The house in which Shakespeare grew up in remains a popular tourist attraction, evidencing visits from several notable writers including Charles Dickens and Lord Byron.

The Coventry Blitz

In Chapter 4, Frankie references the Coventry Blitz - a series of bombing raids between 1940-42, most notably on the night of 14th November 1940. In a single night, two-thirds of the city's buildings were damaged or destroyed, making it the most concentrated bombing of an English city in the entire war. In the aftermath, the word 'Coventration' was coined by Joseph Goebells to refer to the act of completely destroying a city through aerial attacks. I have spoken to people who lived in the towns around Coventry during this time who recall large groups of displaced families walking from town to town in search of shelter, as the destruction of housing was so extensive that people could not remain within the city.

Rationing

In the first few chapters, Frankie makes several references to the state of food rationing in 1943. Throughout the Second World War, food supply in the UK was severely limited due to its reliance on imports, and the economic state was so dire following the war that Britain continued rationing until 1954. Huge campaigns were introduced encouraging people to grow and supply their own food, and many commodities became unavailable due to shortages in certain ingredients. One such example was the production of Cadbury's chocolate, which had to be altered to 'Ration chocolate' due to milk shortages.

The Young Visiters by Daisy Ashford

In Chapter 7, Frankie is seen reading The Young Visiters, a hugely popular book published in 1919. The book's charm and popularity came from its author, as Daisy Ashford was allegedly only nine years old at the time of publication, and her unconventional writing and youthful misunderstanding of Victorian high society lend to the book's rather bizarre sense of humour.

Education

In Chapter 6, Rosie learns to his surprise that Frankie has not attended school since she was 14 years old. Under the 1918 Education Act, the school leaving age was raised from 12 to 14 years old, with high drop-out rates due to the inaccessibility of many schools to the working class.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Better Off

The ATS

The Auxiliary Territorial Service was active from 1938, and operated as the women's branch of the British Army until it was absorbed into the Women's Royal Army Corps in 1949. The National Service Act of 1941 called for all unmarried women between the ages of 20 and 30 to join one of Britain's auxiliary services, and by 1943 nine of out every ten women were taking an active role in the war effort. Due to manpower shortages, many ATS women took on roles in radar and anti-aircraft defense, resulting over 700 casualties throughout the war. Most notable of the ATS volunteers was Princess Elizabeth Windsor (later Elizabeth II), who worked as a mechanic as well as driving lorries and ambulances.

The Manchester Blitz

The attack which killed Susie's sister Ellie was a part of a series of bombing raids known as the Manchester Blitz, which took place between 1940 and 1942. Manchester and its surrounding towns were key for war production, and as such targeted heavily by the Luftwaffe, resulting in approximately 1,000 deaths. The nights of the 22nd and 23rd of December 1940 were the most devastating attacks on Manchester during the war, with more than 450 tons of explosives dropped across the two consecutive nights.

Back-to-back houses

The home that Susie's family were raised in was part of a large wave of construction in the UK of so-called 'back-to-backs', designed to support the huge influx of working-class families moving into urban areas during the Industrial Revolution. Back-to-backs were built quickly and cheaply, and named due to their shared back walls, which saw one row of houses facing the street and another rear row facing either another road or an interior courtyard. These houses were often very cramped, with only one room per floor, and usually had two to three stories, occasionally with a cellar too.

It was rare for back-to-backs to accommodate indoor plumbing, with washhouses and toilets located outside in the yards. Due to poor living conditions, the construction of new back-to-backs was forbidden in 1909 after a report discovered mortality rates to be significantly higher than those of people living in other styles of housing. Waves of slum clearance before and after the Second World War saw the numbers of back-to-backs decline rapidly, and Leeds remains the only area of England that still contains large numbers of livable back-to-backs. The only surviving courtyard back-to-backs now exist in Birmingham, preserved as a museum.

[world-of-wales]

─ •✧ WILLIAM'S YEAR IN REVIEW : AUGUST ✧• ─

11 AUGUST - The Prince of Wales recieved the following military appointments from King Charles III : ⋆ Colonel-in-Chief, The Mercian Regiment ⋆ Colonel-in-Chief, The Army Air Corps ⋆ Royal Honorary Air Commodore, RAF Valley 19 AUGUST - William and Charlotte appeared in a video wishing the best of Luck to the Lionesses for the FIFA Women's World Cup Final in Australia. 27 AUGUST - William and Catherine joined other memebers of the Royal Family for a Sunday Church Service at Crathie Kirk.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

No man is a leader until he is ratified in the minds and hearts of his men.

- Field Marshal Sir Bill Slim, 1st Viscount Slim (1891-1970)

I’m not the only one, as an army veteran, to have gotten goosebumps when the assembled soldiers of all the regiments of the British armed forces cheered their new king and commander-in-chief. I never felt more proud to have had the privilege to serve in the best army in the world.

The newly crowned King Charles III inspected thousands of military personnel who lined up in the lush gardens of Buckingham Palace as he returned from Westminster Abbey. King Charles and Queen Camilla stepped out onto the West Terrace steps to look upon the assembled four thousand men and women who hadn’t faced him throughout the coronation procession but had led the way. This was their opportunity to see their sovereign face to face. And it was glorious. The gusto of the ‘hip hip hurrays’ was incredible, more so because it was sincere.

Those who have served in the British armed services - and those relatives and friends who have someone they know who serves or has served - know how deep the bond is between the royal family and the regiments that make up the British army as well as of course the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force. The royals have faithfully served as colonel-in-chiefs of many regiments and corps, and they have taken the responsibility seriously.

When he was the Prince of Wales, Charles was the colonel-in-chief of the Army Air Corps and he took particular interest in the welfare of the men and women of the regiments. He was very personable and appreciative of the service of every soldier and officer did, and in return he earned the loyalty and respect of every serving soldier I knew.

While King Charles III may be the head of the whole of the UK's Armed Forces, there is one company with which the sovereign has a special connection. The King's Company Grenadier Guards have a role at the centre of every coronation, but their relationship with His Majesty is far more personal than that - he is also their Company Commander.

One of the oldest bodies of troops in the Army, the King's Company was founded in 1656, even pre-dating the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660. Following King Charles II's defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651, he escaped to Holland with the help of loyalists, who hid him and helped him throughout his exile and with his plan to return to the throne. From these loyalists, the King created his most trusted personal troops, that would go on to become the Life Guards and the Grenadier Guards. King Charles II ordered that the command of the first company of the first regiment of Foot Guards would be reserved for him, and they would be known as The King's Own Company.

In 1656, the exiled King Charles II issued the first Colour bearing his cypher to The King's Own Company. Every monarch since has presented their company with their own Royal Standard. King Charles III presented a new Colour bearing his cypher interlaced and reversed with his crown to The King's Company.

In keeping with tradition, this new Royal Standard is of heavily gold embroidered and tasselled silk and it is much larger than the standard regimental Colours seen elsewhere on parade in the modern Army - the fabric alone is more than 6ft square.

The King's Company Colour, Royal Standard of the Regiment, has personal significance to both King Charles and Queen Camilla, as Her Majesty is the new Royal Colonel Grenadier Guards. A smaller version of the Royal Standard of the regiment is also commissioned and is proudly flown above the Captain's office desk in barracks or on the wall of the operations room if deployed abroad.  The smaller version is simply known as the Company Camp Colour and will be laid upon the coffin after the monarch's death and buried, as happened with the late Queen Elizabeth.

A lesser-known fact is that The King's Company does not have a sitting company commander, because the reigning monarch vested the executive authority for the daily administration of the company to a trusted and favoured subject, the appointment being designated the Captain Lieutenant – the title means quite literally to hold or 'tenant' the Captaincy, in lieu of the King. Shortened nowadays to simply 'The Captain' (who holds the rank of Major), this appointment has persisted for 367 years with 136 Captains over time leading the company on a Sovereign's behalf.

Due to this arrangement and to prevent any confusion, The King's Company second in command (who holds the rank of captain) is referred to as 'The Second Captain.' Within the wider regiment, all members of the company are collectively known as and nicknamed The Monarch's Mob.

The new sovereign assumed command of The Sovereign's Company on accession, meaning that on the death of Queen Elizabeth II in September 2022, the company's name changed from The Queen's Company back to The King's Company. The connection of the sovereign to the company is a close one beyond the public ceremonial, as the Captain will update the sovereign regularly on the company’s activities and operational commitments. Every Christmas, the King will receive The Captain's Statement, a brief annual report, along with a leather-bound photo album containing photographs of The Company's year. The soldiers who serve under the Captain are among the fittest and most able Guardsmen in the regiment and must demonstrate the highest values and standards and aspire to excellence.

It was fitting that it was the King’s Company that led the three cheers to the newly coronated King.

Vivat Regina Camilla! Vivat Rex Carolus! Vivat! Vivat! Vivat!

[catt-nuevenor]

I remember the book thief. It was a good, sad, book.

I held off answering this until I finished the book, and here we are. I finished the Book Thief yesterday.

It is a very good book and I highly enjoyed my time with it. I also think it is a very important book, and it deserves the accolades and awards it has achieved over the years since its first publication.

That all sounds like I'm gearing up for a 'but', doesn't it?

I'm not, not really. But I've found myself coming back to the comment of 'sad' a lot while I was listening to it and since I finished it.

I say the following to give context to my approach to the book, not to associate myself directly with the struggles of the characters, or the historical events they are based on in an exploitative or inherently informed manner.

A bit of background on me. I'm a history nerd. I did an undergraduates degree in ancient history and archaeology, I watch documentaries for fun and leisure, I regularly consume books that deal with world history and such things do not shy away from difficult topics.

Side recommendations for non-fiction books related to WW2 and the topics discussed in the Book Thief:

Their Darkest Hour: People Tested to the Extreme in WWII by Laurence Rees

The Good Germans: Resisting the Nazis, 1933-1945 by Catrine Clay

Nazi Wives: The Women at the Top of Hitler's Germany by James Wyllie

The Holocaust: A New History by Laurence Rees

The Vanquished: Why the First World War Failed to End, 1917-1923 by Robert Gerwarth

Obviously Content Warning for Extreme Violence, Radicalisation, Bigotry, Genocide, and Psychological Trauma. These are not pleasant books at times, they are important.

Secondary bit of background info on me. My Grandfather served in the Royal Signals Corp during WW2 and volunteered the day war was declared in England. He served in Africa, Italy, took part in the D-Day landings, moved up through Belgium, the Netherlands, then into Germany where he and his unit were put in charge of minding SS prisoners in a converted concentration camp, north-northeast of Hamburg, for two years after peace was declared. During his time in Germany before the official end of the conflict, he served as a signalman with the 15th Scottish Division, this includes the liberations of Bergen Belsen, Neuengamme, and a sub camp of Neuengamme, Bad Segeberg concentration camp, the latter of which is where the SS prisoners were held.

I am incredibly lucky for three things in relation to my Grandfather:

He and my Grandmother kept all their letters from the war, labelled them in frankly archival detail, and passed said letters down to me.

Working in Signals allowed my Grandfather to write about events during the war that might not have otherwise made it past army censors, such as details, and dates.

He was a very good writer, and he wrote every day about all that he had seen.

Now, all that out in the open for everyone to get on the same page (more or less), back to the Book Thief.

In all honesty, I laughed and cheered more times than I felt upset while listening to it. I adore Rosa Hubermann, though I'd loathe her in reality if I had to deal with her, she and her 'tact' made me cackle with glee so many times. Zuzack's descriptions are as beautiful as they are at times a little too flowery for my personal tastes, but they are immersive despite this. And of course the Narrator is wonderful.

I always knew what was coming and the depth of what was happening beyond our view of events in the story, so it did take some of the punch out of matters for me. I couldn't ever say I was sad while listening to it.

A book can be read in as many ways as there are individuals to read it. My reading of it left me with a strong impression of civilian life during the third reich from a child's perspective, it taught me how to swear in German much to my (learning) German-speaking father's delight and bemusement, and it's given me a new recommendation to put forward to the teen offspring of friends as a good first book to discussing the complexities of WW2.

So, yes. I highly recommend the Book Thief by Markus Zuzack.

[delicatuscii-wasbella102]

A member of the Women’s Royal Army Corps (WRAC) of the ‘London District’ shows off the new butterfly tattoo on her leg to her fellow enlistees. Photograph taken in c. 1950s. Credit: @colourisedpieceofjake

[intheshadowofwar]

19 June 2023

The Imperial Metropolis

London 19 June 2023

So I was just settling into bed tonight, thinking about what I needed to do tomorrow, when I had an inkling that I’d forgotten to do something. Something important. Now, I’d had my meds, so it wasn’t that, I’d eaten dinner, showered, all that good stuff, so what could it be?

Oh. Right. Log.

I woke up very early this morning to get the train from Edgware to Victoria, meeting the group at our hotel just before nine. We proceeded from there to Westminster Cathedral, briefly exploring that building and looking at the Martyr’s Memorial within, before carrying on to the somewhat more famous Westminster Abbey. After a brief interrogation of the statuary on Parliament Square, we went inside.

I highly doubt Westminster Abbey needs an introduction - it’s Britain’s most famous church, and dozens of kings and dignitaries are buried inside. To this day, Britain’s heroes are commemorated in these hallowed walls - Isaac Newton lies next to Stephen Hawking, and there’s Prime Ministers from Pitt to Wilson. It’s absolutely packed, of course, but I’d say it’s well worth a look. The main reason we visited, of course, was the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, the representative of all Britain’s (and previously the Empire’s) war dead. It is interesting, considering the secular nature of most WWI commemoration, just how Christian the tomb is - but I suppose it ought to be, given its place in an abbey. Still, one must remember that he ostensibly represents the Catholic and Jewish soldiers of Britain, not to mention the Hindus and Muslims of the Indian Army.

After the Abbey, we proceeded up Whitehall, looking at the Cenotaph, the Women’s Cenotaph for the Second World War, and the statue of Field Marshal Haig. We went through Horse Guards (Life Guards on duty today) and observed the memorial to the Foot Guards, and then carried on via the Royal Marines Memorial next to Admiralty Arch (a Boer War Memorial, as I can’t escape my thesis topic) to Trafalgar Square. We broke for lunch here, and I had mine in the crypt beneath St. Martin’s in the Field church. It was a nice little cafe, and only a few sandbags and posters away from looking like something right out of the Blitz. Maybe I shouldn’t give them ideas.

After lunch, we looked at the Edith Cavell Memorial. Cavell, for the uninitiated, was a British nurse in Belgium shot for supposed espionage on 12 October 1915 - the monument is tall and heroic, a real ‘King and Country’ sort of thing; the words are even emblazoned on it. This makes the addition of a quote from Cavell in the 1920s - “Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred in my heart for anybody.” - a rather curious juxtaposition. Still, it is well worth a look if one is at Trafalgar Square.

From St. Martin’s, we walked down to the Victoria Embankment Park, where a small memorial to the Imperial Camel Corps is situated. There was a brief discussion of Australian troops on leave in London, and then we carried on back up to the Strand and over to Australia House. Australia House, they say, is ‘our house’ in London; but security arrangements had fallen through, preventing us from going inside. Canada and New Zealand, we were told, are not so paranoid about security, and we would have had no problem going inside.

On the other side of the road was the St. Clement Danes Church, which served as a centre for Anzac and Armistice Day services for Australians in London during the interwar years. Today it’s the official church of the Royal Air Force. Statues of Air Marshals Dowding and ‘Bomber’ Harris stand sentinel outside, and the floor is marked with the crests of various RAF, RAAF, RCAF, RNZAF and affiliated squadrons. A panel lists the RAF’s VC and GC holders - notably Guy Gibson, commander of the Dams Raid in May 1943. Gibson’s been in the news lately - the conversion of RAF Scampton into a refugee torture chamb- I mean internment centre has placed his office and the grave of his dog under threat. Many people are very emotional about this grave - yet, in an absurdly farcical situation, they absolutely cannot mention it’s name. (The dog was black. The name rhymed with trigger. I’m sure you can put this one together.)

We broke up shortly after, and after a quick visit to Foyles and a brief rest at the hotel, I went with the professor and a few others to Skygarden. This is basically a garden and cafe on top of a skyscraper, and the views are spectacular. Best of all, entry is free. On the way home I fell down the stairs at Monument, and now there’s a big lump on my left arm. These things happen I suppose.

Tomorrow, we head to Green Park to interrogate the memorials there, before spending the lion’s share of the day at the Imperial War Museum. If it goes anything like today did, it’ll be a blast.

[carbone14]

Jean Knox, directrice de l'Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) – Angleterre – 1941-1943

Photographe : Lieutenant E.G. Edward Malindine - War Office official photographer

©Imperial War Museums - TR 458

Jean Knox a été directrice de l'Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) de juillet 1941 à octobre 1943. L'ATS était la branche féminine de l'armée britannique. Créé le 9 septembre 1938, l'ATS était organisé comme un service volontaire de femmes. L'organisation a été remplacée par le Women's Royal Army Corps le 1er février 1949.

[grandmaster-anne]

Court Circular | 8th February 2023

Buckingham Palace

The King and The Queen Consort this morning visited Altab Ali Park, Adler Street, London E1, and were received by His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London (Sir Kenneth Olisa). His Majesty, escorted by the Joint Founder of British Bangladeshi Power and Inspiration (Ms Ayesha Qureshi), and Her Majesty, escorted by Mr Abdal Ullah (Joint Founder), viewed the Park and met members of the local community. The King and The Queen Consort afterwards visited Brick Lane, London E2, and, having been received by Her Excellency the High Commissioner of Bangladesh (Ms Saida Muna Tasneem), walked along Brick Lane meeting representatives of the local community. Their Majesties subsequently visited Brick Lane Mosque, were received by the Treasurer of Brick Lane Mosque Trust (Mr Hamidur Rahman Choudhury) and met members from faith, business, charity and Covid-19-impacted communities. The King this afternoon opened a new frontline medical teaching hub at the University of East London, Stratford Campus, Water Lane, London E15, to mark the University’s One Hundred and Twenty Fifth Anniversary, and was received by the Chancellor (Mr Shabir Randeree) and Mr John Garwood (Chairman of the Board of Governors). His Majesty, escorted by Professor Amanda Broderick (Vice Chancellor and President), toured the Hospital and Primary Care Training Hub, visiting the Baby Development Laboratory, the Intensive Care Ward and the Interdisciplinary Healthcare Ward and meeting students. The King afterwards viewed an Environmental Sustainability Exhibition in the Great Hall and met students and tutors. The President of Ukraine later visited His Majesty. The Queen Consort, Colonel-in-Chief, The Rifles, this afternoon received General Sir Patrick Sanders (Colonel Commandant).

Kensington Palace

The Princess of Wales, Patron, Captain Harpreet Chandi’s Solo Antarctic Expedition, this morning visited Landau Forte College, Fox Street, Derby, and was received by His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Derbyshire (Mrs Elizabeth Fothergill).

St James’s Palace

The Countess of Wessex, Patron, the Scar Free Foundation, this morning visited the Royal College of Surgeons of England, 38-43 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, WC2, to mark the United Nations International Women and Girls in Science Day, and was received by Ms. Geraldine Norris (Deputy Lieutenant of Greater London). Her Royal Highness, Patron, Toronto General and Western Hospital, this afternoon held a Meeting. The Countess of Wessex, Chairman, Women in Business Committee, The Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, later chaired a Meeting at Buckingham Palace.

St James’s Palace

The Princess Royal, Patron, Scottish Rugby Union, Royal Patron, Motor Neurone Disease Association, and Royal Patron, MND Scotland, accompanied by Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, today started the My Name’5 Doddie Foundation Charity Cycle Ride at Kingsholm Rugby Ground, Kingsholm Road, Gloucester, and was received by Mr Philip Vickery (Deputy Lieutenant of Gloucestershire).

Kensington Palace

The Duchess of Gloucester, Colonel-in-Chief, Royal Army Dental Corps, today received Colonel Irene Amberton upon relinquishing her appointment as Colonel Commandant and Major General Ewan Carmichael upon assuming the appointment.

[valiantarcher]

In Aberdeen, after a severe raid which caused casualties in the city the men and women of the 128th Regiment found themselves suddenly boycotted. People turned aside, shops refused to serve them and they were even insulted. Enquiries revealed that it was because they were blamed for the casualties. This was unfair because the 'gun defended area' was the harbour, which was completely undamaged. The Royal Artillery commander decided to call in the aid of the Lord Provost, and it was arranged to take a party of three coachloads of businessmen, shopkeepers, journalists, and other influential persons to visit the batteries and see them at work. By the greatest of good fortune this demonstration was abruptly cancelled in favour of action with live ammunition as the arrival of the visitors coincided with a four-plane raid in full view and broad daylight. The good burgesses of Aberdeen, when not forced to take cover, had a close view of the regiment at work, which led not only to a resumption of cordial relations but euologies for the 'gun-girls'.

Shelford Bidwell, The Women’s Royal Army Corps in a chapter about the Anti-Aircraft Command.

[desertrevolt]

Who's Who of Seven Pillars of Wisdom and the Arab Revolt

TE Lawrence - British archaeologist, later spy, soldier, and diplomat. Lawrence was the illegitimate son of an Anglo-Irish lord and a governess in his household. Lawrence completed a 1,000 mile walking tour of crusade castles in Syria for his Oxford history thesis and later did field work under the famous archaeologist David Hogarth. His fluency in Arabic, as well as knowledge of local history, customs, and geography, suited him to assignment to advise the Arab Revolt.

Lawrence argued vehemently for Britain and France to uphold their promise of a united, self-ruling, pan-Arabic state after the war, and against the Sykes-Picot Agreement that divided the region into European mandate states. How much Lawrence knew of the planned betrayal of the Arab allies during the Revolt is open to debate, but he continued to advocate for Arab voices and self-rule. At the Paris Peace Conference, Lawrence made a point to dress in Arab clothing, associate primarily with the Arab delegation, and demonstrate his support.

After the war, Lawrence suffered mentally and emotionally. In addition to the general horrors of war, he had possibly been captured, tortured, and sexually assaulted. (Historicity of this is debated.) His personal guarantees had been broken by his government.

He re-enlisted in the Royal Air Force as an aircraftman (the lowest rank), after having retired from the army as a colonel (a high ranking officer), under a fake name - John Hume Ross. When his true identity was discovered, he left, despite an offer to allow him to remain. He changed his name more officially to TE Shaw (from his friendship with playwright George Bernard Shaw), and enlisted in the Royal Tank Corps, again as a private, the lowest rank. Unhappy, he returned to the RAF again, under the name Shaw and fully above-board, where he remained for five years.

Lawrence finally left the RAF in 1935 and died in a motorcycle accident about two months later, swerving to avoid some bicyclists.

5'5" (166 cm) tall and wiry. Tiny!

Spoke Arabic, French, Greek, and Latin. Published his own translation of The Odyssey, his dissertation study of crusader castles, several memoirs, and many poems. Lots of poems.

Carried a copy of Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur in his pocket everywhere during the war.

Likely homoromantic asexual. Did not like being touched by anyone. Showed no sexual or romantic desire toward women, but strong admiration for male bodies and intimacy. This is all further complicated by the possible sexual assault, his possible kinkiness, and the post-war whippings that he paid an army buddy to regularly administer. (Don't worry, we'll get into all this eventually.)

Really loved motorcycles and bicycles.

A real wells-for-boys kind of guy.

Sherif Hussein bin Ali al-Hashimi - Sherif and Emir of Mecca, 37th generation direct descendent of Mohammed, credited with officially forming and declaring the Arab Revolt, later King of Hejaz (western Arabian Peninsula). His communication with Henry McMahon (below), the McMahon-Hussein Correspondence, established the alliance between Britain and the Revolt. Sherif Ali attempted to establish a pan-Arabic state after the war. His three sons led the efforts of the revolt and the diplomatic endeavors. His descendants, the Hashemite family, rule Jordan to this day.

Prince Faisal (Feisal) bin Hussein- A guy to watch! Our man! Third son of Sherif Hussein, head of the main northern force of the Revolt, and later king of Syria and Iraq. Became a friend of Lawrence's and requested his permanent assignment with the Revolt. Critics of Lawrence say that some actions and ideas Lawrence took credit for may have been Faisal's instead. Leader of the Arab delegation to the Paris Peace Conference.

(Mod Whit note: A biography of Faisal recently came out by Ali Allawi, Iraq's current Deputy Prime Minister. Very excited to read and include points here!)

Prince Ali bin Hussein - First son of Sherif Hussein. Later King of Hejaz after his father.

Prince Abdullah bin Hussein - Second son of Sherif Hussein. Later King of Transjordan. Commanded the next-largest, eastern portion of the Arab army.

Prince Zeid bin Hussein - Fourth son of Sherif Hussein. Led the forces that cut off Ottoman reinforcements from Medina to Rabigh. Later, served in the government under his brother Faisal's rule in Iraq, until the overthrow of the royal family.

Henry McMahon - British High Commissioner in Egypt when the Arab Revolt started. His initial promise lie to Sherif Hussein of supporting an Arab state led to the cooperation.

SF Newcombe - The British officer originally assigned to be liaison with the Revolt. He was late arriving and Lawrence was sent to fill in. When Newcombe finally arrived, Faisal had become close to Lawrence and asked for Lawrence to remain in his position. Newcombe remained involved and a friend of Lawrence's for life.

Lord Kitchener - British High Commander during World War I. Famous for the 'stache. A full-on war criminal of the lowest order. Put Boer civilians in concentration camps during the Second Boer War in Africa years earlier, among other atrocities.

Mark Sykes - Co-authored the Sykes-Picot Agreement, a semi-secret arrangement between Britain and France to divide up the Middle East into colonial mandate states after the war. Lawrence thinks he's an ass-hat and takes the opportunity to call him incompetent and bad. (Very hard to overstate how bad this was. This agreement is a factor in virtually all of the conflicts and difficulties in the Middle East for the next 100 years and counting.)

Sherif Abd el Kerim - Lawrence's assigned guide for an early portion of his assignment.

Sherif Sharraf bin Rajeh - Emir of Taif, early Arab fighter against the Ottomans, commander under Faisal.

General Fakhri Pashi (Pasha) - Ottoman commander of the forces in Medina.

Colonel Bremond - Chief of the French Military Mission in Arabia.

Sheikh Auda Abu Tayi - Close companion of Lawrence's throughout the campaign, one of the main leaders of the Battle of Aqaba.

Auda ibn Zaal - Abu Tayi's cousin. A formidable fighter and raider in the Revolt.

Prince Sherif Jamil bin Nasir - Nephew of Sherif Hussein and another close companion of Lawrence's.

Emir Nuri Shaalan - Emir of the Ruwalla tribe of the Beduins. Lawrence calls him the fourth most import leader of peoples in the desert.

(FYI, Lawrence's name spellings are often his transliteration from Arabic, not the agreed English spelling. I will probably bounce back and forth, sorry. This post to be updated, added to, and reblogged as the book progresses. Subscribe here to follow along on the substack!)

[savagekxds]

basics ~

name: stella miriam levitt age: 38 birthday: august 25 pronouns: she/her sexuality: pansexual blood status: muggle species: human affiliation: P.A.M. family: naomi and samuel levitt (parents, both deceased) faceclaim: natasha lyonne

muggle stuff ~

boggart: her goddaughter being swallowed by a beam of magic current residence: an apartment in knightsbridge, london west end hometown: welford, northamptonshire, england occupation: bar owner/leader of P.A.M.

biography ~

Stella grew up as the definition of a military brat. Her parents only child, she found herself dragged from military base to military base. Her father was a soldier, who spent most of his time deployed, her mother was a brigadier in the Women’s Royal Army Corps, and she had served as a nurse and a mechanic during the Second World War. Growing up in such a manner has a way of hardening a child. Stella rebelled against her parents choices, her mother wanted her to take up nursing, but she had always preferred crawling through the mud with the soldiers. 

Despite this, when her mother once again tried to interfere, and get her a place in the WRAC, she rebelled once more. She left home at 17 and made her way to London, with only her backpack and a need to be away from her parents, away from the stifling upbringing she had had on military bases. 

Stella had never been good at taking orders. 

Turns out, she’s pretty good at giving them though. 

She’d always been a little bit…suspicious of some of the goings on she noticed around London. People disappearing into thin air, strange shapes and smoke in the sky. Then suddenly all her suspicions were proven correct when the brick wall across the street from her pub exploded, and the war that had gripped the magical community spilled forth into the streets of London. The sight of terrified civilians taking shelter behind tables and chairs in her pub, the sound of screaming... And then she discovered her young goddaughter had been hospitalised because of the violence. 

It had started as the smallest ideas, an angry, bitter conversation had with a few of her friends over some drinks in her ruined pub. Someone needs to protect the civilians. If they’re going to bring their violence to us we need to fight back. We need to fight back. 

It was alarmingly easy to fall into the role of commander, perhaps there was more of her father in her than she thought. When she spoke people listened, and when she gave orders, they were followed.

physical appearance ~

height: 5′3 hair colour: faded red eye colour: dark brown distinguishing features: her hair - which she usually wears out and tousled, or in a haphazard updo, her sneer, the way she carries herself like a giant despite being only 5′2 fashion style: practical but with a distinct style, almost like practical grunge, tight black pants, long coats worn over dark, loose blouses, industrial jewellery, dark lipstick.

traits ~

positive: + assertive + organised + strategic negative: - jaded - bitter - would rather be anywhere else than here

⊗ – — more info

[wikiuntamed]

On this day in Wikipedia: Wednesday, 23rd August

Welcome, Benvenuta, 你好, أهلا وسهلا 🤗 What does @Wikipedia say about 23rd August through the years 🏛️📜🗓️?

23rd August 2021 🗓️ : Death - Elizabeth Blackadder Elizabeth Blackadder, Scottish painter and printmaker (b. 1931) "Dame Elizabeth Violet Blackadder, Mrs Houston, (24 September 1931 – 23 August 2021) was a Scottish painter and printmaker. She was the first woman to be elected to both the Royal Scottish Academy and the Royal Academy. In 1962 she began teaching at Edinburgh College of Art where she continued until..."

Image licensed under CC BY 2.0? by Scottish Government

23rd August 2015 🗓️ : Death - Augusta Chiwy Augusta Chiwy, Congolese-Belgian nurse (b. 1921) "Augusta Marie Chiwy (6 June 1921 – 23 August 2015) was a Belgian nurse who served as a volunteer during the Siege of Bastogne in 1944. She worked with U.S. Army physician John Prior and with fellow Belgian nurse Renée Lemaire, treating injured soldiers during the Battle of the Bulge...."

Image by Embassy of the United States in Brussels, Belgium's official Facebook

23rd August 2013 🗓️ : Event - 2013 Palmasola prison riot A riot at the Palmasola prison complex in Santa Cruz, Bolivia kills 31 people. "On August 23, 2013, a prison riot broke out at Palmasola, a maximum-security prison in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. The riot started when members of one cell block attacked a rival gang in another, using propane tanks as flame throwers. Thirty-one people were killed, including an 18-month-old child who was..."

23rd August 1973 🗓️ : Event - Norrmalmstorg robbery A bank robbery gone wrong in Stockholm, Sweden, turns into a hostage crisis; over the next five days the hostages begin to sympathise with their captors, leading to the term "Stockholm syndrome". "The Norrmalmstorg robbery was a bank robbery and hostage crisis best known as the origin of the term Stockholm syndrome. It occurred at the Norrmalmstorg Square in Stockholm, Sweden, in August 1973 and was the first criminal event in Sweden to be covered by live television.Jan-Erik Olsson was a..."

Image licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0? by Tage Olsin

23rd August 1923 🗓️ : Event - Captain (United States O-3) Captain Lowell Smith and Lieutenant John P. Richter perform the first mid-air refueling on De Havilland DH-4B, setting an endurance flight record of 37 hours. "In the United States Army (USA), U.S. Marine Corps (USMC), U.S. Air Force (USAF), and U.S. Space Force (USSF), captain (abbreviated "CPT" in the USA and "Capt" in the USMC, USAF, and USSF) is a company-grade officer rank, with the pay grade of O-3. It ranks above first lieutenant and below major. It..."

23rd August 1819 🗓️ : Death - Oliver Hazard Perry Oliver Hazard Perry, American commander (b. 1785) "Oliver Hazard Perry (August 23, 1785 – August 23, 1819) was an American naval commander, born in South Kingstown, Rhode Island. A prominent member of the Perry family naval dynasty, he was the son of Sarah Wallace Alexander and United States Navy Captain Christopher Raymond Perry, and older brother..."

Image by Jane Stuart

23rd August 🗓️ : Holiday - Umhlanga Day (Eswatini) "Umhlanga [um̩ɬaːŋɡa], or Reed Dance ceremony, is an annual Swazi event that takes place at the end of August or at the beginning of September. In Eswatini, tens of thousands of unmarried and childless Swazi girls and women travel from the various chiefdoms to the Ludzidzini Royal Village to..."

Image by Amada44

[ifreakingloveroyals]

Through the Years → Queen Letizia of Spain (2,297/∞) 17 August 2023 | The Princess of Asturias, Leonor, arrives accompanied by Queen Letizia, her sister Infanta Sofia, and King Felipe VI, at the General Military Academy of Zaragoza on the occasion of her entrance for her military training, in Zaragoza, Aragon, Spain. The Princess of Asturias begins today her training as a lady cadet at the General Military Academy, joining a new class of cadets, future officers of the Army, the Civil Guard and the Common Corps of the Armed Forces. Leonor will have a special study plan compared to that of the other cadets, since she will take two courses in one year and will have, like her father King Felipe VI, the specialty of infantry. She will join 612 cadets (140 women) in the first promotion, but on October 7, the day of the Oath of Allegiance, she will join the second promotion. In the first weeks of military life, the cadets will acquire basic knowledge of military law and regulations, which they will complement with physical training and military instruction. During the course, Her Royal Highness will stay with the rest of her class in shared quarters with other female students. (Photo By Marcos Cebrian/Europa Press via Getty Images)