#dear john campaign

[nackrosor]

Mornin' Sunshine

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Teammate!Reader

warnings/tags: MAJOR MW3 SPOILERS, this is all I can say. If you played/watched the new campaign then you know what happened during the last mission. That's all you need to know.

summary: you partake in the "Trojan Horse" mission to stop Makarov once and for all. You're not able to stop him but you prevent thousands of people to die... at the cost of something much more dear to you.

word count: 1,9k.

You’ve been cut off and held back by those Konni bastards while you were heading toward your team to rejoin. You have to cut through their unrelenting forces, losing precious time, until you can dive deeper into the tunnels and rush to aid your mates.

When you finally make it, it’s already too late. The fire has ceased, there’s no Konni in sight anymore nor do you see Makarov anywhere. Your eyes dart for a fleeting moment over all the bodies laying around and with relief you notice more enemies than familiar faces.

Your relief however is short lived for when you raise your gaze, you meet the forlorn looks on the captain, Gaz, Ghost’s faces… They're all standing in front of something, as if their intention is to block it from your view. You immediately notice that Soap is missing and you take a step forward, craning your neck as if expecting to see his face pop up from behind someone’s shoulder.

Price instantly makes a beeline toward you when he sees you move. His hand comes down hard to rest on your shoulder. Your perplexed look meets his intense gaze. There’s something wrong, you can feel it… Something must have happened, but you can't yet seem to understand what. 

Your eyes flicker from face to face, your frown growing harder.

"Where's Johnny?" you ask softly, your voice failing you for a moment as if it knows something you don’t.

Upon seeing the worried glances they give each other you can feel your breathing quicken and your stomach starting to churn in anxiety. There's a horrible thought slowly taking form in the recesses of your mind but you try your best to suppress it… because it can't be true. No. It can't be. 

"Where… is… Johnny?" your voice is louder now and you stress each word on purpose, making it clear that you demand an answer. Your hard gaze roams over your partners' faces once more but again, you’re only met with distraught looks and silence.

You move to step around Price's body, who's clearly - now you realize - trying to hold you in place.

"Y/N, you shouldn't-" 

He tries to stop you but you're growing restless, anxiety eating at you from inside and so you shove your captain out of the way without a second thought.

Your stomach drops the moment you see him. Your heart misses a beat. You can feel the air getting pushed out of your lungs. 

Despite your knees buckling, you drag yourself forward like attracted to a magnet, stumbling toward the inert body laying on the ground in a puddle of blood. His head is turned to the other side but you recognize him. How couldn't you? You've lovingly run your hands through that stupid mohawk so many times… 

"No…"

A strained lament escapes your lips before your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

This time it's Ghost who steps in your way, taking advantage of your shock to wrap his strong hands around your forearms in order to prevent you from both stepping further and collapsing on the ground. 

Your head is shaking in a frantic manner, your breathing growing more ragged by the second. Your eyes are wide open, blood turning to ice in your veins as panic takes hold of you.

"No, no, no, no…" 

You sound like a broken record. You can't seem to be able to say anything else. Your mind is empty. Your tongue tied. 

Your fingers turn white at the force you use to grab Ghost's vest. You want to shove him out of the way too but this time your arms fail you.

"Fuck off! Get out of my fucking way!" you start yelling at him, forcefully hitting him on his chest with your hands clenched into fists. You don't even know what you're saying or what you're doing. You have no control over the way your body is responding to the shock and grief. 

Ghost doesn't flinch, he keeps holding you in place. Your eyes meet his for a fleeting moment and you notice the hurt in them. That rare sight only worsens your distraught state. 

Your head starts shaking again, from side to side, rejecting this heinous turn of events - as if you're unwillingness to accept what's happening would change things, bring him back… back to you. It's as if you're expecting him to turn around and flash you one of those smirks of his and tell you that it was only a joke, a fucking horrible not funny at all joke… You wouldn't care. You would jump in his arms and hug him tight, delaying the scolding for later.

"Let me… Let me see him." you say quietly, feeling a lump forming in your throat as you reluctantly shake that remote fantasy off your mind.

"LET ME SEE HIM." 

You're switching from subdued anguish to pure rage real quick, back and forth without control. 

Ghost's hold on you doesn't budge, despite your every attempt to disentangle yourself from his clench. 

You hear the sound of Price's voice but the sharp ringing in your ears makes you unable to decipher his words. You can only feel Ghost's hands releasing you a moment after. You don't hesitate even a second to rush to the body and drop on your knees beside him. 

Your arms reach for him out of reflex, like you would always do whenever you saw him. But this time he's not returning the gesture. He can't. He won't move. 

Your hands visibly tremble as you reach over to grab his head and turn it your way. Your heart stops once again. You feel something gnawing at the mouth of your stomach, a weight settling there. 

"Johnny…" you call out to him in a soft whisper just like you would do every morning to wake him up while running your fingers along his features and through his dark hair. 

"Johnny…" 

He would always wake up in an instant, as if your touch was the power button to his body. And he would greet you with that beautiful smile of his that would light up even the darkest of days. And he would caress your face, eyes gazing adoringly at you before he would whisper: "Mornin' sunshine."

Your hands cup his cheeks as you lean forward to level your face with his. Your eyes search his bottomless blue gems, but all you're met with is a blank look, a lifeless look. There’s no spark anymore. No lighting up upon seeing your face like after each mission when you would rejoin.

You grab his hands in yours. The same hands that have comforted you, protected you, pleased you, worshiped every inch of your body… His touch was always warm. You would joke about it with him. He had once proclaimed himself your personal radiator and pulled your shaking body against his, simply to have another reason to touch you. 

You bring one calloused palm to your face, longing for that same comfort again… but its warmth is fading. His hand is growing cold. The touch is foreign to you. You don't recognize it anymore. 

"Please… Wake up …"

You're deliberately avoiding looking at the hole in his forehead. It's like your brain is preventing you from even getting a glimpse of it. If you don't see it, it's not there. Right? It's not there. 

Just like the crimson blood leaking from his head is not his. No. No… He's killed plenty of those bastards. It’s their blood. And he's now taking a well deserved rest… Yes. That must be it. He's simply resting. With his eyes open… his pupils unmoving… 

You bend even forward, arms wrapping around his body, turning him toward you. You pull him closer, holding him tight in your embrace. You cradle his lifeless shell, rocking back and forth in a frantic, desperate motion. 

"Johnny… Oh, love… Please… No…. "

Your voice breaks due to the lump tightening in your throat. Your vision starts to blur and you squeeze your eyes closed as you nuzzle your face against his head. Your hot tears merge with his blood smeared on your skin. You feel its metallic taste on your lips but you don't care. You keep cradling him, pressing his body closer to yours as if you want to absorb him into you, to become one thing. To always have him with you. 

Incomprehensible laments leave your lips without respite, your cries subdued and muffled by his flesh. You hold onto his frame for dear life as if you're hanging on by a thread. 

Your mates silently watch the heart wrenching scene of you mourning your lover, incapable of saying or doing anything that could bring you any comfort. They're mourning too, in their own way. You all have just lost someone too important. 

" Why … Why you… How dare you … How dare you leave me… I'm sorry … I'm sorry I couldn't save you… It should have been me … You don’t deserve it… I love you … I love you so much… Please don't leave me alone …" 

Your pain surges out of you like a river in flood. Your voice swaying from shock to anger, from regret to desperation… 

You can't believe he's gone. You can't accept it. His life taken from him in a blink of an eye as if he was worth nothing. You should be used to it, to the swiftness of lives getting taken on the field, each day. But when it's the person you love the most succumbing to such a crude unfair death… You can't accept it. You won't accept it. 

"I will kill him with my own two hands, Johnny… I swear." you whisper against his ear as if you're confessing a secret, your fingers digging hard in his clothes as your voice trembles with pure rage. "I will wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze… squeeze until I can feel his life leave his worthless body. Until I can see his eyes roll back.” The words come out of you in one breath, spat with venom through your teeth. 

“I promise you that."

"Y/N…" 

You hear Price's warm voice call out to you. The hint of protest in his tone makes you snap your head in his direction and pin him with a wild- eyed look filled with anguish.

"I WILL KILL HIM." you scream in an outburst of fury, then as if all your forces have suddenly left your body, your shoulders slump and your head drops back against your lover's limp form. 

You don't say anything anymore, the only sound coming from you is that of intermittent sobs. You hold desperately onto his body, brushing your lips against his cold skin, tenderly kissing his unresponsive lips. You hug him close until he's taken away from you. Or rather, until you're torn away from him by more than a pair of strong hands. You never lose him from your sight, watching with dread as he's secured into a bag and carried away. 

Seeing his motionless body being handled and dragged away like that is excruciating and it serves as the final blow draining you of your last ounce of vitality; he’s really dead. You won’t see him again, talk to him, hug him, kiss him… You’ve just lost the lifeblood to your existence, the ray of sunshine brightening up your days and propelling you to keep going.

You start to feel faint. Your vision flickering and turning black, your body slumping forward toward the ground. 

You see Johnny. Yes, your Johnny , promptly kneeling down in front of you, ready to catch you in his arms, to comfort you, take care of you. You smile feebly at the familiarity of the scene, before you close your eyes and abandon yourself to the darkness.

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A.N: I lost someone too recently, so this story was a medium to express my feelings and cope with what happened, in some way. I hope you enjoyed it, as much as a story this sad can be "enjoyed". Also, despite the circumstances I'm happy to be back after months of writer' block.

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒: 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: christmas and new year's eve are spent with coriolanus. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: kissing, innuendo ⊹ word count: 3216 ⊹ author’s note: apologies for being so late with this! it was my birthday and then I've been on new depression meds so I've been super tired from them ): but here's chapter three!! I hope everyone enjoys (:

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

You dive into your work full force on the 23rd, finally finishing Profiles in Courage and asking Jack your endless questions. All of which you scribble down in every available spot in your journal pages. Coriolanus has begun mapping out a campaign and slips the small pocket journal of ideas under your door late that night after the kiss. The two of you have shared looks with one another since but have yet to speak a word directly to your counterpart. For now, it seems your likenesses of each other’s goals are intertwined in the fact you are still working together for a common purpose. You had stayed up late that night, too. I delicately folded the golden rose in some tissue paper and wrapped it in a small box with string. Christmas Eve crawled through your window with the winter wind, and the taste of something metallic and sweet still lingered in your mouth.

“Do you think Santa will give Mister Coryo coal or a gift?” John Jr. asks you later that evening, briefly looking up from his figurines on the den floor where he sits beside Bobby Jr.

You try not to laugh at the outright question as Coriolanus is sitting across from you in his spot in that same chair he sits in, puffing his pipe with a playfully threatening look in his eye at your possible answer. You tread carefully, but not carefully enough.

“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we, John John?”

Jack is in the joining area of the main floor, where the grand piano sits by the entryway, softly playing the notes to Carol of the Bells. Caroline is next to him on the piano bench, swinging her legs. Bobby is next to you, his nose deep in the newspaper from the morning as his wife Ethel shakes her head at her nephew.

Jackie approaches the sitting area with some cider, setting the tray down on the coffee table before the fireplace, “I’d hope Coriolanus has known to be good this year.”

You raise your eyebrows subtly as you pick up a teacup of the warm liquid, already knowing his gaze is on you, “Thank you for the drink, Jackie.”

“Not a problem. Thank you for being such a dear guest and being so dedicated to Jack’s legacy. We all appreciate it very much.”

The rest of the family resides near the cellar, where there’s a small table dedicated to poker and cigarette smoking, trying their best to keep it down as the game of cards progresses. It’s nearing bedtime for the children and much-needed adult time for the elders. Today and tomorrow are a little hard for you, but being around others makes it easier to bear. Being without family on Christmas can dampen the mood, and you wonder if Coriolanus feels the same way. You subconsciously let yourself look over at him to answer your question. He’s sitting with his leg crossed over the other, his foot relaxedly bouncing slightly as he stares into the fireplace. Coriolanus doesn’t have a book in his grasp for once as he absentmindedly takes a rather deep hit of his tobacco, letting himself exhale as his eyes flutter to yours. Almost as if he’s wondering how you’re doing and what you’re thinking, too. Your stomach flips as you place your teacup on its saucer respectively. 

Ethel finally rounds the kids up for bed, and they all protest without surprise. Bobby Jr. demands a Christmas bedtime story, to which the others mutually agree. With a sigh, Ethel gives in. Jack rallies everyone, even those playing poker, to come gather around the fire in the den. You decide to offer your spot to Kathleen and opt for the arm of the chair that Coriolanus is perched in. His arm still rests where it was on the fabric, dangerously close to your back. Jack sits in the larger chair beside the fireplace, opening up The Night Before Christmas. All the kids lay or sit before him, chins on their fists as they listen closely. The family chuckles occasionally when Jack chides in a sound effect or makes a joking comment to the side. Jackie looks over to you and Coriolanus with an almost knowing look. You feel tense about it until she gives a soft smile before returning her focus to her husband. The story draws closer to the end as the children grow sleepy, and Coriolanus’ hand grows curious. His fingertips slowly draw up your hip and softly grasp it, hidden under your shirt enough to where others can’t immediately see it. You look behind your back subtly, your eyes cast down at Coriolanus as he stares ahead, unwavering. 

The brothers and their father scoop up the boys and girls and carry them to their bedrooms, most of them half asleep or fighting it. Some of the adults oblige to their own beds calling, while others disperse elsewhere or remain in their respective spots. You’re one of the ones ready to call it a night, so you carefully move yourself from Coriolanus’ touch and off the arm of the chair. It feels cold where his hand had been when you stand up. The rest of your night is spent journaling at your desk until your eyes grow too heavy to remain open any longer. It feels like you closed your eyes for only a second before there’s a near pounding at your bedroom door. You peel your eyes open reluctantly to see the sun barely hovering over the horizon from behind the sheer curtains. With a sigh, you hear the pounding again, but this time upstairs and slightly to the right. Sliding on your slippers, you rub the sleep from your eyes before opening the door to reveal some of the Kennedy kids beaming up at you.

“And why didn’t you wake your parents first?” you raise an eyebrow, to which they argue that they knew you’d actually get up first.

You’re exiting the bathroom when you bump into Coriolanus, who has just come fumbling down the stairs. 

“They got you up too, I see?”

You nod, “Yeah. I guess we’re the fun ones.”

Coriolanus turns his lips up into a smile before allowing you to walk in front of him to the den, where the kids wait patiently for the two of you to approach.

“How about we start some breakfast for everyone and then open gifts when they’re all awake? Sound good?” you ask.

Some of the kids groan, but most of the boys eagerly race to the kitchen at the sound of breakfast. Coriolanus lets you take the reins in the kitchen as he does whatever you ask of him on the side, obeying your orders. Slowly, the family trudged into the kitchen and dining room one by one until everyone was seated. The family grows louder with chatter and clattering of dishes, excitement filling the air.

“What do we say to our guests who made us this wonderful breakfast, kids?” Jackie asks, looking around at the children expectantly.

A jeer of thank-yous comes from everyone around the table, to which you and Coriolanus shrug off.

“The real deal is the one who brought the presents,” you wave your hand dismissively, “So let’s go see what he brought, shall we?”

The kids need no more to be said before they all bound over to the den, taking their spots on the floor as Jack and Bobby move to assign everyone their gifts. You and the other ladies agree to clean up after gifts, so everyone is busy with something then. As you walk toward the group of kids tearing into their gifts, Caroline runs up and hugs your legs, beaming at the books you got her. John Jr. does the same, delighted he has another comic to add to his collection. Before you can find somewhere to sit, Coriolanus pulls you to the side of the den and away from the others. He ushers a box into your hands.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Coriolanus.”

“Sure I did,” he says, nearly cutting you off.

You sigh, returning the box to him as you weave through to the mantle, where your gift for him sits. You hand Coriolanus the neatly tied box as you take your gift back from him. You open it to reveal a leather journal with your initial stamped in the middle, with quills and an inkwell in a smaller container along with it. You gasp at the color of the leather and how it feels under your touch. 

“I can’t accept this-” you say, shaking your head as you look up at Coriolanus in shock.

Before you can carry on with your protest, you notice him holding the golden rose brooch in his hand as if it’d shatter if he dropped it. Coriolanus has an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes take in the simplicity of the accessory.

“It’s not much, but I thought of you when I saw it.”

“Thank you,” he says lowly, standing closer to you, “It’s just like the one my mother had.”

A solemn smile settles upon your features at his comment, and you reach out a gentle hand to place on his bicep, “The journal is beautiful, Coryo. Thank you. I’ll write in it properly.”

To that, Coriolanus laughs softly. Jack and Jackie approach you both with gifts from them and the family soon after. You all exchange gifts and soon begin cleaning up, preparing for the day of activity. Family photos had to be done, and dinner had to be prepped. More family is to come in, and so a nanny is brought in for the kids. You and the other women could handle only so much; plus, the New Year’s gathering would also be happening around the corner. Not to mention, you still have so much work to do before returning to D.C. in the New Year- your dissertation still needed to be worked on endlessly, and a presidential campaign had to be run quickly. Coriolanus had to return to D.C. for a few days to organize his campaign before returning to The Compound. You already know the next few days will be dull, but you were fine before Coriolanus was here, and you’ll be fine when he’s gone. 

Watching him leave made you feel melancholic. In just a few days, you’ve grown close. You aren’t sure how you’ll acclimate the nanny when she arrives without the help of Coriolanus. But you’re sure you’ll manage. The rest of the day is spent attempting to start one of Jack’s other books. Your mind keeps wandering to what Coriolanus could be up to. When you’ve grown tired of writing notes for Why England Slept, you decide to review Coriolanus’ campaign ideas. While he has some really viable points, you still add some of your thoughts and plans. Coriolanus mentions he is unsure of where to start campaigning and talking to people. So, you make a note to go to places where the working class resides. Places most campaigners wouldn’t think of visiting- like rural Pennsylvania and coal mining areas in West Virginia. The corn farms of Ohio, the orchards of Florida, or the backwoods of Georgia. The votes of the majority of the United States are where the wins will come in. But before any of that comes the Iowa Caucus and the New Hampshire Primary. So you begin to pen your ideas for that.

Before you know it, it’s dinner time. And after that, bedtime. And the days begin to drag along gradually. On the 30th, Jackie and Ethel decide to go out for lunch in Boston and make a day of it. They invite you to come along, and you don’t hesitate to say yes, especially since you’ve been cooped up for a while. Jackie suggests you buy a dress for the New Year’s Eve party. You decide to get something classy yet attention-grabbing, especially since that night will be the first time in a few days you’ve seen Coriolanus. And boy, have the last few days without him made you grow frustrated in numerous ways. Every time you go to read, you grow distracted with thoughts of him. And every time you go to write for the campaign, you think of Coriolanus and how life would be like if he became president. You also wonder how your friendship will grow and if it’ll go any further. You try to push away these thoughts while you’re out with Jackie and Ethel. 

“So,” Ethel drawls from beside Jackie as the three of you stroll down the sidewalk, “What’s with you and Coriolanus?”

You must compose yourself briefly before answering, “I’m unsure of what you mean?”

Ethel and Jackie chuckle, “Oh, don’t be daft,” Jackie jokes, “We see how you are with each other. Everyone does.”

You gulp nervously at the revelation, hoping you hadn’t made a fool of yourself, “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, ladies.”

“We know young love when we see it, dear,” Jackie says, placing a hand on your bicep briefly, “But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wish to.”

On your walk, you eventually find a dress shop and begin looking around there, searching for something golden and shimmery yet simple. You spot a dress that’s exactly what you’re looking for and go to try it on. It fits perfectly, so you buy it and some heels to match. Patiently, you wait until Ethel and Jackie have finished shopping. You all decide it’s best to go home and get ready for tomorrow, as it will be a hectic day. And it is busy from the second you wake up. John Jr. and Caroline wake you early to go play in the freshly fallen snow. After that, soup and a sandwich are served for lunch, and then you spend the day reading and writing. The party is growing nearer, so you decide to shower and get dressed. You wear a deep shade of red lipstick, one similar to blood, with your gold eyeshadow and light blush. Your hair falls loosely around your face as you study yourself in the mirror. Hopefully, you’ll catch Coriolanus’ attention with your looks tonight.

You hang around Kathleen and some of the other Kennedy ladies as hors d'oeuvres are set out and drinks are served. You don’t hesitate to have a glass or two of vodka crans with small amounts of food to sample. Everyone is loosening up as more people begin to show. A large turntable has been turned on with some Frank Sinatra playing throughout the house, and Bobby finds you to dance after having his turn with Ethel.

“Care to dance?” he asks with his charming Kennedy smile.

“Of course, I don’t mind, Bobby,” you smile back, accepting his outstretched hand.

The current Sinatra song is quick-paced, so Bobby tests your swing dance skills. The vodkas are doing their thing, and you’re trying your best not to giggle too much at Bobby and his antics. The song ends, and you allow Jackie to have her dance with the younger Kennedy. Taking a moment to step outside as it’s nearing midnight, you realize you’ve yet to see Coriolanus. Maybe he hasn’t gotten here yet, or he’s sneaking around as usual, not saying anything as he observes. Some other folks are outside smoking, wrapped in shawls or peacoats and discussing random things. You join in the conversation until everyone eventually dwindles away. You find a spot by the balcony, staring out at the moonlit ocean as the sound of icy waves crashes onto the beach. A waiter offers you a glass of champagne as it’s almost time to ring in the New Year. You take it despite being heavy with sadness. You had hoped you wouldn’t spend another New Year’s Eve alone, yet here you are. You swirl the champagne around the glass, hoping Jackie or the other ladies won’t find you out here and ask a million questions. When it’s finally ten minutes until midnight, you’re readying yourself to head back inside when a soft hand places itself on your waist. You turn quickly to see Coriolanus Snow behind you, clad in a pressed and prim suit, the golden rose brooch upon his lapel. 

“Good evening,” Coriolanus smiles subtly, a glass of champagne in his hand as well.

“Good evening,” you say back, letting your eyes settle on his, “In pretty late?”

“I got here a few hours ago; I just haven’t been able to get away from talking to everyone here before finally getting to you,” Coriolanus sighs.

“Saved the best for last?” you joke, hoping you’re hiding your nerves well enough as he steps forward to you until he can no longer be any closer.

“Of course I did,” Coriolanus deadpans, reaching a hesitant hand up to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I like your brooch, by the way,” you say, eyes darting to the shiny accessory.

“An absolute dear gifted it to me,” Coriolanus says, “I like the color of your lipstick,” he runs his thumb over your bottom with the hand he had to your face moments before.

Thankfully, the lipstick was matte drying, so it doesn’t come off when Coriolanus touches your lips. You try your best not to physically shudder as he doesn’t let his hand fall to his side but rather cups your cheek with it. Coriolanus pulls out his timepiece to check the time, and it’s a minute until twelve. The crowd inside begins counting down as you and the tall blonde before you hold eye contact without exchanging words. And as the clock strikes and the people inside the house cheer, the two of you neglect your champagne and connect lips. Coriolanus pulls you to him roughly by his hand on your jaw, his fingers sprawled on your ear, in your hair, and on your face. Your back is pressed to the balcony railing as your free hand glides through Coriolanus’ straightened and slicked-back blonde hair, pulling him closer to you. His tall figure looms over you despite the heels. Coriolanus moves his lips to your jaw and ear, leaving a trail of kisses along there. He unknowingly nips at a sensitive spot of yours, causing your breath to hitch. Coriolanus chuckles into your skin as he does it again on purpose, relishing in the sound you make. 

“Meet me upstairs, second door on the right next to Jack’s office. I’ll be there in a little while- can’t be too obvious,” Coriolanus pulls away from you, his knuckle tracing along your jaw.

You look him in the eye, “Your room?”

Coriolanus stares at you wordlessly, his intense stare confirming that, yes, he wants you to meet him in his bedroom. You down the glass of champagne and put on your dazzling smile for everyone who bids you a Happy 1964 as you try your best to go upstairs unscathed. You finally do, and you close the door with a sigh as you brace yourself against the wood. What are you about to get yourself into? You aren’t sure, but nothing about this past year has been expected or sane in any way, so why not?

[deadpresidents]

Waking Up In Dallas: November 22, 1963.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. Neither of them were the two men who actually served as President on that tragic day -- John F. Kennedy or Lyndon B. Johnson.

The 37th President of the United States, 50-year-old Richard Nixon, had arrived in Dallas on November 20th for a conference of the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages on behalf of Pepsi-Cola, a company that his New York law firm was representing.  On November 21st, Nixon sat down with reporters in his room at the Baker Hotel, where he criticized many of the policies of President Kennedy, his 1960 opponent, who would be arriving in Dallas the next day.  That night, Nixon and Pepsi executives including actress Joan Crawford, who had been married to Pepsi's chairman, Alfred Steele, until his death in 1959, were entertained at the Statler Hilton.

In the early morning of November 22nd, a car dropped Nixon off, alone, at Love Field, the Dallas airport that would host President and Mrs. Kennedy, Vice President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally and his wife in just a few hours.  Nixon later remembered the flags and signs displayed along the motorcade route that Kennedy would soon follow.  Nixon approached the American Airlines ticket counter to check-in for his flight to New York City and told the attendant, "It looks like you're going to have a big day today."

Nixon landed several hours later in New York at an airport that would be renamed after John F. Kennedy a month later.  He described what happened next in his 1978 autobiography, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon:

Arriving in New York, I hailed a cab home.  We drove through Queens toward the 59th Street Bridge, and as we stopped at a traffic light, a man rushed over from the curb and started talking to the driver.  I heard him say, "Do you have a radio in your cab?  I just heard that Kennedy was shot."  We had no radio, and as we continued into Manhattan a hundred thoughts rushed through my mind.  The man could have been crazy or a macabre prankster.  He could have been mistaken about what he had heard; or perhaps a gunman might have shot at Kennedy but missed or only wounded him.  I refused to believe that he could have been killed. As the cab drew up in front of my building, the doorman ran out.  Tears were streaming down his cheeks.  "Oh, Mr. Nixon, have you heard, sir?" he asked.  "It's just terrible.  They've killed President Kennedy."

The close 1960 Presidential election changed the relationship between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy, but they had once been very close.  When they first entered Congress together in 1947, they considered each other personal friends, and when Nixon ran for the Senate from California in 1950, JFK stopped into Nixon's office and dropped off a financial contribution to Nixon's campaign from Kennedy's father.  Nixon would later write that he felt as bad on the night of Kennedy's assassination as he had when he lost two brothers to tuberculosis when he was very young.  That night, he wrote an emotional letter to Jacqueline Kennedy:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947.  That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady.  You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon 

••• On the morning of November 22, 1963, the 41st President of the United States also woke up in Dallas, Texas.  George Herbert Walker Bush was the 39-year-old president of the Zapata Off-Shore Drilling Company and chairman of the Harris County, Texas Republican Party, and had stayed the night of November 21st at the Dallas Sheraton alongside his wife, Barbara.  Bush was planning a bid for the U.S. Senate in 1964 and making the rounds to line up support amongst many Texans who considered him far too moderate.  One of the groups that was strongest in opposition to Bush was the ultra-right wing John Birch Society, which had recently been lodging vehement protests against President Kennedy's upcoming visit to Dallas.

Conspiracy theorists claim that there were far more sinister motives for George Bush being in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Some claim that Bush was a secret CIA operative involved in planning or even carrying out the assassination of President Kennedy.  Some even argue that a grainy photograph of a man resembling Bush taken shortly after the assassination proves that Bush was actually in Dealey Plaza at the time of Kennedy's shooting.

He wasn't.  He wasn't even in Dallas.  We know where George Herbert Walker Bush was at the time of JFK's assassination -- we have plenty of eyewitnesses who can confirm it.  While Lee Harvey Oswald was shooting President Kennedy, George Bush was about 100 miles away from Dallas, in Tyler, Texas, speaking at a Kiwanis Club luncheon.  Like Nixon, Bush and his wife, Barbara, had also boarded a plane that morning in Dallas -- a private plane that transported them to Tyler for the Kiwanis Club event.  While Bush was speaking, word of the President's assassination reached the luncheon and the local club president, Wendell Cherry, leaned over and gave the news to Bush.  Bush quickly notified the crowd, and said, "In view of the President's death, I consider it inappropriate to continue with a political speech at this time."  He ended his speech and sat down while the luncheon broke up in stunned silence. 

Bush's wife, Barbara, wasn't at the Kiwanis Club luncheon.  While her husband was speaking, Barbara Bush went to a beauty parlor in Tyler to get her hair styled.  As her hair was being done, Barbara began writing a letter to family and heard the news over the radio that JFK had been shot and then that the President had died.  In her 1994 memoir, Barbara included the letter, part of which said:

I am writing this at the Beauty Parlor, and the radio says that the President has been shot.  Oh Texas -- my Texas -- my God -- let's hope it's not true.  I am sick at heart as we all are.  Yes, the story is true and the Governor also.  How hateful some people are. Since, the beauty parlor, the President has died.  We are once again on a plane.  This time a commercial plane.  Poppy (George H.W. Bush's family nickname) picked me up at the beauty parlor -- we went right to the airport, flew to Ft. Worth and dropped Mr. Zeppo off (we were on his plane) and flew back to Dallas.  We had to circle the field while the second Presidential plane took off.  Immediately, Pop got tickets back to Houston, and here we are flying home.  We are sick at heart.  The tales the radio reporters tell of Jackie Kennedy are the bravest.  We are hoping that it is not some far-right nut, but a "commie" nut.  You understand that we know they are both nuts, but just hope that it is not a Texan and not an American at all. I am amazed by the rapid-fire thinking and planning that has already been done.  LBJ has been the President for some time now -- two hours at least and it is only 4:30. My dearest love to you all, Bar

As Barbara Bush noted in her letter, the Bushes did not stay another night at the Dallas Sheraton on November 22nd, as they had originally planned.  They returned to Dallas on the private jet that had transported them to Tyler earlier in the day, and caught a commercial flight home to Houston.  The "second Presidential plane" that took off while Bush's plane circled Love Field was the plane that had transported Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson to Dallas earlier that day, Air Force Two.  Johnson was already heading back to Washington, now on Air Force One, with the casket of John F. Kennedy.

••• The 37th President of the United States and the 41st President of the United States woke up in Dallas, Texas on the morning of November 22, 1963.  The 31st President, 89-year-old Herbert Hoover, was in failing health in the elegant suite he called home at New York's Waldorf-Astoria.  Within the next few weeks, he would be visited by the new President, Lyndon Johnson, and President Kennedy's grieving widow, Jackie, and the President's brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy.  The 33rd President, 79-year-old Harry Truman, learned of JFK's death in Missouri, while the 34th President, 73-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower, heard of the assassination while attending a meeting at the United Nations in New York.  Truman and Eisenhower would squash a long, bitter personal feud that weekend while attending Kennedy's funeral in Washington.  The 38th President, 50-year-old Michigan Congressman Gerald Ford, was driving home with his wife Betty after attending a parent conference with their son Jack's teacher when they heard the news on the radio in their car.  Two days later, President Johnson would call on Ford to serve on the Warren Commission investigating the assassination.  

The 39th President, Jimmy Carter was 39 years old and had just gotten off a tractor near the warehouse of his Plains, Georgia peanut farm when a group of farmers informed him of the news of the shooting.  Carter found a quiet area, kneeled down in prayer, and when he heard that Kennedy had died, cried for the first time since his father had died ten years earlier.  Ronald Reagan, the 40th President, was 52 years old and preparing for a run as Governor of California.�� A little more than 17 years later, the now-President Reagan would also be shot by a lone gunman in the middle of the day.  While Reagan would survive the attempt on his life, it was very nearly fatal and reminded his wife, Nancy, of November 22, 1963.  As she was transported to George Washington Hospital following Reagan's shooting, Nancy would later note, "As my mind raced, I flashed to scenes of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Texas, and the day President Kennedy was shot.  I had been driving down San Vicente Boulevard in Los Angeles when a bulletin came over the car radio.  Now, more than seventeen years later, I prayed that history would not be repeated, that Washington would not become another Dallas.  That my husband would live."

The 41st President, Bill Clinton, and the 43rd President, George W. Bush, were both 17 years old and in school -- Bush at the Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Clinton at Hot Springs High School in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Clinton was in his fourth period calculus class when his teacher was called out of the room and returned to announce that President Kennedy had been killed.  Four months earlier, Clinton had traveled to Washington with the Boys Nation program and, during a ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House, pushed his way to the front of the line and shook President Kennedy's hand.  The 44th President, Barack Obama, was a 2-year-old living in Hawaii.

••• The 35th President, 46-year-old John F. Kennedy, would die in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Lyndon B. Johnson, 55, would become the 36th President in Dallas that day.  But they woke up that morning in Fort Worth at the Texas Hotel.  Kennedy had slept the last night of his life in suite 850 on the eighth floor, now the Presidential suite.  LBJ had slept the last night of his Vice Presidency in the much more expensive and elegant Will Rogers Suite on the thirteenth floor.  The Secret Service had vetoed the Will Rogers Suite for the President because it was more difficult to secure.  It was raining in Fort Worth as they woke up, but the skies had cleared by the time they landed in Dallas.  Before breakfast, President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally headed outside and briefly addressed a crowd that had gathered long before the sun had come up in hopes of seeing JFK.  Jacqueline Kennedy didn't accompany them outside and President Kennedy joked to the crowd, "Mrs. Kennedy is organizing herself.  It takes her a little longer but, of course, she looks better than we do when she does it."

Afterward, they headed inside for breakfast in the Texas Hotel's Grand Ballroom with several hundred guests.  The President sent for Mrs. Kennedy to join them, and her late arrival to the breakfast excited the guests in the ballroom.  When the President spoke to the group, he joked again, "Two years ago I introduced myself in Paris as the man who had accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to Paris.  I'm getting somewhat that same sensation as I travel around Texas."  Then he noted, "Nobody wonders what Lyndon and I wear."

When the breakfast ended, the Kennedys headed upstairs and had an hour or so to wait before heading to the airport for the short flight to Dallas.  It was during this time that Jackie Kennedy saw a hateful ad placed in that morning's Dallas Morning News accusing President Kennedy of collusion with Communists and treasnous activity.  Trying to calm Jackie down, the President joked, "Oh, we're heading into nut country today."  But a few minutes later, Jackie overheard Kennedy telling his aide, Ken O'Donnell, "It would not be a very difficult job to shoot the President of the United States.  All you'd have to do is get up in a high building with a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight, and there's nothing anybody can do."

••• Even though the trip from Fort Worth's Carswell Air Force Base to Dallas's Love Field would only take thirteen minutes by air, the trip to Texas was first-and-foremost a political trip -- a kickoff of sorts to JFK's 1964 re-election campaign -- and a grand entrance was needed.  So, JFK and Jackie boarded the plane usually used as Air Force One, LBJ and Lady Bird Johnson boarded the plane usually used by the Vice President, Air Force Two, and the huge Presidential party took to the skies, covering thirty miles in thirteen minutes, in order to get the big Dallas welcome that they were hoping for.  They landed in Dallas at 11:40 AM, and President Kennedy looked out the window of his plane, saw a big, happy crowd, and told Ken O'Donnell, "This trip is turning out to be terrific.  Here we are in Dallas, and it looks like everything in Texas is going to be fine for us."

At 2:47 PM -- just three hours and seven minutes later -- everyone was back on Air Force One as the plane climbed off of the Love Field runway and into the Dallas sky.  John F. Kennedy, the 35th President, was in a casket wedged into a space in the rear of Air Force One where two rows of seats had been removed so that it would be fit.  Lyndon B. Johnson had officially been sworn in as the 36th President about ten minutes earlier on the plane by federal judge Sarah T. Hughes.  On one side of Johnson while he took the oath was his wife, Lady Bird, and on the other side, the widowed former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, still wearing a pink dress splattered with her husband's blood and brain matter.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas on November 22, 1963 -- Richard Nixon and George H.W. Bush -- but they weren't in town when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, no matter how many ways conspiracy theorists try to twist the story.  The President who died in Dallas that day, John F. Kennedy, and the man who became President in Dallas that day, Lyndon B. Johnson, woke up in Fort Worth on the morning of November 22, 1963.  But they'll be forever linked with Dallas -- and the world that woke up the next morning would never be the same again.    

[whencyclopedia]

Dunkirk Evacuation

The Dunkirk Evacuation of 26 May to 4 June 1940, known as Operation Dynamo, was the attempt to save the British Expeditionary Force in France from total defeat by an advancing German army. Nearly 1,000 naval and civilian craft of all kinds, aided by calm weather and RAF air support, managed to evacuate around 340,000 British, French, and Allied soldiers.

The evacuation led to soured Franco-Anglo relations as the French considered Dunkirk a betrayal, but the alternative was very likely the capture of the entire British Expeditionary Force on the Continent. France surrendered shortly after Dunkirk, but the withdrawal allowed Britain and its empire to harbour its resources and fight on alone in what would become an ever-expanding theatre of war.

Germany's Blitzkrieg

At the outbreak of the Second World War when Germany invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, France was relying almost entirely on a single defensive line to protect itself against invasion. These defences were the Maginot Line, a series of mightily impressive concrete structures, bunkers, and underground tunnels which ran along France's eastern frontiers. Manned by 400,000 soldiers, the defence system was named after the French minister of war André Maginot. The French imagined a German attack was most likely to come in two places: the Metz and Lauter regions. As it turned out, Germany attacked France through the Ardennes and Sedan on the Belgian border, circumventing most of the Maginot Line and overrunning the inadequate French defences around the River Meuse, inadequate because the French had considered the terrain in this forested area unsuitable for tanks. Later in the campaign, the Maginot Line was breached near Colmar and Saarbrücken.

To bolster the defences of France, Britain had sent across the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) under the command of General John Vereker (better known by his later title Lord Gort, 1886-1946). Around 150,000 men, mostly infantry, had arrived in September 1939 to strengthen the Franco-Belgian border. The BEF included the British Advanced Air Striking Force of 12 RAF squadrons. The aircraft were mostly Hawker Hurricane fighters and a few light bombers, all given much to the regret of RAF commanders who would have preferred to have kept these planes for home defence. The superior Supermarine Spitfire fighters were kept safely in Britain until the very last stages of the battle in France. The BEF had no armoured divisions and so was very much a defensive force, rather than an offensive one. More infantry divisions arrived up to April 1940, so the BEF grew to almost 400,000 men, but 150,000 of these had little or no military training. As General Bernard Montgomery (1887-1976) noted, the BEF was "totally unfit to fight a first class war on the Continent" (Dear, 130). In this respect, both Britain and France were very much stuck in the defensive-thinking mode that had won them the First World War (1914-18). Their enemy was exactly the opposite and had planned meticulously for what it called Fall Gelb (Operation Yellow), the German offensive in the west.

Totally unprepared for a war of movement, the defensive-thinking French were overwhelmed in the middle weeks of May 1940 by the German Blitzkrieg ("lightning war") tactics of fast-moving tanks supported by specialist bombers and smartly followed by the infantry. German forces swept through the three neutral countries of the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium. The 9th Army punched through the Ardennes and raced in a giant curve through northeast France to reach the coast around Boulogne. The BEF and the northern French armies (7th and 1st) were cut off from the rest of the French forces to the south. Germany had achieved what it called the 'Sickle Slice' (Sichelschnitt). By 24 May, the French and British troops were isolated and with their backs to the English Channel, occupying territory from Dunkirk to Lille. Although there were sporadic counterpunches by the defenders, Gort had already concluded that the French army had collapsed as an operational force. Gort considered an attack on the Germans to the south, which he was ordered to make, would have achieved very little except the annihilation of his army. The BEF must be saved, and so he withdrew to the north.

Continue reading...

[presidenttyler]

dear tumblr family, i am the real former president john tyler and this november we'll drop the "former" if you VOTE FOR ME. i'm qualified. i'm handsome, i'm tall, i'm built like an antebellum onceler, i've got it all. i expect your support this year. nobody has been through more than me especially at the hands of that henry clay but i have news for everyone HENRY CLAY IS DEAD and I AM ALIVE. jot that down! i'm running what they're calling a "front swamp campaign" where i sit in my swamp and do nothing and let you guys all do all the work so GET ON IT PLEASE. this message is approved by PRESIDENT TYLER, formerly AND CURRENTLY of the BEAUTIFUL SWAMP!!! 🇺🇲🙏

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s catalog re-recording campaign continues with a thoughtful version of 2010’s Speak Now that tempers teen angst with the ageless quality of lullabies and folk songs.

Taylor Swift emerged in 2006 as a 16-year-old wunderkind with a gift for articulating all the intimacies and humiliations of falling in love. But throughout her early career, her image was predicated on her youthful innocence as much as her outsized wisdom. Swift “does not drink or swear or flash cleavage,” remarked a profile from around the time of her third studio album, Speak Now—a point that stood in opposition to peers like Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato, who were quick to jettison their tween-friendly branding. Swift seemed to take up the mantle of youth role model with pride. Though she was careful to never disparage anyone directly, she told The New Yorker in 2010, “I don’t feel completely overcome by the relentless desire to put out a dark and sexy ‘I’m grown up now’ album.”

Speak Now, released in 2010, emerged at an inflection point in Swift’s life. She had recently turned 20 and moved out of her parents’ home, had toured the world, and, as evidenced by gut-wrenching tracks like “Dear John” and “Last Kiss,” had experienced heartbreak that shook her sense of emotional security. On this album, she struggles to balance her love of fantasy and escapism with her new responsibilities. Throughout Speak Now, she asks, How do you believe in fairytales and also acknowledge the depth of your pain?

As with her previous re-recordings of early work, Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) remains largely faithful to the arrangements and lyrics of the original. But Swift is not the same singer she was at 20. In more recent material, her starry-eyed optimism has been replaced with nuance and caution. She’s learned to voice regret as much as rage; in songs like Lover’s “Death by a Thousand Cuts” and Reputation’s “Dress,” she drinks and allows her sexual fantasies to run wild. On the new recordings of old Speak Now songs, her maturity is revealed not through the words themselves, but how she chooses to deliver them. The angry songs are presented with a sigh rather than a vindictive grin. The songs about heartache are sung carefully and patiently. It feels less like she’s sending a message to any particular ex than she is conveying a generalized weariness about how draining young adulthood can be.

Written between the ages of 18 and 20, the original tracks on Speak Now depict Swift clinging to her girlhood like someone trying to hold water in their palms. “Never Grow Up,” an acoustic ballad, was ostensibly written for young female fans. But by the end the song reveals itself as a means of mourning her past self. She promises the impossible: that no one will ever leave her deserted, that there will be no pain in her life. “Innocent,” a song about forgiving someone who wronged her, evokes the subject’s childhood—chasing fireflies, relying on someone bigger to get things off the shelf—in order to find something worth redeeming in them. Thumping rocker “Long Live” uses images of castles and dragons to celebrate the larger-than-life experience of touring with her band. It’s full of love but sung in the past tense, as if to memorialize the moment while it was still happening. Hearing these songs on Speak Now (Taylor’s Version), there’s less fear and more gentleness. Losing some of that teenage angst makes the songs less immediately enthralling: In the originals’ jagged inhales, sneered words, and ad-libbed laughter, you could hear how deeply these stories affected their author. Hearing her sing them now, they sound slightly anonymous, more like lullabies and folk songs than expressions of pressing concern.

Swift’s youthful naivete peeks through in the way she sings about other women. In her professional life, she had benefited—however passively—from comparisons to women deemed less wholesome and pure. And in her songwriting, she depicted them as unworthy rivals and master manipulators. In “Speak Now,” Swift’s narrator disrupts a marriage ceremony in hopes of separating the groom from his snotty, overdressed bride. On “Better Than Revenge,” she chastises a woman who supposedly stole her boyfriend. She later revised the sentiment, saying in 2014, “No one can take someone from you if they don’t want to leave.” Since the announcement of the re-recording, it has been speculated that she might edit the song’s most cutting and criticized lyrics: “She’s better known for the things that she does on the mattress.” On Taylor’s Version, this line becomes, “He was a moth to a flame/She was holding the matches.” The change feels half-hearted: Diss tracks aren’t supposed to be respectful. No one listens to “Better Than Revenge” expecting a measured response or nuanced feminist take. The song was satisfying precisely because Swift captured the nearsighted perspective of a teenager; in the attempt to distance herself from that person, she sacrifices resonance for optics.

“Dear John” remains the emotional centerpiece of the album, and one of the most devastating songs Swift has ever written. Across a lonely, warbling guitar lick and patiently unfurling blues-rock arrangement, she details mistreatment from an older partner: his wild oscillations between hot and cold, his ever-moving goal posts. John Mayer, whom the song is ostensibly about, was 32 when he dated a 19-year-old Swift in 2010. The new version, released by Swift at the same age that Mayer was then, is more powerful than ever. It provides a showcase for her deeper vocal range, and the way she enunciates each syllable adds weight to every word. When she belts out his name in the chorus, she sounds completely in control.

Since 2010, Swift has written another song about a torturous relationship she was in at age 19, presumably the same one. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” from last year’s Midnights, reveals the lasting impact of the memory. She wails, “Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.” It’s colored the way I hear “Dear John” and all of Speak Now: This wasn’t run-of-the-mill teen angst or ego that Swift was singing about back then. It was a coming-of-age moment turned crisis of faith, the kind of experience that reveals people’s capacity to inflict hurt. When you’re a 19-year-old girl curious about the world, it’s often implied that older men with deep eyes and brooding stares should be your teachers. But the lessons they offer are not always the ones you expect. Growing up is learning how to hold that knowledge without giving up hope of finding the pleasure and love you deserve.

Like prior album re-recordings, Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) includes a handful of newly released tracks that emerge “from the vault.” Hayley Williams joins for “Castles Crumbling,” which repurposes the same fairytale imagery from “Long Live” to relay her paranoia about a dramatic fall from grace. On “I Can See You,” which sounds more like the inky, lilting trap-pop on Reputation than anything on Speak Now, Swift describes an illicit workplace romance with sultriness and authority that stand apart from the album’s otherwise chaste perspective. On the breezy country-pop song “Foolish One,” Swift reminds herself that she is not the exception to the general rule that if someone is acting disinterested, they probably don’t want to be with you. Just one album prior, she was so confident in her exceptionalism that she re-wrote Romeo and Juliet as a love story starring her. Now, she tempers her romantic fantasies with pragmatism and a sense of jubilant freedom, encouraging a younger self to broaden the scope of her desire.

This re-release doesn’t benefit from the same novelty as Fearless (Taylor’s Version) in 2021, when the endeavor of re-recording her catalog to regain control over her masters felt rare and exciting. And musically, the Speak Now material doesn’t stand up to Red (Taylor’s Version), which presented perhaps her strongest album along with an extended version of fan-favorite “All Too Well” and a number of excellent vault tracks. In recent weeks, news of the latest re-release has been overshadowed by intrigue and minutiae from her current Eras tour. Throughout Speak Now (Taylor’s Version), Swift sometimes mutes the messy adolescent impulses that gave these songs their spark. But elsewhere, she divests from fantasy archetypes—the knight on a white horse, the helpless child—that once limited her. Think of the new Speak Now as a call and response between who she was and who she is: a teenager full of questions about what it means to grow up and an adult woman who’s still turning them over to find new answers.

[scotianostra]

November 9th 1903 saw the birth near Pittsburgh of Margaret Fay Shaw, the American writer who did much to record the music and culture of South Uist.

Margaret Fay Shaw was one of the most notable collectors of authentic Scottish Gaelic song and traditions in the 20th century. The arrival of this young American on the island of South Uist in 1929 was the start of a deep and highly productive love affair with the language and traditions of the Gaels.

Shaw was also an outstanding photographer, and both her still pictures and cinematography contributed to an invaluable archive of island life in the 1930s. She met the folklorist John Lorne Campbell on South Uist in 1934; they married a year later and together helped to rescue vast quantities of oral tradition from oblivion.

She came of Scottish Presbyterian and liberal New England stock. The family owned a steel foundry in Pittsburgh and her parents were cultured people. Margaret was the youngest of five sisters and her early years were idyllic. Her first love was for the piano and she continued to play throughout her life.

By the age of 11, however, she was orphaned and obliged to develop the independence of character which was to lead her into a life's work far removed from her upbringing. At the age of 16, she made her first visit to Scotland at the invitation of a family friend and spent a year at school in Helensburgh, outside Glasgow, where she first heard Gaelic song.

Wanting to hear it in its "pristine" state, in 1924 she crossed the Atlantic again, this time engaging in an epic bicycle journey, which started in Oxford and ended at the Isle of Skye, where she remained for a month. It was during this trip that she began to use photography to earn a living, selling prints to newspapers, and magazines such as the Listener.

But it was not until she arrived on South Uist that she found her spiritual home. She was invited to the "big house" in Lochboisdale for dinner, and two sisters who worked there, Mairi and Peigi Macrae, were brought in to sing for the company. Margaret had never heard singing like it. For the next six years, she became their lodger and dear friend. They shared with her all of their immense stock of oral tradition which she faithfully transcribed, learning Gaelic as the work proceeded.

Her most important published work was Folksongs And Folklore Of South Uist, which has never been out of print since it was first published in full by Routledge and Kegan Paul in 1955. Not only was it a scholarly presentation of the songs and lore which she had written down during her sojourn on the island, but also an invaluable description of life in a small crofting community during the 1930s.

This classic work was undoubtedly the centrepiece of Shaw's career, though she also wrote several other books, including an autobiography, From The Alleghenies To The Hebrides.

On the neighbouring island of Barra in the early 1930s, an extraordinary social set - a kind of Bloomsbury in the Hebrides - had developed around the presence of Compton Mackenzie. One of his closest collaborators was John Lorne Campbell, who came from landed Argyllshire stock and had developed his interest in Gaelic at Oxford.

The two patricians set about producing The Book Of Barra, a collection of the island's history and traditions, to raise funds for an organisation called The Sea League, which they had established to campaign for the exclusion of trawlers from Hebridean waters.

Hearing great reports of an American woman's photography on South Uist, Campbell crossed over by ferry to seek her involvement in illustrating The Book Of Barra. He walked into the Lochboisdale Hotel one rainy evening in 1934 and found Shaw sitting at the piano; a suitably romantic initiation to a relationship which was to last for more than half a century. They married the following year and made their home on Barra until, in 1938, Campbell bought the island of Canna, where they lived for the rest of their scholarly lives. The island was given to the National Trust for Scotland in 1981, and John Lorne Campbell died in 1996.

There was nothing dry or academic, however, about Shaw. She travelled regularly to America until her late 90s. The fearsome ferry journey between Mallaig and Canna was regularly undertaken with equanimity, and she fortified herself to the end with the finest Kentucky bourbon. Her love of the Hebrides was, above all, for the values and lifestyle of the crofting people, and, particularly in South Uist in that 1930s heyday, it was deeply reciprocated. It is there that she will be laid to rest.

During her latter years she stayed at Canna House until her death at the grand old age of 101 in 2004.

[caustinen]

lowkey obsessed with Bucky and Gale being offered a joint Calvin Klein campaign after their wedding, and although they both decline (Gale is way too modest, and they both want to avoid attention as couple) Bucky buys them both a pair so they can do their own private photoshoot together at home and dammmmmn

oh my GOD your mind-

gale would be almost insulted, like ”what the fuck are they thinking i’m not a model or an actor i can’t do that-” (bucky would try to be understanding while also being like ”okay dear but you’re also the most gorgeous man on the planet i see why they assume you’ve done some modeling”) but also kinda impressed if he looks at it from a marketing pov bc they are so popular at that time and he enjoys when brands dare to do something different (i hc gale with a big time competence kink in all universes)

bucky on the other hand is POSESSED with this idea once it enters his brain. he doesn’t wanna do a campaign as a couple of either to keep the relationship — while public — still as separate from work as possible, but he also thinks about closeups of hands and thighs and backs and abs in simple but elegant black-and-white images and it makes him lose his mind just thinking about gale in those situations, to be able to capture his beauty like that, he loves his silly candids (most of his camera roll looks like this:)

anyway he starts scheming on how to get gale to do a photoshoot in private without actually pressuring him if he really doesn’t want to. little does he know that gale has slowly gotten the same images to his head and to make it worse he actually has the reference pictures of john modeling earlier in his career, he has a couple of them framed on his home office:

so! since he knows bucky really would have their picture taken by professional anyway and gale’s just been too shy or scared of them leaking for it before, he arranges a photoshoot for them as a surprise date. he’d have someone they’re very close and comfortable with, like marge could be a good phorographer in this au, and john’s about to go through a wall with excitement when he realizes what’s happening!!

gale would be so nervous even though it would be just the three of them at the studio afterhours but bucky would guide him with experienced hands to the best ways to pose, guide his mind into just focusing on him, and before long gale has indeed completely forgotten they were even being photographed, too lost in the fond/hungry look in his husband’s eyes 🥰 ofc they wouldn’t do anything inapporporiate in front of a friend but there would definitely be intimacy and maybe after they’ve taken the couple pictures marge goes home but john takes a couple of more pictures just for himself so he can have some his personal thirst traps in 4k 🤷‍♀️

”moodboard” of the type of poses/pics they’d have by the end:

thank you for the ask anon!!! 💘 more of hollywood au

[boasamishipper]

LARROQUETTE POLL ROUND ONE RECAP

our original pool of sixteen sexy larroquette characters has been winnowed down to an elite eight. if your faves won the fight, congratulations! pat yourselves on the back for a vote well cast and a propaganda campaign well run. if your faves sadly did not emerge victorious, don't worry: the round one losers will have a bracket of their own after this tournament is over, so they'll all have one more shot at the crown.

let's meet our elite eight!

Billy Ace (Choose Me)

though David Bedford (Blind Date) fought the good fight, Billy Ace (of tall dark and handsome, leather jacket, and motorcycle riding fame) emerged victorious with 18 votes to 12. hopefully David will find consolation in his gigantic pile of teddy bears.

Carl Sack (Boston Legal)

his bitchiness, stoic demeanor and steadfast refusal to take part in the Shenanigans™️ around him have bewitched larroquette nation body and soul: Crane, Poole, and Schmidt senior partner Carl Sack beats serial killer-turned-attorney Joey Heric (The Practice) 33 votes to 9. 'no hard feelings,' says Joey amiably while sharpening his knives. sleep with one eye open, Carl.

Jenkins (The Librarians)

this race saw the highest voter turnout, and while things were close in the beginning, TWW's Lionel Tribbey's faithful cricket bat was no match for Jenkins's sword, or his crossbow, or his lightsaber, or his bow ties, or his clubbing outfit. with 36 votes to 24, our beloved caretaker moves onto the next round, and Lionel Tribbey can take a much needed vacation someplace warm, with as many drinks with little umbrellas in them as his heart desires <3

John Hemingway (The John Larroquette Show)

hemingway during the final hours of the race:

it was close, but our favorite well-read bus depot manager John Hemingway emerged victorious over ex cop turned lawyer curmudgeon with a heart of gold Mike McBride. congratulations john! see you next time, mcbride!

Bob Anderson (Baa Baa Black Sheep)

our good baby-faced second lieutenant took the lead early on and maintained it all the way to the end. rip Captain Stillman. back to commanding officer duty at an alaskan weather station you go.

Mark Bannister (Madhouse)

in a race that led many (my dear friend emily @footnoteinhistory) to ask Why Are You Doing This To Me, sexy yuppie driven to madness Mark Bannister (Madhouse) beats nice handsome single father Don Moore (Summer Rental) 26 votes to 9. Mark may be going onto the next round, but does he have a boat? No? Didn't think so.

Roan Montgomery (Chuck)

another nailbiter of a race, but much like rock beats scissors, legend suave debonair secret agent man (Roan Montgomery) beats cigar-smoking businessman with a predilection for child murder (Lawrence Van Dough) every time. off you go to your next assignment, Agent Montgomery. Mr. Van Dough, back to court-mandated community service on the sprawling lawns of the Rich mansion with you.

Dan Fielding (Night Court)

he couldn't beat a dead man, he couldn't beat a spunky blonde, but by god, our favorite ADA absolutely trounced paranormal detective Wilbur Willis (Second Sight) in a battle of sexiness. good work as always, mr. prosecutor - let's see if you've got what it takes to go all the way!

Round 2 will begin at 12pm CT on 9/16.

[hollownoire]

Recently picked up Resident Evil 5 on steam for $5 since it was on sale.

Friend owed me a wee favor so I chose to share one of my favorite games from my childhood with him. God, it was so worth it. I completely forgot how fucking fun RE5 is and how goddamn delightful Wesker is voiced and as a villain.

Chris and Wesker are definitely fucking, right? Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks so.

You don't growl a man's name like that unless you plan on kissing sloppy or fucking, I'm sorry.

"7 minutes is all the time I have to play with you."

First off, you sound disappointed Wesker dear. Second off you're "playing" with John Boulder Redfield himself?

Third off, Wesker didn't give a shit about Excella in the slightest. She's trying to woo him and all he can think about is his super evil plan and fucking with his boyfriend Chris.

For Christ's sake Wesker dumps Priscella at Chris's feet like a cat does a dead bird. Then, instead of...I don't know, just fucking off instantly with his superhuman speed into his batplane and getting his Victory Royale Wesker stays to whisper sweet nothings into an intercom to tease his barn-sized boulder-fisting boytoy some more. It was all fucking tongue and smiles, too, Wesker loved that shit.

Anyway, why the fuck was that ORBITAL LASER there?! BECAUSE WESKER PUT IT THERE. Mr. Matrix was running the whole fucking show! That fucking thing was the only thing that could stop Spaghetti Chinchilla and it was fucking 20ft that-a-ways from where Wesker meticulously planted a bunch of bodies and Gorganzola for Chris to find.

You don't just "misplace" an honest to god orbital fucking cannon as a leather-wearing genetic supremacist venom wannabee supervillain. Wesker bought that thing with his own fucking money. He KNEW it was there.

The nail in the coffin is how Chris reacted after the fight with the orbital laser and Mozzarella. After EVERYTHING Wesker has done so far both in the campaign of 5 and the previous games before Chris is all like:

"I can't believe Wesker would actually destroy the world!" D:

Yeah dude?! They're fucking, end of story.

[pleasantlyinsincere]

May Pang, Sunday Mirror December 14, 1980

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH LENNON - I didn't steal her man - by Tony Frost

John Lennon's secret love has talked for the first time about her "beautiful and tender" affair with the tragic superstar.

Chinese beauty May Pang has fought back the tears and said: "I still can't believe he is dead. Now he is gone, I feel a part of me has died too." Lennon turned to May after breaking up with his Japanese wife Yoko Ono in 1973. They spent eighteen 'Idyllic' months together - living in Los Angeles for six months, then setting up a love-nest on New York's fashionable East Side, before Lennon eventually went back to Yoko.

Only a few close friends knew of Lennon's romance with May, who was once secretary to him and Yoko. The affair was deliberately concealed from fans.

May, 30 but looking ten years younger, overcame her grief at last week's assassination of the ex-Beatle to give me an exclusive interview at her Manhattan apartment. "They were such magical times", she said. "Thank God, no one can take away my precious memories. I count myself as a very lucky woman to have shared some of John's most tender moments, his private thoughts and, most of all, his love. John brought me more happiness than I could hope to find in a lifetime with another man."

May originally worked for apple, the Beatles recording company. She became very close to Yoko and helped her in women's lib campaigns. "I don't want to say anything that might be hurtful to Yoko", she said. "She was always very kind to me. I didn't steal her man - they had broken up before John and I became lovers. I know she is deeply upset, and my heart goes out to her. But I have shed as many tears as Yoko."

Last Monday night, when Mark Chapman pumped five bullets into Lennon outside his New York home, May was at a friend's flat half a mile away. "We had the radio on," said May. "The disc jockey suddenly interrupted saying 'John Lennon has been shot'. At first I thought it was some kind of a sick joke. The initial news flash said that John was wounded. A few minutes later it was announced that he was at the hospital being operated on. I began shuddering and held my breath. I prayed that it wasn't true, but the third bulletin revealed the awful truth - John was dead. I screamed hysterically for several minutes. I stayed in bed for two days, sobbing and just thinking of John. I couldn't eat or sleep - my body was so numb from shock."

TOO UPSET

"The only thing I managed to do was pull a call through to Yoko. One of her aides answered the phone, saying she was too upset to talk to me. I can understand her feelings. Perhaps she cannot forgive me for loving John as much as her, and I feel I have no right to intrude into her sorrow. I left a message that I would gladly to anything to help her or their little boy Sean."

May's flat is a shrine to Lennon. Two pictures that she took of John - one showing him shirtless on a beach in California, the other relaxing with ex-Beatles drummer Ringo Starr - take pride of place. A note that Ringo slipped through the door of their New York home is pinned on the wall. "Dear John and May, Popped round to see you. Will call again." May has all of Lennon'd records but her most treasured possession is a doodle he produced.

"He was talking about finding peace and tranquility in his twilight years," she said. "He sketched for several minutes and handed me a drawing of himself as a little old man. 'That's how I'll look, when I'm 64,' he told me."

Lennon obsessed with assassination during the early Beatlemania years, later curbed his fear of death. "His great desire was to grow old gracefully," said May. "Some people fear old age, but John actually looked forward to it."

May, who was nicknamed 'Mother superior' by Lennon because she loved to organise things at his recording sessions, now works for Rod Stewart's record company. She cuddled two pet cats as she told of the gentle side of Lennon.

"When he read about callous acts of violence throughout the world, he would take it all so personally. 'Guns are for cowboys in the movies,' he said. John wanted desperately to be accepted at the level of the ordinary man. He always shunned bodyguards, to avoid attention being drawn to him."

WITTY VERSES

In a magazine interview shortly before his death Lennon said he had sometimes beat up his women. "He was never like that with me," said May. "He was a kind, caring and gentle companion. We would often stay up until dawn discussing music and the world's problems. Sometimes as we lay in bed he would recite poetry - nothing heavy just little witty, amusing verses - or sing to me. He was a real romantic and I don't believe he was capable of hurting a fly."

Lennon's fling with May ended after he bumped into Yoko backstage at an Elton John concert in New York.

She suggested he should improve his health by cutting down on alcohol, losing weight and stopping smoking. An appointment was made for him to visit a hypnotist who treated heavy smokers. Friends say that after his first session in the hypnotist's chair Lennon walked "almost spell-bound" back to Yoko's flat. From then the two were inseperable.

"When John went back to Yoko I knew it was finished between us forever, because he was a loyal and honorable person", said May. He was faithful during our time together and since he returned to Yoko there was never any question of him looking at another woman."

The last time May spoke to Lennon was three years ago ata party at Regine's nightclub in New York. "He was very careful in his choice of words because Yoko never left his side," said May. "I believe he could sense that I had never stopped loving him. I will love him forever. There will always be a corner of my heart reserved for John Lennon.

Lennon's affair was observed by Chris Charlesworth, then American editor of Melody Maker.

Chris, 33, said in London: "He was obviously infatuated with May. Yoko thought it would be a short-lived fling while John sowed his wild oats. I don't think he could ever get Yoko out of his mind. He used to ring her every few days just to hear her voice."

Chris said: "Dying so young was something that never entered John's head. 'When I'm 64, Yoko and I will be a doddery old couple living in a tiny cottage in Ireland,' he said. "Yoko envisaged them growing all their own vegetable and milking a couple of goats every day."

Lennon gave the reason why the fab four could never perform together again.

He told Chris: "If we got our act together it wouldn't be as good as the old days. We're rusty old men." The world will now never know if he meant it.

[eirinstiva]

About emotions and science: A Study in Scarlet

Happy birthday Sherlock Holmes!!! and the best way to celebrate it is reading A Study in Scarlet from my dear friend John H. Watson, M. D.

One of the reasons I love this story is the introduction to Watson, his experience as a soldier and the loneliness that embraces him:

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster.

Poor Watson. The campaign left him physical an emotional scars

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. 

Oh no. He's traumatised, alone and with no money.

I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart's. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. 

First we had Watson talking about his loneliness and the consequences of his wound, then Stamford appears as a light and then Holmes like fireworks. Too many emotions for a start and I love that.

Now the scientific part! Guaicum test One of the first presumptive tests for blood developed. It relied on guaiacum (a resin isolated from trees) in combination with hydrogen peroxide. If a stain turned blue when treated with these reagents, it was considered a positive result indicative of blood. According to this source "The historical record credits Izaac van Deen (1804-1869), a Dutch chemist and physician (...), with having discovered the test in 1861. It was only two decades later, in 1881, that the future Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) graduated from the University of Edinburgh with a Bachelor of Medicine and Master of Surgery. The test was less than three decades old when Doyle wrote the story."

[ID photo: Guaiacum officinale flowers. Four light violet flowers with five petals]

Acid stains on skin There are many factors related to the final colour of a acid stain. It depends on the type of acid, concentration, your own colour skin, temperature and so on. Skin contact with nitric acid leads to specific yellow-to- brown-stained wounds by binding with complex proteins (xanthoproteic reaction) and forming a yellow substance called xanthoproteic acid. Trichloroacetic acid (the one used in chemical peeling) leaves lightcoloured scames. I met someone who had a brown stain in her hand after burning accidentaly with hot sulfuric acid. Sometimes if you have sensitive skin, diluted acids can leave pinkish stains like in my case. That's why you should handle with care acids. Many of them are colourless so it's easy to mistake them for water, and that's why in lab you should label every single container with the contents, even water!

[deadpresidents]

Jackie Kennedy Responds to Richard Nixon

In my essay, Waking Up In Dallas, I noted that John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, who faced off in the 1960 Presidential election, had once been close friends dating back to when they were freshmen in Congress in 1947.  Although their relationship was changed by the 1960 Presidential campaign, Nixon was deeply troubled by Kennedy's assassination and wrote Jacqueline Kennedy this letter hours after President Kennedy's death:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947.  That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady.  You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon 

Several weeks later, the widowed former First Lady responded to Nixon's letter.  Jackie's response was handwritten, featuring the odd punctuation she often used in her handwritten notes, and remarkably prophetic.  A year earlier, Nixon had announced that he was leaving politics after a disastrous loss in a bid to become Governor of California.  Coming just two years after his narrow defeat to JFK, Nixon's political career looked to be finished.  He and his family moved to New York where Nixon joined a prestigious law firm and seemed to be removing himself from the political world.

Even in the midst of her mourning, Jackie recognized that JFK's death might be the opening Nixon would need to make a political comeback and finally realize his goal of becoming President.  Jackie might have recognized this before Nixon did himself.  Her political instincts were sharp and her foresight was incredible, but her letter was also heartbreaking as she warned of the dangers that could come with the Presidential prize:

(Punctuation, phrasing, and spelling is as it was in Jackie's original handwritten letter.)

Dear Mr. Vice President -- I do thank you for your most thoughtful letter -- You two young men -- colleagues in Congress -- adversaries in 1960 -- and now look what has happened -- Whoever thought such a hideous thing could happen in this country -- I know how you must feel -- so long on the path -- so closely missing the greatest prize -- and now for you, all the question comes up again -- and you must commit all you and your family's hopes and efforts again -- Just one thing I would say to you --if it does not work out as you have hoped for so long -- please be consoled by what you already have -- your life and your family -- We never value life enough when we have it -- and I would not have had Jack live his life any other way -- thought I know his death could have been prevented, and I will never cease to torture myself with that -- But if you do not win -- please think of all that you have -- With my appreciation -- and my regards to your family.  I hope your daughters love Chapin School as much as I did -- Sincerely Jacqueline Kennedy

Jackie Kennedy's predictions in her heart-wrenching letter were correct.  In 1968, Nixon was elected President. 

[whencyclopedia]

Dunkirk Evacuation

The Dunkirk Evacuation of 26 May to 4 June 1940, known as Operation Dynamo, was the attempt to save the British Expeditionary Force in France from total defeat by an advancing German army. Nearly 1,000 naval and civilian craft of all kinds, aided by calm weather and RAF air support, managed to evacuate around 340,000 British, French, and Allied soldiers.

The evacuation led to soured Franco-Anglo relations as the French considered Dunkirk a betrayal, but the alternative was very likely the capture of the entire British Expeditionary Force on the Continent. France surrendered shortly after Dunkirk, but the withdrawal allowed Britain and its empire to harbour its resources and fight on alone in what would become an ever-expanding theatre of war.

Germany's Blitzkrieg

At the outbreak of the Second World War when Germany invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, France was relying almost entirely on a single defensive line to protect itself against invasion. These defences were the Maginot Line, a series of mightily impressive concrete structures, bunkers, and underground tunnels which ran along France's eastern frontiers. Manned by 400,000 soldiers, the defence system was named after the French minister of war André Maginot. The French imagined a German attack was most likely to come in two places: the Metz and Lauter regions. As it turned out, Germany attacked France through the Ardennes and Sedan on the Belgian border, circumventing most of the Maginot Line and overrunning the inadequate French defences around the River Meuse, inadequate because the French had considered the terrain in this forested area unsuitable for tanks. Later in the campaign, the Maginot Line was breached near Colmar and Saabrücken.

To bolster the defences of France, Britain had sent across the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) under the command of General John Vereker (better known by his later title Lord Gort, 1886-1946). Around 150,000 men, mostly infantry, had arrived in September 1939 to strengthen the Franco-Belgian border. The BEF included the British Advanced Air Striking Force of 12 RAF squadrons. The aircraft were mostly Hawker Hurricane fighters and a few light bombers, all given much to the regret of RAF commanders who would have preferred to have kept these planes for home defence. The superior Supermarine Spitfire fighters were kept safely in Britain until the very last stages of the battle in France. The BEF had no armoured divisions and so was very much a defensive force, rather than an offensive one. More infantry divisions arrived up to April 1940, so the BEF grew to almost 400,000 men, but 150,000 of these had little or no military training. As General Bernard Montgomery (1887-1976) noted, the BEF was "totally unfit to fight a first class war on the Continent" (Dear, 130). In this respect, both Britain and France were very much stuck in the defensive-thinking mode that had won them the First World War (1914-18). Their enemy was exactly the opposite and had planned meticulously for what it called Fall Gelb (Operation Yellow), the German offensive in the west.

Totally unprepared for a war of movement, the defensive-thinking French were overwhelmed in the middle weeks of May 1940 by the German Blitzkrieg ("lightning war") tactics of fast-moving tanks supported by specialist bombers and smartly followed by the infantry. German forces swept through the three neutral countries of the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium. The 9th Army punched through the Ardennes and raced in a giant curve through northeast France to reach the coast around Boulogne. The BEF and the northern French armies (7th and 1st) were cut off from the rest of the French forces to the south. Germany had achieved what it called the 'Sickle Slice' (Sichelschnitt). By 24 May, the French and British troops were isolated and with their backs to the English Channel, occupying territory from Dunkirk to Lille. Although there were sporadic counterpunches by the defenders, Gort had already concluded that the French army had collapsed as an operational force. Gort considered an attack on the Germans to the south, which he was ordered to make, would have achieved very little except the annihilation of his army. The BEF must be saved, and so he withdrew to the north.

Continue reading...

[weclassybouquetfun]

UK actors are having a moment!

-Hero Fiennes Tiffin late of Guy Ritchie's THE MINISTRY OF UNGENTLEMANLY WARFARE

is reporting back to Ritchie for the direct to series order for Amazon Prime's YOUNG SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Will Fiennes Tiffin's Holmes be the young version of Robert Downey Jr's Sherlock Holmes that Ritchie famously directed? By Ritchie's comments, I'm thinking the two are unrelated. "In ‘Young Sherlock’ we’re going to see an exhilarating new version of the detective everyone thinks they know in a way they’ve never imagined before,” said Ritchie. “We’re going to crack open this enigmatic character, find out what makes him tick, and learn how he becomes the genius we all love.”

The Fiennes' family are no stranger to the Holmes universe. Hero's uncle Ralph Fiennes played Moriarty in the 2018 comedy HOLMES & WATSON starring Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly.

-Nicholas Galitzine has a hit Amazon film, hit songs on the chart, he's in FYC campaigns for both Amazon's RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE and Starz/Sky Atlantic's MARY & GEORGE and now he can put action hero under his belt. Galitzine has been tapped for the role they have seemingly been unable to give away - He-Man, Master of the Universe!

I know. Shocking.

It has been a hard road getting this property back into the live-action realm. Previously cast was Noah Centineo,

then bewildering Kyle Allen (WEST SIDE STORY, A HAUNTING IN VENICE)

and just slightly less bewildering Galitzine.

Thicc Nick. Get those muscles back up, Prince Adam, the People's Princess.

While the articles I've seen announcing Galitzine's casting say that the plot details are unknown, the film is still being directed by Travis Knight (BUMBLEBEE, KUBO AND THE TWO STRINGS) and when he was announced as director the synopsis was: “10-year-old Prince Adam who crashed to Earth in a spaceship and was separated from his magical Power Sword—the only link to his home on Eternia. After tracking it down almost two decades later, Prince Adam is whisked back across space to defend his home planet against the evil forces of Skeletor. But to defeat such a powerful villain, Prince Adam will first need to uncover the mysteries of his past and become He-Man: the most powerful man in the Universe!”

Until then, you can see Galitzine in Variety's ACTORS ON ACTORS (in support of MARY & GEORGE) where he is paired with Leo Woodall, (ONE DAY) and who will be in the next BRIDGET JONES film, BRIDGET JONES: MAD ABOUT THE BOY.

Galitzine's RED, WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE costar Taylor Zakhar Perez will also be in ACTORS ON ACTORS and is paired with his friend and THE KISSING BOOTH costar Joey King (WE WERE THE LUCKY ONES).

The rest of the lineup

Quinta Brunson (“Abbott Elementary”) & Jennifer Aniston (“The Morning Show”) 

Jodie Foster (“True Detective: Night Country”) & Robert Downey Jr. (“The Sympathizer”) 

Jon Hamm (“Fargo,” “The Morning Show”) & Kristen Wiig (“Palm Royale”) 

Tyler James Williams (“Abbott Elementary”) & Anthony Mackie (“Twisted Metal”) 

Anna Sawai (“Shōgun “) & Tom Hiddleston (“Loki”) 

Brie Larson (“Lessons in Chemistry”) & Andrew Scott (“Ripley”) 

Hannah Einbinder (“Hacks”) & Chloe Fineman (“Saturday Night Live”) 

Elizabeth Debicki (“The Crown”) & Emma Corrin (“A Murder at the End of the World”) 

Chloë Sevigny (“Feud: Capote vs. The Swans”) & Kim Kardashian (“American Horror Story: Delicate”) 

Naomi Watts (“Feud: Capote vs. The Swans”) & Jonathan Bailey (“Fellow Travelers”) 

-As Travis Knight has directed a TRANSFORMERS film, I move on to a TRANSFORMERS alum - Jack Reynor who was in the panned TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION. Dear Jack has been cast in series two of AppleTV+s CITADEL opposite Priyanka Chopra and Richard Madden.

and another dear Jack, this time Jack "The Lad" O'Connell, who was recently seen in Michael Mann's FERRARI and Sam Taylor Johnson's Amy Winehouse biopic BACK TO BLACK has been cast in the next Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan collaboration (which is said to be a vampire film) and he's been cast in the upcoming 28 DAYS LATER sequel with Cillian Murphy, Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor Johnson and Ralph Fiennes.

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

In early 1862, rumours began circulating in Germany alluding to scenes of jealousy between the Crown Princess and her handsome husband over a lady at court with whom he had supposedly fallen in love. Soon the word was that Vicky was leaving for England in order to sue for divorce. Even during her stay on the Isle of Wight, she was pursued by such rumours from all corners of Germany. In desperation, she wrote to her husband: ‘These stories about our ménage have become so widespread in the provinces, & indeed throughout all of Germany, that Stockmar has received letters from numerous acquaintances asking him if they are indeed true.’ 

Both husband and wife were furious at this distortion of the truth, and immediately attributed the rumours to machinations of the arch-conservative Kreuzzeitung party. ‘No words can describe such nonsense’, exclaimed the Crown Prince. The entire matter was nothing more than ‘further evidence that one does not wish a royal marriage to enjoy bürgerlich [middle-class] simplicity and happiness’, he wrote, adding bitterly: ‘Our friends the Junkers are no doubt behind this tale.’ 

‘It is simply too malicious’, averred the Crown Princess. ‘Just because we are so happy & so in love with each other, they begrudge us the opportunity to be different from so many others! But you can be sure it is all the fault of our dear loyal zeitungspartei. The Democrats would not be capable of such a thing, & besides would have nothing to gain from it!’ These were in fact the first warning shots in a slander campaign which later developed into a veritable system under Bismarck.

Over the next years, neither her passion nor her love and admiration for her husband waned. At the beginning of 1861, after being married for three years, Vicky wrote to her mother: ‘Not a hope has been disappointed, not and expectation that has not been realized.’ Day after day, she wrote, she found herself admiring anew her husband’s noble qualities, his level-headedness and sens of duty. ‘He is such a good son, such a good husband, and such a good brother!’

Young Wilhelm: The Kaiser’s Early Life by John C. G. Röhl