#i hope we see limehouse

[jonroxton]

Willia doesn’t understand that being in Detroit where everyone is trigger happy and confrontational is Raylan’s vacation. A whole army can come at Raylan and he’ll be fine so long as he’s not in Harlan.

[abybweisse]

Hey Aby! In anticipation of the 205 chapter, I decided to go back and re-read Mey-Rin's and Bard's for clues of what may happen next to Snake and Finny. I noticed something interesting with both arcs - they both seem to hint at what their ultimate fates will be. While Bard's arc is all about meeting with wife and son while in a coma and he practically promises to return to them, Mey-Rin is an unwitting witness to a sex act, in an uncharacteristically graphic scene for Yana. Do you think that death is ultimately on the cards for Bard and (I guess) a marriage for Mey-Rin? Or is it all contained to their arcs themselves and does not mean anything beyond completing a mission?

⚠️ long post ⚠️

Assignments as foreshadowing?

I think that if Mey-Rin gets married, it would not be foreshadowed by her seeing sex acts through a keyhole.

She joined Qīng Bāng at a very young age and worked as a sniper, but she saw a lot going on around her. Well, as much as she could see without glasses. There were drugs, alcohol, and probably prostitution in and around the opium den, as well as throughout Limehouse district. One of her early assignments as an assassin was to shoot this guy at a hotel or perhaps in his own huge manor, right? He was a rival gang leader, and she shoots him while he's naked with some unnamed woman. He might have even been right in the middle of having sex when she shoots him. She's witnessed a lot in her young life.... Getting married to anyone would be despite the things she has seen and done. Reminds me of how Katniss finally settles down and has kids in The Hunger Games, even though she's been thoroughly traumatized by her experiences. So far, at least, Mey-Rin seems to have kept her mind pretty well intact. I hope she can continue to do so.

I think we can safely say she has somehow managed to remain a virgin up to this point, too. Otherwise, Georg von Siemens' inappropriate actions towards her wouldn't have been enough to make her question whether she was still worthy of marriage. Going by "Rin" and dressing as a boy until she joins the Phantomhive household might have been partly to protect her virtue. Good thing Haku was apparently only interested in her sniper abilities.

In Baldo's case, the interaction with Joanna and his son might be an indication he will have to break whatever promises he's made to them. At least for now. I mean, his claim he can now properly cook fried eggs is an exaggeration "Sebastian" calls out even before Baldo can fully return to the living realm.

I put Seb in quotations because I'm not sure whether Sebastian has infiltrated Baldo's coma or if he's just a nagging figment of his imagination.

Then again, maybe he will soon join them. We still don't have confirmation that he and the others safely made it out of Athena Sanatorium, thanks to a cliffhanger and moving on to the next assignment, with Finny and Snake. Next time we see Baldo et alia, they might be trying to take leave of the place... when Polaris freaking shows up, mad as all hell. Even if Ronald and William stick around and actually enter the fray (since it's another bizarre doll to take down), I don't see it ending too well. Baldo does seem to have this uncanny ability to survive, though, even if everyone else around him doesn't....

Either way, I highly doubt he will ever make it to Shanghai with the others, even if the others do. And if he stays in England and somehow still survives to the end of the series, this is most likely a false promise, as well:

Mostly because he's just that terrible in the kitchen.

I still somewhat hope Mey-Rin and Baldo end up together, despite their age difference. At least she is an adult already. Also, it was a very common practice in Victorian England for older men to marry much younger women, especially if those men were widowers. Much like Katniss again, perhaps Mey-Rin would only pair well with a man who has experienced much of the same trauma. Likewise, Baldo might now have trouble settling down with some completely innocent sort of woman. Katniss and Peeta go through the deadly and maddening games together. Baldo's been altered by war and losing his wife and son. Mey-Rin has been altered by her years as an assassin for a drug dealer and gang. Mey-Rin and Baldo have both been enlisted as servants for our earl, chosen because of their abilities and previous training; now they volunteer as pawns in this deadly game of chess against their young master's brother. Perhaps their bond will be strengthened by all this... if they live to see the end of it.

The main thing the first two assignments have in common, besides their basic instructions, is that Mey-Rin and Baldo each flashback to the events directly leading up to being offered positions as our earl's servants. Mey-Rin's flashback is triggered by Jane offering her the opportunity to switch sides. Her flashback shows us why her loyalty stays with our earl and Sebastian -- with the Phantomhive household.

Baldo's is triggered by Ada admitting her guilt as a survivor during warfare; Baldo feels much the same.

And he also develops loyalty towards our earl, Sebastian, and the other servants. Just like Jane ends up aiding the infiltrators, so does Ada.

As I'm typing this up, I realize "hunger games" describes both Mey-Rin's and Baldo's lives before: Mey-Rin is once fooled into biting a boot and is regularly given moldy bread to eat... while Baldo's battlefield starvation tempts him to cannibalize his fallen comrades. Sebastian barely arrives in the nick of time to stop him from eating the arm of Terry, or whoever that poor dead dude was, if it wasn't Terry. Sebastian shows up with a picnic basket filled with afternoon tea items and possibly more. The first thing our earl does to extend any kindness to Mey-Rin is provide her with the first hot, freshly prepared meal she's had in ages, perhaps as far back as she can remember.

Back to their assignments; they are paired with people who are in our earl's network but are not his servants. But Finny and Snake (and his snakes) are both Phantomhive servants, so do we get a major flashback from Finny, from Snake, from both, or from neither one? So far, Finny is having single-panel flashbacks and even briefly stating things he recalls to Snake and the top students. The orphanage reminds Finny of the research facility in some ways, and that could segue him into a major flashback. Since Doll is there, she could trigger Snake into one. However, before the assignments, they were the two we already knew the most backstory for, and we might never learn all that much more about either one. To deal with both characters, we might just continue to get tiny snippets here and there.

But Mey-Rin has a choice to make -- choose Jane's offer or remain loyal to our earl. She remains loyal, and Jane even helps her and Ran-Mao break up the blood collection operations there before parting ways. Mey-Rin and Ran-Mao just need to get to our earl and make their report.

Baldo still has a choice to make -- stay in England and return to our earl... or go with Lau and the others to China. Like I said before, he might never get to China, even if he tries. I do expect him to ultimately end up staying behind, possibly loaded down with fresh feelings of survivor's guilt. If Ada is still around when we get back to them, she might also decide to stay back and help Baldo take down the Aurora Society.

With Finny and Snake, I don't think Finny's loyalty could ever come into doubt. His choice might come down to whether he has to fight Snake. But I don't think Finny will see much, if any, choice in the matter if it comes to that.

Snake is probably about to hear Doll's full tale about the circus members' fates. Then his choice (and the choices of his individual snakes) is to either help Doll get revenge... or attempt to destroy her and shut down the orphanage. Snake is the last to join our earl's household, so he could end up the first to leave it (I don't think Tanaka has truly left). There's also the possibility that one of his snakes, like Emily, chooses Doll and must be eliminated.

There is foreshadowing in each assignment, but most of that pertains to what ends up happening in each assignment. I don't know what long-term foreshadowing there is in the assignments, other than perhaps some things not directly related to them... like:

The chance of Jane popping up again later because she hinted that she might

The shapes of souls and "aptitudes" hinting about soul transplants

If Layla ends up being Heathfield's daughter

If Layla/Al ends up being some experiment of Undertaker's regarding soul transplants

What I do see is each servant's loyalty being put to the test, and they must make quick, fateful decisions. Whatever choices they make during their assignments, they will ultimately affect the outcome of the story. Each assignment definitely has long-reaching consequences; they are not little bubbles of existence.

I hope I answered your question thoroughly. I stayed up too late working on this -- but not finishing it -- and have been half asleep all day.

[zablife]

Little gify gift inspo for you and your (I’m assuming no longer empty!) inbox babe 😘 Have fun with it! x

A Day at the Garrison

The Peaky Blinders had been announced and the Garrison cleared of it's patrons. As Polly, Ada, Lizzie, Tommy and Arthur arrived they were followed closely by a small boy who ran to catch up, peaky cap like his father's and uncle's tilted rakishly atop his mop of blonde curls because his mother wouldn't allow the peaky haircut despite his pleas.

"Arthur, why is Billy here?" Polly asked with raised eyebrow, gesturing toward the boy with her cigarette. "It's been difficult for Arthur to find someone to look after the boy while Linda's at work. I told him he could bring him here," Tommy said, a look in his eye that dared anyone else to defy his order.

As the meeting began, Tommy glanced at his nephew, playing in the booth next to him. The boy looked back at him with gleaming eyes, full of adoration. He genuinely hoped the lad wouldn't be able to follow their conversation. His own children were beginning to ask enough questions he had trouble answering. Tommy didn't have time to worry what Billy might eavesdrop and take home to his disapproving mother, however, as there was business to be done.

Turning to face his assembled family members, Ada usurped his right to speak, unleashing a fit of anger she'd been holding in all morning. "Right. Family Meeting. First item, this," she said tersely, plunking down a spent bullet in the center of the table for everyone to see. "Dug out of our Finn's arm yesterday by Aberama Gold using your gin and a razor blade."

Curiosity peaked by his aunt's dramatic introduction, Billy lept onto his knees, head popping over the side of the booth for a better look. Arthur wordlessly spun his son around by his shoulders to face the opposite direction as he exchanged a worried glance with Tommy, silently willing him to end the discussion.

There would no such luck. Tommy's attention was soon stolen by Lizzie who sat bolt upright, eyes wide with shock. "Finn?" she asked her husband. Arthur shook his head, feeling a torrent about to be unleashed as Ada continued her account of what she had recently learned. She was unwilling to let it go without an explanation from her brothers. "He says they were sent to Limehouse. Chinatown."

At the mention of Chinatown, Billy spun around once more, grabbing his father's arm and shaking him. "Dad, that's where we go for the fireworks!" he said excitedly. "Yeah, that's right, Billy boy," Arthur said quietly, unlatching his son's hand from his coat sleeve to see Lizzie's nostrils flare.

She interrupted once more, unable to remain silent. "Sent by fucking who?" she asked, looking back and forth between her sister-in-law and her husband helplessly. Tommy cleared his throat and answered in an annoyed tone, "I told Finn to stay out of this. He obviously didn't listen."

"I listen to every word you say, Uncle Tommy!" Billy exclaimed proudly from his table, oblivious to the venom his aunt was unleashing at the same time. He'd become so accustomed to fighting at home between his parents, he sat unfazed by the arguing until Ada's voice cut through the tension revealing, "Finn said they were sent to Chinatown to kill somebody." That got Billy's attention and he came to stand behind his father, peeping over his shoulder. He shouldn't have bothered hiding though as the adults had forgotten him. They continued discussing matters he didn't quite understand about a bad man who had been murdered and his uncle's work in Parliament.

Although he could tell his aunts were very unhappy, his Uncle Tommy had declared, "It was the right thing to do." And his father affirmed, "Fucking right," so it must have been. Billy knew whose side he would take in the argument. He felt he had to speak up in support so he decided to repeat a phrase he'd heard his uncle say many times before to calm his aunt.

"Don't worry, Aunt Ada. We own the ropes. Who's gonna hang us now?" he said in a loud, clear voice, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Billy looked from his father to his uncle proudly, but his father only ducked his head in what looked to be embarrassment. He noted his uncle's eyebrows raise slightly in a questioning look as he heard his Aunt Polly snort with laughter. Lizzie looked at Billy in horror. "Can't believe this shit," she said as she gathered her purse and rushed out the door.

"Billy, go wait in the snug," Ada said firmly. He furrowed his brow and looked down at the floor wondering if he'd gotten it wrong, said something unworthy of a blinder. He moved slowly across the room and as he went he heard his aunt's sarcastic laughter fill the room. "The funny thing is, he's right. No one's going to hang you, Tommy. You're gonna hang yourself." He wondered if she was telling a joke, although it hadn't sounded like one. He closed the door to the snug and sighed, kicking the floor with his shoe. He thought about what Uncle Tommy would do after a bad day.

When the meeting adjourned, Arthur wearily trudged into the snug, looking for Billy. He froze at the sight of his son, downing three fingers of dark liquid from a glass. He blinked slowly, then shook it off as he wondered who had served his child alcohol.

"Harry? What've you given my boy?" Arthur bellowed through the small window. As Harry appeared, slinging a towel over his shoulder, Arthur reached through the narrow opening, clutching the man's shirt in his fist. "Calm down, Arthur. The lad wanted whisky to be like his Uncle Tommy, but I've only served him cold tea," he chuckled. "It's funny, right?" Arthur huffed out a breath as he tossed the barman back across the counter, annoyed at the joke.

Turning back toward his son, he ran a hand down his face. "Fuck me," he said, noticing the uncanny resemblance to his brother as his boy tossed back a glass of what he now knew to be tea. Stalking back to the table, he pointed a finger at Billy sternly saying, "Don't tell you mum about today."

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

Tag list:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@easilyobessedbutflighty

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@peakyrogers

@christinasyellowflowers

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@look-at-the-soul

@cillmequick

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@dreamlandcreations

@moral-terpitude

@l1-l4

@pherelesytsia

@runnning-outof-time

[liquid-reign]

Devil's Advocate

//

Tommy x Arabella

Word count- 1.8k

Trigger Warnings- None as such

A/N- It is kind of a rebuilt of a scene in S5 E1 when they all have a family meeting in The Garrison. I've included it just in the starting to form a base for writing the rest of it. I wanted to accommodate my OC in there because it felt right. And yes I always want Tommy to get some sleep. God knows he needs it.

//

The title is from "Devil's Advocate" by The Neighborhood. Felt good for a title to this. Though I wouldn't say the song itself fits in this scenario.

//

//

All settled in the old area of the Garrison when Lizzie spoke up "Can I begin this family meeting with a proposal? From now on we find somewhere else to meet?"

"Your boss believes that being seen mixing with the common people is good politics" said Ada

"Well if it's our campaign for socialism, perhaps next time, Polly, you won't wear earrings worth more than the pub" retorted Roslyn who found a place beside Polly to sit

Arthur occupied a table as well and Tommy took his place standing with a pillar, lighting a cigarette

"Right. Family meeting. First Item. This" Ada slammed a spent bullet on the table "Dug out of our Finn's arm yesterday by Aberama Gold, using your Gin and a razor blade"

"Finn?" asked Lizzie

"He says they were sent to Limehouse, Chinatown" Ada continued

"Sent by fucking who?" asked Lizzie, again.

"Sent by me" Tommy answered "I told Finn to stay outta this. He obviously didn't listen"

He was clearly annoyed

Roslyn just sat there and listened. It wasn't too surprising for her to see that her husband had sent his little brother to do something like that. But she hadn't known about this "What's in Chinatown, Tommy? What is going on?" she asked calmly.

Tommy sighed a little and answered "50,000 pounds, in cash"

"He said they were sent to Chinatown to kill somebody" Ada said

"The kid needs education Tommy, he really does" Arthur was irritated by his kid brother's inability to keep things confidential, ofcourse.

"It was a particular opportunity" Polly started

"A particular opportunity presented to me in confidence, I dealt with it in confidence" Tommy said as a matter of fact.

"How important was it?" Roslyn asked, her voice levelled

"Tommy told me there was a pimp in east London who sold kids" Polly defended

"Fucking kids, right?" Arthur came in

"This pimp was blackmailing a senior member of the house of Lords, a very wealthy man" Tommy tied to explain

"Now this pimp is lying in a ditch, covered in flies. The world is a better place" Arthur supported him, opening a bottle of whiskey

"Holy fuck so now your business is improving the world?" Ada scolded them, very mad that they had sent their little brother to do Blinder business.

"The man we did the job for is a high court judge. We received intelligence from a senior police officer in Scotland yard. I've made lots of friends in London, Men with influence. The Police felt the same way about this pimp as we did" he explained further, again, as a matter of fact "He wasn't worth a trial. The coppers cleared the streets for us. This work was commissioned by a High Court judge, by Scotland Yard and by the House Of Lords"

"It's a particular opportunity. It's not to be repeated" Polly defended him

"And it was the right thing to do" Tommy tried again

"Fucking right" Arthur joined him

"I can't be bothered with this shit" Lizzie muttered, irritated and mad, and left.

Roslyn was mad too, that they had been careless enough to send Finn for this job. But she knew this wasn't to be dealt with that easily "They're right, Ada" she glanced at Ada and then to everybody else as she spoke "If Finn is to take care of that side of the business he'll have to go out, witness and experience how it's done. Dangers and Bullets included, Isn't it?" she gave Tommy a side eye, talking in a dangerously calm tone "Anyway, he's a Shelby. Being afraid of bullets shouldn't be in him. It's only practical"

Tommy, Polly and Ada looked at Roslyn like she'd read verses from Satan's own holy book. Arthur nodded.

Roslyn got up "Now if you'll please excuse me, I am getting late for my train to London", she nodded once at Arthur and Tommy before leaving.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Polly, still a little in shock

The meeting went on till Tommy and Arthur were the only ones remaining, discussing bullets and Chinese

.

.

.

.

Tommy came home tired, straight from Westminster. The strange interaction with his son left him a bit more drained. Arthur had told Charlie it was in God's hands, the death of his favourite horse. If Tommy believed in God then maybe he would agree with this someday. But he didn't. Couldn't.

He asked for Roslyn the moment he came back inside. He wanted to talk to her about what she'd said in the meeting. It had left him angry and called-out.

He knocked on the door of her study. Walking in before she permitted him to, clearing his throat, found himself a place on the opposite side of the desk.

"Good evening, Tommy. How was your day?" she greeted him, without looking up from her papers.

"Why'd you say that in the meeting?" he asked, totally ignoring the greeting.

"Coming straight to the point, are we?" she said, still not looking up.

He just waited for her to answer.

Roslyn knew what he was here for and there was no use going around in circles.

Looking up, she started to speak, but for a second she noticed how tired he looked and almost wanted to take him to bed to just let him sleep comfortably in her arms. Oh how she wished, she could but they didn't work that way, did they?

"I meant every word I said in the meeting, Tom" she paused in case he wanted to react, but carried on when he didn't "If Finn is to handle that side of the business he will have to face the dangers. He can't sit here protected. No one comes out in one piece handling that side of affairs. You and Arthur, of all people, understand that don't you?"

He just stared at her. She shifted in her seat, leaning in, arms on the desk "Tommy, you and your brothers had to get into dirty business because you didn't have a choice. But Finn has a choice. He is very young and now his family is more than capable of giving him a better life than any one of us has had" she wanted to let it all out "I know you do not want him to get hurt, but if you keep pushing him he will get hurt it's inevitable. He's not like you or Arthur or John"

"What do you imply?" he asked, voice deep and low. Calm.

"I say we send him off to a good university. That's the only way to get him away from the bad side. I'm not saying we send him somewhere far away like America. I say we keep him in Britain. Oxford, Cambridge, London"

He hardly spoke but she could sense the gears of his mind working

"He will mingle with intelligent, brilliant and decent people there. See the world for what it really is. Away from all this dirt. He will take up Law or Commerce. Come back as an asset to the company. Tommy, it's not such a bad idea you know that" she knew he understood the language of profits better, so if she had to use that she would.

Now he nodded, his gaze had shifted down to the desk where her hands lay. He was thinking, gone in his mind.

"Think of him as an elder son of yours"

He looked up at her, hints of sudden anger but an overall understanding

She sat back. Roslyn had said everything she had wanted to. Now it was up to her husband to decide.

"We want people here" he quietly said "To keep the cash coming in"

"I know. But we have Mr. Gold and Isiah for that and we can hire more people. I can give you more of my business. We have alternatives" she said

He ran hand through his hair and face, fingers landing on his eyes. He was exhausted. Spent. From all the thinking.

"You're tired. Go get some rest we can talk about this some other day" she felt like she was talking too much anyway

He laid back in the chair, eyes closed, head resting on the back. Stayed there for a few seconds before getting up.

"I will consider this, Arabella" he said before leaving

.

.

.

.

"Mrs. Shelby, you could've called me if you needed anything" Frances said, a little worried, when she found Roslyn in the kitchen

"It's okay, Frances. You and the staff can retire for the day. Goodnight" She said with a polite smile. She liked Frances but also disliked her a tad bit because of how nosy she was sometimes. She was Tommy's personal informant in the house.

She nodded "Yes. Goodnight, Mrs. Shelby"

Roslyn had decided to make a calming tea for Tommy. She had it sometimes when she was too tired to sleep. The tea made her relax. She was hoping it would have the same effect on Tommy, though it was questionable.

She put in tea, some herbs she used, lavender and a dash of rum. She even made this tea for Alfie once and he slept like a baby for atleast two hours. A smile played on her lips when she thought of it.

.

.

She checked the library first. That was Tommy's sanctuary. She knocked before entering with the tray.

He looked up from his desk, confused, watching her as she kept the tray on the table in front of the couch.

"I made tea" she said, inviting him to the couch with a tilt of her head, while pouring the drink into her favourite cups.

Surprisingly he obeyed. He was a little taken aback because he didn't know she could make tea. Or be that homely. Or maybe he had completely ignored it till now.

He sat to her right. She shifted to the far left of the couch so they weren't too, at all, close.

"Here" she bent to hand him the cup.

They drank the tea in silence.

When they finished, she softly said, while getting up "I drink this tea to help me calm down. If you feel sleepy in a few minutes, just sleep, okay?"

Tommy looked at her get up, laying back on the couch.

She left, hoping Tommy would sleep a few hours atleast. Made a mental note to come check in an hour,

.

.

She immersed herself in work because she didn't want to sleep just yet. After fighting sleep for an hour, she finally made her way to the library, praying in her head for him to be asleep.

Much to her shock and relief, he had dozed off. He was sleeping, lying fully down on the couch. She was proud of her tea today because if it could make Tommy sleep, it could make anyone sleep.

She quietly left. Content that he'd atleast get some, if not much, sleep tonight.

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter Two

A/N: I just wanted to thank you all real quick for all the notes on the last chapter. It means so much to me! Here is chapter two I really hope you enjoy! I also think I will TRY to update every Friday. 

The woman sighs as she presses a hand to the windowpane to admire the moon. Glass cold under her touch from the bitter air of the night. The city of London is displayed out in front of her. Street lamps were being turned off for the night, as were the lights that shone through the other windows. Even cities had to retire at some point. 

She revels in the small rush of adrenaline this afternoon gave her. Seeing him again, made what one could have considered flutters in her stomach if she ever had those in the first place. Unlike her acquaintance, she did on occasion show her emotions. One could even say that she “wore her heart on her sleeve” as it was. But she’s learned how to keep up a face. Only let others see what she allows them. It makes her job easier, it helps appeal her skills to potential employers. This employer, especially. 

She heard the creak of the floorboard from in front of her room that she rented. The sound of the paper scraping the bottom of the door as it moves from the hallway into the room. While it was not a calling card from her “favorite player”, she was not any less disappointed with the simple words written on the page. 

Limehouse. Tomorrow. 

Well then, this should be fun. 

—— 

Miss Harrison was a lady by no means delicate, but still, the utter stench of the alleyway had her gagging as soon as she crossed. She covered her nose and mouth with a hand as she had given her handkerchief to Sherlock last night. Well…she slipped it in his pocket in hopes of toying with him. Her favorite sport. 

The lock of the door catches her eye, as there was no lock and the rest of the wooden place looked to be hanging by a single beam. 

“Good gracious!” She exclaims looking at the damage. “This is well above my pay grade.” She mumbles as she squeezes in between two fallen pieces of wall. 

Getting dirty was a daily occurrence in her job, she was not immune to it. But she refuses to believe that in only a minute of walking through the door she is expected to get her new white gloves, courtesy of a recently widowed Lord, covered in soot. 

The half-burned book is one that she does need to properly dispose of, the wooden crates need to be broken apart further than they already were, and the science equipment out in the open truly needs to be made scarce. These ladies were attracting too much attention to a cause that needed the element of surprise. 

Her cleaning expedition takes her longer than she thought, and given the sound of the creaking floorboard getting louder, she wasn’t the only one sent here. She makes her way to what was left of the back of the location and fixes her appearance in the reflection of a broken mirror. Using a piece of mirror that was on the floor, she uses it to look behind the doorway to see who her soon-to-disappear guest is. 

She would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, so what business does Sherlock have with this? She takes a moment to fix her lipstick as well as dab some of the sweat that accumulated on her brow, and after she checks her pocket watch, she concludes she has a few minutes to torment him. 

“Well, well, well, Mr. Sherlock.” She moves from behind the barely-there wall. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were following me.” Her smile can only be painted as smug while she clasps her hands in front of her figure, having made sure to remove her scoot-covered gloves. 

“Did you do this?” He gestures around to the nearly empty room, oblivious to her flirtation as always. How typical of men. 

“No ‘hello’?” Her eyebrow quirks up, but she catches his stern look and decides to tell him the truth. “This is not my work, Mr. Holmes. This was the state I greeted it in.” Well, some truth. The walls are still in the same condition she found them in. 

“I find that hard to believe.” He states. “This is very different from the way I left it when I came earlier.“ 

"Returning to the scene of the crime, were you?” She walks closer to him. “Believe me, Mr. Holmes-" 

"I have a hard time doing so.” He cooly responds as his hand drags against the wooden table. 

“And he comes with a bite!” She feigns shock at his response. “Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that this is the state I found it in. I was just as shocked as you when I first found it." 

"What are you doing here?” He inquires while looking at the now empty table. 

“I was looking for someone if you must know. I assume you are doing the same." 

"Who are you looking for?" 

"I could ask you the same question.” She counters. “You can’t help but ask what a missing marquee would be doing here. Unless it’s not the marquee you are after." 

"Good day, Miss Harrison.” He tips her hat. It seems she had hit a sore subject. 

“I can help you.” She offers. “It is what I am doing for my employer. Whoever it is you are looking for, judging by their connection to this location, has to have some relationship with the person I am looking for."  

He stops on his way out. "Thank you for your generosity, but I must decline. Excuse me." 

"Mr. Holmes, with all due respect, your talent lies in solving mysteries and I specialize in finding people.” Not to mention putting an end to them. “You work alone with nothing besides very few inquiries, while I have endless contacts and acquaintances.” She reasons. “The person you are looking for, are they worth the time that could have been avoided if you would have accepted my help?" 

"Stubborn woman.” He mutters under his breath. 

“What is stubborn about knowing what you want? I know that this is a case that I want to help you with.” She walks over to him and straightens his tie. “Mr. Holmes, tell me you have not forgotten what a great team we make." 

He gently removes her hand from his tie. "I try to forget." 

"Oh, how your words of indifference wound me.” Her teasing voice contrasting with the faux look of sadness on her face. She makes her way to the door. “Are you coming or not, Mr. Holmes?" 

——

"You are being awfully quiet.” The young detective looks up at the voice that calls him from across the carriage. “You have always been the quiet sort, but I thought by now you would have been interrogating me." 

"I have no patience for questions that go unanswered.” He answers, honestly. He knows the young woman in front of him to be mysterious, flirty, and too modern for her own good. Or rather his own good. The detective knows of her games. He’s found himself on the receiving end of them plenty of times. 

He observes the countryside passing through the window and thinks to himself how her games have improved if she is now able to pay for carriages instead of stealing train tickets. His train ticket if we want to nitpick. 

He then observes his companion, the closed-lipped smile on her face as she pulls out a pocket watch, his pocket watch. “Quite a pickpocket you are. I nearly had forgotten." 

"I took it as a keepsake, Mr. Holmes. It felt as if you were always with me.” She holds it closer to her figure so that he would not try to take it back. “For the next three minutes, you can ask me any question you would like and I have to answer honestly." 

"You have done this before and you never gave a satisfactory answer. The statements were only truthful because they were broad answers without substance." 

"And you remain aloof as always. Every one of those answers was on a need-to-know basis. You asked me when I was returning, and I replied that you would be aware of when I returned. Were you not aware?" 

"After how many days? How long were you in England before you decided to start your game? Before you sent your inner circle of people to torment? A week? A month?” His voice was getting louder toward the end of his accusation. 

“None of this is a game, Sherlock! I do not know what else I could do to prove that to you!” Her eyes close as she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. 

The remained silent for a few moments, her using his first name did not go unnoticed but he did not choose to acknowledge or dwell on it. 

Sherlock breaks the silence first. “When I asked you why you were running away…" 

She looks at him, both sadness and fondness in her face as if she was replaying the moment in her head. "My answer was truthful." 

And there they left the conversation. 

Silence fell upon the carriage with the only noise being the driver’s commands to the horses and the stomping of the hooves. 

——

They arrived later that afternoon to a small, quaint inn. An elderly woman greets them and compliments them on their appearance as a couple, saying that their children would be beautiful. 

Before Sherlock can disagree with her forwardness, his companion links her arm through his, giving a smile and a small ‘thank you’ as she takes the key and gently pulls on his arm with a ‘Don’t stand there all day, my dear.’

Sherlock is surprised at the size of the room. The quality of the bed with all of its pillows and embroidered blanket. No expense seemed to be spared at the cost of decorating the room with high-end lamps, antique furniture, and quite beautiful light fixtures.

While he knew his companion never struggled or wanted for money, this was beyond the price he remembered her being able to afford. He had not heard of a death in her family for her to garner an inheritance. She never spoke much of her employer. Never gave any description or revealed any useful knowledge. 

"It is easier to get around if we pretend to be a happily married couple. No one will try to stick their nose in our business.” She gets her bag from him and places it on the bed. “This brings back so many fond memories. Don’t you think, Mr. Holmes?" 

"That was only one time, it was very long ago, and we agreed to never speak of it again.” He can’t help but feel as if he had forgotten something. A factor of some sort. He can’t quite put his finger on it. 

“I have never forgotten.” She smiles. “Now, let’s talk about dinner." 

——

"This is why I do not travel with companions.” She hears him mutter as he flips his watch out and places it back in his pocket. So much time was being wasted waiting on their dishes. “What information can be gathered here?” She had dragged him out to a very elegant restaurant with a very spacious dining room. Every woman wore an elegant, no doubt imported, evening gown while every man wore a tailored suit and tie. 

“My dear, Mr. Holmes, there is so much knowledge to be obtained here. Once you get some food in your stomach and a glass of alcohol in you, you will see I am right.” She reaches over and pats the back of his hand reassuringly. “I would have thought that you out of all people could have known what information could be gathered here.” She leans closer to him over the table and whispers in his ear. “In a room full of high society’s best. The only people who think their secrets matter when in reality the cook knows more than the husband who is having an affair, the widow who killed, or the child who spent their inheritance for the wiles of the world. These people, Mr. Holmes, have power and leverage as well as their weaknesses. You just need to prey on the right one." 

She returns to her seat when the server comes and places their plates in front of them. The detective looks around, to try to see what she has taken notice of. "Is that why you ran away from this life?" 

"Running away requires fleeing from something that you are afraid of. I am not afraid of a life of pearls, having a maid wait on my hand and foot, or having a husband. I just simply choose not to have it. I would much rather be here having dinner with you. You make for a wonderful companion, unlike the boring businessman I would have sitting in front of me if I did marry." 

"I do not believe he was a business-" 

"By the door, a man just walked in who owes me a favor. Go and give him my name, he will help you find who you are looking for.” Her eyes seemed to dart toward the powder room. “You speak with him while I go and powder my nose." 

"How will he-" 

"Believe what you want, Mr. Holmes, but trust me when I tell you that he will help give you the information that you need to find whoever it is you are looking for. He will not speak to you if I am here, when you finish speaking to him, go and wait for me outside of the powder room. Now get up, and go offer to buy him a drink." 

For once, he seems to follow her orders and he is able to gain some information, but it piqued his curiosity about why the man’s face resembled that of having just seen a ghost when her name was mentioned, and immediately began looking for the woman. After the exchange, he waited for her near the wall of the powder room. One woman passed in front of him and she gave him a glance of indifference out of the corner of her eye. Unusual, but not uncommon. Until his companion arrived and seemed to be placing a paper in her bag. She looks up in shock to see him. "Done so soon? How many drinks did you give him? He never gives information that easily.”

“What are you hiding in your bag?” She had wanted him to not see it. What else is she hiding from him?

“My heart. Which is why it is so small. Shall we finish dining?” She tries to step away from him, but he stands in front of her again. 

“What are you keeping from me?” He blocks her passage. For just one weekend, could she not be honest with him? 

“Both everything and nothing, Mr. Holmes. Now let me through." 

"You said you weren’t playing a game. If we are to be partners, you need to tell me the truth." 

"Let me ask you a question, have you told me who you are looking for?” She raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t told me who you are looking for either.”

“Then I guess we both are hiding things from each other. We both acknowledge it, now let’s put it past us." 

"Because that went so well-” he is cut off by her hands being placed on the sides of his face and pulling him down to meet her lips. Her hands tangling themselves on the hair that reached his neck. His hand went to her waist to steady himself.

Sherlock heard a scoff and the rustling of fabric before she pulled away. 

She smooths the front of her dress while he is standing there, just mildly confused about what had happened. 

“Well then, shall we go finish eating?” She leaves him there, only calling after him over her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there in shock all night or are you going to come to eat?" 

They are silent during dinner, the only noise being the sound of silverware scraping their plates. The ride back to the inn being as quiet with them looking in opposite directions. 

It wasn’t until the young detective arrived at the room that he finally figured out what was wrong with the situation. 

There was only one bed.

——

A/N: I am a fanfiction writer, I couldn’t not use the “there was only one bed” trope! Until next Friday, lovelies!

@maan24​

[sighonahurricane]

A really long Peaky Blinders side plot (Part5)

Part4 can be found here

Part3 is here

Part2 is here

Part1 is here

Right so till now it's been 3 years that Tommy and Arabella have been married. He obviously hasn't forgotten Grace at all, he takes opium and he still keeps his internal conflicts to himself. Arabella tries her best to be there for him, but since she also has a business to look after, they don't spend much time together.

So now this is maybe 2 weeks before the Wall Street crash (and they have a friendly equation with each other), so Arabella storms into the library and tells him that her accountant has calculated and sort of predicted a sharp dip in the Wall Street Stocks and adviced her to liquidate all her stocks. She tells him he should do so too and he says he has predicted something similar and has asked Michael to sell. Arabella tells him to not trust Micheal, (she's smart and knows by his conduct how Micheal is) and take the matters in his own hands. He obviously doesn't listen.

So now finally the Wall Street crashed and Tommy is all enraged over Micheal not selling and Arabella looses just a little that she wasn't able to take out on time.

Similar to what happens in the show he finds other ways to maintain the cash income. Now it's the scene where they go to the Garrison for the family meeting where they discuss about Finn's bullet. Now Tommy told Arabella there was some business in Limehouse but didn't tell her that he was sending Finn. Now everyone is angry at him sending Finn and as a result him being shot and when asked what she thinks, Arabella has a very different opinion. She says "One learns on the field. Everyone of us sitting at this table is at a position of authority because we know how things work. We wouldn't be here if we hadn't gone to the field and worked on our own. It was just a bullet. Finn can take that much being a Shelby. It's just experience. Now if you'll excuse me, I've been called to another meeting" she leaves and gives Tom a slight nod before going.

Everyone is surprised at why she thinks that way and even Tommy is a bit angry at why she thinks Finn should prove himself.

At home that evening, Tommy goes to her office, sits across from her and asks why she said that. She says "If Finn is going to be an authority in that side of the business he'll have to prove that the least he can do is take a bullet. Tommy, no one can be untouched running that kind of a business. He has to have experience of every manner if he's to take charge"

Tommy sees practicality in her words. She continues "I know he is your baby brother but he's growing up. He will have to see and experience how the world works. Or you can send him to study to keep him away from this. It's the only other way"

Tommy is kind of uncomfortable at the thought of sending him away (idk how to take this forward, honestly 🙈, I mean he can send him away or he can argue with her that it's pointless. Idk. Many possibilities)

Idk if anyone is able to get what kind of character she is by reading these things, but she's pretty badass. And only brings her guard completely down when she's with Charles or a little down when she's chilling with Thomas (which VERY RARE) or fucking him.

Thanks for reading! <3

I'm working on an Arabella aesthetic. I hope I'll be able to do justice to her. I love her soooo much!

[adrenaline-roulette]

It’s strange but it’s true

Okay, so this was my first Brian x Reader fic, and my overall first ever Queen fic too! It was written over Christmas of 2018, and since then, I’ve fallen down one hell of a Queen rabbit hole!

Word count: 3k +

One week ago

This had all been Roger’s idea, you had made a passing comment to him in the recording studio a couple of weeks ago, mentioning how you and Brian hadn’t had much of a chance to spend any time together, at least not longer than five minutes alone. He would come home from the studio in the early hours of the morning, waking you up as he crawled into bed beside you. In the mornings, you would be up before him and out to work just as he was waking up. It almost felt more like having a roommate, over a boyfriend!

“Don’t worry love, he’ll be free again soon. We’ve got it planned so we have a break between recording, and then touring again! But if you want, why don’t you drop by next week while we’re filming the video for I want to break free?” He suggested, a mischievous glint in his baby blues, though you decided it best not to dwell on the look.

“That sounds amazing! Brian won’t tell me anything much about the video, top secret he says. The mystery is killing me!” You muse, which only causes Roger to smirk.

“Don’t you worry Y/N, you’ll love it! You know how Brian gets when we’re recording, it’s all about the music.”

                                                                                *****

You could hardly contain your excitement as you walked through the parking lot leading towards Limehouse studios. You had managed to secure a car spot a fair distance away from the actual studio, though the warm spring day made for a pleasant walk towards the large building. The grin that was plastered on your face remained as you flashed your guest pass to the security guard at the entrance, who smiled and nodded you in the direction of the reception desk. A young woman, with brunette hair sat at the circular desk, a blush across her cheeks and neck, you could only assume this was Roger’s doing.

“Hello, I’m Y/N, I’m here to visit Queen.” You smiled, as the young woman acknowledged you.

“Of course, they’re in studio three. If the light above the door is red, that means that they’re filming, so just wait until the light is green and then you can go in.” She explained, as you nodded your understanding. Bidding her farewell, you made your way down the corridor until you found a set of double doors, with a large number three painted next to them. Casting your gaze up, you spot the light you had been told about illuminated with a green glow, with a pleased hum you push the doors open and walk in.

Looking around, you try to spot anyone you knew, Roger, John, and Freddie all knew you would be there today, and you had somewhat expected at least one of them to greet you and bring you to Brian. Though as you look around, all you see are strangers.

Stepping further into the studio, your attention is drawn to the scene set up on the stage, it looks like a typical living room. A plush brown sofa, set in front of a stair case, and then to the right on a separate section of the stage there is what appears to be a kitchen set up, complete with pantry and sink. “What on Earth are these boys doing?” You breath out, it was an odd set up, though at this stage of knowing the boys, you had given up in trying to figure out what they were doing. You had learnt that lesson after questioning Freddie over the meaning of Bohemian Rhapsody. Despite it now being one of your favourite songs they had released so far, at the beginning you were rather sceptical.

   “Oi Y/N!”

You whirl around on the spot, trying to see who would have called out for you, though you can’t see anyone you recognize, or who would recognize you.

“Y/N! Over here!”

You hear again, this time however you spot someone beckoning you over with a wave of their arm. A blonde woman, wearing bows in her hair, a school uniform, complete with pink and yellow neck tie, and white knee length socks stands by a closed door, and oddly familiar smirk on her lips.  A confused frown crosses your features as you head towards the woman cautiously, as you get closer though you find yourself beginning to recognize who she is. By the time you’re face to face with the school girl, you have an eyebrow raised, and your arms crossed over your chest.

“Roger…. What the actual fuck are you wearing right now?” You groan out, you are definitely not drunk enough to deal with Roger in drag right now.

“Oh, this old thing?” He offers, a sultry pout on his pink lips, as he lifts the tie from his padded chest. “Just a little something I had lying around. Why? Would you like to borrow it some time? You know how much Brian loves school…”  He winks at you and you find yourself blushing at the thought.

“You’re a horny idiot Rog.” You mutter with a shake of your head. Which only causes him to grin.

“Yeah, but you’re used to it by now! Now come with me, I have two people very eager to see you, and one who will be when he knows you’re here! We’ve got to start filming soon, once Freddie is ready, but it shouldn’t take too long!” He babbles, as he links his arm through yours and drags you through a door marked as ‘dressing room’. He kicks the door closed b­­­ehind him, humming along to the music that seems to be constantly playing in his head. “We have company!” He suddenly announces, and you stand in the doorway, causing three sets of eyes to fall on you.

You can’t help it, you want to play it cool, you truly do, but it’s nearly impossible. Freddie is sitting on a bench with his legs crossed, wearing black heels, stocking, and black miniskirt, pale pink shirt, and a wig, with his moustache on full display, along with an overly stuffed bra.

John is on the sofa in the corner of the room, strumming his bass, a silver curled wig hidden beneath a black bucket hat, pearl earrings clipped onto his lobes, and a long black woollen coat covering his body. He’s not as well endowed as Freddie, but he too has some padding.

And then there’s Brian, who until you had walked in, was tuning The Red Special, though had nearly dropped the poor thing when he saw you. His glorious curls were rolled up in hair rollers of multiple colours, a satin pink night gown draped over his tall lean frame, striped socks and fluffy bunny slippers on his feet. He was looking directly at you, mouth agape and hazel eyes piercing into yours.

“Darling! How wonderful of you to join us!” Freddie exclaims as he leaps off the bench, sashaying his was towards you, before wrapping you in a warm hug, which you eagerly reciprocated, laughing deeply into his shoulder at the scene you had just walked into. “Rog, go fix your socks, you look a mess!” He chuckles, once you release each other, shooing Roger away over your shoulder.

You wave over at John, who’s grinning at the shocked expression that seems to be frozen on Brian’s face. “Hi Deaky, the pearls suit you.” You tease, though you know he won’t take any offence to your comments.

“Hey Y/N, I had to threaten Freddie with Bodily harm to stop him from actually piercing me.” He smirks, and you can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not.

  You turn your attention to Brian, who still hadn’t moved, or spoken yet, “Hey…” You smile softly, allowing Freddie and Roger to bicker in the background. It feels like forever since you had last seen Brian, and you couldn’t care less that he was currently dressed as a woman, though you would have preferred something a little different, he was here and so were you, and that’s all that could possibly matter to you.

“Hi love. This is a bit of a surprise.” He blushes, before looking up at you sharply. “A nice surprise! I just wasn’t expecting to see you!” The words tumble from his lips, and you can’t help but chuckle at his rambling. Your hand lifts towards his face, and you brush your knuckles against his jaw.

“This is a good look for you, something from your personal collection?” You smirk, as he lifts an eyebrow at you, a groan escaping his parted lips.

“Yes, you caught me. This is what I wear whenever you’re out of the house.”

“He puts it on the minute we finish a show too!” Bellows Roger, who as you turn to look at him, has Freddie kneeling in front of him adjusting his socks.

“He takes forever in the tour bus bathroom too, takes him at least an hour to get all those hair rollers in!” Chimes in John, who had moved from the sofa and was biting into an apple by the minifridge.

Brian flops his head down, his chin resting atop your hair. “Make them stop! They’ve been teasing each other relentlessly since we got into costume.” He groans, before pressing a soft kiss to your scalp.

You wrap your arms around his waist, nudging your head up until Brian lifts his chin, and is again looking down at you. “I’ve missed this, being able to be in the same room as you for longer than five minutes. And you, I’ve missed you too of course.” There’s a moment where you’re both just looking at each other, nothing else around you matters, and you find yourselves wishing that this moment would last forever.

“When were you planning on telling me about this?” You ask, to which Brian raises a quizzical eyebrow. “The whole, drag thing! I mean, were you just going to wait and see if I ever found out, hoping that I wouldn’t?” You laugh, and he rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase it, Hey Y/N, our new video has us dressing in drag! Though I would like to point out that this was all Roger’s idea.” He laughs.

“You all said it sounded like fun when I suggested it!” Roger cries.

“We were all drunk when you suggested it! You could have said we should film in black and white with a penguin and we would’ve said it sounded great!” Brian rebuts. He grins down at you, tightening his arms around your waist, to keep you securely by his side.

A loud knock on the door startles you both, and you practically jump apart. The door swings open, and a middle-aged man walks in, “Alright lads, we need you on set now.” He announces, before pivoting and walking out.

“That’s our cue. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can leave.” Brian sighs, as he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. He’s so soft and gentle with you, though the slight pressure behind the kiss reminds you of just what he would be doing to you if he wasn’t needed elsewhere. Freddie steps up behind Brian and grabs his hand before dragging him away from you.

“Come watch if you’d like?” Freddie calls over his shoulder, as you stand in the middle of the room, disappointment filling you from lack of a more passionate kiss.

With a shrug, you follow Roger out of the dressing room, and back into the main studio. Crew are running backwards and forwards, making sure everything is perfect for the shoot. John is sat on the sofa reading a newspaper, a woman readjusting his hat to make sure he looks perfect. Freddie is hidden away in the kitchen set, being handed a vacuum while Roger stands at the sink with his back to the door, and Brian has disappeared up the stairs, doing who knows what!

 “Quiet on set! We start it three… two…” The director calls, and mouths out one, when the cameras begin rolling. The music kicks in, a familiar tune you had heard over and over again in the recording studio for weeks now. The drum beat begins, and then Freddie appears, moving the vacuum back and forth in time to the beat, strutting around in his glorious costume. Next comes Brian rushing down the stairs as John peers over the top of his newspaper, before settling himself more comfortably on the sofa. Brian races into the kitchen, and then there’s Roger rocking his hips in time to the music. However it’s the moment Freddie opens his lips to start singing, that you lose it, stifling your laughter behind your hand. One of the crew turns to look at you, offering a sympathetic smile, and you look away, trying desperately not to make a sound. It proves to be nearly impossible and you soon make your way back into the dressing room, settling yourself down on the sofa and soon falling asleep. Dreams of men in drag filling your head.

                                                                                *****

You have no way of telling how long you had been asleep for, though you find yourself being woken up by a gentle hand brushing through your hair. You stretch your arms out, feeling your shoulder blades pop from the cramped position you had slept in.

“Y/N… It’s time to leave.” Brian’s gentle voice breezes past your ear, and you shudder, blinking your eyes open, and searching for him. “Hey, let’s go home yeah?” He offers as your eyes meet his, as he kneels beside your head, his slender fingers brushing through your hair, gently pulling at a knot for you.

“That sounds amazing.” You grin, as you look at him properly now. His hair was out of its rollers and once again flowing in its tight ringlets down his shoulders, and the nightgown had been replaced with jeans and a navy blue button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sitting up, you push yourself up off the sofa, taking his outstretched hand once you are both standing. “Have the others left already?” You yawn, as the two of you make your way out of the studio, hand in hand.

“Only just, Deaky said something about cooking dinner for Veronica, I think Freddie is going out again, and Roger is doing something with Dominique… He wouldn’t go into any details, which is worrisome.” He laughs, as you make it to the parking lot, the warm day having turned to a cool evening. “Where did you park? I’ll drive us home.” He offers, as you lead him towards the back of the lot, to your car. Brian had arrived with Roger this morning to the studio, so now with Roger gone, it only made sense for the two of you to travel together.

The drive home only took fifteen minutes, the traffic being relatively quiet for the late hour, and as you both walked up the gravel driveway towards your shared house Brian hummed the tune to ’39, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. “You know, I’ve always loved that song.” You smile, as you kick off your shoes once inside the house.

Brian chuckles, following your lead and removing his shoes also. “And what makes you love it? Could it be because I wrote it? Or because I sing it?”

You roll your eyes up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stepping him backwards until his back hits the door. “You know I love your voice.” You breath out, pressing your fingertips to his scalp, massaging gently as he leans into your touch. “And your hair, your hands, your lips, I love everything about you.”

The smile which illuminates his face is angelic, and you feel a sense of pride over the fact that only you can make him look that way. “I love you Y/N, more than anything else in the galaxy.” He whispers, before bringing his lips down to yours. There’s a passion deep within the two of you, one that had been boiling to the surface over these past few weeks, due to the limited contact. The kiss starts gently, noses bumping against one another, hands trailing along the others body as if they were just discovering each other for the first time.  Without any warning, Brian lifts you up, instantly you wrap your legs around his waist, securing your arms around his neck as he walks you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. Carefully he places you on the soft mattress, hovering above you as if you were his prey. He trails his hands down your waist, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on your jeans, rubbing small circles on your hips, watching as goose pimples form along your arms. His fingers move to the button and zipper on your pants, agonisingly slowly he undoes the fastenings, before pulling the pants down your legs. He grins as your legs are exposed to him, grabbing the hem of your shirt, and rolling it up your stomach. You lift your arms and raise your back off the bed, as he pulls the fabric over your head.

“You’re stunning.” He murmurs, as he looks over you in just your underwear. “How could I be so lucky?” He’s leaning over you again, lips trailing down your chest, to your stomach, causing you to squirm slightly.

“You’re wearing clothes still.” You pout, causing Brian to look up from where he was kissing along your hip bone. He almost looks feral from what you can see of him, his hair tangled in odd directions from where you had messed it up with your fingers, and there’s a hungry gleam in his eyes, he’s hungry for you. In an instant, he’s stood up at the foot of the bed and almost frantically undoing his own jeans, shimmying them down to his feet, before kicking them away into the corner of the room. Next, he makes quick work of unbuttoning the first three buttons on his shirt, before stripping it off over his head, and tossing it in the same general direction as his jeans.  You watch as he pounces back over you, sliding his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and slipping them down your thighs just as he had with your jeans moments ago. Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the cool air against your naked sex, a shudder rippling down your spine. Reaching up, you snap the band on his boxers, a slight groan leaving his parted lips as you do so, and you grin at his reaction. You slide his boxers down, just as he wraps his arms around you, unclasping your bra with practised precision. Both garments are strewn to the side, a light thud informing you that something had been knocked to the ground, a problem for later however.

“I love you, so much. You’re my world Y/N.” Brian whispers, as his lips meet yours once again, no longer gentle like he had been earlier, your desire is at the surface now, passion growing as your tongues explore the others mouth, teeth and noses bumping against the others as your hands grip any available body part they can reach. His hands are planted firmly beside your head now, as he looms above you, smiling down at your breathless form.

“Stay with me forever.” You plead, as he positions himself at your entrance. Your palm is cupping his cheek as you watch each other, both waiting for him to make the next move. You gasp as he pushes into you, as gently as he can, despite how eager he is. You hook your legs around his waist, pulling his body closer to yours, as he pushes his entire length inside you. You bite down on your lip to prevent yourself from moaning, not wanting to give away just how close you already were, given how long it had been since this level on intimacy. He’s watching you again you notice when you look up, he’s checking to see if you’re ready for him, and all you can do is smile. He leans his head down, his hair tickling your bare chest as his begins thrusting into you. You know each other well, and it doesn’t take long until you’re matching thrust for thrust. Your hips roll against his, both of you moaning at the delightful sensations of being together once more, you’re kissing along his neck as you move together in perfect sync, he thrust up hard into you, and you cry out in bliss, before sucking down hard on his neck, kissing and swirling your tongue as you make sure to mark him proudly as yours. He’s moaning your name as you do so, moving one hand down to cup your breast, while the other supports his weight above you. His fingers are calloused from always strumming his guitar, but you love the sensation of his rough fingertips tweaking your nipple. His hands are warm over your breast, and it feels divine!

He’s grunting deeply now, while your moaning is becoming more frequent, neither of you will last much longer. “Never…. I’ll never leave you Y/N.” He suddenly replies, as if he only now realised you had spoken earlier.

“Fuck, Bri I’m gonna cum!” You cry out, as you feel your body boiling closer to release. His thrusting increases its tempo, and you know he’s close too. Your sex is clamping down on his length when you feel him spill into you, white hot pleasure seeping deep within you from his release as you join him in total bliss. Ecstasy fill your mind as he collapses on top of you, blindly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as you both ride out your pleasure.

It takes you both a few minutes to come back down to earth, and Brian carefully removes himself from you, before rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around you. His nose nuzzles your neck, kissing you softly as your breathing becomes normal again. “God I’ve missed you.” He mumbles, as he draws small circles against your stomach.

You turn your head slightly to see him behind you, and he peers over your shoulder at you. “Do we need to schedule in a part two into your diary?” You grin, placing your hands on top of his on your stomach.

“I think I can fit you in tomorrow morning actually.”

You blink at him, shock evident on your face. “But you’ve still got the music video to film?”

“They can do without me for a few hours. You’re my priority right now. Besides, Roger kept laughing through his takes, so they’ll need to redo most of his scenes first.” Brian chuckles, as he pulls the bed sheet up and over your naked bodies.

You turn in his arms, burrowing your head beneath his chin, allowing your hair to get in his way for a change. “I love you Bri.” You whisper, as sleep slowly over takes you, your eyelids growing heavy.

“Love you more.”  You hear just as your world goes black with sleep.

My Masterlist

[mirkwoodshewolf]

True Penguin love; Brian May x reader *bonus chap. for SMTM*

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well you thought I would forget the second bonus chapter that I had on my masterlist for my Soulmates through music series, well you thought wrong. After finally getting the chance to sit down, I finally got an idea of what I wanted to do for the final chapter I had in mind and so this idea was born.

Now be warned it takes place during the “I’m going slightly mad” music video so 1991 is the timeline for this fic. And I hope that I don’t cause any heartbreak with the angst I have for this chap (I think you can take a guess of what I’m referring to). But there is fluff in the fic so at least I hope that fills up your hearts with flutters :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@ixchel-9275​

@waddles03​

@geek-and-proud​

@queendeakyy​

@mexifangorl​

@precioustyler​

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I don’t know what that guitarist has in mind but he said that it was urgent that I come to Montreux as soon as I could. And since my first three kids were practically grown up, they could watch over my last baby Em while I went to see their father.  So I packed up about a week’s worth of clothes and bought my plane ticket to Montreux, Switzerland.

Within almost 2 hours I landed in the beautiful, tranquil home of Montreux.  God no wonder why Fred chose to record the rest of Innuendo here, it’s so quiet, peaceful and you don’t have the annoyance of the press hounding you through your window, especially in Fred’s case.

Yes, unfortunately I know the terrible disease that Freddie is going through.  Tim and I just recently lost a cousin just last summer to the disease. I had grown up with Caleb and we were practically best friends in diapers even being born 6 weeks apart, so it was hard seeing him go through it.

And at the familiar spots that I could see growing on Fred and the sudden weight lost and fatigue in his face, I knew just what was wrong with him.  But of course even though I’m no longer apart of Queen, I never once spoke of Freddie’s illness to anyone.  Not mum, Tim, the kids, and especially not to the press even when they hound me about any comments regarding to Freddie’s health.

Anyways back to now.  I walked up to the first payphone and I called the studio I knew where the boys would be filming at.  I heard it ring a couple of times before I heard a voice say.

‘Hello?’

“Hey Phoebe.”

‘(Y/n), well it’s good to hear your voice again. Are you in Montreux yet?’

“Yeah I just landed actually. Shall I ring a cab and meet you at the studio?”

‘No need, your husband already paid one. You walk further out of the airport and you should see a driver with your name written on a sign with the Queen logo.’

“Okay well, I guess I’ll see you soon. And Pheebs, can you please tell me just what Brian has in mind?”

‘Ah-ah-ah I’m sworn to secrecy by Brian himself to not reveal to you what he has planned.’

“Wo, after all we’ve been through. I even bought your wife that new tea kettle after your last one broke.”

‘And she appreciates it.’

“At least tell me it’s not something bad or illegal.”

‘No, no. All I can tell you is that you’ll love it. See you when you get here love, cheers.’ And with that the line went dead.  I looked down at the phone and muttered.

“Secretive bastard.” I hung up the phone and picked up my carryon and headed to baggage claim.  Once my suitcase came in, I rolled it behind me and walked towards the exit where I saw a man dressed in a suit with a chauffeur’s hat on.  

And just as Peter said, he held a sign with the famed Queen logo Freddie himself designed and it had my name in beautiful cursive writing (probably Fred’s handwriting). He turned towards me and said.

“Are you (Y/n) May?”

“Yes I am. Pleasure to meet you uhh—”

“Ohh Ralph. My name is Ralph Mrs. May.”

“Pleasure to meet you Ralph. And please call me (y/n). Mrs. May makes me sound ancient.”

“Shall I take your bags for you?”

“Oh you don’t have to I can manage, but thank you for the offer.” He guided me outside where I saw a black limo parked outside.  He opened the trunk and I put my bags inside.  He then opened up the backseat door and I got inside and he closed the door behind me.  He got into the driver seat and he took off out of the airport.

The drive was pretty tranquil but not in the awkward kind of way.  There was some small talk between the two of us on our way to the studio where the guys were filming their next music video “I’m going slightly mad”.  Finally after about a half hour drive, I finally arrived at the studio.

“Here we are Mrs. May, Limehouse studios. Now I have been told in advance to take your things to the villa where your husband and the rest of the band are staying at.”

“Okay, thank you for the lift Ralph.” I thanked him. I grabbed my purse and swung it over my shoulder and exited the limo.  I closed the door and he waved goodbye to me and I waved back before he drove off and left me there before the grand studio.

I walked inside and showed my ID tag and when security began to recognize my face from when I was once a part of Queen, they humbly allowed me in without any ifs, ands or buts about it.  

I thanked them and walked along till I came to a grand stage with a couch on it.  Sitting on the arm rest was none other than grey-haired silver fox Deacy messing with a yoyo.

“And here I thought I’d get a more welcome approach from my boys.” He turned towards me and smiled.

“(Y/n).” I smiled and walked up onto the stage and hugged Deacy as tight as I could before kissing his cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Uneventful. And of course no one made a big deal about who I was, maybe I could convince Bri to move us here should he ever think about retirement.”

“That unfortunately won’t be for a while my darling queen.” We both turned and there all dolled up in a crazy wig and tux with white gloves and madded eyeshadow to give him that crazed look was none other than the legend himself.

“Freddie.” I praised. We walked up to each other and kissed each other on both cheeks and he said.

“Oh darling you are looking more radiant every time I see you.”

“Even with four kids later?”

“Especially with four kids later. Never doubt yourself my darling. You have an eternal beauty through and through.”

“Okay so I was told of Brian’s big surprise so where the hell is he?”

“He’s just around that way shooting his bit. However darling he’s asked you to wear this.” It was then Freddie held out a black sash to use as a blindfold.

“Goddamn that man with his secretive nature.”

“C’mon darling you know he means well. He doesn’t want you to be spoiled of the surprise.” I looked up at Fred and I said.

“Can’t I just at least be told what I’m about to see?”

“That’s a big no can do love.” The familiar soft voice soon spoke up.  Soon enough I saw Roger coming towards me wearing a full black tux as well as his shades.

“Rog.”

“Mrs. May.” He said coyly back at me before the two of us immediately hugged each other.

“Let me guess, Bri wants you to take me to him.”

“Exactly. Now go on put the blindfold on and let’s get going before they’re done filming.” I took the sash from Freddie and put it over my eyes and someone tied the two ends together.

“I swear to god though Roger, if you make me run into something or have me trip over a chord or something, I’ll kick your arse.”

“I don’t doubt that love. After what you did to Foster’s window all those years ago, I wouldn’t dream of crossing you.” I felt him take my hand and soon I was literally being led blindly across the studio.

With my eyes now blocked, my sense of hearing was heightened.  I could hear someone saying my husband’s name repeatedly, the sound of people talking over one another, and camera clicks.  It was then I felt myself stop and Roger came over behind me and he whispered.

“You ready love?”

“I’ve been dying for three days now. Show me.”

“Okay, but you gotta promise you won’t shriek or squeal.” He said as I felt him loosening the knot.

“I’ll try. But I don’t know if I can keep the promise.” Finally Roger removed the blindfold and I was taken by surprise but awe at what I saw.

Brian was in a full baggy black tuxedo suit with white gloves on, but what caught my attention was that he wore a very large penguin beak mask over his face and surrounding him were three penguins that looked up at Brian like he was actually one of them.  

Two of them were Humboldt penguins while the third and slightly more bigger one was an African penguin.

I held my hands over my mouth trying not to let out the biggest squeal of just how adorable my husband of 15yrs was right now. The beak actually moved up and down like he was actually ‘talking penguin’ to them.

“Oh my god!” I softly squealed.

“I’ll take my leave now before I end up getting sick from the upcoming lovey-dovey you both are about to do.” I playfully elbowed Roger in the chest to which he groaned and continued, “Bloody hell woman!”

“Just because I’m getting older doesn’t mean my punches are now weaker.” He playfully glared at me before walking away from me. I turned back towards Brian to see him still trying to interact with the penguins at their level.  God I think he’s officially taken our penguin nicknames to a whole other level.  When the director called cut, as he began stroking one of the penguins, that’s when he finally saw me.

He lowered the beak down over his chin so that I could see that dazzling smile of his.  I walked up towards him and I hopped myself to sit on the stage.  He came down and knelt in front of me and I said.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding from me?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I’d say you’ve taken your title of emperor penguin to a whole new level.”

“But don’t you think I’m adorable?” he asked immediately going into the puppy dog eyes.  I giggled and said as I placed my hand under the beak.

“Of course you are. The cutest penguin in the room.” He smiled and playfully turned his head so that the beak got right up in my face and he made it open up just a bit.  I squealed and ducked away from the beak before scooting closer to Brian and kissed his temple. “So how is it working with our children?” I gestured towards the penguins who were now being handled by their animal trainer.

“They’re a handful much like our real ones were. But they’re still adorable. Although something was missing from our little nest.”

“And just what pray tell is that?”

“Their mum. So I talked with the director and the lads and we’ve all come to an agreement that there should be a surprise cameo in the film.” Oh Bri you cheeky thing.

“Hold it I know where you’re going with this and the answer is no. As cute as it maybe I don’t feel like I should be a part of this.”

“C’mon love. It’ll be just like the old times.”

“No, no, no I haven’t been in a Queen music video in years. What if the fans don’t like me suddenly popping back up?”

“Then they’d have to be mad to not accept you. Freddie already loved the idea, plus he thinks mated penguins should stay together. Please love, I need my empress penguin with me.” He leaned his head sideways against my shoulder trying to be all cute with me.  I couldn’t help myself but lace my head on top of those now long bushy curls that he had been growing out lately and I said to him.

“Why must you be so cute?”

“Because I know you love it.”

“You know one of these days your cuteness isn’t gonna suck me into one of your evil schemes.”

“Fortunately that won’t be today, right?”

“Right.” I groaned out.  He smiled and took off the beak so that he could kiss me properly. He cupped both sides of my face as he deepened the kiss before finally separating from me.

“I’m glad you’re doing this my love.”

“I just hope Rog doesn’t blackmail us for this.”

“Sorry love already got it.” Roger’s voice soon cried out from afar.  I glared towards him and cried back to him.

“You do that and you die Taylor!” Brian chuckled and hugged me close.

“C’mon my love. Let’s get you fitted into your costume.” He then took me over to wardrobe where I was given a similar costume that Brian was wearing but slightly slimmer but still a bit baggy.  I was given the same beak to wear over my face and I said through it.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Oh come on love you look adorable. If we were real penguins I’d definitely fight for you.”

“Thankfully you already have me.”

“That I do.” He took my left hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb as the two of us stared at each other with warm, loving eyes.

And so it was I did end up having a cameo in the music video.  Brian and I did our little penguin bit together and the three real ones acted as our children.  They were so taken by us that they actually believed us to be one of them.

One of them even came up and actually wrapped itself around my arm in a penguin snuggle.  I couldn’t help myself but stroke it’s feathers which actually felt quite smooth to go through even with the gloves on.  

After filming our bit the crew decided that some photos needed to be taken.

So all four of my boys got on the couch and the photographer got the pictures he needed with one of the penguins down along the stage.

“(Y/n) come up here be with us.” Brian said to me.

“No, no Bri I’m just a cameo I’m not the important people in this video.”

“Oh darling I swear you’re just as modest as that husband of yours. Get your fat bottomed girl ass up here!” Freddie proclaimed.

I playfully gave him my mum face to tell him to never say that again before giving into his demand and Bri immediately had me sit between him and Deacy.

“Can he—can he come up here with us?” Freddie asked gesturing to the penguin down on the stage in front of us.

“Yeah we can put him up on the stage.” Said the director as the trainer came up and set the penguin down between him and Roger.

“And just to—just to even it out could we have the other one over there?” Soon the other penguin came up to Brian and he began to stroke her back before placing her between us.  I smiled and stroked her neck and even gave her a little scratch which she seemed to enjoy.

Deacy reached over my lap so that he could stroke the female penguin when I heard something going on the other side of the couch.

“Ohh! What’s he doing?” I heard Freddie exclaim. Next thing I know, everyone’s exclaiming as Freddie and Roger quickly stand up.  I look over and saw that the male penguin had taken a shit on the couch. “That’s—that’s quite a shit number right there.” To which we all laughed. “Roger what did you do?”

I shook my head playfully and said.

“Nice going Rog!” I teased.

“It’s not my fault!” So Rog and Freddie ended up standing behind the couch over Bri and Deacy and we just had the well behaved female penguin between us.  But bless the little thing at one point she thought she could fly, or thought she was heading for water as she now crawled over Brian’s lap and went over to the edge of the couch and jumped right off of it.

Brian quickly brought her back and stroked her back and I reached over and stroked under her neck cooing at her.

“Aww baby girl, there wasn’t any water there. No need to hurt yourself, no, no, no.”

“She’ll be okay. I think she knows now to not jump off this couch again, isn’t that right sweetheart? Yeah?” Brian said as he kept stroking her back soothingly.

As the day went on, I got to watch in awe of Freddie’s strength as they had to do a multiple take shot of him crawling along the floor and interacting with the three other guys who were all on the couch.

Even though he was suffering very hard at this point and would have a lay down when things became too hard for him, he didn’t once complain about ‘god I can’t do this anymore. Let’s call it quits for today. I’m too tired for this shit.’ He was—the most incredibly strong person I’ve ever seen and had the honor of meeting.

“(Y/n) what do you think Brian should do with his fingers?” Freddie soon called out to me.  I walked up onto the stage and stood beside him and the director and asked him.

“Why ask me specifically?”

“Because he’s your husband and I’d hate for you to hound me for not making him look good.” I playfully shoved Fred on the shoulder and said.

“So what are you thinking?”

“Well I really want him to play around with his fingers but I don’t know in which way he should do it.” I hummed and held Brian’s hand in mine which now held the long extended golden claw-like fingers. “Bri, do you think you could do something like this?” I held out my free hand and slowly fanned it up starting from my index finger to my pinkie.  He followed behind me with his free hand and I said to him, “Now close them the opposite way.”

He slowly closed them from his pinkie back to his index finger but I told him.

“But immediately as soon as your left hand closes, do the same thing with your right.” And just as I told him, it looked so elegant, almost seductive like.

“Ohh that’s nice, and yes just look to each hand as you open it up. Oh yes Brian that’s nice. (Y/n) you’re a genius as always.”

“What would you guys do without me?”

“We’d be 4 lost, stubborn-headed testosterone aging queens.” Brian answered.

“Okay guys, let’s run full play back.” The director said as Freddie went back into position on the floor.  Just as I was about to get out of the shot, Brian suddenly jerked me back and trapped me in his arms as I sat on his lap.

“Do you like these?” he wriggled his fingers emphasizing the claws.

“They definitely make your already long fingers longer. Think you can swipe them for the night?” I asked.

“You got something in mind?” he whispered.

“Maybe.” I whispered coyly at him.

“Ugh! I swear you two are as bad as this guy with his wife!” Roger pointed to Deacy.

“Not nearly as bad as you and Dominque.” Deacy sassed back.

“Mrs. May we need you out of the shot please.” I turned to Brian and hissed softly.

“Don’t make me get you into trouble.”

“I’m afraid you already do that love. And you must pay the price before I can let you go.” I quickly pecked his lips and he released me and I quickly got off the stage and stood behind the camera and watched them film the sequence.

It was a long, grueling day but Freddie was happy with the end result and with that the guys and I were allowed to go back to the villa.  As it grew darker, the guys were pretty much asleep except for Brian and I.  We were cuddled up on the king sized bed and he once again had on the golden claws that he managed to swipe from set.

“It seems like we’ve returned back to square one.” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“Working on an album in a tranquil place, no one to harass us while we work, the two of us in a room together again. Just like the summer of 1975.” I smiled and leaned my head against his chest which was exposed from the night shirt he was wearing (thank god he still leaves his shirts unbuttoned).

“Yeah. I—kinda wish we could go back to that time. When life was simple, we were young and Queen was just the five of us.”

“So you do miss performing with us?”

“From time to time yeah. But after this,” I said holding up my arm to show my braces that I wear every night for my CTS.  “But I knew I couldn’t drag you guys down nor let you be worried about me. Besides I’d say you four did great on your own without me at the start of the 80’s. I mean you all were rewarded for best band of the entire 1980’s.”

“Yeah. But we still would’ve gotten the award if you were still in the band.” He said as he stroked my back with those claws of his which sent tingles all over me.  I moaned softly and that’s when Brian hovered over me and he continued, “You like that?”

“God Bri how do you still affect me like a horny teenager?”

“Guess I just have that effect on you my love.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine.  I buried my hands into his massive mane of curls while I felt his hand go underneath my shirt and those claws gently grazed across my stomach which made it tickle.

“Bri don’t tease.” He chuckled and said.

“Sorry love I can’t help it. I just love that giggle of yours.” He then began kissing down my neck.

But as much as I wanted to be pleasured, my head just wasn’t in the right mindset, because it finally hit me of just how bad Fred had gotten since I last saw him.  I tried to hold in my tears but I could feel them starting to form.

“(Y/n)? Love what’s wrong?” he hovered back over me and cupped the side of my face.  I sniffled and muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. It’s alright. What’s wrong my love, what brought this on, hmm?”

“It’s—I….” I sighed heavily and shook my head.

“C’mon love just tell me. I won’t get mad, you know that. We promised no more secrets with each other.”

“I—I know I promised I wouldn’t get all teary eyed or make a fuss about it but—we’re gonna lose him, aren’t we?” at that question he didn’t need a clarification on what I meant. “It’s just—every time I look at him I think back to Caleb. It’s only been four months since he died and it still hurts I—I can’t bear to lose Freddie too.” I wept.

Brian sat down beside me and brought me close to him and allowed me to cry into his shoulder.  His hand rubbed my back while his other one stroked through my hair.

“I—I’m sorry Bri—you don’t de-deserve this r-right now…..”

“Shhh. Shhh. Think nothing of it. I know exactly what you’re going through. I—I don’t even want to think it but…..I feel that he may not have much more time. Plus with my dad feeling sick now I—I can’t bear to lose the two people I love most dearly.” He kissed the side of my head before hugging me tighter and closer to him.

“He helped us become a couple. I—I would never have gotten the courage to tell you how I really felt about you without him making that penguin metaphor.” I choked out.

“He always loved playing matchmaker. But I guess he also knew that we were meant for each other.” He leaned his head against mine as he pulled me even closer to him.  “But he’s still so strong. He won’t stop working until he just can’t do it anymore. And—it would mean a lot if you stayed her a bit longer, I know Fred said that he’s wanted you to be involved with this album.”

“But I only packed clothes for a week.”

“You can share some of mine, you know I have no problem with you wearing my stuff.”

“You just want to see me drown in your things.” He chuckled and admitted.

“That’s one way of looking at it. But—please say you’ll stay and help us finish this last Queen album with Fred. I know it would mean a lot to have the true queen of Queen back.” I sniffled and wiped away my tears and choked out.

“I’ll call Louisa in the morning and see if she can take Emily an extra couple of weeks.” He nodded and kissed the top of my forehead.

“Feeling better?”

“A little. I just—I couldn’t help but think of the promise I made Freddie about not making a big do about all this, but I guess I broke that promise.”

“Well not quite. You’re with me, Fred’s not in front of you. And you’ve been so strong ever since you found out around the same time the rest of the guys and I did. Losing your cousin was traumatic enough for you, and now seeing another close friend, a dear friend going through the same terrible disease he went through, (y/n) my love you are incredibly strong. But even you must take time for yourself, and cry. And I’m always here to cry with you.” He said as he wiped the tears away.

I took notice of his tearstains and wiped them away and I asked him.

“So we’re crying partners now?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes. We’re crying partners.” He brushed my hair out of my face and kissed my nose. “Why don’t we just have a cuddle for the night? I think we both need it.” I nodded. I helped him take off the claw fingers and he set them on the nightstand before wrapping his arms around me.

I pulled the covers up over us and Brian got us snug as two lovebugs in a rug.  He kissed the top of my head and leaned his head against mine while I buried my face into his chest and listened to his strong, comforting heartbeat.

The two of us drawing strength from each other to get through the next few weeks through this terrible event at seeing a dear friend who helped us get together, get married and end up having our four kids together go through such pain, but still having the raw strength to push on and continue to be what he was born to be.

[selkiewife]

Harlots Season 3 ep 2- stray thoughts

*There are spoilers, duh

Incoherent shouting

*bangs on table* I love Nancy Birch so much. Like all she has to do is come onscreen and I’m happy.

Charlotte Wells is such a Gryffindor and I am thinking of sorting all the Harlots characters into HP houses and making moodboards for them. Please send me messages with which houses you think everyone is in. I have definite opinions already but I’m open to suggestions. 

Also Charlotte Wells is a bad bitch and we stan.

Unpopular Opinion Time

Okay this might be an unpopular opinion but I am honestly LOVING this season of Harlots. That does not mean that I do not miss Violet, Amelia, Scanwell, Hunt, Limehouse NELL ( 😔 ), and Prince Rasselas like hell. Because I absolutely do. I’m still holding out hope that they will turn up just like SPOILER!!! Margaret will eventually. There were actually a few times I thought they were GOING to... like when Fredo was looking for boys and when Lydia Quigley didn’t have anywhere to go and then they didn’t. ughhh. But I am ALSO very interested in all the new characters and plot lines. 

I like the Pincher brothers and the ridiculous amount of drama they’ve created and I love how it has changed the dynamic a bit and has essentially made all of these women characters BAND TOGETHER against them- like even Emily (who I love don’t get me wrong) who seems to be solidly in the Pincher camp is STILL always standing up for her fellow women- like when she berates Isaac on more than one occasion of his treatment of Margaret. I think Alfie’s portrayal of Isaac is awesome and it makes me want to know more about him. I’ve seen some people complain that the character reminds them of second season Theon but that’s not a problem for me because that’s basically when I became fascinated by Theon and what was going on inside his head so, yeah. 

I like Jack Lively! A new character this week! He’s William North’s new boxing star and I think his story will also be very interesting- I loved him in Harriet’s house, always polite but serving his cutting “friendly reminders” in Latin. He can rock right out. I think he had a definite thing for Harriet and I am here for that. ALSO William North is back in town!

I LOVE the story of the molly house and Elizabeth and Fredo. I LOVE Fredo and his beginning friendship with Lucy. I also want to know way more about Elizabeth and I loved how she had that silk merchant (or I think I’ll have to rewatch to get the story there- was he more of a pirate?) just wrapped around her fingers. Also I LOVED the whole cover story about how they are selling fine suits and the word play with that scene and how so many things were going on at once with the stealing the Pinchers’ money caper. 

Checking in with the regulars:

Harriet! Harriet has had such an incredible arc and she is such a survivor and I love seeing her as the bawd of her own establishment now and doing well enough that she is able to take all the Wells girls in- Not sure where her kids are but I’ve headcanoned that Amelia and Violet are babysitting them. 

LYDIA QUIGLEY got out of Bedlam and it was glorious. Love the woman singing while they were running the hell out of there. God I am always taken in by the haunting singing on Harlots...

Cherry. I love her so much. Everyone must love and protect Cherry. ALSO CHERRY WAS FUCKING RHYMING. Has this show always rhymed? I need to do a rewatch soon. I’ll report back. I love that she and Nancy seem to have a real understanding and affection for each other. That warmed my heart. By the way I need all future condoms to come with Cherry’s little bows on them. That was fantastic. 

Charlotte taking down Isaac with the same wording he used against her was spectacular and I really loved it. I loved that Isabella was in on it and was able to use her power in this way- and damn she looked like she was having so much fun doing it. 

Shipping stuff:

Okay... THAT KISS between Charlotte and Isabella. Obviously they’ve gotten to a place where they are friends/lovers/business associates and that is fine. But I think this kiss raised the stakes in their relationship. It seemed to come from a place of pure romantic love or at least romantic longing. Especially when you consider when it happens- which is right after Charlotte is talking about how being “in love” is beyond their wildest dreams. Isabella had a moment there when Charlotte was saying that her daughter was rich beyond all their dreams when I think she realized how much she loves Charlotte. And I think that kiss was Isabella’s answer to Charlotte’s assertion that love was beyond them. Charlotte is a restless soul who craves freedom and love- she’s cleaver and got great survival instincts but I think at her core, she wants love and happiness and freedom. She was so wistful when she was describing how they should be happy for Sophia, who is free to love who she wants. It was like she truly believed that love was beyond someone like her. And I think Isabella was basically saying “no girl, let me show you how not beyond you that kind of love is,” when she kissed her. 

I also began shipping Nancy and Isabella this episode which surprises absolutely no one. What would their ship name be? Lady Dom? Fitzbirch? Nancy seems so attuned to Isabella and it would be WILD to see these two women together. This may be time to mention to people who have come to my blog for Harlots and don’t know me from my GOT stuff- I am a poly shipper, multi shipper, ship and let ship, will not argue about ships blog!

Which brings me to, Isaac and Charlotte. So this is definitely a toxic ship but I’m here for it. Why? I love both of the actors and they DO have chemistry. I don’t care what anyone says. Alfie and Jessica are the type of actors who have chemistry with anyone honestly. They could both individually have chemistry with a bowl of soup (see what I did there theonsas?) so don’t come at me with “they have no chemistry.” I realize that it’s a completely unhealthy train wreck and I won’t defend it, but like, I can’t help that I enjoy watching it- so I’ll just have to ask y’all to have pity on my useless bisexual heart. 

Questions: 

Why did Isaac think that Charlotte wanted to sleep with him after BURNING HER HOUSE DOWN? Like is he that stupidly arrogant about her wanting him? I guess so. Personally, my paranoia just wouldn’t gel with that. I would be sure she’d be doing it to trick me... Then again, I guess I can’t blame him. If Charlotte Wells acted like she wanted to sleep with me I would totally let her do it even if I thought she was only doing it to steal my money... 

I think that we could still possibly see Amelia and Violet. Do you think I am being delusional? I’m trying to think about past seasons of Harlots and if it took awhile to catch up with certain characters- I think Rasselas didn’t show up until half way through last season right? Or was it the very end? 

[wistfulcynic]

CSJJ Day 11: Finding The Altar Epilogue: Destination London

A little addendum to Finding The Altar, which I wrote late last year. I had a request to write Emma and Killian’s trip to London, and what could be better for @csjanuaryjoy than a New Year's honeymoon to one of my favourite cities in the world? This is a straight-up London tourist brochure, and I'm not even sorry. It's also sweet and fluffy and super short, like candy floss on a shortbread biscuit. Grab a cuppa and enjoy! 

BTW if you haven’t read FTA, you can find it here, or if you don’t want to bother just know that this is author!Killian and deputy!Emma, just married and expecting a baby, taking a trip to London together at the New Year. 

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @teamhook @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree

Destination London: 

London was everything Emma had hoped it would be. Crowded, noisy, grey, dirty, but full of unexpected corners and surprising crannies, quirky and weird and just so ridiculously British. Suddenly she understood Killian a lot better. 

They did all the touristy things: Blocking foot traffic on Westminster Bridge to get a photo of themselves in front of Big Ben, Emma rolling her eyes as Killian explained that the clock tower was just a clock tower and that it was actually the bell that was called Big Ben; taking a tour of Westminster Abbey and dawdling through Poet’s Corner, marvelling at all the famous names commemorated there; dodging the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, Emma barely resisting the desire to pout because she was too old and too pregnant to climb up on the lions’ backs; shopping in Covent Garden; gaping at the Crown Jewels the Tower; taking a million photographs from the top of the London Eye. They walked hand-in-hand along Southbank, grazing from the food trucks there before taking a river taxi to Greenwich where Killian excitedly took Emma thorough the National Maritime Museum and the Old Royal Naval College, only wincing slightly when she lit up in recognition. 

“Oh, yeah, this was in that Thor movie!” she cried, grabbing his arm.

“Indeed,” he replied, with a long-suffering sigh. “Shall we go see the Greenwich Meridian?”

Their trip coincided with the release of Killian’s third novel, which had turned out just as well as Emma had predicted and suddenly launched him from a glowingly-reviewed but lightly-read novelist into a bestselling one. His agent scrambled to take advantage of this surge in popularity by arranging book signings and other appearances in London, waving away his protests that he was “on my bleeding honeymoon, mate,” and aided and abetted by an Emma who was so proud of her husband that she thought she might burst with it, and wanted to show him off. Eventually he agreed, on the condition that he be allowed to choose the bookstores where he did the signings. 

“London has some amazing bookstores,” he told Emma as they lay curled around each other one evening, her head on his chest, his hand caressing her rounded belly. “Bookstores and tea rooms, that’s what I love about this city. There’s no such thing as a decent cup of tea in the States.”

“We dumped it all in Boston harbour that one time,” Emma deadpanned.  

“Bookstores and tea rooms,” continued Killian as though she hadn’t spoken, “And pubs. We should go on a pub crawl.” 

“You know the rugrat won’t let me drink.” 

“You can still enjoy the atmosphere, which is most of the fun anyway. I’ll plan us a route. Through Wapping and along the river, I think, that’s where I used to live and there are some great old places there. We can start at the Mayflower.” 

“The Mayflower? Like the ship?”

“Exactly like the ship.” 

When they got off the Tube at Rotherhithe, Emma was astounded. With its quiet streets lined with brown brick buildings opening onto the riverfront, it showed another facet of London entirely. Of course she knew from her experience living in New York that large cities were basically a collection of neighbourhoods, each with its own personality and style, yet for some reason the relative peace of this little corner of east London came as a surprise.  

So did the Mayflower pub. 

“This is great!” Emma exclaimed, taking in the view of the river from the small wooden balcony at the back of the upstairs room. “Are all pubs like this?”

“Not in the least,” smiled Killian. “Many of them are dank shitholes, if we’re honest. But the good ones can be amazing.” 

After the Mayflower, they took the Overground train across the Thames to Wapping, walking hand-in-hand through more brown brick streets to Turner’s Old Star, with its spacious and charming outdoor beer garden, then on to the Town of Ramsgate, another riverside establishment with a stunning outdoor deck and riverside view. From there they walked along the riverfront path to the Prospect of Whitby, Emma’s favourite pub yet. She found its dim, dark wood and flagstone interior charmingly quaint, and its iteration of the now familiar outdoor deck with sweeping view of the river enhanced by the addition of a gibbet and noose. 

“Used for hanging pirates,” said Killian, gesturing with his pint. 

“Really?”

“Aye, primarily, though there were others. In the case of the pirates, legend says the bodies were left there to hang until three tides had washed over their heads.” 

“Damn.” 

“The hazards of a pirate’s life, darling.” 

They ended their day by taking a taxi to Limehouse and The Grapes pub, where they ate fish and chips then as they were leaving shook the hand of Sir Ian McKellen, who co-owned the place. 

“I can’t believe we met Gandalf,” gushed Emma as they cuddled in the taxi on their way back to their AirBnB in Belgravia. 

“What honeymoon would be complete without it?” joked Killian. 

“Today was really fun,” said Emma. “I loved all the pubs, I can see why you miss them living in Storybrooke.” 

“Storybrooke has other attractions,” said Killian, smiling at her, his eyes warm with love. “London’s great but it’s not my home, not anymore. My home is wherever you are.” 

New Year’s Eve found Emma and Killian dressed to the nines and mingling with London’s literati on the opulent balcony of the Royal Penthouse of the Corinthia Hotel, on the north bank of the Thames. It was pretty much the last place Emma would have predicted she’d be if she’d been asked a few weeks ago about her New Year’s plans, but she wasn’t about to argue. The penthouse was taken every year by the London branch of Killian’s publisher for the New Year’s Eve party they threw for their top authors, and the fact that they thought highly enough of Killian’s new book to invite him to the party that year made her proud enough to burst. Or cry. But that could just be the pregnancy hormones. 

Killian’s agent, a nervous, bustling little man called Smee, shared her pride, though his seemed to be focused slightly more on his own foresight in backing Killian through the less-than-stellar sales of his first two books and the vindication of his third one’s bestselling status. 

“I always knew you’d hit on the right formula eventually,” he blustered as Killian smiled indulgently and Emma ground her teeth, wishing the little man would stop patting himself on the back and let her enjoy the New Year countdown and fireworks with her husband. “It’s not easy to find that delicate balance between artistry and popular appeal, but I always knew that with a little encouragement you could— is that Ben Aaronovich? I’ll be right back.” He thrust his empty champagne glass into Emma’s hand and hurried off in pursuit of the author of the popular Rivers of London book series. 

“Ugh,” said Emma, turning to deposit the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her dress. “He’s a bit of a rat, isn’t he?”

“Aye, that he is. But he truly did stick by me for a number of years, so I’m prepared to overlook it. That said, I think we should disappear before he comes back.” Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away into the crowd. 

The Royal Penthouse’s balcony offered a sweeping view of the Thames, similar to the ones they’d seen at the pubs but considerably swankier, and neither Emma nor Killian could imagine a better place to stand for the countdown and fireworks display. As the London Eye lit up and the assembled crowds below began to chant the descending numbers, Killian wrapped his arms around his wife, resting his chin on her shoulder and entwining their fingers together over the swell of their child growing inside her. When the last number was called and the noise of cheers and fireworks erupted around them, he turned his head and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the club soda and lime she’d been drinking mixed with the familiar precious flavour that was uniquely her. He thought about all they had to look forward to: the birth of their baby, his burgeoning career, settling in to their married life together, and felt such a surge of happiness and contentment that it brought tears to his eyes. 

“Happy New Year, my love,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her answering smile before he kissed her again. “I have a feeling it’s going to be our best one yet.”  

(Some friends and I did this pub crawl a few years ago, and I *highly* recommend it!)

[green-violin-bow]

Hawksmoor, BBC Sherlock and historiographic metafiction

First:

This piece is not of academic quality or rigour. I left university eight years ago; I studied literature in two languages and did well at it. Nevertheless I am no longer in academia and have not written an essay since then. My sources are partial, dependent on what I can get access to through my local library, through academic friends, or what I choose to pay for on JSTOR. I work full-time and have put no time into e.g. referencing (always my least favourite part of essays).

Although I personally hold out hope for unambiguous Johnlock still, I would not class this as a ‘meta’ arguing that it will certainly happen. This is a reading, undertaken for my own satisfaction and interest, jumping off from the inclusion of ‘Hawksmoor’ as a password in one scene of The Six Thatchers. I do not particularly mean to suggest that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat are deliberately playing with/off literary criticism. They may well be holding two (or more) time periods in tension, however, in a way that I choose to explore through the lens of the literary tools described here. I do not seek to challenge or disprove other fan theories.

I am no television/film studies scholar. There are probably layers and layers of nuance and meaning that I’m missing because I simply have no frame of theoretical reference in that field (and one of the primary ‘texts’ we are talking about here is, after all, a television show). The abundance of television and film references discovered by Sherlock fans have made it clear that the show’s creators deliberately allude to other visual media within modern Sherlock all the time. I believe my approach here is valid because Hawksmoor, a literary text, is pointed to in the show, and because ACD canon itself was a literary text. But I want to flag up this important way in which my analysis is deficient.

I tagged a few people in this but I’m aware this is more of a musing/essay than a traditional ‘meta’ so don’t worry about reading/responding if it’s not your thing!

The Six Thatchers

In The Six Thatchers, Sherlock visits Craig the hacker, to borrow his dog Toby. On the left of our screen (taking up an entire wall of Craig’s house, realistically enough…) are lines of code, in the centre of which is written ‘Hawksmoor17’.

I was interested in finding out more about this. I decided my first port of call would be the ‘detective novel’ Hawksmoor, by Peter Ackroyd.

Peter Ackroyd

Peter Ackroyd is a historian and author, who has written a huge array of fiction and non-fiction, including:

London: The Biography (non-fiction)

Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day (non-fiction)

The Last Testament of Oscar Wilde (an imagining of the diary Oscar Wilde might have written in exile in Paris)

Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem (novel, presenting the diary of a murderer)

Hawksmoor (novel)

In his work London is present, constantly, a character in itself, woven into the very fabric of the story as irrevocably as it is into the mythos of Sherlock Holmes.

Hawksmoor

In brief, Hawksmoor is a postmodern detective story, running in two timelines. Each timeline focuses on a main character: in 1711, the London architect Nicholas Dyer; two hundred and fifty years later, in the 1980s, Nicholas Hawksmoor, a detective, responsible for investigating a series of murders carried out near the churches built by Dyer.

Ackroyd plays with the ‘real history’ of London throughout, muddling and confusing the past with fictional events, with conspiracy and rumour.

There was a real London architect named Nicholas Hawksmoor who worked alongside Christopher Wren in eighteenth-century London to design some of its most famous buildings. He also designed six churches. Ackroyd chooses to change the eighteenth-century architect’s name to Nicholas Dyer, and to make Nicholas Hawksmoor the twentieth-century fictional detective instead – a deliberate muddling together of timelines and of ‘facts’.

Ackroyd had drawn inspiration for Hawksmoor from Iain Sinclair’s poem, ‘Nicholas Hawksmoor: His Churches’ (Lud Heat, 1975). This poem suggests that the architectural design of Hawksmoor’s churches is consistent with him having been a Satanist.

As well as changing the historical figure Hawksmoor’s last name to Dyer, Ackroyd adds a church, ‘Little St Hugh’. Seven, in total.

The architect Dyer writes his own story, in the first person and in eighteenth-century style.

Only in Part Two of the novel does Nicholas Hawksmoor – a fictional detective with a real man’s name – appear, to investigate the three murders that have so far happened in 1980s London. Written in the third person, the reader is nonetheless invited into Hawksmoor’s thoughts, his point of view.

As the novel proceeds, Ackroyd employs literary devices so that the stories – separated, apparently, by so much time – begin to blur. In particular, the architect Dyer and the detective Hawksmoor are linked. For instance, both men experience a kind of loss of self, a “dislocation of identity”, upon staring into a convex mirror (Ahearn, 2000, DOI: 10.1215/0041462X-2000-1001).

The cumulative effect of all the parallels is that the reader starts to lose any sense of temporal separation between the time periods; starts to see Dyer and Hawksmoor as almost the same person; to suspect each of them of being the murderer and the detective at the same time. The parallels between the time periods “escape any effort at organization and create a mental fusion between past and present” so that “fiction and history fuse so thoroughly that an abolition of time, space, and person is […] inflicted on the reader” (Ahearn, 2000).

Importantly, I believe, Hawksmoor again and again “tries to reconstruct the timing of the crimes, but this is from the start impossible” (Ahearn, 2000). This is a rather familiar feeling to Sherlock Holmes fans.

At the end of the book, Dyer and Hawksmoor come together in the church, take hands across time, or perhaps out of time. They become aware of one another. Their perspectives dissolve and seem to merge into one person, into a new style of narration not like either of them: “when he put out his hand and touched him he shuddered. But do not say that he touched him, say that they touched him. And when they looked at the space between them, they wept” (Ackroyd, 1985).

Historiographic metafiction

Hawksmoor is a postmodern detective story. It has been classified by critics as a work of ‘historiographic metafiction’. As a detective story, it lacks the most familiar feature – a detective who is able to sort and order the events and facts, before finally drawing together all the threads to present a coherent, satisfying and plot-hole-free conclusion. In other words, a solution to the mystery.

So what is ‘metafiction’? Waugh defines it as “a term given to fictional writing which self-consciously and systematically draws attention to its status as an artefact in order to pose questions about the relationship between fiction and reality” (1984).

In Hawksmoor, Ackroyd uses a popular literary form (the detective story) to unsettle our understanding of fiction, reality and history. An Agatha Christie detective novel (for example) relies on an accepted, understood structure, where the reader has definite expectations of what the outcome will be; as such, Christie’s novels “provide collective pleasure and release of tension through the comforting total affirmation of accepted stereotypes” (Waugh, 1984). In metafiction, however, there is often no traditionally predictable, neat, satisfying ending: accepted stereotypes are disturbed rather than affirmed. The application of rationality and logic to the clues gets the detective no closer to solving the crime. Readerly expectation (“the triumph of justice and the restoration of order” [Waugh, 1984]) is thwarted.

Hutcheon coined the term ‘historiographic metafiction’, fiction where “narrative representation – fictive and historical – comes under […] subversive scrutiny […] by having its historical and socio-political grounding sit uneasily alongside its self-reflexivity” (Hutcheon, 2002). It is a kind of fiction that explicitly points out the text-dependent nature of what we know as ‘history’: “How do we know the past today? Through its discourses, through its texts – that is, through the traces of its historical events: the archival materials, the documents, the narratives of witnesses…and historians” (Hutcheon, 2002).

Whereas a ‘historical novel’ will present an account of the past which purports to be true, a ‘historiographic metafiction’ has a combination of:

deliberate, self-reflexive foregrounding of the difficulty of telling ‘the whole story’ or ‘the whole truth’ especially due to the limitations of the narrative voice;

internal metadiscourse about language revealing the fictional nature of the text;

an attempt to explain the present by way of the past, simultaneously giving a (partial) account of both;

disturbed chronology in the narrative structure, representing the determining presence of the past in the present;

‘connection’ of the historical period structurally to the novel’s present;

a self-consciously incomplete and provisional account of ‘what really happened’ e.g. via ‘holes’ in the [hi]story which cannot be resolved by either narrator or reader (Widdowson, 2006, DOI: 10.1080/09502360600828984).

The above points are certainly true of Hawksmoor. The reader of Sherlock Holmes will find some of them very familiar – for example, Watson’s self-conscious in-world changing of dates, names and places; and the impossible-to-resolve timeline. The audience of BBC Sherlock will also find these features very recognisable, especially from Series 4 of the programme.

I’d like to examine BBC Sherlock itself as a ‘historiographic metafiction’: a ‘text’ which self-consciously holds the past and present fictional events of Sherlock Holmes’ life in tension, not merely as another adaptation of the source text, but as a way of destabilising the accepted ‘[hi]story’ and mythos of Sherlock Holmes.

The Great Game

The Sherlockian fandom is well-known for its practice of ‘The Great Game’:

“Holmesian Speculation (also known as The Sherlockian game, the Holmesian game, the Great Game or simply the Game) is the practice of expanding upon the original Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by imagining a backstory, history, family or other information for Holmes and Watson, often attempting to resolve anomalies and clarify implied details about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. It treats Holmes and Watson as real people and uses aspects of the canonical stories combined with the history of the era of the tales' composition to construct fanciful biographies of the pair.” [x]

There are a number of interesting features about the Great Game. It:

pretends that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were real people;

ignores or explains away the real author Arthur Conan Doyle’s existence;

attempts to use ‘real’ historical facts (texts…) to resolve gaps in a fictional text;

in turn, produces additional (meta)fictional texts, often presented as ‘fact’ in journals set up for the purpose;

in so doing, adds constantly to the (meta)fictional destabilisation of chronology and holes in the story, as different, competing ‘versions’ are added by a multitude of authors.

The Sherlock Holmes fandom, as it attempts to elucidate ‘what really happened’, only destabilises the original (hi)story further – drawing attention, over and over again, to the gaps and inconsistencies in the original canon tales.

I would argue that the Sherlock fandom has been engaged, for over a century, in an act of collective historiographic metafiction.

The writers of BBC Sherlock are aware of themselves as fans, and of the wider Sherlockian fandom. They paid tribute to Holmesian Speculation in the episode title of Series 1 Episode 3. The title – ‘The Great Game’ – is a signal, an early marker of postmodernity in BBC Sherlock, a sign that the Sherlockian fandom will not be absent from this metafiction.

Implicating the reader/audience

There is an interesting moment in Hawksmoor where Detective Chief Superintendent Nicholas Hawksmoor goes to investigate the murder of a young boy near the church of St-George’s-in-the-East. The body is beside “a partly ruined building which had the words M SE M OF still visible above its entrance” (Ackroyd, 1985).

As Lee says, the “missing letter is "U," ("you") the reader” (1990).

Elsewhere in the book, Hawksmoor receives a note instructing him “DON’T FORGET … THE UNIVERSAL ARCHITECT” alongside a “sketch of a man kneeling with a white disc placed against his right eye” (Ackroyd, 1985).

Lee suggests that this drawing refers to “detective fiction’s transcendental signifier” Sherlock Holmes, and that the “Universal Architect, here, can only be the reader, since it is he or she who is in possession of all the histories: the historically verifiable past, the eighteenth-century text and the text accumulated through reading”. Thus, the reader is “doubly implicated not only as a repository of the past, but also as a co-creator of artifact and artifice” (Lee, 1990). In the Sherlock Holmes fandom, this is more true than in almost any other; co-creators indeed.

The missing ‘U’ in Hawksmoor can be clearly linked to the daubed ‘YOU’ in ‘The Abominable Bride’, a sign that, from that point on, BBC Sherlock will be clearly and mercilessly implicating its audience; putting the Sherlockian fandom back in the story, where it has always belonged. This includes the writers and creators of BBC Sherlock.

I also think there is reason to link the ‘YOU’ daubed on the wall to another piece of graffiti in BBC Sherlock – the yellow smiley face in 221b. An all-seeing, ever-present audience within Sherlock and John’s very home.

It is often repeated that Arthur Conan Doyle only continued to write Sherlock Holmes stories out of financial necessity and due to public demand; that he was bored and exasperated by his creation. The Sherlock Holmes fandom is (possibly apocryphally) known as having worn black armbands in the street in mourning for the fictional detective when Conan Doyle attempted to kill him off in The Final Problem.

The Sherlock Holmes fandom has long been considered importunate and unruly. As Stephen Fry puts it in his foreword to The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes: “Holmes has been bent and twisted into every genre imaginable and unimaginable: graphic novels, manga, science fiction, time travel, erotica, literary novels, animation, horror stories, comic books, gaming and more. Junior Sherlocks, animal Sherlocks, spoofs called Sheer Luck and Schlock; you think it up, and you’ll find it’s been done before. There is no indignity that has not been heaped upon the sage and super-sleuth of Baker Street” (2017).

And yet, with every new adaptation, there is a tendency to regard it as a blank slate, in direct conversation with the canon of Arthur Conan Doyle. There is a tendency to forget the changes that fandom itself has wrought on the figure of Sherlock Holmes – a weight of stereotype and expectation which warps the character to a pre-fit mould in every incarnation. As Fry says, Holmes:

“rises up, higher and higher with each passing decade, untarnished and unequalled. Because, I suppose, we need him, more and more, a figure of authority that is benign, rational, soothing, omniscient, capable and insightful. In a world, and in daily lives, so patently devoid of almost all those marvellous qualities, how welcome that is, and how grateful we are, for its presence in our lives. So grateful, that we won’t really accept that Sherlock Holmes could ever be classed as ‘make believe’. Between fact and fiction is a space where legend dwells. It is where Holmes and Watson will always live” (2017).

This is the traditional understanding of Sherlock Holmes and its fandom, and is highly reminiscent of the voiceover by Mary Morstan in Series 4 Episode 3, ‘The Final Problem’: “I know who you really are. A junkie who solves crimes to get high, and the doctor who never came home from the war. Well, you listen to me: who you really are, it doesn’t matter. It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures. There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court of appeal for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible, too frightening, there is always one last hope. When all else fails, there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat like they’ve always been there, and they always will. The best and wisest men I have ever known – Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.” [transcript by Ariane Devere]

The conception of Sherlock Holmes as “a figure of authority that is benign, rational, soothing, omniscient, capable and insightful” shows what we, the reader, want: a traditional detective story, with an all-knowing detective, who uses rationality and logic to assess the clues and brings us smoothly, at last, to a solution which reasserts the order of things; where justice is done and society is made safe once again.

BBC Sherlock, however, resists these comforting fictions. The detective unravels, becoming more emotional, more human as the story progresses. Mysteries go unsolved. The narrator gets more unreliable with every episode. Characters inhabit strange states, seemingly alive or dead as the story demands. The ‘rules’ of traditional detective fiction are flouted left, right and centre.

Viewed as a historiographic metafiction, BBC Sherlock aims to hold up the historical text (ACD canon) against the modern one (BBC Sherlock) in such a way as to slough away a century of extra-canonical fan speculation and addition, and give a new reading to canon.

‘Writing back’: re-visionary fiction

I would now like to look at Peter Widdowson’s journal article, ‘Writing back’: Contemporary re-visionary fiction’ (DOI: 10.1080/09502360600828984). He argues that there is a “radically subversive sub-set of contemporary ‘historiographic metafiction’” which, while being “acutely self-conscious about their metafictional intertextuality and dialectical connection with the past”, ‘write back’ to “formative narratives that have been central to the textual construction of dominant historical worldviews”.

Widdowson explains that his term ‘re-visionary’: “deploys a tactical slippage between the verb to revise (from the Latin ‘revisere’: ‘to look at again’) – ‘to examine and correct; to make a new, improved version of; to study anew’; and the verb to re-vision – to see in another light; to re-envision or perceive differently; and thus potentially to recast and re-evaluate (‘the original’)” (2006). He points out that this is closest to Rich’s approach to feminist criticism: “We need to know the writing of the past, and know it differently than we have ever known it; not to pass on a tradition but to break its hold over us” (Rich, 1975).

This act of ‘knowing it differently’ can also be achieved by “the creative act of ‘re-writing’ past fictional texts in order to defamiliarize them and the ways in which they have been conventionally read within the cultural structures of patriarchal and imperial/colonial dominance” (Widdowson, 2006).

Widdowson lays out what he regards as the defining characteristics of re-visionary fiction, first negatively by what it is not:

Re-visionary fiction does not simply take an earlier work as its source for writing;

It is not simply modern adaptation – instead it challenges the source text;

It is not parody – whereas parody takes a pre-existing work and reveals its particular stylistic traits and ideological premises by exaggerating them in order to render it absurd or to satirise the ‘follies of its time’, a re-visionary work seeks to bring into view “those discourses in [the source text] suppressed or obscured by historically naturalising readings. The contemporary version attempts, as it were, to replace the pre-text with itself, at once to negate the pre-text’s cultural power and to ‘correct’ the way we read it in the present” (Widdowson, 2006).

As to what re-visionary fiction is:

First, it challenges the accepted authority of the original. “[S]uch novels invariably ‘write back’ to canonic texts of the English tradition – those classics that retain a high profile of admiration and popularity in our literary heritage – and re-write them ‘against the grain’ (that is, in defamiliarising, and hence unsettling, ways)”. This means that “a hitherto one-way form of written exchange, where the reader could only passively receive the message handed down by a classic text, has now become a two-way correspondence in which the recipient answers or replies to – even answers back to – the version of things as originally delineated. In other words, it represents a challenge to any writing that purports to be ‘telling things as they really are’, and which has been believed and admired over time for doing exactly that.”

Second, it keeps a constant tension between the source and the new text. A re-visionary fiction will “keep the pre-text in clear view, so that the original is not just the invisible ‘source’ of a new modern version but is a constantly invoked intertext for it and is constantly in dialogue with it: the reader, in other words, is forced at all points to recall how the pre-text had it and how the re-vision reinflects this.”

Third, it enables us to read the source text with new eyes, free of established preconceptions. Re-visionary fictions “not only produce a different, autonomous new work by rewriting the original, but also denaturalise that original by exposing the discourses in it which we no longer see because we have perhaps learnt to read it in restricted and conventional ways. That is, they recast the pre-text as itself a ‘new’ text to be read newly – enabling us to ‘see’ a different one to the one we thought we knew as [Sherlock Holmes] – thus arguably releasing them from one type of reading and repossessing them in another.” The new text ‘speaks’ “the unspeakable of the pre-text by very exactly invoking the original and hinting at its silences or fabrications.”

Fourth, it forces the reader to consider the two texts together at all times: “our very consciousness of reading a contemporary version of a past work ensures that such an oscillation takes place, with the reader, as it were, holding the two texts simultaneously in mind. This may cause us to see parallels and contrasts, continuities and discontinuities, between the period of the original text’s production and that of the modern work.”

Fifth, they “alert the reader to the ways past fiction writes its view of things into history, and how unstable such apparently truthful accounts from the past may be”, making clear that the original text, though canon, was also just a text and should not necessarily govern our perceptions and understanding forever.

Sixth, “re-visionary novels almost invariably have a clear cultural-political thrust. That is why the majority of them align themselves with feminist and/or postcolonialist criticism in demanding that past texts’ complicity in oppression – either as subliminally inscribed within them or as an effect of their place and function as canonic icons in cultural politics – be revised and re-visioned as part of the process of restoring a voice, a history and an identity to those hitherto exploited, marginalized and silenced by dominant interests and ideologies.”

That last point, I think, should also apply to queer re-visionings of source texts (and indeed, Widdowson uses the example of Will Self’s Dorian: An Imitation re-visioning Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray in his article).

We can view BBC Sherlock as a re-visionary fiction which aims to ‘speak’ “the unspeakable of the pre-text by […] hinting at its silences or fabrications.”

BBC Sherlock as re-visionary fiction

Not only does BBC Sherlock have to hold itself up against the original canon of Arthur Conan Doyle; there is also a century of accumulated speculation and creation by an extremely active and resourceful fandom to contend with.

I think that BBC Sherlock asks us to re-vision ACD canon, but has a few sly jabs at the Sherlock Holmes fandom (including the writers themselves) along the way. Let’s look at some concrete examples:

John Watson’s wife:

In BBC Sherlock, the woman we know as Mary Morstan has no fixed identity. Her name is taken from a dead baby; she is not originally British; she is an ex-mercenary and killer; she is variously motherly, friendly and threatening; she shoots Sherlock in the heart – or does she save his life? In Series 4, her characterisation is more unstable than ever. She is a romantic heroine, a ruthless killer, a selfless mother, a consummate actress, a wronged woman, a martyr, an ever-present ghost, and the embodiment of John’s conscience. She is also the manifestation of the Sherlock Holmes fandom’s speculation about John Watson’s wife: did he have one wife, or six? Was she an orphan, or was she at her mother’s? When did she die? How did she die?

Ultimately, however, if you hold BBC Sherlock up against ACD canon, it highlights the fact that so many Sherlockians have tried to compensate for: in order to reconcile the irregularities in Mrs Watson’s story as narrated by Watson, she would need to be a secret agent actively hiding her identity. Examining BBC Sherlock against ACD canon makes us apply Occam’s Razor – the idea that the simplest explanation will always be best. John Watson’s wife was only written into the story because homophobia was so pervasive at the time that ACD was writing that his characters – and by extension he himself – would have been suspected of ‘deviance’ if there had not been a layer of plausible deniability in the shape of a wife.

And there you have it: the central problem of Mary Morstan/Watson, in both ACD canon and BBC Sherlock – she shoots Sherlock in the heart – or does she save his life? Look at ACD canon again. Does Mary Morstan’s engagement to John Watson hurt Sherlock Holmes, to the point that he replies, at the end of SIGN, “For me, …there still remains the cocaine-bottle”? Or does Mary Watson save his life? In the nineteenth century, suspicion of a romance between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson could have meant imprisonment or even hanging; many men suspected or accused of same-sex relationships chose suicide rather than total disgrace. Mary Watson’s presence provides Holmes and Watson with a lifesaving alibi.

Let’s have a look at this against the criteria for a ‘re-visionary fiction’:

Challenges the idea that Watson ‘told things as they really were’ – instead, it introduces the idea that Watson deliberately obscured the facts of his and Holmes’ partnership

Keeps the pre-text Mary Morstan constantly in view – a startling contrast, which rather effectively comments on the position of both women and queer people in the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries

Enables us to abandon our “restricted and conventional ways” of reading the original – if it makes no sense for Mrs Watson to have existed in ACD canon, then the reader must radically reconsider Holmes and Watson’s relationship; no longer ‘just’ a friendship, but a lifetime’s commitment, as close and loving as a marriage. BBC Sherlock encourages this re-visioning by setting Mary up as a rival to Sherlock; by having her attempt to get rid of him; by highlighting that she both kills and saves him. It re-casts Sherlock Holmes as the dominant romance of John Watson’s life, in every version.

It causes us to see parallels and contrasts between the two time periods: the societal homophobia that made Mrs Watson a necessity in ACD canon has largely gone in modern Britain. But BBC Sherlock hints at a profoundly closeted bisexual John Watson who strives after a ‘normal’ wife who “wasn’t meant to be like that”. The continued presence of a Mrs Watson very effectively shows us that societal attitudes are not as profoundly different as we may think.

BBC Sherlock shows us how the existence of a Mrs Watson has been written not only into the [hi]story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, but into the fabric of society: Sherlock Holmes is a great man, but God forbid he should also be a happy, human man, in a loving relationship with another man. The cultural script has been written: the great figures are either straight, or they are nothing. There is always a wife.

As discussed above, the presence of Mrs Watson is also important politically and culturally. It draws attention to the total lack of agency for nineteenth-century women, and to the restrictive narratives imposed on female characters in today’s culture. It makes terribly clear the extent and dangerousness of the homophobia in nineteenth-century Britain. It highlights the fact that there are still countries today where people are forced to hide their sexualities for fear of being imprisoned or killed.

 The Watson baby:

In BBC Sherlock, the woman we know as Mary Morstan is revealed to be pregnant on the Watsons’ wedding day. In ACD canon, Watson never mentions a child from his marriage. In Holmesian speculation, plenty of children have been suggested for Watson, especially since it is often posited that he must have had more than one marriage (that Watson might be infertile is not something the proponents of the ‘Three Continents Watson’ school of thought often like to suggest).

As a re-visionary fiction, then, BBC Sherlock forces us to examine the source text: in a time when reliable contraceptive methods were virtually non-existent, why did John Watson and his wife never have a child?

The options, broadly, are:

Mrs Watson was infertile (if Watson only had one wife)

Watson was infertile (if he had more than one wife)

They didn’t have sex, either due to ignorance (but Watson was a doctor…) or reluctance

Mrs Watson only ‘existed’ because societal homophobia made her a necessity (see above).

 John Watson:

In Series 4 of BBC Sherlock, John behaves in an unrecognisable manner: he beats Sherlock bloody, so that his eye is still bloodshot some little time later. This is said to be due to the pain of losing his wife, and the fact that her death is Sherlock’s ‘fault’.

Viewed as re-visionary fiction, as metafiction, BBC Sherlock here satirises the idea of the ‘deutero-Watson’ which has existed since Ronald Knox wrote his Studies in the Literature of Sherlock Holmes. It also, however, critically examines the fact that, in ACD canon, there are (at least) ‘two Watsons’: one, the narrator, seemingly the most reliable and loyal of fellows, straight (in all senses) and true, good in a fight; and a second, the ‘true’ John Watson behind the narration, the man we discern when we look beyond the surface of the tales. A man who is devoted, above all, to Holmes; prepared to adopt Holmes’ habit of ‘compounding a felony’ to follow the idea of justice as opposed to law; prepared, in fact, to break the law if Holmes thinks it right; prepared to abandon his wife at a moment’s notice, when Holmes calls; prepared to alter all kinds of details in his stories to protect their participants. (Also, presumably, a bit of a joke about the accidental ‘dual personality’ that ACD gave his Watson by naming him James and John on different occasions.)

Looking at ACD canon through the lens of BBC Sherlock, the entirely unreliable nature of Watson as a narrator comes to light, but the enduring feature of his stories – his love for, and loyalty to Holmes – provides the obvious answer to why he should be so unreliable. Watson may be ‘two people’, but he lies, he breaks the law, he abandons his wife and his patients for only one person: Holmes.

Ultimately, the reader understands that they have been lied to, because the truth would have been impossible to tell at the time ACD was writing. Famously, the final story in the Sherlock Holmes canon, The Adventure of the Retired Colourman, ends with the words, “some day the true story may be told.”

If BBC Sherlock is seen as re-visionary fiction, Series 4 of the programme becomes a representation of the artificiality of the construct that we think of as BBC Sherlock and – viewed through its lens – ACD canon becomes visible as an equally artificial construct, filtered through the writings of an unreliable narrator and governed by the societal and cultural imperatives and prejudices of its time.

Every trick has been employed in Series 4 to highlight its artificiality: lack of coherent structure, temporal uncertainty, incoherent character arcs, introduction of a deus ex machina character, fluctuations of genre, and members of the crew actually appearing on screen. Just as in Hawksmoor, the ‘case’ of Series 4 defies solution. BBC Sherlock and Hawksmoor are both postmodern detective fictions. We have been told that this is ‘a show about a detective, not a detective show’. The form of the show, like the form of the traditional detective novel, leads us to expect a neat, tidy ending, explained carefully by an all-knowing figure of authority. The makers of BBC Sherlock, however, have done everything they can to pantomime a lack of care for, or understanding of, their own show. They have simultaneously inserted themselves into the story (Mark/Mycroft; giving varying accounts of when/how Series 4 was written; lying and saying that they lie) and withdrawn the ‘grand narrative’, the fiction of the omniscient narrator.

Why?

For over a century, ACD canon has been read in the same way: as the most archetypally logical detective story available to us. The fact that the canon is a huge mess of inconsistencies, requiring the collective effort of thousands of people to pick away at, is typically explained by the idea of an omniscient but uncaring storyteller: Arthur Conan Doyle.

This is particularly ironic for a fandom which supposedly wishes to disavow the existence of an author at all.

And yet, the problem is, if you don’t slip into extra-universe speculations on ACD’s attitude to Sherlock Holmes, you have to face head-on the conclusion that Watson is a very, very unreliable narrator indeed.

And you have to face why.

@devoursjohnlock @garkgatiss @221bloodnun @tjlcisthenewsexy @may-shepard

[softrobotcritics]

Tiller Girls

Precision chorus dancing in large, industrial-scale numbers and geometric figures

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiller_Girls

Tiller Girls

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Tiller Girls were among the most popular dance troupes of the 1890s, first formed by John Tiller in Manchester, England, in 1889. In theatre Tiller had noticed the overall effect of a chorus of dancers was often spoiled by lack of discipline. Tiller found that by linking arms the dancers could dance as one; he is credited with inventing precision dance.[citation needed] Possibly most famous for their high-kicking routines, the Tiller Girls were highly trained and precise.

John Tiller's first dancers performed as 'Les Jolies Petites'. He originally formed the group for the pantomime 'Robinson Crusoe', subtitled 'The Good Friday That Came on a Saturday', in 1890 at the Prince of Wales Theatre, Liverpool. From this were founded the Tiller School of Dancing and the Tiller Girl troupes. The number of troupes grew to dozens, and their fame spread around the world.

The troupes were all slightly different, but within each troupe the girls were matched very precisely by height and weight. Individuality within the troupes was discouraged in favour of a strong group ethic. The Tillers performed as resident dancers at the Folies Bergère in Paris, the London Palladium, the Palace Theatres in Manchester and in London (as the Palace Girls or Sunshine Girls), the Blackpool Winter Gardens, on New York's Broadway, where Tiller had a dance school, and at hundreds of other theatres throughout Europe and the United States. One Tiller group, the Pony Ballet, earned success in the U.S. in musical comedy and vaudeville, performing from 1899 to 1914. The leader of the Pony Ballet, Beatrice Liddell, in a 1911 newspaper interview described the Tiller school of the late 1890s as having a boarding school facility in Limehouse, Manchester where girls aged five to ten were taught academic subjects as well as dance, to gauge their aptitude for dancing. Promising students graduated to Tiller's Covent Garden, London facility.

Contents

1Tiller routines and line-ups

2After John Tiller

31950s heyday

4The 60s Tiller Girls

5Re-launch

6Plans

7The Radio City Rockettes connection

8Former Tiller Girls

9References

10External links

The Tiller Girls performed a 'Tap and Kick' routine, which was originally called 'Fancy-Dancing' but today is known as 'Precision Dancing'.[citation needed] The routines may consist of straight lines or geometric figures.

Siegfried Kracauer stated in 1923, "These 76 energetic women dance about in geometric shapes: the regularity of their patterns is cheered by the masses, themselves arranged by the stands in tier upon ordered tier."[1]

In certain shows a Tiller line-up could be as many as 32 girls who were selected for uniform height and weight. In 1923 the stage play Nifties of 1923 featured twelve Tiller Girls.

After John Tiller's death in 1925, the Tiller schools in the U.K. were kept alive first by his wife Jennie Tiller, then by some of the head girls. The U.S. Tiller school in New York City was continued under the leadership of Mary Read until 1935.[2] By the 1940s The John Tiller Schools of Dancing were managed by its 3 directors. Mr John Smith, Miss Doris Alloway and Miss Barbara Aitken (also choreographer and a former Tiller Girl). During the 1940s the Tiller Girls were popular, appearing in summer seasons, pantomimes, variety tours, London West End shows, and cabaret.

During the 50s, as travel became easier after World War II, Tiller Troupes began to work abroad again. The Tiller Girls' popularity continued to increase. They were invited to make several appearances at the Royal Variety Performance, notably in 1953 at the London Coliseum when there were 40 girls in the line-up. As far as is known, neither before or since, has there been a longer line of girls performing a kicking routine (the Rockettes have 36).

On Sept 24th 1955 a Tiller Troupe appeared in the first Saturday night variety show transmitted on the new ITV channel which had been launched 2 days earlier. During the remainder of the 1950s and during the 1960s the Tiller Girls established themselves as the premier dance troupe on British commercial television, being associated particularly with the iconic Sunday Night at the London Palladium.

During the 1970s, management of the troupes was taken over by the impresario Robert Luff and also around that time dance troupes with different styles were emerging. For the first time since their inception the popularity of Tillers went into decline until the formation of the Sixties Tiller Girls.

Towards the end of 1988 a former Tiller Girl, Sandy Jones, received a surprise call from a friend, George May, who was working on a production named Joy to the World, to be staged at the Albert Hall in London. He wanted the Tiller Girls to take part in "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song as the "nine ladies dancing." Sandy made eight phone calls to original Tiller Girls from the 50s and 60s, and all eight immediately agreed, with her making the nine needed. The ladies truly enjoyed the experience, made especially poignant as none expected to be Tiller Girls again after so many years. Then, in later 1988, there was a news bulletin on the actor Terry-Thomaswho was suffering with Parkinson's. Jack Douglas, the Carry On comedian was putting on a charity show at the Drury Lane Theatre to aid both Terry and Parkinson's UK, a research and support charity.

Bruce Vincent, husband of June Vincent (née Labbett), herself a former Tiller girl from 1958 to 1969, phoned Jack Douglas and asked if he would like a troupe of Tiller Girls in the show, to which the answer was a resounding "Yes". From there on in, a busy four months started to get a full troupe of sixteen girls together (all bona fide former Tiller Girls), together with full costumes, music and of course rehearsals. Wendy Clarke, a former Head Girl[clarification needed] took up the responsibility of the choreography and when the troupe of sixteen girls performed on the stage that night the response from the audience was electric and The 60s Tiller Girls were quite literally born. This original troupe of ladies, ages ranging from early 40s to late 50s, carried on kicking in shows for over a twenty-year period in over 180 shows under Bruce Vincent's stewardship.

This re-formed troupe were fortunate enough to appear in many different shows, mainly for charity, and ranged from appearances from Sevenoaks School to Buckingham Palace, Westcliff-on-Sea to the West End's London Palladium. The shows at the London Palladium were always the ladies' favourite shows as they considered the Palladium their "spiritual" home. To this day,[when?] some of the original 1960s Tiller Girls do backstage tours at the London Palladium in full costume, as arranged by the Palladium's box office. After many prestigious charitable events all over the UK, including 40 Glorious Years, for H.M. The Queen, and being semi-adopted[clarification needed] by Lily Savage, aka Paul O'Grady, for his shows and videos in the 1990s.

The 1960s Tiller Girls formally announced their retirement and final show in April 2011, a cabaret show in aid of Vera Lynn's Children's Charity. The ladies were then in their late 60s and early 70s, a fantastic achievement for any dancer, and the joy and pride of bearing the Tiller Girl name was thus passed on into its third century, with the baton being firmly and happily passed to the relaunched Tiller Girls.

World Dance Management re-launched the Tiller Girls on 16 May 2012, having been awarded worldwide rights and an exclusive trademark licence agreement to Bernard Tiller, great grandson of John Tiller, founder of the original troupe. He owns the exclusive rights to the name.

Marina Blore, director of World Dance Management said: "As an ex dancer and choreographer, I remember The Tiller Girls of the late 60s and 70s and professional dancers everywhere held them in very high regard. Being a Tiller always commanded respect. It is a huge honour to be handed the reins to re-launch The Tiller Girls and whilst we plan to make the look and choreography relevant to today’s audience, the original traditions and disciplines of precision dance will be an integral part of the new look Tiller Girls."

World Dance Management plan to launch The Tiller Girls and they already have interest from television in following the reformation of the dance troupe and the appointment of a choreographer/artistic director, costume designer and nationwide auditions of the dancers.

Bernard Tiller explains: "For a number of years I have been looking for a partner who can revive the Tiller Girls. World Dance Management is without doubt the best company to take the Tiller Girl name forward. This is something that I have been working on and dreaming for over thirty years and hope this will again see 'The Tiller Girls' name up in lights and the tradition of the past dancers carried forward to a new generation."[3]

The Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, an American dance troupe, follow and keep alive the Tiller Girls' tradition of high-kicking precision dancing.[citation needed]

Russell Markert, founder of The Rockettes, reminisced: "I had seen the Tiller girls in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1922. If I ever got a chance to get a group of American girls who would be taller and have longer legs and could do really complicated tap routines and eye-high kicks, they'd knock your socks off!"

The Rockettes first came to life in 1925 as the "Missouri Rockets" and made their show business debut in St. Louis, the realisation of a long-time dream of their creator, Russell Markert.

Some of the Tiller Girls and American girls who trained with Mary Read also danced in the Rockettes. Lily Smart who trained with the Tiller School of Dance in Manchester and was with the 1922 troupe in the Ziegfeld Follies, settled in America and joined the Rockettes after leaving the Tiller Girls, performing with them for many years. She was then involved with the training of new dancers, Lily was in constant contact with Bernard Tiller until her death in 2010, aged 106. Lily explained how Russell Markert added his own style to the Precision Dance routines; this found its way back to the Tiller girls in the United Kingdom.[4]

Girls who had visited the United States during the late 1930s and 1940s danced for the troops and liked the American style of dancing and the costumes with headdresses that they saw. American films also featured showgirls and had a big impact on the British audience. From the late 1940s through the 1970s the Tiller girls adopted a lot of American showgirl styles that could trace their roots back to the Folies Bergère in the late 1890s.

Betty Boothroyd, Speaker of the House of Commons (1992–2000)

Aimée Campton, Anglo-French actress

Wendy Clarke (half of the famous 1950s Blackpool Belles photo by Bert Hardy)[citation needed]

Gretchen Franklin, EastEnders actress

Rosalie Kirkman, Queen Ratling of the Lady Ratlings, 2014[citation needed]

Avril Owton MBE FIH, Honorary Member of the Leading Women Entrepreneurs of the World[5]

Gloria Paul, actress/dancer (Darling Lili, The Intelligence Men)

Sunny Rogers, pianist who accompanied the comedian Frankie Howerd

Doremy Vernon, actress (Are You Being Served?) and author

Diana Vreeland, former editor-in-chief of Vogue

^ Siegfried Kracauer, "The Mass Ornament," The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, trans. Thomas Y. Levin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 74-75.

^ Boltz family archives

^ Bernard Tiller http://www.worlddancemanagement.com/the-tiller-girls/

^ http://www.tillergirls.com/Tiller_Page_3.htm Lily Smart and Joan Johannes

^ Avril Owton MBE FIH

General

Tiller's Girls. Hobson Books. 1988.

[pirirps]

Piri’s Ultimate List Of Horror Recs (2017 Version)

my go-to compilation of ever single horror/horror-related media i’ve ever enjoyed, including slashers, paranormal, thrillers, creature features, and much, much more 🎃

note: this list has trigger warnings but i am operating under the assumption that you are okay with the standard level of explicit sexuality, vulgarity, violence, and gore present in mainstream horror

horror

original nightmare on elm street series, but especially 1, 3, 4, 6, and freddy vs. jason (tw for implied pedophilia and explicit child murder, tw for rape in #6)

friday the 13th (original and remake)

honestly all the friday the 13th sequels are A Treasure but if you want The Core Canon watch 1-3

my bloody valentine (original)

psycho (original) and tbh all its sequels (tw for sort-of-kind-of incest vibes)

psycho ii and psycho iv are my favorites because (1) meg tilly is adorable in psycho ii and (2) psycho iv has a harley quinn/norman bates cameo and nobody can convince me otherwise

child’s play, child’s play 2, bride of chucky, maybe some sequels after that idk i haven’t seen them yet :(

scream franchise

not the mtv scream series

i mean s1 is decent but there are definitely other horror shows that i would recommend more (will show up later in this post)

1-3 are the best, 4 is worth watching if you really like the characters but as a concept the series has p much run its course by then

tw for rape mentions in scream 1 and 3

predator

peeping tom

kenneth branagh’s frankenstein (tw for a graphic depiction of death in childbirth)

james whale’s frankenstein

bride of frankenstein

the phantom of the opera (1925)

the phantom of the opera (1989) (tw for mild body/surgical horror, general grossness; personally speaking, this is one of my all-time favorite phantom adaptations, because 1. robert englund as the phantom hello oh my god, 2. although it’s much more of a slasher movie than a gothic romance, it does an amazing job of portraying the tragedy in erik’s backstory and his attraction to christine, without implying that he is entitled to christine’s affection and that her love will magically fix him, as some phantom adaptations do)

the phantom of the opera (1943)

alien franchise

the wolfman (2010)

darling (tw for rape)

house on haunted hill (original and remake)

final destination franchise

medium raw: night of the wolf (tw for pedophilia and child murder)

the babadook

the final girls [horror comedy]

the shining (tw for implied child abuse)

the cabin in the woods

hellraiser (tw for incest-y vibes for very brief periods of time)

heathers (tw for eating disorders, suicide, everything high school kids are insensitive assholes about)

from dusk til dawn

an american werewolf in london

the guest

it follows (tw for dubious consent)

nightwatch (tw for implied necrophilia/descriptions of necrophilia, self-mutilation)

re-animator (tw for rape, pedophilia mentions)

carrie (original) (tw for child abuse, religious iconography)

the remake had some interesting like... subtext/imagery but other than that it was pretty *wet fart noise*

the awakening

the craft

the blair witch project

honestly i loved the book of shadows: blair witch 2 bc it kind of parallels the crucible but i can admit that objectively it is Terrible

elvira, mistress of the dark [spooky comedy]*

american mary (tw for rape, (consensual surgical) genital mutilation)

fright night (original and remake)

jaws

listen. this is a horror movie. it was a horror book before that. it was specifically written and later adapted for the purpose of scaring and entertaining people. real life is nothing like this. real sharks are nothing like this. there’s nothing wrong with this movie scaring you but there is everything wrong with using this movie as an excuse to advocate for the wholesale slaughter of animals. sharks are quite possibly the most graceful and beautiful creatures on this earth and i will personally fight anyone who says otherwise

halloween franchise

1-5 are the best imo but no matter what skip #3 because it literally has nothing to do with any of the other movies

not the rob zombie remakes, those are awful

let the right one in [swedish (?) film, watch with subtitles]

rosemary’s baby (original)

night of the living dead (original)

28 days later

suspiria

silent hill (tw for child molestation)

crimson peak (tw for incest)

the lost boys

interview with the vampire

the ring

one missed call

the raven (2012)

repo! the genetic opera

teeth (tw for rape, incest, it’s??????? about a girl who literally has razor-sharp teeth in her vagina and it’s a very tongue-in-cheek commentary on religious repression???? so idk like it’s a wild ride and i love it but watch at your own discretion)

american psycho (tw for rape, general misogyny)

sweeney todd

speaking from experience, this is much better live, the movie sucked out all the fun and humor that wasn’t literally written into the lyrics, so i recommend watching the original broadway cast on youtube or something

there’s also a 1936 movie which i haven’t seen so i can’t speak to its quality BUT i would recommend it on the basis of it being made before the musical was created and thus being based more directly on “the string of pearls” novel which is where the sweeney todd urban legend was originally documented

abott and costello meet [insert universal horror monster here] [spooky comedy]

little shop of horrors (original and remake) [spooky comedy]

the last man on earth (1964)

adapted from the same book i am legend (2007) was adapted from but the last man on earth stays much closer to the original book imo

c. h. u. d.

ghostbusters (1984 and 2016 versions)*

ghost ship

sick girl (tw for bugs, pregnancy horror)

misery (tw for torture)

puppet master series (tw for rape, nazism)

the haunting in connecticut

zombieland**

jurassic park series

lizzie borden took an axe

wolf creek (tw for rape)

it (1990, 2017)

i have........ some nitpicky issues about putting it on this list, because neither movie adaptation really did justice to the whole concept of “derry itself is an extension of an eldritch horror and the real scary part of the story isn’t the clown, it’s the horrible violent tragedies that have repeatedly occurred and then been dismissed throughout derry’s history, leaving the entire town in a large-scale sort of cycle of abuse” so ????????????? idk like i truly do recommend reading the book as well as seeing the movies for The Whole It Experience(TM), but i totally get that not everyone is gonna do that

the 1990 version tells more or less the complete story, but because of that it didn’t have time to include a lot of fun details

the 2017 version only tells the childhood portion of the story, which leaves it time to include fun details. i was really hoping to see more of derry’s backstory or more development on mike and stan as members of marginalized groups -> how that influences their life in derry, but we didn’t get much of that? mike’s importance to the losers (researcher, somewhat of a skeptic/hardass at times to keep the others together) was removed, his healthy family dynamic was removed (mike, richie, and possibly stan are the only characters in the book with healthy family dynamics, somewhat underscoring the concept that derry itself is trapped in a cycle of abuse), and derry’s history of racism is never touched on aside from the kids mentioning “the fire at the black spot” a couple times in passing. overall it was a fun movie and you can tell everyone making it had a blast but compared to the book it’s like. mmmmmmmmmmmmm

BASICALLY what i’m saying here is that the book is really deep wrt social issues, and while neither movie really touches on those concepts in-depth, they are still good horror movies on their own and ofc a part of american pop culture

house of wax (1953)

marnie (tw for rape, abuse and coercion in a marriage dynamic, animal/pet death, graphic depictions of psychological abuse, graphic depiction of a violent death involving a child)

cabin fever (tw for sickness horror/body function horror/unsanitary horror, occasional slurs)

mega shark vs. giant octopus

i don’t even have a real reason for listing this i just can’t believe it exists and i want the whole world to know

texas chainsaw massacre (1974), texas chainsaw massacre 2, texas chainsaw 3d

ju-on: the grudge

phantoms

the plot is pretty ehhh imo but the effects are great; rose mcgowan is gorgeous as always, peter o’toole’s character is great, and ben affleck’s character lowkey has some batman circa arkham knight vibes going on. also, liev schrieber becomes a tentacle monster. i couldn’t make this shit up if i tried y’all

vamps*

this movie. this movie

krysten ritter and alicia silverstone are a couple of vampires, sigourney weaver is their hot mess of a vampire mom, dan stevens is krysten ritter’s boyfriend, wallace shawn is van helsing but he’s basically just vizzini: vampire hunter au and it’s GOLD

it’s literally the cutest and funniest vampire media i’ve ever seen in my life as well as one of the most detailed when it comes to vampire lore i cannot recommend it enough

bram stoker’s dracula

death becomes her**

what we do in the shadows**

disturbia

frankenstein (2004 miniseries, more like a 2-part movie than a tv show)

flatliners (1990) (tw for drug use, uncensored depictions of cadaver dissection)

the cabinet of dr. caligari

the limehouse golem (tw for sexual assault and csa)

repulsion (tw for sexual assault)

the trial (1962)

*spooky comedy: a comedy movie with a spooky premise that i am categorizing with horror movies due to the genre overlap, but that lacks the intense violence, gore, etc. of a horror movie

**horror comedy: a spooky comedy that does not lower the level of violence, gore, etc. that is standard in a horror movie

thrillers

stoker (tw for incest, has a scene in which the protag’s mother verbally abuses her)

m [german film, watch with subtitles] (tw for themes of pedophilia/child molestation/child murder, but it’s worth noting that the whole point of the movie is to condemn and demonize pedophilia)

also one of if not the very first detective movies

nightcrawler (tw for rape)

the vvitch/the witch/however the fuck it’s spelled

rear window (1954)

zodiac

hannibal lecter franchise (tw for cannibalism, obviously)-- the silence of the lambs, hannibal, red dragon, manhunter

manhunter is adapted from the same book red dragon is (red dragon) except manhunter was made before anthony hopkins became The Iconic Hannibal Lecter(TM) so it focuses much more on will graham and francis dolarhyde

hannibal rising is worth watching for gaspard ulliel’s performance but the book was much better

the hannibal movie adaptation changed the ending of the hannibal book while still maintaining a really good and really compelling storyline so the book and movie are definitely both highly recommended by me

gone girl

shutter island (tw for asylum horror)

pan’s labyrinth

tiger house

the champagne murders

the plot and pacing are a little ehhh; in my opinion there was too much tension buildup between characters and not enough actual plot development. BUT, anthony perkins is in it so it’s worth watching if you love him like i do

documentaries

cropsey (documentary on child murders)

urban legends (another documentary, by the same people, talks about how real-life crime affects the american psyche and lives on as urban legends/horror tropes)

the poisoner’s handbook

h. h. holmes

nightmares in red, white, and blue

his name was jason

never sleep again: the elm street legacy

american ripper [currently ongoing tv series]

television/youtube

bates motel

ahs s1 (tw for... literally everything)

slasher

similar basic premise as ahs, but imo ahs is v exploitative and builds the plot on violence and vice, whereas slasher builds the violence and vice on the plot

supernatural (LISTEN........ LISTEN....................... conceptually it’s the bees knees okay)

penny dreadful (tw for constant explicit sexuality, religious iconography/sacrilege, asylum horror)

criminal minds

bbc broadchurch

bbc river

bbc sherlock but literally only ep. 3.4 “the abominable bride”

rosemary’s baby (2-part made-for-tv movie)

unedited footage of a bear

marblehornets

true detective

frankenstein (2004 miniseries, more like a 2-part movie than a tv show)

tbs’ search party

podcasts

the black tapes podcast

small town horror

alice isn’t dead

king falls am [spooky comedy, more sci-fi than horror but there is One Episode that positively screams “love letter to 80s horror movies” so i can’t leave it out with good conscience]

limetown

welcome to night vale [spooky comedy]

the dark tome

video games

until dawn

outlast series

five nights at freddy’s

dead by daylight

bioshock

[jobmbaileytait-blog]

Marc Vallee - Guest Lecture

Billy from second year photography at LSBU was interviewing Marc Vallet for today’s guest lecture. The reason Billy wanted to talk to him was because he had done quite a lot of work close to what Billy has done before.

Marc Vallet is a documentary photographer for over 20 years. He is particularly interested in public and private space and the conflict between public and private space. Looking at post war period where we’ve got the NHS, housing, council housing, jobs everywhere, a real upswing, it is since then that there has been an overarching desire to take all that away. It is now about privatising space, privatising healthcare, privatising where you can live. Vallet comes from a photojournalism documentary background and he used to work for The Guardian and The Financial Times. He went on to explain how his work is about saying something and that he would argue very strongly that is work is honest, truthful but that he is not approaching it in the kind of classic BBC impartiality.

Marc Vallet then went on to speak about practical terms. Since 2012 until present he has been doing self-published zines where his first one was called ‘Writers’. The zine which he is going to speak about is the 8th zine published since 2012. This particular zine he started and he was not entirely sure what he was doing with it. I was happy to hear this because I always think that if a photographer in the industry finds it hard to know what the project is, then it is ok for someone like myself who is an up and coming photographer to not know what the work may be either. This gave me a bit of confidence. The zine was launched in Berlin, London and New York and it is a small edition of 200. However, it was also featured in The Guardian and so 100’s of thousands of people get to see those pictures. Vallet was explaining how there are so many ways to get your work out there and this was just a couple of them. Knowing of ways to get your work seen is always good to hear from photographers who have already done this as I think it can really help your work progress.

Marc Vallet began to talk about the very beginning of his career. He was born and raised in London. However, the first work he ever produced was in America where he was living and working in South New Jersey in 1995 where he photographed friends, skaters, surfers and hanging out on the beach. Vallet was shooting on film and processed the films in a converted chicken coup. I liked hearing this because it just goes to show where you start and how you work your way up in photography just like you would in any other job. He then lived in New York for a while before heading back to London where he continued to photograph skaters until he started working for magazines doing very urban, city stuff. In the mid 80’s he was involved in politics as a teenager and this came together with his photography. Vallet was part of the labour party before going to art school which changed everything for him and this is when he really got in to photography. Vallet explains how he loves all sorts of photography and all sorts of photographers and he is never really thinking about the technique or how someone did something when looking at a photograph he is more interested in the idea and story behind it. I found this inspirational because where I am not the most confident photographer I feel I am able to photograph projects with a good story behind them.

Billy speaks about how a lot of Vallet’s work is shot in black and white and asked if there was a reason behind this. Marc Vallet switched too digital in 2006 which was later than a lot of people. Going back to why he shoots in black and white he goes on to say how he doesn’t actually have an answer for this but that he used to shoot in colour ‘back in the day’ where he had a studio in Limehouse, East London. Vallet explains how he doesn’t want black and white to look ‘old’ but would rather they look more contemporary and hopes this is seen in his work. To hear Vallet say this was good because when you look at black and white photographs most people do think of ‘old’ rather than anything else and so for him to point this out in his own work and in general it meant he knew exactly what he wanted within his photography and knew exactly what he was talking about which is always a positive thing to hear.

Marc Vallee calls his books zines because of his punk background but says how they could also be photobooks. Earlier in the year Marc had done a talk at Tate Britain and one of the questions he got asked was ‘what is the difference between a zine and a photobook?’ to which he replied there isn’t really a difference and it is what the photographer decides it is. Vallet has collected many zines and photobooks over the years which have errors but this is all down to the photographer and he likes this because it is how the photographer has decided to publish their work. Since I am in to photobooks I enjoyed hearing this because it seems that it doesn’t matter as much if your photobook/zine isn’t perfect but many photographers do like their work to be perfect. Vallee is lucky to work with a designer and a really good printer company in a sense that he is doing commercial work for the printer company. He wants to make sure his customers have something nice and perfect if they are going to buy his work not something that feels incomplete. I could completely agree with this as when you buy anything you always want something perfect and in good quality, you aren’t going to spend money on something which isn’t. Marc continues to talk about his zines and is asked how he makes them. He comes out with the fact that he doesn’t know how to use InDesign which is what we have been taught to use to make our books. What Marc does is shoot the work, do the post production and when it comes to editing he prints everything out and lets others also look at the work, he believes this is a good thing to do as well as having some time away from your work because you end up producing a stronger piece of work. Talking about his own work and giving an example of this he found that the cover was easy to shoot but the other photographs were more complicated and so thought it wasn’t deserved.

Marc does not think he is the kind of documentary photographer where there is a huge distance between him and his subject compared to many photographers who go to find the interesting subject as if they are the observer from the outside of their project. This is something which Marc does not see himself as but the subjects he is interested in are usually linked to him in some way. Marc goes on to talk about how it was between the crossover of the skateboarding, the graffiti, old school hip hop which gave him an in to that world.

One of his zines concentrates on graffiti, looking at the London Waterloo tunnel as an area where it is legal to create graffiti work, building trust with these artists was hard but he looked at two men who went to both legal and illegal places to do graffiti, this was his project and it was a big task to get them to trust him so that he wouldn't do them over. What I found interesting about this work was the whole riskiness behind it rather than the actual subject of the work as graffiti is not something which interests me. Brett Rogers from the Photographer’s Gallery describes Marc’s work as “old and very London” something I didn’t understand and something Marc didn't really understand himself either apart from that she thinks he's “very London”. 

Marc began to photograph some protest work. This all started off because he was having an interview where they said how he is political yet his work isn't? Marc feels his work is political but what the magazine meant was it isn't overtly political. This gave Marc the idea of looking at this as work and so he looked at post 9/11 and the beginning of Afghan and Iraq issues. He went to a protest where he took his camera but he wasn't actually working he was walking the protest, yet he realised he had to get his game on if he wanted to take photos. Looking back at this project he thinks its rubbish however later on he continued it and he feels it is now better. He then also did work about the police, he had two issues at one point and so he sued them but won both times - this helped him gain graffiti writers trust. Marc spent 8 years photographing protests.

Billy asked what advice Marc could give. Explaining how the photography world is not the easiest to live in as there are so many different types of photography. Sometimes you can get wrapped up in a brand and people get hooked on themselves rather than what the work is about. Networking is great but also worrying in Marc’s eyes - ignore the rubbish and just concentrate on yourself and your own work. If you keep up consistency then hopefully the world will catch up with you and you will find your audience. I felt these were very useful and wise words and that this is what people like us should be concentrating on. I enjoyed Marc’s talk and liked hearing about and seeing his work on his zines/photobooks. 

[zillowcondo]

10 Quiet Places in London to Rest and Relax

It’s long been known that the mind and body are closely connected. For example, if you’re feeling stressed, then getting out for a good walk should help to relax you. It’s even better if you combine a walk with a catch up with a friend or family member. You’ll be getting physical exercise, boosting your emotional well-being and reconnecting with others at the same time. Yet if you live in a big city such as London, it can be hard to find suitable places where you can escape the crowds. That’s why we’re sharing our favourite quiet places in London to rest and relax, to inspire you to go outdoors more.

Quiet Places in London Centre

Hyde Park

As it’s the largest of the London Royal Parks, you’ll easily find a quiet place within Hyde Park’s 42 hectares. This Grade I listed park has many peaceful areas as well as famous landmarks such as the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain, Speakers Corner and the Serpentine Gallery. The Serenity statue is located on the south side of the Serpentine and is one of many beautiful sculptures in the park. For senior citizens, there’s an outdoor playground situated within the Bowls and Tennis Centre, open from 9 am to 9 pm, April to September and 10 am to 4 pm, October to March. The Rose Garden is one of the most beautiful places in London, especially at the beginning of Summer when the roses are blooming. You can find it at the South East corner of Hyde Park, near Hyde Park Corner. There’s a lovely pergola, as well as two fountains – the Boy and Dolphin and the statue of Diana the Huntress. Another tranquil spot is the Round Pond, a seven acre lake near Kensington Palace.

St James’s Park

Of all the relaxing places in London, St James’s Park is particularly well known thanks to its central location near Buckingham Palace. Spread over 23 hectares, it’s home to many birds including pelicans. The first pelicans were presented as a gift from the Russian Ambassador in 1664 and today there are over 40 of them. Watch them being fed fish next to Duck Island Cottage every day between 2.30 and 3 pm. If you’re lucky, you might also spot some green parakeets in the park. There’s a charming cafe in the park with lovely lake views.

North London

Regent’s Canal Walk

There are many great things to do in Kings Cross, with Camley Street Natural Park being a real revelation. You’d never guess you were a few minutes away from a busy railway station. This former coal drop for the railways is now a tranquil inner city oasis where you can spot bats, frogs, kingfishers and many more species. The park is temporarily closed while a new visitor centre is constructed. Nearby you have one of the best canal walks in London. The Regent’s Canal Walk stretches for 9 miles, from Limehouse to Paddington. The towpath was completed in 1820 and the section between Camden Lock and Kings Cross is particularly pleasant. Kings Cross itself has changed a lot in recent years and it’s now a popular dining and shopping destination.

The Secret Garden

For a panoramic view of London, go for a walk up Primrose Hill, which stands 213 feet high. From here, walk down the hill to Regent’s Park and the secret garden…Whilst Regent’s Park is a beautiful place in its own right, few visitors realize that there’s a secret London garden located just off the Inner Circle. It is one of the best hidden gems of London and is guaranteed to surprise your walking companions. St John’s Lodge itself is a private residence, however the gardens are open to the public. The centrepiece is a Grade II listed statue of a boy and a mermaid, Hylas and the Nymph.

South London

Battersea Park

With a fantastic location overlooking the River Thames, Battersea Park is spread over 83 hectares. It has many quiet spots in which to walk and meditate. The London Peace Pagoda was a gift from the Nipponzan Myohoji Buddhist Order in 1984. A floating lantern ceremony takes place here in August each year, to commemorate the anniversary of the Nagasaki atomic bomb. The pagoda is looked after by Reverend Gyoro Nagase, a Buddhist monk who lives in the park. If you’re in need of refreshments, Pear Tree Cafe is a great place to eat by the lakeside.

Greenwich Park

Being besides water is always relaxing and Greenwich Park is no exception. This place is also brimming with history, being one of only UNESCO World Heritage Sites in London. There’s so much to see in the park, from the National Maritime Museum to the Royal Observatory and the iconic Meridian Line. Admire the longest herbaceous border in London at over 200 metres, situated in front of Queen’s House. If you visit on a Sunday, make sure to see the Queen’s Orchard, open from 1 am to 4 pm and accessed via Creed Place Gate. The Flower Garden is also not be missed, with its deer viewing points and huge cedar trees.

East London

Victoria Park

London’s oldest public park is also one of its largest, with 86 hectares of land to enjoy. Victoria Park has been popular with Londoner for over 170 years and parts of it are Grade II listed. There’s a Chinese pagoda overlooking one of the two lakes and the Pavilion Cafe is a good choice for refreshments. The Victoria Park Memoryscape Trail is a clever initiative enabling park visitors to learn about the park. You can download the whole trail or particular tracks or print off the Memoryscape Trail map. The whole walking route takes about 1 and a half hours.

West London

Chelsea Physic Garden

Dating from 1673, the Chelsea Physic Garden is one of the oldest botanical gardens in Britain. The name refers to the science of healing and it was originally established as the Apothecaries’ Garden. There are over 5,000 varieties of plants with healing and medicinal properties here. The Tangerine Dream Cafe overlooks the main lawn and is a lovely place in which to enjoy lunch or afternoon tea. Chelsea Physic Garden is open from 11 am to 6 pm, with the cafe closing at 5 pm, from 30 March to 2 November and an entrance fee applies. After visiting the garden, take a stroll along Chelsea Embankment to admire the view of Chelsea Bridge.

Kyoto Garden

Holland Park is one of the most picturesque of the capital’s parks. Within its 22 hectares, Kyoto Garden is a little slice of zen in London. The garden was donated by Kyoto Chamber of Commerce in 1992. Ever since, it’s been a popular spot for visitors and also for wildlife. You’ll often see herons basking by the pond, eyeing the koi carp! There are actually 2 Japanese gardens in Holland Park, with the other one being the Fukushima Memorial Garden. The park is open every day from 7 am and closes at dusk.

The Thames Path

Undoubtedly one of the best river walks in London, the Thames Path is a National Trail footpath stretching for 180 miles. It begins at the Thames Flood Barrier in Woolwich and goes all the way to Gloucestershire. One of the most scenic sections of the Thames Path is from Hampton Court to Staines. You’ll pass the iconic Hampton Court Palace before walking past houseboats and water reservoirs.

We hope you’ve enjoyed these suggestions of places to relax in London. We are firm believers in the power of walking to improve your mental and physical well-being.

How do you boost your mental and physical health? Are you a fan of walking?

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[elsinore-and-inverness]

Casanova In Soho

Chapter 2.

For @ktrosesworld 

This is kind of all over the place. Also a blend of history and fiction. Marber’s Don Juan and Stan. Everyone else was real. 

‘Stan?’ Don Juan queried plaintively, draining his cup. ‘Is cappuccino really Austrian?’ ‘Hm?’ ‘That young man said-‘ ‘He spoke Italian with a French accent. For him it’s probably café au lait or the highway.’ ‘He was crying, did you see that?’ ‘Can we not go chasing people across London? What about that nice opera singer-‘ ‘What was her name?’ ‘Therese,’ Stan sighed. ‘What about her?’ ‘You’ve been seeing her for a fortnight!’ ‘So?’ ‘You’re horrible.’ Martinelli who had been listening at the next table pushed his chair back. ‘Therese needs a lawyer.’ ‘And he’ll be needing a job,’ Don Juan mused, resting his finger on his lips. ‘Pall Mall, you said?’ ‘He didn’t look like a lawyer.’ ‘What makes you think the two observations are in any way related?’

Giacomo Casanova was indeed in need of a of a job. London’s definition of “affordable” was not what he had hoped. He didn’t want to admit it but the lodging he had accepted was objectively smaller and shabbier than the room he had turned down on Soho square. But that was okay. He was living on his own means. He pulled on the end of the dark ribbon that held his hair back and sat down on the dusty mattress. Everything was going to be alright and he didn’t owe anyone anything. He breathed in the arenaceous smell of the room. He was four blocks from the Thames, a five minute walk from the Queen’s House and ten minutes from Westminster. An ideal location if he was someone important. But he wasn’t. Not anymore. There was a knock on the door and Giac jumped. The wooden slats under the mattress creaked under his weight. This bed wasn’t going to be much good for anything, he decided. He looked at the door warily. The person on the other side of the door cleared his throat, ‘Is this the residence of a Signor Giacomo Casanova?’ he spoke in an English accent. Casanova opened the door, not all the way, but enough to peer outside. ‘This is he.’ ‘The Venetian Envoy would like to extend an invitation.’ ‘Oh?’ ’To present you in court.’ ‘Vraiment?’ ‘I believe so, sir.’ Giac frowned. ‘Didn’t I see you in the coffeehouse?’ The short Englishman shook his head. ‘Well-‘ Giacomo exhaled a long breath through puffed cheeks, ’thank you for telling me.’ ‘Do you know the way?’ ‘I can read a map.’

Giacomo knocked on the door of the house of the Venetian Envoy at five that afternoon. He opened the door himself, which should have been a good sign, but then he saw the expression on his face. ‘And you are?’ the envoy asked, looking at Giac rather like he had just crawled out of the sewer. ‘G- Giacomo Casanova, Monsieur- I mean, Signor.’ ’Nice to meet you, Monsieur Casanova.’   ‘I was informed you had intentions regarding presenting me in court?’ The envoy smiled at him in much the same way one might smile at a rat that has reached the end of a maze and something about it chilled Giacomo’s blood. He bowed cursorily and fled the scene. He nearly ran into the man that had been at the door of his flat thirty minutes earlier. ‘I may have had the wrong person.’ ‘Dreadful aristocrat.’ ‘Tell me about it.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘I said, tell me about it.’ ‘He just- You must have seen-‘ ‘How about trying Lord Egremont?’ They were shortly informed that Lord Egremont was on his deathbed and not accepting visitors. The Englishman kicked a lamppost, ‘I’m going to kill him.’ ‘Kill who?’ ’Never you mind. The French ambassador it is. I said so.’   They arrived at the house of the French ambassador directly across Soho square from Therese’s residence around seven and were greeted warmly. ‘Come in, come in, we’re just having dinner.’ The French ambassador, of course, was having dinner with the Chevalier D’Eon and the dark haired man from the coffeehouse. ‘I hate you,’ Stan whispered to Don Juan. ‘So you’ve said.’ ‘What was the point of the wild goose chase?’ ‘It wasn’t a wild goose chase,’ Casanova interjected. ‘What do you mean by that?’   ‘Casanova is Venetian,’ D’Eon observed, ‘and, I suspect, in trouble with the Venetian government. ‘And the French government,’ Giac pointed out in confusion. ‘You and me both.’ ‘I shall present you to Queen Charlotte and King George on Saturday next,’ the ambassador pronounced. Towards the end of the meal the ambassador got up to relieve himself and the Chevalier turned to the guests in great earnestness as soon as he was out of the room. ‘He’s been trying to drug me.’ ‘De Guerchy? Why?’ Giacomo asked, reconsidering, not for the first time, his aptitude as a judge of character. ‘He’s part of de Pompadour’s faction and I know diplomatic secrets.’ ‘Why’re you telling us?’ said Don Juan, his eyes focusing oddly on the middle distance. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s high.’ ‘I am.’ He muttered something about resin and “Limehouse Causeway” but no one was really listening. The Chevalier evidently had more than enough information to take action against De Guerchy. ‘Why don’t you then?’ ‘You need an in to London society, don’t you?’ ‘Not at the expense of- This is insane-‘ ‘I can handle it.’ ‘Why are you telling me if you don’t want me to-‘ ‘So you’re not upset in a couple of months when he gets what he deserves.’ ‘I’m beginning to realize-‘ Casanova said, watching Don Juan stare in fascination at his own hands, ’that I might not have been a very good spy.’ ‘Did you get caught?’ Don Juan asked, as De Guerchy re-entered the room. ‘I seem to have done little else.’ ‘Get caught doing what? De Guerchy asked, standing in the doorway. Casanova, artfully oblivious, leaned over and planted a kiss firmly at the edge of Don Juan’s mouth. ‘Whatever you were smoking tastes like a dead fox,’ he hissed. The brown eyes that gazed pellucidly at him held neither dedication nor objection to what he was doing as, dead fox or no, he tilted his head and met his lips fully. Casanova had never seen anything quite like it before. This kind of dispassionate appreciation. Something was missing. He wondered if he had ever looked like that. ‘Do spies kiss with their eyes open?’ ‘I’m a very bad spy.'