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imeternallylove · 1 year

Text

Cloud Covered - S.Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: Graphics of violence, torture of dead and plenty of more brutality

Word: 4.6k 🥹

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Chapters index

Bloodbath | Marionette | Invisible Strings (you are reading this)

Crown Prosecution Service

"Ladies and gentlemen, the accused, Simon Finn, is guilty."

You and your fiancé sat in the prosecutor's corner, as the blonde CPS officer in a lovely pinkish blazer and skirt spoke from the record of the detective's report. The snort from your lips when the following line came from her over there.

"Jersey wasn't even his true name. And his merciless murder spree has terrorised our community. Many innocent people, including some of our brave officers from New Scotland Yard, were all targeted for no other reason than to play Simon Finn's sadistic game."

Your eyes is locked on the other building, your countenance blank. Sherlock observes you, wonders what is going on in your thoughts, but refrains from asking questions; the man who murdered people close to them has finally been imprisoned, so he assumed it is only natural for you to have a lot on your mind at the moment.

“Simon Finn has confessed to every single one of these crimes. I ask that the court consider Simon Finn’s voluntary confession for his crimes. He has spared the victims families a prolonged trial, and in doing so has demonstrated a glimmer of remorse. Therefore it is my recommendation that Simon Finn be spared the death penalty, and instead sentenced to life in prison with no possibility to parole. Thank you.”

But at last, you could find rest now.

"It's over," Sherlock mutters as the judge sentences Simon to death by lethal injection, his eyes finally locking on yours, a little smile curving on his lips. "We did it." You notice one of his steadfast hand strokes on yours, where the sparkling shine of the diamond engagement band illuminates through into your eyes.

And an outpouring of pride washes over your soon-to-be lifeline, he finally bringing you serenity; which you truly not believe in this Simon Finn’ confess at all. "We did."

Your drifting sensation and eye contact unintentionally collided with Simon's in the relieving slumber, his look strained but with a smirk as opposed of a grimace; terrified to be execution, manifesting your chest to swell. It echoed in your head, ‘he’s not the real murderer.’

The silence is thick and oppressive, vibrating within the catastrophic white walls of Simon Finn's residence. No one dares to speak, no one dares to move a finger.

Sherlock leaned over his brother's body, his hands grasping each side of the steel surface where he lied, pallid and lifeless after being discovered with a hole in his nape, spineless. A horrific method of murder, slow and certain to be agonising.

His gaze stayed fixated on the J engraved directly beneath Mycroft's collarbone.

When Sherlock is permitted into Simon's cell, the first thing he does is tie his fist to the prisoner's jaw.

"Oh my," you hissed behind him, but it didn't stop him from throwing another punch at the man. Sherlock was furious beyond comprehension, having left the mortuary without saying anything and going directly for prison to confront Simon - Jersey - himself.

"Why?" Sherlock asks, his voice trembling and his breathing irregular. "Why was Mycroft killed? How?"

In response, Simon gives him a nasty grin, prompting Sherlock to hurl him against the wall while seizing the taller's collar. There's no way Finn could have killed Mycroft while he's only been in this prison for over two weeks, waiting to pay for all the crimes he committed here and everybody knows. "Are you the only Jersey? Is there any more? Do you have people working for you?"

"Sherlock," you call from behind them. "I'm all for you beating the crap out of him, but let's not get into trouble here, okay?"

He heard you, acknowledged your remarks, but his gaze didn't stray away from Simon, retaining a firm grip on him. Simon, on the other hand, had his gaze fixated on you, the sick grin staying on his lips, and Sherlock shook his head fiercely. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" He insists, but Simon's eyes is fixed on you.

"London bridge is falling down," Simon singsongs softly, prolonging the syllables, his grin becoming broader. "My lovely lady."

Sherlock lets go of his hands, gazing at you, who are looking back at him, bewilderment evident in your stare, and Sherlock makes an impatience sounds before slamming Simon to the floor.

He rushes out of the a jail cell, leaving you with Simon's distant laughter ringing in the recesses of his eardrums. You perceive Sherlock needs alone time, which is why you hold your ready-to-wreck-down body to sit facing Simon, and remaining silent for a couple minutes rendered him stand up by himself and fling his ass onto the seat. You can bet he noticed you sweating, but it wasn't because you were scared or worried, rather because you always trust what your gut tells you.

"I can feel you’re not the real Jersey." Before he could say anything, you began with your hoarse speaking; a slight smile formed as his grin rose while his hands with handcuffs grabbed his wounded bruise that your fiancée had made. “Well, I’m gonna die a liar anyway. The dirty liars.”

You lean back and nod with caution your head dipping slightly as you murmur, an enticing grin on the bridge of your mouth as you cross the spaces between your legs. "Then who did?"

"I've got a place; it's your job to find out." Simon claims it all in one breath, which leads to your brows with a furrow significantly. “Where?”

"-It's not, uh, better if I draw you a map." He ignores what you have to say and proceeds. He looks at your notebook with a treacherous smile on his lips. "You going to draw me a treasure map?" You pat the desk twice and stifle a giggle. "No, you've got word, just say it."

Simon's gulp drops, followed by a loud whistle from the prisoner. "I just want to show myself to you, lady."

You only nod contentedly. "So, let's say you're telling the truth, I assumed it’s seems like the real Jersey promising to get you out but he left you high and dry-" your cheshire cat-like sneer on Simon's hiss voice that is so audible it pierces right through your attention span, and that's saying something.

“My dear Marney, you seems don’t know a thing.”

"And I might bring you out in the next half hour to reenact the murder scene." You say this as you stand back up, pick up your notepad and tape player, and gesture to the cops to wait for you. You pause before answering the door, shifting back to meet Simon's satirising smile. "Does that sound like a fun way to celebrate your final 20 hours before the execution?"

"Do me a favour, Y/N. And just make sure he doesn't try anything."

"Oh, he can certainly try."

Simon overheard Greg and you conversing, but paid scant close attention to you two, not bothering to digest your words as his thoughts focused on taking a deep inhalation in with a broad smile on his face, standing in front of his own residence. He was handcuffed, where he is accompanied by the two policeman officers behind him.

It wasn't difficult; it shouldn't have been difficult, but some pieces didn't quite fit in, and Sherlock lightning-fast assumed Simon Finn was the Jersey, and if he thrust them harder than necessary, you were able to predict Sherlock might break and ruin the entire puzzle, just like he only discovered 'who did' as opposed to 'why did that.'

"Don't get any ideas." You attained for Finn's handcuffs, and he takes his attention in unambiguously, almost latching on you for a moment. He gave you the typical greeting green signal and your petite smile spread with your dead outstares. "Good to see you again, cunning."

There was nothing to toy with, because the only thing written on your serene face was the phrase 'do not try me.'

"How's it going with your bracelets?"

"Well, I can't feel my fingers if that's what you're asking." Repiled you with a voice lower, like he attempt to convinced for some of your less generous tolerance. "You gonna help me out or what?" Now he asks in a more hushed but inquiring tone, to which you merely shrug and tighten his cuffs even more. "How's that?"

"Thats so kind of you."

Simon, move away with your arms folded behind you. "So, is this where you confessed that this was your treasure map?" You grumbled, with your eyebrows barely wrinkled. He simply sends you nods, and you bring him on the inside with Greg.

As soon as you notice the stairs, which must lead to the second and third floors, an officer approaches to report you. "All things is fine. There are actually two squatter nests, but they appear to be split." You drew your lips down to him, still not sure. “Alright. Just give us five."

It was Simon's turn to stare out at the view of his own house, which was visibly tense. You gave him a quick glance before poking his leg with your foot and angling your head. "Start the tour, boss."

"Here's Jersey, using my house as a treasure trove after running." The three of you subsequently followed Simon, who was waiting for Greg to unlock the door room on the second floor, but he was handcuffed.

"It appears that nobody has been here in years, Finn." Greg makes a remark while pacing back and forth in Simon's sitting room, his brow furrowed in concentration. Confusion can be heard in Simon's speech. "I didn't say he'd be here to greet us either."

"There are still traces of footsteps." You shrugged, swinging your hands a little as you maintained your constantly wandering. Cast your torch towards a heap of papers. "That's all the newspaper has to say about 'J,'...I'm sure he's impressed by his reputation."

“He is.”

"Well," you breathe in, stating your thoughts and ignoring - or rather, hardly hearing - Simon's inputs. "In my little hope, I didn't plan to investigate any of the evidences for the aleatory case that simply does not make sense for months, Finn."

Simon is looking at you with furrowed brows and a thoughtful, perplexed gaze. "...You want me to tell you who's Jersey?"

"That was before we ever met, actually." You explain quickly, your face screwed somewhat in irritation. "If you're just trying to fool us, I'd say your death is impending." You breathe out eventually coming to a halt.

"From what I can tell, the killer was murdering for fun, for his own amusement, carving J's and dropping clues just to form tight headache knots in detectives' skulls."

"That's the cost of doing business; I'd make a provision." You responded, then turned your focus towards Greg. You did this for a long, pacing around Simon's room, fingertips pushing together as you leaned your face against your hands, as if it would help you think better.

Greg's phone started ringing at that point. Reminding you that you squandered those five minutes looking for your restricted blocked hints. "For God's sake. I needs take this. Y/N, are you going to-"

"We're good." You notice Greg's worried eyes, despite your assurance and a little faith in Simon, making him goes away.

"Do you still think I'm making this stuff up?" Simon questions, almost cautiously.

"Less or less, if you don't play a game on me; the real Jersey is still running around the playground..." You state, emphasising your words as irritation rises once more. "And you can't offer me any proof that you're not Jersey anyway."

"I can get you proof," Simon grunts as he approaches you. "No. You can't." You murmur, knowing your body despised practically instantly as he began confronting you. "You are correct. Not like this, I can't."

Your sternum is flailing in wrath, and when he speaks to you in that gentle voice of his, it almost feels as if you are bound by the lies. "You're nuts. I'll remind you that you just have a few hours to be executed."

His frowns and glances elsewhere, a pout forming in his lips as you continue to hold your gaze up to his. "Look, you're correct. He left me high and dry, dying with the accusations I didn't do. I’m sure he won't feel like his ass has caught fire if I'm still in jail, as a soon-to-be executed criminal."

You creak in response, feeling a sense that you shouldn't be wasting time like this when you should be working on the case, but when Simon continues, your intestinal tract seems to come back to live. "But now that I'm on my own, I can entice him and serve him up on a silver platter."

"Even if you are right, I have no right in offering what you need, Finn. Didn't you forget you're on death row?"

"For crimes that I didn't commit. Did you forget?" You slumped and went silent, not realising Simon was moving approaching. "Look at me. I could knock you out in an instant. The police would buy it, and we could make it look real, but I assure you that you and your tiny Marney would be perfectly unharmed."

Your lung is shrieking incoherently, -how could Finn be cognizant of this? You know how Sherlock always noticed an insignificant illness that affected you for months and you gave him your positive pregnancy results from the test, but soon you two were busy and forgot to mention it.

The stronger the air you breathe, the sharper your intuitive sense contrasts with the beams of light from the retreating obscurity you generate...

Simon Finn has had more contact with Sherlock than anybody else. Perhaps more than you realise.

“Prisoner 75427 is requested to be returned to custody immediately.”

“This is officer 926 receiving request . Please stand by for confirmation.”

The rejection of your attempt to ignore the reality blasted forth and back over your head. You cast one final glance at Simon and decide to believe in Simon Finn. You close your eyes after unlocking Simon's shackles and grasp the handcuffs key in your palm. Simon is already liberated as a result of your decision.

He waited for your signal in quiet and reserved until you finally looked up at him. Your answer reinforces what he already knows.

“Do it.”

You awoke at Sherlock's flat with an aching neck. Mrs Hudson stated that he has been out with Greg since the officer brought you here an hour ago while arranging for you to change clothes and be ready for teatime with her.

Teatime and the wedding plan that the elderly woman advised were both superb, although your hand couldn't remain still as you discovered Finn's literally unreliable signal on your phone.

Don’t bother catching a cab despite the fact that it began to rain meanwhile, feeling that walking your path back home would be calming to your nerves at least slightly so. You walk out the Baker street fast, hands stuck in your coat pockets, hair starting to stick to your forehead from the small but persistent raindrops. You bumps into one or two persons on your way, all of them attempting to escape the rain or fighting against the wind that attempted to take their umbrellas, but there's not a single worry on your mind despite the fact that this case was, after all, unsolved still.

You were already more than halfway to your destination when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you clicked your tongue, thinking it was Sherlock since you had just realised he had left you in his flat and you had always failed to follow following.

Nothing could possibly have prepared you for the text. Not even from Finn, as the red dot continued to run, heading and pausing at St. Bartholomew's Hospital for several minutes.

from: unknown

let's meet up? just us two…

— J

Never did you reply to a text so fast. And then, unexpectedly, a harder grip grabs your limb and takes you across into the area between blocks around the corner of the street. You could be recognised by the scent of nicotine mingling with body odour that you've been living with for years of age; it’s Sherlock.

“What the hell are you think?” He goldsmiths his quivering hands passionately, prompting your hold to tighten even more, disregarding your broken appearance further. “I know you let Jersey go.”

In a rage of fury, you poured your scorn and suspicion on Sherlock back to Him, struggling to breathe. "Can you just listen to me?"

"Listen to you?" His inhales are sharp, and he counterfeits a witty smile that persists on his entire face. “I did- listen to you. And that's exactly how this happened!”

You let yourself to get carried away in an ocean of rage, not his, but yours. There's no need for you to talk to Sherlock at this point if you want to break free from his clutches and walk away with no apology for whatever you've done.

The chosen location wasn't thought to be the most strategic on Jersey's part, being one of the few open fields on the outer edges of the city where buildings had yet to be built, but it wasn't a bad option either. Although there were houses nearby, there was no one on the streets; the mild rain became heavier, and the sand and dirt beneath your shoes turned to mud as you approached closer to the centre, a careful gaze observing the surroundings.

There wasn't a single person or sound but the static sounds of the pouring rain — Until, at last, someone turned around the corner of a werehouse, feet going to the wide field where you stood.

You blinked, wondering whether the poor weather was distorting your eyesight; nevertheless, at least for today, nothing could be worse than the battle with Sherlock. But no one was deceived by the guy approaching, and your expression was filled with perplexity.

"Sherlock?" You call, unclear how he could have followed you there, and afraid of why he would.

"Hello again, love." He welcomes you quietly as always, pausing solely a few metres away, a smile forming on his lips as his head tilts. "Did you miss me?"

You are certain that you have forgotten how to breathe.

The enormous sighs, as if the sudden revelation had sapped all vitality from your body, depriving you of your confidence and left you fatigued, bewildered, conjectured, and all that you had been sleeping with and stuck lingering inside you from the beginning of this case. You're still floating in a mass of haze and don't want to accept it, although his sharp glance aren't going to allow you to do so. You fail to locate your own voice though the question you pose to him. "Why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock hums back, lifting his arms slightly to emphasise your query and taking tiny steps closer. "I thought it would be fun. Such a young man, Sherlock who inspired by detective novels and films, was duped by his own thinking but he always solved it all. Everyone is proud of whoever is in existence and has written history; they have faith in that. Am I horribly adorable, darling?"

You shake your head in bewilderment, your throat aching near to explode. "Finn—"

"That complete moron. As screwed up as we both are." Sherlock whistled as if he were telling you an intriguing tale. "Simon did whatever I ordered him to do like a puppy eager to impress. Still extremely efficient. I basically needed to give him a name and my favourite method of murder. Isn't he a fantastic actor? Even the murderer, who actually me, and his manipulation all of you as the true murderer, he should feel honoured."

He flicked on the lighting, enabling you to spot Simon's corpse on ground covered in bloodstream, and you were certain he was murdered before you came. Sherlock tosses the body away with one of his foot as he begins to approach you. "Now I sent him back to where he belonged... quicker than on death row."

"So all this time-"

"Of course, baby." Sherlock squeaks. "It's always been me. It was me long before I produced Jersey." He continues, his smile widening as he notices the way you express yourself. "I've wanted to play a game with you ever since we met. I mean, young detective Marney, who believes 'Me' can figure out a person's history just by looking at their clothes- you're quite naïve to the actual world. You believed you had matured, but wasn't it all a façade?"

The lips of yours emerges then shuts, and you're not quivering from the thunderous downpour.

"Who do you suppose left the clues in all those murder cases we solved, love? Who do you think led us to success, to solving it so effortlessly?"

Hanging your head down, his words are like razor-sharp knife cuts, slicing your assaulted edge into parts, and you have no voice appealed to him to stop.

"It was me. I killed them and then watching you be so appreciative of me, of your incredible talents when you were, in fact, just a child fitting jigsaw pieces together." He amusement. "I must admit that I became fond of you at some point, which is why I thought it was about time I put up an encore monumental game for you. Feelings mess you up, darling. I won't be the one to fall."

"You slaughtered your friends and mine," you exhale, unsteady, your thoughts far too rapid and far too loud for someone who has just been locked in time, tossing one great fist slamming over his face. "And I broke down for months over them!"

"Of course we did," He say. Sherlock responds casually, his brows rising high in his forehead as he attracts you away. You're standing staggeringly, like if he's left a gigantic hole inside you, and you cannot stabilise yourself from being off-balance. "How could you have trusted me otherwise? You figured me out several times back there, Y/N, but you're too far away to prove it. I needed to make sure you wasn't believe that it was me till now."

Dazedly looking at the muddy ground, rendered speechless. After a little while, your body yields and you collapse to your knees, shed tears streaming down your cheeks. For so long, you let your people down since the invisible strings veiled themselves by your neglect; it was all right in front of you.

"It's going to be okay, baby." Sherlock coos once again, and despite the fact that you're no longer gazing at him, you heard the cocking of a pistol. Sherlock kneels in front of you, his free hand caressing your cheek, and his lips press against your soaked forehead. "I truly cherish you; nobody ever loves me as you do, I vow. I'll do it without making you feel anything."

Sherlock stands up again, and you still don't move, not even a twitch of a muscle.

Reality settles in, leaving you devoid of responses and options; instead, you accept it.

You lost by your trust.

The cold metal of the gun's mouth presses on the top of your head, and you sense a smirk on Sherlock's lips. "Any last words, my love?"

The tiniest shudder travels down your spine, and your eyes close.

You smile. Because he was correct; this is for the record. The victor writes history. History is littered with liars. If he lives and you die, his words is written into stone and yours is lost.

Sherlock notices the wry grin on your sorrowful face. "I wasn't pregnant; there was no trace of it. It's only my amazing talents to falsify my pregnancy test- and you're trapped-" His pistol mouths thrashed on the skin of your cheek, and you could feel lifeblood running through your pearly whites.

"And I spent my spare for engagement to little brat for GPS monitoring." You push yourself to crack a smile only to see Sherlock's grin widen. "Indeed, she's still wearing that stupid ring. She's even come here by herself to seek out her own tomb."

Sherlock's about to complete the greatest trick a liar ever played on history. His truth will be the truth. But that’s only if he lives, and you die.

Sherlock was incorrect in the meantime of the twinkling of an eye. And your hoarse voice demonstrates that. "You think it's just us here?"

“What?”

The death Finn then stands up and pulls the rope from the ceiling down, falling over Sherlock's. You observe his centre body becoming intertwined and these ropes hanging him up there with his scream; as soon as his pistol drops, you rise up and move away from where you entered this warehouse.

Greg and the other cops make goosesteps from everywhere, and you notice his exhausted and grateful gaze from his restless eyes, so you stroke his shoulder before disappearing into the stillness of the night.

Simon approached Greg with his stump feet by the sticky fake blood, thrilled by the sight he seen. “You talked too much Mr detective.”

closure

Strange wind blowing throughout the empty place it may be gliding to. You're standing in front of a black marble headstone, surrounded by greenery and the chirping of songbirds. The flowers are now at the foot of the monument. You stare at the beautiful black stone that just says SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Sigh, drop your head, and stand there but you moved to another black stone. You figure looks to have the name of Molly and Mycroft etched straight across your chest, as reflected in the polished marble of the headstone. You lower your head even lower and cover your eyes with one hand. Knowing that all of the corpses doesn't appear to underneath here, rather in the mortuary. Then your phone vibrates with an incoming call.

"They say he murdered himself by drowning himself with hydrochloric liquids," Greg slows down with his own gasp. "Only hydrogen chloride vapours create considerable difficulty breathing when- you know, just cleaning the restroom."

You're now in the car, patiently absorbing his words through the phone conversation before signal the light to turning the car into Smithfield Street, and Greg continues to explain what he knows. "In his instance, continuing to breathe at such high rates may be fatal, but he had absorbed it into his body... in his own way, for several weeks in after bang up there, not just by breathing it in."

You two leave a little time of stillness, holding the call and sinking into contemplation of the whole situation that happened until you are the one who smashes it. "I'm in the mortuary now. Which room?"

Greg opens the door behind you, his strained voice in the queue just acting as if you could see his burning face, which was only fighting not to sob in front of you. You drew him into your shattered hug, and it seemed that for all the secrets of the Sherlock Holmes's, he left you two to feel grief like dying while remaining alive

“You may need some alone time here.”

Every step you take to get closer to the lifeless corpse is precisely the same as when you first met, but there is no longer any of Sherlock's façade lies.

You leaned down and pulled aside the sheet, uncovering Sherlock lying beneath it, pallid and bare, his eyes closed. Tenderly strokes his curling bangs hairline, long lashes and nose bridge, which once it always necked at your cheeks, yours.

'S.Holmes' possessions' package captures your glance from the corner of your field of vision. You snatched it and saw your golden pen, the long-awaited souvenir for you and his first anniversary. It's been roughly four years since then. And while you were putting it back, you saw a torn paper on it, and there was Sherlock's handwriting; uncleared but still could recognizable text.

‘May we meet again, Y/N’

a/t: well me too ;_; sorry guys if the ending wasn’t what you thought 🥺🥹 murderer sherlock smell so nice to me oi and for this story ive my lovely bestie to help me created murderer stage name! its @lady-harvey ♥️ my gurl, tysm again ♥️��️❣️now i think i need to take a little break from writing 😭 but im still here just back to manage my undone work and ill brb asap but for sure ill still online here huhu, not gonna mia in this soon hue hue

#Sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #sherlockxreader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x reader smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock angst #bbc sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes

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eldritchlittleblackdragon · 4 months

Note

hello i am very curious about alice van zieks 👀 if you would like to share!

@sevarix-blogs

Sure, I'd be happy to talk about Alice! It's been a hot minute since I talked about her I think. But here's a summary/some characters facts.

Warning for Spoilers Here Since this Talks about Things in Barok's Backstory, Also a General Warning Since Alice's Story Involves Conflict in/The Breakdown of a Relationship, and Victorian Era Sexism

Alice van Zieks (maiden name: Rask) is the estranged wife of Barok van Zieks. She was originally from America, the daughter of Dr. Simon Rask and his wife, Nora. Alice found her father's work fascinating and wished to follow in his footsteps, and while her father was supportive of this, others weren't so keen on her pursuing such a career. Eventually, she was persuaded that she couldn't pursue a career as a Coroner on her own without a husband who could financially support her by her uncle Vester, who had a vested interest in her abandoning (or at least putting on hold) her studies.

Alice's Uncle, Vester Rask, was a wealthy partner in a shipbuilding company, wished to increase his power, standing, and the security of his company by developing ties to the British nobility. He could only do so much without an heir he could marry off to an aristocrat, so he decided to try and see if he could rope his niece into playing the role (and persuade his brother to let this all happen ofc).

He managed to persuade all necessary parties, and so Alice went to England to participate in the London season.

There she met a young Barok van Zieks, introduced to her by Lady Harebrayne, the mother of Barok's long time friend Albert. Alice and Barok developed something of affinity for one another and became friends. At the point they met, it hadn't been terribly long since Klint's murder and he was still suffering very keenly from that loss. He didn't really keep anyone close, but Alice was the first in a while to treat him like a person rather than as the 'Reaper'.

He developed something of a crush for his debutante friend, but at first he thought it was too risky to express interest in her. But eventually something persuaded him it was worth trying. And due to youthful inexperience and not being in the best of headspaces, he rushed into things without really thinking them through.

Alice didn't have the same feelings Barok did, but he was the first person to take her seriously and appreciate her as she was, not what others thought she 'ought' to be. When he proposed she accepted, thinking perhaps she might return the feeling in time.

The first couple of years of their marriage were fairly good in terms of their relationship. But Barok were extremely protective, some may even say overprotective. (Although one could argue he was not entirely unreasonable given the dangers he faced due to his reputation and 'curse'.)

Alice wanted to continue her studies, and initially Barok strongly encouraged this. She met and was befriended by a certain Detective Sholmes and his young charge during this time (completely unaware that this young charge, Iris, was in fact her niece). But, when she expressed an interested in doing work for Scotland Yard, this didn't sit well with Barok (because in his mind it put her in the direct line of fire of his enemies). On this point, he would tried to dissuade her, and it became a sore point for the both of them.

Some of Barok's behaviors Alice discovered didn't sit well with her. He was not keen to talk much about certain aspects of his past at the time (for understandable reasons), but the lack of information upset Alice and in some cases led her to make some conclusions/consider some possibilities on her own (some incorrect).

And eventually, there were other problems in the relationship, conflicts and problems in communication (or due to a lack of communication in some instances) that eventually led to a breakdown in the relationship.

Eventually, Alice separated* from Barok and went to live with her parents again. Only she wouldn't be returning to America. Her father was instead invited by a work colleague he met in Britain to teach at a University in Tokyo, Japan. She would continue to pursue and wrap up her studies there.

(*Separated but not divorced.)

There, she was made to feel at home due to the kindness of her father's friend and work colleague, Professor Mikotoba and his daughter Susato. She also eventually met his adopted son, Kazuma. He didn't seem keen on her at first, maintaining a more detached sort of friendliness towards her (unbeknownst to her because Kazuma had an enmity towards her now estranged husband). But in the end the two of them found an accord, and Kazuma became one of her closest companions.

(Kazuma hoped she could be an ally against her husband when he sought his revenge, but that would later turn out to not come to pass.)

She also met and befriended fellow student Ryunosuke Naruhodo, eventually went to root for both of her friends in a debate tournament, when Ryu and Kazuma met one another and the start of their friendship happened.

At the start of canon, she has decided to fully cut ties with Barok, but as he's not keen to mutually agree to the divorce, she is summoned back to England to hash things out. So she ends up on the same ship Kazuma is taking to go to Britain himself to study law. But her journey back to England starts to go terribly amiss when Kazuma seemingly and suddenly ends up dead and her other close friend Ryunosuke is blamed for it.

(Spoilers: There are disagreements between her and Barok but eventually they come to understand each other. They do get divorced but are eventually able to be good friends again. Because damn it I need more stories of people who split up but it's not because they were bad people and things are eventually okay between them but they *don't* get back together.)

Character Facts:

Alice Enjoys Pencil Sketching, Nature Walks, Foraging, Reading, and Canning/Pickling Foods (in addition to her interest in Forensic Pathology)

Is near-sighted and needs glasses as a result

She is in between in terms of her age relative to other main cast members. At 27, she is five years younger than Barok (32), and four years older than her friends Kazuma (23) and Ryunosuke (23).

She has often played Chaperone for Susato and her friend Rei.

When moving about London, and not on duty (until the end of the games) she has to conceal her face from view or disguise herself to avoid being spotted by Barok's enemies. She has to change it up from time to time to avoid creating too obvious a pattern, but her preferred disguise is one of a widow in mourning, wearing heavy, concealing black clothes.

#lbd replies #sevarix-blogs #oc: alice van zieks #tgaa #barok van zieks #tgaa spoilers #i based alice partially off stories of 'dollar princesses'#american women who were wealthy and were able to marry into the aristocracy in britain despite being 'commoners'#tried to balance it between giving enough context but not turning things into a giant essay as tends to be the case with alice #always nervous when i leave certain details out for brevity's sake

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law334-blog · 2 months

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ANOHNI and The Johnsons

Lately, because of really annoying IP addresses and zones I have been locked out of my streaming music and I only have with me some of the actually physical CD’s that I burnt into my computer and exported to my phone a long time ago.

Is nice because I have a lot of Prince, Björk, Gazelle Twin, Paul Simon, Falete, my humble beginnings on Philip Glass’ wonderworld, and funnily enough, one Cindytalk album: In This World.

Because of different reasons, this time coming back to Berlin did not feel as exciting as other times, so I boarded a plane to this city I really adore not so full of beans, as I would have usually done.

B. U. T.

When I was on the Sbahn from the airport, a friend of someone I know from London shared on a story about one spare ticket for ANOHNI and The Johnsons. I replied straight away asking if it was still available, and happily for me it was!

The reason why came across the artist formerly known as Antony and The Johnsons in the first place was through Björk’s Dull Flame of Desire. I found her voice to be so intoxicating and beautiful, as if the ocean’s foam was made of carpet-thick velvet.

I cannot take pride in having dwelled extensively on their discography back then, other than just enjoying the odd song here and there. Regardless of this, when I saw that they were playing I could not resist attending a show lead by one of the seldom voices that is able to show you the depth of emotions within just one note.

When I found out that the last time they toured was 14 years ago in 2010 it already started to look very good but I was not ready for what was to overcome.

During my years living in London, while at a festival in Portugal I got to meet Cinder Sharp, the lead musician and vocalist from the legendary industrial / post-punk band Cindytalk. She couldn’t believe she met two bassoonists at the same time, (this story for another time), so when back to the concrete jungle we both called home, she invited me over for a music session. We were both living in the same area so this made it even more special: not many people in my world lived SW.

After a beautiful evening, she invited me to join Cindytalk with my bassoon. This thrilled me to the bones as I was on the look for another band; the one before didn’t go too well because of a not-as-lovely-as-she-seemed drummer. Sadly, Cinder moved back to Scotland before this got to become a reality.

Following Mamma Chadd’s advise: NATO (Not Attached To Outcome), I still can proudly say the fact that I, wif ma bassoon m8, was a good enough musician to be invited to join Cindytalk, a band formed 12 years before I was born.

The concert started with a performance executed by someone that seemed familiar, and after its conclusion, ANOHNI came on to the stage, looking stunning and really embracing herself after 14 years of not touring with this one project of hers.

She started singing and, like a kid in a candy store, I just couldn’t take my eyes of her. Her beautiful voice, accompanied by one of the tightest bands I have ever heard, sailed through some of their old material as well as new.

One third or so into the the full piece, an old recording reproduced the voice of a NY hooker who after exposing her struggles and the difficulties of just existing as she had to exist, called for a revolution and to do something about the situation which her and many others in the community suffered from.

Then, You Are My Sister happened, and she beautifully advocated to embrace the unity of women as the saving tool in the toolbox that we still have not used. The one that most likely will work in order to help society move forward in a healthier way. Because advocating for the unity of women means embracing the love, care and compassion of mothers, daughters; of sisters.

As the concert was getting closer to the end, Anohni told the audience that the recording that had played earlier was from the voice of Marsha P. Johnson, the trans icon that together with Sylvia Rivera started the riot that we today know as Pride. She told us her was the reason why she named the band the way she did. In line with her statements before, she mentioned though, that we should always act out of kindness, and to have as a mentality a concept that I can only recall as the ‘debt of kindness’ that we should all owe one another. Known or unknown.

I think this was beautiful because even though we needed Marsha and Sylvia to throw that first brick so we, as queer people, can just exist, we are now in 2024 and there are other ways to get around problems and seeking solutions. She also advocated for the power that Berlin has in order to change things for the good, being closer to the source, so to speak.

After a second performance from the same familiar artist, she then introduced the band. Believe me, I have not heard such a tight and amazing band in a very, very long time. Even at top-tier classical performances. Not only in terms of sound, timbre, timing and complex layered polyrhythms, but the tuning was spectacular. But we are talking espectacular like swaying in and out of microtonal harmonies with extreme accuracy. I thought they maybe were tired or something and that’s why things suddenly got a bit out, but no, the fact that then they got back to traditional tuning and back into microtonal was quite something. I want to follow my instinct and believe this was premeditated as it felt extremely accurate and in the right moments portraying exactly the right moods - we’re talking about highly skilled musicians after all.

Before heading to the concert, while reading more about Anohni, I learnt that she had transitioned and was publicly out since 2015. My ignorant ass had only learnt about her and her musicianship during the early albums era under the previous name and had no idea of the journey she had undergone.

Seeing her embracing her true identity and exploring the topics of womanhood through songs like You Are My Sister and the cover of Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child felt really special and also brought me back to the first time I met, and performed (at someone else’s piece) with Cinder back in Portugal. It was so inspiring to see this pure beauty take shape in front of our eyes.

I guess, attending Madrid’s pride for the first time after I left the city 12 years ago had given me the extra queer oomph that I didn’t know I needed to tap into this deep feeling of queer sisterhood, brotherhood, the hood, siblinghood? and let my feelings take over me as if I was standing at the bottom of a waterfall*.

The concert concluded, but not without me noticing that during the show, there were certain characteristics in the performative movements of Anohni’s arms that definitely reminded me to some of the ceremonial practices I learnt back in the day in Treadwells, which gave this interesting aspect to the overall piece, as if a ritual was being carried on stage. The reason why I also bring this up (not just to give context of the way I see the world and interpret things around me) is because one of the reasons why I got interested in occultism in the first place was because of KAOS and it’s magick approach to a club setting. When Anon introduced the band, she also did introduced the performer, who had started the band with back in the day in New York. No wonder she seemed familiar, as she was Johanna Constantine, a close friend to the people in London I consider my chosen family, who very much are behind KAOS and its origins.

Seeing all of this come together into one 2 hour long performance, and be able to enjoy all of that washing over me was a spectacular experience that will always cherish and that will always remind me of the importance of music as social glue and being one of the driving forces of what I like to call social engineering (for some reason this term has really bad connotations, but I disagree. My thoughts on that for another day).

In the end Berlin welcomed me with open arms and made me feel right at home. Did some music here too (which was the main reason of my visit), and now waiting for a Sunday boogie at the big old power plant before heading back to Madrid.

Till next time.

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hanagaki365 · 4 months

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Digital Solutions for Social Impact- Leveraging Technology for Change

As the world adapts to the new technological trends with each passing day, the social service sector has too moved to infuse advanced technologies to enhance their workings while creating a large and sustainable impact on the ground. By harnessing Social innovation and technology in the workings of organizations, efficiency has been enhanced significantly. With streamlined data management, the outreach has been expanded leading to connecting to relevant stakeholders and achieving positive outcomes with accurate impact measurements.

Social Innovation- For Impactful & Positive Changes

Social innovation, at its core, involves the development and implementation of new ideas to address social challenges effectively. Unlike conventional CSR, which often involves one-off donations or initiatives, social innovation integrates social impact into the core business strategy. This paradigm shift is propelled by a growing recognition that philanthropy should not only address immediate needs but also strive to create systemic change.

Cross-sector Collaboration for better reach

One prominent trend driving this shift is the rise of cross-sector collaborations. Recognizing the complex nature of social issues, organizations are increasingly forming partnerships with governments, non-profits, and other businesses to pool resources and expertise. These collaborations foster innovation by leveraging diverse perspectives and resources, leading to more comprehensive solutions.

Sustainable Long-term impacts

Another crucial aspect of this evolution is the emphasis on sustainability and long-term impact. While traditional philanthropy may focus on short-term projects, social innovation seeks to create lasting change by addressing root causes and building resilience within communities. This shift towards sustainability aligns with the growing demand for accountability and transparency from both consumers and investors.

Infusing Technology for the greater good

Technology also plays a pivotal role in driving philanthropic innovation. From crowdfunding platforms to blockchain-enabled transparency, technology has revolutionized the way organizations engage with donors and track the impact of their initiatives.

Along with the integration of SAAS Platforms, organizations can now have seamless operations by digitizing their day-to-day workings for better outputs. Furthermore, by investing in Citizen Development, organizations can align themselves with helpful technological solutions without investing too much. By training their employees, especially the ones who belong to non-IT- backgrounds with the required knowledge to create applications, organizations can optimize their resources and also save money.

Furthermore, there is a growing recognition of the importance of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in philanthropy. As society becomes more aware of systemic inequalities, there is a call for philanthropic organizations to prioritize diversity in their leadership, decision-making processes, and grant allocations. By embracing DEI principles, organizations can ensure that their initiatives are more responsive to the needs of marginalized communities.

Tech & Social innovation- Global Overview

Post the pandemic, globally many social organizations have brought changes in their working mechanisms, by adopting more technological tools in their processes, as a rapid response to the challenges they faced during the pandemic. With a focused concentration on adaptive approaches to create sustainable social impact, many philanthropic organizations have infused technology to overcome their core social cause, for example-

Simon Community in Scotland has developed its app “ By My Side”, which intends to promote inclusion of the underserved communities. It provides access to digital services to reduce drug-related deaths and homelessness through education.

Looking at the changing philanthropic trends, the project lead of “Digital Outreach Work with Young People” in Bravia, Mr. Jonsa Lutz highlighted the importance of a well-trained workforce with digital knowledge. He explained that investing in digital streetworkers, who are specially trained to reach young people through social media and online games can always offer confidential and anonymous counseling to young people as well as low-barrier access to youth welfare services.

Therefore, with all new developments happening there is no doubt that the future of philanthropy is undeniably intertwined with social innovation. By embracing collaborative partnerships, sustainability, technology, DEI principles, and adaptability, organizations can maximize their impact and drive meaningful change in society. However, navigating this shift requires a willingness to challenge conventional wisdom, experiment with new approaches, and learn from both successes and failures.

In conclusion, the landscape of philanthropy is undergoing a profound transformation, with a shift towards social innovation at its core. Aligning ourselves with the new age and new need, Smile Foundation is embracing this evolution and embracing the key trends shaping the future of philanthropy, organizations can better fulfill their mission of creating positive and lasting change in the world. As we navigate this journey together, let us seize the opportunity to innovate, collaborate, and drive meaningful impact for generations to come.

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silvestromedia · 4 months

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ST. ALEXANDER, BISHOP OF JERUSALEM AND MARTYR

St. Simon Stock. Although little is known about Simon Stock's early life, legend has it that the name Stock, meaning "tree trunk," derives from the fact that, beginning at age twelve, he lived as a hermit in a hollow tree trunk of an oak tree. It is also believed that, as a young man, he went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land where he joined a group of Carmelites with whom he later returned to Europe. Simon Stock founded many Carmelite Communities, especially in University towns such as Cambridge, Oxford, Paris, and Bologna, and he helped to change the Carmelites from a hermit Order to one of mendicant friars. In 1254 he was elected Superior-General of his Order at London. Simon Stock's lasting fame came from an apparition he had in Cambridge, England, on July 16, 1251, at a time when the Carmelite Order was being oppressed. In it the Virgin Mary appeared to him holding the brown scapular in one hand. Her words were: "Receive, my beloved son, this scapular of thy Order; it is the special sign of my favor, which I have obtained for thee and for thy children of Mount Carmel. He who dies clothed with this habit shall be preserved from eternal fire. It is the badge of salvation, a shield in time of danger, and a pledge of special peace and protection." The scapular (from the Latin, scapula, meaning "shoulder blade") consists of two pieces of cloth, one worn on the chest, and the other on the back, which were connected by straps or strings passing over the shoulders. In certain Orders, monks and nuns wear scapulars that reach from the shoulders almost to the ground as outer garments. Lay persons usually wear scapulars underneath their clothing; these consist of two pieces of material only a few inches square. There are elaborate rules governing the wearing of the scapular: although it may be worn by any Catholic, even an infant, the investiture must be done by a priest. And the scapular must be worn in the proper manner; if an individual neglects to wear it for a time, the benefits are forfeited. The Catholic Church has approved eighteen different kinds of scapulars of which the best known is the woolen brown scapular, or the Scapular of Mount Carmel, that the Virgin Mary bestowed on Simon Stock.

St. Carantac, 5th-6th century. Welsh abbot and monastic founder, also called Carannog. Carantac founded a church at Llangrannog, Wales, spent time in Ireland, and upon returning to Wales founded a monastery at Cernach. He is associated with Crantock in Cornwall, and Carhampton in Somerset, England. He is also venerated in Brittany, France. He is sometimes identified with a Welsh prince, Carantac, an aide to St. Patrick.

St. Brendan, 583 A.D. St. Brendan died in 583. Born possibly in Tralee, Ireland, and educated by St. Ita and ordained by Bishop Erc, he became a monk and founded a large monastery at Clonfert. Many fantastic details have been added to this brief knowledge usually based on the fictional "Navigation" in which he is described as searching for the Isles of the Blessed, touching the Canaries, and even discovering America. It is possible that he actually made visits to Scotland and Wales

ST. UBALD, BISHOP OF GUBBIO

St. Hilary, Roman Catholic Priest Bishop of Pavia, Italy, who was a ferocious enemy of the Arian heresy.

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xtruss · 9 months

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It wouldn't be New Year's Eve without "Auld Lang Syne"—and we have legendary Scottish poet Robert Burns to thank for it. He wrote the poem and fine-tuned the melody for the traditional song. His original manuscript is seen here up for auction. Photograph By Jeff J. Mitchell, Getty Images

Why We Sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on New Year’s Eve

The Iconic Song Became a Staple at the Stroke of Midnight with a Little help from 18th Century Poet Robert Burns and the Scottish Diaspora.

— By Parissa Djang I December 27, 2023

If New Year’s Eve had an official carol, it would easily be “Auld Lang Syne.” Every year, just after the clock strikes midnight, people around the world join hands and sing this beloved song.

Why is “Auld Lang Syne” a New Year’s tradition? From its beginnings as an 18th-Century Scottish Poem to its Iconic Status today, “Auld Lang Syne” captures the spirit of the holiday.

A Scottish Poem

The song is actually a poem penned by Robert Burns in 1788. Traditionally considered Scotland’s National Poet, Burns stirred the Country’s National consciousness by writing in the dying out Scots language. In English, auld lang syne roughly means “times long past.” Fittingly, the song tells of old friends meeting after time apart.

An Oil Painting of Robert Burns in nature. Robert Burns is considered the National Poet of Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 for his work in the 18th century that celebrated Scottish Cultural Heritage. Photograph By Pictures From History, Getty Images

Although Burns’ version is the one that we know today, there were earlier versions of the poem, including Allan Ramsay’s from 1724. Burns explained his version was indeed inspired by another. As he claimed to music publisher George Thomson in September 1793, “I took it down from an old man’s singing.”

Burns was not satisfied with his version of the poem’s original tune, dismissing it as “mediocre.” So between 1799 and 1801, Thomson found and fine-tuned a different melody for the song. It’s the one we still sing today.

A Song For The Year’s End

Burns’ song soon found a home in an annual Scottish tradition: Hogmanay. A blend of Norse and Gaelic customs, the holiday celebrates the last day of the year.

For centuries, Hogmanay, not Christmas, reigned as the biggest winter holiday in Scotland. After all, the Church of Scotland, the country’s official church, had banned the celebration of Christmas in 1640, since it felt the holiday was not Protestant enough.

Unable to make merry at Christmastime, people embraced Hogmanay instead. During Hogmanay, Scottish men, women, and children exchanged gifts and visited friends and neighbors to welcome the new year.

Left: People in Edinburgh watch fireworks during New Year festivities. The New Year festival of Hogmanay became an especially important one in the Scottish calendar after the Church of Scotland banned Christmas in 1640. (The ban was lifted four centuries later.) Photograph By Crofts Simon, Anzenberger/Redux

Right: To welcome the arrival of 2006, the Hogmanay Celebration in Edinburgh attracted more 15,000 people and included a torchlight procession. Photograph By Marco Secchi, Camera Press/Redux

Another Hogmanay tradition? Singing. Some songs—such as “A Guid New Year to ane a’ A’”—were widely recognized. Others were created by families or local communities.

With its emphasis on friendship, reminiscence, and parting, Burns’ “Auld Lang Syne” expressed the essence of Hogmanay: bidding adieu to one year so another could begin.

A New Year’s Tradition

As Scotspeople emigrated in the 19th century, they brought their Hogmanay traditions with them around the world—including “Auld Lang Syne.”

The song soon became a fixture in New Year’s Eve celebrations in the United States. Jazz band Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians played it during a New Year’s Eve radio broadcast in 1929. It was a hit—and “Auld Lang Syne” remained a midnight staple of the band’s annual New Year’s Eve show, which aired on radio and eventually television every year until 1976. The show’s success popularized “Auld Lang Syne” as the quintessential New Year’s song across the country.

Guy Lombardo, center, poses with the Royal Canadians orchestra. The jazz band first popularized "Auld Lang Syne" on New Year's Eve in 1929 during their radio broadcast. Photograph By CBS, Getty Images

As Life reported on December 17, 1965, “Should [Lombardo] and his Royal Canadians fail to play ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at midnight on New Year’s Eve […], a deep uneasiness would run through a large segment of the American populace—a conviction that, despite the evidence on every calendar, the new year had not really arrived.”

However, musicologist M.J. Grant emphasizes in her book Auld Lang Syne: A Song and Its Culture that at the time the song “was already firmly established in many communities, quite possibly beginning in the Scottish diaspora.”

So the tradition of playing “Auld Lang Syne” on New Year’s may have not started with Lombardo, but his band ushered in a new beginning for a song that honors the past while welcoming the dawn of a new day.

#New Year’s Eve #A Scottish Poem #Auld Lang Syne #A New Year’s Tradition #Iconic Song | Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿#18th Century Poet Robert Burns #Scottish Diaspora #Scottish Cultural Heritage #Robert Burns | National Poet of Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

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musicofdoom · 1 year

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Captivating Beauty: The Ethereal World of Cocteau Twins

Enveloped in ethereal beauty, there are rare and enchanting gems that manage to transcend time, touching the very essence of our souls. Among these illustrious treasures lies the ethereal world of Cocteau Twins, a band whose timeless influence and breathtaking music have left an indelible mark on the hearts of music enthusiasts worldwide.

Formed in Scotland in the early 1980s, the Cocteau Twins were comprised of the remarkable trio: Elizabeth Fraser (vocals), Robin Guthrie (guitars), and Simon Raymonde (bass). Together, they crafted an otherworldly soundscape, defying categorization and transporting listeners to a dreamscape beyond compare.

At the heart of their allure lies Elizabeth Fraser's celestial voice, a sublime instrument that transcends language, communicating emotions that resonate on a spiritual level. Her lyrics, often esoteric and open to interpretation, become more than mere words; they metamorphose into emotions, cascading over the listener like a gentle waterfall of pure sentiment.

Guthrie's guitar work is nothing short of a masterpiece. His use of atmospheric effects and ethereal textures wraps each song in a gossamer veil, creating an otherworldly experience that leaves one spellbound. The combination of Fraser's vocals and Guthrie's instrumental prowess creates a sonic fusion, painting vast landscapes of emotion, where listeners can lose themselves entirely.

The Cocteau Twins' influence on the music world cannot be overstated. Countless bands across various genres have drawn inspiration from their unique style. Their music has been a wellspring for the dream pop and shoegaze movements, and their mark can be found in the work of artists ranging from Björk and Radiohead to M83 and Beach House. Their dreamlike aesthetic has even found its way into the realms of electronic and ambient music, showcasing the enduring legacy of their artistry.

What sets Cocteau Twins apart is their unparalleled ability to conjure an atmosphere of unparalleled beauty. Their compositions possess an ethereal quality, delicately weaving together emotions that traverse from joy to melancholy and everything in between. Each track is an invitation to escape the mundane and journey into a world of vivid colors and emotions.

Their 1988 album, "Heaven or Las Vegas," stands as a pinnacle of their artistry, where they reached the apex of their creativity. With songs like "Cherry-Coloured Funk" and "Iceblink Luck," the album is an aural delight, taking the listener on a voyage through a dreamscape that leaves an everlasting imprint on the soul.

Cocteau Twins' music is not just an auditory experience; it is a spiritual and emotional one. Their melodies have the power to heal, console, and uplift, transcending the confines of mere entertainment. It is a testament to the profound impact music can have on our lives when it emerges from a place of genuine artistry and raw emotion.

In conclusion, the Cocteau Twins' influence and the beauty of their music remain an enchanting force that continues to captivate listeners even after decades. Elizabeth Fraser's celestial vocals, Robin Guthrie's ethereal guitar work, and Simon Raymonde's masterful basslines harmonize in a way that defies the boundaries of ordinary music. Their soundscapes transport us to a realm of enchantment, where time stands still, and the beauty of life reveals itself in all its intricacies. Cocteau Twins remind us that music can be a celestial gift, an ethereal language of emotions that unites us all in a shared experience of awe and wonder.

#cocteau twins

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boricuacherry-blog · 2 years

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On one level, my interest in this issue has been professional, because I'm writing a crime series, set in the present day, and my fictional female detective is of an age to be interested in, and affected by, these issues herself, but on another level, it's intensely personal.

I began screenshotting comments that interested me and accidentally 'liked' instead of screenshotting. This evidently was evidence of wrongthink, and a persistent low level of harassment began.

Months later I compounded my accidental 'like' crime by following Magdalen Berns on Twitter, an immensely brave young feminist and lesbian who was dying of an aggressive form of cancer. She was a great believer in the importance of biological sex, and didn't believe lesbians should be called bigots for not dating trans women. The level of social media abuse increased.

I knew perfectly well what was going to happen, starting when I supported Maya Forstater, a tax specialist who lost her job for what were deemed 'transphobic' tweets. As well as when I supported Lisa Littman, a physician and researcher who commented that 'youth have created particularly insular echo chambers' when it came to trans identification.

I must have been on my fourth or fifth cancellation by then.

What I didn't expect was the avalanche of emails and letters that came showering upon me, most of which were positive, grateful, and supportive, someone was speaking for them.

The accusations of TERFery have been sufficient to intimidate many people, institutions and organizations I once admired, who are cowering before the tactics of the playground. 'They'll call us transphobic!' 'They'll say we hate trans people!' What next, they'll say you've got fleas?

I've got several reasons for feeling I need to speak up.

Firstly, I have a charitable foundation trust that focuses on alleviating social deprivation in Scotland, with a particular emphasis on women and children. Among other things, my trust supports projects for female prisoners and for survivors of domestic and sexual abuse. I also fund medical research into MS, a disease that behaves very differently in men and women. The new trans activism is having a significant impact on many of the causes I support, because it's seeking to erode the legal definition of sex and replace it with gender.

Secondly, I'm an ex-teacher and the founder of a children's charity, which gives me an interest in both education and safeguarding, and the effects on both.

Third, I support free speech.

Fourth, I'm concerned about the increasing number of children, particularly girls, who have detransitioned, and now regret taking steps that have, in some cases, altered their bodies irrevocably, and taken away their fertility.

The argument that a gender dysphoric teen will kill themselves if not allowed to transition, says gender clinic psychiatrist Marcus Evans, 'does not align substantially with any robust studies or data in this area. Nor do they align with the cases I have encountered over decades as a psychotherapist.'

The more I read of young people's accounts of their gender dysphoria, the more I've wondered whether, if I'd been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. I struggled with severe OCD as a teenager. If I'd found community and sympathy online that I couldn't find in my immediate environment, I believe I could have been persuaded to turn myself into the son my father had openly said he'd preferred.

I remember how mentally sexless I felt in youth. I remember Colette's description of herself as a 'mental hermaphrodite' and Simone de Beauvoir's words: 'It is perfectly natural for the future woman to feel indignant at the limitations posed upon her by her sex.'

As I couldn't become a man back in the 80s, it had to be books and music that got me through. Fortunately for me, I found my own sense of otherness, and my ambivalence about being a woman, reflected in the work of female writers and musicians who reassured me that, in spite of everything a sexist world tries to throw at the female-bodied, it's OK to feel confused, dark, both sexual and non-sexual, unsure of what or who you are.

The current explosion of trans activism is urging a removal of almost all the robust systems through which candidates for sex reassignment were once required to pass. A man who intends to have no surgery and take no hormones may now secure himself a Gender Recognition Certificate and be a woman in the sight of the law. Many people aren't aware of this.

I've read all the arguments about femaleness not residing in the sexed body, and the assertions that biological women don't have common experiences, and I find them deeply misogynistic and regressive. It's clear that one of the objectives of denying the importance of sex is to erode what some seem to see as the cruelly segregationist idea of women having their own biological realities or - just as threatening- unifying realities that make them a cohesive political class. The hundreds of emails I've received makes it clear this erosion concerns other women just as much. In trans activist's eyes, it isn't enough for women to be trans allies - women must also act like there is no material difference between trans women and themselves.

I've been in the public eye now for over twenty years now, and I've never publicly talked about being a domestic abuse and sexual assault survivor - not because I'm ashamed, but because they're traumatic to revisit and remember. A number of women with histories like mine have been slurred as bigots for their concerns around single-sex spaces. The scars left by violence and sexual assault don't disappear, no matter how loved you are or how much money you've made. My perennial jumpiness is a family joke - and even I know it's funny - but I pray my daughters never have the same reasons I do for hating sudden loud noises, or finding people behind me when I haven't heard them approaching. I want trans women to be safe, but I don't want to make biological women be or feel any less safe.

It would be so much easier just to tweet the approved hashtags, scoop up the woke cookies, and bask in a virtue-signaling afterglow. There's safety in conformity. As Simone de Beauvoir wrote, '...without a doubt it is more comfortable to endure blind bondage than to work for one's liberation; the dead, too, are better suited to the earth than the living.'

I refuse to bow down to a movement that I believe is doing demonstrable harm in seeking to erode 'woman' as a political and biological class and offering cover to predators like few before it. I stand alongside young gay kids, fragile teenagers, and women who are reliant on and wish to retain their single-sex spaces.

Political parties seeking to appease the loudest voices in this debate are ignoring women's concerns at their peril. In the UK, women are reaching out to each other across party lines, concerned about the erosion of their hard-won rights, and the widespread intimidation.

None of the gender-critical women I've talked to are transphobic, nor are the trans adults themselves, who are facing backlash for a brand of activism they don't endorse.

The Supreme irony in this, is that the attempt to silence women with 'TERF' have pushed more young women towards radical feminism than the movement has seen in decades. Even more ironic, is that a huge and diverse cross-section of women are currently being called TERFS - and the vast majority were never radical feminists to begin with.

-JK Rowling

#jk rowling #essay #lgbtq #trans #damn this essay was LONG

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decaestecker-source · 6 years

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Iain has recorded a message in support of Simon Community Scotland's #12DaysOfGiving campaign.

Simon Community Scotland is an organization that helps people that are homeless or at risk of homelessness. As the cold weather approaches the need for certain items becomes pressing. That is why the organization has made it easy for the public to find all of the items they need this winter in one place.

#iain de caestecker #leo fitz #agents of shield #simon community scotland #12daysofgiving #we stan a kind soul

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scotianostra · 1 year

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youtube

Birthday, singer and actress Lorraine McIntosh born 13th May 1964 in Glasgow.

Lorraine was brought up in Cumnock, Ayrshire from about the age of three. She has been a member of one of Scotland’s favourite bands Deacon Blue since they formed in Glasgow in 1985.

Lorraine didn’t have an easy upbringing, she lost her mother and she said her Dad coped for a while then fell apart, hitting the bottle he started missing rent payments which led to them being evicted, she said the council waited until she had turned 18, a week after that the were out. In an interview for The Big Issue Lorraine poured her heart out saying………..

“I got a phone call from a social worker saying I wasn’t to go home, as dad had been evicted. I was at the bus stop with my friend, but couldn’t get on the bus. She phoned her mum and I ended up staying with them at first. No clothes, no nothing. We lost everything. It just got put in the street. And the saddest thing was I lost all my mum’s things, her clothes, wee bits of jewellery, all put on the street. Gone.”

I empathise with this entirely except I actually got home from school and found all our belongings on the street after we got evicted, I was 13 at the time………..

Lorraine was a regular on the Scottish soap, River City, she has also appeared in three episodes of Taggart playing different roles, more recently she turned up on Outlander last year as Mrs. Sylvie, the owner of a popular brothel in the town of Cross Creek. Also last year Deacon Blue’s 10th album, City Of Love, shot to No 4 in the UK album rankings the week before lockdown, giving the Glasgow outfit their biggest chart success since 1994.

During the pandemic, as well as coping with the strain of lockdown, Lorraine, who lives with Ricky in Glasgow, was taken ill with coronavirus in the early stages of the outbreak.

She said: “It has taken quite a while to get over it completely. I was in bed for three weeks, and then recovered.”

In 2020 Lorraine joined up with the Simon Community’s Nightstop campaign, to encourage people to open their homes to vulnerable young people. The Nightstop service offers young people aged 16 to 25 a safe place to stay when they find themselves in a crisis. All the volunteer hosts are fully vetted and trained. Since starting in Glasgow last year, eight families have provided 96 nights of emergency accommodation. She and her husband, Deacon Blue frontman Ricky Ross, are considering signing up as hosts – but only if the Simon Community think that their high profile won’t get in the way.

I really like Lorraine, and Ricky’s humanity, specifically Lorraine visited Rwanda two years ago to raise awareness of sexual violence against women when she was moved to tears by the testimony of victims. She has recently spoken out against the plan to send refugees coming to the UK to the country and said the country was still recovering from a genocide inflicted during the civil war in 1994 and for ministers to consider sending asylum seekers there is deplorable.

On her trip, she heard of shocking conditions, including child slavery, youngsters being burned to death, and rape being used as a weapon of war to destroy communities.

On her final day in Rwanda, she made a pilgrimage to one of the most infamous genocide sites in the country called Nyamata where thousands were slaughtered in and around a church.

She said: “I was unprepared for the sight of thousands of items of clothing from the fallen folded and piled up on the church pews. The ceiling pockmarked with bullets and a line around the bottom of the wall which our guide tells us is the blood line from the carnage. A river of blood. In the gardens outside 50,000 people lie buried.

Hubbie Ricky made a simple tweet yesterday, the post read "33 years today ❤️" with the photo

Lorraine is set to appear in the new season of Shetland.

The song is my favourite where she sings a strong vocal.

#scotland #scottish #musician #singer #actress #happy birhtday #Youtube

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

Text

Robert Lacey excerpt

I fully expect them to say William was the one commenting about the baby’s skin color after this. Battle stations! Book excerpt

The Times

Prince William ‘split his household from Prince Harry after Meghan bullying claims’

June 07 2021, 7.00am BST

‘So, are you saying,” asked Oprah Winfrey, talking to Meghan and Harry in their famous interview of March 2021, “that there were hints of jealousy?”

She was inquiring about the Sussexes’s wildly successful tour of Australia and the South Pacific of late October 2018, and the couple shifted uncomfortably in their plush wicker chairs.

“Look,” replied Harry, “I just wish that we would all learn from the past.”

By bringing up “the past”, the prince was venturing into an area that was almost taboo. He was making a sensational comparison between his mother and his wife. Harry was suggesting that Meghan had demonstrated in Australia the same massive star quality as Diana and was now having to face the family envy that went along with that.

“It really changed,” he said, “after the Australia tour, after our South Pacific tour . . . it was . . . the first time that the family got to see how incredible she is at the job. And that brought back memories.”

Memories of what? Again Harry shied away from putting words to the almost unmentionable. But Oprah had prepared and polished this moment, like so many others in the interview, and she had a reference ready to prompt her prince’s revelation. The latest, fourth season of TV’s The Crown had depicted Charles and Diana’s 1983 tour of Australia, showing how Diana had been “bedazzling” in her ability “to connect with people”. Episode six had depicted how the crowds would groan when they realised that Charles, not Diana, was walking down their side of the street — hence the beginnings of the “jealousy” on the family’s part.

“So is that what you’re talking about?” asked Oprah. “It brought back memories of that?”

“Yeah,” Harry finally replied in a fashion that was both dismal and unmistakably aggressive.

What on earth had happened, viewers had to wonder, to the old and once-familiar happy side of Prince Harry?

When trying to define the moment that marked the decisive rift with his brother William — the break-up and actual separation of the joint household they had established together in 2009 — Harry would fix upon his triumphant return with Meghan from their Australian tour at the end of October 2018. But if asked the same question, William would have fixed on a more specific event: the explosive argument he had had with his brother earlier that month.

Both brothers agreed how bitterly they had clashed back in the early days over William’s attempt to slow Harry’s courtship of Meghan — “Don’t feel like you need to rush this . . . ” But both of them had subsequently moved on. Harry’s transparent contentment with Meghan had relaxed the tensions, give or take the odd row over bridesmaids’ dresses. The “no speaks” had eased just a little by the time “best man” William escorted his brother down the aisle in May 2018.

Then five months later came the conclusive and determining rupture — the division that has lasted to the present day — though here the brothers’ retelling of history diverged. As Harry explained it to Oprah, Meghan’s Australian tour success sowed the jealousies that caused feelings to “change”. According to this scenario, William and Kate resented the Diana-like popularity that was generated by Harry’s wife. William had a different recollection.

We now know that Princes William and Harry were no longer on speaking terms before the Sussexes set off for Australia. Feelings had already “changed”, as Harry put it, and drastically so. The brothers had parted on extremely poor terms, with the trouble centring on Meghan’s stringent treatment and alleged bullying of her staff.

Most Kensington Palace courtiers were noted for the comparatively long tenures of their comfortable and prestigious jobs. But it came to look as if employees could not wait to escape service with Harry and Meghan. Those who left formed themselves into an informal fraternity that they titled the “Sussex Survivors’ Club”. They had finally hit back, and their organising agent had been PR man Jason Knauf.

The joint communications secretary for Kensington Palace — who was still, at that date, working on behalf of both of the brothers and their wives — had become concerned by the numerous stories of mistreatment being brought to him by colleagues whom he knew well and trusted.

Texas-born and New Zealand-educated, Knauf, 34, was a popular character in Kensington Palace, widely noted for his friendliness and loyalty towards his colleagues. He had been considered a real “catch” when the brothers snared him from the Royal Bank of Scotland in 2015, and one of his concerns was that professional management practices should be more effectively enforced inside the traditional British palace. Knauf’s American sensibilities caused him to see the Meghan situation as raising principles of human resources management in the palace system that needed to be formally addressed.

Knauf’s first priority was to set down the facts, as he saw them, for the record: “I’m very concerned,” he emailed to William’s private secretary Simon Case, in a document he drafted in October 2018, “that the duchess was able to bully two PAs out of the household in the past year.”

Knauf described Meghan’s treatment of one aide as “totally unacceptable . . . the duchess seems intent”, he wrote, “on always having someone in her sights”. Specifying another staff member, Knauf alleged Meghan had been bullying her as well, “seeking to undermine her confidence”. His office had received “report after report”, he wrote, from people who had witnessed “unacceptable behaviour” by Meghan towards this member of staff.

“Meghan governed by fear,” claimed one courtier. “So many people said it. Nothing was ever good enough for her. [She] humiliated staff in meetings, [would] shout at them, [would] cut them off email chains — and then demand to know why they hadn’t done anything.”

As early as 2017, around the time of the couple’s engagement, according to a subsequent report in The Times, a senior aide had spoken to the couple about the difficulties caused by their treatment of staff. “It’s not my job to coddle people,” Meghan was said to have replied.

“Americans can be much more direct,” wrote the authors Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand in defence of the duchess, “and that often doesn’t sit well in the much more refined institution of the monarchy.”

A Brit might have raised an eyebrow at Meghan’s alleged behaviour, then looked the other way. The Yank decided to act. Knauf was actually one of Meghan’s most senior advisers — her chief adviser, in fact, when it came to public relations. Earlier that year she had gone to Knauf for help when drafting the disputed letter of severance that she sent to her father. She valued his PR expertise.

Before that, Knauf had helped Harry to word the fierce anti-media statements that he had framed to try to protect Meghan from press harassment, both as his girlfriend and then as his fiancée. The PR man had taken considerable stick from some of his non-royal contacts who criticised him as being overprotective in fighting the newcomer’s corner. Like so many people in all the palaces, Knauf had started off on Meghan’s side.

But as the months went by the American’s feelings became more ambiguous, as numerous colleagues — women whom he greatly respected — continued to bring him stories of what they said they had suffered at Meghan’s hands.

“I can’t stop shaking,” one aide had told a colleague in anticipation of an encounter with Meghan. Another reported that the prospect of confrontation with the duchess had made her “feel sick”. “Emotional cruelty and manipulation”, were the words of a third, “which I guess could also be called bullying.”

The b-word featured prominently in the accounts of several, along with an even more sinister set of initials: PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a deeply serious condition to allege — flashbacks, nightmares and feelings of deep anxiety — but that was how one complainant said that they had felt.

Several people maintained they had been “humiliated” by the duchess, and that criticism extended to Harry as well.

“I overheard a conversation between Harry and one of his top aides,” recalled one Kensington Palace courtier. “Harry was screaming and screaming down the phone. Team Sussex was a really toxic environment. People shouting and screaming in each other’s faces.”

Shouting and screaming? PTSD? Making people feel sick? Prince William went ballistic when he heard the “dossier of distress” that Knauf had gathered. We do not know whether the communications secretary brought his allegations directly to his boss or submitted them via Simon Case. What we do know is that the prince was astonished and horrified. He was instantly furious at what he heard.

“I remember Christian Jones [William’s press secretary and later private secretary] explaining to me how the Cams [the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge] are paternalistic with their staff,” recalls one royal correspondent. “They copy the Queen in that respect with all her Christmas parties and Christmas presents to her people. They’re proud to treat their staff like family. They recognise that they don’t get paid loads of money, so they are just really nice to them. So this was a very deep clash of philosophies, with Meghan being used to a Hollywood service culture — getting exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted in that famous way that Harry said.”

William personally knew and liked all the individuals whom Knauf had named in his dossier. The prince regarded them as assets to his household — colleagues to be cherished and for whom he was responsible. Human beings. Like Knauf, the prince was appalled that his respected staff may have been put in this position.

For William, Knauf’s allegations also clarified something that the prince had long believed — that Meghan was fundamentally hostile towards the royal system, which she failed to understand as an outsider. William wondered if she had not wanted to leave from the very start — even dreaming, perhaps, that she could whisk Harry back with her to North America.

But Meghan’s lawyers and PR representatives said this was quite the wrong interpretation of their client’s thinking and behaviour in a statement that they issued to The Times early in March 2021. They denied all allegations of bullying as inaccurate and the product of what they described as a “smear campaign”. The duchess wished to fit in and be accepted, they insisted. She had left her life in North America to commit herself to her new role.

I have never met Jason Knauf. What you have just read is based upon the published accusations that Knauf set down on paper — refuted as “defamatory”, it must be stressed again, and “based on misleading and harmful information” in the view of the Duchess of Sussex’s lawyers. It also relies upon William’s personal account of these events to one of his friends who then spoke to this author.

The moment the prince heard the bullying allegations, he related to this friend, he got straight on the phone to talk to Harry — and when Harry flared up in furious defence of his wife, the elder brother persisted. Harry shut off his phone angrily, so William went to speak to him personally. The prince was horrified by what he had just been told about Meghan’s alleged behaviour, and he wanted to hear what Harry had to say.

The showdown between the two siblings was fierce and bitter. William’s pre-engagement questioning of Meghan’s suitability had been quite reasonable, in William’s opinion. His fraternal doubts had been provisional, based upon how the new recruit appeared to be. The elder brother did not really know Meghan in those early days.

But now William had seen enough of his sister-in-law to feel sure that, sadly, he did know her and that many of his reservations linked unhappily with what Knauf’s colleagues had alleged. William believed Meghan was following a plan — “agenda” was the word he used to his friend — and the accusations he had just heard were alarming. Kate, he said, had been wary of her from the start.

Meghan was undermining some precious principles of the monarchy, if she really was treating her staff in this way, and William was upset that she seemed to be stealing his beloved brother away from him. Later courtiers would coin a hashtag — #freeHarry. It was only half a joke.

“Meghan portrayed herself as the victim,” recalled one Kensington Palace staffer, “but she was the bully. People felt run over by her. They didn’t know how to handle this woman. They thought she was a complete narcissist and sociopath — basically unhinged. Which was why the pair of them were drawn to each other in the first place — both damaged goods.”

William felt deeply wounded. “Hurt” and “betrayed” were the two feelings that he described to his friend. The elder brother had always felt so protective. He had seen it as his job to look out for Harry but this was the moment the protection had to stop. At the end of the day the British crown and all it stood for with its ancient traditions, styles and values — the mission of the monarchy — had to matter more to William than his brother did.

Harry, for his part, was equally furious that William should give credence to the accusations against Meghan, and he was fiercely combative in his wife’s defence. Some sources maintain that in the heat of the argument Harry actually accused someone in the family of concepts that were “racist”. But it must be stressed that neither brother has ever confirmed that the hateful r-word was used face to face.

Only William and Harry can know what they said to each other and they have respectfully maintained their silence on that. But Harry made clear to the world in his interview with Oprah that he considered his family’s response to Meghan to have been essentially racist — using the heavily freighted code words “unconscious bias” to provide an intellectual framework for his analysis.

Where could the two brothers go after such painful and damning notions had been thrown into their debate?

We have reached the crux of the drama. What painfully unforgettable and surely unforgivable things have been said? These are not passing differences. They are two core sets of values in conflict — love versus duty — going to the very heart and deriving from the deepest beliefs and loyalties of each man. Two opposing identities butting heads. In the months following the tragic and not-obviously bridgeable rift of October 2018 between William and Harry, the younger brother solidified his belief that his family were suffering from “unconscious bias”.

William, for his part, felt just as strongly about Meghan and the need for her subversive “agenda” to be removed from the operations of the British monarchy, which she did not appear to understand or respect. He certainly wanted Meghan removed, for a start, from the hitherto harmonious joint household that he and his brother had operated together for the best part of a decade. William simply did not want her or Harry around any more.

When accounts of the rift started seeping out through the winter months that followed, it was generally assumed that the volatile Harry must have set the pace in the splitting up of the joint Kensington Palace household. He was the brother who visibly departed, stalking off to set up a new home in Windsor, with offices for himself and Meghan in Buckingham Palace.

But the reverse was the case. It was William who made the decisive move. Following his furious confrontation with his younger brother in the autumn of 2018, the prince instructed Simon Case to start the process of dividing their two households immediately. William wished to be separated from Meghan on a day-to-day basis — and that meant being separated from his brother as well.

“William,” says a friend, “threw Harry out.”

©Robert Lacey 2021 Extracted from Battle of Brothers: William, Harry and the Inside Story of a Family in Tumult by Robert Lacey, to be published by William Collins on June 24 at £9.99

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